by Paul Telegdi
“Is that... the… best you... can do?” Ruba forced out, breathless. Moro’s eyes turned yellow, and he gathered his strength and earnestly bore down. This rat was begging for it and deserved all of it and more, Moro panted through clenched teeth. A flow of froth bubbled out of Ruba’s mouth but he refused to yield. Something cracked, something creaked, but Ruba, in spite of his agony, was past caring. He was unable to move, unable defend himself, all he could do was to endure. “Is... that... all?” the question came as a dry rattle from his chest. Moro’s eyes were wild with confusion, what else could he do? Short of killing him? Again he gathered his strength, but a touch on his shoulder interrupted him. Surprised he looked up to see Taragon, the marshal, looking down at him, shaking his head. “You won. Let that be enough!”
Moro got up, dissatisfied. If he had won, why did he feel like such a loser? A murmur swept the crowd. Moro turned to see Ruba incredibly stagger to his feet and face him. It was obvious from the hanging arms that they were useless. “We are... not... done yet,” he said almost calmly.
But Taragon spoke, “Yes you are! And you have lost! That is my decision! Obey it!” His voice whipped out the command. There was no withstanding that. Ruba’s head dropped in acceptance. The crowd grew very quiet, and Moro stalked off furious; no one was looking at him, no one was admiring him.
Crow walked over to Ruba and was about to admonish him, but Ruba muttered under his breath, “Hold me up, damn it! Don’t let me fall!” Crow stood close to him, nearly the same height, holding him up but hiding the effort it took. There was a light trickle of blood from Ruba’s nose, and his face was rigid, but he held himself together through many painful steps as they walked, the crowd opening respectfully in front of him.
Crow signaled Stow with his eyes and the two of them guided Ruba back to their camp, pretending all the while to the rest of the world that nothing was amiss. Thus only Crow knew how much will power it took for Ruba to get back without a word of complaint. They stuck him under his covers, and Crow went back to his fire, shaking his head. There was something in Ruba’s heart after all: the boy was full of some driving spirit.
As Nebu worried over him, Ruba could only think that he had lost yet again. Even though he had not really expected to win, he was so driven to prove his worth that he had not considered losing either. By some strange mental twist, if he thought at all, he had expected to be somewhere in the middle. It was thus a bitter loss. He covered his head in shame and would have cried except the rigid willpower still had hold of him.
Again people talked about Ruba, the whole day overshadowed by the endurance he showed. Ork admitted freely, almost with reverence, that his older brother had courage after all. The rest knew not what to make of it. What had driven the boy to challenge such a punishing opponent? The few, who suspected, did not share their thoughts on the matter. Chaiko muttered darkly to himself, “Something better give soon or that boy will surely kill himself to prove his manhood.” But he knew there was another reason.
Tusk went to look at Ruba. The youth was totally exhausted and helped by his melancholy, had escaped into sleep. Nebu looked up apprehensively at the big man, but he made a gesture of quiet as he left, nodding his head.
Chandar suspected Ruba’s motives and felt for him, remembering how hard he, himself, had to work to win Tara. He also saw, close up, Cora’s disregard of the boy. Though Ruba never made overt advances toward her, she was nonetheless much too aware of his interest; she would frown and pointedly turn away, hoping to discourage him. When that failed, she resorted to avoiding him, and when, inadvertently, they met, she was rude, even hissing at him to stay away. If he only could or would…
The afternoon was spent drifting from one speaker to the next on Speakers’ Field, pausing and listening. Some speakers told many stories of great variety, others specialized in just one, which they told over and over again to whoever would listen. A listener thus could hear just about anything, an amusing tale, old lore, clan teachings, questions of morals dissected, history explained, brave tales of courage, of cowardice and treachery, of self-sacrifice. Very popular was one that explored people’s ancestry and lineage. For some reason the line of Turtle was considered above the line of Dove, the Fox was to be celebrated and the Owl was greatly wished for. No one could explain how these preferences were established. Why? And by whom?
There were of course many tales of Bogan and many teaching tales attributed to him. Chaiko soon grew satiated and moved on, promising himself to return. A group of children were being taught some of Bogan’s sayings, word by word until they could all repeat them smoothly, with conviction. Chaiko smiled a half grimace, sure that most of them did not understand, sure that some would never understand the words they so readily parroted. “Teach only those who beseech you...” the shaman muttered to himself. Yes, one can force compliance but not the desire to learn, the insistence to know.
Then Chaiko came upon an old man who sat talking to himself as if he were addressing a great audience, yet nobody was there. Chaiko paused and listened. The man talked, non-stop, without much emphasis. His tale made no sense, rambling on, not having a head or tail, just a run of words strung together. Chaiko frowned. Was the man really serious or was it some kind of a joke? He could not credit his ears, for easily it was the most boring story he had ever heard, if it could be considered a story at all. There did not seem to be any characters in it, just people who walked in and out of the narrative. He could not suppress a yawn. He had never yawned in someone’s face before and he hurried away before a second yawn could overtake him.
“You are a magician, aren’t you?” A young boy accosted him, his eyes great with wonder.
“No I am not,” Chaiko said, wishing he could squash such reports about him once and for all. The boy’s mother grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away. There was real fear on the woman’s face as she looked back at the shaman. It quite spoiled Chaiko’s mood to be so accosted again. A magician lived by black arts, forcing and manipulating events to suit himself. Sometimes he wished he truly had the power, but he could not even solve the spirit riddle.
He drifted from one speaker to another, pausing here and listening there. By the end his head was buzzing with all the tales he had heard, but strangely, it was the story that made no sense he remembered the most. Now why would that be? he asked himself.
Chaiko ran across a few of his people, Ushi for one, but the trader did not stop, too preoccupied with something. A little later he saw Cosh and Ile in the crowd and they waved to him. The couple paused to listen to a teaching story that Chaiko had already heard, a somewhat mediocre affair hardly worth the time it took. But Cosh and Ile listened politely until the end, not like some others, before moving on. Ela and Gill were listening to an entertaining story, Ela with her fingers in her mouth, looking absolutely captivated. Why were people in stories so much happier than common folk, or sadder even, or braver... why?
Then meeting Tomakon, Chaiko gladly grabbed the old man and drew him aside to find a place for them to sit. “I have heard so many stories about Bogan, some full of contradictions, others outright fantastic and unbelievable. Set me straight, for the more I hear about the man the less I understand him.”
“Don’t listen to the popular stories bandied about. People tell them without any regard for the truth. Ask us old folks who actually knew him.” Tomakon’s head bobbed up and down, his wizened face humorous.
“Just what kind of man was he, really?” Chaiko asked, as he had countless times that day. “Some claim he was a womanizer while others say he was an aesthetic who abjured all indulgences.”
“He was neither. Though at times he fell in love and the rare time he even made love to a woman, he felt the burden of his fame and reputation and did not want the weight of it crushing them. So he quickly moved on. For their protection, you understand.” Tomakon looked back across time, his face growing solemn with all the memories he was carrying. “You cannot understand how it was. He was a very specia
l person, not for what he had supposedly accomplished, but for what he was. He was totally selfless. He never even thought of himself. He was generous with everything he had, especially with his time and attention. Anybody could go and talk with him; the young, the old, men, women, the famous, or even a nobody. It did not matter to him. He would listen to anyone, anytime.” Tomakon’s made a gesture with his hand which expressed both wonder and disapproval of such habits. “I told him he had to be more selective with his time, but he replied that his people owned his time and he couldn’t withhold it from them.” Tomakon spat into the grass again in disapproval. “But that freedom came at a terrible cost to him.” The old man’s mouth turned down in sorrow and for a moment he could not speak.
“Why terrible?” Chaiko prompted when the old man could speak again.
“Because he never took a mate, that is why! He never settled down! He never raised a family.” Tomakon’s hands were waving again in agitation. “For a while it was rumored that he had children no one knew about, but nobody ever came forward claiming to be his issue. Some of us have waited, hoping for it in vain.”
“But why did he not take a mate? Surely women were attracted to him?” Chaiko asked deeply puzzled.
“That they were. There were nights when we, who were with him, had to chase a woman from under his covers, so he could sleep. At odd times there were not one but two. Women threw themselves at him. He had some allure that drew them and they wanted to serve him. Not just women but men too. I can well understand why, because I followed him for nearly ten years. And to this day I do not understand entirely the attraction. Because he cared? Or because he was unique?” Then he remembered Chaiko’s question and returned to it. “He once told me the reason he could not raise a family was that though he could demand all kinds of self-sacrifice from himself, he could not from his family if he were to have any. That was him, never thinking of himself, always of others.” He lapsed into silence, lost in thought. “Anyway, that is why he could always see the larger, broader issues. His self never got in the way to obscure his view.” He waved again this time angry at himself. “But I am not doing justice to him. He was still, for all his strength and wisdom, just a man. Just the same as you or I.” He would not add any more than that, and for some reason he was quite out of sorts. He rose, in his anger, not mindful of the stiffness of his joints and bones. The crowd quickly swallowed him.
Chaiko sat on the spot trying to digest this new picture of Bogan. Just like you and me? he repeated. With doubts? With confusion? With questions to ask? Hardly seemed possible. Selfless? What did that really mean? For a time he was so lost in his thoughts that he noticed not one single thing around him. He awoke to reality only when Hollow-Tree shook him by the arm to get his attention. Dawn had sent them out looking for Chaiko. “Excuse me Eku, but your mate thought you might be lost,” Hollow-Tree said in Ekulan.
“I was,” the shaman replied wearily also in Ekulan. For the first time he accepted a hand offered to pull him up. A selfless man would give others an opportunity to help him, he had concluded.
Back at camp Chaiko worked on the wood for Tikki, his hands moving to the rhythm of his thoughts. Dawn saw him pause often to stare off into the distance looking for answers there. Fire-Dancer had given the two infants skin-covered drums and both were loudly beating them. The drums were not in tune and eventually Lana came over, distracted the two boys and quietly spirited the instruments away. She then took the drums to Kray, for resetting the tension of the skins to sound more harmonious.
Yael crawled over to Chaiko and watched him smoothing the wood by rubbing it with a skinful of coarse sand. He tried to imitate his father, reaching his little hands for the skin. Chaiko took another piece of wood and skin and gave it to him, showing how it was done. Yael rubbed with great energy surprising Chaiko with how long he stayed with it. Dawn saw father and son working together, and gladness flooded her heart.
Ela was beside herself. “I tell you I saw him! I did not imagine it!” She was on the verge of hysteria. “He was thinner and his hair was unkempt, but it was Tael.”
“I believe you. Someone said they thought they saw him in the crowd.” Gill said soothingly, trying to calm her down.
“And you did not tell me?” Ela was shocked by this negligence.
“They could not be certain, as they did not get as good a look at him as you,” Gill defended himself then tried to deflect her attention. “Did he see you?”
“I don’t think so,” Ela hazarded, “but he must know I am here! And by now he must know about you! About us!”
“It’s all right. He abandoned you and thus by his actions, gave up all rights to you.”
“No, you do not understand!” Ela insisted. “He never makes mistakes. He never does the wrong thing. Everything bad that has happened is someone else’s fault and he is the victim in it. He did nothing, everything was done to him. That is how he thinks.” Ela was wringing her hands with worry. “He would think I still belonged to him. He could never imagine that I would choose you over him.”
“And did you choose me? Over him?” Gill was not afraid of Tael but of this he was not sure.
“Yes I did. Forever!” she hurried to him, pressed her body into his and deluged him with a flood of kisses. Under normal circumstances this would have ended very quickly under covers, but today he was distracted and so was she by Tael’s nearness. Still they did go into the flar and closed the flaps just to shut out the rest of the world.
Rea had unwittingly overheard the exchange and was upset by it. He took his spear and stood by to guard his friends’ privacy, from Tael if need be... or just anybody.
Chaiko and Dawn had conferred long to come up with a strategy to help Ido. Tanya had provided them with a potion and inquisitively Chaiko sniffed at it. He recoiled as the pungent odor assailed his nose. “Phew! That is most vile! I hope it tastes better than it smells.”
“Actually, it doesn’t,” Tanya calmly admitted. “But whoever tastes it will think that it is incredibly powerful. Full of spirit power.” Good point, Chaiko had to admit.
Ido was indeed satisfied with the clay jar of the potion. She twisted her face away from the pungent odor that assailed her nose. “This is a lot better than the weak slurp old KiKi gave me. This will work!”
“That it will!” Chaiko affirmed with as much confidence as he could squeeze into his voice, “but you must do exactly as I tell you.” Ido nodded eagerly. “First, after your issue of blood, you must not be intimate for a full moon. Do you understand?” Yes, Ido nodded, no more intimacy. “Then when the moon has passed he still can’t touch you, though you can touch him. Do you understand?”
“He can’t touch me, but I can touch him, right?”
“That’s right. Then when you make love, you must bind his eyes so he can’t see you. Stuff his ears so he can’t hear you. And on no account is he allowed to lay a hand on you. This is most important, do you understand? Otherwise the magic in the potion won’t work.” She nodded enthusiastically. It seemed to him that the more difficulties he placed in her way the better she liked it. He added a few more just for good measure: “Douse him with water if he shows himself to be overly excited. Make him drink a little of the potion same as you, every day. Should you run out, ask for some more. Come to think of it, he is bigger than you, give him a double dose.”
Ido was highly pleased with this course of action. “Now this will surely work!” she said full of confidence as she departed to inform her mate about the cure.
Dawn, who had been at hand, now asked Chaiko, “Why can he not touch her? Why is that necessary?”
“This time he must remain passive and she must do all the work for both of them. Since the other way had not worked, perhaps by reversing it, this will. She will have to find her own excitement. The prior abstinence is to increase their appetite.”
“That could work,” Dawn said only half dubious.
Toward nightfall a loud exclamation broke the quiet settling of the
camp. “A MOON!!?” and little later, “AN ENTIRE MOON!!?” There followed loud whisperings and after a long while, finally, the sounds of surrender. But that did not last long either. “AARRGGHHHHH!” Makar was seen running about in camp, hacking and spitting as he tried to outrun the nausea that was burning its way towards his stomach. What a vile concoction! He was last seen heading for the stream as fast as his feet could carry him.
Dawn turned toward Chaiko and commented, “Your plan is set in motion, but I am not sure Makar will last out the month.”
“Perhaps not,” Chaiko agreed, “but we had best make the next batch a little milder.”
Chapter 17
Next morning Ruba woke with a groan. He could scarcely move as every part of his body hurt. Black and blue marks covered his skin and he could hardly force his legs to carry him to the morning convenience. Even the flow of his urine hurt. Moro had been merciless, but Ruba could take a little pride that he had not submitted. He might have been outfought but his head had remained master of his body, ignoring the pain. This morning the bravado was gone, but his stubbornness kept him from crying out. He crawled back under the covers.
Chaiko peered down on him, then squatted beside him awkwardly. “You know, you will have to find some better way of reaching what you want. Getting yourself all marked up will not make you any more desirable.” Ruba said nothing. He neither confirmed nor denied Chaiko’s words. He thought it was safer that way. Thus after clearing his throat several times significantly, the shaman left.
Tusk came as well and gave Ruba one of his prized spears with the words, “Courage needs to be rewarded.”
Ruba caressed the wood shaft reverently but not understanding the gesture, protested, “But I lost...”
“You proved your courage by standing up to that bully,” Tusk insisted. “That took guts, though... I’m not sure how much brains. He’s twice your size.” Tusk tapped his forehead significantly. “You could not have won in any case.”
