17 Stones

by Paul Telegdi

  Chaiko sat by himself, as Dawn had moved to Tanya’s to give Chaiko time to prepare himself without distraction.

  The shaman waved Ushi to him and asked, “Did Rea deliver his message?”

  “Yes. Just as you ordered, word for word. The big man interrogated him himself.”

  “And?”

  “And... everything went smoothly. Rea said he gave a simpering performance of being overawed in the great man’s presence, and stammered through his report. He thought it was accepted as served...”

  “But you don’t?” Chaiko queried.

  “I can’t help thinking that Corrigan can see through it,” Ushi admitted somewhat reluctantly, not wanting to detract from Chaiko’s confidence.

  “He does have a fine nose for things. But I think in this instance his overconfidence will overpower his caution. He thinks himself capable of everything, equal to any challenge. That we will use against him and feed him exactly what he expects and hopes to hear. Let his desires lead his plans. Any other thoughts and reservations?”

  “Why did we have to tell him everything? Why did you tip your hand through Rea?”

  “A fisherman uses a lure that the fish can’t resist. Besides I want Corrigan to be ready for his part. By now, I expect he has thought through what he would like to do; all I will need to do is push him further in that direction.” Chaiko’s eyes flickered as shadows passed through them and he chortled mirthlessly. Ushi had never seen him so cold-bloodedly calculating before. “Have you instructed Ruba?”

  “Oh yes. Last night. And he went and did as you asked and taught the children a couple of new songs. I expect they will be singing them shortly, spreading it through camp.” This time, he too, chuckled. The whole thing might not work but still there would be many amused looks and guffaws at Corrigan’s expense.

  “Do you have an amorous adventure awaiting you or are you free to attend the Council with me?”

  “But the Council is a closed meeting,” Ushi protested.

  “Not today. At least I would be very surprised if it were.”

  Chandar presented himself. Chaiko looked at him and smiled perhaps a little too brightly. “Well here is my co-conspirator. And how did you sleep last night?”

  “Poorly,” the answer came back tersely.

  “Have no fear, we shall laugh over this... tomorrow,” Chaiko promised them, but looking at their drawn faces, he knew neither felt much like laughing about this... now or ever.

  A stir went through the small camp; it was time to go and Dawn hurried over to hold onto him. He returned the pressure of her embrace but his senses were already someplace else. His face was calm, but as unyielding as polished stone. He did not smile at her or anybody else that came to see him off. The small procession passed through camp, all eyes on them. An ominous quiet preceded and followed them. At one point a bunch of kids came running, chanting “...he must have ten at least on each foot...”

  The children’s faces were alight with mischief. They knew they were doing something naughty, even forbidden but that made it all the more exciting. The children disappeared among the huts. They twice came upon similar groups, yelling cheerfully at the top of their lungs. “...But does Corrigan know the Corrigan inside?”

  They arrived at the Council place and the stables let them pass without challenging Ushi and Chandar, just as Chaiko had predicted. Chaiko sat down at his place, the other two just behind him. Tomakon reached over and patted him for greeting. “I suppose you know what this is all about?” Chaiko nodded at Tomakon and Lefay and looked around. Everyone else seemed to be studiously avoiding his eyes. Well within earshot a large crowd collected just as he had prophesied. Corrigan obviously wanted everyone to witness Chaiko’s humiliation. Then the great man arrived, and the meeting was suddenly charged; now something was bound to happen soon.

  The resonant voice of Corrigan then filled the expectant waiting, going straight to the point of the matter. “Tordar you be the judge of this for I have a complaint to raise against Chaiko of Standing-Rock. He mocks me openly and sullies my reputation. He teaches children to sing verses that make fun of me, ridicule my accomplishments, and belittle my stature. I charge that he does this knowingly and willingly to undermine my reputation. More than most, a shaman lives by his reputation, and he thus does me grievous injury.”

  Tordar stirred uneasily. By now everyone had heard the children singing. “This is a serious accusation. A man has only the good name of his lineage and his reputation. To besmirch either one goes against good conduct and ethical bearing. But to use it to political ends is an outrage. How do you answer to these charges leveled against you, Chaiko of Standing-Rock?” An expectant hush fell over the place, all eyes fixed on the shaman of the Standing-Rock Clan. But he remained composed as if the matter were trivial.

  “In the course of a day I do many things, some of which I forget. Would the Head-Shaman kindly refresh my memory as to what exactly he is charging? He makes so many accusations.”

  Corrigan reacted to these casual words as if slapped in the face. He turned red and spittle formed in his mouth in his eagerness to get the words out. “He goes about spreading malicious and spiteful songs about me and teaches them to children to mock me...”

  “Could the Head-Shaman be somewhat more specific? How am I to answer that I indeed perpetrated the indignities I am charged with, if I do not know the specifics. Could the Head-Shaman refresh my memory?”

  Corrigan’s face was now white with fury. “He has children singing about me all over camp. Here is one, ‘We know he can rant and rave ... Corrigan the mighty, Corrigan the brave... something... something people hide... Such is the anger of his swollen pride, but does Corrigan know the Corrigan inside...’“ By the end, flecks of froth were expelled from his mouth by the vehemence of his indignation.

  Chaiko nodded, affirming, “Yes I made that up. But surely that seems so harmless to me. I do not understand why the shaman gets so angry over such gentle humor...”

  “Gentle humor?!” Corrigan exploded, “How about this?! ... Have, have you thought or wondered, and... pondered why Corrigan has ten toes... on either feet...“

  A twitter swept through the listening crowd that was hanging onto every word of this spectacle. Makar was beaming from ear to ear, to have his work exposed in such a context. Even some of the shamans had to hide a smile behind their hands. Corrigan suddenly stilled, realizing that he had been maneuvered into mocking himself. His mouth opened in protest then closed as his face took on a sharp look.

  “Yes that was… is mine too,” Chaiko admitted in an ingenuous tone, “though I thought I had written it better than the shaman recited it. But then I forget, I have written so many.”

  “So many!?” even Tordar was taken aback by this incriminating admission. “Just how many?”

  “I do not rightly know, and some are quite innocent as they go. Let’s see, here is one... “Look beyond that line of trees... there Corrigan goes daily... to see what he had to eat... thinking thus that he does not smell... his gift stays ever so sweet...’ Yes that was one of mine too.” The crowd laughed outright at this. Makar wondered where the words had come from because he had not written this.

  Chaiko pretended to dig around in his memory. “Another? ‘Corrigan was at one time a good man... who lost his way someplace... between wanting and his needing... adulation and admiration... someplace between liver and spleen… he learned only to serve himself...’”

  “That is enough!” Corrigan interrupted. “He is mocking the whole Council while trying to destroy my reputation. But if that were all, perhaps we could still be lenient, however he also has disrespected fundamental traditions of our lives and flaunts his disregard in our faces.”

  “What traditions are those?” Tordar asked, his eyebrows drawn into stern lines.

  “He gave women weapons allowed only to men, breaking the taboo that prohibits women to touch weapons of any sort, perverting their use. Where would we be if we discarded the wisdom of ag
es learned by our forefathers through hard experience? Are the rules to be cast aside? And if one rule, what of the others?” Corrigan filled his voice with great indignation. “What arrogance to decide on his own, to callously disregard cherished principles of Hunters’ Lore? Women and weapons?? Where is the sense in that? And who did he gave l’bow to? To the one who was mostly likely sent to spy on us!” Corrigan thundered. “And what next? I have to ask. He is turning our world upside down. Now we have a Chief and Lady Chiefs, when we have need of neither. All because of his insidious influence.” Corrigan strode around, pointing an accusing finger at Chaiko. “Look at him. Hardly even a man. And yet he wants to teach his betters new rules and principles, and rearrange our lives. Teach wisdom to the already wise? Ridiculous!” He paused to take a breath, still posturing. “Surely we do not need to hear more of this! Out of his mouth he admits his guilt. Condemn him!”

  “Condemn him to what?” even Tordar was a little lost in this. “We have no rules to govern this. True, the Council has foreseen the need to protect people’s reputations but has never had to impose a consequence.”

  “Banish him!” Corrigan hissed through his teeth.

  “Surely not for this?” Tordar asked, then turned to Chaiko. “What possessed you to do these things?”

  A deep silence waited for Chaiko’s answer. Indeed, what had possessed the shaman to so taunt the most powerful person of the clans and then so flaunt it in his face? Then admit to it? Intensely curious, they all awaited his answer.

  “We shaman tend to think of ourselves seriously and carry around heavy thoughts,” Chaiko said in conversational tones, “Often too seriously. As if we were something very special, way above common folk. We can do no wrong we think, and with the years grow more arrogant.” There were murmurs of assent from the crowd, especially from Black-Pearl. “When I get that way sometimes, my head swells, and full of pride, I recite such a song to remind myself that I am a servant to my people.” Heads nodded approvingly, ‘well spoken’ the silence said, hanging onto his every word.

  “I make up verses about everybody, even myself. Here is one about myself. ‘One foot is wooden... the other made of indecision... I walk on them both indifferently so... For one is wobbly... and the other is stiff... that is why I limp...’” Good-natured laughter greeted his words and he laughed with them. “I then shrink to normal size, human like the rest of us.” He looked around, quite at ease.

  Chaiko turned back to Tordar and addressed him directly. “I am sorry if the Head-Shaman took offence at my harmless poetry. I use it to remind myself that we are all servants no matter how high we are exalted. Flattery makes one blind, humor makes us human again.” Again there was a general nodding of heads, yes, he speaks the truth.

  “As for giving weapons to women, I think it’s high time that they are able to protect themselves if they must. We learned that in confronting the Tolmecs. Every reasonable man should want his mate, mother or sister — or any woman of the clans — to have the means to defend themselves. I make no apologies on that regard. Yes I gave a weapon to a woman and will continue to do so because it is the right thing to do.”

  Tordar nodded, accepting his words. “The issue regarding women and weapons must wait for further deliberation and we will not rush it here.” He made a gesture, to put the issue aside. “Regarding offences to a reputation is our current concern, and according to the code of the clans I must find you guilty as charged for besmirching a person’s character, no matter how it was intended. I am, however, at a loss as to what penalty to impose. We have no thoughts on this.” He looked from accuser to the accused, then settled on Corrigan. “What would satisfy your sense of justice?”

  Corrigan thought hard, his thoughts finally focused. He was aware of the trap here and sought to deflect it. If he were to ask for some heavy penalty as he wished, the crowd would then hold him accountable for it and blame him. “The accused claims he is a just man, let him then set his own punishment.” There was a note of triumph in the Head-Shaman’s voice for he had turned the trap on the trapper. Ushi drew a sharp breath; it was amazing how Chaiko had foreseen all this! The man was simply uncanny. But then he shuddered for he knew what was coming as planned.

  Chaiko thought a while for effect, knowing full well what he needed now to do. “We the clan have no consequence for such a situation as this, but the Tolmecs have. I call Chandar here to tell us more about this. He has been to their land and is mated to one. He would know such things.”

  Chandar advanced reluctantly to stand beside Chaiko. The shaman had explained carefully the night before what he needed. He had said, “Corrigan has tried to intimidate me and has threatened my whole family. I wish to hit him and punish him, but I can’t. So I will do the next best thing and hit myself. In the present circumstance that will serve me better than hitting out at him. What I need is a moral victory. So you will do as I ask, knowing that you are helping me.” Chaiko smiled at the young man and asked in a ringing voice, “The Tolmecs have rules that covers this, do they not?”

  “Yes. Such infractions are punished most severely!”

  “In that case do it! For so Corrigan insists!” Chaiko commanded. Chandar, who had been hardening himself all night for this, swung his staff with a two-handed grip and slashed at Chaiko, hitting him with a resounding force that sent the shaman to the ground. A horrified murmur ran through the crowd and cries of protest. Chaiko staggered to his feet. Chandar bit his lips. Chaiko had instructed him to hit cleanly and with force. “You must hit hard and make it look good. Don’t waste my pain. Imagine you are hitting Corrigan, for in a very real sense you will be.”

  Chaiko straightened, his lips compressed, fighting the pain. “As Corrigan demands it, again!” he commanded. And instantly the staff whistled through the air and hit Chaiko squarely across the back throwing him onto the ground. A heart-rending cry came from the crowd, and Baer and Crow held a struggling Dawn back. The crowd murmured angrily. Corrigan blinked confused. What was happening here? Chaiko was being punished but why was it that Corrigan was feeling the weight of the blows? People were not used to public violence like this and the shock of it drove all other meanings from the situation. They understood only that Chaiko was being punished at Corrigan’s insistence; each blow became an indictment against the Head-Shaman, denouncing him. “You are cruel to demand such punishment for a few words rhymed in jest!”

  “Again! So Corrigan may be satisfied,” mercilessly hissed the command from Chaiko’s mouth. The staff landed again with a powerful whup across his back. Chandar had not held back but concentrated on landing his blows as flat as he could, to spread the impact over as large an area as possible. Chaiko dropped to the ground again, and with his wooded leg refusing to bend, he rolled over. This time more cries of pain shot through the crowd. And even Corrigan winced as the blow landed. The crowd started to stir restlessly, muttering a morose angry sound, their sympathies swayed by Chaiko’s suffering. Chaiko staggered to his feet again, and set himself. “No! No!” the crowd yelled, “Stop!” Chaiko looked at Chandar through pain filled eyes, trying to remind him, no matter how I will feel, Corrigan will hurt more than I. “Again!” and the staff was on its way to land a devastating blow that picked Chaiko off his feet and pitched him forward to collapse like a discarded piece of fur. Corrigan turned his head away, feeling again as if he had been hit. This time Chaiko groaned as he tried to move. The crowd surged forward with angry, pain-filed yells. “No! Halt! Corrigan stop this!” Corrigan looked dazed, still not comprehending what was happening before him. Instinctively he understood that with each blow, Chaiko was growing stronger and he, the Head-Shaman was bleeding strength; the crowd was turning against him. This was not what he wanted! Not at all! Unable to think of anything he could do, he watched fascinated as Chaiko struggled to his feet and steadied himself. The crowd became deadly quiet, listening for the command they all knew would be coming. Chandar’s fingers turned white on the staff and he hardened his heart; Tara had told him he
must do this for Chaiko’s sake. In some strange way she had understood from the first what and why Chaiko was doing this. “You might not beat a bully with your fist, but you might beat him with your courage and fortitude.”

  “For so Corrigan wishes, again!” the command came, a little unsteady but still determined, and the staff began its merciless motion through the air.

  “STOP!” rang from Tordar with authority. Chandar twisted with a desperate jerk and just about ruining himself, deflected the staff. The crowd had surged forward again, the men yelling in protest, the women crying in anguish. Chaiko’s knees buckled and he dropped to all fours, not understanding why he did not feel the implosion of pain. Tordar said again more quietly this time “Stop! And don’t move. I am sure you have been punished enough!” Then he shook his head decidedly, “This rule we do not need among the clan. Go Chaiko, you have paid your penalty.” Then he turned to Corrigan and asked acidly, “Or think you differently?”

  Corrigan shook his head, still trying to comprehend what had happened. He had come to seek revenge for Chaiko’s impertinent stand. He had accused him and the man had been found in the wrong. But Chaiko had somehow turned the accusations into laughter that mocked him even worse. These people would never again listen to him the same way, in spite of all his power and position, but would always remember the insults in the verses. When it was time to be punished, Chaiko had taken his punishment with great fortitude, and each blow diminished Corrigan’s power and prestige until little was left. Corrigan knew with dread certainty in his heart that these people would never respect him again. They would never admire him, never even fear him. The laughter had done that. These people would never obey him in either small or large things. The blows had done that. And all because a cripple had stood up to him. A groan escaped his lips. As if his soul had been ripped out of his body, he sagged and with floundering steps he stumbled away. People ducked out of his way as if he had some horrible sickness on him, hissing, “Shame… for shame! Hide yourself!”