Vatar stood in the shadows while the crowd muttered, working themselves up. Pa and the other chiefs ranged themselves on one side of the square. There was little point in their trying to control the mob at this point.
Maktaz shuffled into the center of the square, dragging his right leg and his right arm held unnaturally stiff at his side. He raised his voice to be heard above the crowd. “Can there be any doubt now that Vatar has been possessed by a very powerful Evil Spirit?”
A large portion of the crowd muttered in agreement.
Challenge him. The thought floated into Vatar’s mind as if from somewhere else. It was what he wanted to do. But how? A personal challenge was impossible among the Dardani. No. There was one way to challenge Maktaz directly. All he had to do was maneuver his way to the challenge. He could do that. Cestus’s training had prepared him well to face Maktaz on his own terms. Vatar squared his shoulders and took a step forward.
Arcas grabbed his arm. “What are you going to do?”
“Two can play at this game,” Vatar answered. He shook off his cousin’s hand and stepped in front of the chiefs.
“I am not possessed. I know no more of that ball of light than any of you. It frightened me, too.”
“You are indeed possessed by an Evil Spirit! It was that Spirit that conjured that ball of fire,” Maktaz said, his voice growing stronger.
Vatar stared right back at the shaman. “That ball appeared between the two of us, Maktaz. If one of us conjured it, it wasn’t me.”
At this, there was a gasp from the surrounding crowd.
Vatar could read Maktaz’s expression as the temper of the mob started to slip away from him. Time to press that advantage. “Was I possessed, Maktaz, when I forged the weapons that killed the tigers two years ago?”
Maktaz’s eyes narrowed. “No, the Spirit possessed you the following winter.”
One side of Vatar’s mouth twitched up. “Ah! That’s convenient. I’m only possessed when it suits you. Tell me, Maktaz, why would this Evil Spirit not have taken me the first year I was in Caere? I was equally unprotected then, perhaps more.”
“Because . . . because you opened yourself to it when you brought its kin here,” Maktaz said, clearly scrambling for an answer.
“It’s kin?” Vatar’s brow furrowed as if in confusion. “Are you referring to Boreala and Cestus? Boreala who saved Mother and my little brother Fenar, who tended a dozen or more of you,” Vatar gestured to the crowd, “during the tiger attacks? And Cestus, who taught the young men how to defeat the tigers? Maktaz, if they are in league with Evil Spirits, they surely have an unusual way of showing it. How do you explain that?”
The people were moving, now. The Lion and Horse Clans stood unanimously behind the chiefs and Vatar, along with most of the Eagle Clan and even a few of the Raven Clan, including Avaza. But the Bear and Wolf Clans and many of the Raven Clan moved to stand behind Maktaz.
Maktaz didn’t immediately answer, so Vatar pressed harder.
“I was not the one who tried to send twenty young men to their deaths hunting the tigers. I made the weapons that gave us victory. And whose Clan was it that brought the tigers all the way out here to Zeda, where they could endanger the whole tribe? As I recall, they followed the Raven Clan onto the plains.”
Vatar watched Maktaz carefully when he said that. He had never said it to another Dardani, but he had long believed Maktaz was somehow responsible for bringing the tigers to Zeda. He was rewarded by seeing Maktaz wince at being reminded. But that only enraged the shaman more.
Maktaz found his voice again in his outrage. “You accuse me? You dare?”
“I do,” Vatar answered simply, standing tall.
There was a shocked silence all around the square.
Vatar took one step forward. “I have often heard it said, Maktaz, that an Evil Spirit withers the body it inhabits. I am not withered. What of you?”
This raised another gasp from the crowd. There was a long moment of stunned silence.
Then one of the Wolf Clan men stepped forward behind Maktaz. “Well, I’m not staying here as long as he’s here.” He pointed at Vatar. “I won’t risk my family. We leave Zeda tomorrow if he stays.”
There was a roar of approval from the group gathered behind Maktaz.
“The Wolf Clan always were superstitious,” Pa muttered from behind Vatar.
“No!” Vatar said loudly enough to quiet the crowd. “I will not have the Clans divided over me.”
Maktaz’s evil grin returned. “There is a way to prove yourself to them.”
“Yes, there is.” Vatar smiled too. “A very old, time-honored way when two men accuse each other and neither can persuade the tribe. I will submit,” there was an audible gasp from Mother at this point, but Vatar continued as if he hadn’t heard her, “to an Ordeal to prove myself—if Maktaz also submits to an Ordeal to prove himself.”
It was a challenge that could not be refused. To refuse the Ordeal was to admit guilt.
“And since Maktaz stands as one of the accused,” Vatar continued, “the chiefs shall set the Ordeals.”
Maktaz’s grin faded. But murmurs and then roars of agreement sounded from both sides of the square.
The eldest chief stepped forward. “It is a just suggestion. And what I would have expected from the son of a chief and a hero of the tribe. The chiefs will confer tonight. The Ordeals will be announced at sunrise.”
As the crowd dispersed, Maktaz stepped very close to Vatar. “It’s worth it, if I can get you at the same time,” he hissed.
“Good. Because I feel the same way, Maktaz. If I can rid the tribe of your poison, it will be worth it.”
Maktaz turned to limp away as Pa and Mother approached.
“That was brilliant, Vatar!” Pa said.
Mother put her hand to her throat. “Yes. But I wish you’d let us know what you planned. My heart nearly failed me for a moment there at the end when I thought you were going to submit to an exorcism.”
Vatar shrugged. “I’m sorry, Mother. I really didn’t know what I was going to do until I got out there and faced him.”
Pa put an arm around Vatar’s shoulders. “Ordeals are a serious matter. The chiefs cannot make this easy for you. The people will expect a true Ordeal.”
Vatar nodded. “I know that. I don’t want you to soften it for me. If it’s easy, it won’t be convincing. Then we’ll be right back here again. This is the best chance we have to put an end to this once and for all.”
Chapter 38: Ordeals
Vatar stepped into the center of the square shortly before sunrise. There was already a crowd gathering. Maktaz pushed through them—walking more normally, Vatar noticed—and stepped up to stand a little apart from Vatar. As the first rays of sunrise broke over the horizon, the chiefs walked out into the square. Vatar braced himself.
The eldest chief of the Horse Clan stepped forward. “The chiefs have decided. Vatar, your Ordeal will be a year in the Forest.”
Vatar heard the gasps from around the square. Dardani universally considered the Forest to be the abode of Evil Spirits, a place very much to be avoided. Well, Maktaz apparently couldn’t recognize an Evil Spirit—or the absence of one—when he stood right next to it. Maybe there weren’t any such things as Evil Spirits. Maybe not all the things he’d been taught from early childhood were true. Vatar knew the totem Spirits existed. He’d felt the Spirit of the Lion. Probably there were other Spirits. But . . . were they necessarily evil? And did they have any more power than the totem Spirits? The Spirit of the Lion couldn’t be used to do more than sense the presence of lions and maybe know if they were hunting or resting. Why would he believe any other Spirit could do more than the Lion, which was acknowledged to be one of the strongest of the totems? Likely he should be more worried about tigers than Spirits.
Vatar nodded his acceptance of the Ordeal. It was harsh, but he was strong. He believed he could survive it.
“Maktaz, your Ordeal will be a year in the Northern
Wilderness,” the old chief said.
Maktaz nodded stiffly.
“You have seven days to prepare yourselves. Then each of you will be escorted to the place of your Ordeal.”
Vatar turned to leave the square. One seven-day. So little time. He needed to prepare, but there was not enough time to spend with those he loved. His children would be talking like little Fenar by the time he returned. His family surrounded him.
Arcas kept looking back at Maktaz. “I don’t like the way he’s smiling. He’s up to something.”
Vatar half turned to him. “Who?”
Arcas shook his head. “Maktaz. He’s up to something. I could see it on his face. But what?”
Vatar shrugged although a chill had settled in the pit of his stomach. “I don’t see what he can do now. He can’t refuse the Ordeal. He’s already accepted it.”
Arcas shook his head. “I don’t trust him. He’ll wriggle out of it if he can. But how?” Arcas looked back over his shoulder and saw several people clustered around the shaman. Among them were some of the parents of the boys who would be due for their manhood tests this summer. “Of course!” Arcas stopped suddenly. “That’s how he thinks he can get out of it!”
“What?” Vatar asked.
Arcas turned to him. “Don’t you see? He thinks the tribe can’t do without him. That they’ll force him to back out of the Ordeal.”
Pa followed Arcas’s gaze. “He could be right. It doesn’t help that he’s never chosen or trained a successor. That’s been worrying the chiefs for some time as his fits have gotten worse. There’s no one to take his place.”
“Well, I can fix that,” Arcas said. “I know where to find a spare shaman.” His eyes narrowed. “It’ll take me three days to get there and three days back. That doesn’t leave much time. If I ride up the Valley of the Smokes, I should be able to get there and back in time. I need a couple of fast horses, though.”
“Where are you going?” Mother asked.
“To the Modgud. To cut off Maktaz’s escape.”
Pa grasped it first. “For a replacement shaman.”
Arcas nodded.
“Good man! Fair skies!” Pa said.
~
Vatar woke to Pa’s prodding. He blinked in the darkness. Today’s the day. So soon! “It’s not dawn yet, is it?”
Pa’s face was grim. “No. But you must come with me now, son.”
Vatar sat up, whispering so as not to wake up the twins. “Why?”
Pa drew in a deep breath. “You have to be severed from the Clan before you can start the Ordeal. While you’re gone, you aren’t one of us. When you return, we will bring you back into the Clan again. After you prove yourself. That’s the way an Ordeal works.”
Vatar pulled away from Pa’s hand. “Severed?” Vatar’s voice was louder than he intended. He glanced to the side to be sure he hadn’t waked the twins. “I don’t want to be severed from the Clan. If I’m not Lion Clan, I’m not Dardani. Don’t take that away from me!” His voice was still too loud and Zavar turned over restlessly and put his thumb in his mouth.
Pa clamped his mouth shut and gestured to the door. Vatar bit his lip and nodded, following Pa out into the morning chill.
“We don’t have a choice in this, Vatar. You will be Lion Clan again. But not while you are on Ordeal. If it helps, Maktaz is also being severed from all of the Totem Spirits. Arcas got back with the Modgud shaman last night. He’s being adopted into the Raven Clan and accepted by all of the other totems, so he can serve in Maktaz’s place until this is over.” One side of Pa’s mouth quirked up. “Maktaz doesn’t know about him, yet.”
Vatar hardly heard the last part. Spots drifted across his vision at the thought of being severed from his Clan. He drew in a deep breath, trying to force down the fear. He should have anticipated this. It was ridiculous that he was more afraid of being cut off from his Clan, from his image of his own identity, than he was of spending a year alone in the Forest. When he had steadied himself, he nodded and allowed Pa to lead him to the Clan’s main hut.
Another young man, a stranger to Vatar, was there when they arrived, receiving the acceptance of the Lion totem. Must be the new Modgud shaman. Vatar watched the man’s face as he put his hand in the lion’s mouth and knew that he had been made part of the Spirit of the Lion. Jealousy burned in his chest as he watched the other man receive what was about to be taken from Vatar.
The eldest chief approached. He took a handful of some substance from a small pot and reached towards Vatar’s bare chest.
Vatar pulled away. “What’s that?”
“It’s a stain. It will cover your tattoos,” the old man said gently.
Vatar forced himself to stand still and allow the stain to be smeared over the symbol of his identity, of his membership and belonging. More than a blacksmith—more than a son, brother, father—Vatar thought of himself as Dardani and Lion Clan. Those tattoos symbolized that identity. And now they were hidden, cancelled.
Pa led Vatar up to the totem, just as he had done five years ago, when Vatar was made part of the Lion Clan. Vatar looked at the totem carving carefully, memorizing it. It had been realistically carved from tawny wood. The mane was made of grasses, dyed darker and carefully woven into the wood. And the teeth were carved from pieces of bone.
The eyes were polished stones that looked exactly like a real lion’s eyes. As before, the eyes seemed to look at him, weighing him. This, too, was the very symbol of his belonging and of his identity.
“Place your hand in its mouth, Vatar,” Danar prompted.
Vatar raised his hand, but paused, reluctant to take this step.
The Modgud shaman spoke quietly to him. “Your totem will be waiting for your return.”
Vatar looked up to see sympathy and understanding in the other man’s eyes. Somehow, his calm assurance helped. “Thank you . . . I don’t know your name.”
The young man smiled. “I’m Trev.”
“Thank you, Trev. I’m Vatar.” Then he added defiantly, “I am Vatar of the Lion Clan of the Dardani.”
Trev smiled and stepped closer. He spoke so low that only Vatar could hear him. “No ritual can completely cut you off from your totem, if you hold the Spirit of the Lion in your heart.”
“It won’t change anything?” Vatar asked, surprised by the desperation in his own voice.
Trev cocked his head to one side. “You will undoubtedly feel a difference.” His eyes narrowed as he studied Vatar. “But you will not be entirely alone.”
Vatar nodded once. He stepped forward and placed his hand in the mouth of the carving. At first, nothing seemed to happen. He dimly remembered the sensation he had felt when he had done this before he received his Clan Mark. Slowly, almost reluctantly, the same sensation moved down, from him to the totem. Vatar closed his eyes to keep the nascent tears from showing and allowed Pa to lead him away.
Vatar left the Lion Clan main hut in a daze. He felt somehow lessened, cut off from a part of himself. It was a very disquieting feeling, especially when he thought of what lay ahead. He’d need all his strength to survive the coming year. Then something seemed to flow in and fill the aching hole. Not the same, but offering strength and comfort all the same. Vatar squared his shoulders. He could do this. He had to.
He looked up and blinked at the hint of light on the eastern horizon. It’s almost time.
“I’ll wake Zavar and Savara so you can say goodbye,” Pa said.
Vatar shook his head. “No. Let them sleep. I said goodbye last night. This isn’t what I want them to remember, if I don’t return.”
Pa nodded, but he gripped Vatar’s arms, forcing him to meet his eyes. “You will return, Vatar. And you will be reunited with the Spirit of the Lion. You have to believe that.”
Vatar bit the inside of his lip and nodded.
Mother came out of the hut, carrying the pack Vatar had prepared last night. She had his tunic over one arm. Behind her, Arcas carried Vatar’s spear. It was the same spear he’d
used in the tiger hunt, just fixed to a shorter shaft. A long horseman’s lance would be no use to him in the Forest. And Kiara stood beside him with another bundle that looked like the tiger skin.
Last night, Vatar had thought of marching to the square bare-chested, displaying his tattoos in defiance. Now his tattoos were hidden, that seemed worse than a hollow gesture. He nodded his thanks, not trusting his voice, and pulled the tunic over his head.
Arcas held the spear out. Vatar nodded and took it. He cleared his throat before he tried to speak. “Tell Father I won’t be coming back to Caere this winter. But I’ll see him again in a year.”
Arcas nodded. He smiled slyly and looked around before saying, “You might find help you don’t expect in the Forest. The Modgud know how to live there. It can be done.”
Vatar turned to Kiara. Her trembling lip almost broke his resolve to appear brave, in spite of everything. She held out his tiger skin and the fang. He jerked his chin up. He hadn’t worn the tooth often after that first year, but it was almost as good a reminder to his tribe of what he’d already done for them as his tattoos. Maybe better, in some ways. Let them remember that he’d been acclaimed a hero of the tribe as he marched out. He smiled and tied the thong around his neck. He pushed the tiger skin back to Kiara. “You keep that for me, eh? It’s heavy to carry through the Forest.”
“Wear it, Vatar,” Mother said. “Today at least. Give them a show to remember and chew on over the winter. You can send it back with Bion if you don’t want to take it into the Forest.”
Vatar nodded and knelt down to allow Kiara to tie the massive front paws around his neck.
When she’d finished, she hugged him, sniffling into his shoulder. “I wish you’d let me come with you. Brothers are allowed to share an Ordeal. I don’t know why a sister can’t to. I could help you.”
Vatar pulled her close. “I know you could.” He held her at arms’ length so he could look in her eyes. “But there’s something I need more. I need you to help look after Zavar and Savara for me. Will you do that?”
Kiara nodded.
The Shaman's Curse (Dual Magics Book 1) Page 21
