Vatar stood and hugged them all. Then he squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and strode into the square just as the sun rose above the horizon.
Maktaz arrived a moment later from the other side of the village. The eldest chief stepped forward again. “It is time. An escort is ready to take each of you to the appointed place. Once you reach your destinations and the Ordeals begin, no Dardani may assist you in any way. Unless a brother stands forth to share your Ordeal. May the Spirits judge you rightly.”
Vatar looked aside at Kiara, but she bit her lip and remained silent.
Maktaz smiled. “I very much regret that my duties as shaman will not permit me to follow through with this Ordeal. It is hard not to be able to prove myself. But I cannot leave the Dardani people unprotected.” Though Maktaz tried to infuse regret into his words, he couldn’t quite hide the triumph in his voice.
“Fortunately, you can go prove your honor with a clear conscience,” the old chief replied, smiling too. “Our friends, the Modgud, have agreed to send one of their young men, fully-trained as a shaman, to stand in your place. They have also agreed to train two young men of the Raven Clan in the event you do not return.”
Maktaz’s smile faded. Vatar, watching closely, saw the alarm and panic in his opponent’s eyes. Somehow, they had kept Trev’s arrival and purpose from Maktaz until this moment. It was clear that the chiefs were enjoying Maktaz discomfiture. A small victory, but something to carry with him into the coming lonely winter.
Vatar turned to go, flanked by Pa and Arcas. He strode toward his escort. As he approached, he realized that, in addition to a chief from each clan, his escort consisted of all of the young men who had been part of the tiger hunt. In unison, they dipped their spears—the spears he had made for them—as he passed. He swallowed hard at this show of support. It meant a great deal to him at that moment. He mustn’t break down in front of them. He had to show himself worthy of their support and tribute—and return victorious.
Chapter 39: Cheater
Maktaz was silent for almost the entire three-day ride to the north. As if they had authority over him. And bringing in a new shaman! Ha! The man wasn’t even Dardani. He couldn’t be the shaman. Maktaz wouldn’t allow it.
He maintained his stony silence as Larad of the Eagle Clan lectured him—him—on the terms of his Ordeal. “Once you cross the water your Ordeal begins. You may not set foot south of this river until one year from today. Unless a brother stands forth to share your Ordeal, no Dardani may assist you in any way until then. May the Spirits judge you according to your heart.”
Larad was an enemy. Father of Ariad and too closely allied to Danar and Vatar. It was an insult that the chiefs had sent an Eagle—the only totem creature that was a known enemy of his totem, the Raven. The only greater affront would have been to send Danar as his judge. He still wondered if Danar had noticed that there had been no reaction from the Lion totem when Maktaz placed his hand in its mouth. None. Because Maktaz hadn’t been able to feel the Spirit of the Lion since the tiger hunt. That Spirit had withdrawn from him long before he placed his hand in the mouth of the carving for a second time.
Maktaz closed his fist. Part of him had hoped that the ritual would actually cause the return of that Spirit, but he still didn’t feel anything. No matter. He’d get them all back when Vatar failed to return from his Ordeal.
As soon as he was across the river that marked the northern boundary of Dardani territory, Maktaz turned and watched as his escort mounted and turned their horses for home. He waited until they were over the horizon before he stepped back into the ford and started walking—south. There was no way he was going to allow the chiefs to banish him on an Ordeal. And, fortunately, he wasn’t the only one who thought the chiefs had exceeded their authority.
He dropped to his knees in exhaustion when he finally reached the waterhole where some of the Wolf Clan had left a cache of supplies for him. They’d even built him a sod hut. He had water, food, and shelter. Maktaz would be able to finish the summer in relative comfort. He smiled. And the chiefs would never know.
Chapter 40: Unexpected Help
In spite of the weight of this Ordeal that seemed to have settled more heavily on his shoulders with every mile they rode, Vatar forced himself to walk as straight and tall as possible as Uncle Bion escorted him to the edge of the Forest. He’d decided to wear his tiger skin after all. He might need its warmth in the coming winter. It was big enough to be used as a temporary shelter, if necessary. But he’d send the tiger fang back to his family to keep for him. That wouldn’t be any use to him in the coming months. Just one more thing to carry.
He wished Pa was here for one last goodbye, but Pa was too closely concerned to officiate in the Ordeals. It would have given it an air of favoritism that Vatar couldn’t afford.
Bion stopped and turned to him. “Vatar, once you walk past this line your Ordeal begins. You may not set foot west of the tree line until one year from today. Unless a brother stands forth to share your Ordeal, no Dardani may assist you in any way until then. We will await you here on that day. Good luck, Vatar. May you find favor with the Spirits who judge you.”
Vatar nodded once, not trusting his voice, and stepped forward into the trees. He kept walking without looking back, as straight as the trees and the uneven, rolling ground would permit. He walked until he was sure he was out of sight of the plains. Only then did he stop and sit down on a fallen log. This was as good a place as any. He might as well get started. He would be here for the next year. For now, he would be fine sleeping under the trees. He could build a shelter as the weather cooled. His immediate needs were food and water.
Water first. Vatar looked around him for any clues on where he might find water. Studying the horizon for the small knots of trees that marked waterholes on the plains wasn’t going to work here.
Vatar shivered. It was cooler here in the shade of the trees. The sun’s warmth hardly reached him. Like the missing Spirit of the Lion, even that had been severed from him.
He’d never been this far into the Forest. All the trees looked very much the same. As alike to him as blades of grass on the plains. He looked up. He could make out where the sun was in the sky, but he wouldn’t be able to see the stars when night came. Not clearly, anyway. He was used to finding his way across the plains by landmarks and the location of the sun, moon, and stars. He could get lost in here very easily. Vatar slipped his knife out of its sheath and carved an arrow into the top of the log, pointing back the way he had come. At least he’d be able to find his way back to the plains on the correct day.
With a resigned sigh, he gathered some wood—one thing, at least, that he would have no shortage of—and built a small fire. Besides warmth, the fire would provide a beacon of sorts. Something he could use to find his way back to this spot. Even if he couldn’t see it, he should be able to follow the smell of smoke. It was the best he could do at the moment.
As he built the fire, some creature chittered angrily at him from the surrounding trees. Several times Vatar stopped to look for the source of the noise, but the creature was well hidden in the branches. Whatever it was moved around from tree to tree. Finally, he looked up to see a squirrel-like creature watching him from the end of a low branch. In any case, it was shaped like a squirrel for the most part; it seemed to have a good deal of loose skin on its sides. But it was larger than any squirrel Vatar had ever seen. And it had a mane around its head, almost exactly like the mane of a lion. Vatar ducked instinctively when the creature leaped from the branch, extending all four legs. With its legs stretched out, the folds of loose skin on its sides were pulled taut. The creature glided across to the next tree, almost like an eagle riding the air currents.
“Well, you are a strange creature, aren’t you?” Vatar said, more to hear the sound of a voice, even his own, than anything else. He smiled when the squirrel chittered in response.
Vatar dismissed the strange squirrel from his mind and went to explore his surroundi
ngs. A breeze moved the treetops, but the air was mostly still at ground level. It was full of the musty, earthy smell of moist leaves. Vatar found a stream not too far away. That was good. He would have no trouble finding water.
Food next. He soon realized that he had no idea what plants were edible. Well, he’d brought his long knife and his spear. He also had a bow and a dozen arrows, although he had never been a very good archer. He’d just have to hunt for his food. He could do that.
A rustle in the underbrush indicated some creature nearby. Vatar gripped his spear and set himself to stalk his prey. Fallen leaves rustled around his feet. Vatar froze. This wasn’t going to be the same as hunting on the plains. When he heard no sounds of the prey, whatever it was, running away, he took another step—and trod on a twig that broke with a snap. A flash of brown and a bright white tail was all he saw of the deer he’d been stalking. Vatar let out his breath. Well, no hunter ever caught everything he went after. He’d have better luck the next time.
Or maybe not. By the end of the day, the only thing he’d found was a bush that bore a few bright red berries. Surely the berries would be good to eat. Anyway, it was all he had, so he picked and ate them. After a few wrong turns, he found his way back to the remains of his fire. Just in time. He was struck by a violent stomach ache. He knelt on the ground and vomited back the blood-red berries, but the cramps didn’t ease.
After several dry heaves, Vatar curled on his side and wrapped the tiger skin around himself, too sick to even add more wood to the fire. This wasn’t a very auspicious start to his Ordeal.
He woke to the chittering of the flying squirrel. It was perched on a low branch, right above Vatar’s head, looking down at him. Vatar wasn’t amused. Sleep, at least, had let him forget the cramps and nausea. He sat up, vowing to himself that he would eat no more berries. But he needed to eat something to counteract the remaining queasiness.
The tree directly above him was an oak. That meant acorns. Vatar groaned. He hated acorn paste, but it was bland and it was nourishment. And it was close. He dragged himself up and collected a dozen acorns from the ground under the oak. He found a flat rock that was large enough and a smaller rock that fit his hand and began to grind the acorns into paste. For some reason, this really angered the squirrel, which kept up a constant tirade as he worked. Chittering that stabbed into Vatar’s throbbing head like spikes.
~
Over the next days, Vatar began to think of the strange little squirrel as ‘Chitter’, or sometimes just ‘Chit’. Not because it was a pet—Chit was as much pest as pet. It woke him up with its chittering. And it had an annoying habit of following him around and making noise at just the wrong instant. But, perversely, it felt good—a little less lonely—to have it around and to give it a name. Sometimes, waking up to see that maned face above his, Vatar even felt that the Spirit of the Lion was somehow still watching over him. That was oddly comforting.
But it didn’t change the facts of his existence here in the Forest. At the end of a seven-day, with only one rabbit—an old and stringy rabbit, at that—for the whole period, Vatar knew it was going to be a very long year. He knew it had been seven days because he made a mark on the log every morning to keep track.
He headed off to the stream to refill his water skin. No danger of getting lost on that trek. He knew the way by now. Besides, he’d carved arrows pointing back to his little camp on just about every tree in the vicinity. It was better than a campfire for preventing him from getting lost.
After drinking his fill and bringing the full water skin back to his camp, he sat down to make a sparse and miserable midday meal of coarsely ground acorns. He looked up mid-chew when two men stepped into his camp. He hadn’t heard them approach. Spirits after all? Vatar reached for his knife before he recognized their clothing. Not Spirits. Modgud. He relaxed and opened his mouth to greet them.
The taller one pointed in his direction. “Look, Bron, a Dardani alone in the forest. That’s not something you see every day.”
“No, you don’t, Clev. Must be some sort of test of honor or something,” his companion said.
Clev shrugged. “It could be.”
“Then we’d better not disturb him. We wouldn’t want to risk putting a stain on his honor.” Bron winked in Vatar’s direction.
Clev turned so that he wasn’t looking directly at Vatar. “Yes. But we have business of our own here.”
Bron turned, too. Almost as if they were purposefully not looking at Vatar. “Well, let’s get on with it, then. No need to involve him.”
“He might watch us and learn things about the Forest and how to live here.”
Bron shrugged. “He might. That’s not our look out. He learns what he learns.”
Vatar smiled, catching on. Arcas had said something about finding unexpected help.
For three days, Bron and Clev kept up a constant patter. They built themselves a lean-to shelter, all the while informing each other of the proper way to construct the frame, the importance of choosing the right branches, and how to attach them to the frame.
Then they walked around the area pointing out various trees, shrubs, and other plants. Vatar followed, fascinated.
“Now, those berries,” Clev said, pointing to the berries Vatar had sampled on his first day. “You don’t want to eat those berries raw.”
Bron nodded. “No, you don’t. Bad stomach ache if you eat those raw. But if you cook them in a bit of water. . . “
“And then throw the cooking water away,” Clev added.
“Yes, don’t use the water. But the cooked berries are nice and sweet.”
“Yes, they are. Now this bush,” Clev said, pointing to a different type of shrub, “will have purple berries in about a month.”
“Indeed, and those can be eaten raw,” Bron said.
“Yes. And this tree will have a nice crop of nuts later in the season, too.”
“And the root of this plant is good roasted.”
“Very good,” Clev agreed. “In a pinch, a man can boil the bark of this tree.”
“Yes, it’s tough, but you can make do on it.”
When they came to the stream, Bron and Clev looked up stream and down.
“Now, here you can see where the deer come down to drink at night,” Bron said.
Clev nodded. “Yes. If a man wanted some venison, the thing to do would be to climb this tree right here and wait for the deer to come down.”
“Especially if he had a bow or a spear,” Bron added.
“A man could also make a fish trap, like this,” Clev said, making a trap out of reeds and unnecessarily describing exactly how it was made to Bron. “Then place the trap right over there by that rock.”
Vatar copied Clev as he made the fish trap.
At another place, they found signs of a rabbit warren.
“Now, to catch rabbits,” Clev said, “a man would use a snare. Set it up right by one of these holes and catch a nice juicy rabbit by morning.”
Clev and Bron made a rabbit snare, instructing each other unnecessarily at every step. Once again, Vatar copied them.
On the fourth day, Bron and Clev prepared to leave.
“Now, for a man alone, tigers would be the main problem,” Clev said.
“Yes, but not until winter. They’re deeper in the Forest at this time of year.”
“Yes, that’s true. But when the snows start, a man would want to keep a fire burning close by and stay in his shelter at night.”
“True. And he might mask his scent by using the leaves of that bush over there. They smell really strong.”
“Yes, that would work,” Clev said.
“We’ll leave the shelter up. It’s possible that our business will bring us back this way before winter,” Bron said as he and Clev left.
“Yes. It’s possible.”
In three days, neither man had addressed Vatar directly. In fact, except for their first appearance, both men had steadfastly ignored his presence. But when they left, Vatar had
a shelter, a rabbit snare and a fish trap, and a much better idea of how to survive at least the next few months.
Chapter 41: Brothers
Arcas tightened the straps on the last packsaddle. There was no more reason to stay here and he was anxious to get back to Elaria. Away from the poisonous atmosphere here, too.
Uncle Danar stepped up to his side. “Arcas, I want you to do something for me.”
Arcas turned toward him. “If I can, you know I will.”
“When you get back to Caere, tell Veleus what’s happened. I . . . I promised as payment for my honor-debt in stealing Vatar from him that I’d keep Vatar safe—and let Veleus know if ever I couldn’t.”
Arcas smiled. “You didn’t have to ask. I was already planning to go to Veleus when I got back.” He whistled and two of the Dardani herd dogs ran up, panting, a sturdy brown striped male, and a smaller, faster red-brown female.
“Better send them back,” Uncle Danar said.
Arcas shook his head. “No. I traded for them. They’re coming with me. I’ll need their help to move the herd all the way to Caere by myself.” With another whistle and a gesture, he sent the dogs out to collect the small herd of horses and cattle he’d be taking back to Caere. Despite their short legs, the dogs quickly and efficiently brought the larger animals under control.
“I’d thought of sending someone along to help you with that,” Uncle Danar said. “I . . . can’t leave Lucina right now, but . . .”
“No need. The dogs will do the work. They’ll make good guards at the farm, too. And company for Elaria.”
Uncle Danar nodded. “Fair skies, then.”
~
Arcas dismounted stiffly. It had been a long ride and he’d pushed himself and the herd to get back as quickly as possible. While the dogs held the herd in the pasture, he systematically unsaddled his horse and the pack train, turning each horse into the paddock as he finished. He dumped saddles and loads on the ground. There’d be time to come back and deal with them later.
The Shaman's Curse (Dual Magics Book 1) Page 22
