They pitched camp after sunset, Culaehra and the gnomes dragging together a shelter and kindling a campfire while Kitishane hunted and Illbane stood guard—over Culaehra. As he watched he took up bits of wood and whittled, his huge knife very much in evidence.
When the wild pig had been shot and roasted, they ate with their knives, and the others were surprised that Illbane let Culaehra keep his. As they ate, Illbane told them of distant lands he had seen and the strange folk who lived in them. Their eyes shone as they listened, all except Culaehra's. Then, when the fire was banked and each person had rolled up in whatever cover they had, Illbane went aside, sitting alone and brooding— though in clear sight of Culaehra, and not so far from him that he could not leap beside him in seconds.
Yocote looked up and saw the old man sitting alone, frowned at him for a few minutes, then with sudden resolution threw off his covering of leaves and came slowly to the stump where Illbane sat. He stood still for a while before the old man turned to him, nodding. “Good evening, Yocote.”
“Good evening, Illbane.” As if they had not been traveling together all day! The gnome clenched and unclenched his hands, his face growing darker, eyes glowing in the night.
“What troubles you?” Illbane asked.
Yocote stood poised a moment longer; then the words erupted. “You are a wizard, are you not?”
Illbane regarded him, a faint smile curving his moustache, and nodded gravely. “I can work magic, yes—though I am more properly a shaman than a wizard, or was. I have learned much besides shaman lore since then, and am now more a sage than a mage.”
Yocote frowned. “Mage? What sort of word is that?”
“A made-up one,” Illbane told him. “The proper word is 'magus.' “
“What is a 'magus'?”
“A priest in the Land Between the Rivers. If you speak of more than one, call them 'magi.' They read the stars to foretell the future and the wills of their gods.”
“Do they work magic?”
“Yes, but not my sort. I began as a shaman, and my magic is built on that.”
The gnome stood trembling, then burst out, “Could I be a shaman, too?”
Illbane sat studying the little man for a time, then said slowly, “I cannot tell. Certainly you could learn some magic, at least a few simple spells, and being a gnome, you could probably learn more than most men.”
Yocote hung his head. “I have very weak magical powers, even for a gnome.”
“Perhaps,” Illbane allowed, “or perhaps your gifts are different from those of most gnomes.”
Yocote looked up with sudden hope.
“ 'Perhaps,' I said,” Illbane cautioned. “It may be, or it may not I must watch you for a time. If you have the makings of a shaman within you, I will know it.”
“How will you know it?”
“By certain signs.” Illbane frowned, irritated. “One is a great curiosity about the world all around us—one might almost say an intrusive curiosity, perhaps to the point of plaguing those about you.”
Yocote took the hint and shied back.
“But another is a sense of balance, which is the core of politeness,” Illbane said, relenting. “A shaman has an inborn feeling of the world about him, its objects and the forces that reside in them, as well as the forces that reside only in oneself—though few ever think to put it in those terms before they learn shaman's lore. They simply know”
Yocote's shoulders sagged. “I have no such sense.”
“Perhaps not—but perhaps so. You would not know it, if you have had it all your life, for you do not know how folk without it feel.” He pointed his staff at the glow of the banked fire. “Why does it burn?”
Yocote turned, puzzled at so obvious a question. “Why, because it breathes air and eats wood.”
“If you can say 'breathes' and 'eats,' you may have the sense I speak of,” Illbane told him. “Most folk would not even mention the air.”
“Not mention?” Yocote turned back, incredulous. “Everyone knows that you smother a fire by heaping dirt upon it, or drown it by throwing water on it!”
“Yes, but they never think why it goes out—they only know that if you heap earth or pour water, it will.” Illbane smiled. “There still is hope, Yocote. I cannot say that you do have the shaman's gift—but I cannot say that you do not, either. Sleep now—or, like the fire, your energy will flicker out in tomorrow's march.”
“I will.” The gnome's eyes were wide in the darkness, seeing more than Culaehra could have, perhaps as much as Illbane did. “Thank you, sage—for hope.”
“You are welcome. But remember!” Illbane held up a forefinger. “A woman will not necessarily love a man simply because he is a shaman!”
Yocote went back to his bed, deep in thought, and covered himself in leaves again. Illbane watched, a half smile on his lips, and was amazed to feel the faint sting of tears trying to invade his eyes. He blinked against them, and the thought soared from him: Ah, Rahani! There are still folk of good heart upon this earth! What might I not do with this brute Culaehra, if he had half the goodness of this gnome?
It seemed that the night wind brought him answer, that owl calls and leave-rustling formed into words, and that the breeze itself wafted sentences to his ear.
Chapter 5
The night spoke, saying, There is that much good in Culaehra and more, though it is hidden.
Was it Rahani who had spoken, or his own deeper thoughts, not yet surfaced as words in his mind? Are you certain, beloved? For surely, a man who beats small folk and women for pleasure must be the scum of the earth!
Again, the words breathed in his ears—or were they there inside his head? The scum of the earth is composed of lichens, which breathe out the good air that sustains the greatest beasts. Even so depraved a specimen as Culaehra can be salvaged from the mold into which he has slumped, and the good within him freed to shine forth. Then his strength and his courage can be fashioned into the determination and qualities that make a hero among men.
If you say it, Illbane thought with a sigh. But if there is hidden good in Culaehra, then there is hidden goodness within all men and women.
But Rahani rebuked him sharply. Not all, O Sage. Most, perhaps, but by no means all.
What man would be so foolish as to argue with a goddess? Soothed by this contact with Rahani, the sage Illbane—who was, of course, really Ohaern—let her reassuring presence within his mind lull him into the trance that served him as well as sleep serves most men. His body was at rest, though it still sat propped against a tree, and his mind at peace, though he still perceived the glow of the campfire and the slowly breathing forms of his companions. They seemed distant, like a painting upon a cavern wall lit by the reflection of firelight. He heard owls call, saw a bat swoop low over the fire, heard a night bird cry—then saw Culaehra rise in the middle of the night. He brought his consciousness closer to the surface as the big man came cat-footed through the night to stoop, frowning, to peer into the sage's unblinking eyes. Still Ohaern sat motionless, waiting, wondering how much courage the man had—and Culaehra raised a huge fist. But as he swung, Ohaern's staff leaped up to block, then whipped about to crack into Culaehra's head. Without even crying out, Culaehra slumped to lie unconscious at Ohaern's feet—and the sage, satisfied that the rogue had enough courage to attack a sleeping man, but assured that he would not have so much bravery again, let himself sink back into the stillness that refreshed his mind and soul.
When sunlight dappled the clearing, Ohaern let it warm his body slowly, then began to move his arms and legs in small motions, clenching and unclenching his fists, unpleasantly reminded of his waking in the cavern. When he felt that he could move easily enough again, he rose, being careful to step over the sleeping Culaehra; moved about a little; then straightened and squared his shoulders, ready once more to become Illbane.
“Wake, back-stabber!” He jolted Culaehra with his staff.
The big man stirred and rolled up on one side, blinking
film out of his eyes. Then he closed them, rolling over and growling, “Go away.”
Illbane dug harder with the staff. Culaehra shouted with pain and leaped up, crouched and ready—but he stared into a bearded face with a staff poised beside it, and hesitated.
Illbane waited.
Beyond them, Kitishane and the gnomes sat up, waked by Culaehra's shout.
The big man said, “I had a dream in the night...”
Still Illbane waited.
“I dreamt that I waked and saw you ...” Culaehra's voice ran out as he realized where he stood. He glanced at the ground, but quickly back up at Illbane, not trusting him for a second—then flashed another glance at the watching companions.
“Yes,” Illbane said. “That is where you fell asleep last night.”
Culaehra's eyes widened, and Illbane could almost see the thoughts connecting in his head. If he had fallen asleep there, and waked here, the dream must have been real! “Do you never sleep?” he cried in outraged protest.
“Never, while you are as you are,” Illbane returned. “No, it is not fair at all, is it? That I will never be vulnerable to your treachery. You will have to face me waking, Culaehra, or not at all.” Then his voice snapped like a whip. “Stir up the coals, now, and set a kettle to boiling! We must break our fast!”
Culaehra jumped in surprise. Then his eyes narrowed and he stood glaring at Illbane, tensing himself, working himself up to fight...
Illbane waited, the staff at guard, watching.
There was no overt sign, no slumping of the shoulders or lowering of the head, but he knew when the fight went out, of Culaehra. The big man snarled a curse, but turned to do as he was told—and carefully kept his eyes away, so that he could seem not to notice the staring of the gnomes and the woman.
When breakfast was done, Illbane commanded Culaehra to take up the whole company's baggage, what little of it there was, “For,” said he, “you have a broad back.” The others were astounded that Culaehra only cast Illbane a look of hatred, but obeyed without any other protest. Slowly, Yocote started to bury the fire as Kitishane shouldered her quiver—but Illbane stopped them with a word. They gathered around, and he gave each of the gnomes a curved slab of wood with leather thongs tied to the corners.
“So this is what you were carving!” Yocote held the object up, marveling. “What is it, Illbane? Some sort of mask?”
“But how can we see through such narrow slits?” Lua asked.
“Far better than such huge eyes as yours will see at midday without them,” Illbane said.
Yocote held his up with a cry of delight. “The slits keep out most of the light! We will no longer need to squint!” He tied his goggles on swiftly and nodded. “It works, it works marvelously, Illbane! Thank you, thank you twenty times!”
Lua donned hers more slowly, with Kitishane tying the thongs. “Yes, they are marvelous,” she said. “How can I thank you, Illbane?”
“There is no need,” he told them, “and so small a gift certainly does not oblige you to travel with me, if you do not wish to.”
“We wish to,” Yocote said quickly. Then he glanced at Lua and added, “Or I do, at least...”
“I, too,” she assured him.
Illbane nodded. “You have said you wish to, and you are welcome to do so—but you must understand that there are certain principles we must all agree to if we are to thrive in this wilderness. If you find them too hard, you are free to go—except for this lout.” He shoved Culaehra with his staff. The big man glared at him, but didn't speak.
“What rules are these?” Kitishane asked, feeling somewhat hesitant.
“First, that if you stay with us, you learn what I have to teach,” Illbane said. “There is much Culaehra will have to learn, if he wishes to live, and anyone resisting my teaching will slow him down.”
“Gladly!” Yocote's eyes glowed.
Kitishane, though, frowned and glanced at the captive. “Are we all here because of Culaehra, then?”
“He is why we met,” Illbane replied. He turned to Lua. “Will you learn, gnome-maiden?”
“I will, sir,” she said slowly.
“Good enough, then.” Illbane looked up at Kitishane.
“What will you teach?” she asked.
“Wholeness of mind, heart, and body, and as much of fighting as each can be trusted with—perhaps even some magic, for those who have talent.”
“Gladly!” Her eyes fired.
“What other rules will you lay down?” Yocote asked.
“Not I, so much as the nature of our journeying,” Illbane replied. “If one is in trouble, all must seek to aid—and if all but one are in trouble, that one must aid the others.”
“There is sense in that, for if we do not, we shall all die,” the gnome said. “What else?”
“None of us must steal from another. None must fight with another, save for the practice bouts I will give you—and that will be hard when two disagree, but we must find ways to work out agreements without fighting.” He went on and told them several more rules, each of which made excellent sense; they nodded acceptance.
When he had finished, Illbane nodded with satisfaction. “If you are agreed, then, come with me, and welcome. Let us march.” He started to turn away, but Kitishane stopped him by asking, “Will you not tell us we must obey you?”
Illbane turned back, smiling in amusement. “There is no need to say it, maiden. If it stops being plain for all to see, you will no longer wish to travel with me.” He turned to prod Culaehra with his staff. “Go, wolf's head!” And off he went, driving his captive before him.
The gnomes followed, and Kitishane behind them, more slowly; she found she resented Illbane's words, but even more resented their truth.
Twice during that day Culaehra turned on Illbane. The first time, Illbane came up right next to him—he was never far away, but this time he almost seemed to be taunting the outlaw. Culaehra suddenly threw off the packs and whirled, left fist slamming at Illbane's midriff while his right was drawing his knife.
Illbane took the blow with only a grunt of pain, then clouted Culaehra behind the ear. The big man rocked back, off balance for a moment, and Illbane leaned on his staff while his foot swept out to kick Culaehra's feet from under him. Even as he fell, though, the outlaw turned to slash at his tormentor with the knife. The butt of the staff cracked on his hand as Illbane shouted, “Wood for steel!” Culaehra clamped his jaws shut, and the sage leaned on his staff, saying, “Yes, I can blame you for trying. Now take up your burdens, Culaehra, and march north.”
In absolute silence the outlaw slowly stood, took up his knife and sheathed it, then swung the packs to his back and started off.
Illbane followed, and Yocote caught up beside him, muttering, “You goaded him into that.”
“He learns what he must,” Illbane told him, “and so do you, Yocote. Be glad your school is not as hard as his.”
The second time was in midafternoon, and this time Culaehra deliberately lagged, though to Lua it seemed that his steps dragged with weariness. She hurried up beside Illbane and said, “You must not drive him so hard, sir! He is ready to fall from sheer exhaustion!”
“Do you think so?” Illbane said. “Then watch, Lua—but step farther away from me as you do, please. I do not wish you to be endangered.”
Wide-eyed, Lua stepped away—back to Kitishane, trembling.
“Don't be frightened, little one,” the huntress said. “Any blows he receives, he deserves.”
“Illbane doesn't deserve to be hurt!”
“I wasn't speaking of Illbane,” Kitishane said dryly.
Just then Culaehra did drop, facedown in the grass. Lua cried out and started toward him, but Kitishane caught her shoulder, holding her back.
Illbane stepped over beside the fallen man. “Up, lazybones! We have yet a long way to go before—”
Culaehra jackknifed, his feet sweeping out in a half circle, knocking Illbane's feet out from under him. “Hah! How doe
s it feel when it's done to you, dotard?” Then he threw himself on top of Illbane—but the sage, amazingly, caught him by the front of his shirt and pulled him closer.
“The sage is using his own shirt to choke him!” Yocote cried.
“By all the stars, he is!” Kitishane stared.
Red in the face, Culaehra nonetheless managed to seize the sage by the robe and yank him up, then slam him down. Illbane held him too closely for the outlaw to rise to his knees for better leverage, but he managed to yank the old man up, then fall as heavily as he could. Illbane held on grimly while Culaehra turned magenta, then purple, then finally went limp. Illbane shoved, pushing the inert body off. Lua let out a cry and ran to him—then past him, to kneel by Culaehra.
Yocote wasn't far behind her, but he stopped to help Illbane up—sparing a hate-filled glance for the unconscious man. He forced himself to look back at the sage. “Are you hurt, Illbane?”
“A few bruises, perhaps, but I've many for them to join.” Illbane glanced keenly at the gnome as he came up to his knees. “You are hoping I have killed him, are you not?”
“Would that be so bad?” the gnome returned.
“For him to be dead? Yes, for my purposes. For you to wish him dead? A little bad there, but nothing you can avoid. It would be far worse for you to pretend you do not.”
“It is no fault of his, I suppose, that Lua is once again in love with him.”
“No, and no fault of hers, either, though it is a failing in her that she must seek to remedy. We shall have to help her in that, Yocote.”
The Sage Page 6
