The Shaman (44 page)

“Such
as myself,” Ohaern whispered.

“Such
as yourself,” she confirmed, “though you will meet others when you go up
against Kuru, and have met one or two already.”

Ohaern
suspected she spoke of Dariad. “And is it for this reason that he has gone
among us in disguise—to find those who may act for him?”

“There
is that,” the Ulin woman admitted, “though it is even more because he has far
too soft a heart for his own good, and tries to alleviate the misery that
Ulahane visited upon you humans with his magic.”

“Surely
the Scarlet One could not have objected to such labor!”

“He
objected most strongly! You still do not understand the depth of Ulahane’s
hatred. He may have been Marcoblin’s follower, but when he inherited
leadership, he surpassed his master in every way, most especially in cruelty
and malice. No, he responded to Lomallin’s kindness by imitating Marcoblin and
again outdoing him. He ingratiated himself with Agrapax, then dared him to make
a creature out of a nightmare, and watched while he worked. When the construct
was made, Ulahane went away and set himself to making monsters of his own, and
to breeding them out of living ones.” Her face turned to a mask of loathing and
anger, and Ohaern had to fight to keep himself from shrinking away. “Ulahane
used his magic with gloating cruelty to breed monsters out of humans and
animals together,” she said, “and did not hesitate to use rape, and cutting and
stitching aided by magic, no matter how painful or degrading it may have been.
It was this that persuaded me to work among human folk even as Lomallin
did—though not in his fashion—for I could not let pass the atrocities Ulahane
worked upon human women and females of all races.”

“What
of the other Ulin who remain?”

“The
rest of the few score of us still living,” she said, “whether they be
human-lovers or human-haters, have imitated Agrapax, going off by themselves
where it was safe, to eke out what pleasure they could without danger, refusing
to be drawn into the conflict between Lomallin and Ulahane. Now and then these
lonely Ulin will take a human or two for their own amusement, or for servants
or laborers. Some have even set themselves up as gods—no difficult task, since
human folk think us to be such, anyway—and stir up their own cults to ensure a
steady supply of human services. Like Lomallin and Ulahane and myself, they
have vast powers, when they can be induced to interfere in human affairs—though
they are far more likely to lash out at humanity in jealousy and spite.”

Ohaern
marveled at the notion of an Ulin being jealous of a human—but then, the
younger race had taken the Ulin’s place.

As
he did, even now? He wondered how many Ulin would long to rend him limb from
limb and visit unspeakable tortures upon him, simply for the audacity of
approaching Rahani. “But you, at least, went out to work among us humans.”

“Went
out to you, or brought you here.” She turned a lazy, slumberous gaze upon him. “I
have tasks for you, O Smith.”

“I
shall do them,” he said without a moment’s hesitation—or even a thought as to
whether or not the labors she required would be possible. “Is it you alone of
all the Ulin, then, who work among us humans?”

“Yes,
though I rarely go about in disguise, as Lomallin did. It is too easy for
Ulahane to find me and to counter my power with his own, leaving me to the
mercy of your kind—and some are less than kind indeed.”

Her
face hardened again momentarily, then cleared as he said, very carefully, “You
are truly alone in this, then.”

“Not
while I have you.” She squeezed his hand, smiling again. “But you speak of
Lomallin’s death. Know, O Smith, that his death deprives us only of his body.
His spirit still moves among us—no, do not be so surprised! Even your kind
leave ghosts upon this earth now and then, and certainly an Ulin would, if he
had not sickened of existence. Lomallin has not, for he has work yet to do—and
though his spirit may not perform the work of hands, it is much stronger now
for no longer being lumbered with flesh.”

Ohaern’s
eyes widened. “So
that
is the meaning of the legend!”

“That
is its meaning,” she agreed, “and Ulahane knew it well.”

“Then
for him to dare to slay the Green One ...”

“Means
that he is very sure of victory.” She nodded. “After all, there is a great deal
of the work of hands still to be done. Lomallin’s power may counter Ulahane’s,
but the younger races must themselves counter the strength of the Scarlet One’s
monsters.”

Ohaern
thrust himself up to his feet “I must go, I must gather armies, I must—”

“You
must learn.” She reached up to stay him with a touch. “You cannot yet fight
Ulahane and have even a chance of victory; you must learn magic, that you may
fight with arms and with wizardry both.”

Ohaern
felt despair mushroom within him. “But how can I learn so much, when I must
learn so quickly!”

“I
shall teach you.” The gentle touch became stronger, more demanding. “But first
I wish to be cherished. It has been long, yes, very long, since I have been
worshiped as a goddess should be.”

Ohaern
paid the price of his learning—or was rewarded for the labor of it. If it was a
price, he was glad to pay it, and if it was reward, he reveled in it. But learn
he did, and labor he did. She led him into trances within the trance, and
showed him the richness of the spirit world that had lain about him all his
life, unseen; he saw the faces in the smoke and the wind, heard the voices in
the rocks and the trees, felt and touched the contours of the spirits in the
earth. She made him known to all of them, too, and taught him the words of
power that would bring them, and all who depended on them, to his aid. She also
showed him the malignant spirits and taught him words of power that gave him
dominion over them—except a few who were far too strong, and there she taught
him how to call up beneficent spirits and weave them into a net that could hold
and compel any evil one, a weaving in which they were the woof threads, but he
was the warp. She taught him the virtue of every herb and the poison of every
creature, and the countering of the one with the other; she taught him the
dances and songs and instruments with which malignant spirits could be
commanded or banished, and beneficent spirits summoned and beseeched. She made
the spirit world as much a home to him as the living world—but now and again,
in all these visions, he caught sight of an old man with gray hair and beard,
dressed in black robes and bearing a staff that was intricately carved. Several
times he turned a glance that was fierce and angry on Ohaern before he strode
away into the mists—but she would not tell him who this was, only that he would
know when the time came.

At
last she confronted him with the spirits of the iron and copper and tin to
which he had sung all his years as a smith. Terrible they could be, but gentle
they were by nature, and welcomed him as a friend long known.

But
always and ever, when the day’s work was done, she called him back to her
bower, where duty was privilege and homage was cherishing.

So
there was respect in both of them when at last she took him out beneath the
night sky and bade him go to bring about the downfall of Ulahane.

“But
how shall I induce these strange Ulin, who have gone off by themselves, to move
against Ulahane?” Ohaern asked.

“That
is my task,” she told him. “It is for you to bring the tribes of men against
the city of Kuru and defeat the soldiers of that cesspit.”

“If
you command it, I shall do it,” he averred, “but when it is done, may I return
to you?”

She
gave him a melting smile and reached out to touch. “You have learned how to
walk in the spirit, Ohaern. You may always come to me in that form.”

But
that, he knew with deep-plunging sadness, was not what he had asked of her.
Still, she had only told him what he could do, not what he could not, so there
was yet hope.

She
told him, “Do not be sad, O Smith, though I tell you we will never meet again
until you have brought down Ulahane, for I shall ever be with you—” She touched
his chest over his heart. “—in here.” Then she gave him a last transporting
kiss, turned away, and was gone. The mists folded about her, swayed with her
movements and eddied where she had been, then enfolded Ohaern, caressing him with
her perfume, with currents that seemed a last vagrant touch, then enwrapped him
and chilled him to the bone. He began to shiver, then blinked to dispel the fog
from his eyes—and it dissipated, blowing away. He looked up at the darkened sky
again—and saw that it was not truly the sky, but the ceiling of the cavern,
ghost-lit by moonbeams. Yet it must have been a sky, for across it stars were
falling. He followed their paths and saw that they were truly sparks rising up
from a small fire, a fire whose light played upon the features of a gaunt face
that bore pointed ears, and Ohaern realized that he had come back to the real
world, the world of living men and human women, and though he could not say how
or why, he knew that Lomallin would triumph in the end, but that it would be a
hard fight, a very hard fight.

More,
he understood something about himself now, understood that Rahani would always
be with him in some way, but not only her—his wife Ryl, too, for he had taken
her into his heart, and she would always be there, smiling, and rejoicing that
if she could not care for him, another would. He knew now why he had been so
often morose, and knew that he would never be so again.

Looking
up, he saw Lucoyo watching him anxiously. How thin he had grown! Ohaern moved,
amazed at the stiffness in him, but it was a stiffness that faded even as he
brought a hand up in greeting and said, “Thank you, Lucoyo!” But it came out as
a croak, from a throat long unused and long dry.

The
croak was enough, though; Lucoyo gave a cry of delight and leaped up to clasp
him by the shoulders, crying, “You live! Ohaern, I feared you had died and
would be forever a statue!” Then he instantly shifted to anger. “You idiot, you
death-seeking fool! Cold was your body—and colder your heart, for leaving me so
to fret! You would not drink, you would not eat—you have nearly starved
yourself to death!”

Ohaern
looked down at his body, but saw no lessening in his bulk—though each muscle
and ligament did seem to be only now softening, turning from bonelike hardness
back to flesh. He looked up to smile with great fondness at his friend. “I
cannot thank you enough for having guarded my body throughout this ordeal,
Lucoyo. I assure you, I will be well from now on.”

Another
face rose next to Lucoyo’s, and Ohaern blinked with surprise. “Grakhinox! But
you were to wait for us with the Biharu!”

“We
worried, the Klaja and I, when you did not come back,” the dwerg answered in
his rusty voice. “We had to see that you lived.”

“We?”
Ohaern looked up, and heard a slow, slurring yap from the entrance to the
cavern. Turning his head, he saw the Klaja standing, spear in hand, in the
tunnel mouth.

“He
has guarded us,” Lucoyo said, “not that we seem to have needed it—the
manticores and lamias have not come near, though the Klaja followed our trail
straight to this cave.”

Lucoyo
seemed puzzled, but Ohaern smiled. “It is because the goddess Rahani has taken
us under her protection. She has warded this cavern from the eyes of the Ulharl
and their herds.”

The
Klaja’s breath hissed in sharply, and the dwerg stared— but Lucoyo’s eyes
narrowed. “Why, Smith, how do you know that?”

“Because
she told it to me in a vision,” Ohaern explained. “She told me many things,
Lucoyo, and taught me, too. Call me ‘Smith’ no longer, for she has made a
shaman of me.”

The
dwerg and the Klaja gave cries of mingled fear and delight, but Lucoyo only
said, “ ‘Smith’ you have been to me since I first met you, and ‘Smith’ you
shall be to me always. As to your being a shaman, there is nothing so strange
in that, for I have seen you learning all the magic you could, whenever Manalo
worked a spell.” His face clouded. “Yes, you are a shaman, are you not? For you
have learned the magic of the gods themselves!”

“The
Ulin,” Ohaern corrected. “They are not gods.” Somehow, he had come to see that
the distinction was important.

Lucoyo
was still narrow-eyed. “And why should the goddess do you this boon?”

“Because
I will have need of magic in the work she demands of me,” Ohaern replied.

“I
was afraid of this.” From the look on his face, Lucoyo was apprehensive indeed.
“What work is that?”

“Only
what we had set ourselves to do already,” Ohaern said, his tone reassuring. “To
go up against Kuru.”

“No,
there is more!” the half-elf snapped. “The goddess did not need to make a
shaman of you only to do a warrior’s work. What else?”

“That
is all that we are to do,” Ohaern insisted. “The goddess will do the rest.”

“Which
is?” Lucoyo was liking the sound of this less and less.

Ohaern
sighed, caught by the half-elf’s insistence. “To challenge Ulahane himself and
bring him down, even as he brought down Lomallin.”

The
dwerg cried out, and the Klaja growled, every hair on his neck and scalp
bristling—but Lucoyo only whimpered once before he said, “I had feared as much.
Well, then, O Weapon Forged by the Goddess Herself, O Spear of Rahani, what
shall we do?”

“Rest
a few days.” Ohaern reached out, stretching cautiously. “I have grown stiff and
weak in this trance. How long have I sat thus?”

“Three
weeks,” Lucoyo said in disgust. “I wonder that your joints have not rusted
tight, that there is still flesh on your bones!”

“And
I, that there is flesh on yours!” Ohaern exclaimed, staring. “Oh, my friend! I
did not intend to cause you such hardship!”