The Shaman (49 page)

The
opposed armies stood spellbound, staring up unbelieving into the night—until
the Green One, looking down, smiled, raised a hand in blessing, and
disappeared.

Then,
even before his armies could shake off the spell of awe that held them, the
Ulharls screamed and fled, kicking their own warriors aside in their haste to
escape.

Ohaern
came alive. “Stop them! Slay them! Do not close, but hurl spears, shoot arrows!
If they escape, evil and misery shall pursue humankind down through the ages!”

All
the hunters and nomads came to themselves with a roar of alarm and ran to head
off the Ulharls, hurling spears and shooting arrows, even slinging stones. The
giants roared in rage and panic, kicking and hurling the humans aside—but they
were mortal, after all, and vastly outnumbered, for the monsters were fleeing,
too, and the soldiers of Kuru were running back to the safety of their city
walls.

It
was a night of hunting, a night of slaughter, a night of blood—but when it was
over, all but a few of the Ulharls lay dead. Ohaern told off bands of men to
seek them out and armies to follow, to hunt them down, but only two were ever
found—and neither of them was Kadura, eldest of the Ulharls, and their chief.

Without
him, without the Ulharls and the monsters, and having seen their god slain, the
people of Kuru had no more heart to fight. When Ohaern swore a solemn oath to
leave them in peace if they laid down their weapons outside the city and turned
to the worship of Lomallin and the Star-Maker, doing what they could to right
the wrongs they had done in obedience to Ulahane—if they did all that, Ohaern
and his armies would go away and leave them in peace. The city accepted, and
the armies drew back to leave the Kuruites a wide place to pile their weapons.
The heaps grew high, but when the Kuruites had gone back inside their city and
closed the gates behind them, Ohaern’s armies quickly carried away every pike, every
spear, every sword, every shield.

“They
will have kept some within, Ohaern,” Lucoyo warned him.

“Some,
yes,” Ohaern agreed, “but not enough to cause anyone else real grief.”

“Especially
since you have appointed scouts to haunt these hills that ring the city?”

“And
given them spells to call up the Biharu and the African nations. Yes.” Ohaern
nodded. “I think they will abide by the peace, Lucoyo. Perhaps not at once, but
after a few defeats. Yes.”

And
they did—but sooner than Ohaern had expected, for the clan leaders within the
city came out and asked him to tear down Ulahane’s temple. Dariad feared
treachery, so the clan leaders invited him to escort Ohaern with all his
Biharu. Reluctantly, he agreed—and the African shaman and all his warriors held
themselves ready to charge the gate on the instant, should Ohaern call or the
great portals begin to close. They stayed open, though, and Ohaern rode down a
broad boulevard between buildings that towered four and five times a man’s
height, lavish buildings inlaid with enameled tiles and semiprecious stones in
designs sacred to Ulahane—but those designs had already been defaced. Even so,
the hair at the nape of Ohaern’s neck bristled with the feeling that every one
of those hidden weapons was trained on him from the many eyes that watched in
secret from windows and rooftops, or even among the throngs of people who lined
the boulevard, crying out their thanks for mercy. It was hard for the Biharu to
remain stern and glowering under so much gratitude and, yes, flattery, but they
held their ranks, looking down from their camels with their swords in hand.
Never a missile flew, though, nor any soldier leaped to bar their way, and they
rode straight to the wide, wide stairs that led up the giant steps of the
pyramid to Ulahane’s temple on top. There, an old woman stood waiting for them,
and as they came up, she fell on her knees, bowing and crying out, “Thrice
welcome, noble shaman! Thrice welcome, valiant warriors! I am Nilo, an unworthy
priestess of Rahani! I have lived in secret these thirty years, ever fearing
discovery by the priests of Ulahane! Thrice thanks for my life!”

The
shaman in Ohaern recognized her words as true. “Where are the priests who kept
this temple, O Nilo?”

“Crept
away in the night, those who could. Come! I shall show you to those who could
not!”

It
was to Nilo’s credit that she did not gloat over the broken remnants of what
had been Ulahane’s priests. “When the soldiers streamed back into the city last
night,” she told Ohaern, “they came first to this temple to tear the priests
apart in revenge for their betrayal in turning the city to the worship of the
weaker god.”

Dariad
frowned. “That is not the best reason for abandoning a false god. It is not
even a good one.”

“It
shall serve as a beginning, though.” Ohaern turned away to keep his gorge from
rising. “If they come to the worship of Lomallin, perhaps they will discover
good reasons for their faith—or to worship the Star-Maker.”

Dariad
shook his head with certainty. “He would not want them to come to Him only in
order to gain a victory.”

“No,”
Ohaern said judiciously, “but if He loves all His creations, as you have told
me, He will not turn them away, either. Off this pyramid now, all of you! And
you, O Nilo! For I must brew a fearful magic!”

He
danced then, around a fire that he lit himself, and in which he put certain
herbs that Nilo fetched him. The smoke spiraled upward with a sweet aroma as
the shaman turned and leaped about the blaze, singing and chanting until, with
a tiny grating that grew into a huge rumble and a thundering, the temple of the
scarlet god collapsed, falling in on itself till it was nothing but a huge pile
of sand. The Kuruites drew back, moaning and weeping in terror—but Ohaern
turned away from the sight with grim satisfaction. “I do not think they shall
seek to attack their neighbors now, Dariad.”

“No.”
The nomad chieftain stared at the rubble, his eyes huge. “No, I think not.”

“Rule
us, O Shaman!” Nilo fell to her knees, hands uplifted, imploring. “Rule us, O
Dariad! For this people no longer knows the ways of peace!”

Ohaern
stared in surprise, then sadly shook his head. “I have a home to visit, and a
son to care for—if Lomallin leaves me time for it, and has no other tasks.”

Nilo
glanced up at him keenly. “Or Rahani—for I see it is her you truly serve.”

Ohaern
frowned. “You see too much for my comfort.” Then, quickly, “Let Dariad rule,
for he is worthy.”

“I
am not,” the nomad said flatly, “neither worthy nor fit. What know I of a city?”

“Surely
you can learn!”

“But
I have no wish to,” Dariad said simply. “I wish only to go back to my desert
and watch it come alive with moisture, now that Ulahane is dead.”

“But
what shall we do?” Nilo cried, and the clan leaders came up to drop to their
knees and join her, imploring, “How shall we fare, who were raised to war and
cruelty, but are now beaten, aye, and have seen our god fall?”

Dariad
spread his hands. “What can I say to those who have grown all their lives in
cities? I know only the nomads’ law, the herders’ morality! I could only advise
you to return to those truths, that simple code of life and living! I can
counsel you to nothing but that, for I know nothing more.”

The
clan leaders stared, then turned to talk to one another with agitation and
excitement.

Dariad
stared in return. “What have I said?”

“Perhaps
more than you know,” Nilo told him. “If your law is simple and stark, it is so
much the fundament of life that it will hold true in the city as well as in the
desert. Oh, we will need other laws than that, it is true, and soldiers to
enforce them all—but you have given us a beginning. Teach us your law, O Nomad!”

“Come
out to meet our judge, and he shall tell you,” Dariad said slowly.

The
judge did. He told Nilo and the clan leaders the Law of the Star-Maker; he told
them of government by council, with no king or ruler but God, and only a judge
over men in times of peace and a war chief in times of war, both chosen by
acclamation of all who were grown. But when the Biharu left Kuru, a stream of
slaves followed them out to reclaim their freedom and to return to the desert
and steppe from which they had been captured. Kuru lost a third of its
population that day and was no longer crowded. There was time to consider, and
room for virtue.

Dariad
shook his head as they rode away. “They would do best to all leave that
moldering pile of stone and mud and come out into the cleanliness of the
countryside.”

“They
would,” Ohaern agreed, remembering Cashalo, “but they will not. Cities will
always arise where men need to trade, Dariad, so that the surplus of a land
rich in grain can feed the starving mouths of another land lean in foodstuffs,
but rich in amber and tin—and where folk meet to trade, cities will grow. They
can even become a force for good.”

“I
hope it shall be so,” Dariad sighed, “but I shall leave it to you to guide
them, Ohaern. For myself, I could not abide to live so hemmed in.”

Neither
could Ohaern. He suspected that Lucoyo could, and would, gladly—but he was not
about to give him the chance.

The
land was already beginning to show more life as Ohaern and Lucoyo rode with the
Biharu back to their homeland. “Has the drought ended so quickly?” asked
Dariad, looking about him in amazement.

“It
has,” said Ohaern, “for he who caused it and maintained it is dead. The waters
he penned up now flow, and infuse the land with life.”

They
found the truth of that as they came to the summer grazing ground where they
were to meet the women, children, and elders—and found a broad river where
there had only been a long dry gully. The Biharu halted their camels and sat,
staring in amazement.

“How
can it be?” the judge whispered. “This is a desert!”

“No
longer.” Lucoyo grinned. “If you are not wary, O Judge, you shall have hunters
encroaching on your land.”

Dariad
shook his head with certainty. “Not while I live.”

“He
speaks more than he knows,” Ohaern said to the judge, “as usual.” He turned to
Dariad. “You are the hero who slew an Ulharl. None will dare come near the
lands that the people of Dariad claim as their own.”

The
young nomad looked up at him in astonishment, but the judge said, “Come. Even
I, old as I am, long to see my wife again—and the younger men must be frantic.”

The
camels moved as the men rode for the tents of their families, Dariad musing,
trying to adjust to the notion that he was no longer a simple member of the
tribe—but the other young men were eager for the welcome due to heroes.

Playing
children saw them approaching and ran to tell their mothers. The women and
elders came streaming out from their tents, and grinning Biharu slipped down
off their camels to fold their wives in their arms as the elders cheered their
return and children came running to tug at their robes. Ohaern stood back,
watching with pleasure, and a little sadness that deepened to a pang.

Lucoyo
saw and gave him a punch. “Ho, Watcher and Waiter! Do not stand and envy!
Surely these Biharu can find a woman obliging enough to fill your cravings!”

Ohaern
turned to him, puzzled, then smiled, amused. “You know as well as I do, Lucoyo,
that if there is one people who would
not
abuse a woman so, it is the
Biharu.”

“Yes,
I do know,” Lucoyo said sourly, “so there is nothing here for us, O Hunter
Bold. Come! Let us seek out wild game for their victory banquet!”

“Wild
game?” Ohaern stared. “In a
desert?”

“It
is a desert that is greening,” Lucoyo reminded him, “and if the plants are
coming alive, why not the animals that feed on them? There will be fish in that
river, at least, and I doubt the Biharu have ever tasted them!”

They
had not, as it transpired, and they exclaimed with surprise and delight as each
Biharu tasted a fish of his or her own that night. The women were avid to learn
how to cook them, and all were eager to learn how to catch them. But when the
meal was done and they reclined about the great fire in the central area
between the tents, the judge stepped up and called, “Hear, my friends!”

Everyone
instantly fell silent,’ sat up straight and paid close attention to their
leader.

“I
grow old,” the judge said, “and the care of this tribe weighs heavily upon me.
I would pass the days of my old age in ease and tranquility. The time has come
to give over the judging of the Biharu to a man younger than myself—and Dariad
has proved himself in valor, in might of arms, and most of all, in keenness and
fairness of judgment!”

A
massed shout of approval answered him.

“The
choice is yours!” the judge cried. “But it is for me to tell you for whom my
voice will cry, and I will cry for Dariad!”

“Dariad!
Dariad!” Men and women alike shouted.

The
young nomad rose, bemused, shaking his head. “But my friends, I am only a
simple herdsman like yourselves! I know only battle, the care of the herd, and
the Star-Maker’s Law!”

“What
more does a judge need?” the judge countered. “What more, save the ability to
see the truth of an argument, and to see into people’s hearts? You know the
Law, and your eyes are keen!”

“But
I am simple!”

“You
are very intelligent,” Ohaern countered, rising, “and your simplicity is that
of a heart that is at peace with itself, drawing its tranquility from its bond
to your Star-Maker. Who could be more fit to judge quarrels by the Star-Maker’s
Law?”

The
Biharu shouted their approval.

“It
is the service we require of you,” the judge said gently.

“I
shall do whatever my tribe needs of me,” Dariad said instantly, then stared,
surprised at the logic of his own words.