Shaman (4 page)

“A
padachi
,” said Yoshi. She searched the medicine pouch Thuili, Pa-Lili's female apprentice, had given her and came up with what appeared to be a tiny drum with a handle. At the end of the colorfully wrapped handle was what looked like a green glass ball with a grinning mouth. Within the ball was a smaller ball made of some bright, golden metal. “She even showed me how to play it.” Yoshi rolled into a sweet rendition of a soft, dreamy chant.

Rhys smiled, settling comfortably into a lounger to listen. The little piece made him think of hot cider and glowing fireplaces and vivid, soft plaid blankets.

He pulled himself from the drowsy reverie when he realized Yoshi had stopped singing. “That was—that was exquisite. What was it?”

“Thuili called it a
rulurulu
—a cradle charm. They use it to put sick or restless children to sleep.”

The warm wash of his own amazement brought Rhys fully awake. He glanced at Rick, ready to admit laughingly that the charm had certainly worked its magic on him. But his apprentice was fast asleep, curled cozily among the voluminous folds of his chartreuse robes.

Yoshi giggled. “It had the same effect on him when Hi-Pok chanted it today.”

“It did?”

“Well, he didn't fall asleep, but he got pretty dozy.” She handed Rhys the
padachi.
“I guess it's all that late night feasting and dancing we've been doing, huh?” Her face said she wasn't sure she believed that.

“Yeah, I guess that must be it,” agreed Rhys, turning the little drum over in his hands. The little ball-chime sounded musically and Rick stirred, smiled, and cuddled further into his robes.

“Makes me sleepy just looking at him,” yawned Yoshi. “I think I'll turn in. What time tomorrow is Ms. Price due in from Corporate?”

“Uh, sometime in the late afternoon, if she's on schedule.”

“Oh, good. Well, goodnight, sir.”

“Goodnight, Yoshi.”

Rhys got up, wondering if he should wake Rick or let him sleep. In the end, curiosity got the better of him. He crossed the cabin and shook the younger man's shoulder.

“Huh?” Rick blinked, brought his eyes into focus on Rhys's face, then struggled to sit up. “What—?”

“You fell asleep.”

Rick made a disgusted face. “That dratted cradle tune, again.”

“You think it works?”

Rick shrugged, coloring. “It's certainly a relaxing little ditty.”

“Just out of curiosity, what were you thinking about just before you... succumbed?”

The color in Rick's face heightened. “You'll laugh.”

“Only if I was thinking similar thoughts.”

“Well... when I was a kid, my mom would read me books in one of those old flotation chairs. She'd turn the heating unit up just a bit and I'd sit there bobbing up and down in her lap drinking hot chocolate, and in about the middle of the second story...” He shrugged. “She never once let me spill the chocolate.”

Rhys chuckled. “I was having hot cider before a roaring fire wrapped in my favorite blanket.” He looked at the
padachi
again, shaking his head. “Old wives' tales and folk magic—they've done well by humanity for millennia.”

“This isn't the beginning of a lecture on folklore, is it, Prof?”

Rhys caught the look on Rick's face and laughed. “No, Roddy, I'll spare you that. Go ahead and get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”

He picked up Rick's recorder, popped the tiny disk out and slipped it into his sporran, tossing the recorder back to its owner. “See you bright and early, apprentice Roddihalfs.”

o0o

They breakfasted at 0700 hours planetary time in a pleasant glen hard by the shuttle and still dressed in their shipboard “drabs.” Rhys Llewellyn drank five cups of coffee and jotted notes on his pocket pad.

“You look tired, sir,” observed Yoshi, then smiled shyly. “Did the lullaby wear off?”

Rhys shook his head. “I had some preparations to make for the negotiations tomorrow morning.”

“But you have all day to do that, don't you, sir?”

“Today, we'll need to make strategic and physical preparations. I figured I'd get the computer work out of the way last night.”

“What physical preparations?” asked Rick, munching a piece of native fruit.

“We'll need a banner, for one thing.”

“Pardon?”

“Haven't you noticed that whenever a group of Chieftains gathers they each have a Clan banner behind them?”

“I noticed. But we don't have a Clan banner.”

“No. We have a corporate logo. And your job for the day is to see that that logo is put onto a banner. A very colorful banner. There's still a good supply of those OmniClime tarps, which fortunately come in a myriad of bright colors. By the by, there's also the matter of Ms. Price's pallet for the banquet. The Pa-Kai will supply the wooden frame and set it up in the banquet circle, but it's up to our Clan to provide proper ornamentation. Yoshi, you're the ornamentation committee. See if you can determine what the well-turned out Chieftain is supposed to deck his or her self in.”

Yoshi nodded eagerly, her eyes kindling. “I've already got a pretty good idea. It seems to be related to the goods a particular Clan produces... This is fun, sir.”

Rick snorted, whether at Yoshi's comment or the approaching visitor, Rhys wasn't sure.

“Don't look now, but here comes the Count and he doesn't look happy.”

That was an understatement, Rhys decided. Zarber looked incensed. In fact, if smoke had been curling out of his ears, it would have seemed completely natural.

“To what do we owe this pleasant—”

“I have no intention of making this pleasant, Llewellyn,” he said in his most
profundo basso
. “You are a scoundrel; an underhanded, sneaky, spineless individual—”

“Yes, I know what a scoundrel is, thank you,” said Rhys mildly. “How does it apply to me? I thought I was an archetypal nerd.”

“You,” returned Zarber, “have been fraternizing with the natives. Sucking up to that Pa-Kai medicine man all week, putting on your silly costumes, clutching your pouches, dangling your spirit bags. You've been working on a deal behind my back!”

Rhys sat up, his own temper on a sudden rise. “What kind of a half-assed accusation is that?”

“Rather more than half an ass, I think. Neither my assistants nor I have been blind to your dark plottings. You've monopolized not only the Shaman's time, but its apprentices', as well. We haven't been able to get so much as a ten second audience.”

“‘Dark plottings?' Don't be so melodramatic. We're just being friendly and trying to win their respect. There's nothing sneaky about that.”

“You're doing more than being friendly, you're currying favor. You're—”

“And what are you doing with the Eldest in the meantime?” asked Yoshi unexpectedly. “You and your so-called Chieftain have been having teapots with him every morning and bringing him little imported goodies every afternoon.”

“We were invited.”

“So were we. Pa-Lili invited us to fraternize. It's only courteous to accept the invitation.”

“Is that what you call this silly masquerade—this shamanizing nonsense? Courtesy? You're making fools of yourselves.”

Rhys's mouth puckered thoughtfully. “Maybe you're right... but would you like to bet on it?”

Zarber's eyes narrowed, making him look as if he'd just bitten into a lemon (or into someone who'd just eaten one). “What do you know, Llewellyn, hm? What privileged information have you weaseled out of that Pa-Kai wind bag?”

Yoshi gasped. “You're a very rude man,” she told Zarber indignantly. “That's a terrible thing to say about Pa-Lili. She's nice!”

Rhys smothered a laugh. Yoshi reminded him strongly of a certain little girl from Kansas facing down a certain Cowardly Lion. All she needed was to be clutching a little black mongrel. The impression was obviously shared by Zarber.

“Are all of your associates as gullible as Dorothy, here, or is that just an act?” he asked.

“I think Yoshi is right,” said Rhys. “The only wind bag around here is you. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have a lot to do before the negotiations begin tomorrow morning.”

Zarber glared at Rhys, iron-faced. “I'll just bet you do. Well, I can play charades, too, Llewellyn. Probably better than you can.”

“Ooh,” said Rhys, clutching at his collar. “I'm scared.”

Zarber flushed a deep scarlet and left with long, dignified strides.

“If he could arrange to turn that color in front of the Pa-Kai, he might score some points,” observed Rick. “Geez, he's slick. Slick as a wet rock.” He turned an admiring eye on Rhys. “You handled that beautifully, by the way... Are you scared? Of losing this one to the Count, I mean.”

Rhys nodded. “Terrified.”

“I'm not,” said the stalwart Dorothy. “I know you can out-maneuver him, sir.”

Rick snorted. “I just hope he's not better at playing charades than we are.”

“Who's playing charades?” asked Rhys. “I'm not. I hope you're not. And if Zarber is, then he might just sabotage his own position.”

“We could help,” suggested Yoshi. “Just let me get a lock of his hair.”

“Good God, what for?” asked Rick, staring at her.

“Don't you pay any attention to Hi-Pok and Thuilu? You put the hair in the spirit bowl, immerse it in pure water, and lay the curse. Then, you put it in the spirit bag so the spirits will know what to do, and you wear the spirit bag over your heart so you can help direct their efforts. Very simple.”

Rick ogled. “You don't really believe that stuff.”

“Why not? The
rulurulu
worked on you—twice.”

“I was exhausted and the melody was soothing. Big deal.”

Yoshi shrugged. “So, don't believe. Laugh at your ancestors. I'm sure they don't care.”

Rhys watched the exchange with quiet amusement. For all his study of the cultural lore of a thousand civilizations, both major and minor, he'd never come to a definite belief about magic. His own ethnic history was saturated with it—tales of the Druids, the Ancient Ones, the Elements; legends of Merlin (Myrddin to his Gaelic and Welsh speaking forebears), tales of stone circles and moonlit rites of power-dark sorcery. Yet his beliefs were nebulous—much less studied than the dry-paper facts and academic theories that were the meat of the twin fields of Anthropology and Archaeology.

Belief. He believed in a Deity, he knew that. And he'd always supposed that Deity communicated with Its myriad creatures in whatever way was comprehensible to each kind. Magic, spells, prayers (curses, even) could certainly qualify as the creatures' response to that communication. He tried to keep an open mind into which evidence like the effects of the
rulurulu
could freely fall. And, when the evidence hit bottom...

“Come on, Professor. Tell her she's being brain-washed,” Rick was insisting. “She thinks you're going to put a curse on this guy.”

Rhys shook his head. “No, I'm surely not going to do that. That would be... unethical, un-Shamanly... downright scroundrelly. I don't believe in putting curses on people, Yoshi. But I do appreciate the thought.” He stood and stretched. “Okay. Everybody up. We've got work to do.”

o0o

Danetta Price's shuttle arrived about two hours before sunset, setting down gracefully next to the other Tanaka vessel. The first thing she noticed about the small camp set up by the negotiating team was the colorful banner that flapped in the breeze, suspended on the crosspiece of a tall metal pole. It was emblazoned with the same stylized rendering of the Tanaka logo that adorned the two TAS shuttle craft. She admired it briefly, then went to the neighboring shuttle to find Rhys. She didn't find him, but she did find Yoshi Umeki and Rick Halfax going over the Environmental Impact reports in the passenger lounge.

“Ms. Price!” Rick saw her first and rose quickly to greet her. Yoshi followed suit shyly.

“Hello, Roderick, Yoshi.” Danetta shook their hands firmly. “Where's the Professor?”

Rick nodded toward the airlock. “He went over to the village to visit with his buddy, Pa-Lili, and make some last minute arrangements for the feast tonight.”

“His buddy, Pa-Lili?” echoed Danetta.

“The Pa-Kai tribal Shaman and head negotiator,” explained Yoshi.

“Ah, yes. Of course.” Danetta nodded, her eyes falling on a bright pile of fabric draped over one of the loungers. “What are those?”

“Ah, well...” Rick eyed the robes dubiously. “I think we'd better let Dr. Llewellyn explain—”

“Well, speak of the devil—” said Danetta, staring over Rick's shoulder. Then she broke into peals of laughter.

Rhys watched her paroxysms silently from under his crown of orange fingers, his splendid green cape clashing eloquently with purple unitard and multi-hued tartan plaid. “Hello, to you to,” he said cheerfully. “You're just in time for a briefing before the
cielidh
.”

“The what?”

“The party tonight. Ah, well, banquet, I suppose you'd call it, except it's a good deal more than that. There'll be food and song and storytelling—the Pa-Kai are quite good at all that. As good as the old Celts, come to it. But, excuse me for a minute, I have to go clean up. I got a little something on my cape.”

“That looks like blood,” said Yoshi. “You didn't hurt yourself, did you, sir? I have some
quapai
ointment.” She pointed at her medicine pouch, slung over the arm of a side chair.

“Oh, it's not mine. It's poor old Vladimir's.”

Three pairs of eyes assumed saucer-like proportions.

“Oh, sir, you didn't!” breathed Yoshi awfully.

“Good Lord, Rhys,” said Danetta. “I know the man is your arch rival, but—”