Shaman (8 page)

“The spirits told you,” he repeated.

Pa-Lili waggled her head. “There is one other reason,” she admitted. “We liked you better.” She put her face close to his and lowered her voice. “Do you know what Tsar-Bar reminded us of? There is a small animal in the northern forests that likes to suck Pa-Kai blood. That is what he reminded us of.” She shivered and made several gestures of distaste.

Rhys laughed and walked with her to the Tanaka shuttle's passenger ramp.

“It has been good to know you, Reeslooelen,” she told him, her violet eyes misting. “You will come back?”

Rhys looked around and saw a fair land inhabited by fair people. A veritable Paradise. “You couldn't keep me away. I have a vacation coming up. I think I'd like to spend it here.”

Pa-Lili nodded. “I would be pleased. And you will bring me books of Human Magic?”

Rhys smiled. “I'll translate them myself. But I don't expect you'll learn anything from them you don't already know.”

“Oh,” said Pa-Lili, making a wise face, “one learns new tricks from unexpected teachers.”

“One does, indeed.”

“You know,” she said, eyeing him judiciously, “you are a very good Shaman. Your routines are a little dull, but your Magic is very sound, very colorful. When you come back, I will teach you how to present your case more eloquently. Your gestures are pretty good, but your capers and twirls could use some work.”

Rhys bowed, nearly sweeping the ground with his head-dress. “I would be honored to receive your (excellent) instruction.” He straightened, then, and gave Pa-Lili's bony frame a solid hug. She responded so enthusiastically, she left him winded.

Later, in his cabin, as the shuttle sped toward Jamal, he chuckled over Pa-Lili's parting shot. He'd definitely have to work on those capers. He tried one, nearly upended in the diminished gravity and laughed, feeling quite as light within as without.

He took off his cape and head-dress and folded them away in a below-bunk receptacle, then stood, feeling the spirit bag thump lightly against his breast bone. He grinned, hefting its insubstantial weight in one hand. Pa-Lili was right, you did learn new tricks from unexpected teachers.

He pulled the little pocket of fabric open and emptied its contents into the palm of his hand. A shred of bright but brown-stained material and a tooth gleamed under the cabin's sham-sun lighting. Both went into a tiny, wooden fetish box which, in turn, Rhys tucked into an inside pocket of his sporran.

The spirit bag stayed where it was, on its long, vivid necklace. In Human company he might tuck it away beneath the fabric of modern life, but he would keep it next to his heart. He was a good Shaman.

He relaxed on the bunk and wondered how Vladimir Zarber was weathering his homeward flight.
Maybe
, he thought,
maybe someday I'll tell him what happened to his tooth...

Ray Bradbury (without whom I would probably not be a writer of science fiction and fantasy) has said that science fiction, far from being escapist, allows us to work out in projected futures problems that are with us today. The ownership of a hunk of land—whether it be a planet, a country, an oil field, or a graveyard plot—can lie at the heart of our biggest problems because we experience place as an element of identity. History is littered with our failures when it comes to resolving these place-identity issues—something that's bothered me for a long time. What if, I wondered, the success of negotiating such difficult waters required that we literally walk in the other guy's shoes?

It was her second week on Velvet, and Danetta Price still couldn't take her eyes from the largest window of whatever room she was in. Just now, she was in the living room of the colonial Governor's suite, waiting for him to dress for dinner. An afternoon of successful trade negotiations had left her in a mellow mood perfect for enjoying spectacular views. And this view was spectacular. Beyond the curving window, the broad main avenue of Haifa stretched to the sharp boundary between town and country, punctuated by the golden glow of gravlamps floating serenely along its length. Its buildings stood, gleaming and gemlike, in a setting Sun—colors few Earth cities had seen shimmering in full light, muting in shadow. And beyond the buildings, Velvet.

Greens almost too vivid to be appreciated by the human eye vibrated in field and furrow, hill and vale. The sky overhead was a furious shade of blue-violet, its hues more penetrating than the skies of Earth even at mid-day. It was always populated by at least a handful of large, dark blue-gray clouds. Currently, some snuggled up against the distant western mountains the colonists had dubbed the “Great Smokies.” They were heavy clouds—rolling up to a place and exuding mist the way a fat, gray cat exudes love while rubbing against its favorite pair of legs. They were beautiful.

Beautiful, too, was the dark, fertile soil of Velvet. It ranged from oxide red through a color almost burgundy, to the richest, nightest black Danetta Price had ever seen. That, and the eternally twilight sky and those leaden puffs of cloud, contrived to make everything green look extraordinarily green. This contributed to the overall effect that you were living in a velvet painting—hence, the popular name, Velvet. Danetta sighed aloud as the Sun (Bronte, by name) sank to the horizon, pulling in its palette of colors.

“Addictive, isn't it?” asked a warm voice behind her. Danetta turned. Governor Joseph Bekwe stood in the doorway, straightening his neck-scarf and tucking one end fashionably back over the collar of his shirt.

She answered the smile in his eyes and nodded. “I can't seem to stop staring out of windows. It's almost a relief when the Sun goes down.”

“You'll have to take some holo-cubes back to Earth with you to remember us by,” he said.

Danetta's eyes went back to the window where Bronte was icing the clouds with flame, using up some left-over golds and oranges. She didn't want to think of going home—going back to Earth, she corrected herself. She wasn't honestly sure she thought of it as home anymore. She had no family there and she traveled so much that no place was home—or even like it. She had to allow that Velvet wielded a stronger magic than any place she'd yet visited.

Magic—that's what Rhys Llewellyn would call it. The thought of her eccentric chief negotiator made her smile.

“A penny for them,” said the governor, moving into the room.

“I was just thinking how Rhys would react to this world. It's almost as colorful as he is.”

“Rhys? Oh, yes. Llewellyn—the Scottish gentleman, isn't it? The one who wears full Highland regalia to the conference table? Llewellyn is a Welsh name, though, isn't it?”

Danetta nodded. “His mother was Welsh, and his Scottish father, a McCrae, took her surname when they married. Something in the nature of a family feud, as I understand it. Suffice it to say, the rebel McCrae and the rest of his clan are not on speaking terms... You know, I'm half tempted to tell Rhys to get his kilt out here and enjoy the scenery, but he'd just end up out in the hills with your archaeologists, digging up some choice ruins.”

Governor Bekwe chuckled. “Well, unfortunately, ruins are in short supply here. A thing which our archaeologists bewail at every opportunity. Now,” he put an arm around her and patted her shoulder. “You've been most patient and kind and I shall reward you with a five-star dinner.”

“Deal,” said Danetta and broadened her smile, reminding herself that she was accruing more reasons to linger on Velvet than could be accounted for by the scenery.

They were nearly out the door when the governor's housecomp chimed and informed him that he had an urgent call. He grimaced apologetically and excused himself to answer it. When he returned, the expression on his face made Danetta suspect her five-star dinner was a lost cause. His words confirmed it.

“There's been a rather... urgent development. I'm afraid...” He spread his hands in a gesture of regret.

“I understand. Occupational hazard. Nothing serious, I hope.”

He found his shoes of sudden interest. “Unfortunately, it is... rather serious. And not something I can discuss, I'm afraid. Look, Danetta, I'd like this to be a postponement, not a cancellation.”

Danetta smiled. “Definitely not a cancellation.”

He looked at her just a little more intently than one human being usually looks at another, and Danetta was pleased that her heart could still do somersaults after so many sedentary years.

Her hotel was close; she declined Joseph's offer of a cab ride and strolled the pale, sequined walkways instead. There were other people on the street—colonists and early tourists alike. She could see that tourism was going to be an important industry on this beautiful world. She took a deep breath of the temperate night air. By God, it even smelled vibrant.

Her aide, Astrid Henke, was surprised to see her, but allowed that an early turn-in might benefit the morrow's negotiations. With that in mind, Danetta took Astrid's hint, ordered from room service, and retired.

o0o

There were no negotiations the next morning. Danetta Price awoke to a call from the governor's office saying that due to unforeseen circumstances, all officers involved with the trade talks were otherwise occupied.

“That was it?” She stared at the columnar holo-display with vague disbelief.

Governor Bekwe's aide, her face frozen in a tight smile, faded from view.

Danetta turned to her own aide, a mild frown creasing her forehead. “No explanation whatsoever,” she observed. “Curiouser and curiouser.”

Astrid smiled. “And I'd say the White Rabbit, there, was a might rattled by it all, wouldn't you?”

“Well, she certainly didn't look comfortable.” Danetta fluffed her sleep disheveled hair and sighed. “Looks like we've got us a free day in Wonderland, my dear. How about a leisurely breakfast?”

“Sounds ripping. Why don't you shower down? You look like somebody's lost spaniel.”

“Thank you so much,” murmured Danetta and shuffled off to the bathroom.

To a more caste-conscious corporate CEO, sarcasm on the part of a subordinate was not to be tolerated, no matter how good-natured it might be. But Danetta Price was not an average CEO and Astrid Henke, her Chief Executive Aide of many years, was no average subordinate. In fact, Danetta, who had been a renegade among Tanaka Corp's officers since she had been among Tanaka Corp's officers, found it difficult to think of Astrid as a subordinate at all. She was more than aide-de-camp. She was congenial companion, friend, fashion consultant, and nanny. Danetta was quick to admit she often consulted Astrid on business and political matters as well.

They got along so well, Astrid said, because they were of an age, blonde, equally attractive, and were drawn to completely different types of men.

They walked to breakfast. Everyone walked in Haifa. Danetta assumed it was because you could see the scenery much better on foot and keep it in sight for longer periods of time... without causing any road accidents. Even indoors, people were loathe to leave the outdoors, and windows had assumed a singular importance. They were uniformly large, unobstructed, and often ornately framed, bringing the landscape into the interior decor. The restaurant they chose for breakfast was no exception. The entire eastern wall of the dining room was a panel of seamless glazine. From the fifth floor of a shopping complex, it looked out on the stunning flank of Mount Carmel and her receding train of taller sisters.

Danetta and Astrid, lazing over breakfast with their eyes glued to that sweep of nature, sighed in close harmony, then laughed.

Danetta shook her head. “I'd feel absolutely idiotic if everybody else wasn't ogling the scenery, too. Look at that. How does a mountain get to be that exquisite shade of purple?” She gestured languidly at the uneven crests marching toward the horizon. She could just see the paler violet veins of snow along the rough peaks.

“I don't know,” said Astrid, “but if I had eyes that color, I'd be dangerous.”

Danetta sighed. “I suppose I ought to have you set up some business meetings for me today.”

“Gosh. As if you can't think of anything better to do with a free day?”

“I'm open to suggestion.”

“All right. Let's be tourists. There's a wavetram that runs up to Carmel. And we can visit the museum—you have to be able to tell Professor L you visited the museum.”

Danetta had to admit, Astrid's plan sounded a heck of a lot better than hers. She grinned. “Tourism, it is.”

Their tour took in Haifa and the lower slopes of Mount Carmel, depositing them, at mid-afternoon, in the settlement's museum. The native artifacts were few but fascinating, particularly the artwork.

“How did they achieve this effect?”

Danetta was studying a large, squarish shard of a material that could have been either ceramic or metal. It was black. Solid black, she would have said, but it was not quite solid. It had a peculiar sheen to it—a depth of field that made her suspect that if she poked a finger into it, nothing would stop the thrust.

Then there were the colors. They were part of the black; they moved through it kinetically, tugging the eye with a tease of blue, a hint of sunset, a shimmer of Velvet green. But trying to focus on the color brought about a frustration of the senses. The directed eye saw only black, while the rainbow of hues skittered temptingly out of the way, to linger just on the edge of sight.

The museum guide, himself a member of an archeological team, grinned as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Quite honestly, Ms. Price, I can't tell you about the medium. We're not even certain about the exact makeup of the base material. And the coating process is an absolute mystery.” His eyes said that was just fine, that he loved mysteries, that he wouldn't have it any other way. He took the tile from its shoulder-high pedestal and held it out to her. “Here, hold it for a moment. Tell me what you think.”