Spirit Walker (5 page)
Authors: David Farland
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #Adventure, #High Tech, #Hard Science Fiction
Tull had bought some plums and a small melon at the market, and he put them in an earthenware jar, then wetted a cloth in the stream and placed the cooling cloth over the jar so that he would have the fruit later in the evening.
He looked out at the sea, still watching the water for sign of a serpent, or sign of the plesiosaur. The gravitational winds were blowing Tull, as if to lift him, and the hair rose on the back of his neck.
For a thousand years great sea serpents had formed an eco-barrier, a living wall of protection, from the beasts in Hotland. But now a plesiosaur had made it across the ocean, and Tull could feel that wall crumbling. He could almost feel himself being borne like a leaf on the wind, and he knew his world would never be the same.
The thought left Tull unsettled, and he felt a need to open himself to this new idea.
In a while, I need to go see the Pwi. Fava will be concerned about her father on his Spirit Walk, and we have two deaths to mourn. But for now.…
He stripped off his bracelets and necklace of colored clam shell, pulled off his long black cotton loincloth with the emblems of the silver wolves sewn into it, and stood in the wind. He let the evening sun shine over every inch of his skin.
He thought of Craal, and felt the shadow of Adjonai to the west, the God of Terror.
Certainly, Adjonai sent the plesiosaur to frighten the Pwi,
Tull thought, and he chuckled, for it was a strangely Pwi thought. He opened himself to the fear he’d felt upon seeing the plesiosaur.
In Hotland Tull had seen gray sixty-foot crocodiles with jaws longer than a man, sailfin carnosaurs that sunned themselves in the shallows in the early morning, duckbills that traveled in herds of thousands along the lakesides and trampled everything in their paths.
The plesiosaur was not much, but it was out of place. It was just the first to come. Tull remembered how Ayuvah had killed the tyrannosaur only a week before, throwing his whole weight against the beast’s belly and then riding the spear down to slit it open. He imagined himself with his spear, fighting such beasts here in Smilodon Bay, and imagined that the fear was blowing through him.
Up in the sky, two great horned dragons soared on the winds, out to sea. They were long-distance hunters, and would ride the wind for hours, intercepting any of the larger reptiles that sought to fly from Hotland.
Neanderthal ears are more sensitive than human ears, and far down the dirt road in Pwi town Tull heard a girl call his name. He pulled on his breechcloth and his bracelets, and walked the trail to the road to see who called him. On the road, a half-mile toward Pwi Town, Fava was running, kicking up small puffs of dust with each step.
“
Tell,
” she shouted. “Father has returned from his Spirit Walk! He is calling for you!”
Belatedly, Tull realized that Chaa had left him. The cold in his belly had drained away, imperceptibly.
Fava shouted again, “Something is wrong!”
Chapter 5: Threads of Iron
Tull ran limping down the road to Fava, and together they hurried to Chaa’s house.
Chaa’s spacious home had a front of red stone, but much of it was merely a cave, excavated into the back of a hill. Well-tanned mammoth hides served as summer doors.
Tull stumbled into the darkness. He was familiar with every twist in the tunnels of the house, but the darkness forced him to halt while his eyes adjusted to the shadows.
Fava pushed him down a winding hallway, guiding him through the dark tunnel as if he were a stranger, her hands almost caressing, in the manner of the Pwi. They soon reached Chaa’s “spell room.”
The room was made of crude walls hewn into the sandstone. Shelves along one wall held dozens of earthen jars filled with ointments and healing oils, while bundles of herbs hung from the ceiling—garlic and lavender, pennyroyal and dried seaweed. Their smell was overwhelming, mixed as it was with the pungent odor of Chaa’s sweat.
He lay on the floor, on the striped hide of a smilodon. He was nearly naked, wearing only a black loincloth and a light-gray vest painted with crows and mice. His legs poked out from under his clothes like oblong brown sticks, and his wife, Zhopila, bent over him, trying to spoon broth down his throat. The room was cool and moist, yet Chaa glistened with sweat.
His yellow hair was chopped off short, and his yellow eyes glittered under his deep brows. As soon as Tull saw Chaa, he knew something was wrong. The Pwi call themselves the “smiling people,” for they are nearly always happy by nature, but Chaa's face was drawn tight with pain and horror.
He looked up at Tull, as if relieved, and then ordered the women, “Leave us, please. Leave us alone. Go outside, far away.”
The women looked at one another, as if unsure what he meant. The Pwi seldom kept secrets from each other, and his request baffled them.
“Please,” Chaa begged, and the women hurried from the house, ran out into the sunlight, far away.
Tull took a seat, cross-legged on the floor, and Chaa stared at him from beneath heavy brows, eyes glittering. Chaa was young for a Spirit Walker, only thirty-five, but his magic had aged him. He was also a very kind man, good to his seven children.
Chaa tried to smile, but his face twisted into a painful mimic of a smile. “Help me sit,” he said. Tull grabbed Chaa’s elbows and pulled him up, leaning him against a pillow.
“Are you ill?” Tull asked.
“Just very weak,” Chaa apologized. “My teacher taught me that ‘A five-day fast is the beginning of power.’ So I starve myself for five days before I take my Spirit Walk, and I drink very little water. It focuses the mind, and brings me close enough to death so I can leave my body, and then walk the paths of the future. Because of this, people think I am something!” He spat the words as if they were bitter herbs from the ceiling above. “But as you shall see, I am nothing! I walk the paths of the future, but the paths branch at every step. I try to guide the Pwi, but how do you guide them when all the paths twist the wrong way? My master always said, ‘Once you take a Spirit Walk, you can never go home.’ Your perceptions are opened, and you see things in a different way. Never has this been more true than tonight.”
Chaa’s chest heaved. He suddenly grew sober, sweat streaming from his face as if the exertion caused him great pain, and said: “In eleven days Scandal the Gourmet will leave to catch his serpents. Go with him. If he is to succeed, you must capture the serpents. Only you. You must take Ayuvah and Little Chaa with you to build the road.”
Tull watched him for a long moment. Catching the serpents did not seem like a big job. It would be like catching guppies in an earthenware jar—except that these guppies were ten feet long with teeth of steel. Still, it seemed that others should be able to help.
Yet one never questioned a Spirit Walker. To do so only angered them. If they answered at all, their answers, half-truths and metaphors, tended to displease.
“Scandal leaves in a week,” Tull said. “You’ve been gone longer than you realize.”
Chaa waved his hand in dismissal. “He plans to leave in a week. He will not leave for eleven days.”
“Are you certain we need to make this journey?” Tull asked.
“I sent my spirit on its walk, and I flew through the ocean, beneath the water, and peered into the greatest depths, searching. There are no serpents in the oceans to the east or south. Deep in the water, a few serpents linger, but the old ones are dying from a plague. Only in the north are there any serpents. I traveled to next summer and saw great lizards swim from Hotland—long-legged running lizards with feet webbed like those of a duck and teeth like those—” he pointed across the room to a small wooden table. A decorative dagger sat on its surface, carved from a six-inch carnosaur tooth; evolution had allowed the creature to grow a tooth that was serrated on the inside for cutting flesh.
Chaa’s eyes widened as he remembered the monsters, but it was not a powerful fear, not like the horror etched in his face. “If you do not bring the serpents, the great lizards will swim across the narrow places of the sea. You must bring the serpents—not only to save this town, but to save many towns. You must learn to catch them alone. If I told you the way, you would try too quickly. You would die in the attempt. The timing is all-important. Yet when the time comes, you must act quickly. And you must act as a man of the Pwi.”
Chaa struggled to lean forward and touched Tull on the chest, almost a caress. “When I entered your body, I felt the pain and hopes of your childhood. I know how you longed for your own death, and the death of your parents. That was a very bad time. But I must tell you, that this day the hope of your childhood has come to pass: Go to your parents’ home. You will find that your father and mother are dead! Leave now!”
Tull leapt to his feet in surprise. He stepped backward, staring at the shaman in horror. He’d expected Chaa to tell of distant dangers, not deaths in his own family.
Chaa urged him. “What I say is true! Go and see!”
Tull stood for an instant, unsure if Chaa were serious, but the sincerity in the Spirit Walker’s words penetrated him like the warmth from a fire. He raced out of the room, limping toward his parents’ home in the human part of town, a few houses down from Moon Dance Inn. As he ran from the house, Fava shouted for Tull to stop, but he kept running. He could not run fast, so Fava ran alongside and began yelling, “
Tche!
”—help—as she kept pace, her tone signifying that she was as mystified as ever.
Tull was not certain what he felt. All through childhood he’d wished his parents dead, and now Chaa said that they had been mysteriously struck down, and he was not sure if he should hope that it was true or if he should feel guilty for wishing it.
Tull had moved away from his parents at thirteen, had built his own home on the outskirts of town. Even when his mother had finally given birth to a second child only a few years ago, Tull seldom went to visit. And then Tull realized that he was not running to learn if his parents were dead, he was running to learn if his little brother Wayan was dead.
Chaa had not said how his parents had been struck down. Tull imagined murderers in the house, and he was glad that Fava was calling the Pwi as they ran.
Perhaps his father had finally done it—killed his mother, killed little Wayan, and then taken his own life. He was that kind of man.
Tull crossed the bridge over Smilodon River, and behind him the astonished Pwi shouted, running like herd animals, the way Pwi always banded together in a crisis. He rushed up the street past old Caree Tech brewing her soap, past Moon Dance Inn, and from there the road curved inland between two steep knolls.
The sun was setting, and creeping shadows shrouded the whole quarter of town in darkness.
Tull’s stomach twisted into a knot and he staggered. Tull’s home held so many dark memories that he was loath to enter this quarter of town, where the kwea of old pain and old fear mingled in powerful, stomach-emptying proportions. Although the Pwi said that Adjonai ruled in Craal, Tull could feel the dark god’s hand even here.
His parents’ front door was not far—fourth house of seven among a row of homes built with common walls. Tull stalked toward it, and his breathing came ragged and heavy, restricted. This home had been a place of captivity for him, and with each step forward he felt that memory growing, as if chains and ropes built around him. The front of the house leaned forward precariously, nearly obscured by broken fish traps, piles of worn furs, barrels of stale salt, scrap metal, and the other junk Tull’s father sold for a living. Within the house Wayan, his three-year-old brother, could be heard shrieking in terror. Tull leapt forward and yanked the door open, thinking to stop a murder in progress.
The house was dim, with only the faintest light shining through scraped-hide windows. An orange cat sat on a crossbeam in the rafters, flicking its tail. Tull’s Neanderthal mother was stooping over the dinner table, a blue rag wrapped around her stringy orange hair. Her face was broad and fleshy, expressionless; her deep-set eyes were empty, like those of a cow that is nearly dead from exhaustion after giving birth. She did not smile like a Pwi. She clumsily spooned soup from a large bowl into a cup, using a regular human dinner spoon rather than a ladle. No Pwi would use such a delicate instrument, unless under force. At such a plodding pace, it would take her several minutes to fill the bowl.
“Where is Wayan?” Tull demanded. He heard an answering shriek out the back door, from the woodshed.
“Wayan?” his mother asked, as if in a dream, fumbling with her spoon. “He’s out back, playing with Jenks.”
A chill shook Tull.
She always does this
, he thought.
She always calls him
Jenks
instead of
your father
at times like this.
Tull recalled how his father had “played” when Tull was young—the petty tortures, the beatings, the bloodied noses. Such things had ended when Tull got old enough to either run away or fight back. But Tull remembered.
He rushed through the back door and into the dim woodshed. Stacks of broken wood encircled a small chopping area. His father, Jenks, a huge barrel of a human with arms as thick as trees, was sitting on a chopping block, laughing. He held the tiny boy Wayan pinned to the ground with one foot, and Wayan shrieked, trying to free himself. The family’s big black mastiff hunched over the child, greedily licking soup from the boy’s face.
Wayan struggled to push the dog back, but Jenks roared with laughter and shouted, “Come ahead. Eat your dinner, boy!” and poured more soup onto Wayan’s face. The dog, confused and hungry, ignored Wayan’s efforts at escape and lapped at the soup.
Wayan shouted, “Tull, save me!”
Tull rushed forward and kicked at the dog, but it jumped away. Tull snatched Wayan from beneath his father’s foot, and Wayan clung to Tull madly, then pulled his way up Tull’s arms till he reached his neck, where he dug in like a frightened cat.
“Here now,” Jenks laughed, “What’s this? You're spoiling our fun!”
Tull stopped in surprise. He’d imagined the old man dead on the floor. Only a moment ago he’d felt guilty for wishing it.
“Leave him alone!” Tull said evenly. The cold anger that seethed from the bottom of his soul ached for release. He fought it, and the effort made his next words come out like a whimper. “Leave him alone!”
“Or what?” his father laughed. “Or you’ll cry all over me? Or you'll go home and pout for a week? Great God with your yellow teeth, save me from my whimpering son!”
“Just leave him alone!” Tull said, shaking.
“Ah, we were just having fun!” Jenks smiled. “So the boy’s a bit frightened. He’ll laugh about it when he’s a man.”
“He’ll never laugh—” Tull said. “Just as I never laugh.”
Jenks’s face went blank. Tull could see desperation in his father’s eyes. Jenks always wanted to control his children, to force them to love him. “What … what are you saying, boy? Are you mad? What do you imagine I’ve done?”
Give the stupid beast an hour, and he’ll forget what I’ve said
, Tull thought.
That's how it always is. Jenks forgets the ugly words.
Tull looked at Jenks’s barrel chest and thick arms, his cruel, compassionless eyes. Jenks was ugliness incarnate.
“By God, boy, if sneers were spears my ass would be dangling from a pole right now,” Jenks said. “I’m glad to see you’ve inherited some of my spine. Speak up! What have I done?”
“What have you done?” Tull shouted and he wished he’d found his father dead. He wanted to kill him now, and he wondered if that is what Chaa had meant, that he should kill his parents. Instead he turned and slammed his fist into the stone wall. Blood spurted from his fingers as the skin split on his knuckles.
Wayan yelped and burrowed his face into Tull’s armpit. For a moment the whole room swirled in a red haze, and Tull grabbed a stick of wood. His arms ached with small cramps, the desire to strike out, and yet he was afraid to strike, so he only shook the stick at Jenks.
Tull spat his next words, trying to strike a blow as painful as any the stick could deliver: “You want to know what you’ve done? You’ve become the kind of person that even a whore couldn’t love!”
“You ungrateful dog!” Jenks shouted, staggering back in surprise, as if he’d never heard such words before. His arms knotted into cords and his eyes glazed. “Don’t you talk to me like that in my own house! I gave you everything! I’m still man enough to kick the shit out of you!”
“The way you’ll kick the shit out of Wayan?” Tull asked.
Jenks seemed astonished at the accusation. For a moment his anger collapsed in on itself. “Why, uh, I love the boy! I wouldn’t really hurt him. He’s my own flesh! I was just having fun. We were
both
having fun!”
“Oh, you’d hurt him all right. You just wouldn’t kill him. And he wasn’t having fun. You and me—We. Never. Had. Fun!”
Jenks looked around the woodshed as if at a total loss.
Perhaps I’ve done it
, Tull thought.
Perhaps I’ve pierced through that thick skull of his. Maybe he’ll go easier on Wayan than he did on me.
Wayan cringed and began to cry loudly.
I should go now
.