The Shaman's Curse (Dual Magics Book 1) (22 page)

Vatar looked around the square. The rain had stopped
sometime during the night, but the dark thunderheads still threatened. The sun
was barely up somewhere beyond those clouds and already a crowd had started to
gather in the square. Soon the whole tribe would be milling around.
Looks
like Maktaz got his wish. Whether the chiefs want it or not, there’s going to
be a tribal council. Wish I knew how I was going to handle this.
He
swallowed hard.
Maybe Pa was right after all.

Vatar stood in the shadows while the crowd muttered, working
themselves up. Pa and the other chiefs ranged themselves on one side of the
square. There was little point in their trying to control the mob at this
point.

Maktaz shuffled into the center of the square, dragging his
right leg and his right arm held unnaturally stiff at his side. He raised his
voice to be heard above the crowd. “Can there be any doubt now that Vatar has
been possessed by a very powerful Evil Spirit?”

A large portion of the crowd muttered in agreement.

Challenge him.
The thought floated into Vatar’s mind
as if from somewhere else. It was what he wanted to do. But how? A personal
challenge was impossible among the Dardani. No. There was one way to challenge
Maktaz directly. All he had to do was maneuver his way to the challenge. He
could do that. Cestus’s training had prepared him well to face Maktaz on his
own terms. Vatar squared his shoulders and took a step forward.

Arcas grabbed his arm. “What are you going to do?”

“Two can play at this game,” Vatar answered. He shook off
his cousin’s hand and stepped in front of the chiefs.

“I am not possessed. I know no more of that ball of light
than any of you. It frightened me, too.”

“You are indeed possessed by an Evil Spirit! It was that
Spirit that conjured that ball of fire,” Maktaz said, his voice growing
stronger.

Vatar stared right back at the shaman. “That ball appeared
between the two of us, Maktaz. If one of us conjured it, it wasn’t me.”

At this, there was a gasp from the surrounding crowd.

Vatar could read Maktaz’s expression as the temper of the
mob started to slip away from him.
Time to press that advantage.
“Was I
possessed, Maktaz, when I forged the weapons that killed the tigers two years
ago?”

Maktaz’s eyes narrowed. “No, the Spirit possessed you the
following winter.”

One side of Vatar’s mouth twitched up. “Ah! That’s
convenient. I’m only possessed when it suits you. Tell me, Maktaz, why would
this Evil Spirit not have taken me the first year I was in Caere? I was equally
unprotected then, perhaps more.”

“Because . . . because you opened yourself to it when you
brought its kin here,” Maktaz said, clearly scrambling for an answer.

“It’s kin?” Vatar’s brow furrowed as if in confusion. “Are
you referring to Boreala and Cestus? Boreala who saved Mother and my little
brother Fenar, who tended a dozen or more of you,” Vatar gestured to the crowd,
“during the tiger attacks? And Cestus, who taught the young men how to defeat
the tigers? Maktaz, if they are in league with Evil Spirits, they surely have
an unusual way of showing it. How do you explain that?”

The people were moving, now. The Lion and Horse Clans stood
unanimously behind the chiefs and Vatar, along with most of the Eagle Clan and
even a few of the Raven Clan, including Avaza. But the Bear and Wolf Clans and
many of the Raven Clan moved to stand behind Maktaz.

Maktaz didn’t immediately answer, so Vatar pressed harder.

“I was not the one who tried to send twenty young men to
their deaths hunting the tigers. I made the weapons that gave us victory. And
whose Clan was it that brought the tigers all the way out here to Zeda, where
they could endanger the whole tribe? As I recall, they followed the Raven Clan
onto the plains.”

Vatar watched Maktaz carefully when he said that. He had
never said it to another Dardani, but he had long believed Maktaz was somehow
responsible for bringing the tigers to Zeda. He was rewarded by seeing Maktaz
wince at being reminded. But that only enraged the shaman more.

Maktaz found his voice again in his outrage. “You accuse me?
You dare?”

“I do,” Vatar answered simply, standing tall.

There was a shocked silence all around the square.

Vatar took one step forward. “I have often heard it said,
Maktaz, that an Evil Spirit withers the body it inhabits. I am not withered.
What of you?”

This raised another gasp from the crowd. There was a long
moment of stunned silence.

Then one of the Wolf Clan men stepped forward behind Maktaz.
“Well, I’m not staying here as long as
he’s
here.” He pointed at Vatar.
“I won’t risk my family. We leave Zeda tomorrow if he stays.”

There was a roar of approval from the group gathered behind
Maktaz.

“The Wolf Clan always were superstitious,” Pa muttered from
behind Vatar.

“No!” Vatar said loudly enough to quiet the crowd. “I will
not have the Clans divided over me.”

Maktaz’s evil grin returned. “There is a way to prove
yourself to them.”

“Yes, there is.” Vatar smiled too. “A very old, time-honored
way when two men accuse each other and neither can persuade the tribe. I will
submit,” there was an audible gasp from Mother at this point, but Vatar
continued as if he hadn’t heard her, “to an Ordeal to prove myself—if Maktaz
also submits to an Ordeal to prove himself.”

It was a challenge that could not be refused. To refuse the
Ordeal was to admit guilt.

“And since Maktaz stands as one of the accused,” Vatar
continued, “the chiefs shall set the Ordeals.”

Maktaz’s grin faded. But murmurs and then roars of agreement
sounded from both sides of the square.

The eldest chief stepped forward. “It is a just suggestion.
And what I would have expected from the son of a chief and a hero of the tribe.
The chiefs will confer tonight. The Ordeals will be announced at sunrise.”

As the crowd dispersed, Maktaz stepped very close to Vatar.
“It’s worth it, if I can get you at the same time,” he hissed.

“Good. Because I feel the same way, Maktaz. If I can rid the
tribe of your poison, it will be worth it.”

Maktaz turned to limp away as Pa and Mother approached.

“That was brilliant, Vatar!” Pa said.

Mother put her hand to her throat. “Yes. But I wish you’d
let us know what you planned. My heart nearly failed me for a moment there at
the end when I thought you were going to submit to an exorcism.”

Vatar shrugged. “I’m sorry, Mother. I really didn’t know
what I was going to do until I got out there and faced him.”

Pa put an arm around Vatar’s shoulders. “Ordeals are a serious
matter. The chiefs cannot make this easy for you. The people will expect a true
Ordeal.”

Vatar nodded. “I know that. I don’t want you to soften it
for me. If it’s easy, it won’t be convincing. Then we’ll be right back here
again. This is the best chance we have to put an end to this once and for all.”

Vatar stepped into the center of the square shortly before
sunrise. There was already a crowd gathering. Maktaz pushed through
them—walking more normally, Vatar noticed—and stepped up to stand a little
apart from Vatar. As the first rays of sunrise broke over the horizon, the
chiefs walked out into the square. Vatar braced himself.

The eldest chief of the Horse Clan stepped forward. “The
chiefs have decided. Vatar, your Ordeal will be a year in the Forest.”

Vatar heard the gasps from around the square. Dardani
universally considered the Forest to be the abode of Evil Spirits, a place very
much to be avoided. Well, Maktaz apparently couldn’t recognize an Evil
Spirit—or the absence of one—when he stood right next to it. Maybe there
weren’t any such things as Evil Spirits. Maybe not all the things he’d been
taught from early childhood were true. Vatar knew the totem Spirits existed.
He’d felt the Spirit of the Lion. Probably there were other Spirits. But . . .
were they necessarily evil? And did they have any more power than the totem
Spirits? The Spirit of the Lion couldn’t be used to do more than sense the
presence of lions and maybe know if they were hunting or resting. Why would he
believe any other Spirit could do more than the Lion, which was acknowledged to
be one of the strongest of the totems? Likely he should be more worried about
tigers than Spirits.

Vatar nodded his acceptance of the Ordeal. It was harsh, but
he was strong. He believed he could survive it.

“Maktaz, your Ordeal will be a year in the Northern
Wilderness,” the old chief said.

Maktaz nodded stiffly.

“You have seven days to prepare yourselves. Then each of you
will be escorted to the place of your Ordeal.”

Vatar turned to leave the square.
One seven-day. So
little time. He needed to prepare, but there was not enough time to spend with
those he loved. His children would be talking like little Fenar by the time he
returned.
His family surrounded him.

Arcas kept looking back at Maktaz. “I don’t like the way
he’s smiling. He’s up to something.”

Vatar half turned to him. “Who?”

Arcas shook his head. “Maktaz. He’s up to something. I could
see it on his face. But what?”

Vatar shrugged although a chill had settled in the pit of
his stomach. “I don’t see what he can do now. He can’t refuse the Ordeal. He’s
already accepted it.”

Arcas shook his head. “I don’t trust him. He’ll wriggle out
of it if he can. But how?” Arcas looked back over his shoulder and saw several
people clustered around the shaman. Among them were some of the parents of the
boys who would be due for their manhood tests this summer. “Of course!” Arcas
stopped suddenly. “That’s how he thinks he can get out of it!”

“What?” Vatar asked.

Arcas turned to him. “Don’t you see? He thinks the tribe
can’t do without him. That they’ll force him to back out of the Ordeal.”

Pa followed Arcas’s gaze. “He could be right. It doesn’t
help that he’s never chosen or trained a successor. That’s been worrying the chiefs
for some time as his fits have gotten worse. There’s no one to take his place.”

“Well, I can fix that,” Arcas said. “I know where to find a
spare shaman.” His eyes narrowed. “It’ll take me three days to get there and
three days back. That doesn’t leave much time. If I ride up the Valley of the
Smokes, I should be able to get there and back in time. I need a couple of fast
horses, though.”

“Where are you going?” Mother asked.

“To the Modgud. To cut off Maktaz’s escape.”

Pa grasped it first. “For a replacement shaman.”

Arcas nodded.

“Good man! Fair skies!” Pa said.

~

Vatar woke to Pa’s prodding. He blinked in the darkness.
Today’s
the day. So soon!
“It’s not dawn yet, is it?”

Pa’s face was grim. “No. But you must come with me now,
son.”

Vatar sat up, whispering so as not to wake up the twins.
“Why?”

Pa drew in a deep breath. “You have to be severed from the
Clan before you can start the Ordeal. While you’re gone, you aren’t one of us.
When you return, we will bring you back into the Clan again. After you prove
yourself. That’s the way an Ordeal works.”

Vatar pulled away from Pa’s hand. “Severed?” Vatar’s voice
was louder than he intended. He glanced to the side to be sure he hadn’t waked
the twins. “I don’t want to be severed from the Clan. If I’m not Lion Clan, I’m
not Dardani. Don’t take that away from me!” His voice was still too loud and
Zavar turned over restlessly and put his thumb in his mouth.

Pa clamped his mouth shut and gestured to the door. Vatar
bit his lip and nodded, following Pa out into the morning chill.

“We don’t have a choice in this, Vatar. You will be Lion
Clan again. But not while you are on Ordeal. If it helps, Maktaz is also being
severed from all of the Totem Spirits. Arcas got back with the Modgud shaman
last night. He’s being adopted into the Raven Clan and accepted by all of the
other totems, so he can serve in Maktaz’s place until this is over.” One side
of Pa’s mouth quirked up. “Maktaz doesn’t know about him, yet.”

Vatar hardly heard the last part. Spots drifted across his
vision at the thought of being severed from his Clan. He drew in a deep breath,
trying to force down the fear. He should have anticipated this. It was
ridiculous that he was more afraid of being cut off from his Clan, from his
image of his own identity, than he was of spending a year alone in the Forest.
When he had steadied himself, he nodded and allowed Pa to lead him to the
Clan’s main hut.

Another young man, a stranger to Vatar, was there when they
arrived, receiving the acceptance of the Lion totem. Must be the new Modgud
shaman. Vatar watched the man’s face as he put his hand in the lion’s mouth and
knew that he had been made part of the Spirit of the Lion. Jealousy burned in
his chest as he watched the other man receive what was about to be taken from Vatar.

The eldest chief approached. He took a handful of some
substance from a small pot and reached towards Vatar’s bare chest.

Vatar pulled away. “What’s that?”

“It’s a stain. It will cover your tattoos,” the old man said
gently.

Vatar forced himself to stand still and allow the stain to
be smeared over the symbol of his identity, of his membership and belonging.
More than a blacksmith—more than a son, brother, father—Vatar thought of
himself as Dardani and Lion Clan. Those tattoos symbolized that identity. And
now they were hidden, cancelled.

Pa led Vatar up to the totem, just as he had done five years
ago, when Vatar was made part of the Lion Clan. Vatar looked at the totem
carving carefully, memorizing it. It had been realistically carved from tawny
wood. The mane was made of grasses, dyed darker and carefully woven into the
wood. And the teeth were carved from pieces of bone.

The eyes were polished stones that looked exactly like a
real lion’s eyes. As before, the eyes seemed to look at him, weighing him.
This, too, was the very symbol of his belonging and of his identity.

“Place your hand in its mouth, Vatar,” Danar prompted.

Vatar raised his hand, but paused, reluctant to take this
step.

The Modgud shaman spoke quietly to him. “Your totem will be
waiting for your return.”

Vatar looked up to see sympathy and understanding in the
other man’s eyes. Somehow, his calm assurance helped. “Thank you . . . I don’t
know your name.”

The young man smiled. “I’m Trev.”

“Thank you, Trev. I’m Vatar.” Then he added defiantly, “I am
Vatar of the Lion Clan of the Dardani.”

Trev smiled and stepped closer. He spoke so low that only
Vatar could hear him. “No ritual can completely cut you off from your totem, if
you hold the Spirit of the Lion in your heart.”

“It won’t change anything?” Vatar asked, surprised by the
desperation in his own voice.

Trev cocked his head to one side. “You will undoubtedly feel
a difference.” His eyes narrowed as he studied Vatar. “But you will not be
entirely alone.”

Vatar nodded once. He stepped forward and placed his hand in
the mouth of the carving. At first, nothing seemed to happen. He dimly
remembered the sensation he had felt when he had done this before he received
his Clan Mark. Slowly, almost reluctantly, the same sensation moved down, from
him to the totem. Vatar closed his eyes to keep the nascent tears from showing
and allowed Pa to lead him away.

Vatar left the Lion Clan main hut in a daze. He felt somehow
lessened, cut off from a part of himself. It was a very disquieting feeling,
especially when he thought of what lay ahead. He’d need all his strength to
survive the coming year. Then
something
seemed to flow in and fill the
aching hole. Not the same, but offering strength and comfort all the same.
Vatar squared his shoulders. He could do this. He had to.

He looked up and blinked at the hint of light on the eastern
horizon.
It’s almost time.

“I’ll wake Zavar and Savara so you can say goodbye,” Pa
said.

Vatar shook his head. “No. Let them sleep. I said goodbye last
night. This isn’t what I want them to remember, if I don’t return.”

Pa nodded, but he gripped Vatar’s arms, forcing him to meet
his eyes. “You
will
return, Vatar. And you will be reunited with the
Spirit of the Lion. You have to believe that.”

Vatar bit the inside of his lip and nodded.

Mother came out of the hut, carrying the pack Vatar had
prepared last night. She had his tunic over one arm. Behind her, Arcas carried
Vatar’s spear. It was the same spear he’d used in the tiger hunt, just fixed to
a shorter shaft. A long horseman’s lance would be no use to him in the Forest.
And Kiara stood beside him with another bundle that looked like the tiger skin.

Last night, Vatar had thought of marching to the square
bare-chested, displaying his tattoos in defiance. Now his tattoos were hidden,
that seemed worse than a hollow gesture. He nodded his thanks, not trusting his
voice, and pulled the tunic over his head.

Arcas held the spear out. Vatar nodded and took it. He
cleared his throat before he tried to speak. “Tell Father I won’t be coming
back to Caere this winter. But I’ll see him again in a year.”

Arcas nodded. He smiled slyly and looked around before
saying, “You might find help you don’t expect in the Forest. The Modgud know
how to live there. It
can
be done.”

Vatar turned to Kiara. Her trembling lip almost broke his
resolve to appear brave, in spite of everything. She held out his tiger skin
and the fang. He jerked his chin up. He hadn’t worn the tooth often after that
first year, but it was almost as good a reminder to his tribe of what he’d
already done for them as his tattoos. Maybe better, in some ways. Let them
remember that he’d been acclaimed a hero of the tribe as he marched out. He
smiled and tied the thong around his neck. He pushed the tiger skin back to
Kiara. “You keep that for me, eh? It’s heavy to carry through the Forest.”

“Wear it, Vatar,” Mother said. “Today at least. Give them a
show to remember and chew on over the winter. You can send it back with Bion if
you don’t want to take it into the Forest.”

Vatar nodded and knelt down to allow Kiara to tie the
massive front paws around his neck.

When she’d finished, she hugged him, sniffling into his
shoulder. “I wish you’d let me come with you. Brothers are allowed to share an
Ordeal. I don’t know why a sister can’t to. I could help you.”

Vatar pulled her close. “I know you could.” He held her at
arms’ length so he could look in her eyes. “But there’s something I need more.
I need you to help look after Zavar and Savara for me. Will you do that?”

Kiara nodded.

Vatar stood and hugged them all. Then he squared his
shoulders, lifted his chin, and strode into the square just as the sun rose
above the horizon.

Maktaz arrived a moment later from the other side of the village.
The eldest chief stepped forward again. “It is time. An escort is ready to take
each of you to the appointed place. Once you reach your destinations and the
Ordeals begin, no Dardani may assist you in any way. Unless a brother stands
forth to share your Ordeal. May the Spirits judge you rightly.”

Vatar looked aside at Kiara, but she bit her lip and
remained silent.

Maktaz smiled. “I very much regret that my duties as shaman
will not permit me to follow through with this Ordeal. It is hard not to be
able to prove myself. But I cannot leave the Dardani people unprotected.”
Though Maktaz tried to infuse regret into his words, he couldn’t quite hide the
triumph in his voice.

“Fortunately, you can go prove your honor with a clear
conscience,” the old chief replied, smiling too. “Our friends, the Modgud, have
agreed to send one of their young men, fully-trained as a shaman, to stand in
your place. They have also agreed to train two young men of the Raven Clan in
the event you do not return.”

Maktaz’s smile faded. Vatar, watching closely, saw the alarm
and panic in his opponent’s eyes. Somehow, they had kept Trev’s arrival and
purpose from Maktaz until this moment. It was clear that the chiefs were
enjoying Maktaz discomfiture. A small victory, but something to carry with him
into the coming lonely winter.

Vatar turned to go, flanked by Pa and Arcas. He strode
toward his escort. As he approached, he realized that, in addition to a chief
from each clan, his escort consisted of all of the young men who had been part
of the tiger hunt. In unison, they dipped their spears—the spears he had made
for them—as he passed. He swallowed hard at this show of support. It meant a
great deal to him at that moment. He mustn’t break down in front of them. He
had to show himself worthy of their support and tribute—and return victorious.