Kim Robinson - Shaman

Then he was truly tired. He drank some of Elga’s water, and as they walked up and out of the cave, he put his arms over Moss’s and Elga’s shoulders. His left leg was going numb. Trying to keep him in the cave forever. He ignored it and stumped on up into the day.

The cloudy daylight made him throw his arm across his eyes.

—Mama mia, you really are a mess, Elga observed.—You have mud all over you.

Moss said,—You look like you caught fire and then jumped into a mud pit to put the fire out.

—Yes, Loon said.

After a while his eyes adjusted, and he could stand to look at the world. Down below them spread Loop Meadow. Early summer and the Stone Bison straddling the river. All still there, calm in early morning light. It was cloudy, wind pouring over them. They carried him down to camp.

In camp they washed him off and set him in bed, and Elga took care of him for a day. His feet throbbed as they warmed up. He was thirsty, even though he had already drunk a lot. He was hungry too. And he wanted to see things.

After a day of rest, he went out for a walk.

Looking around their river valley, he saw it all very clearly. He only wanted Elga, he only wanted their days together. They would have a certain number of days, a certain number of years. But he was the shaman now too, no matter what he wanted. In that regard, he would never get out of the cave. And his wander would never end.

He went out with Hawk and Moss on the night of that full moon, sixth of the year, and they walked up to the gorge overlook, as they had so many times before. In the moonlight the air held its usual shimmery awe.

—We should go, Loon said.—Elga told me it’s time. She knows just which ones will go where. Time to be our own pack, and live here at the overlook. You two will guide us, and I’ll be your shaman.

His friends nodded, looking a little uneasy. This was just Loon here, after all. They knew he didn’t have any magic powers. At least he hadn’t in his childhood. Loon saw what they were thinking, and he said,

—I don’t know how I’ll be as a shaman. I’ll find out when I try it. You both know me. You’ve known me since before we even had names. I can’t travel in my dreams, or above the sky. There aren’t any spirits that talk to me or through me. I can’t sing the songs. I can’t help people who are sick. But I’ll tell you this,

and he raised his right forefinger before them and seized them with his eyes:

—I can paint that fucking cave.

Moss and Hawk nodded.—We know, Hawk said.—We saw.

No one else could paint the way he did, Moss told him. The cave was certainly his to take care of. It had been passed along to him from Thorn and Pika, along with the other shaman things. As for the packs, Wolf pack new and old, they could all visit in there together during the ten ten festival, sing the songs and look at the animals in the torchlight, the way they always had. Those were big nights, remembered for years. Those nights would help keep the two packs one, and the nearby packs friendly as before. The Lion pack would surely support them. Loon could definitely lead them through all that. And Thorn’s flute would play the old tunes through Loon. Hawk and Moss could see that in him already; they had heard it; they were sure of it. Maybe there was other shaman’s magic that could be learned later, that the old shamans passed on one to the next. He would find out at the corroborees. Heather could help him too. A way of seeing, a way of being. Cast yourself out into the spaces you breathe, watch what happens.

—All right? said Moss, looking at Hawk.

—All right, Hawk said.

So late the next day Loon went looking for Schist. He found him down by the river. It was the sixth day of the sixth month. The half moon hung overhead in a twilight sky, which on this evening was a rich mineral blue, arcing east to the coming night, roofing the world with its gorgeous span.

—I’m the shaman now, he said to Schist.—Thorn taught me how, and I spoke with him in a dream when I was in the cave. He told me I’m ready. We’ll go into the cave soon, and you’ll all see what we’ve done there.

Schist nodded, watching him closely.—All right. That’s good. We need a shaman.

Loon said,—But look, some of us are going to move upstream to the abri at the Northerly overlook. The pack is getting too large to make it in one camp. You and Hawk keep fighting, and we all see it, and it could get ugly. It’s already a little ugly. But if one of you beats the other up, it will be even worse. And it’s like that among the women too. They are split worse than anyone. So I’m going to move Hawk and Ducky and Moss and Heather and Nevermind and Rose and all their kids down to the new abri. We’ll be close enough to stay together and work together. We’ll all be the Wolf pack still. I’ll still be your shaman too, and I’ll take care of the cave. Heather will still be your herb woman. We’ll keep doing our ceremonies together, like we do now with the Lion and Raven packs. It will mean you can get what you need to live here. You’ll have your kids you’re bringing up, the pack to handle. You can’t do that with Hawk on you all the time. You’ll be better off without that. This is how we’ll do it. The Northerly overlook is a good campsite, we should have put a claim on it a long time ago, made it a Wolf place. Now we’ll do that, and on we’ll go.

All the time he was saying this Schist was glaring at him, jaw muscles bunching and unbunching like a hyena chewing on bones. Loon never flinched, but spoke as peaceably as he could. He felt peaceful. After what had happened in the cave, this kind of thing was really nothing. He could see it all as plain as Schist’s bulging face: things that happened in the light of day, on the surface of Mother Earth, these were very clear and simple things. In this moment he felt like he might stay calm forever.

When he finished, Schist did not at first reply. He stared at Loon’s face as if trying to recognize him, as if he had lost his Loon and was trying to find him in this new person. As he failed at that, he realized he had a different Loon to deal with. Becoming a shaman changed you, of course. Shamans got strange, went crazy. Loon could see all this in Schist’s face. He almost grinned, almost made a shaman’s story face, even a woodsman’s crazy face. A wooden mask with a look to chill.

But he didn’t want to distract Schist, who was now thinking over what this new Loon had said to him. He was a quick thinker, this was why he was the Wolf pack’s headman. He had made a lot of decisions and judgments over the years, and they had not been hungry for most of the winters he had led them, and people had gotten along. It was an achievement. Thorn had respected him.

Now at last he looked away and said,—I’ll have to talk to Thunder about it.

He glared quickly at Loon, as if Loon might scoff at this, or point out that this was precisely Schist’s problem.

But Loon knew better. He merely said,—I’ve already talked it over with Elga, and she’s the one who told me to do this. The women run every pack. We aren’t any different in that.

Schist nodded, his glance surprised and grateful.

Seeing that, Loon added,—Elga said you should get Starry in charge of things as soon as you can.

—Starry is nine years old, Schist said.

—Elga said that doesn’t matter. She said some people are just born ready.

Schist nodded slowly.—All right. You all moving up there could be good. It will make it possible for us to take in the people from Mammoth pack who were asking about joining us. That would be good. But if we do that, we won’t be able to help you if you get in trouble. I mean, we won’t be able to take you back in.