Kim Robinson - Shaman

It was on the second night of that summer’s eight eight festival, during the dancing just after the bonfire flares, when Loon noticed that Elga was not among the women dancers anywhere around the main bonfire. He danced widdershins to be sure, and then wandered back to their camp to find her. Heather was there, the babe and several other of the youngsters with her, but not Elga. He went to ask Heather about it.

Heather scowled in a way that caused Loon’s heart to flutter.

—What? he demanded.

—Find her. Heather glanced at the kids.—Find her, or send Thorn back to me right quick.

—Why? What’s wrong?

—Just go find her. I’ll explain later.

Loon ran off, alarmed by her manner. He quickly circled the main fire again, and all the subsidiary fires, and then the whole circle of encampments. No Elga. He had spotted Thorn with his little pack of shaman friends at one of the smaller fires, and panting now with fear he ran back to him and pulled him aside.

—I can’t find Elga anywhere, and Heather said I should get you.

—What do you mean? He sounded a little drunk.

—Elga! We left the little one with Heather at camp, and went to the dance, and she stopped to talk to somebody, and I kept going around the circle, and after that I didn’t see her for a while, but I thought she was just on the other side of the fire, in the women’s line. Then when I didn’t see her I figured she had gone back to our camp for something, so I went back but she wasn’t there either. And Heather, I don’t know, she didn’t like it.

—Let’s go see what she wants, Thorn said, his brow furrowed.

Heather saw them entering their camp and came right to them.—The girl came from the north, she said to Thorn.—She was a runaway from one of those packs up there. I’m afraid they’ve taken her back.

—Oh, no, Thorn said, voice rich with disgust. He glanced darkly at Loon and said,—Which pack?

—One of the northers. One that doesn’t come to this festival.

—Then why were they here?

—I don’t know, how would I know? Go find Pippiloette, and Schist, see what they say.

Thorn took Loon by the shoulder, squeezing it hard.—Go find Schist and Ibex, and your friends. Get everyone back here. Tell them I said we’ve got a problem.

Loon ran off toward the big fires, and in short order found Schist and Ibex and gave them the news. Within a fist they were all regathered at their camp’s little fire. Thorn came back with Pippiloette in tow, and the traveler sat next to the fire with them, warming his hands and watching the Wolf pack discuss their situation. He took a bag of water from Sage and drank from it, then splashed some of it over his face, shaking his head as if trying to clear the festival out of it. The noise of the crowd around the bonfires didn’t help any of them with that.

It suddenly became clear to Loon that Schist and Ibex, but also Hawk and Moss and Nevermind, had no desire to go after Elga.

—We have to save her! he exclaimed when he saw this.—We can’t let them do it!

—Be quiet, Schist told him.—This isn’t your decision to make.

—We do need to defend ourselves, Thorn pointed out.—Word will get around if we don’t.

—She was a runaway. She wasn’t ours, she just came.

—We let her in, Heather said.—You don’t get to decide that. She’s been ours all winter, and she helped us get through it, and she’s married to Loon and has his baby. So don’t talk about her that way.

Schist took heed of Heather’s black withering look and extended a hand.—All right, but she was a runaway from another pack, you said. And we don’t know where she is now.

—And you want to keep dancing, Heather said contemptuously.

Schist glared at her. No doubt he wanted to silence her, but he knew that trying to silence Heather often splashed back on one. No one could lay curses like Heather, not even Thorn. This was not the moment for that kind of scene. And he had not become the leader of their pack without a quick sense of what they needed.

So now he sat down next to Pippiloette.—Do you know who they are?

—Maybe. I don’t know for sure who took her. But I’ve heard the stories about where she came from, and if those are the people who took her, I know who they are.

—Are they a big pack?

—Northern packs are usually bigger than southern ones.

—Could you track them?

—Maybe. Depends if they’ve gone straight home or not.

—Why wouldn’t they?

Pippiloette stared at him.

Schist got to his feet and looked into the fire. He spoke without looking at Loon.

—We can’t go running off to the north after a woman. We just barely made it through this spring, we’re still weak, and we need to be here finishing our caribou, and getting back to Cedar Salmon River in time for the run, and putting enough together to give the Ravens something in return for what they gave us. We don’t have the food or the strength for a chase. That’s just the way it is. We can’t do it. Maybe next year we can steal her back.

Loon left the fire. He stood outside the light of it, on a low rise above the festival. The drumming around the big fire pounded inside him. He was numb; he couldn’t take it in. He understood what was happening, he sensed the enormity of it, but it was so big and sudden he couldn’t feel it yet. He was stunned in the way he had been once after running straight into a tree while looking behind himself as he ran. He had never done that again; he knew the truth of the saying Watch where you’re going. Now the buzzing in him suddenly resolved to a quick clutch of nausea, and he put his hands to his knees and hung his head for a while.

Pippiloette left their camp, and Loon took off after him. He made sure to catch up to him well away from camp.

—Pippi! I need your help!

—What do you mean? the traveler asked carefully.

—Can you show me where those northers live? And which way they go to get there?

—I could show you that, Pippiloette allowed.—But look, youth. I don’t want to take on the northers. It won’t be easy to steal your woman back from them, especially on your own. And a second person is no help either.

—I’ll do it, Loon said.—Just show me where they are, and you can leave.

Pippiloette frowned.—I will leave, he said after a long pause.—Understand that. You’ll be on your own. I’ll be headed east.

—Fine, I understand. That’s good enough. I wouldn’t expect any more.

—I should hope not.

The summer nights up on the steppe were so short that by the time Pippiloette had made his enquiries with friends around the festival, the eastern sky was growing light. Loon hurried past the bonfires and slipped back into their camp and sat down next to Heather, who was hunched over, drowsing by the little one’s bed. She started awake and sat up to look at him.

—I’m going after her, he said.

She hissed.—I don’t think you can do it on your own.

—I’m going. Take care of the baby. I’ll be careful.

—You’d better be, she said darkly.—And you’ll have to be more than that. It will take trickery, and patience. Go in by night when you get your chance.

—I will.

Suddenly she reached out and clutched his arm.—I don’t think you should go.

—I have to.

And he took off in the predawn gray to meet Pippiloette.