Kim Robinson - Shaman

She said these last words in a voice so choked and furious that everyone jumped back a little. Loon and the rest of the Wolves were amazed, their eyes wide, mouths agape; they had never heard their Elga say even half as much as this, and never in such a strangled angry voice. But now was the time. Elga who always slipped aside; this time she had gone straight at it. Now she stared around at the crowd, and they could not take their eyes from her. She had won the day.

The ice men had their answers for her, of course. They contested what she had said, and insisted that people had not just been hurt, that a child had died by scalding, a woman too later on. And a house had been torched, and things stolen, and so on. Even without the translator it was clear what they were saying. It was beginning to seem like the two languages being spoken shared more words than anyone had realized until now.

Schist didn’t concede any of their points in any way, but only began to grate out more insults. Then Ibex joined him in that. This began to enrage some of the ice men, and the toad-swollen corroborators turned toward Schist and Ibex; they didn’t like it either. The young Wolf men were not shouting with Schist and Ibex, they were letting their leaders stand to the fore, and this was encouraging more abuse from the ice men, while also making Schist more vehement.

Thorn finally cut in front of Schist and Elga and raised his hand, which held one of Loon’s new pair of snowshoes, tied together with red cords. When silence fell, Thorn said,

The last part of Thorn’s speaking was aimed mainly at the corroborators, who liked being appealed to. They liked it also when Thorn gave them the four pairs of snowshoes to pass along to the northers. Loon and the other Wolves passed them forward, each pair tied together bottom to bottom by red leather cords. Loon found himself holding his breath, as if in the crucial moment of a hunt. He forced himself to breathe.

The corroborators, and the crowd too, were pleased that Thorn and his pack had thought to bring compensation. The ice men were of course still very unhappy, but they were also eyeing the new snowshoes that the corroborators held in the air, interested despite themselves. Their men conferred briefly; it looked like their headman was urging his hotheads to be satisfied. And indeed, when they were done they spoke in low tones to the corroborators’ translators, and those men nodded and spoke briefly among themselves. Their spokesman leaned into the discussion, and after listening for a time nodded with a satisfied expression. He and his helpers took up the four pair of snowshoes and walked with them held overhead to the northers, and gave them to four of the norther men with a ceremonial flourish. Then the spokesman for the corroborators held both his hands overhead, palms out, as he rotated in place and blessed the crowd.

—This matter is settled, he announced loudly.—No more fighting over this, be warned! It’s exile for good to anyone who disturbs the peace about this any more.

—And Elga is ours, Heather added loudly from the center of the Wolves.

—Yes, the festival spokesman said, looking pointedly at the ice men.—The woman Elga belongs to the Wolf pack. Know that, all of you!

Briefly the crowd cheered or howled, then dispersed. Twentytwenty people at least were standing there in the broad meadow, and now they all wanted to trade and dance. It felt good to think they could douse such a fire with words alone. Everyone knew that when packs fought people got hurt, even killed, after which it could go on for years. It was not that uncommon. But not this time. The dispute would give them something to talk about for a while, which was another pleasure, but mostly it was time to forget it and start dancing.

So then the eight eight went on as it always did. The Wolf pack stuck together more than usual, and Loon never left Elga, who never left their camp, so that it was a subdued festival for them. Everyone avoided the jende, and the northers stayed away from the Wolf camp. No one got in any fights. Even the young men who wanted to fight didn’t want to fight there. In the end the jende left two mornings later, without either apologizing or accepting apologies.

So all was well. But Heather scowled when Loon said that to her in the camp, when only she could hear.

—We’re just lucky your shaman was there, she said,—because bad as he is, he’s not as stupid as Schist.

—What?

—It was Schist’s task to make peace, and instead he was throwing fat on the fire. Thorn had to step in and save him. Schist has gone foolish trying to match Thunder and Bluejay, and it’s dangerous to have a fool as your headman. He was never that good, and Ibex is worse. And now Hawk is making him so nervous that he’s worse than ever.

—Hawk?

Heather stared at Loon.—There is a curse on this pack, she muttered to her right hand as she turned away.—All its men are stupid. All but the unspeakable one, and he’s unspeakable.

—I don’t know what you mean, Loon said.

—I know.

Elga laughed at Loon’s stickiness during the rest of the festival, so like Lucky’s all the time, and she looped a long knitted horsehair scarf around all three of their necks to mark their bond. They walked around always together. Part of Loon was giddy with relief, while another part of him was still twisted to a little ball of apprehension, and the two feelings mixing together made him unsteady, a little sick-drunk, even though he drank none of the mash. The gorgeous attire of all the people passing their camp was more than his eye could take in, and everything blurred as if beyond the rising heat of a fire, or in the side vision of a dream. At the big bonfire on the eighth night, he watched the bursts of colored fire that spilled out of the firemasters’ sachets, and looked around at the dancers, and the stars overhead, and it seemed to him that everything was made of banners of colored fire, shimmering in their burn from one moment to the next. He held the scarf running from his neck to Elga’s, felt her tugging him here and there like a child, realized the tug itself meant he was not dreaming, because it was all too much right there tugging at his neck, too real to deny.

On the morning of the last day, he and Elga and Lucky went to the broad sandy bank of the meadow’s river, where there was a group of men in the sun busy at work on their bird’s eye views. As always it was mostly an old man’s game, and the more they had wandered in their lives the better they were at it, and the more interested. It was a traveler’s game. Now a lot of old men, and a few old women, maybe two score in all, were strolling about watching those who were actively making views.