Andre Norton - Gryphon's Eyrie

Hearing Guret’s soft, indrawn breath, I asked, “What does that mean?” I looked from one solemn face to the other, feeling a nameless fear stir coldly within me. “What is a Drummer of Shadows?”

Terlys’s voice was flat—too flat. “By right, the Shaman is entitled to a youth or a maid to serve as assistant. If the Drummer shows aptitude for the Shaman’s work, she may accept her assistant as an apprentice to learn her Craft. If not, the Drummer is released after a year, and another chosen by lot to serve her.”

“What does the Drummer do in this ‘service’ to the Shaman?”

“Whatever Nidu wishes.” Guret’s voice was dull. “Drums to call up the Dream Spirits, those Shadows who give her Power… collects and prepares herbs, sweeps out her tent, walks at her heels, brings her meals… offers blood, spirit, and life for her spellings—”

“We have no proof of that,” snapped Terlys, her obvious unease belying her words. “Tremon was never strong.”

“Which is why he never should have been forced to serve when his lot was picked.” Guret’s mouth thinned to an angry slash. “He was my best friend. Even though I was so much younger, we cared deeply for each other. Then, after the selection, I had to watch him grow even thinner, paler. Many times I asked him what was wrong. Shame was in his eyes—but he was too frightened to answer. Then… he was gone. I know not what happened, what caused his death, but I know that it was wrong . She should not be allowed another selection!”

“Why has she called for one now? How long has it been since Tremon served her?” I asked, putting a hand on Guret’s shoulder, feeling the tenseness of the lad’s body.

“Nigh unto eight years, now.” Terlys answered my second question. “As to why—” She broke off, shrugged. “I know not.”

But I had not missed the quick start Joisan gave, and within my mind I sensed guilt, quickly smothered. “What do you know of her reasons, my lady?”

“Your lady is not responsible, Lord Kerovan!” Terlys’s anger was well leashed, but her words held a quiet warning. She could do naught else but save Janos when he sickened.”

I nodded slowly. “I begin to see. So in saving your little boy, Joisan unwittingly usurped one of Nidu’s duties, thus angering the Shaman—who now feels she must assert her authority by calling for a Drummer to be selected.” I looked over at my lady. “This is an unfortunate turn for us, Joisan, but, as Terlys says, I suppose it could not be helped. Did you try to explain to Nidu that you meant no harm?”

My lady’s eyes held a spark in their depths that I had seen but once or twice before. “In following the tenets of my Craft, I owe apology or explanation to no one, Kerovan. Not even to you, most certainly not to Nidu.” Lifting the flap of the tent, she disappeared therein.

I sighed. “I can see that was not well said. I did not mean to imply that Joisan had done aught wrong…”

Terlys gave a quick nod. “She knows that, Lord, as do I.” She cast a swift glance at the tent. “She will be all right.”

“Has she been well, Terlys?” I asked, and at her swift, inquiring look, I continued. “Her eyes… they look dark-shadowed, as if she is tired. And she seems… different…” I trailed off, uncertain myself of what I wanted to say.

“Joisan is fine, Kerovan,” Terlys said, then smiled suddenly, as though at some private joke. “I had best see to my baking.”

As though Terlys’s words had been a signal, the clash of a gong rang through the afternoon air. I turned, saw each of the young candidates emerging from his or her tent, dressed in their finest riding clothes, carrying weapons. I turned to Guret. “Are you ready?”

“No… I…” He glanced around at the others and several of them called and waved to him. Guret’s expression foretold panic. “What will I—”

I took his arm, began hurrying him back in the direction of his parents’ tent. “Then we have no time to lose!”

After speeding the young man through dressing and donning his weapons, I escorted him to the field that lay to the south of the camp.

The Kioga had set up areas for the young people who were the Festival candidates to demonstrate their expertise with the bow, lance, short spear, and throwing of the knife, both mounted and afoot.

“Stay here, hold your place in the line,” I hissed to Guret, pushing him into the waiting group. “I will bring your horse.”

The lad’s stallion, Vengi, grazed unconcernedly in the western field. Fortunately I had ridden enough with his master that, when I called to him, he came willingly. Hastily I bridled him, then vaulted onto his back. Guret would do well enough without a saddle—many of his people never troubled to use them unless they had packs to transport.

Vengi, in spite of his hard run earlier in the afternoon, was well rested, snorting eagerly as he scented the other mounts, heard the shouts of encouragement from the crowd.

After seeing Guret safely mounted and ready for his trial, I looked up at him, giving him a warrior’s salute. He grinned at me, brushing his dark hair back out of his eyes, before he returned it. “My thanks, m’lord. And when the time comes for me to offer blood and be accepted, will you stand with me? Tremon would have done it, but he…”

I nodded. “I understand. I would be honored.”

As he rode away, I stepped back into the crowd, watching the young men and women. After a few minutes, I felt a hand brush my arm, turned to find Joisan beside me.

Hesitantly I touched her hand, then took it in mine. As we watched the candidates perform, our minds touched. I summoned thoughts:

I am sorry my words hurt you . Her fingers felt small and callused within my own, and her mindsharing was a tiny, warm spark inside me. They were ill considered …

Her answer came swiftly. Think not on it, my lord . You were tired, and have not witnessed … Her mental “voice” faded as her thoughts turned elsewhere, into pathways I would not follow with my so-limited abilities.

Witnessed what? Has aught happened since I left ? I strained my eyes against the lowering sun to watch Guret cast his short spear at a target of horsehide stuffed with hay, then cheered when the barbed head sank true, nearly transfixing the dummy.

… will speak of it later, my husband . I gave a guilty start, realizing my attention had wandered from my lady’s words. But her mindsharing was warm and rich with understanding. The boy… Guret… you have become friends. I am glad …

He is a fine young, man… You should meet his little sister, Nita. She would make you laugh . … In swift mental flashes I told her of the girl’s rescue from the river.

Her mindsharing in return was touched with such admiration and approval that I felt as if I had been praised as a Hero-of-Battles. I raised her hand to my lips, still keeping my eyes fixed on Guret’s marksmanship trial. She did not turn either, but for a butterfly moment, her fingers touched my cheek.

As the sun fired the western plains before dipping beneath them, we gathered for the Ceremony of Acceptance. I stood beside Guret, with his father, Cleon, and his mother, Anga. Jonka and Nidu presided, taking position on either side of an ancient, many-stained horsehide. In her right hand the Shaman held a crescent-shaped blade. Group by group we advanced. Finally it was Guret’s turn. Leaving the rest of us behind, he stepped forward, stood alone.

Jonka’s voice was solemn. “Guret, son of Cleon, son of Anga, do you offer your blood that the Kioga may flourish? Will your life from this day onward be lived as a barrier between any ill and the good of your people?”