In the months following Pilkin’s election as shaman, I contented myself with performing mundane chores. They took my mind off the fact that I was now an orphan and had no one to provide me with daily direction. We had moved camp and we were now well south of the Raso, near one of its tributaries. My mood was often sullen and even Lillatta was steering a clear path. I had not cried since holding my father for the last time just before his death and wondered if there were no more tears in me. I felt I had to occupy my time but did not feel like training. What was the point anymore?
On this day, I sat outside my tent engrossed in the intricacies of weaving a basket, certainly not one of my greater talents. Semral came out of the ceremonial tent and appeared to be looking my way. When I caught his gaze, he walked over and sat across from me. I kept my eyes fixed to my moving fingers, nervous as I manipulated the strands of banton. What possible interest could the hunter have in me?
“I have wanted to talk with you for some time about a matter of importance,” Semral spoke.
I paused to look up at the hunter. His expression was earnest, so I kept my hands still as I waited for him to continue. He seemed uncomfortable speaking to me and people were beginning to stare. The unmarried hunter conversing with a young girl was no doubt a subject for speculation.
“I know it was you who applied the poultice to my wounds,” Semral said, a statement containing no hint of accusation.
I inhaled sharply and felt a stab of fear. Was this it, my lifelong secret about to be exposed?
Semral smiled and said, “Don’t look so worried, Sanyel. I just wanted to thank you for saving my life. You did a remarkable job. I assume it was your father who taught you?”
I nodded, wary over Semral’s line of questioning.
“What did he teach you, some of the healing flowers and such?”
I was not sure where Semral was going with this and did not want to give too much away.
“Yes, I learned some of their uses when I helped him find the herbs and flowers.”
Semral nodded. “I thought as much. I suppose it was inevitable you would gain some understanding just by who your father was. He seemed to be a good man, but—and please excuse the bluntness—he was a bit odd. I remember when he brought you to us, just after you were born, and he spoke to us of some wild tale of prophecy. We laughed it off, of course. A woman as leader or some such thing.”
Semral chuckled.
The old hunter had no idea. He did not realize that Nanki had defied the council and tutored me in everything forbidden by our law. Semral did not know the whole truth, but he knew enough to bring danger to my tent door.
He sensed my unease.
“Don’t worry, Sanyel. I will not tell anyone.”
I exhaled, not realizing I had been holding my breath. The tension eased and my muscles relaxed. I felt I should express my gratitude to the hunter. Semral, however, had more to say.
“I opened my eyes in the woods and saw you leaving, and I gathered it was you who had worked the medicine. I have to say it shocked me that a female had done this. It took me a long time to accept the truth of it. I have always believed in the laws of our ancestors, that sacred knowledge was for men only. Yet seeing what you did for me, how could I not appreciate it? If Ra-ta has allowed this without punishment, who am I to dispute the reasons? So, I am grateful—to Ra-ta and to you.”
I tried again to thank the old hunter for his forbearance, but Semral had more yet to say.
“Certain things still puzzle me. For instance, how was it you were even there, Sanyel? And how did you escape the can-rak? For that matter, how did I escape the beast? You must have seen it all unfold. How did Bratar manage to chase the can-rak away?”
Those were a lot of questions. My mind debated how and to what degree I should answer them. Obviously, I could not reveal my years of shamanic training. Revealing that I had a spirit animal, a can-rak at that, did not seem wise. A woman with a spirit animal and control over it—not to mention countless other animals—would probably not sit well, even with as open-minded a man as Semral seemed to be.
And what about Bratar? Was it time to expose him, or should I keep his cowardice secret and let time and his self-serving actions trip him up. A vision of Bratar stumbling and falling before the porse appeared in my mind. Trip him up. I had to laugh at my own mental choice of words. I decided I would tell Semral some, but not all of what happened.
“I was there hunting the can-rak,” I said matter-of-factly.
Semral raised his eyebrows. I could read his questioning thoughts. Was I joking? I pondered for an instant the wisdom of telling him it was indeed a joke. However, with Nanki gone and weary of toting all these secrets, I grew reckless.
“My father taught me the ways of the hunter and I have gained a fair skill in the use of weapons,” I told the old warrior.
Semral’s eyes grew wide. Sakitan law did not forbid teaching a woman hunting skills, but traditionalists frowned upon it.
“I can handle a spear and my rik-ta can peg a target with accuracy at fifty paces,” I boasted.
Semral scowled and then shook his head, and I realized I had lost him. There was no way anyone could hit a target accurately at fifty paces except through luck, and certainly not a woman. I was making up stories and that Semral would not abide.
“I speak the truth, and I will prove it,” I insisted. “When we finish here, let us go to the woods and I will demonstrate my skill.”
The hunter had no reason to believe me and seemed unwilling to indulge my nonsense. Though reluctant, he agreed to humor me when I pushed him hard to at least let me try. Semral had reached his limit, so I decided not to reveal any more of the truth. I finished up with a lie.
“As for how we both escaped the can-rak, it must have been as Bratar claimed. I arrived after the can-rak left, so I did not witness Bratar’s actions. You’ll have to ask him.”
My explanation satisfied Semral. A sour look crossed his face when I reminded him of our agreement to repair to the woods. He came, but most likely because he felt an obligation to me for saving his life. I grabbed my spear and rik-ta and we sneaked out by following a shallow ravine behind our camp, not wanting to be seen or trailed. Semral examined my weapons in silence as we walked. I sensed his interest in the quality of the workmanship. My father and I had crafted both weapons to be the ultimate warrior’s tools, even to getting the grip and balance in my hand just right, and we had ground the spear tip and rik-ta blade to their deadliest point and edge.
A pleasant breeze rattled the leaves of kansers and bennawood as we entered a forest east of our campsite. These woods were not as dense as the kakkata, thus allowing the bright afternoon sun to penetrate the foliage. The sweet odor of bransa berries mingled discordantly with the pungent foulness of chorka plants. Chirps, whistles, and melodic notes emanated from the heights around us.
A few hundred paces in, where none could witness, we stopped. Semral chose a solitary bennawood to be the target that would surely expose my exaggerated claim of being a weapons master. The hunter scratched a crude circle shoulder-high into the tree bark, and then he stepped out fifty paces in a direction that offered an unobstructed view of the tree. Of course, his fifty paces, due to his greater stride, were longer than if I had paced them off, but that didn’t concern me. I had confidence the extra distance wouldn’t matter.
“Do not be concerned if you miss the mark entirely or do not even reach the tree,” Semral was saying in a patronizing tone. He indicated a spot where I was to stand. “It is an impossible distance for accuracy. Are you sure you want to continue?”
I nodded, and before Semral could even turn to watch the expected pitiful flight of the blade, it whistled past his ear. Moments later, with a dull thud it struck the circle scratched into the distant tree. It was dead center. As my rik-ta quivered in the wood, I observed with keen satisfaction Semral’s mouth dropping open, an
d then heard an exclamation almost too graphic for delicate female ears.
I expected this reaction. Since the killing of the starfen years ago, I had accomplished this throw numerous times. I never missed—ever. My arm was never errant and I had long ago gotten over any surprise. I had mused over the reason, as had my father and Lillatta, but the only explanation we could accept was that Ra-ta himself was guiding my throws. How else to explain it?
Semral stared at me with a baffled expression, an odd mixture of disbelief and awe. I knew the look well. I had experienced it often from Lillatta during our training and even from my father, who had seen everything, but insisted that what I could do was beyond normal.
“How did you . . . How is that possible?” We had moved to the target tree and Semral was examining the evidence of my marksmanship. He brushed his fingers through his graying hair. “It is right in the middle. How is that possible?”
Of course, I did not reveal that it wouldn’t have made a difference if the distance had been even farther, maybe even twice that. Beyond that range, my accuracy was unknown, for I simply had not tried to throw any farther. In truth, even this throw should not have been as forceful as it was, but it seemed that whenever I cocked my arm and then released, the strength behind it was remarkable, almost superhuman.
We spent the rest of the afternoon satisfying Semral’s unending curiosity regarding my other warrior skills. He was almost giddy every time I demonstrated a throw that defied reason or a move he had not seen, and he would ask me to stop and train him on the spot. These advanced moves went beyond the traditional ones my father taught me, the maneuvers all hunters and warriors knew. These were moves and skills I had developed on my own by careful study of body positioning, and others that had come to me instinctively.
This was fun. I had not practiced since my father’s death and the sheer joy of using my muscles, of banging spear shaft to spear shaft, and going knife thrust for thrust with Semral was incredible. Semral was a highly skilled warrior and I was besting him at every turn. I had him on the ground often and he would bounce up, laughing at the ease with which I put him right back down, showing no embarrassment at all.
After about the fourth time I had knocked Semral off his feet, this time using a quick double sweep with the stem of my spear, he lay on the ground heaving with exhaustion. When recovered, he propped himself up on an elbow, shook his head, and spoke.
“I cannot believe I am saying this, but as Ra-ta is my witness, I know with certainty that you, Sanyel, possess skills beyond any warrior I have ever faced.”
Semral’s words astonished me. Such high praise from a warrior so renowned, who had slain many a fierce Raab on the battlefield, was the last thing I expected. The revered hunter was now smiling at me, expecting a response.
“Thank you—uh—for your kind words, Semral,” I managed to say. It seemed a bit inadequate, but it was all I could think to express in the moment.
Semral glanced toward the setting sun. “Come, the light is fading. We should get back to camp.”
As we walked in silence among the trees, only a sliver of Ra-ta remained, and the gloom made it difficult to see. I was still basking in the glow of Semral’s complimentary words when a sudden, high-pitched squeal warned us of the presence of a spartok. I strained to catch sight of the wily, black-skinned beast, and then glimpsed a rapid movement in the foliage ahead of us. The low-built, strong-legged demon burst from concealment in the thicket. Semral and I leaped from its path, he right and I left. The spartok rumbled past, swiping at Semral with its double tusks as it did. With surprising agility the spartok halted, spun around, and then rushed full speed back our way. It set its crazed, bloodthirsty sights on Semral, who had entangled his foot and was struggling to free it from a stubborn root. Flashes of Bratar and the porse came to me. I had no time to find the spartok bone on my bracelet, so I hefted my spear and let fly. The point and the charging beast converged, with the point emerging the victor, catching the creature flush between its feral eyes. The spartok skidded, tearing up soil, and then dropped without as much as a protest squeal. I walked over to yank the lance from its skull and admired the centered hole caused by the perfect strike. I wiped the bloody tip on some kanser leaves. I was aware of Semral’s stare. Even in the dying light, I could see his mouth had dropped open—again.
A crowd gathered as we approached camp. We carried the spartok on a branch pole we had slipped through its bound-together legs. It was pitch dark and campfires dotted the ground. We dropped our burden near the ceremonial tent. Several men and women gave me curious glances, and then gathered around the spartok to admire and comment.
Barkor stumbled out of his tent, followed by his plain-looking wife. Barkor was drinking again, and on this early evening his intoxication showed. He saw Semral and staggered over to ask about the commotion. The crowd backed up to give them room, and I moved back with it. Someone volunteered that Semral had brought down a fair sized spartok in the forest.
Having no desire to see Semral correct that erroneous assumption and give me credit, I spoke up before he could.
“Look what Semral did! He took down the beast with a perfect strike to the head. You see, right there.” I pointed out the hole between the spartok’s glazed eyes.
As the onlookers leaned in to view the damage, I turned to Semral and gave an emphatic shake of my head. Semral seemed puzzled at first, but then comprehension dawned. He understood that I wanted my part in this kept quiet. I knew that others had noticed us arrive together, but I hoped that no one would inquire why.
No such luck.
“Why was Sanyel with you?” someone asked. The query piqued the interest of the gathering, and Barkor was curious as well.
“Sanyel was with you—hunting?” Barkor questioned. The crowd voiced rumblings of surprise, and I was grateful for Semral’s quick thinking.
“No, of course not,” Semral spoke, pretending to be amused by such a ludicrous thought. “I was hunting and she was out picking berries. I did not know she was there until I heard her scream. I came upon a spartok chasing her through the trees. I shouted at the beast to get its attention. When it came after me, I speared it. Sanyel helped me carry it out, that’s all.”
I admired Semral’s ability to think on his feet. His skill at fabrication might even rival Bratar’s. The explanation seemed to satisfy, though I noticed several giving me odd looks. I wondered if perhaps they remembered me talking earlier to Semral by my tent. Then again, perhaps they had noticed me carrying a spear and rik-ta when I came in with the hunter. They did not seem inclined to speak up, so I suppose they felt it wasn’t any of their business—which, it wasn’t.
**
~~EIGHT~~