The Sage (13 page)

But
Culaehra lay awake, staring with triumph into the night. Signs, were there?
Then he would learn to read them indeed, would learn to see when Illbane was in
good humor and might be pushed or even insulted a little, and when he was in a
fell mood and must be obeyed on the instant! He lay awake awhile longer,
reviewing the day's events in his mind, then the events of the days before,
trying to detect signs that should have told him a blow would be coming at the
slightest infraction—or signs of a good mood that would have led to praise.
And, remembering, he fell asleep.

Sometime
after his breathing had steadied, Kitishane rose, drawing her cloak around her
shoulders, and came to sit by the fire, gazing into the flames. Cloth rustled
next to her, and she started with fright, then saw it was Illbane settling by
her, his staff leaning back over his shoulder, a look of concern, even
gentleness, on his face. “What troubles you, maiden?”

Kitishane
looked away. “I cannot tell, sir. I only know that my heart beats slowly, and
that I feel hollow within my breast.”

“Has
it anything to do with this outlaw?”

Kitishane
looked up at him in surprise, recognizing the feel of rightness within that his
words brought. “I believe it must be. How did you know, sir?”

“Call
me Illbane,” the old man said absently, turning to gaze into the fire. “I know
that young men trouble young women's hearts, maiden, even though there may be
no love between them. Does your heartache stem from my forcing him to strip naked
before you this morning?”

It
was a novel idea. “That may have had something to do with it, si—Illbane.”
Kitishane, too, turned to gaze into the fire. “But I think there is something
more.”

“I
have driven him to confusion, Kitishane, and in those moments of consternation,
he lets us see more deeply into him. Is it that which troubles you?”

“Perhaps
.. . Yes, it lies therein.” Kitishane felt the comment strike home. “Am I so
tenderhearted as that, Illbane, that I melt at the slightest sign that he can
be hurt in his heart?”

“Yes,”
Illbane said at once; and, “I wish you were not, maiden, for he has been hurt,
often and deeply, and that is why he has grown so thick a skin and hidden his
soft heart under a hide of spines.”

“Is
his cruelty, then, nothing but a shield?” she asked, low-voiced.

“No.
His cruelty began because he enjoyed the sense of power it gave him, then grew
because no one punished him for it. Still, he had a sense of fairness—but I
think that something happened when he was very young, something that made him
believe that no one else really tried to deal fairly with him—no, neither him
nor anyone else. Then, convinced that justice and mercy were lies, he had no
reason to hold back from cruelty.”

“Is
that what you are trying to do?” Kitishane stared up at him, unbelieving. “Trying
to show him that someone will really give both justice and mercy?”

“That
is a part of it—but before I can show that I will treat him fairly, I must show
that I do not have to, or he will only believe my justice is a sign of
weakness.”

“And
as it is for justice, it must be ten times so for mercy.” Kitishane frowned. “So
your cruelty to him is necessary?”

“Necessary
for that, and to make it clear to him that there is one who will not permit him
to be cruel to those weaker than himself. There will be time for mercy, and for
more.” Illbane frowned at her. “And yourself, Kitishane—do you believe people
can be fair? Do you believe in justice?”

She
turned away, eyes on the fire again. “Believe in it, yes,” she said slowly, “though
I've more often been treated unfairly than fairly. Still, I've seen other
people given justice, so I know it is possible.”

“But
that the strong will exploit the weak if they can?”

“If
they can, yes.” Some bitterness entered her tone. “Culaehra was no surprise, in
that.”

“Is
that why you learned to fight—and wish to learn to fight better?”

“It
is,” Kitishane said slowly. “I do not want to have to depend on a man for
justice—the more so because I do not believe any man will defend me.”

“You
have been used, then.”

“No,”
Kitishane replied, “but only because I could fight, at least a little.”

“And
because of that, they cast you out?”

Kitishane
whirled to stare at him. “How did you know that?”

“Because
you are here.” Illbane spread his hands. “Here, with Culaehra and Lua and
Yocote and myself. I do not know why the gnomes left their homes, but I suspect
that you will find that Lua fell because of injustice or exploitation, and
Yocote followed her. Then, too, this is a harsh world, maiden, especially out
here in the wild. No one would choose to go about in it alone, not without good
reason—and most especially a young woman who feels the need to learn more about
defending herself.”

Kitishane
flushed and turned away. “I would rather take my chances with a wild bear than
an overbearing boy.”

“The
bear would kill you.”

“Better
death than life-in-death.”

Illbane
concluded that she had not yet seen death, at least not wanton death. “Well,
then, Kitishane, I am glad that you travel with us. We all, it seems, have some
stake in proving that justice is possible, and in helping it triumph.”

“Even
Culaehra?” she asked, looking up again.

“Culaehra
more than any,” Illbane affirmed, “for he has the need to feel justice triumph
within him, whereas we others only feel the need to see it triumph without.” He
smiled gently at her. “I think you see that in him, maiden—and I think that is
what troubles you.”

She
looked into his eyes and, after a moment, began to smile, too. “Not anymore,
Illbane,” she said. “Not anymore.”

Thwack!
went the wand, and Culaehra bolted up, bawling like a calf under the prod. “Be
still, unruly child!” Illbane bellowed. “Up with you, now, and march!”

“March?
Where? Why?” Culaehra cried.

“Where
and why are my concern, runny-nose! Haul up your pack and march!”

“But
it is the middle of the night!”

“Closer
to dawn than that, but deep enough, yes. What troubles you, swaddled babe? Do
you fear the dark?”

“I
fear nothing, you doddering dotard!” Culaehra shouted. “Now be off and let me
sleep!” He turned back to his bed.

Thwack!
The wand struck his legs again. “Up, I tell you!” Illbane cried. “Or shall I
use a stouter stick?” He thrust the wand back in his belt and hefted his staff,
glaring menace.

Culaehra
met his gaze, and they held glare for glare for minutes. Then Culaehra broke
the look, turning away with a snarl to take up his pack.

Illbane
nodded brightly to the others. “This need not trouble you. Go back to sleep; we
shall see you at daybreak.” And off he went into the darkness, driving Culaehra
before him.

They
watched him go, wide-eyed. Finally, Yocote said, “Do I dream it, or is there
actually a tone of humor under Illbane's insults?”

“If
you imagined it, I did, too,” Kitishane told him.

“Could
there be some affection there, even?” Lua asked.

Yocote
frowned. “How could there be?”

Kitishane
thought Lua might have a point. All she said, though, was, “There is no reason
for us to lose sleep over it, friends. Let us find our beds again.”

“Well
said,” Yocote agreed, and they all lay down. But Kitishane lay awake after the
gnomes had begun to breathe deeply and evenly, wondering about Culaehra—and
almost feeling sorry for him.

They
came back at dawn indeed, and Kitishane already had three pheasants turning on
the spit. Culaehra staggered into the camp, dropped the packs, and sat down
heavily by the fire, head hanging, breathing in deep, hoarse gasps. Kitishane
felt sympathy spring and held out a cup of water brewed with herbs. Culaehra
stared at it in surprise, then took it with a nod of thanks—but not, of course,
a word—inhaled its vapors gratefully, then slurped.

“Where
did he take you?” Kitishane asked, keeping her tone gentle.

“Nowhere,”
Culaehra said in disgust. “He drove me onward and onward all night, and would
not tell me where we were going or why. If I dared to protest, there was that
blasted wand, and that accursed staff beside it! Then, as the sky lightened, I
saw your campfire, then finally saw the camp itself!”

Now
Kitishane stared, and the gnomes with her. “Marched half the night only to come
back to where you started?” Yocote asked. “Why?”

“Why?”
Culaehra snarled. “Ask some demon, if you wish—or ask Illbane; it comes to the
same thing!”

Yocote
frowned. “To you, perhaps.” But even he seemed unsure.

Kitishane
frowned, too. “He does nothing without purpose, Culaehra.”

“Oh,
I do not doubt that! But his purpose won't do
me
any good, I assure you!”

Kitishane
eyed him, noticing that in their time with Illbane, Culaehra had lost fat; she
did not doubt he had gained muscle— and surely this was the least unpleasant
conversation they had ever had! He was actually talking to her, not snarling or
blasting orders or shouting. She began to realize what Illbane's purpose might
be—or some of it, anyway.

From
then on Illbane repeated the exercise two or three times a week, always forcing
Culaehra to carry all the baggage with him, never with the same number of days
between, never predictably. Culaehra could never guess when, could only know
that the wand would strike him in the middle of the night with Illbane roaring,
“Up, slugabed!” and they would be off into the darkened wood—or plain, or
mountain. He found himself going to bed already planning to be rousted out in
the middle of the night, and began to take sleep whenever he could, to be ready
for the next midnight excursion. This was fortunate, because Illbane never
allowed Culaehra more than six hours' sleep a night, and frequently only two or
three.

Finally,
when Culaehra was weaving on his feet as he climbed a slope and Illbane struck
him with the wand, Culaehra turned about, dropping the baggage and bawling, “How
am I to manage when I am half asleep on my feet?”

Illbane
stilled, looking up the slope at the big man.

“It
isn't really fair, Illbane,” Kitishane said, softly enough so that she hoped
the outlaw could not hear. “He cannot work for you without sleep.”

“Well,
then, we'll teach you how to fall into the shaman's trance. Sit down, since
you've dropped your packs already.”

“What—right
here?” Culaehra looked about him in disbelief.

“Some
places are better than others, but any place will do. Sit with your back
against a rock—there, that's good enough.”

“Where's
the rock behind yours?” Culaehra grunted.

“I
no longer need it, Culaehra; my back knows it is there even when it is not. Now
fold your legs and sit with your back straight. Think of a string of beads,
hanging straight down from a hand. Let your backbone be like that string .. .”

“What
are we doing, anyway?” the big man groused, even as he imitated Illbane's
position.

“We
are bringing your mind into calmness and stillness, so that the energy that is
all about you can flow into you, and revive you as if you had slept. It will
not renew your body as fully as real sleep, but it is better than nothing.”

“Is
that its only purpose?”

Illbane
turned to see the source of the voice, and saw Yocote sitting cross-legged
beside him, back straight against a slab of rock, legs folded. Illbane smiled. “No,
Yocote, that is only the most obvious of its effects, and the only one that a
man of action will truly need, or understand. Even for that, it will not serve
in place of sleep if you do not also cast a spell, but it is so simple that
anyone can cast it—if he has the favor of a deity who will work it for him.”

“More
a prayer than a spell, then,” the gnome said, frowning.

“If
you wish. My prayer is, 'Rahani is in my heart, and I in hers.' “

“But
Rahani is dead!” Kitishane protested. “All the old gods are dead!”

Illbane
sat very still for a few minutes, and her heart rose into her throat for fear
she had offended him. At last, though, he said only, “Rahani, at least, is very
much alive, I assure you.”

“Shall
we say her prayer, then?” Yocote asked.

“Only
if she is your goddess—and if you did not know she lived, then she is not.
Recite a prayer to your own god—but be sure it is short, only one sentence, so
that you may recite it over and over.”

Slowly,
Kitishane sat cross-legged, hands in her lap.

“I
thought this was to be
my
magic!” Culaehra protested.

Illbane
gave him a long, level look, then said, “There will be other magics for you
alone, for not everyone can cast a warrior's spells. This, though, is open to
everyone. Come, now, recite your prayer, and calm your mind.”

There
was more, quite a bit more, but soon enough, all of them sat still as statues,
their eyes unfocused, the mountain path silent. Slowly, Lua, too, came to sit
down among them, and even more slowly fell into the trance with them.

After
a dozen minutes Illbane began to move again. Slowly, gently, he waked each of
them, brought the rhythms of their bodies back to a faster tempo. They sighed
as they came to their feet once more, amazed how refreshed they felt.

“Remember,
this will not do in place of sleep,” Illbane cautioned them, “but it will
refresh you when your mind is weary and you cannot take the time for rest. Take
up your packs, Culaehra! You have the energy now!”

“Illbane,”
Lua called softly.

“What
troubles you?” The sage turned—to see Yocote still sitting cross-legged, eyes
glazed.

“He
has fallen back into the trance,” Lua explained.