Chapter Twelve: Priorities

Sleep refused to return after Ottavar's cryptic dream revelation. He'd had enough of it, anyway; he must have made up for plenty of lost sleep. There was a blank after that second herbal potion took hold and stopped the thoughts that ran in circles as well as his shaking. He remembered no more until the dreams began.

Dreams! How much of a man's life was made of dreams, and how much of those dreams did he shape out of his own vain thoughts? True, dreams were important; you might journey far in the realm of the spirits in dreams. You could learn a lot, though the material had to be sifted and interpreted with care and wisdom. At any rate, it confirmed his uncanny feelings about Radovin, though in a way he would not have imagined. He elbowed himself up to take another look at the slack face, now tied to intimate memories.

Was Rado all right now? He had certainly come to life yesterday. Even through the haze of shock, Ottavar had seen how he reacted in an emergency. That alone told him that Radovin had a strong aptitude as well as knowledge. And before, with the drum...apparently Radovin had created a Seeing for all eyes but his. That took a lot of disciplined power.

Others would have to validate his competence, and, at least a few of the senior shamans. Ottavar would not perform an initiation on his own, though it was his prerogative. There was enough stink in the air already. After what happened yesterday, talk must be churning up rocks with the mud. An isolated action on his part would surely hurt more than help their cause. Another thing to pester Hac about. Vah! Where would they find time today?

Bent under the sloping side of the tent, he rose and stepped carefully over Radovin. He straightened up and looked around at the other sleepers, rubbing his head. There were at least three lumps in every mound of bedding. It was natural to gather close in times of trouble. The giggle-tent must be empty. Or maybe it was damaged; that had been a woolly rhino of a storm.

He pissed in the ash basket to avoid going out. Then he changed his mind. He wanted some fresh air after all, and to greet the new day. It might help to get the fog out of his head. His bare toes caught on loose rushes instead of sliding over woven mats as he made his way to the front flap. Standing just outside, he breathed deeply. The sky was clear, washed clean by the rain like everything else, except the minds of men. The night's black had already changed to an intense, deep blue. He could make out the silhouettes of tents across the circle. One bright star stood watch over the paling eastern horizon.

What do you see, Lightbringer? A fool, or just a man who thinks too much?

It was too chilly to stand outside for long with nothing on. Though the fire had long ago burned itself out, the tent held a good deal of body heat. No use trying to find his own clothing in the chaotic forest of mysterious shadows hung all around the front end of the tent. It would be stiff anyway. No point in dressing up fresh before bathing either. His skin had a sticky feel despite the unforeseen rain bath. He padded back as far as a basket that held some all-purpose pieces of buckskin and wrapped one around his waist, tucking the ends under to hold it in place.

One of the sleeping bundles stirred. "Ott?" his brother whispered, "How are you?"

"All right." Ottavar crouched by Bazenaber's bed. "A little odd, but...eh, all right. I think."

"I thought...ah! I've heard of sky-fire touching people. Never thought I'd see it happen." Bazenaber shrugged one arm free to push hair out of his face.

"You saw it?"

"Yeah. I was watching. I didn't know what the blazes was going on. I almost got up to tell Sheri that trouble was headed our way, and pahm! I froze up, couldn't move for a few breaths. I didn't know if you were dead or what. By the time I got to you it was raining so hard you could swim." Bazenaber reached out to touch Ottavar's hand, as if to reassure himself that his brother still lived.

"I wasn't sure right away myself," Ottavar said. "Ivergan?"

"Meat. Not a mark on him, they say. You didn't, erm...do that, ah?"

Ottavar rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the feeling of a tight band encircling his head. "No, I can't call sky-fire. Nobody can do that." Mutamari, I hope not! He wanted to ask about other things, but he could hear more bodies moving. The meeting! All of the time he might have used in further preparation yesterday was gone, blasted away by a bolt from the blue. Even dead, Ivergan was a problem.

"Hrrr...good morning," Lovaduc rumbled from the other side of the tent. "I think."

"Good morning." Ottavar cast a glance over his shoulder at the reluctant riser. He turned back to his brother. A blond head popped up behind Bazenaber's, blinking sleepy eyes, then another. Jerevan and Havener were awake. "Baz, could you get the fire going, please? I have to go wash."

Bazenaber nodded. "I'll have it going in half a lick." Ottavar stood and moved out of his way.

"Thun--shit!" Lovaduc changed words in mid-expletive. "So do I. Vah, I have to go watch them lower the meat into the pit." A couple of choked-off snickers from the surrounding shadows showed appreciation for his irreverent humor.

"That defiled meeting is going to be a--ahh!" The headman lurched to his feet to stretch, a magnificent length of mature body topped by a mane of rumpled hair that made his head look unnaturally large. He could barely stand upright in the center at this end of the tent. "Sheri, are you awake?"

"I think everyone is, now. Vahé! Moshevar will have his hands full today." Sherilana rose behind him, wrapping something around herself. "Back in a wink," she mumbled as she went out the back way.

Tevina came to Ottavar. "How are you feeling? You can hear now, ah?" She stroked his head as if he were a little boy again. It still felt good.

"Yes. I'm all right, Mama." He hugged his mother, rubbing his cheek against hers. They moved nearer to the hearth, where light from the smokehole dimly illuminated a haze above the struggling new fire. Davoner joined them silently. His eyes spoke for him, and his arms said more in a long embrace.

Ottavar's thoughts leaped to things undone. "What is there for Radovin to wear?" he asked Tevina. All of the preparation he should have made yesterday!

"Ott, you silly--" Jesumi threw her arms around him from behind. "Now you talk about clothes. I thought we'd lost you for sure." She hugged him fiercely, her cheekbone pressing hard against his shoulderblade.

"Uh, yeah. Sumi--oh, Mamari!" A lost thought sprang up to strike him like another bolt of lightning. "What about--where's Tiwa--"

"She's with Balekara," Tevina answered. "Hacaben came over, I went with. You were asleep already."

"Uhhn." He rubbed his face with both hands. One thing not to worry about, thank goodness; not for a while, anyway. One obsession at a time was plenty for anyone. His priorities for the day were starting to sort out. There was still too much. "I better go wash, get it over with before the whole mob hits the pool. Vah, the meeting, what about the burial?"

"Take it easy, Ottko," Lovaduc said. "The Council sits midafternoon. You'll have some time. Unless the Earth spits him out. Hacaben said to tell you that you're not expected at the funeral, said he'd tell them you're not well." He gave Ottavar a quick scrutiny and a nod. "Speaking of which, let's go, Sheri. You have the drying-hides, ah?"

A load dropped from Ottavar's back. By custom, he should have attended the interment of a fellow shaman, but he felt thankfully unwelcome at this one. Besides, he needed more than ever to talk to Radovin. Now there would be time after breakfast for that. "I'll wait, then; I can bathe later. Where's Rado? He's all right, ah?" The fire lit the tent better now, but he couldn't see for all the moving bodies. Monstrous shadows danced on the sloping walls.

"Still sleeping, I think," his mother answered, glancing toward the rear of the tent. He could hear bad news in her tone of voice. "He stayed up late watching over you, just sitting there. He wouldn't talk. I--we let him be; he seemed to know best what to do for you. That was all he had any mind to do."

"Vah. He's gone back...into himself again?"

She nodded. "You will heal him. He has a strong spirit, ah?"

"He must have. But why does he give up now? All those years with that--pfah!. Why he didn't cut and run before...." Ottavar shook his head and waved his hands. "Now, as soon as he's safe with us, pfewwww, like water down a drinkhole." He made a downward spiraling motion with one hand, describing the path of water disappearing into one of the mysterious holes that the land was riddled with in some areas. Some were big enough to fall into, and might connect to larger caverns far below. People said that when they sucked in spring snowmelt, Mother Earth was taking a drink.

Tevina frowned. "Tiwa said that he made her think of a story of a man who hid his heart and it was stolen."

That gave Ottavar one of his funny feelings. Tiwa hadn't seen much of Radovin, but she was very perceptive. He wished he could talk to her now; wished that she was there to help him, that she could talk to Rado too. On the other hand, he was glad that she was in a guarded place away from the erupting trouble and turmoil. He took a deep breath. Wishing was a futile game. "Thanks, Mama. I'll go see what the storm did to my tent."

"It stood it all right, as far as I know. At least it's still there. All our shades were blown to who-knows but I don't think any tents were damaged. With all the runaround talk after, we'd have heard if anyone had a leaky roof. Put something warm on, eh?" She smiled and patted his arm. "Breakfast will be ready soon. I'll make sure there are enough stones in for extra tea after."

Ottavar smiled. One never got too old for mothering.

Radovin relived that long moment over and over in his dreams. He settled between the opposing shamans, heedful of all the fine, glowing threads of spirit-stuff.

Vizanu permeated everything, connected everything. If he nudged the lines of light, thought could be coordinated, vision shared. It was much like spirit-calling, persuading animals to move in a certain direction; but messing with human minds was not something to be taken lightly. A shaman might use his power to influence others, coax their vizanu into alignment with his own for some good purpose, but only with their consent; never forced. A sorcerer made no such fine distinctions. What Radovin intended was to reveal the truth.

Ivergan had forbidden him to exercise his craft without explicit permission, and only certain things were allowed. All Radovin could take pride in was faithfulness to his word. Now he had no more pride than hope. With his vow already broken, he could play loose and suffer no worse for it in the long run.

As for the short run, anything that one had in mind could not be good. It would surely do no harm to thwart his intentions, if possible. He touched the glowing strands, all but Ottavar's--he must not be distracted.

"Hold it so."

Raven? No time to speculate, he had to keep close to what he was doing. Ottavar's words came like solid, translucent stones: "...blood on your hands!"

"Good. Let them see it!" the spirit-voice said.

Radovin shaped the image for anyone within range of vision. Blood dripped from Ivergan's hands. The man broadcast his own self-sustaining declaration of guilt until a greater power acted. Earth called to the Sky and the Fire came down. Just before a thunder-giant's hammer slammed Radovin back into his body, he caught a glimpse of something behind Ivergan.

That shadow, whatever it was, had followed him in his dreams. It reached out now, he had to warn--

"Ottavar!" he gasped, struggling back to consciousness. His arms fought a shaggy hide. A kind, concerned face bent over him.

"He's all right, Rado." Tevina laid a hand on one of his and he subsided, blinking. "Get up and have breakfast now, ah? Ottavar will talk with you this morning, just the two of you. Tell him what troubles you, mm?"

"Yes, amada" Radovin resigned himself to another day of life. He rose and shuffled to the ash basket.

From the open doorway, Ottavar saw little activity on this solemn morning. A messenger trotted from one camp to another. Columns of smoke rose in several places around the broad circle, where fires blazed up in roasting pits. Dinner would likely be late today, but the slow-roasting meats could wait on the diners' convenience.

He wished he had a chance to talk with Hacaben. The youngsters had shared their gossip tidbits with Hac last night when his old friend came back for a while after escorting Kewarratiwa. Ottavar heard it all from them before, during, and after breakfast. He heard other things, too--rumors concerning the cause and significance of Ivergan's death. He liked neither those that made him the villain nor those that implied that he had divine favor. Vahé!

The Bull band's recent history was ugly. People minded their own business as things went farther over the edge every day. And Radovin--never fully accepted into the band, Ivergan keeping him as isolated as possible and beating him in fits of inexplicable rage. Why hadn't he run away sooner?

A few answers to that did come to mind. How would a lone boy make the journey, and where to? He had no contact with other bands, no friends to go to, and might well have been afraid to approach another shaman. It would be hard to trust anyone when you were used to being treated like garbage.

None of that explained the abrupt downturn and complete withdrawal. Ottavar thought he understood part of it. He had heard of, and seen, similar things; old, sick, or injured people hanging on to life until some final aim was achieved. Then they let go, fell like overripe fruit. Radovin had survived a perilous journey to pass on what he knew. It was all but done.

But why, where was the root of this soul-sickness? What inner wound bled the spirit out of him, leaving him with no will to live when he stood on the verge of a fresh start?

The slow beat of a deep-voiced drum and a thin, half-hearted keening rode the wind from far across the campground. All movement stopped, except for hands that made subtle protective gestures.

Ottavar turned to face the interior, closing his eyes until the sun-shadows cleared. Radovin sat, arms around his legs, eyes aimed at his knees. Jerevan, beside him, was abnormally quiet, lost in thought.

With a sigh, one of too many lately, Ottavar crossed the rush-strewn floor and hunkered down by them. Jerevan looked up. Radovin gave no sign that he noticed anything.

"Radovin, I need to talk with you. Come to my tent, ah?" He touched Radovin's shoulder, then stood up.

Jerevan smiled hopefully. "Go with Ottavar, ah?" he said to Radovin, giving the rigid back a light nudge. "I'll see you later."

Slowly the locked arms loosened and the dispirited body of Radovin rose to its feet and followed Ottavar.