Chapter Twenty-two: A Fresh Start

Ottavar and Radovin arose well after dawn, and enjoyed a late breakfast. Radovin would have dispensed with breakfast on account of the cleansing, but Ottavar insisted: The spirits would be happier not to see him starve, and Tevina wouldn't let him out of the tent. All right, it was only a light soup; he ate.

Afterwards, Ottavar suggested a walk, so they could talk freely. They rambled around the perimeter of the campground, swatting gnats, admiring flowers and butterflies enlivened by the sun.

Radovin had found a hazelnut, somehow overlooked by all the squirrels. The smooth shell felt right when he picked it up. Every bad thought that arose, he let go into that nut.

Rounding the north end of the campground, they climbed the eastern slope and headed south. They paused while Radovin haltingly told Ottavar of last night's dream. He finished his meandering account and waited, pensive. Despite the intensity of that final vision, the vanishing illusion of his mother had renewed an old gap in his heart; the wound of parting with no farewell.

Ottavar tugged at his beard. "That was a powerful dream," he said. "You have a strong calling. But you know that."

"Yeah, I s'pose. You too, ah?" Radovin chewed on his lip, head down.

"I've been told so--by a certain relative of ours." Ottavar turned to face him. "Rado? Something wrong?"

"You've given me back my life. I'm honored...I mean...you're White Circle. That's something." Despite their growing closeness, Ottavar's position knocked him off-balance any time he thought of it.

"You're my brother. And my uncle. That's 'something' too."

"I'm not used to being able to talk." Radovin jerked one shoulder.

"I know."

He lifted his head. Ottavar had a lopsided smile. Radovin let an answering smile stretch his face. "I better get used to it, ah?"

'You will. It takes time."

"I have time now."

"Ayah." Ottavar gave him a light slap on the shoulder and they both grinned.

"I feel like I have a long way to go."

"Not really. You'll catch up with yourself soon enough."

They stood there a while, looking out over the valley. The creek, sun-dazzled at every turn, meandered southward to the unseen Veselta. A blue haze of distant mountains met the southern sky far beyond. To their right, the valley vanished between steepening hills.

"Beautiful, isn't it," Ottavar said. "They say the heart of the world is close here." He closed his eyes and took a long breath.

Radovin inhaled deeply too, immersing himself in the sweet summer ambience. The grass-scented breeze brushed his skin. A loose strand of hair tickled his face; he tucked it behind an ear.

The Bull band's camp lay below and in front of them. The shaman's tent was gone, of course. All Ivergan's things had been buried with him or burned over his grave. A dark circle of ash lay where the headman's large tent had stood. The other tents had been moved closer to the slope. A few people were working on a new outdoor hearth and preparing to erect the frame of a shelter that would replace the lost tent. It would be made of woven reeds as well as hides, a matter of easy availability as well as a concession to need.

A lone boy walked toward the Bull camp; head down, feet scuffing the ground. He looked up, noticed them, and stopped.

"Hai, Shugo," Radovin said, just loud enough to carry.

The boy responded with a half-hearted smile. "Hai, Rado."

"You a'right, Shugo?"

"Yeah, fine." Shugonar didn't sound very positive. His hands fidgeted and he poked at the ground with one foot. "Don't worry about me. You got a real home now, ah?"

"Yeah. Uhm...." Radovin glanced at Ottavar, who merely smiled and nodded. "I'm Ottavar's apprentice now. I eat a lot." Foolish, empty words.

"That's nice." Shugonar avoided his eyes, and the silence between them thickened.

"Havener says you're beating him at the hoops," Ottavar said.

A surprised smile briefly lit Shugonar's face. He shrugged. "Sometimes, maybe. He's pretty good. Jero can beat 'em all."

"Come over to visit some time, ah? Havo and Jero would like it. Sleep over if you like, we have plenty of room."

"Uh, yeah. Thank you, Ottavar-anu. Ahm...I better get home. I'm glad for you, Rado. Go with all good."

"It's good to see you again, Shugo. Go with all good." Radovin returned Shugonar's gesture of farewell and moved on with Ottavar. He glanced back once to see the boy still watching them.

"Shugo's a nice kid," he said, wanting to say more but not sure how far he should take it, or where it would go. His own good fortune sat awkwardly on his mind now. The Bull band seemed to have none any more. He held no ill will for most of them, and it didn't feel right that people should suffer for wrongs committed by others.

"His brother is one of the raiders, ah?"

"Yeah. Berto's a real pissdrinker. But Shugo...well, he sneaked me some extra food a few times."

"I suppose you never did anything nice for him?"

Radovin gave Ottavar a baffled look, then realized that it was meant as a joke. "Ah. Nah, of course not." He grinned sheepishly and shrugged.

"You find out who your friends are when you need them. His mother is dead, and his father has a fondness for hucha, I have heard." Radovin nodded, and Ottavar continued, "Havener is concerned about him. What do you think?"

Radovin looked up abruptly, almost catching a foot in the grass. "Ah...yeah. It's been hard for him. His pa hasn't been watching out for him, and Berto gives him a hard time. It's...not like Erno doesn't care about him. But they're from the Goose band, and the other hunters never give him a fair chance to show what he can do.

"He has an aunt he could go live with. I told him maybe he ought to. Just for a while, anyway." Radovin stopped his shoulders just short of another ear-punching shrug. A fine one he'd been to give advice. His mouth wanted to run on, though.

"Erno's a bowman--really good, and they put him with the drivers all the time so he can't get a better share. Shugo's half on his own all the time. He's got friends, but he won't get on far 'cause of his family being outsiders. Berto sucked up to Pavo, but he's all for himself, Pavo I mean." He trailed off, abashed by his own rush of words.

"M-hmm." Ottavar's hand stayed on Radovin's back as they continued their slow circuit. "You have a lot more to tell us, I think. Nah, your view matters. You see what others might think isn't important because they live with it. The Bull band is in a sorry state. Whoever takes a place with them will need to know about the people he serves. I think Tayro will do it, but he'll need to know how things have been going since he stayed there before; more than what some of them will think to tell him right off. And more'n some might be willing to tell him."

"Tayrolin was there? With--" Radovin made a gimace of disgust.

Ottavar nodded. "He spent a winter there when he was new to it. Halezi mentioned it--you had a lot on your mind then."

"That was before I was there...."

"Ayah. About two years before. That's how I know a little of what you went through. Tayro's a good friend of mine. He wanted to quit altogether. But Halezi wouldn't have that. She let him think about it a while, but never let him forget. He's Red Circle now. I think he's been ready for the White for a while. He'll have to climb up now either way--whether he moves or Halezi goes.

"So, if you have any ideas, what needs looking at most, who needs help or encouragement. You were there, you know the people. Think on it."

Radovin fondled the smooth nutshell. His counsel having value, being sought: a novel idea outside of the domain of healing. Then again, wasn't it his ordained role to heal the spirit as well as the body? Maybe, once he got himself together, he could help repair some of the harm done to others while he looked on powerless.

"Yeah. I see." He straightened his shoulders.

In the low ground beyond the sweat lodge and the pool, they turned back upstream. Radovin was amazed at how much he'd rattled today. His whole silly life story, childhood dreams and all, conversations with Raven--things he had never dared speak of since his mother died. There were bad things too; his long suppressed hatred of that one whom he would not name. That was harder to talk about.

They stopped by the pool, where children laughed and splashed in a swimming race. Radovin chewed his lower lip, his brows drawn tight.

Ottavar was watching him intently. "Tell me, ah?"

"I have...bad thoughts."

"How bad?"

"I still hate him. I--I had dreams about--" His hand clenched tight around the hazelnut. "Killing him. Sometimes."

"But you didn't do it. You left it to the will of the spirits."

Radovin stared at the ground, arms hanging limp. "But I wanted to."

"You're human, Rado. Nobody's perfect. I know I'm not. Don't be so hard on yourself, You didn't give up, and you didn't give in. You learned all that he had to teach that's good, and you learned other things that--maybe you don't even know that you know yet. But not the way of evil. I trust you, Rado. Kara trusts you. Even Hacaben trusts you.

"Trust yourself, ah?"

Radovin looked up to see Ottavar's wry smile. He took a long, deep breath, and let it out in a gust of relief, sending his fear to the wind. Another load of dark thought settled into the hazelnut.

The children came splashing out of the pool and ran toward the Grouse band's camp, laughing, waving as they passed by. Ottavar waved back, and so did Radovin.

He contemplated the polished shell of the hazelnut, wondering if bad spirit-matter could make the grass grow greener like shit did. Or would the nut sprout into a tree, and make more nuts? Did nuts from a soul-dump taste different?

Lying just above the bathing pool like a sleeping animal, the sweat lodge was dug out to the depth of a man's legs, with a solid foundation of rock and heaped earth. Its roof was renewed with old hides whenever a Summermeet was held here, and occasionally between when one of the local bands ventured this way in their summer travels.

A few old men lounged on the grassy slope near the pool, trading opinions and drying off after bathing. Closer to the sweat lodge stood a younger group. Only Tayrolin looked familiar; the others who would take part in Radovin's cleansing were faces without names.

Their welcoming smiles stilled his inner jump of fear. This was no gang of bullies. The youngest ones appeared shy, as if he intimidated them.

"Hai, Tayro," Ottavar called.

Tayrolin smiled and waved casually. "Hai! We're ready any time you are. The stones are hot." Watching Ottavar for clues, Radovin came closer and let the shaman take his hands. "Radovin, we welcome you. May you walk on the right path, and all good be with you."

"Thank you." Radovin paused, uncertain.

Tayrolin didn't seem to expect anything more. His hands gripped Radovin's firmly. "Ottavar says you'll be initiated soon. I hope to have a place in that too. You're all ready for the cleansing?"

"Yes." A small pouch that hung from Radovin's neck held the much-handled hazelnut and other odd bits contributed by members of his new family and band. The refuse of his inner being would go to its grave with symbolic gifts like any other corpse.

"I'll introduce you to the rest of the gang, then," Tayrolin said, letting go of Radovin's hands. "Line up, you rascals." His smile lit up his eyes and the faces of the four "rascals".

In rapid succession Radovin met Cashelec and Thedoren, younger than himself; Galeden, a few years older; and Polodan, who was older than Ottavar but still only "dabbling", as he put it. All were mere apprentices like himself with no mark of initiation, though Ottavar claimed--with a wink--that Polodan had been at it since before Radovin was born.

They took off their breechclouts, and Tayrolin ushered them into the sweat lodge. Heat rushed at their faces. Four steps of rough stone led down to the floor, covered with sweet-smelling grasses. Lamps in wall niches lit a haze of fragrant smoke, but it was dark after the bright sun, especially after the last boy to enter closed off the doorway. The taller men had to bend so as not to strike their heads on the sloping roof supports that arched over an oblong central fire pit. Smoking embers amid blackened stone radiated intense heat.

Andoval of the Grouse band greeted them at the hearth. The perspiring youth--seventeen or eighteen summers, he looked, with his slight beard--grinned as he took Radovin's hands. "It's good to have a new face in the crowd. I hear you're a jump ahead of us already, ah?" When Radovin responded with a puzzled look, he added, "I mean you're ready to get your mark." He patted his own cheek, which bore no tattooed insignia of rank.

"Uh, yeah, Ottavar says." Radovin wondered if he was in a dream--but Balekara had said....

"Well, he would know. You can teach us a thing or two, I bet. I better shut up, this is no place to be chattering. May the spirits receive you well." Andoval let go of Radovin's other hand and backed off a step.

Radovin let his arms flop and managed a weak smile. Andoval struck him as very self-assured, not someone he could imagine teaching anything to.

The others had silently spread around the hearth while they talked. The younger boys fidgeted and rubbed their noses. Ottavar stepped to Radovin's side, motioning for him to move over a little, and they all sat down at a signal from Tayrolin.

The cleansing ceremony began with Tayrolin's chanted invitation to the spirits of the place to attend. He asked them to protect the spirit of Radovin, to allow no evil or envious spirits to enter the lodge. Four times he repeated it, each time casting a dipper of water into the hearth from one of the several containers placed around it at convenient intervals. Crushed juniper foliage in the water sent out purifying fragrance.

The hot vapor evoked rivers of sweat. Radovin took the dipper handed to him by Ottavar. He filled and drank from it before using it to dash a portion of water into the hearth. Then he passed it on to Andoval, who did the same. When the ladle had made a full circuit, the singing began. The first light-hearted songs served to loosen them up and pull the group together before they started on songs of greater power.

The only percussive instrument they used was the body itself, hands slapping loudly against chest or thigh. The songs shared a theme of renewal and rebirth, of all life coming forth from Mother Earth and returning to Her womb to be reborn.

Radovin could feel uncleanness leaving him with the sweat and singing. The dipper went around again.

A new sensation filled Radovin, a dynamic wholeness. His spirit was joined with the others in a circle of radiance more powerful than any single being.

The last song ended. Tayrolin held up his hands. A sacred stillness, broken only by the hiss and crackle of the cooling hearth and muffled sounds from outside. enclosed everything.. A spirit of light suffused the hazy atmosphere. Radovin inhaled deeply, releasing each breath as slowly as possible. He was one; complete, yet not separate. Closing his eyes for a moment, he felt the weight of the small pouch that hung from his neck. It was time.

He hesitated slightly, a half-conscious need for approval pulling his gaze toward Ottavar. The shaman met his eyes with a smile and nod. Radovin rose smoothly to his feet and walked to the entrance without a backward glance. He pushed the hide away and slipped through into the warm brilliance of late afternoon. The light forced him to pause for a moment, to let his eyes recover. He turned toward the east and walked away from the sweat lodge. His shadow pointed the way ahead, surrounded by a golden aura of sunlit grass.

In a scattering of shrubs and dwarfed trees at the bottom of a shallow decline, out of sight of the camps and the sweat lodge, he stopped. He felt the solid Earth beneath his feet and the cool wind caressing his skin. He removed the little pouch from his neck and spoke quietly.

"Mother of Spirits, I thank you for all that you have given me. This I must give back. All is yours, and only You are All."

He knelt and began to dig in the soil with his fingers. Matted roots resisted his efforts. He patiently pulled them apart and dug two hand-lengths deep in the sandy loam. Then he laid the pouch in the hole.

"Thank you," he whispered, as he gently patted the soil back in place. He rose and left it, again without looking back. A few body-lengths away, he broke into a lope.

The others had already come out and waded partway into the pool, waiting for him. At a motion from Tayrolin, they leaped into the water as one, making a wide splash.

Woh! Radovin came up snorting and blowing, shaking his head and flinging water from his hair onto laughing comrades. He scooped water with both hands, flinging it high into the slanting rays of sun. "Hai!" Sparkling drops showered his upturned smile.

Ottavar passed the sack of hucha to Radovin, saying, "Once around, your tongue is found. Twice around, and wit abounds."

"Three times round, you're on the ground," Polodan added, setting off a wild chorus of laughter.

Radovin had to hang onto the half empty bladder with both hands until he could stop laughing long enough to take a drink. Then he handed it to Thedoren, who swallowed some between chuckles and gave it to Andoval. Ottavar had been right, as always. The other apprentices were fun to party with. Not that he had much previous experience at partying, but he wouldn't mind more of it.

"My tongue is so loose my head's gonna fall off." He doubled over again laughing at his own abounding wit.

"It will do, tomorrow, if you drink too much," Andoval said.

"Vah! I better quit, ah?"

"The skin will be empty by the time it gets to you again," Polodan promised. He tipped the flabby bag to his mouth and his throat-lump bobbed again and again. His appreciative audience began an alternate handclapping, thigh-slapping that quickly synchronized.

"Hai, we need music," someone said. The suggestion raised shouts of agreement, and before he knew it Radovin found himself propelled toward the mammoth skull that occupied the rear end of the lodge, opposite the entrance. With a shrug of acquiescence, he squatted by it and picked up the pair of deer leg bones that lay on the broad cranium.

He had sneaked a few sessions on this skull before the gathering started, never dreaming he would be giving a demonstration for his fellow shamans. The purpose of the unkempt lodge, half dug out of a slope and solid enough but obviously not occupied during the winter, had mystified him. He had not availed himself of its tempting shelter, but he had been unable to resist trying out the skull.

First he refreshed his memory with a rap here and there to map the tones produced by different areas. Then he tore into a rapid sequence of melodic patterns that repeated in a complex weave until it came back to the beginning. He seamlessly started a new pattern, beating away at it until the sound built a solid structure around them, as real as the old lodge.

The hucha gave him a frantic energy that let him forget he was not alone. When he finally stopped, panting, arms hanging down, silence rang loud in his ears. He looked at the faces turned toward him in the firelight. Even Ottavar had a look of awed delight, his mouth hanging partly open in a smile.

"Mutamari! Ott, you said he was good," Tayrolin exclaimed. "I'm glad I played the slacker tonight. Rado, you have to play the bones at the Fire Festival."

"Woh, but I--I never did it for a--for a big crowd, for a--I don't know what to do, I mean, with others...." Radovin's shoulders brushed his earlobes. To play before all of The People--Woh! His face felt hot.

"Pah! Do what you just did. It's you and the bones. You'll never see the crowd once you start, I can see that. Hai, is there any more hucha? Rado's thirsty." Tayrolin grinned wide and snatched the flaccid bag that was tossed to him. He shook it, with a sadly disapproving look. It was empty.

"Is there any water?" Radovin gazed mournfully at the dead sack.

"Right here!" Thedoren jumped up to deliver a small waterskin. Radovin stood and poured a good quantity down his throat, cool streams spilling over onto the outside of him as well.

"Are you going to play again?" Thedoren asked shyly.

"Nah." Radovin handed back the waterskin and swept a scatter of hair out of his face. He flopped his arms against his sides. "Um...I gotta go out and pee," he mumbled. Then he yawned hugely.

With no more hucha, and the guest of honor more interested in pissing and going to bed than partying, the group broke up.

The moon gave enough light for the short walk from the party lodge. Late as it was, a few people still sat outside, talking or just admiring the night sky. A large hunting party had left in the afternoon, ensuring peace and quiet by removing many boisterous young men. The communal feast of the Fire Festival was only a few days away.

In the tent of the White Horse band, a couple of lamps added their small spheres of light to that of a fire burned low. Sherilana sat by the hearth, weaving a grass mat. Her fingers worked swiftly with little need for light.

She stilled her hands, smiling at Ottavar and Radovin, and whispered, "Are you hungry?"

"No, we're just half asleep," Ottavar replied to the very predictable question. "We had enough dried meat to soak up the hucha." He hunkered down by her. "Mama's sleeping, ah?"

Sherilana nodded. "I will be too, as soon as I finish this last finger-width."

Ottavar glanced up, chuckling, as Radovin yawned. "Go on, sleepyhead. Warm up the bed. I'll flop in a coupl'a licks."

Snuggled under a cozy hide, Radovin was warm enough inside to bed down in a snowdrift. It was more than just hucha and good eating, he thought in his sleepy contentment. It was this whole new world he lived in. And Ottavar, who banked his heart's fire with a trusting spirit.