Chapter 3 #3
There was a rustling in the bushes, and a bald man stepped out.
His eyes sparkled shrewdly. Stacia always looked at the eyes.
Most would have focused on the man’s gap-toothed smile and dismissed him.
Not Stacia. Her parents had trained both their daughters to look for details that might not be as obvious.
Every visiting diplomat was a test. Every soldier they faced had a tell, a weakness.
Her father always said, “Battles are fought with the strength of your mind, not with the power of your arm,” and “A true conquest is achieved only when there is no loss of life and both sides have gained something.”
As brilliant as her father had been, it was her mother who was the keen observer of people.
Mila never failed to notice things the rest of the family had missed.
Immediately, just as she’d been trained, Stacia began to catalog details of the stranger.
She took in his clothing, the color of his skin, his accent, the way he carried himself, and possible places he could conceal weapons.
Her mind spun in a million different ways as she sought patterns, but every time she thought she was narrowing in on a certain thing—like the way he was standing, for example—he’d suddenly straighten up and turn and wink at her, then she’d have to start all over again. It was disconcerting, to say the least.
The man carried a white walking stick taller than himself that was carved at the top to look like a roaring bear. “Like it?” he asked when he saw Zakhar inspecting the staff with the utmost concentration. “He’s got quite a bite, this old bear.”
The man pushed a hidden button, and the bear’s mouth opened, revealing a hidden spearhead.
It gleamed like polished stone, and when turned in the light of the fire, it shone in colors of purple, blue, and green.
“Now if it’s magic you’re looking for, this old spear has it in spades.
Get it? Spades?” He laughed uproariously at his own joke, then looked around.
“Oh dear. I suppose that one didn’t translate well. ”
He wiped a tear from his eye. “I’ve been spending too much time with Kadam. Anyway, this one is just on loan, my dear. I’m expecting it back, understand. And mind you, don’t scratch yourself with it. I’d have a difficult time reattaching you to your body if you did.”
“Reattaching me to my . . .” Stacia hadn’t even suspected there’d been a weapon hidden inside the walking stick let alone imagined the man would readily hand it over to her.
Taking the offered weapon with only a shadow of the diplomatic smile her mother would have preferred, Stacia quickly found the catch that hid the spear point.
After practicing using it a few times and hefting its weight, shifting it from palm to palm, she recovered her manners and nodded. “Thank you.”
“Take good care of it. You’ll need it.” The easy manner in which the stranger warned her caused her to frown anew.
“You’re the man from the cave,” Zakhar said. “You brought us here, didn’t you?”
“Very astute. Yes. I did. It’s my first time acting as a guide. How am I doing so far? Kadam thought it would be a good idea.”
You’re the White Shaman, Iriko said.
“I thought we went over that already. Don’t you have any better questions than that?”
Stacia echoed, “The White Shaman? Where are we? Why have you brought us here?”
“That’s a better question. You’re in your dreamworld. The one Kadam and I created for you.”
“You created?” Zakhar probed.
“Yes. Well, with the help of the tigers, of course.”
The tiger kept coming to me in my dreams, Iriko replied.
“Of course he did. The tigers test you. Your job is to—”
“Pass their tests and wisely rule . . .” Zakhar interrupted as he hurriedly shuffled through papers.
“That’s right,” the shaman said gleefully, clapping the young priest on the back. “It sounds like you know what to do, so I’ll just head on back to my cave. Best of luck to all of you. I hope you all survive.”
“Hold on there,” Stacia said, blocking the shaman’s exit with his own staff. “You need to give us more information than that.”
The old man sighed, shook out his robes, and sat down by a log. “Very well. At least bring me some of that nice venison, will you? I’m quite famished. Creating dreams this complicated takes quite a lot of energy, you know.”
“I’m sure,” Stacia said, flicking open the spear point and using it to carve off a nice hunk of meat. She tossed some to Iriko, who caught it and downed it in one swallow and then began hacking off another section.
“Hey!” the White Shaman groused. “That spear isn’t a steak knife, I’ll have you know. It’s very sensitive. Take care of it, and it will take care of you.”
“It is taking care of me. It’s taking care of my hunger.
Yours too, if I’m not mistaken. Here.” Stacia handed the man a steaming portion of meat wrapped in a piece of Zakhar’s precious parchment, knowing he, too, would complain about his resources being used in such a fashion.
But when she swiped a piece of paper from under his inkpot, he not only said nothing, but he also didn’t even make eye contact.
In fact, when she handed him a piece of meat and thanked him for the use of his parchment, he only grunted his thanks, was obvious about avoiding physical contact with her, and only ate half his portion.
Apparently, he’d already eaten plenty, as his not-hungry belly wasn’t what was ailing him.
When they were all eating, or at least still nibbling on the delicious roasted meat, with only the fire to stave off the evening chill, the shaman began telling them about a dangerous quest. As he spoke, the night grew darker, clouds covered the moon, and the air grew thick with mist. The three young people weren’t sure if it was the chill in the air or a sense of foreboding that made them draw closer together as they listened.