Intended Ch. 08

Four days had passed since the Spiritwalker commenced with a continuous, desperate appeal to the Great Spirits for merciful rain. His body blanketed with inflamed, itching wounds of the minuscule pestilence plaguing them all, women took turns watching over him, periodically squeezing trickles of water between his dry, cracked lips with absorbent skins dipped in bowls of the life-sustaining liquid as his once wailing pleads slowly weakened into a monotonous drone.

A puff of cool air caressed their dusty skin, the sensation so unexpected that even the Spiritwalker ceased chanting to look into the shrunken eyes of his equally-startled companions.

"Spiritwalker, look! A CLOUD!" someone shouted.

Rousing themselves, the people crept from the confines of their suffocating dwellings, their Brother's jubilant cry the sole reason important enough to warrant expending precious energy. Peering in the direction of the man's pointing finger, they felt another brief gust, this one strong enough to tousle their tangled hair, as their eyes focused upon an immense, unbroken cloud approaching in the distance. Even taller than it was wide, angry bolts of lightning sliced out its dark, billowing base, slashing the torrid sky, followed a few moments later by earth-shaking rolls of thunder.

Normally such an intimidating spectacle would have sent the people fleeing into the safety of their dwellings, huddling together until nature's fury left them in peace. But the promise of rain -- beautiful, blessed, life-giving rain -- rooted them all where they stood, waiting. Waiting and begging for relief.

As if it were a Tracker honing in on its target, the towering cloud raced across the crackling air toward their position. But as it cast its shadow over the Camp, all at once the people realized something was wrong. Though the land briefly illuminated by jagged flashes of lightning shivered with every thunderclap, they had yet to see or feel a single drop of rain. Just as they decided to seek shelter, suddenly overcome by a collective sense of dread, the largest streak of fire any of them had ever seen filled the sky with an otherworldly glow, lashing the mighty tree next to the Gathering Place with its curling tip while the ground rocked with a deafening boom.

Bursting into flames like a giant torch, the wind flung blazing fragments of its brittle tinder, setting alight everything within its grasp. Fire swept through the settlement as the people shrieked in terror, scrambling to escape the nightmare which had become their world. One after one they succumbed, falling with a thump to the ground, overtaken by smoke, heat or the flames itself.

A few managed to reach the muddy banks of the feeble stream, but so little water flowed now it was not even deep enough to cover their toes. Still, they were met there by wave after wave of deer, rabbits, squirrels, snakes and other wingless creatures, as an unbelievable mass of birds took to the air, most of them dropping dead mid-flight, unable to break through the smoky cloud, joining their land-bound cousins in a vast, blackened grave.

The Spiritwalker was one of the last among those left at the stream, person or beast, still standing. Falling to his knees, body too dehydrated to spend tears, the man lamented the destruction of his people's home, imploring the Great Spirits to take his life; he could bear no longer the loss of everyone and everything he had ever held dear. Tearing the amulet from around his neck, he flung the talisman of the Spiritwalkers with the last of his strength, but in his weakened condition it landed heavily in the mud encasing his now-lifeless body, the wolf etched in the ivory the solitary witness to the fall of a once-great people.

With a choking gasp, the Spiritwalker's eyes flashed open. After taking a moment to confirm that she could indeed breathe, the old woman swung her legs over the edge of the platform, her tiny wrinkled feet making contact with the mats covering the floor. Grabbing a fresh tunic, she slid the soft beaded leather over her body. She did not bother with combing her disarrayed locks; she had more important things to worry about than matters of personal vanity.

The Spiritwalker groped for the amulet hanging from her neck, only to discover, once again, it was missing. She had not realized how often she reached for its comforting presence until recently, after she had bestowed the talisman of the Spiritwalkers to the young woman of Wolf Clan. But as much as she missed the security of its protection, she believed now more than ever that giving it to Sala had been the correct decision.

Lifting the flap, the old woman exited her dwelling, padding on bare feet across the Camp in the cool, damp gray of predawn. Arriving at her destination, she took the bones hanging in front of the entryway in both hands. Listening to the sawing snores of slumber, she paused; perhaps she should try calling inside before thwacking the bones. It might be less startling.

"Tejed. Tejed, wake up," she crooned, her voice a harsh whisper.

She heard a snort, and then the muffled sounds of someone large rolling over before the heavy breathing resumed.

"Tejed!" she called, more sharply this time, only for the man to respond by snoring even louder. Well, she had tried.

Thwack!

Snerk! "Wha-huh? Ai! Ai; who calls?"

"I do," the Spiritwalker replied, straining to keep her voice low as the rest of the Camp slept. "Tejed, I must speak with you at once."

She felt the ground thump as the lumbering Clan Leader stumbled from his sleeping platform. After a few moments the hide flap thrust open, the sleepy man peering down at the ancient, almost child-sized woman impatiently awaiting his invitation.

"Good. I am glad to see I need not apologize for not combing my hair first," he mumbled with a wry smile, lifting the sheet of leather so that she could pass through.

Gesturing for her to sit, Tejed added kindling to the banked fire, its light adding to the dim glow provided by the stone lamps he had already lit. Setting a waterskin pot over the flames, he yawned, asking, "So how can I help you this fine morning?"

Ignoring the man's irreverent greeting, the Spiritwalker said instead, "You know the recurring dreams about the unknown Clan I have been having every night for the past four days?"

"Of course." The great man feared few things, but even he thanked the Spirits he had not been plagued by the visions visited upon the old woman in recent days. To watch an entire Clan repeatedly annihilated by water or fire, even if it was not one's own, was beyond a Leader's worst nightmare.

"On this last night, the Spirits revealed to me where the danger lies."

Tejed felt an increased sense of foreboding. Before he could voice his dread, she continued.

"I must send our Trackers and swiftest runners to the other settlements, have them summon the rest of my caste to meet me at Wolf Clan's Camp."

"Wolf Clan? Meet you?" he inquired, more than a little startled.

"Yes," she confirmed, answering both questions. "I am needed there also. As you are well aware, I cannot complete the journey unaided. I will need several of your strongest men to transport me most of the way."

"That can be arranged," the Clan Leader responded, more confused than ever. He paused. "Spiritwalker, I do not understand how drought and flood could destroy Keta's people. They live many days' distance from us, but not so far that we ourselves would be unaffected by such extreme conditions."

"I concur; I believe the danger to Wolf Clan has little to do with forces of nature. I am certain the disasters in these dreams are symbols for the actual threat."

"Did the Great Spirits reveal to you the true nature of this threat?"

She hesitated. "I believe it involves our two recent visitors, Sala and Jakal...and their Clan's Spiritwalker."

"I do not understand how this can be," Tejed confessed, completely perplexed. "My instincts told me the young couple were hiding something from us, but I detected no malice. Why would they wish to harm their people's spiritual leader?"

The old woman did not answer at first. The Leader's astute observations treaded uncomfortably close to accusations she was not yet ready to make public. "The threat does not originate from the Light-Eye and his mate," she began slowly. "The threat is to them."

She noted the man's stunned, bewildered expression. Just as he opened his mouth to ask more questions, the Spiritwalker stated, "That is all I can tell you at this time, Tejed, and I must ask you to keep what I have said in the strictest of confidence."

As an individual who possessed the ability to discern the hidden meanings behind people's words, Tejed found the deliberate secretiveness of her caste maddening at times. Most people were unaware of the clues they gave away in their attempts to obscure the truth, but among the Spiritwalkers obscurity was a way of life, and they were largely quite skilled at preventing things from filtering through without their knowledge. He was fortunate, however; the old woman was far more open with him than others of her status were with his counterparts. His duties kept him much too busy to delve deeply into the esoteric, but virtually without exception he had found her willing to discuss any subject at length.

He did not like that she was holding back information, especially since this issue seemed to cross from the spiritual and into matters of his own rank's purview. But he also knew her well enough, trusted her enough, to understand she would not depart from her usual candor without a compelling reason. He would persuade her to provide him more details later. Briefly furrowing his brow, the Clan Leader tersely nodded. "Very well."

"It is extremely important that I embark on this day. Even now I fear it may be too late."

"And you shall. However, if great danger awaits at Keta's Camp, I am not about to send you, or any of my people, into such peril alone," Tejed informed her gravely. "We shall leave on this day, Spiritwalker. I am coming with you."

~*~*~

The Spiritwalker hid behind a clump of bushes, watching the young women below foraging. After his spy informed him of the meeting between his former Intended and her mate and the eldest Elder, he grew suspicious, certain the rendezvous had to be significant. What could they possibly want with such an old, disagreeable female?

The shaman wondered why the Spirits chose some to see as many as four generations while others were snuffed out, cut down before their prime. But to grant long life to an individual so unextraordinary he found especially baffling. She seemed to consider everyone around her a mere child, the mindless fool; her lack of reverence for his rank irritated him, but overall she had been a minor annoyance, easily ignored.

It had not been so easy to ignore the endless years of his predecessor, someone he thought would never die; the old man had been one of those exceedingly rare individuals whose life spanned five generations. The wait he had to endure before finally coming to power grew so long he had begun to believe the Great Spirits were purposely cheating him of his rightful place, and he had spent much of the last seven years trying to make up for the time the old one stole from him. If anyone deserved an extended life, it was he himself.

When the female further reported the rumor that the Light-Eye and his mate planned to travel to Owl Camp to visit the man's brother after the late-summer harvest, everything fell into place. Given that their protracted absence occurred so recently, he highly doubted they would choose now to spend time with a faraway sibling without some other purpose in mind. Then it hit him; an offspring of the old woman, one of his former females in fact, had joined that Clan a couple of summers ago after mating with one of its members.

The diminutive young woman appeared to hold such promise. He selected her because she was so cheerful and lively he thought bending her will would prove a delightful diversion, perhaps even a bit of a challenge. But to his great disappointment she broke far too readily and he quickly tired of her. Despite experimenting with novel means of eliciting fresh screams for his pleasure, she simply hung there limply, virtually unresponsive. Ultimately, the experience was so unsatisfying that he had been forced to deviate from his usual habits and immediately take another from among the newly-emergent.

At least that one provided some small enjoyment. His organ hardened remembering how desperately she pleaded for mercy. Oh how he loved it when they begged...

Redirecting his attention back to the present, the Spiritwalker studied the females before him. He noticed a pattern to their behavior, though he was unsure if they themselves were fully aware of it. They converged on a place, chattering amongst themselves like squawking birds, laughing and gossiping, before breaking off into pairs for a time. The two would talk as they worked, though less noisily now, until eventually they drifted apart, bit by tiny bit, when the two became one.

Individuals would gather alone in silence and then, almost as if by some invisible hand, the one would become two again, and the two, four, combining the results their efforts into a single basket before starting all over, flowing apart and together, apart and together. Most observers would have found the elegance of their rhythm as they labored in this peaceful woodland beautiful; the shaman saw it as a predator might, seeking the right moment to strike when the prey it had selected was most vulnerable.

He knew the woman and her Light-Eyed mate planned to strike at him as well, somehow use the Elder's offspring against him. Although the spiritual leader doubted they could successfully persuade her to testify against him -- he had ensured that she fully understood the cost to her entire family should she betray him -- they were still treading dangerously close to a hidden trail that led directly to him, a web of carefully guarded secrets which, if uncovered, would destroy everything he had spent a lifetime building. The Spiritwalker knew he could hesitate no longer; they must be dealt with before they reached the other Camp.

Spying on his target while he decided how to deal with this disturbing revelation was now far too important a task to entrust in his latest female. Her senses had grown so dull in recent days it rendered her virtually useless. Even their pleasures, so exhilarating before, were becoming increasingly lackluster. Under normal circumstances he would have flung her away from him like so much refuse by now, but she still had her moments, and given her injuries he could not risk that someone else might discover them. Soon after she lost consciousness the night she had stirred his wrath, he recognized that branding the woman had been a costly mistake.

Never before had he left a permanent mark of his activities on those he selected for his enjoyment. Now he was faced with either eliminating her or joining with her, and since he could not risk the death of another woman so closely associated with himself in quick succession, he had little choice but to mate with her. After he took care of this matter he planned to inform her of his decision, although this time he would bond with her without delay, perhaps even the same day; never again would he allow himself to be embarrassed so publicly.

He directed his female to shift her attention solely on the Tracker, a request with which he knew she was more than happy to comply. That freed him to slip away, allowing him to study his former Intended unseen. He discovered watching her so happy and carefree as she worked alongside her friends reignited his resentment, renewing his determination to make her suffer the consequences for humiliating him so brazenly. Well, she would learn, soon, the error of her ways, though she would have precious little time to ponder where she had gone wrong.

Now that the Spiritwalker had figured out how he intended to dispose of her, one primary obstacle remained -- her mate. Being both a Tracker and a Light-Eyed One posed certain complications which interfered with his plan. He could not allow them to be followed, and if the Tracker were any other individual he would have dispatched with him, and her, long ago. In fact, if the man were anyone but a Light-Eye -- moreover, the only Light-Eye in the entire Clan -- he would not have needed to expend so much effort in the first place.

Sighing, the shaman cursed the four Travelers of legend. This is all their fault, he thought. If those wayward men had just accepted their station in life, staying where they belonged instead of taking it upon themselves to journey into lands not their own, I would not have to contend with my people fawning desperately over their deviant spirits remaining among us countless generations later.

As far as he was concerned, the Light-Eyed Ones detracted from their people's greatness. Or, perhaps more accurately, the greatness of the Spiritwalkers. They did not do anything exceptional, not like Spiritwalkers or Clan Leaders; they were simply freaks of nature, a constant reminder of an ancient time when strangers meddled in the affairs of his people.

The spiritual leaders were the only ones who held within them the secrets of this world and the next, secrets that imparted with it real power. They knew which plants could heal, which could kill, which could allow one to see the Other World. They knew how to draw the spirits of animals for their people's hunts, and how to call the spirits of the departed to embark for the next Great Journey. They knew why the land slept with a blanket of snow each year and why it awoke with new leaves every spring thereafter. They knew all these things and a great many more.

The Light-Eyed Ones possessed no secrets, carried no insights into the mysteries of existence. They contributed nothing of significance, and yet their people imbued upon them a status, a power, nearly rivaling that of his own. The Spiritwalker found this offensive. Still, his own personal feelings aside, he recognized the importance they held for their people, the symbol...

How did the Elders' story go? ...and so long as the Light-Eyed Ones live among us, the Wolf Clan will possess, forevermore, the great fortune bestowed upon them by the four lucky Travelers from a place beyond where the land meets the sky.

So long as they live among us...

The Spiritwalker smiled wider and wider, baring his teeth. He finally knew how to execute his plan.

~*~*~