The Power That Binds By Mark E. Cooper

Copyright©2000 by Mark E. Cooper

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Shelim rode Nyx at an easy pace, but he knew it was all a dream. In reality, he was lying asleep next to Kerrion in Denpasser, but knowing this didn’t help. He had yet to find a way of controlling his dreams—he would keep trying, he had no choice.

He patted Nyx on the neck and breathed deeply, but frowned and turned in the saddle looking for the fire he scented on the breeze. The day was brilliant and the air clear. The sky was the colour of his mother’s eyes, sapphire blue and beautiful. No sign of smoke up there, nor cloud either.

He twisted around. Behind him, his trail stretched into the distance, but again there was no sign of fire. A dream… Did dream smoke on the wind mean anything, and if it did, what did it portend?

He turned to Kerrion to ask him, but gasped in horror. His mentor was shrivelled and wizened beyond belief. Kerrion was old, everyone knew it, but this was ridiculous! He must be a hundred at least! Kerrion turned to him and he gasped again. Half his mentor’s face was a ruin of burnt and suppurating flesh, while the other was as he had always been. He recognised this Kerrion.

His thoughts flashed back to his manhood ceremony, almost a year ago now. He had drunk Tancred along with the others and had dreamed so strongly he flew to Deva. There, in a huge stone tent he found Kerrion injured and attended by the outclan woman. Kerrion was injured in battle, or would be. He frowned. Shamen never fought in war.

“What happened?”

Kerrion gazed at him fondly with his one good eye. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Of course I worry!” Shelim snapped. “This is the future… is it not?” He said suddenly unsure.

Kerrion nodded. “One of many.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will in time.” Kerrion said turning to gaze behind him.

Shelim looked back and saw two distinct trails as before. “Teach me mentor.”

“The future is slippery, my boy. I told you once that I could divine with the aid of the drug. You don’t need it. Both are true, but what you must realise is the future is not fixed. We do not go through life following a trail laid down for us by the God.”

“But… How can we then know what will happen?” Shelim said in confusion. “What then is divining?”

“Good, Shelim. You are thinking.” Kerrion said in approval. “Divining shows us what may happen.”

“Only what may?”

“Only that, my boy. Of course, one of the many futures will happen and then it will be called the past. We can look backward much easier than forward.”

“To see what happened, and learn by the doing?” Shelim said.

Kerrion nodded. “By watching past mistakes, we try to void future ones.”

“There is a way to find the most likely possibility?”

“Yes indeed!” Kerrion said with a smile. “By viewing each we weigh the possibilities hoping to find the one most likely to occur. Steering away from that one is the hardest of all. Try to imagine everyone in the clan riding with us but each in his own direction. The trails left in the grass would be confusing. The possible futures are endless, many times more confusing than those trails.”

How would he judge? He was only young yet, but Kerrion had told him before his ceremony they only had two summers before the storm descended upon them. One summer had passed since then, and though he knew so much more now, his journey had only begun.

“How will I know?” He said and Kerrion showed him.

“Like this.”

Shelim blinked, the plain was gone. He was riding beside an outclan woman wearing the leathers of a shaman. No woman was ever a shaman, but he looked at her without surprise. He knew her… but he had never met her. He rode on her left, while Kerrion stayed to her right.

“—Are the one Julia.” Kerrion was saying.

“I know, old man, you told me long ago.” Julia said coldly.

His mentor had changed, Shelim saw. He was still ancient, but the terrible burns had healed. Half his face looked as if it had melted, the hollow eye socket was a horror.

Where… what… when was this?

The woman was young seeming, perhaps thirty summers. He wished he could look at himself in his mirror. He was afraid of what he might see—himself at his father’s age?

Kerrion blinked in confusion. “No… I haven’t met you yet.”

Shelim gaped. “Kerrion?”

“What is it my boy?”

“How can we be here if we haven’t met yet?”

Kerrion laughed and waggled his eyebrow. “This is a dream Shelim. Ride it out and try to remember all you see. It’s important.”

“But…”

The outclanner interrupted. “I’ll decide what I will do, not you old man.” She said coldly.

Shelim was shocked. Kerrion was a shaman and due proper respect. Outclanner this woman might be, but that didn’t excuse her lack of common courtesy.

“The prophecy—”

“Said the old ones are coming,” Julia finished for Kerrion. “That is done with old man. I have personal business to attend.”

“He’s dead, child.” Kerrion said kindly. “He wouldn’t thank you for killing yourself too.”

“I do this for myself, not him.” She said.

“Do what?” Shelim said confused at the words. He hadn’t meant to say that.

Her head swung toward him and he gasped. Her eyes burned with rage and madness.

“This,” she said and swepped her arm in an arc ahead of them.

The world changed.

They were no longer on the plain. He didn’t know where they were, but cities had no place on the plain. It was burning, that city. Clouds of smoke billowed into the sky and the stink of burned flesh was heavy on the air. Dead horses and men lay carpeting the ground in all directions for as far as he could see. Hulking metal shapes he had no name for lay abandoned some half melted or buried. Men wearing metal shells lay dead next to others wearing ones made of leather. Black robed men lay in heaps where they had died fighting together, but worse of all, intermingled with them were clan warriors and shaman. He groaned. There were many thousands dead here, many, many thousands.

“Why?” He gasped. “Why…”

“Why did I kill them all?” Julia asked.

“Yes.”

“Because I am the One, because they understand nothing but force, because there was no one else, and because I wanted to.”

“Wanted to…” he whispered.

The woman looked around with a small smile on her face. “They thought to take my people back through the gate. They were wrong wouldn’t you say?”

Kerrion nodded sadly. “Very wrong. You warned them, but they wouldn’t listen.”

“How can you be so calm?” Shelim shouted.

“Would you have me cry?” Julia said. “I’ve cried enough over this land, it’s time for my enemies to weep, and they will. Oh yes, they will weep.” She said and chuckled.

He looked at Kerrion, but his mentor was dismounting and didn’t see him. Shelim couldn’t see what his mentor had found, but it must be important. He jumped down to help.

“Kerrion? What is it?”

Kerrion was weeping silent tears from his remaining eye. “Don’t come any closer Shelim.”

“What… who is it?” He said and bent to look. He had to know.

On the ground was a… a thing that had once been a man. His chest was a gaping hole and something writhed inside the shattered rib cage—maggots. It was Tomik.

“NOOOOO!” He screamed.

Shelim bolted awake with the cry building in his throat. He strangled it and staggered out of the tent. He didn’t want Kerrion to wake and start questioning him.

He sat cross-legged in the grass and shut his eyes. He breathed deeply and composed himself. His father wasn’t dead, and now he knew the visions he saw didn’t have to happen, Tomik wouldn’t die. What he saw was only one of many possibilities. He would make sure this one never happened.

He ducked into the tent and snagged his tunic. Denpasser was empty of people, but walking around in only his leggings felt wrong. He waited until he was outside to pull it on, the rattling of the beads might wake his mentor.

Shelim watched the sunrise over the plains and thought back over the past few seasons. He had learnt so many strange things, it felt as if his old warrior self had died and been reborn. He would never have guessed two summers ago he would become a shaman and be glad of it!

A time of change was coming to the people, and if they didn’t change with it, they would disappear from the memory of the land. How fitting then, his manhood ceremony marked the beginning of the changes.

Shelim breathed deep, all was right with the world—how much longer would that be so?

Winter had finally passed and Denpasser looked different. The gather was ever an exciting event to him waiting just over the horizon. Denpasser had always looked new to his eyes, but living here for so long made him yearn for a different view. The river just ahead chuckled and splashed as it always did, and the wind blew the long grass flat as it always did, and even the ruins no longer held the same fascination they once had.

No one, not even Kerrion knew what significance Denpasser used to have, or so he said. Was the ruin a place to meet the clans and outclan traders even thousands of years ago? Or did the ruins mean the clans once lived inside stone as the Lost did? He couldn’t believe that last. Every clansman had a horror of cities, and anyway, Denpasser was the only stone tent on the plain. It was large, but never was it big enough for more than a single tribe to live in, even if they would.

He studied the ruin yet again trying to solve its puzzle. The hole in the wall where a door used to hang was eight yards across, easily big enough for a dozen warriors to enter walking side by side. That wasn’t the half of it though. Wide the doorway might be, but the height of it was ridiculous! The thing was taller than it was wide! Why make something without reason like that? The holes in the sides, Kerrion said the Lost used to look out at the sky, seemed small compared to the door.

Inside was just as much of a puzzle. There were several dish shaped depressions in the middle of the floor. None had any use he could see. Along the sides and rear walls, stone benches arranged in tiers could seat an entire tribe without crowding, but were they used for that, or something else? No one knew.

Kerrion knew the history of the people better than any other, but all he would say was Denpasser was built more than ten thousand summers ago. When Shelim asked how he knew, his mentor shooed him outside and gave him a lesson in magic that made him sweat so much he forgot to ask again. Maybe he dreamed the building of it?

Shelim again dismissed the puzzle as unsolvable and turned to regard the tent flap. Kerrion was old; he would be a while yet in waking.

Food was in order, so he went to examine their dwindling stores. How he was supposed to make something tasty out of bison meat that had sat here for four seasons he didn’t know. It was still edible smoked as it was, but even bison meat became bland after eating it everyday for this length of time.

Shaking his head at the tough strips of meat, Shelim dropped it back onto its hook. He had lost his appetite. “What we need is some fresh food. Some more green stuff wouldn’t hurt.”

Nyx could use some exercise. Maybe he could ride out and find a stray from the herds. There were always herds of bison on the plains. Some were huge with more than one tribe following them, others were too small to support the people; with luck, he might find one of them.

With a definite plan in mind, he fetched his bow and was soon riding away. This was what the people were born for, he thought as the wind blew his long hair behind him, and made the beads on his tunic rattle. He urged Nyx into a full gallop. Nyx was racing over the grass so fast it was as if she were trying to take to the air and fly.

Shelim’s full-throated shout echoed back to him from the empty plains announcing his joy to the land, but after only a short while, he slowed. Nyx didn’t want to stop, and Shelim had to be firm with her before she reluctantly obeyed.

It was around mid-morning when he decided to turn back empty handed, but rather than retrace his route he decided to circle round. He might yet be lucky and find a stray on the way back. If not, well there was always tomorrow, and he had enjoyed the ride. He knew Kerrion would want to begin today’s lesson soon, and he didn’t want to keep his mentor waiting.

On the way, Shelim noticed some tracks that shouldn’t be there. He dismounted to investigate closer, but what he found made him frown in puzzlement. The grass lay crushed as if a herd or tribe had passed this way recently, but clan horses didn’t leave prints like this. Anyway, the people weren’t due back this way for another two ten-days yet. These tracks were from out clanners; he had no doubt.

His people rode horses unshod, but these prints showed a telltale pattern of iron shoes. There must be a large group of them to tear up the land to this extent, but the tracks were old. He couldn’t tell how old with his usual accuracy, metal shoes left a deeper print. These were faint, but surely not faint enough to be more than a couple of ten-days old.

He stood and shielded his eyes to search the horizon. He frowned. In his dream he smelt smoke, could there be a connection? He found the sky like his dream, both cloudless and smokeless. He had assumed the smoke was due to the burning city, but it couldn’t have been. He smelt it before The One appeared.

He remounted Nyx and rode along leaning forward to follow the tracks south, until he came to the remains of a camp. He could see nothing out of the ordinary, but the absence of bison tracks and droppings nearby confirmed his thoughts. Here was the remains of a camp fire, but it was old. He hesitated a moment, but decided not to follow further. Kerrion needed to hear about this, he decided, if he wanted him to investigate further, he could easily pick up the trail again.

Cantering back to Denpasser, Shelim wondered what a hundred or more outclanners were doing crossing the plains. They were running a big risk doing it in the first place, let alone doing it when the clans were on their way to the gather. The people did welcome outclan traders to the gather, but at any other time, they were… discouraged, from venturing far onto the plain.

At the last few gathers, he noticed the traders had stayed away. That seemed strange now he thought about it. War would keep them off the plain, but the clans lived in peace and had done so since before he was born. These outclanners were not heading toward Denpasser in any case, but toward the south. That meant they crossed nearly three-quarters of the plain from the north. There was no way they could reach so far without encountering a tribe or clan of the people.

He couldn’t think of any reason for a chief to give these outclanners free passage, but at least one must have. “I’ll ask Kerrion what he knows about this.”

He rode back into camp to find Kerrion already breaking his fast. He rubbed Nyx down and went to join his mentor.

“Did you enjoy the ride?” Kerrion said with an understanding smile.

Shelim knelt down and poured two cups of the tea Kerrion liked so much. Kerrion said the tea would make him live longer, so he drank it now as well. One thing he learned about Kerrion: he was never wrong.

“She needed the exercise.” He said defensively, but continued when he saw Kerrion grin. “I dreamt of The One again last night.”

Kerrion’s smile slipped. “Bad?”

“Couldn’t be worse, mentor.” Shelim said with a deep sigh. “Are you sure she’s not evil?”

“Nothing is certain, my boy, but I believe she is good… I hope she is.” Kerrion said. “Tell me of it.”

“We two were riding alone together at first—” Shelim began and detailed his dream from the moment he went to sleep. “—You were crying, and when I looked I found my father.” He looked down at his clenched fists. “That’s when I awoke.”

“You said we were not on the plain?”

“At first—”

“No, I mean the battle.” Kerrion said intently.

“We are clan, we have no cities.” He said by way of explanation. No way was that huge place in Camorin. It was many times bigger than Denpasser—many, many times bigger.

Kerrion nodded. “Good, that is good.”

“Very little was good about the dream, mentor. You were old—”

Kerrion grinned in amusement as if he had a secret.

“—And you were scarred over half your face.”

“Hmmm, can’t say as I look forward to that part.” Kerrion pursed his lips. “You have seen me injured like that before.”

“Many times,” he said. “But never like this. At first you looked as if you were injured moments ago, the next, the burn was healed and obviously summers old.”

Kerrion waved that away. “That will often happen in dreams. Keeping to one time will come with practice, my boy. You dreamed two dreams, one peaceful, one not. Both are possibilities. We must work to discover how to make the first come true.”

Shelim grimaced but Kerrion didn’t notice. The first one would not be painless. Kerrion had been hurt in that one, not the second, and what about the smell of smoke?

“—a few things… are you listening?” Kerrion said.

“Sorry, mentor.” He said flushing. “I was thinking about other things. On my way back I found some tracks made by outclan horses. There must have been a hundred at least.”

“What direction were they heading?”

That Kerrion asked that, when the only normal heading for them was north, meant he already knew. Why did he keep it from him? As Kerrion’s apprentice he should be confided in—surely?

He handed Kerrion his cup. “Why didn’t you tell me about the outclanners?”

“I should not need to tell you outclanners are close.” Kerrion said and sipped his tea. “If you used your mirror more you would be aware of what is going on around you.”

Shelim shrugged uncomfortably. He knew Kerrion was right, but when he used the mirror, he was tempted to view the clan. It made him count the days to the Night Wind’s arrival even more.

“I know your reasons, Shelim, but it’s our duty to look for dangers in the mirror, not only for our own sakes, but also for the good of the clan. I always check in the mornings. You should do the same.”

“I hear you honoured mentor.” Shelim said with a quick bow of his head. “Will you tell me what you know of the outclanners?”

Kerrion nodded blowing across the tea to cool it a little. “The chiefs agreed to allow them passage across the plains. The outclanners paid in gold for the privilege.”

He knew by the way Kerrion spoke he didn’t agree with the decision. It was hard to see why the chiefs would want gold anyway. The stuff was heavy and awkward to carry. You couldn’t make anything useful out of it, except a bit of jewellery for a wife perhaps. The people had no need for what the traders called money, if he wanted something he traded something else for it.

“Why do the chiefs want gold?” He said hoping for enlightenment.

“They don’t!” Kerrion said with his eyebrows climbing, obviously wondering if his apprentice had lost his wits.

The surprise on Kerrion’s face confused him. If they didn’t want the gold of these outclanners, why let them onto the clan ranges?

“What other reason is there for letting them pass?” He asked as he picked up his plate and began to eat.

“Fear mostly.”

Shelim choked, and let out a shocked oath. Coughing he drank more tea to wash the food down quick.

Kerrion chuckled, but it wasn’t in amusement. “It might surprise you, Shelim, but the clans are weak compared to outclanners.”

Shock on piled on shock. “But Night wind has more than two thousand warriors! And we are a small clan. What about all the others?”

Kerrion sighed. “We might as well make this your lesson for today. Knowledge of outclanners will be important in your future, but unlike the past, the clans will have to deal with them rather than ignoring them.”

Kerrion settled himself and drank his tea while Shelim finished his food. Then, when Shelim was sitting comfortably opposite him, he began.

“The plains of Camorin where we live are part of a continent called Waipara.”

“What’s a continent, and why didn’t anyone tell me we live in Waipara?” Shelim said a little put out that no one mentioned it.

Kerrion sighed in exasperation. “If you listen for a moment instead of chattering you might learn these things! A continent is like a very big island. It’s so big a person might never know a sea surrounds him.”

Shelim opened his mouth to ask a question, but Kerrion glared and he snapped it shut again without saying anything. Kerrion nodded and continued the lesson.

“If you journey north as far as you can go, you will find the sea of the Lost One’s, and if you could cross the mountains in the east and west somehow, after many, many days you would reach the sea again. I don’t know why, but its called different things depending on where you are. In the south, it’s called the Sea of Despair. A good name for any sea, I think, but the people never go there… unless one of the Lost has, but I don’t know anything about that.”

Kerrion poured another cup of tea and drank some while all the new names and idea’s swirled around in Shelim’s head. He was living on an island? Somehow, the thought of having sea surround him was unsettling. Not being able to ride away was frightening. Then he snorted. The people never leave the plains, and he would certainly never see a sea, except in his dreams perhaps.

“Now then,” Kerrion continued. “In the south, outclanners are called Devan’s. That’s where most of the traders come from. Their land is smaller than ours, and they live in cities.”

Shelim knew what cities were. In his dreams, he saw the city of the Lost One’s, and last night he saw another. Many stone tents together made a city. He didn’t like cities and didn’t understand why anyone would want to live in one.

“—King. Do you understand all that Shelim?” Kerrion asked.

“No mentor,” Shelim said in embarrassment.

Kerrion shook his head. “Listen closely this time. The Devan’s live in cities and don’t have chiefs, but they do have lords, which is the same thing. In the middle of their land is a big lake with a city on its bank. In a big stone tent called the palace lives a chief of chiefs. His name is King. Now do you understand?”

It seemed simple enough, but what about the tracks? “Yes mentor, but what about the ones crossing the land?”

“I’m coming to them. To the east of Deva are two more lands, but we rarely see traders from there. The land to the west is very big, perhaps twice as big as the plain, and its name is Protectorate. I know it’s a strange name, but try to remember it Shelim it’s important. The outclanners who live in Protectorate are Hasians, and are the ones who made your tracks. They are greedy, and want to take the land from the Devan’s.”

This was all very complicated. The people didn’t own the land, and didn’t want to. Why would they when they travelled constantly? But outclanners lived in one place all the time and it seems they owned the little bit their stone tents stood upon. What point then for these Hasians to own all of Deva? You could only live in one tent at a time; why be greedy for more?

Shelim put aside his cup. “I don’t understand why the Hasians want more land, but no matter, it still has nothing to do with us. Why are they crossing the plain mentor?”

Kerrion was pleased he asked. Shelim could tell by the way the wrinkles creased as his eyes narrowed.

“Last summer, the Hasians made war upon the Devan’s who fought a great battle and defeated them. Now the Devan’s won’t let the Hasians into their land, and the Hasians can only reach Deva from the north. That is why they have been crossing our range.”

Finally an answer to his original question, but… have been crossing? How many times have they crossed? Outclan the Devan’s might be, but at least they weren’t trying to steal the land. The traders were always friendly, and they knew what they were looking at when trading for clan horses. This was important to the people.

Bison were a necessity for survival, but the horses were the people’s pride and joy. Their clothes, food, tents, everything came from the bison and the people couldn’t live without them, but the horses made those lives worth living.

“Why are we helping to destroy the Devan’s mentor? They are not our enemy, or are they?” Shelim thought helping outclanners of any description a strange thing, but the chiefs must have a reason.

Kerrion shook his head. “Deva is not our enemy true, but they are not clan either. We will not help the Devan’s… or the Hasians.”

“But mentor, we are helping the Hasians by giving them passage across the plains!”

Kerrion nodded reluctantly, but again Shelim thought his mentor was pleased with him.

“The Hasians are powerful Shelim. By allowing them to cross the plain without hindrance, the chiefs believe they will leave us in peace. There are many shamen in Protectorate, their people call them sorcerers. Unlike us, they fight by the side of the warriors, and don’t care how many they kill.”

That was a strange thing. Didn’t Protectorate have warriors to fight their battles? No wait, Kerrion said they lost a big battle against the Devans last year; maybe they don’t have enough left.

Kerrion continued the lesson. “A shaman called Mortain is the chief for all the lands in the west of Waipara. He wants to be the chief for the rest as well. I counselled against letting the Hasians through, but the chiefs are frightened of the sorcerers. They are right to fear them. Why do you think we use our magic out of plain sight?” Before Shelim could speak, Kerrion answered the question himself. “If we did, the people would fear us.”

Shelim nodded. He had asked Kerrion the same question after his ceremony. Kerrion said flaunting their magic would cause the chiefs to fear the loss of their authority. Shelim thought the people were more sensible than that, but the shamen were bound by tradition and so they hid their real power.

Shelim frowned thoughtfully and nodded. “You counselled against letting the Hasians pass, but you also said the chiefs are right to fear the sorcerers. What would you have them do then?”

“Nothing for now, but I would expect all the clans to fight when the time comes. Deva alone will not satisfy Mortain. He will want our land as well.”

This Mortain was a fool if he thought he could just take the plains without paying with his warrior’s lives. Every clan would unite as never before to stop him. Unless… unless Mortain didn’t care how many died.

“If you believe that mentor, we should stop them now. The sorcerers will be stronger when they take Deva.”

Kerrion smiled. “You’re forgetting one thing Shelim. The One lives in Deva, she will not allow the Hasians to take it. We will not start a war with the sorcerers, but the clans will fight if they try to take our land.”

Shelim nodded in agreement, but wondered if perhaps Kerrion wasn’t expecting too much of the One. She was still a child and not a trained warrior. She did have great power, but would she be able to win against such odds alone?

“What will I be practising today mentor?” Shelim asked changing the subject.

Kerrion had taught him how to heat water without fire, and he could use the mirror quite well, although he needed to practice more as Kerrion had pointed out earlier. He didn’t need lessons in divining. Divining wasn’t the problem for him it was for other shamen. His problem was the opposite, how to stop the dreams.

During his ceremony the older shamen gave him gifts. He had assumed the bundles of plants and roots would be used for healing, but Kerrion used magic for that. Although some plants did relieve pain, used in the proper way they helped a shaman use his power. Although many of them were of no use to him personally, Kerrion still taught him their uses. Kerrion said he would need to pass the knowledge on to his own apprentice in the seasons ahead.

Grinding different roots and plants then boiling them made Tancred. The drug looked like muddy red/brown water and tasted worse. If given to a shaman, it caused him to fall into a deep sleep in which divined the future. Sleeping had never been a problem for Shelim, and the dreams came to him without the need for Tancred, but he still kept some of each plant in his medicine pouch. They were useful for other things, but unlike Kerrion, he didn’t have to drink any of his own foul concoctions.

“I’m proud of your progress Shelim. Only four seasons have passed, yet you have learnt more in that time than other apprentices learn in twelve.”

Kerrion’s praise pleased Shelim more than anyone’s, except his father. The old shaman was usually so sparse with it. He didn’t think he had learned that much really. Why did other apprentices find the teachings of a shaman so difficult?

“Thank you, but I don’t think I’m that good.” He said smiling with pleasure.

Kerrion snorted knowing him to well to be fooled. “Do you know how long it took me to learn the mirror?”

He thought for a moment. It took him all summer to get the hang of it, but Kerrion had surely been faster. “I don’t know, mentor, but I would guess at four ten-days.”

Kerrion laughed. “I wish! It took me four seasons to find an image in the mirror. My mentor despaired of me ever becoming a competent shaman. He was eldest when I was an apprentice. How long ago would you say that was Shelim?”

Kerrion looked at least sixty, but might be a little more. “If you are sixty, then it must have been forty-five summers ago?”

Kerrion smiled. “I am over a hundred summers old.”

Shelim couldn’t help gasping in shock at the revelation. A hundred summers was impossible! Kerrion wouldn’t lie to him, but how could that be true?

“How is it possible?” He said and frowned as the dream Kerrion rose up in his memory. Now that Kerrion could easily be a hundred summers old.

“When the God marks a shaman, he changes us Shelim. The people can live to seventy summers, sometimes more, but a shaman if he is careful can live twice that and more. Many die young—they use their magic too much. That is why I keep badgering you about releasing as soon as the task is done. You met Larn at your ceremony. How old would you say he was?”

Larn was one who gave him presents at his ceremony, which meant he was older than many other shamen who attended, but Larn didn’t look as old as Kerrion.

“Fifty?” Shelim said tentatively.

“You’re wrong again,” Kerrion said laughing. “Larn looks about that age, but he’s really only a youngster. He is thirty-eight summers old. I’ve tried to warn him not to use his magic too much, but he won’t listen.”

“Why are you telling me these things mentor?”

“I want you to understand something. You are powerful for an apprentice, Shelim. As powerful as you are now, I would expect you to match Larn before you reach your twentieth year and he is the strongest among us. You can divine without Tancred, you have learnt to use the mirror in only a season, you can do most of the things older shamen can do, but you’re not yet fifteen summers old! I’m not insulting you Shelim, but you’re still a child despite your ceremony. The gather is not far away, you will meet friends and former enemies then. You must not use your magic out of my sight.”

Kerrion didn’t trust him! What had he done to deserve his mistrust?

“Shelim I do trust you, but I don’t trust some others I could name. Shamen are never challenged, and so you’re safe from such, but you can challenge others and wave your status for the duration of the fight. I forbid you to challenge anyone.”

Shelim didn’t like that at all. “Everyone has the right to challenge. Are you saying that shamen do not?”

“Of course not!” Kerrion said in exasperation. “Shamen have a unique position in the clan. Our magic can cause great harm, but it’s up to all of us to see this never happens. In a few summers, you will not be so vulnerable. Experience teaches us how to avoid confrontations, but as young and powerful as you are, you could kill someone with a thought. If you use your magic only when it is needful, you will live your full span and so will your enemies. Discipline is the only way not to hurt others… or yourself.”

Shelim thought about Kerrion’s words on and off over the following days and reluctantly concluded that his mentor was right again. The other apprentices would be able to challenge and not risk killing someone, but he was strong. He couldn’t be sure of not using his magic in the heat of the moment, and so vowed not to challenge no matter the provocation.

The thought of killing someone in battle did not worry him; his enemy would be trying to do the same to him. As a shaman, battle would not be an issue for him, but challenges were not battles. The aim was to prove the other person wrong, not to kill him.

The days passed.

Shelim practised using his mirror and moving things with his magic. He still had dreams of the One most nights, and so far had found no way to stop them. Kerrion showed him how to make light without using fire, and Shelim thought it very useful. Fire was a hazard on the plains; dry grass and hide tents were flammable. Shaman could heat things without fire, but appearances did have to be maintained so he practised lighting and extinguishing the campfire with magic.

Perhaps a ten-day after their discussion about challenges, Kerrion showed him how to kill with his magic. He was surprised after Kerrion’s warnings earlier and said so.

Kerrion grimaced in distaste. “This is an evil thing I show you Shelim, but hard times are coming. We will all need to fight the sorcerers, and you are strong. The other apprentices will not be ready, but you will stand by my side when we confront the enemy.”

Shelim shivered at Kerrion’s matter of fact way of speaking. He was talking about war on a scale never before seen on the plain. He watched closely as his mentor showed him how to cast fire at an enemy, and how to crush him with magic. Kerrion looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

Shelim nodded. “I have it.”

“After you master those, you will be a true shamen. You will remain my apprentice, at least until you have enough experience to look after a tribe alone. I can’t teach you healing without someone to heal, I’ll show you once we rejoin the clan.”

Shelim gaped. That couldn’t be all there was to know… surely? “But you said it would take four summers to become a shaman!”

“That is how long it usually takes, but you practice all day, and have done for four seasons. The other apprentices have much less practice, mostly at the end of the day after the clan camps for the night.”

He hadn’t realised that four seasons after his ceremony he would be so far ahead of the others. That might cause him some problems when they met again at the gather. Perhaps he should pretend not to know as much as he did when they met.

*    *    *