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CHAPTER TWO

Nine days of fasting and still no vision had come to Chac the dreamseeker. A shaman's apprentice had to be capable of slipping easily into the dreamworld, because only dreams enabled a man to find a song of power and Chac required a song that would fill the entire world with music. But the Great Sky Father's fiery disk sank rapidly toward the boundary of earth and sky. When the sun disappeared, Chac's dreamquest would end, and with it his hope of becoming the Earth Shaman.

This year marked his sixteenth season since birth and his tenth as apprentice to the legendary Earth Shaman, Hulok Windsinger. And yet only one great dream had been given Chac. He fingered the small bone flute hanging from a cord around his neck.

As a child, a severe stutter had plagued his speech and his first dreamquest had been an attempt to heal his broken voice. That too almost ended in defeat. But the bite of a rattletail had plunged him near death and deep into the Shadowlands. It was there he built his flute and later, as he lay dying, its enchanted music saved his life. His stutter became less noticeable, but dreams, the blood and soul of a shaman, never came again.

A delicate breeze, spiced with sage and cedar, gently touched his face. A fawn picked its way down the opposite slope to a tiny water hole just below where Chac held his vigil. The sun now lay partly hidden behind the edge of the world.

Was the reason for his repeated failures his inability to fall into harmony with the rhythms of Mother Earth? If true, the fault was not with the Earth Mother; her tranquility lay around him in abundance. The discord arose from strife in his own soul.

As a red doe tiptoed down the brushy hillside to join the fawn, quail began to call, their tiny voices announcing the end of the day. Only a thin crescent of light remained, burning from the peaks of distant mountains. Chac raised his hands in supplication.

The fawn lifted its delicate muzzle, spreading rings of bright water that shimmered briefly and were gone. Soft brown eyes studied Chac, but the fawn decided a quiet boy posed no danger and so lowered its head to drink. From far off came the cry of a coyote, raising its voice in welcome to the rising moon. The sun hesitated just below the mountains and the world fell into thrall between darkness and light.

Only moments remained before the time of dreamquest ended. No great vision filled Chac's eyes and no song lifted his spirit. A sob of anguish wrenched itself from deep in his chest and his agony loosed a flood of tears. Would he never become shaman?

Quail gathered around the waterhole and drank, ignoring Chac and his misery. Life would continue, but would he be able to face Hulok with yet another failure? The gentle old man would offer no criticism, but Chac knew how much Hulok depended on him.

He gazed at the filmy curtain of red light hanging along the horizon, the remnants of a dying sun captured in thin, swirling clouds. In that last instant of sunlight, a sense of lassitude swept through him and his soul lifted suddenly as if borne on a wind.

His heart leaped with joy. Although he had only once before experienced the sensation, he knew this was the onset of a vision. Time's rushing current paused, leaving Chac adrift in its slack with only his heartbeat to measure his existence.

In the dimly lighted clouds, a figure formed, a god-like creature composed of mist and stars and wind blown fire. There was compassion and terrible strength written on its countenance. The figure reached out into the heavens and scooped up a handful of stars; turning, it poured them into Chac's upturned palms. The stars sparkled and faded, leaving behind a small, clay bowl filled with dust. A look of infinitesimal sadness crossed the majestic visage. The figure spoke in a voice of rain and wind. "You are not yet ready."

The face in the sunset faded and with it all light. Time resumed its forward rush and Chac sat in darkness, his soul aching. He came here seeking a dream and yet when he succeeded it was an admonishment, a rebuke that only magnified his failure.

Beyond tears, Chac struggled to his feet. He stumbled toward Hulok's camp, weak from fasting and barren with regret.

The trip was difficult, but easy compared to the task ahead. How would he account for another setback? After a time he saw a small fire and Hulok tending it. Hulok looked up and directly into his eyes. The old shaman's expression told Chac he would not need to explain.

The Shaman stood up, his straight back denying his years. A band of blue wool, traditional badge of the Earth Shaman, held his gray hair away from his eyes. He regarded Chac steadily and without reproach. "Sit and eat," he said. "When you feel stronger we'll discuss your experience." He placed a bowl of food in front of the boy.

While Chac ate, Hulok unrolled a thin leather scroll. Next to it he placed a vial of black ink and a cactus spine quill. Carefully he began to draw tiny glyphs.

"No need to write about my dreams," said Chac. "I've failed."

Hulok looked up from his work, his expression stern. "A man who truly wants something can fail only by dying."

Chastened, Chac finished his meal and cleaned the bowl with sand. He seated himself next to Hulok and studied the writing. The account began when Hulok took him as an apprentice, carefully enumerating his few successes and his many defeats.

Hulok dipped the cactus spine in the ink. "Tell me about your vision."

The old man neither spoke nor interrupted while Chac told his story. "Even the Great Mystery doesn't believe I'm worthy," said Chac.

"He said you're not ready," said Hulok. "Not the same thing at all." Hulok finished the last of the pictographs and carefully stored the writing equipment in his pack. Only then did he turn his full attention to Chac. "You have the talent to be a shaman. But something is obstructing your tie with Mother Earth. What do you think it might be?"

Hulok always made Chac solve his own problems, but this time Chac feared a sure answer was beyond his skill. He shrugged. "I don't know who I am."

Leaning forward, Hulok placed his open palm over Chac's chest. "You are the son-of-my-heart."

A knot formed in Chac's throat, an ache so dense it almost choked him. "But I don't know to what clan I belong. I don't know where I was born. I don't even know my mother's name." His voice trailed off in a protracted sob.

Hulok leaned back and the fire illuminated his old face in highlights of sienna on black. "This I should have expected." He sighed. "Your mother was a mystery, one we should have resolved long ago. I was distracted by my need for an apprentice--and a son." He stirred the fire with his staff. "Your learning will be halted for a while. We need to find some answers."

Excitement drove the shame from Chac's heart; then doubt cooled his enthusiasm. "Where will we start?"

"That's a question you need to ask the one who found you."

"But you found me."

Hulok shook his head slowly. "No, I merely followed a sign given me by the Thunderbird."

"I must speak with the Storm God?"

A somber expression crossed Hulok's face. "Do you understand the danger?"

Chac's insides turned to water. "Few men call the Storm God and live."

"Few is an exaggeration. In the hundred and fifty years I've wandered this land, a thousand men have climbed Skyspear. Only one returned."

A thrill ran up Chac's spine. "You were the one?"

Hulok nodded.

"But why does the Storm God kill those who call him?"

"Most are fortune hunters, hoping to acquire a feather from the Thunderbird's wing. Such a talisman would give a man strong magic."

"I'll not be asking for such a thing."

"No, but the Storm God won't know that. The danger is great that you would die before you could explain."

For a moment Chac considered his options. "I must try," he said. Fervor replaced the dread. "Can we leave tonight?"

Hulok sighed. "No. You need rest. Morning will be soon enough." Hulok smiled at Chac's look of disappointment. He began to unstrap a package tied to the side of his pack. That mysterious bundle had been an object of Chac's curiosity for some time.

"On our return we'll stop at Hidden Springs and try to find a puppy to train. You need a war dog at your side."

Chac was thrilled by the prospect. His warmest memories were those of Bounder the old war dog that had been his friend.

Hulok opened the goat skin and lifted a wide collar of heavy leather, studded with brass rivets. "This battle collar was worn by my war dog Sun Devil when we fought together at Three Rivers."

"A fine fighting collar," said Chac. He studied Hulok's expression, hoping he would find permission to ask a personal question. Finally he decided the old man would answer. "Why didn't you take another war dog after Sun Devil died?"

"Sun Devil was my friend. You'll understand someday."

Unwrapping the bundle further, Hulok revealed a longknife, the all-purpose tool and weapon used by the Chulaka. The plain hardwood handle was big enough for both hands and the broad blade curved slightly. Chulaka used their longknives more often to chop firewood than to fight, so the blades tended to be heavy and brutally efficient. This one was almost delicate in balance and craftsmanship.

"This blade was fashioned by the smiths of Zacopan," said Hulok. "Only their magical forges can produce good steel. My wife carried this blade at Three Rivers."

A sheen of tears moistened the old man's eyes. Chac decided he would ask no more questions. Besides, he knew the story of Moki's death. Although she died long before Chac was born, her story was still told around campfires when Chulaka warriors gathered.

"A lot of demon Churr died at her hand that day." The old man's eyes blazed with memory as he handed the blade across the fire.

Chac took it reverently. A longknife meant far more than this simple ceremony would imply. Chulaka youths received a blade such as this on becoming full fledged warriors. Hulok, in his gentle, uncomplicated manner, had promoted Chac to manhood. And more important, he honored Chac with Moki's blade. Chac wondered briefly if Hulok was simply trying to cheer him after his failures, but decided it didn't matter.

He tied a leather cord through the handle ring and slung the longknife over his shoulder. A Shaman needed to be both a sorcerer and a warrior, but to be one and not the other made Chac feel crippled.

Hulok stamped out the fire. "Sleep now. Tomorrow we begin a search for your past."