Irula's Apprentice (Tales from the Veldt Book 2) Read online

  Irula’s Apprentice

  Tales from The Veldt 2

  by

  Donald Jacob Uitvlugt

  Text copyright © 2007, 2017 Donald Jacob Uitvlugt

  All Rights Reserved

  This story first appeared in Renard’s Menagerie, issue 3.

  Cover designed by designers__hub.

  “So not every shamaness knows how to use magic, Lady Irula?”

  The shamaness laughed, her whiskers dancing, and looked back over her shoulder at her apprentice as the pair padded through the high grass. The clear, bright sound of her laugh seemed so at odds with her bent figure and stern persona. But Liara was learning that there were two Irulas—Irula the shamaness, unflinching in her performance of her duties; and Irula the lioness, with all the passion and moods of any female. She wondered how many people got to see this other side of Irula, outside of her role in the pride.

  And sometimes Liara wondered which one was the harsher mistress.

  “Ancestors no, cub. Most shamanesses know their herblore, and if the pride is lucky, she can speak to the Ancestors. But over half of the shamanesses on the plains don’t have enough magic in them to set fire to a blade of dry grass.”

  Brown eyes sparkled. “Not that that’s a secret we let out, mind. Those of us that have, help those of us without. Remember, that’s why we’re heading all this way out to Ulani’s Pride in the first place.”

  Liara nodded, somewhat absently. She was really wondering if Irula had intended that example to hurt as much as it did. For that was how she had discovered her own magic, four summers ago–accidentally starting a fire in the veldt grass. She was sixteen summers now, and had learned much about magic since then, but the image of her pridemates rushing to put out the fire she had set was still burned in her memory.

  She winced as pain stabbed her thumb. Unconsciously, while lost in memories, she had run her thumb along the edge of the flint knife she carried in her belt. She had fashioned it herself just a month ago, a badge of her full apprenticeship.

  The knife hung naked in her belt, as was the custom among shamanesses. Frowning at her absentmindedness, she licked at her thumb until the bleeding stopped. If Irula had noticed the incident, she said nothing. Liara focused her mind on their mission to keep it off the pain.

  “So the Ulani suspect one of their male cubs has the spark of magic?”

  “Aye.”

  Males could not be trusted with the power of magic. That was a lesson the lions of the Veldt had learned the hard way. They did not have necessary control over their passions to keep the power in check. Liara took a breath, trying to phrase her next question carefully. “The Sisterhood of shamanesses believe that all magic is a gift from the Ancestors.”

  “Aye,” Irula replied. Irula was instructing Liara not only in her own understanding of magic, but in the traditions of all the shamanesses of the Veldt. A deeper extension of what Liara had believed from cubhood.

  Liara went on. “If that is so, what about males with the spark? That must be a gift too, yes?”

  Irula’s tail flicked, though she did not turn around to look at her apprentice.

  “Just because a body has a gift does not mean one knows how to use it correctly.”

  Liara repressed a toothy smile. It was only rarely that she scored such a hit against Lady Irula. Not that their discussions were a game; Liara really was curious. But it was also a great deal of fun to get under the shamaness’ fur, if only a little. She remembered the first time she had done so. The Ancestors were the spirits of the lions who had gone before. They spoke with their descendants through dreams and through the shamanesses, speaking words that were generally more cryptic than helpful. The old stories even had them aiding the lions at their dawn of sentience—“back when lions first became people,” as the stories put it. But where had those Ancestors come from, if lions were not yet people?

  Irula had not spoken to Liara the rest of the day after that question.

  When she was certain that her voice would not betray any emotion, Liara went on. “Perhaps the Ancestors bestow such gifts in case Baaltor or another like male rises again. We could then pit male magic against male magic.” And she gave a little laugh. Baaltor had been defeated centuries ago by a coalition of prides. Any notion of his really returning was just a tale to frighten naughty cubs.

  But Irula froze in place at her question, so suddenly that Liara almost ran into her. The shamaness turned and regarded her apprentice with calculating eyes. At last she shook her head. “There is a time to speak about ‘what ifs,’ and there is a time to deal with the matter at paw. Come. We must reach Ulani’s Pride before nightfall.”

  With that, Irula set off again with a pace that belied her bent and withered appearance. (Though at least some of that appearance was due to a glamour spell; Irula had taught Liara early on that there could be a great advantage in being thought weaker than one was.) Liara was soon panting in her efforts to keep up.

  And she could have sworn that she had heard Lady Irula mutter something about a “cub that’s too clever by half.” Not knowing why her question upset her mentor so, she let her face slip into the predator’s grin she had been fighting so hard.

  * * *

  The evening they arrived, Ulani’s Pride feasted them with all the pomp due to a visiting shamaness. After a long speech by the Pridemother, and a shorter speech by Irula, the pair were give the seats of honor around a large bonfire. Lady Irula graciously took the guest’s portion, but only sampled a few sweetmeats before passing the trencher to Liara. She was glad that her mistress had relaxed her ascetic regime for this visit, for she had been drooling over the aroma of roasted kid since they had first scented the pride’s cookfires.

  She ate enough to last her for two or three days, knowing full well that Irula would make sure the meal was worked off by the time they returned home to Estraal’s Pride.

  As Liara groomed her whiskers, silence fell over the pride. The moon had set by now, and the sky was lit with a myriad of stars. Liara took a sip of her water (Irula had warned her against the strength of the local beer) and almost jumped out of her fur when the drum sounded. The unseen musician sounded a slow beat, and an elaborate dance began. It took Liara a moment to recognize the movements, which seemed to be telling the story of the founding of Ulani’s Pride. Estraal’s Pride had a similar dance, but back home the shamaness chanted a kind of narrative song to accompany it. Here there was only the drum; the action itself was done in pantomime.

  Well, now. This was different. The dance had moved forward in time, to the period when the prides of the Veldt had banded together to battle against Baaltor the Black. Liara wondered if the inclusion of this scene was simply part of the night’s entertainment, a dance reciting the great deeds of Ulani’s Pride, or if there was another motivation for including the scene. While dealing with a male having the spark of magic was usually a quiet affair, perhaps Irula and the local shamaness had conspired to make sure this scene was in the dance. To flush out the prey, as it were.

  As the battle scene being told in the dance grew more intense, the movements of the dancers grew more intricate, and she recognized that the males were using actual martial forms as the basis for their parts. No one acted the roles of Baaltor or his army; it would be very bad luck to do so. Instead the dancers suggested their opponents with a marvelous knack. One could all but see the enemy. Liara found herself leaning forward, watching the display with all the delight of a cub.

  The ranks of the lions broke, and Liara gasped, as if a real army were about to storm through. Suddenly a lone male dancer appeared in the gap. He was tall,
even gangly, and he seemed even more so in the flickering light from the fires. He was young too, no more than twenty summers Liara guessed. In spite of a certain gawkishness about his limbs, he was handsome. Quite handsome. It was almost the mating season back home, and Liara found herself wondering if Irula’s relaxation of her regime included... Liara felt her ears flush and she forced herself to not finish the thought.

  She now knew what part of the story of the defeat of Baaltor the dancers were portraying. When the final battle was at its fiercest and all hope seemed lost, a young male of Ulani’s Pride had somehow made it through the ranks of the enemy and challenged Baaltor himself. He was able to wound Baaltor, and his efforts had given the allies time to regroup and close the lines. Baaltor had been defeated the next day. Liara smiled, remembering that her own pride had played the decisive role that day, though the stories of the final battle were a little vague on the details.

  The young dancer made a series of prancing leaps, higher in the air than Liara would have though him able to go. That apparently was the young hero crossing through the enemy host. Then the dancer whirled in a wild sequence of moves, too fast for Liara’s eye to follow. He paused, threw back his head and mimed laughter. He tossed the locks of his mane, and his eyes glowed an eerie green in the night. He pantomimed the thrust of the spear, the spear that had pierced Baaltor’s thigh.

  And then the young lion somersaulted backwards, struck down by a bolt of magic from his invisible foe. Liara knew that this was just part of the pantomime. But she still couldn’t help but gasp as he fell, and was even halfway to her feet. Irula chuckled softly beside her, and Liara could feel the heat pouring from her ears in her embarrassment. She returned to her seat with as much dignity as she could muster.

  Irula had noticed her display, and probably the local shamaness as well. Liara wasn’t sure who else might have. The festivities went on, and she saw the young lion only once after the dance ended. Intense eyes studied her from the distance, again glowing green in the dim light. He smiled at her, and Liara flushed yet again and looked away.

  * * *

  Liara awoke to the scents of Ulani’s Pride, so like yet unlike the smells from back home. Rather than sit up at once as Lady Irula had been training her to do upon awakening, she lounged on the sleeping mat for a moment. Training the will was one thing, but Liara so rarely had the luxury of sleeping in. She stretched her limbs one by one and then started to groom her fur. Irula was not in the guest hut they had been provided with, but Liara was not surprised. The shamaness was always up before her apprentice. Liara did not know if Lady Irula slept more than a few hours each night.

  “Perhaps she has disturbing dreams,” Liara wondered aloud. She was fully awake now, and sat up and donned her necklaces of bone and shell. Smoothing down her skirt, she tucked her flint knife through its belt, and headed out of the hut. Though it felt like she had lazed abed for hours, the sun was scarcely above the horizon. It was going to be a warm day; somehow Liara always knew such things.

  She made her way to the hut of the local shamaness, passing a number of females going about their morning duties. The lionesses nodded in greeting.

  None of the males seemed to be up yet. She had half-hoped to come upon the dancer from last night, and then earblushed at the thought. Here she was supposed to be training to be a shamaness, and her emotions were running away with her, like a youngling a week before her first mating season. She was in fact exactly that age, but Liara had always thought herself above the silly creatures fawning over some hunk of mane and muscle.

  Apparently she didn’t know herself as well as she had thought.

  Liara paused a moment outside the shamaness’ hut, took a breath, and then knocked on the doorframe.

  “Enter, cub.”

  She had been right. Irula was with Ulani’s Pride’s shamaness. Liara slipped past the hanging blanket that served as a door and into the cool, dark chamber beyond. Like Irula’s hut back home, it had a strong herbal scent from the rack of jars against the wall. But she didn’t detect the extra scent here that she had learned meant magic. Also unlike Irula’s hut, this dwelling was only a single chamber. Her mistress and the other shamaness were staring into the embers of a small fire.

  “Lady Adaal, my young apprentice. Apprentice, this is Adaal, shamaness of Ulani’s Pride.”

  “Lady Adaal.” Liara bowed, while Adaal simply nodded her head and returned to staring at the fire. Irula motioned for Liara to join them, and she sat down next to her mentor.

  “We have been... conversing with the Ancestors since before dawn.” That explained the weariness in Lady Adaal’s face and bearing. Conversing with the Ancestors was often exhilarating, but it was always an exhausting experience.

  And getting a straight answer from Them was often like wrestling a buffalo to the ground. “In their wisdom, they have chosen to remain silent on the matter before us.”

  Liara nodded. It couldn’t have been that easy. Like the pride-aunts who raised the cubs, the Ancestors were careful not to do everything for you. You never matured that way. No, they would have to use their own capabilities. Fortunately, she and Irula both were able to scent magic. Between the two of them, it would simply be a matter of—

  “Lady Adaal and I have decided to inspect the cubs at play. On our own. We would like you to take a walk around the pride and see if you can scent out something that we would otherwise miss.”

  Liara blinked. She looked from Lady Irula to Lady Adaal. The local shamaness was perhaps over a dozen years younger than Irula, but she seemed ancient now, as if her life’s journey were nearing its end. The female was still staring at the fire, and her lips moved from time to time, though no sound reached Liara’s ears. Had the Ancestors told the shamanesses something that the two were keeping to themselves?

  Probably. Was Liara likely to find out? There was a reason why the saying on the Veldt went, “as stubborn as a shamaness.” She turned back to Lady Irula.

  “As you wish, mistress. And if I finish before you?”

  Irula licked her whiskers a moment. “Then I leave you to your own devices, apprentice, until I send for you.”

  “Thank you, mistress. Lady Adaal.” She bowed to each in turn and then left the hut. For a moment she contemplated listening outside the door to see if she might overhear anything about what else the Ancestors had told the pair. But she thought better of it. Best to play the game Lady Irula had set out for her. Besides, her mistress no doubt expected her to try to eavesdrop. She’d surprise Irula by not doing so.

  The huts of Ulani’s Pride were laid out much like those of Estraal’s Pride —a large circle of small huts, with the long females’ and males’ lodges in the center. The shamaness’ hut was some distance to the north of the circle. As the shamaness was the pride’s access to the Other Realms, she both was and was not part of the pride. Thus her hut was and was not grouped with the others. Liara walked over to the main circle of huts and began to walk around it slowly.

  There was definitely something unusual in the air. Liara’s nostrils flared, and she slowed her pace, trying to better catch the faint traces. Various lions greeted her as she passed. She nodded curtly, trying to run down the peculiar scent. She circumambulated the ring of huts twice, once on the outside, once on the inside. It was definitely the traces of magic that she was smelling, but there was a certain...savor to the scent that she had never smelled before. Perhaps it was because the magic had a male source.

  She began to walk around the circle of huts a third time. There. It was very subtle, but the scent was stronger in that direction. To the west. Liara closed her eyes and tilted her head to the side, making sure she had a fix on the trace. And then she began to stalk after the scent. The trail let her away from the huts to the surrounding grasslands. She lost the trace once or twice. Whatever was making the scent didn’t move in a straight line, but it did seem to have a destination in mind, and Liara always found the trail again without much difficulty.

  The gr
asses were becoming shorter now, and Liara could smell the tang of water in the air. She was in the pasturelands of Ulani’s Pride. The stink of goat, which had been slowly growing in her perception, blocked out every other smell for a moment. And suddenly a figure appeared right in front of her. Liara cried out and tumbled backwards into the cropped grass, landing hard on her tail. A baritone laugh sounded above her, and Liara looked up into the face of the dancer from the night before. In the daylight, his eyes were the color of burnished gold. His mane was as dark as the night. He was younger than he had seemed last night, perhaps only a summer older than she was herself, and the spots of cubhood still freckled his face, arms and thighs.

  Liara was certain her ears were bright pink at this point.

  “I did not mean to startle you, young shamaness.” He offered a paw, but she managed to stand without his assistance. This seemed to amuse the lad too.

  “Not a shamaness, just an apprentice. Did you think becoming a shamaness was that easy?”

  “Well, I certainly didn’t think that all shamanesses are as pretty as you. I am called Niko. I saw you watching me last night.”

  Liara found that she indeed could blush harder. “Very good. The dancing, I mean. Last night.” There. That had even almost come out as a coherent sentence. Almost.

  The young lion laughed again. “Ah, so that is why you were watching me so intently. You’re a student of dance.”

  Liara coughed. “A shamaness must be a student of everything.”

  The lion licked his lips. “So I would be mistaken in thinking that my performance in particular was what interested you. So much that you thought I had actually been struck down.” The male’s tail tip flicked behind him as he waited for a response.

  “I never said you weren’t a convincing dancer. I was quite carried away by your performance.”

  “Swept to your feet, one might say?” The lion grinned, the gesture somehow making him seem even younger.