Svaha, page 12
She shrugged. "I get around."
She was probably a very capable young woman on her own familiar terrain, Gahzee thought, but he guessed that nine-tenths of her present attitude was bravado. He understood why she was putting on this front—alone in these wastes with what she assumed was an enemy of her people—but to put aside her grief to keep up this brave face she was putting forward would only hurt her in the long run.
"Your fallen companion," he asked in a gentle voice. "What was his name?"
Her lower lip trembled, a crack showing in the walls of her bravado. "D-donnybrook."
He reached out a hand to her. "You should bid him farewell on his final journey."
"I…"
Gahzee helped her down from her perch and led her inside to where he'd built a tall cairn over her friend's body. She leaned on one of his arms and he could feel her trembling increase as they approached the cairn. She went down on her knees beside the stones and leaned against them.
"It…it's my fault he died," she said in a low voice.
"There is no blame when Stalking Death chooses a victim," Gahzee said. "Let your guilt go—it does not belong with you and only holds your friend back."
"You…you don't understand…"
Her bravado was rapidly crumbling now. Gahzee sat on his haunches beside her and laid an arm across her shoulders.
"Death is sorrow for the living," he said, "not for the dead. They are merely stepping onto another Wheel and that Wheel turns for them once more." When she turned her tearstained face toward him, he added, "These are not merely empty words of comfort, Maki; they are truth. I have seen that Wheel in the Dreamtime and it is not an evil place. There is no death—only a change of worlds."
"For…for your people, maybe…"
Gahzee shook his head. "For all people," he said and he was surprised, himself, for though he had never considered it to be so, he knew it to be true. "The terms men use to describe such things change from tribe to tribe, from people to people, but not the truths. Sing to your friend—teach him the words that will speed him on his journey."
"But I…I don't know…them…"
So Gahzee sang them for her, in the patois of the squats so that both she and her friend would understand them:
I do not fear death
My time has come
I will walk the Path of Souls
Back to whence I came
While she repeated them, Gahzee rolled a cigarette. When it was lit, they offered its smoke to the four cardinal points, and lastly to Nanibush who ruled in the west. Nanibush who called the souls of the dead home and set them on their new Wheels when they were ready to walk the path with heart once more. It might be in this world, it might be in another, but all spirits walked the Wheel again. Then he left her alone by the cairn, so that the grief she freed from her heart might be private, and waited for her outside.
Nanabozho was gone when he stepped outside the building, but the stick Maki had been throwing for him still lay in the dirt. Thoughtfully, Gahzee picked it up and ran a finger along the toothmarks.
Hey, brother, he wondered. And who in truth are you?
2
"Guess I'm not so tough after all, am I, Donnybrook?" Lisa said softly to his cairn.
The flow of her tears had eased now. She wiped her nose on her sleeve. Inside, the loss didn't ache so much anymore—that was the Claver's doing. It was just words—stepping onto Wheels and changing worlds. But Gahzee's quiet assurances, his steady presence, and the simple ceremony of smoke and song had made her believe those words all the same. Maybe it was just because she wanted to, but somehow it seemed very possible that Kay and Donnybrook had gone on to a better place. What could be worse than the squats or the badlands? It was better to think they'd gone on, to believe Gahzee, than to accept what Donnybrook had told her.
I figure it's all shit. The lights go out and you hit the dark road….
That was too hard to bear.
She'd wanted to put up a strong front to the Claver, hadn't wanted to trust him at all, but he'd undermined her attempts with his gentle manner and she found herself feeling glad that he had. Though there was no good rational reason that she should, she did feel free of her guilt. She wasn't going to forget. The sorrow was still there. But the raw pain of her grief and her red anger aimed at the yaks had both been tempered by an odd, displacing sense of peace.
She wasn't ready to give up her personal vendetta against the Goro Clan, but it was now possible to put it back into perspective again. Help the Co-Op—that'd take them down. And as for the Claver…
She didn't understand her reaction to him at all. In the very short time she'd been with him she felt she could trust him as she'd been able to trust few others. Kay. Her grandmother, who'd raised her after her parents had died. Donnybrook and the Ragman. Eddie Ch'a—though she hadn't seen him for a couple of months. Not since he'd taken up junkwalking.
That didn't add up to a whole lot, not even in a lifetime as short as her own.
So what was it? Some kind of magic in his voice and manner? In his mushrooms and his smoke?
It didn't seem right. She'd grown up seeing the Clavers on the vids—treacherous dojin no, dirty redskins, puking Clavers. They were always the bad guys. And not just bad, they were evil. It was a racial characteristic that, according to history, would never change. The Clavers hated anyone who didn't have their own pure blood. They were supposed to be worse than the Nipponjin in that way.
They'd destroyed the world and then retreated into their Enclaves, leaving the rest of humanity to scrabble out a living as best they could. They kept a steady surveillance from their orbiting satellites and space stations to make sure that no one would develop technology to match their own. Anyone who did, they just burned them down with lasers from one of their space stations. It was the Clavers who were to blame for every ill.
She compared all of that against the way Gahzee had taken care of her this morning. The tenderness of his manner. The caring he showed for Donnybrook. None of those were the actions of an evil man. She might not be as tough as she liked to let on, but she sure as shit wasn't naive. You didn't grow up in the squats and stay innocent. She knew. What she saw in the Claver was what was there.
So what about all the stories? She thought of the Ragman talking about the Co-Op's bad rep. Plex propaganda, he'd said. Was it the same deal with the Clavers? The assholes who ran the Kaisha sure weren't going to take the fall for the way things were—not if there was a scapegoat handy.
She had to talk to Gahzee.
And trust him?
What if she got burned?
Again her thoughts went back to his helping her, the respect for Donnybrook, the gentle touch on her shoulders, the quiet belief in his voice as he spoke of other worlds and Wheels.
"Shit," she said, running a hand along the stones of Donnybrook's cairn. "I don't know what to do."
* * *
It was a long time later that she finally rose and went outside. She found the Claver sitting by the door of the building where she and Donnybrook had taken shelter last night. He was scraping rabbit skins clean. Bozo lay on the other side of the door, head lifting, ears pricked up, mismatched eyes watching her cross the square.
"I made some tea," Gahzee said, looking up at her approach. "It's inside by the fire and should still be warm."
Lisa slouched on the ground in front of him and hooked her elbow around a piece of fallen stone.
"We've got to talk," she said. "And no bullshit. I've got to know what you're doing here, what you want with me, what your people really want."
"What I am doing here is my own business," he said. Amusement touched his features, taking the sting from his words. "As for you, I never wanted anything from you, Maki Ota. I found you by chance, nothing more, and merely stopped to help a fellow traveller in need. And as for what my people want, I'm not sure I really understand the question."
Lisa sighed. No bullshit, she thought. Right. Everything he said was perfectly reasonable, but he obviously wasn't ready to open up to her. And she wasn't ready to open up to him yet either.
"Why did you guys do it?" she asked. "Why did you disappear into your Enclaves and leave the world the way it is?"
Gahzee set aside the skin he was working on. "How much do you know of the history of the tribes?" he asked.
Lisa shrugged. "Just what I've seen on the vids."
"We did not do this to our Mother Earth," he said. Picking up a handful of dry dirt, he let it sift through his fingers. "Your people did this. Before any of you came to this continent, all the land was the way it is now in the Enclaves. For centuries we lived in harmony with the land, sharing its bounty with the beasts and birds.
"It's true that we had wars with other tribes, but they were battles fought with honour—a natural part of the world's working that sees that only the true of heart survive. We harmed none but ourselves in those wars. We never destroyed the land.
"We took from it only what was needed, and we gave back to it as much as we took. Our Walk blessed the land and its children, beast and bird. Our drums and sacred smoke spoke to the manitou—the mysteries—weaving a harmony between the Wheels that are and the Wheels of the Great Mystery. Living in such a manner is what we call the path with heart.
"Your people came, and no sooner did you arrive, than you began a systematic rape of the land. You butchered the buffalo. You fought the tribes—not in honourable battle, but genocidally. You bound the land with roads and railways and concrete and steel wastelands you called cities. You fouled the air. You created weapons that could destroy vast tracts of land in a single flash of nuclear fire. Those of us that you had let live were relegated to reserves. We were taken from our native lands and placed on lands that your people had no use for. But if oil was discovered, or gold, or timber, or anything you might use, the treaties were ignored, and we were displaced once more.
"We lived in abject poverty. Many of our people—especially our young—committed suicide. Others became alcoholic. Both were symptoms of a deeper malaise—dispossession and depression, the characteristics of all cultures suffering poverty.
"Then in the late twentieth century a Lakota man named Daniel Hollow Horn acquired a great deal of monetary wealth which he used to help the tribes. Our young went to universities and their studies became the foundation of our freedom. We won our lands back in the world courts. We created the Enclaves and later, our space stations. We were finally free, but the world itself grew no better.
"While we struggled to regain our harmony with the manitou and Mother Earth, your people continued to rape her. Continued your dishonourable wars. Continued to destroy everything you could. That is why we withdrew into our Enclaves—to ensure that this time, we kept our freedom. That some part of the world remains as it was meant to be."
The Claver paused. His features, which had grown stern as he spoke, softened now and he smiled.
"I'm sorry," he said. "You asked a simple question and I replied with a lecture."
" 'Sokay," Lisa said. "I wanted to know. I never heard about any of that stuff before."
"The history of most cultures tends to be kept in such a way that they themselves are always thrown into a positive light."
"I guess. But why do you still stay in your Enclaves? Why don't you share what you have now, so that everyone can have a better life?"
"Because your people never changed."
"We just want to get by," Lisa said, thinking of her own life in the squats, thinking of her friends.
"And what of those who are in the positions of power?"
Like the Goro Clan, Lisa thought. Like the guys who ran the Kaisha—the big corporations.
"I guess I understand."
"That's not to say that we live in utopias," Gahzee went on. "It's true our lands are green. Our homes are no longer primitive tents and lodges. Our technologies are as concerned with the clean disposal of wastes as they are with advances. We have cities, integrated with their environment, but we also keep our old traditions. Each man and woman remains close to the manitou and Mother Earth, though some make a lifetime dedication to such efforts. Those we call medé.
"But we are still human. We have crimes and the need for tribunals. In our councils there are those who argue that we must finish what your people have begun—cleanse the world of you and all your works so that we may lead the world onto a new Wheel. There are others who argue that we must share what we have with those less fortunate beyond the Enclaves.
"In some respects, we have done that, but so far, we have only shared our knowledge with those who hold similar beliefs to our own—other tribes who maintain their traditions, who care for their world as they might a brother or sister, or a mother. There are few such left in the Outer Lands."
"Is that what you're doing now?" Lisa asked. "Scouting for people you can help?"
Gahzee shook his head.
Lisa took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. "It's the Claver flyer that went down, right?"
Gahzee's eyes narrowed. "How did you know about that?"
"There were rumours. Then there was this package—the one that's supposed to have the systems chip from the flyer—that's been floating around the squats. Everybody's after it."
"Your people have the chip?"
Lisa shook her head. "First of all, we're not all the same people—you gotta understand that. A rat in the squats has got about as much in common with people in the Plex as your version of history does with theirs. Then in the Plex itself, everybody's after each other. The Kaisha, the triads, the yaks, the Jones Co-Op. It's the same deal in the squats. You've got the rats, the chinas, the tongs…
"I don't know who's got the chip. I was delivering it and got robbed for my trouble. I didn't know what it was until all of a sudden I had yaks and you-name-its crawling up my ass looking for either it or a piece of my skin. You see—"
Here it was, Lisa realized. Time to play or fold. Did she trust him or not? If everything he'd told her was true…
She met his gaze, trying to read something in his eyes that wasn't there. She had to make the choice, take the chance. That was something nobody could hand her. There came a point when you had to either give a little trust, or let it all go. She'd said no bullshit—right?
"Maki," he began.
Lisa sighed. "First of all," she said, "my name's not Maki Ota. That's just a name the Ragman came up with to go with my swagger girl gear. My real name's Lisa Bone."
"It suits you far better."
"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, let me take you back to square one, okay?"
When he nodded, she began to relate the events of the past few days, laying it all out for him in the same straightforward manner he'd used to tell her about how the Enclaves came to be.
"That flyer must not fall into anyone's hands," Gahzee said when she was done.
"Looks to me like it already has," Lisa replied.
Gahzee rubbed at his face. "This is worse than we suspected."
"So you are after the chip, aren't you?"
"The chip, the flyer…and information as to what has become of the Maniwaki Enclave."
"What do you mean, what's become of the Enclave?"
"We've lost all contact with it. Satellite photos show that its barrier is still intact, but we can't get a clear shot of what's going on inside. We've sent two flyers out to it now. Neither have ever returned. What the elders fear most is the possibility that our tech has fallen into enemy hands."
"Well, now you know at least half of the story," Lisa said. "The Goro Clan's got one of those flyers."
Gahzee nodded. "He shouldn't have been able to retrieve the chip that ran the flyer. They're made to self-destruct in a situation such as this."
"Well, you know tech," Lisa said. "If it can break down, it will. At least that's the way it usually goes in the squats."
"You said earlier, before this talk, that you knew someone who could help me find what I was looking for."
"Yeah. The Ragman."
"You spoke of a cost…?"
Lisa met his gaze. "It won't be from me—not now. But the Ragman'll want something."
"Will you take me to him?"
"Sure. But we'll have to go in at night. If somebody spots you in the squats, we'll have yaks and drones all over our asses." She looked over to the doorway of the building. "Maybe we can dress you up in one of those kevlar overcoats and pass you off as a yak. You're big, but so are a lot of them."
"I would be very grateful."
"Hey, we're on the same side, aren't we? We both want a piece of Shigehero Goro."
"He has something we both want," Gahzee amended.
"Whatever."
"You should let me replace your poultices. Are you starting to get stiff?"
Lisa nodded. "A little. 'Specially my back."
He reached out a hand toward her cheek, but didn't quite touch the skin. "I have something that will help this heal more quickly as well."
Out in the daylight now and feeling more herself, Lisa took a good look at him.
"You're not in all that great shape yourself. Have you been in a fight lately?"
Gahzee nodded. "With some windigo."
"Winda-who?"
"A band of Outlanders—they were flesh eaters. We call them windigo."
"The people out here are really cannibals?"
"I've only had limited contact with them, but so it would seem."
Laying his knife down on the half-cleaned rabbit skin, he rose smoothly to his feet and led the way back inside the building. She followed and lay down on the bedding so that he could replace the poultice on her back. It felt kind of funny having his hands on her. Stranger's hands. But they were gentle.
"What's this path with heart you were talking about?" she asked.
"It's the Walk of the People. A harmonizing to bring all things to Beauty."
"You guys are big on good looks?"
She couldn't see his smile, but she could feel it.
"I speak of inner Beauty," he said. "We have many different terms for such intangibles, but the one I prefer comes from one of the other tribes—quaheystamaha. That means 'you dance in my heart.' That is something one can feel for a place of great beauty, in the love one holds for another, in the mystery that binds us to the manitou."
