The shaman's home was a mound of dirt and rock and grass set against the hill. There was a rambling collection of accoutrements strewn about. From the twisted branches of the junipers hung skulls. Deer, squirrel, coyote. There was a bucket and ladle beside the door, a coil of rope and pile of flint chips as if some ancient stone tool were being constructed.
An old minotaur sat on a rough wooden stool. His former height had deteriorated into breadth. As if he had kept his earlier mass, but age had merely redistributed it. A mess of shaggy fur covered his flab. Rheumy grey eyes peered from beneath massive eyebrows.
Hakkon stepped forward. He addressed the elder without preamble as they were the same tribe. "Priest, I would speak to you."
No response.
Hakkon continued. "We come to request your services. We ask you to perform the marriage ceremony. This woman and I wish to be wed." He gestured to Jun'ai beside him.
The old priest spoke, his words as brittle as his lips. "Return to your village. The young do not understand the seriousness of what they ask."
"We do understand. And we are ready to bind our lives together." Hakkon stayed calm. Jun'ai bristled.
"The world exists in the space between our intentions and our actions. I cannot bind your souls together. Only you can do that yourselves."
Hakkon hesitated, unsure how to respond. Slowly he continued, "Others from my village come to you for the marriage ceremony." It was not quite a question, not quite an accusation, but close to both.
The old priest gave the shadow of a smile. "They come to me. Yes. But I send them to another."
"Who?"
His cataract encrusted eyes searched the two supplicants for some sign of intention. Of resolve. At last he gestured behind him. "There lives a spirit in the valley beyond. On the south slope of this very peak. There is a river running down into the valley. There at the river you will be wed. Or you will not."
Hakkon bowed low. A formal bow. "We thank you for your words and your thoughts."
The old priest reached out, gripped Hakkon's arm. A vice like grip. His expression dark. "Nature knows what we do not. There is no order to the world but which death demands."
"I don't understand." Hakkon shook his head, appalled, reflexively trying to pull his arm free.
The priest's grip tightened. "Death is the ultimate conclusion to all life."
"Death and taxes. Yeah, I heard this one." Jun'ai was not impressed.
The elder continued as if he hadn't heard her. "There will be blood in your future. That, at least, I see very clearly."
And then he released Hakkon's arm. And the two petitioners left the strange hermit to his brooding.
*
It took the rest of the day to cross the ridge and trek down the south slope. They came to the river easily enough but were unsure where along the river to find the spirit. Or for that matter, how the spirit would manifest itself.
The river itself was scarcely more than a mountain spring. It ran down the slope into a large lake in the mist shrouded lands below. The spray and trees prevented them from seeing what was down there.
Hakkon led them up toward the peak. Eventually they found the head water. A spring spilled from a crack in the rock face. On one side of the waterfall was a slab of gorgeous alabaster. Though imperfect, scarred and laced with veins of umber, it was still magnificent. The water flowed around the butte of moss encrusted rock. Clear and cool and clean.
Jun'ai and Hakkon stepped to the water's edge. "Now what?" Jun'ai asked.
Hakkon was silent. They watched the water flow over the smooth stones. They watched minnows and water striders and a fallen leaf on the smooth surface.
"Perhaps the sprit is in the lake below," Jun'ai said.
Hakkon watched the water. "The spirit is the river," he said.
Jun'ai crouched and dipped her hand in the water. Cold. Pure. Then she felt fingertips brush against her palms. As if caressing her hand. She jerked.
They looked at each other a long moment. As if asking, are you ready?
Hakkon held out his hand. Jun'ai smiled and took it. They stepped into the icy mountain spring. The water washed her ankles. Again, watery fingers touched her. Goosebumps ran up her legs.
They walked deeper into the stream. Frigid water ran against her thighs, then brushed her crotch. Taking a deep breath, she let her legs give out. She sank into the water. Beside her, Hakkon did the same.
She floated in the shallow water some time while her body acclimated. Then she felt watery hands run across her skin. Then press up into her crotch. It filled her. She gasped. From the corner of her vision, she saw Hakkon tense. She could only imagine what those watery fingers were doing to him.
Eyes shut, her head rolled back. And then she dreamed.
*
The party was a bore. Jun'ai wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. It was a gathering of merchants. Her father was among them. They were discussing shipping in and out of Tyre. She had little use for tariffs and mark ups, unless it effected the family's bottom line, that is.
The courtyard was crowded. There were clusters of people everywhere. But she noticed one young man standing near the pool. Alone. Drink in hand. He was watching her. His dark eyes seemed to be searching for something in her that she kept carefully hidden. Her private soul.
The man was dressed in layered robes of satin. The frills and embroidery at the collar and cuffs made him something of a dandy despite the somber colors. This was not the kind of man who would ever serve in the military, nor in the senate, for that matter. Definitely a business type. Hungry for money and status and power, but only for its own sake, not for the desire to exercise that power.
When the man saw Jun'ai looking at him, he walked away, as if embarrassed or just suddenly realized he needed to be somewhere else. The complex was large, there were groups everywhere.
Jun'ai felt oddly disappointed by his departure. As if that made him something of a coward. Although why she felt that way was a mystery. They had no business to discuss, and anything he might say to her would just be a line.
But when she started looking for the nearest exit to make her own escape, the man returned. This time a glass in each hand. "You look as bored as I am." He held out the drink.
"Important business for the city is being discussed here. I would hardly call that boring."
"Yes, you would." The man smiled. His lips were gorgeous. Finely sculpted, they perked up just enough to make her think this man was teasing her.
"I know my own thinking better than you."
"Do you always contradict the people you meet?"
"Just you." He left her open for that one.
His smile broadened. "Here. Have a drink. It's a Valerian Cabernet."
She took the glass. Sipped. Used the gesture to hide a smile.
