Page 67 of Tiger's Tale
“Where are you?”
Earth.
The shaman laughed. “Earth. Good. I, too, am on Earth. This is the Dreaming Mountain in the lands of the Native Alliance. It is two moons past the winter solstice in the Year of the Broken Reindeer Antler.”
I...I am from... the spirit stopped.I hesitate to share too much information. I don’t want to impact your history.
“Ah. I understand. This is a wise course. Though you and Imustshare information with one another, no? Perhaps if we make a vow not to disclose such details we discover with others, and only use our findings to aid our tigers in their purpose on our own worlds?”
Yes. I believe such a promise would be adequate for our purposes. Very well. I promise you I will not share information about your world with my own tigers or any other until or unless such time as is appropriate, and it does not impact mine or your own world or any other in any way.
“Wonderful. And I agree to the same. Shall we begin, then?”
We shall.
The White Shaman stared down into his hot cup of tea. The chunks of floating mushrooms spinning like little pieces of flotsam on a quiet pond. Setting down his cup, he picked up another and filled it with hot water, saying, “I believe I shall try a cup without the... what did you call it? Psilocybin? If it doesn’t work, I can always go back to it.” He grinned. “Never let it be said I cannot be taught something new.”
After he downed his mug of tea, the two versions of the same man—one a shaman and the other a spirit from another place and time—stood on opposite sides of two fires.
“Are you ready?” the White Shaman asked.
I am, the ghost replied.
“I am Vesako Alingida, the Old Man with a Spear Who Lives on a Mountain, the Storyweaver of the Sky, the White Shaman of the Tundra, the One Who Hears All—Above and Below, and I have found my kindred soul. At this time, I offer to share my mortal frame to house his wandering spirit.” He shook a gourd filled with rattling beads that danced musically. “Now you pronounce your name and intentions and begin your walk.”
Very well. I am Anik Kadam, mentor, teacher, soldier. I intend to share the form of my kindred soul on this world. I also intend to find another who is lost.
“Fascinating. Now walk toward me. We will find your companion as well. I promise you. She isn’t gone forever, my friend from a different world.”
How did you know it was a woman?the ghost asked as they walked closer.
“I don’t know, come to think of it. I?—”
Their fingertips touched, and then a powerful energy, like the magic felt when the lights were particularly bright in the dark sky, pulled them together. The cave spun, and then they were both standing in the same place, looking out of the same pair of eyes.
“Did it work?” Anik asked, using Vesako’s voice.
This was followed by a deep chuckle. “Can’t you tell?” the White Shaman asked. “Doesn’t it feel a bit tight and uncomfortable? Like you’re wearing someone else’s shoes?”
“Yes, now that you mention it. In fact, this reminds me a bit of the Divine Scarf. We can use it to change our appearance, though we are still ourselves on the inside. It’s as if we are wearing someone else’s skin. It was one of the gifts we recovered.”
“A gift, you say?”
“Yes. Have your tigers made the attempt to break their curse?”
“Curse... we do not consider the tiger form a curse.” The shaman began pacing but suddenly stopped, and instead of clasping his hands behind his back, he touched together his two pointer fingers and tapped them on his chin.
“There is much we need to discuss before your tigers arrive.”
“I agree, Anik Kadam. We should also meditate. This is how we will find your companion... ah, Nilima. She is your...”
“She’s my granddaughter, of a sort.”
“Granddaughter?” Vesako grinned. “I always wondered what it would be like to have a family. You must tell me about your wife. Is she beautiful?”
“She was. She’s with the sky people now. But she was lovely.”
Vesako sighed as the image of a pretty woman with long dark hair came to mind; he realized it was their wedding day. She had some type of delicate tattooing on her slim fingers, and her beaded dress, so radiant and brilliant, wasn’t nearly as bright as her smile or how proud he’d felt when she slipped her hand through his arm. He sat down, crossed his legs, picked up his mug, and sipped. Never in the White Shaman’s very long life had he ever smiled more than once in a day, and not to his recollection had it ever been so wide.
