Page 56 of Tiger's Tale
“Can... can I ask what song was it? The one in her music box?”
“I don’t know what it was called,” Nik said quietly.
“If you hum it, I might be able to tell you the name.”
The fire crackled and popped, and when Nik put his hand on Veru’s back, she looked up at him with her dark gray eyes. He saw the human girl beneath the face of the tiger at that moment, and something inside him broke. Music filled his mind as he closed his eyes, and the image of his beautiful mama on that long ago night when she’d asked him to dance came clearly to his mind. She’d placed his hand on her small waist and took his other hand in hers, and together they’d twirled on their warped wooden kitchen floor.
Soon real music filled his ears as notes were plucked that matched the tune he’d been humming without realizing it. Quickly he dashed the tears from his cheeks as Danik lowered his balalaika. “It’s called ‘The Turning of the Troika,’” Danik said. “I’m sorry about your mama.”
“Don’t be,” Nik replied, getting up and heading to the other side of the fire. He laid down, stuffing his empty bag under his head. “She’s better off dead.”
* * *
The next morning they repeated the process, heading in a different direction. When they came across signs of a clan, they took only a bit of meat and a few pelts, leaving the tigers and the rest of their supplies behind, and walked on until they found a group of people fishing at the river. After showing them the items and making a gift of a beautiful fox pelt and a brace of birds, they were taken to meet with the head of the clan.
Fortunately for them, a translator was located who knew enough of their dialect that they could present their case. When Nikolai and Danik weren’t certain how to proceed, Zakhar easily took over. They seemed to understand that he was a holy man and thus were very willing to help him on his quest, especially when he said he had a writing he needed to show to a shaman.
They said they had such a man in their clan, and he was brought in and introduced to them. There was then a sharing of certain foods and drink followed by a cleansing ritual. Zakhar was fascinated by the entire process and longed to document every part of it. Then the shaman asked politely if he could see the document they had mentioned. Unfortunately, they had left everything back at the camp with the tigers, but Zakhar, unwilling to say nothing, described the document in detail as best he could, promising to return with it in the morning.
The moment he mentioned the three tigers on the parchment, everyone in the little yurt froze in place. Then they glanced at one another with wild eyes. The shaman hissed a command, saying everyone should leave except the translator. When all had departed, he asked very pointedly, “Have any of you three seen or killed a tiger?”
Zakhar looked at his companions, who nodded. “All three of us have seen tigers, yes. We have not killed any.”
“How many did you see?”
“We have seen two.”
“And the colors?”
“One is gold and white and the other is red and black.”
The shaman sat back and took a deep breath. Then he looked at the translator and said a string of words in their language. Immediately the translator rose and disappeared, ducking out of the yurt opening. He returned with another man who was dressed for travel. The shaman gave the man instructions. When he was finished, the man nodded soberly, then stood by, waiting.
“What’s happening?” Danik asked.
The translator presented Danik’s query to the shaman, who answered, “This is our best guide. He will take you to the site of our Great Gathering Grounds. You must hurry. You have only two days to travel many, many leagues before the end of the final winter clan meetings. If you move quickly enough, you may catch up with the one you seek before she travels too far toward home.
“We will give you as many rations as we can spare so you don’t need to stop to hunt. When you find her, our guide will make introductions. Should the great leader of the Evenki agree to meet with you, tell her all you have told me, and she will listen.
“If she decides to help you, she will tell you where to find the third tiger, the gray-and-black shadow who stalks the taiga, roaring with his pain, invisible and unseeing. Only then will you be ready to ascend the Dreaming Mountain to find the Storyweaver of the Sky, the One Who Hears All—Above and Below, the White Shaman of the Tundra.”
Before they knew it, the three men were hurried from the yurt, the guide following behind them. Runners quickly approached packing their bags full of raw fish, reindeer meat, and extra clothing. The pelt they’d given as a gift was returned to them, and they were shown many more pelts they’d be gifted in exchange, along with a lightweight and sturdy yurt their guide strapped to his own back. Danik attempted to refuse them, but the good people insisted. The three men humbly bowed and promised to return someday bearing many gifts of their own.
Quickly they headed back to the trees where they’d left their things, their silent guide following behind them. When the tigers emerged, he was shocked, but within a few moments, he dropped his pack in the snow and bowed himself to the ground, mumbling words no one understood. Gently, Zakhar took hold of the man’s arm and bid him rise.
Nik took the magic boots from the pack left with the tigers while Danik fed them some of the reindeer meat given to them by the clansmen. Once the sleigh was created, they ushered the wide-eyed guide onto the sleigh, offering him the reins, and then the rest of the men climbed aboard. As the tigers began to run, each of the men lowered their heads in fur-lined cloaks to keep the bits of stinging sleet and snow from their eyes and sunk even deeper into their thoughts.
Now they knew they weren’t only seeking a shaman. They were looking for a man they’d only heard of in children’s tales.
The Storyweaver of the Sky.
The One Who Hears All—Above and Below.
The White Shaman of the Tundra.
As if that weren’t enough.
They were also supposed to find a third tiger.
