Page 80 of Tiger's Tale
Stacia slumped down. Her body felt so heavy. She looked at her sister, heard steady breathing, and saw the golden tiger’s eyes had fluttered shut. Only at that moment did she begin to suspect there was some sort of sleeping potion in the tea and was relieved that whatever it was had not killed her sister.
He’s done something to us, Iriko. Iriko?
The tiger stuck in the form of a man was fast asleep now as well.
“They cannot hear you any longer, young tsarina,” the White Shaman said. “But don’t despair. You’ll be joining them soon.”
Are you killing us?she asked, only slightly concerned that the idea of her demise didn’t cause her as much despair as she thought it should.
“Absolutely not!” the shaman replied with an offended tone. “I’m simply aiding you in the acceleration of the quest you so recently began. In this manner, time will be of no consequence, and I will be able to guide and watch over you in your trials. I should think you might be comforted to know that when you rise, you will be that much wiser, that much more prepared for the mortal journey that awaits.”
But we don’t want the trials. We only want?—
“I am well aware of your aims, young lady.” The White Shaman sighed. “Do not misunderstand. I do not take away your choices. You still have them. But life is meant to be a series of experiences. Trials and errors and opportunities to stretch and strengthen yourselves. This is simply...”
The red tiger began snoring.
The White Shaman cleaned out his pot and began brewing a new batch of tea, this time only adding a tiny portion of mushrooms while trying to ignore the quirked eyebrow he sensed from his friend.
It’s only a bit, he said, justifying his own potion.Besides, we’ll need to watch over them for some time before returning to check our own physical form. He wrinkled his nose.And these young men will need a bath. I daresay the tigers smell better.And that’s not something I say often.
As his companion laughed, Vesako turned the meat, his mouth watering at the smell of the delicious roast.Why do you think the young always want what’s easy?the White Shaman asked.
That’s an easy one. It’s human nature, Anik replied.Everyone prefers the easy path. No one relishes the climb.
But climbing is how your body gains strength, Vesako said.
Yes. But there are different kinds of strength, aren’t there?
They’ll need all of them, I fear, if they are to face what lies ahead, Vesako mused.
Anik asked,Tell me again: What have you designed? How are these trials different than the challenges my tigers have and will face?
The White Shaman pulled off a tiny section of roasted venison and popped it into his mouth. Chewing with relish, he answered,It is similar in many ways. They must endure obstacles, opponents, work together, and are granted certain gifts or powerful items along the way. Unlike in your world, instead of obtaining items for a goddess, they must conquer their own fears and learn to work with the tiger in order to best be a guardian or servant of their people. If they choose to abandon their task or remain stuck in place, not moving forward but forever remaining in a state of...
Limbo?
Limbo...that’s an interesting word. I like it. Then the tiger eats away at them, until they become something that haunts the living. Much like the one they must face in the end.
My tigers, too, must face a demon. It really doesn’t seem much different.
And yet it is, isn’t it? On the surface, at least.
I suppose all things are. The two of us eat different foods, don’t look alike, speak different languages?—
And yet we are the same at the core, are we not?
Yes.
The two men who shared one body were quiet, each keeping to their own thoughts as they listened to the breathing of the young people. When his tea was ready, Vesako bustled about the cave, arranging each young man and woman and tiger in a comfortable position; then he took his time dining on a nice piece of deer meat, preserving the remaining portion for when he next woke to tend to the bodies; then he returned to his sleeping cot, covered his own body carefully with his fur blankets, and said out loud, “Are you ready, Anik, my friend?”
I am.
“Then let’s get started.”
Raising his cup of tea to salute his sleeping companions, the White Shaman of the Tundra, the One Who Hears All—Above and Below, the Storyweaver of the Sky, downed the contents of his mug in three large gulps, feeling it warm him all the way to his belly. Then he closed his eyes and began to drift. With his new companion, Anik, at his side, he began to weave a story, the greatest tale he’d ever fashioned. Into it he placed not only himself and the one from another world but he also added a hunter, a priest, a soldier, an outcast, and two tsarevnas, one with hair as golden and soft as morning sunshine, while the other’s braided crown was as red as Russian poppies.
Yes, he thought as Vesako hummed softly, allowing himself to enter the story at last.This one will indeed be the finest tiger tale I’ve ever woven.
