Page 21 of Tiger's Trek
“Yes. Yes. How many times must we go over it? I have to say, this rather seems like the long version of the dreamworld. I don’t know how Kadam does it. He must sustain himself on more than mushrooms. As for me, I’m ready for a nap and perhaps another meal. You young people tire me with all your questions and your constant lack of faith.”
Stacia folded her arms across her chest. “Right. It must be difficult, what with the constant dreaming and the unlimited power at your disposal. Not to mention the omniscience. That must be terrible for you.”
“Sometimes it is, I’ll admit. But such is my lot in life.” The White Shaman missed the rolling of Stacia’s eyes but did smoothly roll to his feet. “Now then,” he said. “I believe I have checked all the boxes Kadam gave me. You have your supplies, your instructions, you are at your starting point, and you know your end point. How you get there, and if you choose to finish, is now up to you. I wish you all the best of luck.”
“Ifwe finish?” Stacia said. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You always have free will. Some remain here and never return. Others... well...”
“Others... what?”
“Others simply don’t remain.”
“Do you mean to say we could perish in this place?” Zakhar asked.
“I wouldn’t use the wordperish,” the wily shaman answered.
“Really?” Stacia said. “What word would you choose?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’d have to think on it for a time. I’ll get back to you on that one. Farewell for now, young ones.”
“But—but how do we contact you if we need you?” Zakhar asked, almost desperate.
“Ah, that’s an easy one,” the White Shaman answered. “You don’t.”
Stacia rose, putting her hands on her hips. “What kind of a guide doesn’t stick around to direct anyone?”
“There are all sorts of guides, young lady. Some are more helpful than others. Some don’t even help you at all. Ever heard of the Cheshire cat? Kadam told me the most delightful story about a cat, a rabbit, a tea party, a deranged hatmaker, and a mouse. Maybe he’ll share it with you someday. I think I’d like to be a guide such as that cat. Good day to you, then.”
With that, the White Shaman smiled widely, showing the gaps where some teeth were missing, and then he faded away. The last part of him that vanished was his strange smile and the sound of his laugh.
“I don’t like him,” Stacia said.
I do, Iriko replied.He’s funny. I can almost see him too. His smell is that strong. Musky. Like mildew. Almost like a reindeer during rutting season.
Stacia laughed, and the sound of it surprised Zakhar. Not only because nothing funny had been said, but because she laughed with gusto. It wasn’t the dainty feminine laugh his mother had trained his sisters to use—the type intended to trick men into marrying them with a coy, flirty sound that was supposed to make men go weak in the knees.
The tsarevna laughed like she meant it, and she didn’t care who heard it. The sound wasn’t exactly pretty. It was more like the kind of noise he’d expect to hear in a tavern, if he ever went to a place like that. Now that Zakhar thought of it, he didn’t think he’d ever laughed like that. Sure, he’d experienced fun. Like the time the young men went outside to sled, and they’d all whooped in delight racing up the hill, but this was different.
He suspected the laugh had something to do with Iriko. He knew the young man had an easy way with the tigers when he was a man and the sisters were cats. It was interesting to him that a person with so severe a disability could develop such a joyful outlook. But with his mother, Iriko had been so... bitter and angry.
As for Zakhar, he had found Iriko’s mother a perfectly congenial woman. She was certainly perhaps a bit stern-natured, but she appeared to care for her son a great deal. Most mothers did, he’d found as he practiced counseling sessions with those who attended church and listened to parishioners who wished to attend confessional.
Maybe the wide swing in emotions had something to do with the tiger nature. He made a mental note to ask more questions about it later, but when he did, he’d have to do so... delicately. The last thing he wanted to do was upset the tsarevna. Perhaps he could make some inquiries through her directed toward Iriko, and he’d learn more about her at the same time.
“So you were saying you don’t like our guide?” Zakhar said.
“No. What are your impressions?” Stacia asked as she hefted two bags, one for each shoulder.
Zakhar shrugged. “I’m trying to stay open-minded about it. Perhaps more information will surface later.”
“That’s a wise course. My parents always cautioned against judging too rashly.”
Making sure they had collected everything, Zakhar carefully knotted his large bag, and Stacia helped him secure it on his back. “Perhaps you’ll tell me more about them at some point, now that you’re in your human form. I’d love to make a record of them and the charms and what you know about how they were handed down.”
“I’m happy to answer any questions you have,” Stacia said. “It will help pass the time as we walk.”
“Unless you’d rather talk to Iriko. I can keep quiet instead if you’d prefer,” Zakhar offered.
