Neta considered the question, then diffidently asked Keisha for free access to her mind. Keisha sat down on a pile of furs and obliged - sitting, in case this turned out to cause the kind of reaction that a language transfer did, and she passed out cold.
She didn’t drop over, although Neta’s explorations left her with the oddest feeling, as if her mind was a box whose contents were being meticulously turned over and examined, one bit at a time. It felt strangely like the mountain sickness, crossed with being intoxicated on very bad wine, and then being flattened thoroughly with a rolling pin but not minding it at .all.
:I think the transfer can be done,: Neta finally said, when she’d withdrawn her mind from Keisha’s. :The problem would be that Healing involves development and exercise of mental powers - rather like training muscles for strength. If a young one tried to use the knowledge before he had the strength, it could harm him. Worse than another Healer could fix.:
Keisha ground her teeth in frustration. Not that she hadn’t already been afraid that would be the case, but it was disappointing in the extreme.
:Let me think of this, and consult with Karles,: Neta added, responding to her frustration with a sympathy that surprised her. :There may be something that we can do.: The dyheli doe looked across the room at the Companion, who responded by joining them immediately.
Karles regarded Keisha with an unreadable deep-blue gaze, then turned his attention toward Neta. While the children in the corner giggled and exclaimed over the story one of the young bucks was “telling” them, Keisha watched the silent colloquy going on between the Companion and the doe, and wondered what they were talking about. Finally Neta turned back toward Keisha. :If we think of knowledge as something to be held, then what you need is a container from which a little can be taken at a time, yes?:
“More like a smart container that knows how much to dole out, but yes, something like that,” she replied, intrigued by the analogy.
:Karles suggests that we ask the Snow Fox to be that container.:
Shaman Henkeir was at first surprised speechless, then briefly appalled - then intrigued by Keisha and Neta’s suggestion. “It has . . . merit,” he said cautiously. “If this could be done, it would mean that we need never fear the loss of a Wisewoman, for the Snow Fox would always hold this wisdom in its keeping. The old stories hold that the People give knowledge to the gods. That is why we do not become like stagnant water, for we can create and give that knowledge to benefit the totem. The Snow Fox might be pleased by this, yes.”
Keisha did not ask why the Snow Fox didn’t already have that knowledge to dispense. The tribal totems didn’t seem to be so much “gods” as benevolent overseers and benefactors. They certainly weren’t all-seeing and all-knowing, or they would have been able to protect their own tribes from the depredations of others. It was said, even in Valdemar, that gods received power and support from their followers, and they in turn helped those followers prosper. She wondered if there was a kind of spiritual warfare going on among the totemic “animals,” with the stronger paving the way for the conquest of the weaker as the totemic spirits defeated each other.
It was actually a rather frightening thought.
If that were the case, it was no wonder that the tribes spent so much time in strengthening their totems with prayer and worship!
“How would we find out if the Snow Fox was willing to be the vessel for this knowledge?” she asked aloud, and the Shaman’s eyes widened as he looked over her shoulder.
She felt a cool breath on the back of her neck, and turned to find herself staring into a pair of amused, milky-blue catlike eyes. She flinched backward, which elicited a look of frank amusement from the manifestation.
The eyes were set in a head with a sharply pointed muzzle and a pair of blunt, pointed ears. The head was attached to a body the size of a small pony, but it was a resemblance in scale only. The furred body was a misty white, and translucent - just as the shadowy spirit of the Ghost Cat had been. Tiny sparkles of white light, like twinkling stars, fell away from the apparition in all directions, as slow as falling dust motes in sunlight.
Time seemed to slow for Keisha, and there was only one thing that she could think. I - guess we have our answer!
Sixteen
Another day, another deity.
On the whole, even after hearing from Keisha about the bizarre manifestation of the Snow Fox itself and its subsequent absorption of her Healing knowledge, Darian regretted leaving this latest tribe - but there was no choice. Something strong and true and part of him drove him on; if he gave up now, how could he remain himself?
They left Snow Fox better provisioned than they had arrived. Dried meat, nut-meal, and dried berries made their saddlebags bulge, and in the packs of trade goods, gold nuggets replaced packets of dye. Keisha now wore two token necklaces instead of one; in addition to the owl, she wore a string of tiny carved foxes of mother-of-pearl. The Snow Fox Shaman had given her that just before they left. Keisha tried to think little of what she had done, but inside, Darian figured Keisha knew she had just given an entire tribe of people an edge against the cruelties of the wild world. The customs of the tribes made effusive thanks from a male to a female unlikely; given everything she’d done to heal their sick, he figured she more than deserved that necklace, and it was one of the few ways that the Shaman could show his gratitude. In fact, by rights she should have been bedecked by a dozen such necklaces by now, one for every tribe she’d helped, and for every Wisewoman and Shaman she’d tutored in the Valdemaran use of the Healing Gift.
I think that Keisha is blissfully unaware of what a huge impact she is having upon an entire culture, by what she gives so selflessly. The tribes may worship or thank the holy dyheli now, but it is Keisha and the others in green they talk about plenty among each other, I’ll wager.
They had good instructions on how to reach Raven tribe - and the origin of the vests had been confirmed. One more stretch of mountains lay between them and their goal - one more stretch, that just happened to be claimed by Wolverine.
Every time he thought about Wolverine, an odd chill touched him for just a moment.
“This is as far as I can take you,” their guide said at about noon on the second day after they had left Snow Fox. He looked out over the valley that stretched out before them with some regret. “You wish to aim for that pass, between those two peaks,” he said, pointing. “On the other side is the Bitter Water, and the Raven tribe.”
And between us and them is trouble. He didn’t give any sign that he was worried, though; he just thanked the hunter with as much sincerity as he could show, and watched as the man trotted off into the shelter of the forest that Snow Fox called its territory, melting into the undergrowth almost like a Tayledras might.
He looked back over his own group; Keisha was worried, but he could hardly blame her for that. Hywel was as confident as any young and untried warrior. He happily bore the arrogance of ignorance. Steelmind was as calm as one of the mountain peaks, Wintersky impatient to be gone, and Shandi unreadable. The nonhumans displayed a similar mix of emotional stances.