Shaman's Crossing

“Why are you angry at me?” Spink demanded in a low, tight voice. The question I wanted to ask was what had really happened to him, but I bit it back, knowing that until those two sorted things out between them, I was not going to get any response.



“You don’t know?” It wasn’t really a question. Gord just wanted to make Spink admit it.



“No, I don’t! I’d think you’d be grateful to me, for standing up for you when you hadn’t the spine to do it for yourself!” Spink’s anger flashed from him.



For a decade of steps, Gord kept silent. When he did speak, I judged he had spent that time mastering his temper and ordering his words. “I’m a man grown, Spink. I’m fat, and perhaps that is a fault or perhaps it is just the way the good god made me. But it does not make me a child, nor does it make me any less in command of my own life. You think that I should fight those who are cruel. The doctor back there thinks I should change myself so they would have less excuse to be cruel to me. But what I think is that I should not have to do either.”



Gord halted. Then he abruptly left the graveled pathway and walked across the frozen lawn to an oak tree. He leaned on its wet black trunk, catching his breath. We were silent, and the heavy drops from the branches above us dripped down on us. As I looked at him, some memory of a memory teased at the corner of my awareness. He reminded me of something, or someone. Then Gord spoke again, and the half-recalled image fled my mind.



“I think that the ones who speak cruelly or taunt are the ones who should be pressured to change. I have no delusions about myself. In a physical fight, Trist would best me easily. And, having won it, he would then use that superiority to justify however he treated me afterward. He is saying that my physical condition should determine how he treats me. And you think that because you have bested him in a physical struggle, you have proved something to him. But you haven’t. All you have done is shown that you agree with him, that the man who can physically defeat another is the man who should make the rules. I don’t agree with that. If I attempt to live by those rules, I will be beaten, and I do not intend to be beaten. So I will not be goaded into a physical confrontation with Trist or anyone else. I will win another way.”



A silence fell among us. There was such a sharp contrast between the bravery of Gord’s word and the fat boy leaning on a tree and puffing. I think Spink saw the same contradiction because he grudgingly pointed out, “We are military, Gord. What is a soldier about if not besting another man physically? It’s how we support our king and defend our country.”



Gord pushed away from the tree. We followed him back to the path and resumed his slow pace. The wind was building and the first wild drops warned that another squall was on the way. I wanted to hurry but did not think that Gord could keep up with us. In the dormitory buildings nearby, lights were starting to go out. If we came in after lights-out, Sergeant Rufet would have a few choice questions for us. I didn’t want any more demerits to march off. I gritted my teeth and put it down to the cost of my friendship with Spink.



“On the lowest, simplest level, the military and the cavalla are about physical might. I’ll concede that. But the king made my father a noble, and when my father made me, he made me a soldier son with the opportunity to serve as an officer. And that isn’t about physical strength, Spink. No officer could prevail if his troops turned on him. An officer leads by example and intelligence. I have the intelligence. I won’t set the example that I can be beaten physically and cowed that way. And I won’t let you set it on my behalf. If you fight Trist again, know that you are not fighting for me, but for yourself. You seek to salve your own bruised pride, that you have to accept help from someone who is fat and unattractive. Somehow you think that reflects badly on you, and that is why Trist can goad you to fight. But my battles belong to me, and I’ll fight them my own way. And I shall win.”



A terrible silence fell then, and it seemed to bring on the rain that suddenly drenched us. I longed to sprint for shelter. Gord seemed to share my impulse, for he clasped his belly more firmly, lowered his head to the storm, and walked faster. I finally felt I could speak. “What did happen to you, Gord? Caulder said you were beaten.”



Gord was puffing more heavily now, but he managed an answer. “Caulder can say whatever he likes to whomever he likes. I fell down the library steps. That is the truth.”



Spink figured it out before I did. “Part of the truth, you mean, and that’s why you can hold to it. You hold the honor code above all else. When did you fall down the steps, Gord? When you ran from them, or after they had beaten you?”