Chapter 121 — Strong Liquor

From the stone door hung ornaments made of the bones of fierce beasts, and the stone walls all around were smeared with fresh red blood, a sign of devout sacrifice to the ancestors.

Seen from the darkness, everything here looked utterly savage.

Yet to the Miao this was the holiest of places. A solemn look came over the old man's face; he straightened his garments and slowly walked in.

The vast stone chamber was empty and bare. Only at the far end burned a single fire, standing out sharply in the gloom.

Before the fire stood a strange stone statue, likewise carved from a single block of rock: the head of a hound, but with a full body, sharp claws on its feet, and two pairs of wings upon its back. A very strange image indeed—plainly the deity the Miao worshipped.

And in that great chamber there was only one person, his back bent and aged, sitting silently before the fire as though in meditation, or as though keeping some silence.

This strange place somehow gave one the eerie sense that time itself had been held fast here, halted and unable to move on.

Here everything seemed still and silent.

The fire blazed high, casting the figure before it now bright, now dim.

The old man walked slowly forward and stopped ten feet behind the figure. In a low, reverent voice he said, "Great Shaman."

The figure seated before the fire stirred, and an aged voice came: "Tu Magu, why have you come back? Did I not already tell you the will of the Hound God? Is there something that still confounds you?"

This old man whom he called Tu Magu was none other than the chief of the Miao people of the southern borderlands. In all respect he said, "Great Shaman, I fully understand the Hound God's meaning, and I will surely act according to his will."

The great shaman did not turn around. "Oh, that is well. But what is it that has brought you back? I sense some unease in your heart."

Chief Tu Magu frowned slightly, as though weighing how to put it. After a moment he decided to speak plainly. "Great Shaman, two strangers from the Central Plains have come to the foot of Qili Gorge. They wish to pay their respects to you."

The great shaman's body stirred. The head that had faced the fire and the stone hound all this while turned slightly toward him, though one could glimpse only the sparse, wholly white hair.

"Who are they? I have not set foot outside this altar in nearly a hundred years. Why would men of the Central Plains come seeking me?"

Tu Magu said, "Yes, I found it very strange myself, and so I came up to ask you, Great Shaman—shall I let them come up?"

The great shaman was silent a moment. "Did they say what they want?"

Tu Magu said, "Yes. It is a man and a woman. The man said he wishes to ask the great shaman to heal a friend of his."

The great shaman gave a cold snort. "I must attend to the Hound God. I have no time for such people. Refuse them for me."

Tu Magu was taken aback, but he said no more. "Very well. I will go and convey your meaning." He turned to go.

But he had taken only a few steps when the great shaman's voice came suddenly from behind him: "Wait."

Tu Magu turned back. "What is it, Great Shaman? Is there something else?"

The great shaman's bent figure still faced the fire, but his aged voice came slowly: "This illness they would have me cure—what is it?"

Tu Magu said, "From what they say, it is a very strange affliction. It seems a person's souls have been all but wiped away, nine parts of ten—"

The great shaman's figure in the firelight suddenly gave a shudder.

Tu Magu went on, "The man said that a master once instructed him that such a case could be cured only by the rare art of soul-summoning. He does not know from where he heard it, but he says that you, Great Shaman, may possess this art, and so he has come to beg your aid."

Tu Magu slowly finished. The great shaman made no response, his figure utterly still, and what passed in his mind none could tell.

The flames leapt up and sank again, devouring the wood. Tu Magu waited a long while, and still the great shaman did not speak. At last, hesitantly, he said, "Great Shaman, then I... shall I go refuse them and send them away at once?"

The great shaman remained silent, saying not a word.

Tu Magu slowly turned and made for the door. But just as he was about to leave the stone chamber, the great shaman's voice sounded once more.

This time even he could tell that the ever-mysterious and wise great shaman seemed to have spoken only after long and tangled thought.

"You... bring them up."

Ming Li could not keep his hand from clenching, then slowly opening again. With a start he realized that his palm was slick with sweat from anxiety.

How long had it been since he had felt such agitation and such hope? With mounting unease, Ming Li kept gazing toward the altar halfway up the mountain. But the old man had been gone a long while and still had not returned.

Could it be that the great shaman in the altar would not heal an outsider?

Or had he done something wrong again?

Ming Li could not keep from thinking so, and even his heart began to beat faster and faster.

Xiaobai stood to one side, her gaze on Ming Li's face, watching this man whose impatience he could not hide from his eyes. That faint, veiled depth of feeling seemed to be carved upon his face.

She gave a soft sigh and turned her head away.

The Miao onlookers were no longer as many as at first. After all, they had waited so long, and the chief had gone into the altar and not come down, and there was no word of what was to be done with these two strangers. A good many had drifted away.

Yet because Xiaobai was so beautiful, many young Miao men still lingered nearby, looking at her boldly and talking and laughing loudly—no doubt about her beauty.

As for the monkey little Hui, he had at some point leapt down from Xiaobai's shoulder and run to the riverbank, where he crouched beside the clear stream watching the fish dart among the gaps in the stones. Now and then he lunged forward, reaching out to catch one. But the fish were sly and slippery, darting this way and that out of his grasp and splashing him all over.

Little Hui did not mind. He drew back his hand and waited patiently. After a while the water grew calm and the fish swam back, and little Hui, seizing his chance, lunged again. And so it went, round after round; he was utterly absorbed in the game and never tired of it.

At the foot of the mountain the crowd gradually dispersed, and calm returned around them.

Tu Magu still had not returned. Ming Li grew more and more anxious, and several times he was tempted to charge up the mountain, burst into the altar, and seize the great shaman and beg him properly. But each time the image of Bi Li rose before him, and he forced the impulse down.

The taste of waiting was a torment.

The anxiety that now showed plainly on his face was seen not only by Xiaobai; the Miao warriors saw it too and exchanged glances among themselves. In truth, they were greatly puzzled.

It was only a question to be asked—why should it take so long? Could it be that the chief and the great shaman had some other important matter to discuss?

The Miao were a rough and simple people. Though they still did not know who Ming Li and the others really were, they felt some embarrassment at making the two of them wait so long.

After a moment the stocky little leader came forward and said to Ming Li in a gruff voice, "Hululu, guala la!"

Ming Li started, not understanding. Then he saw the Miao warrior untie a large bag sewn of hide from his waist and toss it to him.

Ming Li caught it. It was heavy in his hand. There was a wooden stopper at the mouth of the bag, and the warrior raised his hand to his lips and made the motion of drinking. Ming Li had some inkling; he pulled out the stopper and sniffed—sure enough, a powerful smell of liquor. It was a bag of strong wine.