“Your flattery is unnecessary. I know when I am beyond my depth.”
Enaromeka looked resigned. “It will truly be a delightful great honor. I will enlist the aid of my most precocious students. In time, we will learn all that can be learned.”
They observed and measured, discussed and debated for six long days. By that time Gwattwe was trembling with impatience to step aboard and claim possession of the spirit boat for Aib and his family line. Word filtered through the town that the day of Taking had arrived and many of the villagers put aside their daily chores to gather on shore above the dock. All wished to partake of their community’s triumph, for all would benefit by the successful “repossession,” as the town adjudicator had described it in a moment of florid rationalization.
The power and wealth that accrued to Aib would be shared by all, and the name of Aib known all along the river.
Enaromeka made certain everyone heard him clearly. “I claim the honor of being the first aboard.” Gwattwe responded with a gesture of deference. This was as rehearsed and part payment to the spirit doctor for his services.
The gunwale was bumping gently against the wooden dock as he stepped gingerly over the side onto the exposed rear deck. Nothing happened. Enaromeka turned a slow circle, looking quite pleased with himself until a voice rumbled in perfect if slightly stiff Mai:
“Visitor, you do not belong on this boat. No permission for visitation has been granted. You have twenty anats in which to vacate this boat or you will suffer dire consequences. You have been warned.”
Enaromeka stood as if paralyzed, while Gwattwe blinked and tried to see through the transparent bubble enclosing the cockpit. The warriors arranged nearby forgot their positions as they searched the windows for the invisible speaker. So did Enaromeka’s assistants.
There was no sign of life within the boat. Nothing moved beyond the transparencies and the boat itself continued to bob on the breath of the current.
Enaromeka overcame his initial panic and moved cautiously to where he could look down into the boat. “I see no one.”
“Nor do I,” Gwattwe said from the dock.
“I will go inside and look.” Enaromeka reached for the door handle and pulled. “I can’t move it.”
“That is to be expected,” said Gwattwe. “It is not to be anticipated that they would trust us enough to leave their vessel unlocked. Would a long knife help?”
Enaromeka put his face to the window that comprised the upper half of the doorway. “It is strong. Little lights inside are blinking on and off, like the fires of hunting parties up the side of the canyon. Perhaps the lights have something to do with the lock. Fire spirits. Give me a zhaloo.”
From within the ranks of warriors a heavy spiked club was passed forward. One of the spirit doctor’s students handed it across to Enaromeka.
“Five anats,” the voice announced dangerously. “Leave this boat now.”
“I know what it is,” Enaromeka declared suddenly, unwilling to abandon his moment of glory to an unseen specter. “A spirit voice locked within the boat, left here to frighten us.” He spoke boldly. “I, Enaromeka, am not frightened by spirits. I will learn the secrets of this craft despite all the voices that shout at me. I am not afraid of voices!”
Taking careful aim with the club, he brought it down over the transparency covering the blinking lights. A brilliant explosion of light momentarily blinded the watching crowd and there was much screaming. Women and children fled for the safety of boulders and sun shelters. Several of the warriors lined up in stately procession along the dock broke formation to sample the cool waters of the Skar. Gwattwe had enough presence of mind to note their names and former rank.
When his sight had recovered somewhat from the effects of the unexpected flash, he turned back to the spirit boat. It still rode easily on its lines. Curled up on the rear deck was the object that an instant earlier had been his spirit doctor. Smoke rose from the skull and sides of the fetal shape while the leather sandals burned ferociously.
One of Enaromeka’s students jumped onto the boat. Gwattwe held his breath but nothing happened to the scholar as he beat at the fire consuming his instructor’s feet. With great presence of mind, the student yelled instructions. There was movement among the onlookers. A bucket was located, filled with river, and carefully handed over.
As the student dumped the water on Enaromeka’s corpse, a solemn voice intoned, “Visitor, you do not belong on this boat. No permission for visitation has been granted. You have twenty anats in which to vacate this boat or you will suffer dire consequences. You have been warned.”
“I’m not leaving!” the student announced, making a sign to ward off the most dangerous of unknown spirits. Reaching down, he picked up the ineffectual zhaloo, hefted it angrily as he moved toward the doorway that had defeated his instructor.
Gwattwe was not as surprised by the light this time. The student was barefoot, and the water in which he stood did not protect him from the fire spirits. His departure from existence was much more spectacular than Enaromeka’s. Swallowed by the burst of energy, he gave a tremendous convulsive twitch and leaped or was thrown over the side of the craft.
Two warriors reluctantly doffed their armor and dove into the river to pull him ashore. Gwattwe examined the student’s body with much interest. It was broken and distorted, though differently from Enaromeka’s. The soles of his feet had been carbonized and black streaks ran up both legs. The smell of burnt flesh was strong in the morning air.
But there had been no fire, only a burst of light and a loud crackling sound. Pungiram, one of the elders of Aib, had come down onto the dock.
“It would appear, my Oyt Gwattwe, that the hairy strangers are not so dumb as they first seemed.”
“So it would appear.” Gwattwe showed no distress at having been abruptly deprived of the services of his spirit doctor. He eyed the boat with more interest than ever. “In this first test of trust and friendship, they have come out ahead. But I am persistent, old one. There must be some way to drive the protecting spirit out of this boat so that we can take possession of it.”
Pungiram decided to speak up. “You will not find many ready to do battle with unknown spirits, especially spirits that slay as efficiently as do those guarding this boat.”
“I am not afraid of spirits,” Gwattwe said as he hastened to shield himself with a couple of quickly executed signs, “that are of this world, but it is a new thing to try to deal with a spirit that comes from beyond. However, I am not so sure that we are dealing with a spirit here. This boat is a thing of metal and other strange substances. It is not a proper spirit house.”
“Do we have any idea what other spirits consider a proper abode?”
“Perhaps we may learn. I will not give up and walk back to my house.” His gaze rose, turned to the trade road which had swallowed up the tall hairy ones. “A long way to Turput, a long way back. We have much time left to us.”
The surviving students had clustered around the Oyt. He frowned at them. “What ails you?”
“We must do something about the Teacher.” The speaker gestured toward Enaromeka’s blackened body. “He must be given a proper burial.”
“He must have his wood and his journey to the sea,” another insisted.
“I agree,” Gwattwe said. “Which of you will honor him by being the first to step onto the spirit boat to remove the body?”
Rapid glances were passed among the scholars. They decided it would be best to discuss the matter in depth before making any firm decisions. They drifted away toward the town, arguing vociferously among themselves.
His peace and quiet restored, Gwattwe again considered the object of his dreams. He had never been to any of the wondrous city-states that traders told of, had traveled only a short distance Downriver. But he’d visited Kekkalong and had admired its wealth. The spirit boat was no more than another new thing to be studied and understood, as he had come to understand power and wealth. He would make a massive effort to be patient. He would have to be or he would quickly run out of advisors.
He would make a speech praising brave Enaromeka. Then everyone would go back to work. Tomorrow he would consider the problem anew. That was all that was required; careful thought and sufficient tomorrows.
But he would have to cajole as well as order his advisors. The odor of a colleague’s burning flesh was a powerful deterrent to curiosity.
VII 
