Free The Shaman Laughs by James D. Doss Page B

little man pulled his pipe from under his badgerskin belt. Daisy watched silently as the
pitukupf
stuffed a wad of dried
kinnikinnik
into the clay bowl; the dwarf used the inner bark of the red willow when he had no real tobacco. She would remember to bring a gift of Flying Dutchman. He lit a splinter of dry pifion from a glowing ember on his hearth, and touched this to the pungent
kinnikinnik
.
    When he was ready, the
pitukupf
nodded to indicate that his guest should sit on the floor by the fire. Daisy held her hands near the embers and relished in the warmth; her fingertips and toes always became terribly cold when she made these trips. The shaman wanted to ask the dwarf whether he had killed Gorman's prize bull, but hesitated.
If the pitukupf
had killed and castrated the bull, he would probably deny any knowledge of the deed. If the dwarf was innocent of the killing, he might be insulted by the implied accusation and become sullen. It was important to take just the right approach with this unpredictable creature. "My grandmother told me long ago: "The powerful
pitukupf
in
Canon del Es-piritu
, he knows everything.' " Her grandmother had actually said: "That grumpy
pitukupf
, the one who lives in the badger hole in the canyon, he
thinks
he knows everything." But the flattery was not wasted.
    The little creature solemnly nodded his agreement with this accurate assessment of his knowledge of deep matters.
    "Tell me, if you know," she continued cautiously, "who was it that killed my cousin's bull?"
    The dwarf stuck his hand into a tiny stone pot of red ocher; he touched his bony thumb to Daisy's forehead and left a scarlet print. An eye to see with. He whispered into her ear, telling her that the bull had been visited by an evil presence, but that he, the
pitukupf
, could not help his human friend in this matter. The answer was not in Lowerworld, but waited for her in another place, much farther away. She could go there if she was invited, but, he told her with some bitterness, it was forever forbidden for the
pitukupf to
enter into that domain.
    Daisy covered her eyes with her hand. If only Nahum Yacüti were here; the old shepherd might tell her how to get to this strange land where answers waited. "Ahhh… Nahum," she whispered, "this is very hard… what shall I do?"
    First, there was a dizziness, followed by a sense of floating. Daisy felt a warmth enter her old body, then a tingling, as if many needles had pricked her skin. She opened her eyes and realized that she was no longer in the home of the dwarf. At first, there was only a vortex of pale green light; she fell into this whirlpool and tumbled like a leaf caught in a swift stream… until she was on a wide plain, knee-deep in moist grasses of every description. There was no path here; the eternal dew on the grasses wetted her skirt as she walked. She marveled at lovely flowers that were lavender and orange and white, with attending bees that buzzed and darted among the fragrant blossoms. The rich brown soil of the plain was visible between tufts of grass, and the ground was littered with beautiful stones of every shape and color; she picked up chips of mottled gray flint, pink quartz and mica-speckled granite. This great sea of grass seemed to go on forever under a cloudless sky whose amber light did not come from a sun. There seemed to be nothing here but grass and wild flowers. The shaman was wondering about this experience, as she often did. Were these strange journeys taking her to actual places? Or perhaps they were merely visits to dark lands in her mind. She was turning these thoughts over when she heard the rumble of thunder. But no… this was not thunder.
    The massive form of the buffalo appeared on a low rise, his hoofs striking sparks on the flinty soil. The great animal paused and gazed down at the aged shaman, whose form was now that of a slender young woman.
    In a way that Daisy did not understand, the buffalo spoke to her. She did not hesitate at his