The Parting Glass

Chapter Three

Timber settled himself in one of the slat-backed chairs drawn up around the big oak table at which I taught my Thursday night Tarot class. McGuyver cast an indignant eye over his empty food dish below the kitchen counter, and then leapt up onto the table, where he butted his head against Timber’s arm, begging for more of the big man’s attention. I bustled about filling the kettle and getting mugs out of the cupboard, trying not to remember that the last person for whom I had performed this service had disappeared without a trace in this world or any other. But my active and too curious mind couldn’t help going over the possibilities. 

“What do you fancy?” I asked my guest, to give myself a minute’s respite.

“Hmmm?” Timber looked up from scritching McGuyver behind the ears. “Oh, tea, ye mean. Anything.”

“Earl Grey all right with you?”

He nodded and I took two bags from the Twinings box, hoping he wasn’t one of those tea snobs who insist on loose leaves. But when I set the full mug down in front of him, he merely toyed with the bag, for all appearances too deep in thought to concern himself with Mundane matters like tea leaves.

I gathered up my own mug and sat down opposite him.

“Well.” I sipped my scalding tea, burning my tongue. “Shall you go first or shall I?”

“I will,” he replied, much to my relief. I noticed his accent had faded a bit now that we’d come to terms. Curious. “My bit of the story starts before yours, I think. I’ll spare you the details of how a man of Scottish heritage came to study Native American shamanism. I met my teacher quite young—he was a friend of the family—and he saw my potential. He didn’t take me on until a few years later, though. Och, I can tell by the look on your face you want me to get to the meat of it. Well, some months ago—as much as a year, perhaps—my teacher began to be worried about an associate of his.”

“Stonefeather.”

“Aye, it turns out so, but he didn’t give any names at the time. He only told me he had met this associate at some gathering of spirit walkers from different Nations, and he was troubled about something this other man had in mind.”

He sipped his own tea and a smile lit up his face. “Lovely. Most Americans don’t brew tea near strong enough.”

He inclined his head towards me to acknowledge my superior tea-brewing prowess. I refrained from pointing out that I’d just poured boiling water over the bag, and as he hadn’t taken the bag from his mug, his tea was bound to get even stronger with time. It felt too good having his smile turned on me.

“Anyway.” He went on with his story. “About ten days ago, my teacher called on me. He’d met this associate on the pathways,” he peered at me to make sure I knew what he meant and I gave him a slight nod, “and found out this other shaman was planning something very bad and dangerous.”

“The idea he had mentioned at the gathering, no doubt.”

“No doubt. At least, my teacher had no doubt. And he instructed me to come here and find this other shaman. To stop him, if I could, and help him sort out the consequences if I arrived too late.”

“Let me guess. Your teacher didn’t tell you what this bad and dangerous venture might be.”

“Well now….” Timber flushed a little and his hand strayed again to the thong around his neck. “This was supposed to be in the way of a final test for me, ken. The last test before I earn my own place. I should be able to find out everything I need to know and accomplish the task in ways I have open to me. Besides, my teacher seemed unwilling to speak of it directly. I got the impression this other spirit walker was up to something….”