138 THE BIG CANOE

“You are a fine little mimic,” the trader agreed,
not understanding just what Skai meant. ““When you
imitate the head shaman or Shim the Story-teller, you
sound so exactly like them that old Oelk, the blind
man, would never be able to tell which one was speak-
ing. Even the gulls and ravens come flying from all
directions when you give their calls.”

“I do not mean that,” Skai confessed, glancing
around to see that no one else was present. “I mean
that I can make my voice seem to come from another
person’s mouth—like this.”” Suddenly Tahn, the bear,
spoke gruffly. “Skai, my master, is making words
come from my mouth,” he said.

“You are a ventriloquist!” the trader exclaimed
in amazement. He had seen ventriloquists perform
in England, but he had never before known any one
who could use his voice quite so cleverly.

“Is there magic in it?” Skai demanded anxiously.
“Is it a wicked thing?”

“Not at all,” the trader assured him quickly.
“There is no magic in it, but your shamans would say
that it was an evil spirit speaking, and they would
torture you, to drive it from your body. If you were
a shaman, all would call it wonderful magic, but for
you it would be an evil thing if it were known. Say

nothing about this, Skai; keep it a secret until you
are older. When you become a shaman, you can use
the gift and be the greatest shaman of them all.”
“Very well,” Skai agreed, relieved, “but I shall