Shaman

Shaman watched Armis lead the children away towards the mountain uneasily, the memory of the daylight starfall lingering in his mind. The meaning was unmistakable. A dire warning from the spirits. There was no time to waste. Shena had to go, and she had to go soon.

“Shaman. A word.”

Shaman glanced at Armi’s group one last time before turning, and limping over to this Chief. “Yes?”

“Why a council? Why today?”

Shaman sighed. A few years ago, Roggo had followed his advice in all things, unquestioningly. But now he greeted almost every action with skepticism.

“Walk with me.” Shaman started walking towards the river, angling towards the open plains to the northwest. “Shena has offended the spirits. She has to go.”

“What do you mean?”

Shaman didn’t look at his old friend. “She uses her Song. All the time.”

“What of it?” Roggo asked, gruflly, and Shaman stopped. “You knew?”

Roggo half-smiled. “I wouldn’t be a very good Chief if I didn’t.”

“You didn’t tell me.” Shaman scowled. “Now the spirits are angry.”

Roggo frowned. “Why do you think that?”

Shaman stopped, and pointed at the sky. “The daylight starfall. It’s a sign from the spirits.”

Roggo’s frown deepened, and he crossed his arms. “One star is not a sign. I have seen many strange things over the years.”

“She has to go.” Shaman insisted. “She’s bringing great danger to the clan.”

Roggo shook his head. “Why now, Shaman? She’s been using the Song to feed us for years.”

Shaman stared at him. “You knew? How long?”

“Shaman, the great winter nearly killed off all of the game animals. Even now, hunting is poor. Shena’s Song has kept us fed for many years, allowed us to grow.” He pointed back, past Red Cave, towards Guardian Mountain. “How many of those children would be alive now if we did not have the Song? How many of the adults?”

Shaman turned towards the mountain, searching the plains for the children, but they were already lost in the grasses. “You used to trust my judgement, respect my knowledge.” He said, bitterly.

Roggo pursed his lips, and opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. Sighing, he turned away from Shaman. “Have your council. If you can convince the clan that Daro must go, so be it.” Without looking back, he walked back to Red Cave.

A small fight, dearly won. Shaman glanced at the sky. If it kept the spirits from bringing another Great Winter, Shaman would gladly accept the loss of status.

Hobbling back to his cave, he pondered the likely arguments. Daro’s loss would be painful to the Clan. Shena’s loss just as much, perhaps, if everyone knew she was helping to feed them. They would take the little girl with them. Kito would live with Murg, and Shara…

Shara would be an adult, and it would be her own decision. She will go with them. No, she will stay, to be with her friends, and to watch over Kito. After a time he pushed her out of his mind. Whichever way she went, it would have little impact on the clan.

And Kito? Daro was a much gentler parent than Murg. Kito would not be used to Murg’s domineering style. Barak had adapted to it, and even come to make it his own. But Moen had retreated, shrunk in his skin, becoming docile and unimaginiative. That was not how he would describe Kito. It was certainly possible, Shaman admitted, that Murg would cripple or even kill the boy before he reached adulthood.

Shaman stared at the shadows in his little alcove. Hard choices.

“I should have gone with you.” He croaked at the darkness, angrily defying his own customs. “I should have followed you into the snow. Let others make these decisions.”

But Roggo and his father had held him back, denied him his right to perish on his own terms. Demanded that he help the rest of them survive. And he had. All these years, Shaman had tried his best to help them survive. He had done his duty all these years, when all he wanted for himself was to follow her out into the snow.

He shook his head, to clear his thoughts of the dead. But it was no use. They were always with him these days. His wife, his son, even his old friends. They lived in his dreams, in the memory of their words, in the voices of their children and grandchildren.

“We need your knowledge,” Roggo’s father had said. “To help us survive.”

“I will help the Clan survive.” Shaman whispered. “Whatever the cost.”

With Moen alive, none of this mattered. The people of Red Cave would not banish their weapon maker and food provider over a wounded boy. Only death would force their hand.

Kill a boy to save the Clan. Hard choices indeed.

Even if he did survive, Moen would probably never be the same. Long ago, before the Great Winter, Shaman had met many other tribes. Two of them had members who were unusually slow or deranged – one an adult, one a child at the time. Both of them had been normal, until they had received sharp blows to the head, leaving them drooling and useless, a burden for the rest of their lives. Surely noone would want that fate for Moen. Death would be preferable. But Moen was a healthy boy. His end would take many days, perhaps months. Months of searing headaches, vomiting and dizziness.

Perhaps I can help ease his passing.

Shaman stared at his belongings, his totems and relics, bowls of crumbled ocher, deer and moose antlers, and even a long yellow-white curved mammoth tusk. A set of sacks held his most precious possessions – small pouches full of various roots and leaves and flowers, each with its own spirit medicine. And one, with two crossed lines on the side, painted in red. He held it in his hand, fingers trembling. In small doses, it caused pain and vomiting. But in larger doses…

Children died all the time. Sons died all the time. It was just part of life, really. Why should today be any different? And if it appeases the spirits, many more will be spared.

There would not be another Great Winter. Not if he could help it.

He placed the small sack in his belt pouch, carefully, trying to avoid spilling the contents..

“Will my son live?”

Startled, Shaman shuddered, cursing his failing hearing. He turned looked up at Murg, who was leaning into the cave, staring intently at him. His mouth was suddenly dry, and he licked his lips. “I don’t think so.” He paused, awkwardly. “Few recover from head wounds like these.”

“I did.”

Yes – he had forgotten. As a boy, Murg had taken a blow to the head that had left him unconcious and unresponsive day and night. Trandition was to leave someone so tricken behind when they travelled. And as winter ended, the bereaved man had demanded that they wait for another day, and then another. Finally, they could wait no longer and as the rest prepared to leave the cave for good, Murg’s father had tearfully left the boy lying alone in a field, food for the wolves, as custom demanded.

They had scarcely gone three spearthrows from the village when the man had stiffened. “Do you hear that?” he had asked.

“What?”

Turning, the man had run back to the cave, only to return, running and shouting in joy carrying Murg in his arms, a bewildered expression on the boy’s face.

“Moen is more like his mother – you know that. He does not share your great strength and health.”

Murg frowned. “It would be best if he lived.”

Shaman nodded. “Yes, of course.” No. I wish it were so, but no. His hand crept into his belt pouch, trembling. His fingers closed around the little brown pouch. He could feel the red ocher marks on the side.

“H- Here.” He yanked it from his belt bag, extending it to Murg. This is for the best. Shena must be stopped. “Take this medicine. Mix it with water and make him drink it. It may help.”

Murg took the pouch, holding it suspiciously, staring at it like it was a snake ready to bite him. Shaman’s heart was pounding in his chest.

“How much?”

Shaman twitched. “What?”

“How much water.”

“Oh.. Oh.. Uh. – A small bowl.”

Murg nodded, and stepped back out of the cave.

Shaman stared at the entrance to his cave for a long time as people quietly passed by. There was no act more vile than taking the life of a child.

Moen must die so that the rest will live.

Why then, did he feel so wretched?

Outside, in the main cave, a spot of sunlight glinted off of the wall. He watched the spot climb up the wall, turning yellow, and then many shades of orange as the sun set. Finally, it disappeared altogether, leaving behind just a soft red glow. A large shadow appeard in the doorway. “It is time.”

Shaman nodded, somehow relieved. It is up to the spirits now.

Shaman crept out of the cave, and silently followed Roggo towards the entrance. Daro’s gate still hung haphazardly on one side, and a brown oval of dried blood remained where the boy had fallen. Outside, the bonfire had been lit, sizzling and popping in the twilight, the sweet scent of hickory on the air. The sun shimmered at the horizon, huge and orange against the endless plains. Roggo stepped to his customary place and Shaman followed, standing in front of the fire as the rest of the adults assembled solemnly before them. The smaller children were inside, kept away from the Council, as they always had been. The women would take turns attending the meeting and watching the children inside.

It is a pity that Armis could not be here.

Someone gasped, and pointed upwards. Jerking his head to follow, Shaman saw a number of bright streaks across the sky, in a multitude of colors. It is a sign. The spirits are pleased with my plan.

“Daro. Stand forth.” The man stepped forward out of the circle, letting his wife’s hand go as he moved out. He stood before Shaman and Roggo, staring evenly at them, eyes betraying nothing. His temples were gray now, as age slowly crept up on him, and silver flecks spotted his black hair and beard. Wrinkles grew slowly from the corners of his eyes. Still, he was young enough to father children, and care for them.

“We are here to discuss the responsibilities of Daro. Moen was in his charge when he fell and was badly injured. For now…“ Roggo paused for a moment. “For now, the boy lives. Daro, was Moen in your charge when he fell?”

“Yes.”

“Shaman, describe as you can the boy’s condition.”

Shaman nodded, and stepped forward one step. “Moen fell from the top of the cave entrance, and smashed his head against the stone below. Others I have seen with injuries like this have not survived.”

There was a quiet muttering from the crowd.

Roggo spoke again. “Daro, did Moen rise to top of the cave on your command?”

“Yes.”

With a sweeping gesture, Roggo motioned to Daro to turn and address the others. “Please, speak of the actions of this afternoon.”

Daro turned, and addressed the crowd, although his eyes seemed to focus on Murg more than any of the others. “Moen and I were building this gate.” he gestured towards the cave. “For the protection of the Clan. At my bidding, Moen climbed up to help me tie the doors to the bar at the top.” He closed his eyes for a moment, frowning. “He stood up and started pulling on the vines. I told him to stop and sit down, but he ignored me. He pulled too hard on a vine, and it snapped, and he fell backwards to the ground.“

Daro turned towards Murg addressing him directly. “I am sorry for what happened to him. He has been a good helper. I wish…” He paused, chewing on his lip. “I wish I had falled in his place.”

Murg stared at him for a moment, and then nodded, almost imperceptibly. A low murmur rose from the others.

Shaman frowned. If the two men reconciled, even Moen’s death would not be enough to banish Shena and satisfy the spirits. He cleared his throat, and tried to speak in his most gentle and soothing voice. “Did anyone witness this?”

Daro stared at him, and then glanced around. “Reya was nearby, I think.”

“But Reya is not here.”

Daro blinked, uncertain. “What is your point?”

Shaman forced a kind smile, the type he used when comforting a small child with a painful wound. “You knew that the penalty for carelessness is banishment. It would be natural to try to find someone, anyone to justify your story, and very convenient if that person were not here to speak up for herself.”

“What- what do you mean. Do you think he lied?” Shena snapped.

“Silence, woman.” Murg growled. “It is not your place to speak.”

“I will be banished with my husband. My son will be taken away from us. How is it not my place to speak?”

“Shena, be quiet. You may only speak when addressed.” Roggo barked. Shena gave him a black look, and then backed down.

Roggo looked at the crowd. “This is a difficult decision. We have heard from the accused and the accuser. Each of you may speak in turn.”

Shaman had feared this. The sky was already starting to fade from red to gray as the sun slipped below the horizon. It would take until well past dark for everyone to ask their questions, speak their mind and give their thoughts. It would be far past sunset before they could even begin the trek to Guardian Mountain for the Starfall celebration. Already faint trails could be seen glittering purple and brown in the evening sky.

He turned to Roggo. “I beg your leave, Chief, but we do not have the time to spend on this. We must finish quickly or we will delay the celebration.”

Roggo shook his head. “I will not pass judgment on Daro without hearing the thoughts of everyone. The celebration must wait.”

“You don’t understand!” he shouted, panic gripping his heart. “Shena has betrayed the spirits. She has sung the Song of Thanks for her personal gain. The spirits have sent us warning!” He pointed to the sky. “She must go, and she must go now.”

“Shaman,” Roggo bellowed. “You will not contradict me.” He lowered his voice, but anger was still thick in his words. “This is not Shena’s trial. What Shena has done, or may have done is a discussion for another day.” He glared at Shaman, who reluctantly hung his head. “Now, I will hear council from each of you in turn. Say what you wish, ask what questions you need to ask. I will pass judgment when I have heard from everyone.”

In an instant, Shaman felt his strength ebb away into the twilight, and he stood, numbly, heart shivering in his chest as the men and women had their say. The sky grew dark and Guardian Mountain faded into the growing night, until it was lost to the night. Overhead, stars were falling at an alarming rate, leaving threads of shimmering blue and green and gold in their wake. No one else seemed to notice them.

The spirits are angry.

He caught Roggo’s attention, grimacing, eyes pleading for the opportunity to speak. But Roggo ignored him, focusing his attention on the thoughts and questions of his people. “Did you know that it was dangerous to be up there?” “How did you climb up there – how did you stay safe?” “Did Moen pay attention before this?”

After listening for a time, he lowered his head, studying the meaningless tracks and marks on the ground. I am going to lose. Too many people accepted Daro’s account of the events.

Salam, Shaman’s nephew, and Lam’s father, stepped forward. “Murg. Did you give Moen any advice recently?”

“Yes, I–”

A huge light lit the sky. Lifting his head, Shaman and everyone else paused for a moment to watch the fireball as it floated through the air, glowing yellow at first, and then fading until blood-red light bathed their home.

This is a warning from the spirits. We must get to the mountain soon.

As the fireball faded, Murg continued. “Yes. I told him to be brave, like his brother.”

Several of the Clanspeople nodded at this. Shaman felt a strange prickly sensation at the back of his neck. He looked back up at the mountain, but saw nothing.

“Enough.” said Roggo. “I think we have heard enough. Moen still lives and it is clear that Daro was not negligent. This is not the first time that a young man has done a foolish thing and paid a price for it.”

Fine. Let’s finish this and get to the Mountain. I will deal with Shena later.

“Everyone, prepare for the journey to Guardian Mountain. We must travel quickly. Shaman is very worried.” He laughed and clapped Shaman on the back. With that, the meeting broke apart, and the Clan starting milling around the fire, chatting and arguing amicably.

Shaman fought his way through the crowd to Shena. Tears of happiness flowed down her face as she embraced her husband. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her away. “You have won for now. Do not continue to use the Song, or we will all suffer.”

She stared at him in disgust. “You tried to break my family apart. I owe you noth–”

“Murderer!” As one, the Clanspeople turned towards the cave entrance, as Alga stagged from the entrance, her face a mask of rage and grief. “You killed him. You killed him.”

A cold chill ran down Shaman’s spine.Murg was there at once. He tried to take the boy from her, but she screamed, backing away. “You killed him.”

His eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

“The medicine you brought me. It is foul! It is a poison! I gave it to him and now he is dead!”

Murg spun around. “Shaman?”

A circle opened up around him. Everyone was staring at him, and the chill ran deep into his bones. In the southern sky, a single golden dot appeared, low and bright.

“What did you do?” Murg shoved his way through the crowd. “What did you give me.”

He tried to answer, but his voice caught in his throat, and he staggered sideways. Hands caught him, pushing him upright as his whole body went cold.

“What did you do to my son?” Murg towered over him, roaring, carrying his son’s body in his arms. Shaman stumbled backwards. Over Murg’s shoulder, the golden dot grew brighter.

“I’m sorry.” He heard the words coming from his mouth, but he couldn’t control them. “I gave you the wrong– It had to be done. We’re in terrible danger. We are.”

“You killed him.” Murg said, staring at Moen’s waxy face. “You poisoned him. How could you do that?”

Shaman’s knees gave out, and he fell to the ground. He raised one shaking hand to the sky. “Death.” he whispered. “Death comes for us.”

Thud. His heart pounded painfully in his chest.

Everyone turned to stare at the oncoming star. Everyone except Murg, who closed his eyes, holding the body of his to his chest.

Thud.

He could hear screams as some people turned and started to scatter, while others stared dumbly, frozen.

Thud.

The star ripped through the sky, fiery golden light streaming from it in every direction as it shot towards Red Cave.

Shena. You have killed us all.

The star roared overhead, smashing into the earth just beyond the hill. He felt a moment of heat, and then nothing more.

Next Chapter

Saturday, March 11th, 2006 at 9:01 pm.
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