by B. Muze
Four sips. Yaku Shaman led his apprentice to the northern plains, the place of ending, where a different life began. They sang to the ancestors, not asking them to come, but letting them know they were welcome if they wanted to greet the new shaman. Jovai was overjoyed to see her mother’s parents and father’s father come to greet her. Behind them followed a great, grand crowd, not just her ancestors, but all the village’s people back beyond the time when they still roamed like nomads. They crowded around her silently, touching her cheeks and hair with their ghost-wind fingers, smiling. Then they parted, and before her stood her master’s master, his master, his master before him, all the shaman the village had honored and some from before the village had even been.
“I am proud of him,” said Cokru Shaman, smiling easily at his own apprentice, Jovai’s master. “He is a great shaman.”
Jovai nodded happily, her eyes shining with the brilliance of the konis.
“It was a bad business,” said an old woman, coming up behind him.
Cokru Shaman bowed reverently to her and withdrew. Jovai looked curiously at the woman who claimed such respect. She was short and round with feather-shaped lines under her eyes from often smiling and often crying. Long hair flowed like a white stream around her stooped shoulders. Her lips held themselves on the verge of a smile, although her words were serious and her eyes intense. She did not look at Jovai, but beyond her, around her, at all the world.
“The Great Bear did wrong. He shall pay, and she shall suffer for it. I gave him more time with her than he could have expected, and he still would not let her come.”
“He did not understand…” Jovai said quickly, in defense of her beloved master, but the lady didn’t hear her.
“We will have to take her from him. No other way now.”
Cokru nodded. They all nodded. Jovai watched, bemused by konis, not fully understanding what they meant.
“Your journey will be long,” said Cokru to her, “and will take you very far. By seeking your name, you are seeking yourself, your soul. It is everything you are. Even if the spirits give it to you, it is still for you to understand. There is much my apprentice could not teach you, and there are important things he would not let you learn. You must learn these things.”
The words of Cokru Shaman flowed over her in her konis induced haze. She did not fully understand but she would, she knew, in time.
“Thank you for your wisdom, Master,” she replied, bowing with deep respect.
Five sips. In the southern woods, her solitary journey would begin. That was the place of maturing youth, of directing power, of coming to adulthood. Her master helped her walk to the edge of the wood. She looked for the path she and Misa had taken, but she could not find it now. Already, the world was tilting around her, growing bigger and smaller wherever she looked. Nausea rose and fell in her as her heart beat too quickly and her body trembled. From here she would go on alone, unarmed, as far as she could walk, and await the will of the spirits. If they came to her, if they gave her a shaman name, and therefore shaman power, that would be the sign of their approval. Her shaman name would be secret, and she would continue to be called by her child’s name, but she would carry the mark and the title of shaman.
“You don’t need to go far,” said her master.
She nodded. It was a spiritual journey. She need only sit and wait.
“You will be alone from here,” warned Yaku Shaman. “I will not listen tonight, but I will pray for you.”
He kissed her gently, like a father. It was the first time he ever had.
She kissed him back and hugged him.
“I love you, Master,” she said. “Don’t worry.”
She could feel her master’s eyes watching her as she walked into the woods until she was out of sight.
Into the woods, through the glow of the setting sun, she walked. Branches and leaves split the light, spilling it into dancing pools at her feet. The early summer air was warm, and she felt hot, for her master had made her dress again as a boy, covered all but her head and hands. He was worried for her. He had warned her of snakes and wild animals and the befuddlement of konis, but she was in the spirit’s hands, and she felt happy and safe.
She went as far as she could walk. The village was out of sight. She tried to listen for it, but her head was spinning, and her expanding spirit drained the last of the energy from her body. She sank to the ground, next to a tree.
In her disorientation, she could not tell where she was. Perhaps her spirit journeyed from her body, for it felt free, uninhibited, and as large as the whole world. At first, she thought she was on the eastern hill again, leaning against the holy tree. As she sat, the tree expanded and grew around her like a loving hug, pulling her into its heart. It was dark and warm there, and she felt safe and very happy.
Where was the child, she wondered. But she was the child, lying in the tree, waiting for her singer to come. She wanted to hear the stories of the wonderful people and things the world was full of, not for the stories themselves, but for the love with which her singer sang them.
With a jolt, Jovai was back in the southern woods, a gentle breeze caressing her cheek, cooling the sweat on her brow. She felt like one awakening from a beautiful dream, who does not really want to leave it but who has a new and eagerly anticipated day to greet. Time seemed to be racing around her, yet every moment was full of wonders she had not ever fully appreciated before. The smell of the leaves and grass and flowers, the warmth of the air, the shifting pattern of the shadows as they stretched toward her, the texture of the bark, the dirt, the plants, her clothes, everything delighted her. She could taste the konis still on her tongue. Even its bitterness pleased her. The sounds of the rustling bushes as animals scurried and darted around her, the fresh, young leaves shivering as the night air grew cooler, the wind singing its breathy chant — there was so much to hear, even when she couldn’t concentrate enough to listen.
Through the shadows came a stranger, tall and slim, dressed as she, yet it didn’t seem fully a man, nor fully a woman either. When the first ray of the rising moon struck the stranger’s face, she saw that it was someone she knew, yet had never actually met. The face looked both masculine and feminine, not split into two as her charm had shown, but full and complete within itself. It was a perfection and therefore beautiful beyond comprehension.
She would have greeted the greatest of all gods with proper respect, but her body no longer obeyed her. Her tongue felt thick and heavy and would not move in her mouth. Even her jaw was locked shut. Or did it hang open? She wasn’t sure. Her limbs felt numb, but her mind was extraordinarily sensitive.
The stranger sat down next to her and took her hand. Other spirits came, one by one, in the shape of animals, birds, reptiles, human-seeming shapes, strange, unidentifiable shapes, and some with no shape at all. A glowing giant, like no spirit or god that her people recognized, descended from the stars and, nodding politely to the one who held her hand, set itself among the others. Some of the spirits she recognized. Some were new. They crowded around her, filling the trees and bushes, the ground and the air. They watched and waited with her for something to happen. She could feel their support and love like a soothing lullaby and thanked them silently and fully.
The waxing moon filled the sky, shining like the sun. She watched as it rose, as it floated overhead, and as it started to drift toward the west. The Great Spirit’s hand, which held hers, was warm and gentle. She listened for the spirit to give her an adult name — hopefully, something describing a great power — a shaman power. The spirits smiled at her but said nothing.
She trembled at her boldness before the greatest of all spirits but could wait no longer.
“Please, Great One, have I a name?”
Her tongue could barely form the words, but the spirits understood.
The Great Spirit picked up a small stone from the ground and handed it to her. It was a strange stone, a small black one, smoothed to a shiny polish and flattened on on
e side. It felt warm, nestled in her palm.
“Your name,” whispered the Mother/Father.
Jovai looked closely at the stone. In the dark, she could not make out any markings on it. She ran her finger carefully over it, especially over the flattened side, but not the slightest scratch interrupted the flowing smoothness of the stone.
“What is it?” begged Jovai. “I can’t see anything on it.”
The spirits answered with only silence. Silence, smoothness, darkness, nothing.
“Not a shaman then?” she wondered. Shaman. It was something she knew, simple and real. A word she understood. Not shaman. All her life made meaningless to her, but still that she could understand. She could be “not shaman” if it must be. She would not fit the only life her master had left for her among her people, but she could make a new one, somehow.
But there was nothing here — no shaman name, promising great power, but no common name either. Slowly, through the konis, she realized what not having a name would mean. It was not a matter of position, but rather one of being. No one suffered a lack of name who reached the age for one. Sometimes a boy who tried for his adulthood too soon would have to wait, but he would eventually be named. If she were a boy she could try again next year, but she was a woman, and her adulthood was clear — only needing acknowledgment. Surely, the spirits would grant that.
“Is it because I’m like you?” she wanted to ask the greatest of all gods. “I’m not a man but not a woman either?”
As she looked up into the perfect face, however, she knew that she was not like the god at all. The god was whole. The god was both man and woman, everything, ageless and right, complete and balanced in inhuman purity. Jovai looked at herself in the darkness of her being and saw nothing, not a man but not a woman either — not a child, but not an adult. She was something wrong, something evil in the world. She felt shattered, fragmented, with all the little bits of herself working against each other. Even through the pleasant konis haze, she wanted to cry.
And the god held her gently, like a loving parent. All around, each of the crowd of spirits smiled or nodded encouragingly. The breeze stroked her hair. Even the trees, the plants, every blade of grass, and every speck of dust that formed with proud unison the solid-seeming earth, everything welcomed her with joy.
The konis muddled her into a pleasant contentment. Was she not here safe with the spirits? And the greatest of them held her hand. It would be all right…somehow.
The woods grew strangely quiet. All other sounds were stilled to let her hear the footsteps that disturbed the night. No one should be walking tonight, especially not so late. The shaman had forbidden his people to interfere with her passage. It was something out of place, and yet, so wrapped in konis bliss was she, that she could not be alarmed. The Great Spirit kissed her gently as the strangers approached.
A Gicok came first, dressed not as a warrior, but as one of the traders. He paused when he saw her and looked around as though sensing something strange. His eyes, which darted everywhere, were unreadable, but his face looked afraid. It was a look Jovai had never seen on a Gicok. She found it amusing.
“There he is,” whispered the large, golden-haired stranger with a mustache, coming up behind the Gicok, “right where they said.”
In his dark-skinned hand he held a sharp-tipped whip, readied to strike. Behind her, she could hear the footsteps of two other men. They had surrounded her.
The Gicok tried to back away, but the man pushed him forward instead.
“No,” said the Gicok haltingly, in the foreign stranger’s tongue, “Something not good here.”
“It’s all right,” the golden-haired man insisted, though he approached her warily as he said it, his whip ever ready. “They said he’d be sleeping, that he wouldn’t fight.”
He paused when he got close enough to see Jovai’s eyes were open and watching him.
“You’re not going to fight me now, are you boy?” he asked.
Jovai could do nothing but calmly watch. The spirit held her. She trusted it completely.
“What’s wrong with him?” asked one of the men coming up from behind her. He flashed a light from a shielded lamp into her eyes. The brightness pained her. She wanted to close her eyes, but even her eyelids would not obey her.
“Great Gorat, look at those eyes,” he exclaimed, his voice as rough as his hairy chin. “They’ve got him drugged out of his druthers.”
The golden-haired man took her hand from the spirit’s and felt the pulse on her wrist. He shook his head.
“They sure made it easy…if he doesn’t die.” He smiled. “I think I’m going to like these people.”
He searched her clothes briefly and found the two flasks on her hip belt which he sniffed.
“No weapons,” he announced. From behind Jovai came the other man, more of a boy really, with no beard or mustache yet, but only long, golden hair framing his dark face. Still, he was large, and there were four of them. Only the spirits could help her escape now. She waited, wondering what they would do.
The golden-haired man called the Gicok to him. The Gicok approached with the look of a hunted animal. Everything around startled him, though nothing moved. He seemed ready to run at the slightest sound.
“Take him,” the golden-haired man with a mustache ordered. “He’ll have to be carried.”
When the Gicok seemed reluctant, the man flexed his whip and hit the Gicok. He doubled over, wincing in pain. It took several deep breaths for him to find the strength to stand again. When he did, there were three little needles imbedded in his belly which he had to pick out before he could move again.
“Do what I say,” the man ordered. “Now!”
The Gicok obeyed. He heaved Jovai across his shoulders and carried her through the woods toward the southern mountains.
Jovai could not struggle. She felt aware of a vague fear that could have belonged to someone else. It didn’t seem to be her own. The spirits watched as the strangers carried her away. She still felt their love and support, but not one interfered to save her.
Then the darkness came crashing down on her like an angry, meaningless shout. She felt herself engulfed in a wave of inexplicable hunger. It was more than hunger. It was a craving, a constant, endless pain. She felt it all around her. The air had grown thick with it and was crushing her, pressing in on her as though trying to eat her alive. She could not think. She could barely breathe. Finally, she passed out altogether.
Chapter 20
Outcast
The night had been long for Yaku Shaman. He had tried to sleep, but evil visions disturbed him. He had seen once again the black wolf spirit, now grown so large the trees were crushed by his paws as he walked. His appearance had changed too. He had grown into a great black beast with a boar-like visage whose bulk filled the sky and blotted out the stars. The moon itself could not find space around the creature for any part of it to shine. All was dreadful darkness. The beast had turned to Yaku in his dream with a growl — a mocking laugh. He came toward him, came toward his valley, his people, evil purpose in his steps.
“No,” Yaku had yelled. He had risen, once again the great brown bear, but the beast was too large and easily brushed him aside. Yaku had tried to attack again but found himself held, his feet turning to roots, his bear’s fur changing to bark and leaves, his belly hollow with sorrow. He could only stand and watch as his people surged forward to greet the evil one.
The people danced, dressed in their best, coming with gifts of food and flowers, and laid the gifts at the black beast’s clawed feet, which tore all the ground where he stepped. He kicked these things disdainfully aside and reached toward the people for more. His eyes were hungry, his jaws dripped blood. The people of the valley laughed, unafraid. From the crowd, their leader stepped forward, tall and strong. It was Tapeten. In his arms, he held a tiny child, her big brown eyes open in strange sleep, a gentle smile on her shining face. He hurled the baby to the beast. The creature caught her with pleasure
in a mauling grip and, momentarily appeased, turned and carried her away.
Yaku raised his arms to cover his weeping eyes, but his arms were already raised in thick branches, winter dry. He could not move his feet for they were gnarled roots pressed deep into the earth and his body was trapped in layers upon layers of steel-hard wood. He cried for help, and people came. With fire and blades, they came. A shining spirit struck first and deep and tore open his belly. His blood flowed forth like golden sap. Shining still, the spirit struck again…
Yaku wept for his people as the vision shifted. In his dream he was at the edge of the southern woods, waiting for Jovai to come back. He saw her walking through the morning shadows back to him, but as she approached, he realized that it was not she, but another dressed as he had dressed her, in the men’s clothing that still easily fit her youthful figure. The face was not Jovai’s, not any woman’s, nor any man’s. The being had a perfect wholeness, whose age and gender could not be limited to human calculations.
In his dream, Yaku bowed deeply to the great god. The spirit lifted his old man’s chin and kissed his cheek as if he were still a little boy. It called him by his shaman name, and he trembled for fear the beast might hear, even in his dream.
“I am pleased,” said the god. “You have served us well. How may we show our gratitude?”
Yaku trembled harder. Great was the honor he was being given. So great that it crushed clear thought from his mind.
“Jovai…” he said at last.
“Not your people?” asked the spirit with disapproval.
Yaku hung his head in shame.
“Your people have meant to betray us,” the great one told him. “Because we love you, we will let you guide our anger against them.”
“Forgive them,” begged Yaku.
“If you can, then we will,” the spirit answered and disappeared. The dream vanished, and Yaku Shaman was left awake and confused at the dawn.