The Tale of “Ya’Chak Shamek”
The Shaman observed as his life force entered and exited his chest cavity. Reminded by breath that he was imbued with purpose he inhaled all that was well in the world and exhaled all that was no longer needed. A psychedelic and sobering experience all at once. A familiar hand upon his back the shaman threw a gentle smile over his shoulder. Her love the fondest form of acceptance he’d ever known there wasn’t much the shaman’s wife couldn’t fix with her warmth alone. Cut from the same cloth the shaman and his wife were one another’s counterparts and counterweights. Their language beautiful and exotic with rolling “R”s and gentle “J”s they spoke of their mundane plans with great excitement. Planning to do everyday things they looked into one another’s eyes envious of the clothes they wore. Ya’Chak Shamek’s green eyes reflecting back into Nor’Eja’s big, brown eyes the two looped through all eternity. An endless chasm of reflection. Breaking eye contact for fear of making love then and there for all to see, the two set about their separate days.
It’s cries their woes, it’s fruit’s their survival; the amazon was their first love and they were one another’s second. More than man and wife, they were Mediator and Shaman. Tasked with uniting the jungle clans Nor’Eja was to bring together, under her mercury blue and black staff, the many clans of the amazon while her husband, the young and well renowned shaman with a ceremonial blade in his sheath and a cure for most anything in his satchel, was entrusted with healing the sick. The other shaman’s would regularly ask Ya’Chak Shamek what his secret was. To which he would always reply the same “Simplicity and ratio. You take two, three, four ingredients at most and ensure that the elixir’s consistency is constant. Every elixir I’ve ever made has upheld the same consistency, thicker than water but thinner than oil.”
A toucan cawed, a monkey shook at a nearby branch and the shaman’s wife braided her hair by the river. All at once cautious and careless the three living things shared a space. The sun shining and high but not too high, not too bright and not too hot the day would have best been described as perfect. The clouds resting in a pile they sat upon the distant horizon, waiting. The river’s flow constant and rhythmic it was neither fast nor slow. Filling her urn and prepping for the walk back to the village the shaman’s wife heard a ringing in one ear and then the other. Then the world became out of focus and lopsided. Collapsing atop of the urn filled with water the shamans wife lay unconscious amidst the many pieces.
Odd for his wife not to be back by now the shaman observed himself to be on high alert. Senses engaged, blood pumping, a peculiar feeling made itself known. Taking the route his wife’s feet commonly followed, the shaman caught glimpse of her, horizontal and unconscious. Falling into a sprint he retrieved from the ground his one and only counterpart. Throwing her over his shoulder he promptly carried her back to the village they called home. Concocting numerous ailments and checking various vitals the shaman confirmed two things- that his wife’s liver was failing her and that her life was in grave danger. Adjusting on the fly he scrapped one remedy for another, concocting several at once. Catering to the symptoms of the liver he kept her cool as she lay there unconscious and breathing irregularly with a scrunched up face as she sweat in agony.
For five days and four nights the shaman held his wife’s hand, dousing her in her favorite flowers so that she knew, for those splits seconds where she was semi-conscious that she was loved. Intermittently waking to smile she wore a look that said it was alright. It was okay if she were to pass here and now. It was alright because she’d found her counterpart and spent as much time with him as the world had allowed her to. Unable to stomach the look for long, her lips cracked, eyes sunken and breathing stifled the shaman shook his head at the world, sending word for another of his kind to come forth. A shaman he knew well and trusted tremendously arrived. Describing thrice the full extent of her condition and how best he had stabilized it Ya’Chak Shamek placed both hands on the shaman he trusted shoulders and assured him of his swift return and that no matter how long he took to keep his beloved alive at all costs. Knowing full well that if such continued for much more than a moon’s entire duration that further organs would begin failing the shaman packed his satchel to the brim, sheathed his ceremonial blade and disappeared.
Venturing into a temple strategically built into the mountainside it was hardly noticeable to the untrained eye. Ya’Chak Shamek knelt before the statue in the temple’s center and prayed not for help, nor for pity nor favor, but instead for direction; knowing which God, if any, was liable to step forth. Appealing to this particular God, whose reputation was not only that he enjoyed meddling with mortals but that he was once one himself a mortal before discovering the key to immortal life- the shaman offered up two fingers as payment in exchange for a lead as to where he might find the fabled boon of youth hidden deep in the amazon. Welcomed into Godship by the others so long as he kept said boon a secret- The God of Immortality could not help but appear in spite this agreement for any man willing to do away with his own flesh so easily was surely worth his weight in entertainment.
“I cannot grant you what you seek.” said the voice of a God from behind Ya’Chak Shamek. Applying a thick black ointment to where his fingers once sat the shaman turned to face the God.
“If The God of Immortality cannot grant me what I seek, then who?”
“It’s not that simple. Determined though you are.” snickered the God.
“Very well.” said the shaman offering the God his blade “I am the best that there is when it comes to remedies and I know of none that shall cure her of this illness. End first my suffering,” the shaman suggested “then hers. That way we might be so luck as to be together in the afterlife.” he insisted from one knee. Disappointed in the shaman’s certainty and conviction The God of Immortality, ripe with boredom and unsure when next he’d have such an interesting opportunity, hesitated.
“I’ve been sworn to secrecy.” said the God “But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t point you in the right direction with a word or two.” “For the right price.”
“Name it.” said the shaman. The God of Immortality frowned.
“I’ll need two more.” said the god, looking at the bloodied fingers upon the temple floor. Difficult though it was to hold the blade with two fingers and a thumb the shaman took to the same two fingers on the opposite hand, rubbing more of the thick black ointment into where they once sat.
The shaman puffed and panted as he climbed with four fingers and two thumbs an unclimbable mountainside in the thunder and rain in pursuit of a flower capable of saving his beloved. The shaman wore cuts and bruises down both knees and elbows as he attempted to scale an Amazonian mountain draped in sharp rocks, vines and thorns. The God of Immortality, most entertained, watched with severe satisfaction as the shaman scurried up an impossible mountaintop like a drowned rat. Managing his way at last to the mountain’s top after close to two weeks of trial and error and sheer determination the shaman arrived to find no yellow flowers. No flowers at all, just more thorny vines. The God of Immortality materialized from thin air, somewhat surprised but mostly amused. Restless and out of options the shaman demanded of the God an explanation. Tickled, the God of Immortality, boredom semi-quenched cleared his throat.
“Very well,” he began, hiding his smile only for another God to intervene; The God of the Sky.
“-Bite your tongue!” boomed the Sky God.
“Fret not my friend,” said The God of Immortality “for I am merely misleading the man.” he remarked.
“Then why does he stand so near?-”
“-Silence!” hissed the God of Immortality, challenging The Sky God only to wind up in an argument so loud that Ya’Chak Shamek had no choice but to retreat. Taking note of his surroundings only to notice a small, bulb-like berry, golden and glimmering in what little sun the day afforded, amidst a sea of thorns and vines at the mountain’s tip, the shaman recalled that all fruit starts at first as a flower. All of those vines and leaves and thorns mustering in all their might and defenses just one, single, little berry Ya’Chak Shamek realized what it was he stood so near to. That berry was the flower. Distracted and incapable of experiencing harm at the hands of any mortal the gods fought like petty children while the shaman endured what felt like a thousand thorns as he slid down the backside of the mountain. A thick vine encompassing a golden berry between his teeth; the shaman risked his life to descend the mountainside and barely escaped with it intact. Plump with water and of a considerable weight the shaman stashed into his satchel the golden berry, doing his best not to bleed to death in the process.
Smearing what remained of the black ointment keeping him alive on as many wounds as he could find while dashing through the jungle, memories returned to the shaman in waves.
“All good elixirs are three parts pure. First you must add something grounding and rich; powdered minerals, salts, sometimes sands or soils; then you must add something aqueous, whether that be water or nectar or something of a solvent and then finally the key ingredient for which you wish to extract the healing goodness from must be added and well mixed until all three find harmony.” said Ya’Chak Shamek’s teacher aloud in his head. Lightning struck, the gods boomed at one another as they fought down the hillside and the shaman, scurrying in the labyrinth which was the jungle, drenched and scampering headed straight for his beloved.
The rain finally pausing and the thunder resigning the shaman arrived at the village he called home moments before daybreak. Everyone dead silent the shaman made quietly for his hut. The shaman he’d entrusted with his wife’s wellbeing strung up by his feet, blood dripping from his face; his lifeforce long gone he’d been dead for at least a day. Nor’Eja, his beloved, lay motionless and pale on her back, eyes wide open and with a red hand print scorched into her throat. Undoubtedly the work of a God, Ya’Chak Shamek cried out only for the God of Immortality to manifest in the village’s center. Holding her pale corpse as he wept, something within the shaman stirred. An emotion he thought to be long gone. Rage.
“My, oh my. See what comes of forgetting one’s place?” Smiling and smug the God shrugged from outside the hut. Apologizing to Nor’Eja the shaman stood to face the God responsible.
Catching a glimpse into another hut as he exited his own the shaman noticed that it’s inhabitants too were hung from the ceiling and sufficiently bloodied. The shaman’s desire to save his beloved had cost the entire village their lives, the very people he was entrusted to heal and watch over. Gritting his teeth Ya’Chak Shamek twitched with anger, powerless though he was. Storming towards the village’s alchemy lab the shaman overturned his life’s work. Hulking mad he smashed and hurled that which he’d spent a lifetime cultivating, collecting and culminating. Heaving over his own destruction the shaman roared at the top of his lungs while the God of Immortality stood idly by, most pleased with himself.
“How then?” asked the God of Immortality. The shaman said nothing.
“How then would you like to die?” asked the God, candidly “I feel as though,” he added with a wink “it’s the least I can do.” The shaman’s body language indicative that he was prepared to fight, Ya’Chak Shamek suddenly turned and fled for the river, taking the route his wife’s feet commonly followed. The shaman slipped several times. Retrieving a sharp piece of his wife’s shattered urn mid-fall he backed himself into the river.
“Stay back!” he threatened a God that could not be harmed. The God of Immortality cackled, most entertained. Swinging wildly the shaman fended off the amused God.
“Please,” insisted the God “Let us remain civilized, shaman.”
Ya’Chak Shamek fell backwards only for The God of Immortality to forcefully retrieve him from the water by the throat. The heat from his hand like lava the shaman instinctively seized the God’s wrist only to quickly let go. Four fingers and two thumbs scorched and a windpipe soon to collapse the shaman made his peace with the world.
“You see?” said The God of Immortality looking up to the Sky God.
“Nothing to quarrel over!” he boomed at the clouds only to look down at the limp shaman and notice discolored lips. An empty vial fell from what was left of his hand, making it’s way downstream. Releasing the limp shaman, he rose from the water, scorch marks fading, fingers returning and the very water he stood in starting to repel itself.
“You little bastard!” boomed The God of Immortality, looking to the skies expectantly. A bolt of lightning struck the riverbed and from it appeared The God of the Sky.
“Look what you’ve done!” bellowed the Sky God.
“I didn’t do this!” spat The God of Immortality “It was you. You told him of where he stood, I mentioned only a flower!” “That Inca En’Costa had been ripening for lifetimes, if you think I was in anyway prepared to let him have it you’re sorely mistaken. My tongue has ached for it’s taste for a thousand years. Then you came along, and meddled.” the God known for meddling accused The God of The Sky.
“It matters not!” scowled the Sky God “You answered the summons! You toyed with your food and now, in an ironic twist of fate, you shall suffer just as the Mediator did. The only difference being, lest you right this wrong, you shall suffer not for weeks but all eternity.”
The God of Immortality turned to the shaman of whom he was no longer able to perish and exhaled a sigh.
“It isn’t a permanent fix.” he confessed to both Ya’Chak Shamek and the Sky God “But it’ll buy me a few thousand years.” he stated, hiding a smile.
“Don’t worry.” said The God of Immortality to the shaman “I’ll check in on you in a a couple thousand. By then- you should have come to terms with the situation and should even be starting to get the hang of it.”
The shaman took a step backwards only to find himself immobilized, bound by invisible shackles he felt the weight of his limbs multiply. The God of Immortality, chanting under his breath with eyes closed- stripped the shaman of all humanity, transforming him from a man to a monster. A monster incapable of speech, incapable of communication and most insulting of all incapable of love. The God of Immortality presented his widest smile yet, bowed before the Sky God, then vanished.
To Win The Tribal Contest ($ETH + Rare NFT + Tribal Prize) You must join our Discord Server, Open a Ticket (#help-request channel) and answer the following three questions at the SAME TIME, numbering them 1,2,3.
- What is the technical name for Nor‘Eja’s favorite kind of flower?
- Which of the God’s does the Shaman’s Wife follow/worship?
- What fate was The God of Immortality scheduled to suffer were he to fail to right his wrong?
