NEAR SUNDOWN, THE HUNTERS returned and after cleaning their game joined the other villagers in a common meal. Full stomachs soon made the Elders’ eyes heavy, so one by one they left the fire for their hammocks in the long house until finally, only Akhu and the older boys remained.
They want to hear another story, he thought, letting his eyes sweep the circle of anxious faces.
“The great god Wanadi speaks with many voices,” he finally said, gesturing for the boys to lean closer. “It was his voice that called the wild pig and tapir to our hunters today.” He looked at the boy sitting beside him and playfully patted his bulging stomach. “And aren’t you glad he did?”
The other boys laughed their agreement but quickly grew serious as he once again untied his necklace. Their eyes followed his fingers as they felt each stone along the strand, growing wide with anticipation when he finally grasped his Stone of Memory, and held it to the light.
He fixed his eyes on the Stone, now shimmering in the firelight and as if reminded of things the boys would face said, “sometimes Wanadi speaks to us through pain.”
Akhu recalled his teacher, Twanke, once spoke those very words while cradling a dying hunter in his arms. The man had stumbled into the village, mortally wounded by an outsider’s fire stick. As the man cried out in pain, Twanke looked up and seemed to search until he found Akhu’s face among the other boys gathered around. His teacher’s words were like darts from a blowgun, pinned to his memory. “Through the pain of your Marake test, Akhu, you will hear the gods speak clearly, and you will never forget their words,” he had said solemnly.
Tonight, gazing at the sacred Stone, Akhu could see the hunter’s bloody wound and hear his cries. The outsiders have brought much pain to the Yanoako, he reflected bitterly as he looked more deeply into the Stone and began his story.
His tale took wings, carrying the boys back to a time long ago. Sunrises and sunsets flashed like lightning across the sky. Seasons, dry and wet, became blurs as old age overtook youth with an arrow’s speed.
Back they sped and like the first time in Twanke’s hut, the pale-skinned woman waited for him at the two great stones beside the trail. Again, her command to come no farther brought the familiar sadness he felt each time he came so near to learning the secrets of the taboo land.
But like so many times before, he dared not resist her order. Turning, he retraced his steps up the pathway of the seasons. As he did, the Stone’s grip loosened, the journey ended, and once again he found himself with the boys beside the campfire. They watched him anxiously, waiting for some sign he might reveal the rest of the story concerning their tribe’s beginning; but as always, he could not.
How can I tell them things Twanke did not teach me, or the Stone of Memory has not revealed? Sensing the boys’ disappointment, he dismissed them with a gesture and retired to his hut.
Recalling his own life’s journey, beginning with his first terrifying experience with Twanke’s Stone of Memory until now as Shaman of the Yanoako was a different matter. When he returned from his first journey into the Stone, he remembered particularly Twanke’s tears when he described his vision of the lovely woman. Those tears, he mused just before sleep overtook him, should have warned me my life soon would change. forever.
That change was not long in coming.
Soon after Akhu’s first boyhood experience with the Stone, Twanke took him into the jungle to search for healing plants. The sun had barely risen above the trees surrounding the village when they entered the forest and for a long time they concentrated on their search in silence. Twanke instructed him that seeking the sacred plants required the same skill and stealth that allowed a hunter to follow the trail of the wild pig and creep up for the kill.
“Your voice,” he said, “will draw demons that will suck away the healing powers of the plants you seek.”
The sun was high overhead when Akhu finally broke his silence and called to Twanke. But there was no answer. Standing, he looked about but could not see him.
“Master!” he shouted again.
Twanke must have heard fear in his voice because he answered quickly.
“I am here.”
At first, Akhu could not tell the direction of the disembodied voice. Then he glimpsed the sun reflecting off Twanke’s necklace. Drawing close, he found Twanke sitting, his back against the trunk of a large mahogany tree. With a slight gesture of his hand, he invited Akhu to join him.
For a long time neither spoke, the rustle of the wind in the canopy overhead and the occasional scream of a howler monkey the only sounds disturbing the silence.
“We are joined at the heart, my son.” Twanke’s eyes never shifted as he spoke but seemed fixed on something only he could see. “Hedu Ka Misti, the place of spirits, awaits me. The voices of the Fathers are calling and soon I must go.” The old man’s wrinkled hands lightly brushed his chest as if confirming his body’s existence, then he continued. “This body will be burned, its bones ground to powder, mixed with water and drunk by our people. Then Akhu, I, like all others before me, will be only a memory.”
Gradually, his eyes lost their faraway stare and he turned and looked at Akhu. “You must prepare yourself for that day,” he said.
Again, the veil of silence fell between them and like those nights beside the fire Akhu sat patiently waiting for Twanke to explain, but he did not.
Dusk had fallen and the cool breeze caressing their naked bodies seemed to revive Twanke from his reverie.
“Darkness is coming and soon the jaguar will awaken,” he said.
The old Shaman stretched, stood, and without another word, turned and started retracing their path back to the village.
You must prepare yourself. Twanke’s words echoed in Akhu’s mind with every step. You must prepare…prepare…
Just after dawn the next morning, a village Elder awakened Akhu. “Twanke calls,” he said. “You must come.” Hedu Ka Misti awaits me. Twanke’s words from the day before still echoed in his mind as he neared the Shaman’s hut. At its entrance, he paused. Though the light was dim, he could see Twanke in the far corner wrapped in shadows sitting on his jaguar bench. His dark eyes, undimmed by age, followed as he entered then stood before him.
“Here, my son.” He gestured to a place beside him on the bench. “Sit here.”
Akhu felt a rush of excitement, and hesitated. None but the Shaman is allowed to sit on the sacred seat.
Sensing Akhu’s hesitation, Twanke reached out a gnarled hand and drew him down beside him. “It is fitting you sit here,” he said solemnly.
For several moments, only the sounds of the awakening village broke the morning stillness.
“We have traveled many days together,” Twanke finally said.
“You have learned much. Soon it will be time for your last lesson.”
As Akhu struggled to understand what Twanke meant, the old man laid his hand on a newly painted design on his chest. “Inside this body,” he said, “lays a hidden world of rivers, mountains, and forests. Here, my spirit helpers, my Hekuras, have lived since Shi chose me to sit on the jaguar bench many floodtimes ago. The Hekuras have been my guides. They have shown me the trails to enemy camps, the paths of the pigs and deer through the forest, and the hidden places where the healing plants grow.”
Twanke leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees. “But now this body grows weary.”
Akhu felt as if he was seeing his beloved teacher for the first time after many seasons of separation. Like a rushing river, time’s passing had carved deep gullies into Twanke’s weathered face.
“Trees in my hidden world have lost their leaves,” he continued. “My streams are dry, and the earth of my garden yields no corn. Even the poles of my long house are rotten, and soon its roof will fall.”
He paused and looked into Akhu’s eyes. “My Hekuras grow restless. Soon they must find another home.”
“Akhu, your body will be their home,” he finally said.
Like flint striking flint, Twanke’s words instantly lit a torch in his mind. Now he understood where his teacher’s words yesterday in the forest had been leading.
He had no time to think about the implication of Twanke’s revelation before he continued.
“I have planted and cultivated your hidden garden, Akhu. Now your streams are alive with fish and your forests filled with game. Soon your inner world will be ready to receive the Hekuras. Welcome them. They will help you understand the secrets of the forest and guide you to everything the Yanoako need.”
Akhu struggled to understand the enormity of his teacher’s revelation, especially his cryptic words as they left the forest. “Father, yesterday you said soon it would be time for my last lesson. What did you mean?”
“Yes, it will soon be time my son.” He touched the strange designs again on his body. Sacred paintings like these and the beauty of your feathered halo will call the Hekuras to you. But…”
Again, Twanke paused and seemed to be searching Akhu’s face for signs of understanding.
“A much stronger power will be needed to keep them with you.”
“What is that, Father?” He trembled with anticipation, certain he teetered on the edge of a great discovery.
Twanke grasped Akhu’s shoulders, drew him close and dug his nails into his flesh. “A power only sacrifice and pain can give,” he said, looking directly into his eyes.
Apparently energized by these words, Twanke barked a command. “Beginning today you will learn the lesson of sacrifice. For one season, you will eat only once each third rising of the sun. And then, at your Marake test it will be time to learn the lessons only pain can teach you.”
He felt a gnawing fear of what awaited him at that mysterious ceremony marking his passage into manhood.
“When you complete the test,” Twanke continued, “you will sit on the jaguar bench as Shaman of the Yanoako. It is Shi who wills it.”
Shi, the god above all other gods, wills it. Twanke naming the unknowable god frightened Akhu. From earliest childhood, he was taught that although Shi created all things, he soon lost interest in this world and left it in the care of the lesser god, Wanadi. However, even Wanadi was far away and spoke only to Mado, the jaguar, and to the tribe’s Shaman. Now Twanke was telling him it was Shi rather than Wanadi that had willed he become Shaman.
Akhu remembered again the beautiful woman in his vision.
Shi will send me to you, she had promised.
Akhu’s mind whirled as he tried to understand the meaning of these strange and confusing revelations. First, the woman had spoken to him of Shi, the unknowable god, and now Twanke said that Shi decreed he would one day be Shaman.
Twanke had also spoken of the god, Wanadi, and his servant, Mado the jaguar, many times. When he had, Akhu trembled at the memory of the springing beast in his vision, how, like a clay pot, it shattered at the touch of the woman. Had that jaguar been Mado? How could it have been if the jaguar was Wanadi’s servant and both were chosen by Shi to care for and protect the Yanoako?
Twanke began speaking again, damming back Akhu’s stream of questions.
“Akhu, you will lead our people because only you, besides myself, have journeyed into the Stone of Memory and seen the pale-skinned woman and because only you, has she called by name.”
For the first time since Twanke began speaking, Akhu saw the hint of a smile on the old man’s face.
“She called you by name,” he repeated as he reached out and clasped Akhu’s hand. “Shi will lead her to you when it is time to go into the forbidden land.”
Twanke paused again as if listening to a voice only he could hear.
“Wait for her to come to you Akhu. Wait for Shi to say it is time. And remember this, my son. Remember well.” Twanke turned his head away and peered into the shadows about him. “Wanadi may not be what he seems,” he whispered, as if to himself. “Listen only to Shi or the woman he will send; only to Shi or the woman.”
As Akhu walked away from Twanke’s hut, one word echoed in his mind: When, when, when? When will she come?