“A shaman heals both the living and the deceased. In healing those who died, the shaman performs a psychopomp ceremony of helping those who have died cross over to a comfortable and peaceful place. The ceremony may also include clearing a home or land of spirits that are in a state of unrest. A depossession might need to be performed to clear a person of unwanted spirits.”
—Sandra Ingerman, shamanicteachers.com
After lunch one day, Onna sought out Wiglaff in the clearing in the forest where he dwelled. As she found him meditating, she sat down opposite him and waited for him to emerge from his trance-like state. She had no idea how long he had been lost in his dream world. Likewise, she had no idea when he was likely to re-enter the world of other mortals. Deciding that she would wait only until the sun fell below the treetops, Onna breathed deeply. Feeling confident that Festus could handle the small children with his afternoon lessons, she leaned back and enjoyed the spring day.
In the distance, Onna heard the faraway sounds of military training exercises. Mordru was exercising his noisy male warriors. Winna was drilling her women warriors with less fanfare. In the meadow before her, she watched the purposeful flights of colorful birds and the random paths of insects. The news she bore was both sad for her and happy for her eldest son. Ugard, the shaman, had sent a messenger to fetch Wiglaff to begin his training.
***
If Wiglaff departed, his mother knew he would be changed as he applied the rigorous regimen of shamanism. She wondered whether the young man’s character would necessarily change. The training had not changed Ugard’s character. Not even his long trip to Rome had affected his friendly relationship with her. On alternate days she felt relieved that the time had come for Wiglaff to seek his destiny outside the village. Still, she counted on him. If anything happened to Mordru, Wiglaff as his eldest son would inherit leadership of his family even though he choose to be a shaman.
Wiglaff’s stern father, the paragon of warriors, had first suggested, in anger, that his son leave the village to become a shaman. “The boy is useless as a warrior. Always daydreaming and skulking off to be alone, he’s a disgrace to my name and our family. The sooner he leaves, the better.” That was what Mordru said as he stomped off to lead one of his raids upon the Romans.
Yet Onna knew her son’s intelligence and insightfulness far better than her husband ever did. She was not sure that the shaman’s way was right for Wiglaff. At times, she was outright negative about the idea. Why did Wiglaff have to choose a path? He was doing just fine being himself. She counseled her son to bide his time and depart only when he was sure the shamanistic path was right for him. Meanwhile, she took the initiative to contact Ugard suggesting he consider making the boy his apprentice.
Onna reflected on Ugard. She and Ugard had been close and might have married if Mordru had not proposed marriage first and hustled the young woman into matrimony. Ugard had been hurt by Onna’s decision at the time. Because of her marriage to Mordru, the shaman left the village and went abroad to Rome to study for over twelve years. Onna missed talking with Ugard, but she had a growing family to raise and might have feared Mordru’s jealousy. When Ugard returned from Rome, he took up residence in a huge cavern on the mountainside near the village. Occasionally he dropped by Onna’s hut when Mordru was off fighting to check on the progress of Onna and her children. She could tell by the way he looked at her that he had never lost his deep feelings for her, but he never acted inappropriately. They were just good friends.
Ugard told Onna during his first meeting after he had returned from Rome, “When you were betrothed, I vowed never to interfere in your family life. Crushed as I was by your choice to marry Mordru, I was freed to follow my destiny as a shaman. I don’t regret what fate has decreed. I hope you have no regrets. Anyway … we are what we are.”
Onna, who could always speak openly to her friend, asked, “As a shaman, did you find what you were looking for in Rome?” She was trying to do four different things at the same time: herding two toddlers, changing a baby, shucking peas and cooking dinner. Ugard was amazed at how effortlessly she managed to do all the right things as she shifted back and forth among her tasks. He liked the way she unselfconsciously scooped her long hair behind her ears to keep it out of her face.
He answered, “Onna, Rome is reputed to be the center of the world. I found it the center of all the evil in the world. I was lucky to escape and luckier to have a cavern to inhabit on my return here. In Rome, I learned things I could never have mastered at home. I studied with the most talented magicians of both white and black magic. What I encountered will serve me well in my role as shaman. I have no desire to take another such journey. I’ll live out my life on the mountainside until I retire. Will you tell me how Wiglaff is doing? Do I discern in him the fatal signs of budding shamanistic skills?”
Onna shook her head. She had been expecting this question with dread. She started from a basic fact they both understood. “Well, you can imagine his father’s disappointment. The boy will never become a warrior. He’s a dreamer and a thinker, just as you were before you departed. He’s the opposite of everything Mordru stands for.” She paused with a glance at Winna, who was listening to her conversation.
Onna gestured for Ugard to follow her outside. “Winna, please watch the children for a moment.” Outside the entry, a deer carcass was aging on a raised stake in the ground. She cut strips of venison with her flint knife while she continued her train of thought. She offered some to Ugard, but he demurred. She shrugged and continued her work, saying, “Winna is Wiglaff’s opposite. If she weren’t a young woman, her father would make her one of his warriors. She has all but taken the boy’s place in her father’s affections.”
“So, Onna, what are your plans for Wiglaff if he isn’t going to become a warrior?” Ugard seemed genuinely concerned, and he saw from Onna’s averted eyes that he had hit a tender nerve. “I’m sorry to be prying, but the question is important.”
She looked at her friend’s expression and saw genuine concern. She said, “Not to worry, Ugard. Wiglaff’s future consumes many of my daytime hours. He’s done many things that few warriors could accomplish. He makes weapons better than anyone else … even Mordru grudgingly acknowledges that. Wiglaff’s mind is strategic. He’s always thinking about the answers to why things are happening and what would be required to remedy difficult situations. His father can only think of tactics. Mordru doesn’t have the patience for contemplation. Wiglaff is never rushed, but his judgments are sound. The depth of his insights is unique in our family. Do you know what I mean?”
Ugard looked at the ground. “Wiglaff is a born strategian. His quality of mind requires time and quiet. Does he have to choose a profession right away?”
Onna nodded, her brow knit in worry. “Mordru’s impatience is the reason. I’m not sure how much longer he’ll tolerate Wiglaff’s continuing his private path. As you know, conflict is continual among the villages, the clans, and families. Things are heating up. Men are dying every day. I’m worried that Mordru will force Wiglaff into arms and get him killed.”
Ugard looked around the village square. Women and children were peacefully getting ready for dinner before their men returned. They were doing the things that mattered most in life. They performed the everyday tasks that made huts into homes. “If ever you need to get Wiglaff out of the village—providing he feels the urge to study the arts of becoming a shaman—I stand ready to accept him as my apprentice. Don’t answer me now. Just keep my offer in mind. I know it’s unfair and inappropriate, but I think of your children as the family I never had. I’d like to help.”
“Thank you, Ugard. I know how difficult it is for you to make this offer. Your privacy and isolation have always been important to you. Your calling always made me sense I was on the outside of a secret world I would never understand. I won’t pressure Wiglaff, but if he asks for an opportunity to grow by being a shaman, I’ll remember your kind offer. Again, thank you. Now I’m going to have to hurry to get ready for Mordru’s return. Drop by the hut whenever you like, but preferably when Mordru is away. It’s good to see you again after all these years. It almost seems like yesterday when you went away. I thought I’d never see you again. That made me very sad.”
That first visit by Ugard was the first of many, but the subject of Wiglaff’s education never came up again in their many conversations. Onna saw Ugard carefully observing Wiglaff when he dropped by unexpectedly. The shaman occasionally brought gifts of rare feathers, unusual rocks and hides of small animals, like mice. Wiglaff looked forward to Ugard’s appearances before he became the woodland recluse on a permanent basis. Mordru was only one reason for Wiglaff’s self-imposed isolation. Another reason was the difficulty posed by the crowding in Mordru’s hut. Wiglaff’s dreaming only worked for him when he was not constantly bombarded by having to deal with others. Boys and girls of his age in the village did not understand him any more than their parents did. If he had not left the village, he would have been cast out, ostracized or even killed outright.
Onna observed the situation without commenting upon it. When the village wars started, and the chaos of fighting became dangerous for everyone on a daily basis, Onna knew it was time for her family to go north to stay with relatives and for Wiglaff to go to Ugard’s cavern to study.
Wiglaff told his mother, “I don’t think I can avoid involvement in the village fighting much longer. Maybe if I prove myself in battle, my father’s view of me would change. What do you think?”
Onna responded, “You’d only get killed. You’re not warrior material. Recall how many men have died, and they spent each day training. You may be brave and strong, but those traits are only the beginning. Unless you’re willing to put every ounce of your being into fighting, you’ll eventually be slaughtered. In fact, if you live by the sword, you’ll die by it. Mark my words.”
Wiglaff thought about this warning for a while. Then he said, “You’re right. So what am I to do? Maybe it’s time for me to see Ugard the shaman and get his opinion. He’s always seemed to understand what I am. What do you think?”
Onna sent a messenger that very afternoon to Ugard. Her message was simple: “It’s time for Wiglaff to begin his training with you. Let me know if that is all right with you. If it is, I’ll send him to you straightaway.” Ugard responded affirmatively and immediately by the same messenger: “I couldn’t be happier. I’ll expect his arrival day by day.”
***
Onna watched the butterflies and dragonflies as they flew through the air above the clearing. When her eyes returned to Wiglaff, he was looking at her and smiling.
“You’ve come out of your trance,” she said with a smile.
He nodded. “Yes, I have. Thank you for not interrupting me. You’ve come to tell me Ugard will accept me as his student. The answer is that I’m to leave at once. Is that all right?”
Onna’s eyes widened with surprise that her son had somehow divined her purpose in being there in the clearing. She seldom visited him in his quiet space. She remarked, “I don’t know how you know these things, Wiglaff. The messenger only just arrived at the village with the news this morning. Are you happy?”
“I’d say the news comes just in time. In another day or so, I’d have been drawn into the fighting by my father. I’ll pack my things and go to the mountainside tonight.” He sprang to his feet and pulled his things together. Onna handed him a pouch full of seeds and dried berries. She kissed him on the cheek, and he grabbed her in an enormous hug and held her. She wept at the thought of his absence.
When he let her go and backed off, she said, “Soon, I’ll have to take the children north along the path. We’ll remain there until the worst of the fighting is over. Winna will protect us on our journey. Right now, you should think of nothing but your training. I know your becoming a shaman will be good for you and the whole village someday. Be safe. I’ll look forward to seeing you upon your return.”
Wiglaff departed wearing and carrying the hides that were his clothing and shelter. In his left hand, he carried the bag of food his mother had given him. In his right hand, he carried a bag with his small collection of feathers, stones and animal bones. By sundown, he was making his way up the mountainside to the cavern where Ugard dwelled.
Outside the opening to the cave, he saw a torch in a makeshift sconce. He used the torch when he entered the cave to find Ugard meditating on a bearskin. Rather than disturbing his future mentor, Wiglaff laid the bag of food on the corner of Ugard’s bearskin. He spread his own skins on the floor in an empty corner of the cave and fell fast asleep on top of them.
The next morning, Wiglaff was awakened by the deep sound of someone thumping a pigskin drum. Outside the entrance to the cavern, he saw Ugard beating the drum with a wooden club and chanting. The shaman had braided feathers in his hair. He wore only a rabbit skin garment around his waist. Wiglaff could see the shaman’s body was lean and muscular. He watched the shaman perform his ritual for at least one hourglass.
When Ugard finished pounding the drum, he entered the cave and, without a word to Wiglaff, opened the bag of food and offered some to his apprentice before he partook of it himself. “Why are you here?” Ugard asked him.
Wiglaff answered, “I’m here to learn how to be a shaman like you.”
Ugard squinted and said, “You’ll never be a shaman like me, no matter how hard you try.” He said this matter-of-factly. Then he sat on his bearskin rug and began meditating in the same posture that he had assumed the night before.
Wiglaff imitated him in every outward way as he sat on his own bearskin. He was determined to prove he could be a shaman exactly like Ugard. This was the beginning of the first phase of Wiglaff’s training when he desperately mimicked his mentor in every way.
From sunup to sundown and then all night long, Wiglaff did what Ugard did. The shaman paid him no attention. Ugard provided nothing by way of tools, so Wiglaff had to make everything he needed by himself. For example, he studied Ugard’s pigskin drum until he understood how it was made. He then killed a boar, skinned it and dried the skin. He built a wooden frame over which to stretch and tie the hide, which he soaked so it would shrink to fit as a drum cover. He also found a piece of wood that he shaped into a drumstick. The next time Ugard beat his drum at dawn, Wiglaff stood beside him making the same sound and chanting low as his mentor did, wearing only a cloth made of rabbit skin around his waist.
Ugard descended from the mountain three days in seven to disrobe and immerse himself in an icy stream where he chanted and ducked under the surface in a pattern Wiglaff imitated. When their bath ended, the men spread their arms and looked directly at the sun as their bodies dried. As the weeks went on, their bodies became increasingly alike, both skinny and muscular. Ugard needed little food to stay fit. Wiglaff ate no more than his mentor. When Ugard ate mice and rats, Wiglaff fashioned wattle baskets to harvest rodents. He watched how Ugard sacrificed the animals, removing their pelts and drying them for various purposes. With flint knives, the shaman and his apprentice removed the skins and then ate the vertebrae, heart, and liver of each mouse, rat or vole. The remaining meat they dried before their fire.
A moon had moved through all its phases before either man spoke a word to the other. The first to speak was Ugard as he came out of a trance at midday. “Did you, Wiglaff, know a man named Festus?”
“Yes, master, I did,” Wiglaff answered. “He was a former Roman slave who is protected by my family. Why do you ask?”
Ugard nodded but did not speak. Instead, he went into a trance, Wiglaff did the same and tried to envision Festus but could not do so. He heard Ugard’s voice whispering, “Do not force the vision. Let it come of its own accord.”
Wiglaff relaxed and breathed deeply, then exhaled. He thought he was falling asleep when he saw an image of Festus fighting a throng with his sling. Arrows were hitting attackers as well as stones from his sling. Wiglaff sensed that Winna was fighting alongside the former slave, but he could not see her. Festus fought heroically, but the numbers of the assailants were too great. He was taken prisoner and carried off.
Wiglaff came out of his trance, but Ugard was still meditating. Wiglaff tried to interpret what he had seen. He remembered his mother warning about the increasing violence among the villages. For a moment he feared for his family because Festus was to accompany them when they fled to the north. He resolved to ask Ugard what the vision meant.
Ugard remained in meditation the rest of the day and well into the night. Wiglaff began meditating while he waited for Ugard to come out of his trance. Once again he saw Festus, only this time the former slave had the brand mark on his forehead. He was being tortured and interrogated by four Roman soldiers, but he refused to say anything no matter how intense the pain. Frustrated, the soldiers raised Festus’s body on a cross at the center of the raised fort just north of the Wall. He hung there bleeding while guards paced back and forth below. Finally, he died, and Wiglaff awakened.
It was dawn, and Ugard was pounding his pigskin drum outside the entrance to the cavern. Wiglaff jumped up to join the shaman with his drum. He entered a trance just as Ugard had done. In that state, he did not see the mist rising from the forests or the sunshine cutting through the scattered clouds. Instead, he saw Festus’s body being taken down from the cross. A small group carried the body past Roman soldiers with arrows sticking from their dead bodies. Festus’s body was taken to the village square. Mordru appeared and pressed his warriors, but Wiglaff could not hear what his father was saying. When he awakened, Wiglaff was still pounding on his drum, as was Ugard.
Wiglaff felt hungry, but he was not going to stop beating his drum or chanting. Quickly, he slipped into envisioning again. He saw that Festus’s body was being buried with full military honors as if he had been one of his father’s warriors. Beside the grave stood twenty clansmen, one of whom was the image of Festus himself. When the body had been covered with earth and overlaid with small stones, the twenty departed, but the image of Festus remained contemplating the grave. Wiglaff felt uneasy about this vision. Festus turned and looked him directly in the eyes. The ex-schoolteacher mouthed the Latin word ‘fugitivus’ and smiled horribly. Wiglaff came out of his trance to find himself alone. He stopped pounding his drum and went inside the cavern where Ugard was eating seeds and dried berries.
Wiglaff did not talk about his visions. He ate what Ugard ate and thought about what he had seen and experienced. He learned a few things that answered some of his questions. He learned that the first vision was answered by the second, and the second by the third. He knew in his heart that Festus was dead. The man had been killed by the Romans. His dead body had been retrieved by his father Mordru and his warriors then buried near the village. Something about the spirit of Festus remained alive even after the body was buried. Questions remained about why Festus had been fighting and about the fate of Onna, Winna and the children.
Wiglaff decided to meditate to discover the answers to his new questions. He wondered whether he could approach the spirit of Festus for the answers. He noticed that Ugard had already gone into a meditative trance. Therefore, he wasted no time. Wiglaff meditated and soon after he drew his third deep breath, encountered the spirit of Festus.
“Wiglaff, is that you?” Festus asked.
Wiglaff said, “Yes, I am Wiglaff. Are you Festus, the former slave?”
Festus said, “I was that man when I remained among the living. Now I’m lost and don’t know what to do. Will you help me?”
Wiglaff was in an entirely new realm. This was the first communication with a spirit he had ever experienced. He tried to remain calm. “Tell me how you feel.”
The figure of Festus raised his arms and did a pirouette before jumping into the air. “I feel no weight. I have no sense of urgency. I feel drained and lost. I’m disappointed because I can no longer be of service … to anyone. I’d say I want to return to my body, but that way has been closed to me. Even if it weren’t shut off as a possibility, I still have memories of excruciating pain. But where will I go next? I’m of a mind to stay right where I am because that’s easy to do. I’m not sure that’s the right thing to do because I feel a great injustice has been done to me. I’d like to take revenge.”
Wiglaff said, “If I could help you arrive at the Elysian Fields, would you go with me?”
Festus thought about this for a very long time. Finally, he said, “I think I’d like that very much. Yes, I’d go with you. When do we start?”
Wiglaff felt his body relax. He breathed out slowly until he thought he had expired. Like the flickering of a flame, he envisioned ears of autumn wheat and oats. He extended his hand, and Festus grasped it. Suddenly, the figure of Festus was standing waist-high in a field of grain, and an unnatural sunshine shone over the vast landscape. The sky was the brightest blue, and a gentle wind blew over the tops of the grain, making the field undulate like waves in the sea. A seraphic smile spread over Festus’s face, and he released Wiglaff’s hand. At that moment, Wiglaff felt cold water on his head, and he gasped.
The worried face of Ugard looked down at him. He dipped a cloth into cold water and squeezed it on Wiglaff’s forehead. “I thought you’d died for a moment. Cold water did the trick. Breathe deeply now. Continue in a gentle rhythm until I see you’ve got your color back.”
Wiglaff smiled faintly. He twitched his fingers and toes and realized he could sense his extremities. After a moment, he sat up. He had the strongest impulse to pick up his drum and beat it outside the cavern. He looked at Ugard with wild eyes. The shaman nodded as if he understood from experience what Wiglaff had been through.
Wiglaff drank from the bowl of water that Ugard held. He then stood up and grabbed his drum, taking his position at the mouth of the cavern, he began to beat the drum as he went into a trance. From far off he saw a figure in a field of grain that extended across the horizon. He then saw his mother Onna and sister Winna playing with the children. He had a warm feeling that his family was safe somewhere in the north. He saw his father Mordru slaying warriors and smiling while he did so. Wiglaff was glad to see his father in his element. Gradually, Wiglaff’s drumbeats quieted. He stopped and went back to his bearskin where he collapsed for the night.
The next day at dawn Ugard went to immerse himself in the icy stream. Wiglaff did the same. They both drank from it, and Wiglaff ate the watercress that crowded the bend. He also tickled a large trout and cast it on the bank for breakfast. A group of six warriors laughed at the shaman and his apprentice when they emerged naked from the stream to dry themselves in the sun. Ugard and Wiglaff paid them no attention. They continued with their routine, eating the trout for breakfast when they returned to the cavern.
As they ate their fish, Ugard remarked, “You’ve accomplished your first psychopomp.” His tone was approving, but Wiglaff was confused.
“What’s a psychopomp, master?”
“What do you think it is? Think about what you’ve been doing and tell me.” Ugard’s eyes now appraised his apprentice with a look that implied that Wiglaff had everything he needed to respond.
Swallowing before he began, Wiglaff told the shaman what he had envisioned. He focused primarily on Festus’s spirit. He explained about the spirit’s desire to be transported to Elysium. “The spirit said he felt lost and did not know what to do next. I suggested he might want to go to the Elysian Fields. When he liked the idea, I fell into a deeper trance and when I saw the Fields, held out my hand and fetched him there. He smiled when he saw where I had taken him. Then he released my hand. I came out of my trance feeling the cold water you were dropping on my face.”
Ugard pursed his lips. “I was afraid you had died, and I was not far from being right.”
Wiglaff said, “I’ll try to interpret what you just said.” When Ugard nodded, he continued, “When I reached the Elysian Fields, I was in a death like state, something like the spirit had attained. If he had not released my hand, I might have remained where I took him. Just as I was the medium to take him where he needed to go, you were the medium to bring me back to the world we see around us.”
Ugard nodded, reflectively. “Go on, my son.”
Wiglaff at first did not know what to say. Then he gritted his teeth and said, “I had the strongest feeling I should not leave the spirit of Festus in our village. It had told me it felt lonely and wanted retribution. It knew it could not go back inside the body of Festus. Harm might have been done by the spirit. So by taking the spirit where it needed to go, I not only was able to heal it from its own feelings, but I was also able to heal our village from any harm the spirit might cause it.”
Ugard said, “Exactly. In this case, you had the advantage of knowing the person before his spirit was released from his body. You also were lucky that your father and his warriors were able to retrieve the body before his spirit departed from it. You haven’t told me everything you envisioned, though. Do you care to proceed?”
Wiglaff blinked. “Oh, yes. I also saw that my mother, Winna, and the children are safe and that my father is also safe and happy fighting against his foes.”
Ugard stood and walked to the mouth of the cavern. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled, the sound carrying over the forest. He extended his arm and waited for a long time. Wiglaff saw an enormous winged figure come out of the pitch black of the night and land on Ugard’s arm. It was a large barn owl. Ugard transferred the bird to a wooden perch he had fashioned near the back of the cavern. He then opened one of his wattle cages and extracted a large, white mouse. The owl hooted and nudged its head toward the shaman. Ugard gave the owl the mouse. When the owl took the mouse in its beak, Ugard held up his arm. The own hopped onto his arm. Ugard carried the owl to the entrance to the cavern and let it fly into the night.
Wiglaff watched this sequence and wondered what it meant. He was going to ask about that, but Ugard anticipated his question and said, “While you were working on Festus, I was trying to resolve a number of spiritual issues at a village close to the Roman camp just above the Wall. Dealing with spirits—of both Caledonians and Romans—is somewhat tricky, especially when you start with distrust all around. Now that you’ve cut your teeth with Festus, perhaps you’ll want to go to the next level and try to heal a village?”
Wiglaff nodded. He was exhausted from his first lesson. He resolved to get some rest before he went to the second level of shamanism. As he had received no coaching to achieve what he did with Festus, and assumed he would receive no coaching as he explored the next level either. He was right, of course, as shamanism must be learned from the inside rather than from the outside and by personal experience rather than rote memory. The young man now knew from his experience that he had the insights within him. He had no idea how he was going to discover how his visionary powers fit together to form solutions.
The next morning Wiglaff went down to the stream alone to bathe and feast on watercress. He had left Ugard at the entrance to the cavern beating his pigskin drum. The shaman-in-training was beginning to understand why Ugard had told him he would never be like his mentor. Imitation alone was not the magical key to shamanism. Wiglaff now knew he had to proceed alone in parallel with his master while Ugard still was evolving in his trade. The shaman’s techniques did not put Wiglaff off or make him feel slighted. They did not lead him to disrespect his master. Instead, they affirmed something he had known from the earliest stages of his consciousness.
Wiglaff entered the water and sank beneath the watercress, so only his head remained above the stream. Over the water came the sounds of warriors on the move from both sides, converging on the stream. The rival warriors fought a bloody, vicious battle. Many fell dead near and in the water. The battle continued, but the field shifted from the stream to the nearby forest. Wiglaff emerged from the water and allowed the sun to dry his hair and skin. He put on his loincloth of rabbit skins and collected the weapons of the fallen warriors. He carried the armload of weapons up the mountainside and deposited them in his corner in back of his bearskin.
As Ugard was sleeping deeply, Wiglaff decided to discover the current state of the combat among the villages. He went into a trance and envisioned each of the villages, from the village that lay just north of the Wall to his own village, one by one. He did not envision the situation north of his own village though the troubling visions of the others suggested that he would find similarities all the way north to the sea.
The first pattern Wiglaff discerned was that villages, including his own, were fighting against all adjacent villages in an apparent free-for-all with each one fighting for itself alone against all others. All villages were on a war footing daily. Any aged people, women and children were at constant risk of being slaughtered. The shaman-in-training witnessed bodies piled high in burnt or burning villages, fields stripped of harvests and animals and warriors wandering through the landscape killing everyone unable to defend themselves.
The second pattern he discovered was the increasing number of Roman scouts throughout the area. Roman military intelligence was keenly interested in the civil war that was growing in Caledonia. The scouts made contact with their spies in the villages, who stoked the fires of ancient wrongs and insults into open conflict. External incitation was clearly a major factor keeping the village wars going to weaken Caledonia in preparation for the Roman invasion yet to come.
The third pattern he found was disconcerting. Of all the clans and families, his own had been most provident, moving the women and children north before the conflict became so intense that finally, no one could escape. Among the strongest competing groups of warriors were those led by Mordru and a man named Gilthu. Those factions avoided conflict with each other while they attacked any of the other groups with impunity.
Wiglaff emerged from his trance in a cold sweat, panting from fright. He saw Ugard watching over him while feeding a crow, perching on his arm, strips of rabbit. The young man’s flesh crawled at the idea of carrion birds eating dead meat as the crow was doing. All the villages he envisioned were haunted by flocks of black birds, from vultures to crows, devouring human entrails and putrefying flesh. Ugard’s crow eyed Wiglaff and cawed mercilessly as if it could read his mind. Wiglaff told his mentor what he had seen and the three patterns he had divined.
Ugard nodded and said, “What you’ve envisioned thus far, Wiglaff, is only the surface of what’s going on.” Ugard smiled grimly. “When you’ve had time to rest and eat, meditate on what lies underneath.”
Wiglaff ate and drank sparsely so that excess would not spoil his envisioning powers. While he was recuperating, Ugard released his crow, which flew out of the cavern and over the forest. The shaman then sat on his bearskin and entered a trance of his own. Wiglaff watched his role model look inward. His breath became faint. His skin tone became pale. The man held his thumbs against the second fingers of each hand, turned up on his knees. Ugard’s back was straight. Wiglaff’s posture was similar, but he preferred to lean forward slightly and roll his eyes upward.
As his mind expanded to consider the abstractions that lay beneath the surface of the village wars, he stopped himself from forcing conclusions. He allowed the spirits to come to him. They did not disappoint him. The first to appear was the image of his great-great-grandmother, who had gathered projectiles from the old Caledonian fort that had been besieged.
“Woe betide those who forget the terror of the Roman siege,” she wailed. Her withered hand reached out to touch Wiglaff’s face. Her bony hand felt cold and clammy. He envisioned through that spirit’s touch the siege itself, the projectiles cast from slings whistling and buzzing through the air, impacting everything and killing the humans they touched either immediately or eventually since they were coated with poisons. Some Caledonians tried to escape from the fort to the north, but the Roman soldiers stationed on that side sliced them to pieces. Even those who fell on their knees to beg for mercy met instant death.
Wiglaff asked the woman, “What can be done to avoid the ruin ahead?”
She smiled a deathly smile. “Eventually, all will die. The question is whether they will die as slaves or as free men and women. The spirits of the Caledonian dead are a form of hidden army, but they don’t have a way to channel their wrath to affect the Romans. Will you be that channel for our wrath? I don’t think so. You are not a warrior. You’re a shaman-in-training.” She laughed out loud.
“Are you truly the spirit of my ancestor?” Wiglaff asked her. “Or are you a wicked impostor, emanating from the Roman dead to deceive and mortify me?” This stopped the spirit for a moment. Wiglaff watched her transform into a Centurion’s shade.
The Roman soldier’s shade gave Wiglaff a sneer and then vanished. Wiglaff continued to envision wondering what other false images would appear in his mind. He saw a chariot advancing on a plain followed by legions advancing at a run, in blocks with shields and spears. In the chariot rode the Centurion, who intended to put Wiglaff to flight. The shaman-in-training stood his ground as the whole spirit army passed through and around his insubstantial form.
Next came a horde of former Roman emperors, from Julius Caesar through all those who succeeded him. They posed as all-powerful monarchs, prideful and haughty. They said with a single voice, “Bow before us since we are Emperor gods.”
Wiglaff was not intimidated. He told the shades, “Return to Hades where you belong. You’ve tried conquest and failed. Give up and seek elsewhere to shore up your idea of global domination. Caledonia shall remain free even if we have to fight to the last man, woman, and child. We shall resist. Count on that and despair.”
The shades of the emperors vanished like smoke. Then a beautiful Roman priestess came through the smoke. She was stately and poised. She wore a white gown. On her heels, she wore golden wings. Instead of insults, she bowed slightly before Wiglaff and caressed his face with her hand. Her eyes searched his, their four pupils wide with wonder. Wiglaff extended his hand, which passed straight through her image. She smiled and said, “We’ll meet again, and you shall become my father.”
Wiglaff came out of his trance, shaking his head. Of all the four visions, hers was the strongest and strangest. Was she an indication of his final defeat? That’s not the feeling he got from their encounter. What did she mean that he would become the maiden’s father? As he drank and ate, he kept the girl’s image in his mind.
When Ugard came out of his trance, he saw that Wiglaff had changed. “Will you tell me what you envisioned? Tell me everything, at once.”
Wiglaff then recounted what he had seen in detail. He told about the deceitful spirit who had taken the form of his great-great grandmother. Then he described the Centurion and his army. He went on to discuss the long line of emperors from Julius Caesar forward. “Their spirits,” he said, “tried to intimidate. I stood firm against them. I believe I succeeded.”
Ugard said, “There’s more, isn’t there?”
Wiglaff nodded. “Yes, there was a girl, a priestess in a pure white robe. She wore golden wings on her heels. Her touch was warm. Her eyes were gentle. She said I would become her father.”
Ugard’s thumb and fingers stroked his chin. His eyes looked down. “She’s a surprise. What do you make of her?”
Wiglaff thought for a moment. Then he fixed his eyes on his mentor’s. “She was the only spirit who came from the future. Funny how she’s the only Roman spirit I actually feared.”
Ugard stood and gestured for Wiglaff to step outside the cavern with him. They stood side by side overlooking the forest in the night. Bats flew by them chasing insects. The crescent moon shone on the treetops. “Your visions have been focused in the past and the present. I’d like you to be open to the future now. The appearance of the girl indicates you might be very good at that. You won’t have to force yourself. Just don’t block the future from presenting itself to you. Watch the heavens where I point my finger.”
Wiglaff watched as Ugard pointed. At first, he saw nothing. As he accustomed his vision to the night sky, he first saw stars. Then he noticed that everywhere Ugard pointed, a shooting star appeared, but not beforehand. He said, “Ugard, are you making the shooting stars appear where you’re pointing?”
The shaman kept pointing without speaking. The shooting stars kept appearing. The more Wiglaff watched the demonstration, the more he was convinced that Ugard knew in advance where the shooting stars would appear. When the demonstration was over, the shaman went to sleep on his bearskin. Wiglaff stayed awake all night thinking.
The shaman-in-training understood his master’s nocturnal lesson as being about foreseeing the future. How much of the future could a shaman like Ugard actually see? Was it possible he could envision ahead decades or even centuries? Clearly, he could foresee what was going to happen in the heavens. Or did he cause the heavenly events to occur by orchestration? If that were true, what might that power mean for orchestrating other events?
***
Wiglaff thought back to his first weeks of study with the shaman. He had, he thought, come a long way since then. Now every day he was learning something new. More than that, he was learning about the power that lay within himself. When the crescent moon fell below the tree line, the young man stepped out to watch the night. He pointed his finger at a random patch of sky. No shooting star appeared where he pointed, but with averted vision, he saw a shooting star appear elsewhere. He played a game to guess where the next shooting star would appear. After pointing several dozen times without success, he shrugged.
“For now, the shaman has a talent I cannot fathom. I won’t be anxious to learn how to predict the motions of the heavens. What good could that kind of prediction cause anyway? I shall try to remain open to the future presenting itself to me. If the Roman girl is an indication, I have a natural start in that direction.”
The more Wiglaff dwelled on his powers, the more he discovered how much he still had to learn. For example, he knew a lot more about the motions of the heavens than he admitted to himself. He knew about the movement of the sun and the moon. He also knew how the stars swept through the heavens in the night. Obvious celestial motions were comforting to him. Shooting stars were anomalous and seemingly random. They did not have a logic like the phases of the moon.
Likewise, aside from the changes of the seasons, the weather seemed to have fewer patterns than anomalies from his point of view. He struggled to predict the next day’s weather, but he was not good at that just yet. Rain was his forte. He could do well in predicting rain. Ugard praised his knowledge of rain. “That will save a shaman’s life in planting season,” he said. “Of all predictions, rain is most important. Keep practicing with rain. That has utility beyond all the celestial phenomena. You’ll see. Soon enough, you’ll see.”
Wiglaff became adept at observing shamans elsewhere. He thought about his envisioning shamans as an extension of his learning. In addition to Ugard, he envisioned shamans in other villages. He did not like what he saw. Some shamans were slovenly and slack. Others were charlatans. As he observed one deceiver try to bring rain, he watched the man’s villagers hack him apart with their knives and axes. Another shaman was a lecher who lured young girls into his lair and despoiled them. He was discovered and slain by an outraged father. Wiglaff saw that the other shamans had little to teach him. Ugard was a shaman of a different order from the others. That insight ended his focus on the practices of other shamans. He looked first to Ugard and, more and more, to his own, innate abilities.
Unerringly, Wiglaff could predict rain. He could never articulate why his predictions were precise. The more he studied himself, the more he became convinced that the relation between his shamanistic powers and the rain was innate. When he asked Ugard about this, the shaman told him, “I’ll teach you the ritual of bringing the spring rain. Then you’ll know the truth. Rain can be predicted … you demonstrate that repeatedly. Now you’re going to have to focus on bringing the rain even when your predictions indicate no rain will fall.”
Wiglaff was bewildered by Ugard’s logic. “If a shaman can cause the rain to fall by performing a ritual, why does his predictive power have any meaning at all?”
Ugard smiled and shook his head. “You’ll see,” he said. “But you’ll have to puzzle out the reason for yourself.”
The ritual of the rain was complicated. Once Ugard started teaching this critical ritual, he would not allow Wiglaff to think of anything else. For a complete moon cycle, Wiglaff only watched Ugard make all preparations for bringing the rain. He learned about the implements, the feathers, the grains and the stones used in the ceremony. He also learned how to define the area for divination, within which the shaman would stand and sit while he performed the ritual. More than that, he learned the manner by which the villagers were to participate in the ceremony.
Ugard said in a stern voice, “Rainmaking is a supremely communal effort. No shaman working alone can bring the rain in a way satisfactory to complement the spring planting. Remember that thought each year when you perform the ritual to bring the rain. If you forget it, the villagers will instinctively know they have been cheated. The bonds between them, the shaman and the spirits will be broken. The only remedy for them is to kill the shaman and replace him with another.”
Once Wiglaff had witnessed every aspect of the preparation advised by Ugard, the shaman allowed him to help do the preparations again from the beginning. This time Wiglaff had to find all the ingredients for the ritual by himself. Another two moons passed before the preparations were complete. Ugard felt that Wiglaff was, finally, ready to witness the ritual of the rain as the shaman performed it in a village. He did not select Wiglaff’s community for the demonstration. The risks of combat were too great, and the villagers had not properly prepared the fields. Instead, Ugard took Wiglaff to a village well north of the current fighting.
The shaman of that chosen village had been hacked to death by the villagers. Therefore, Ugard explained to Wiglaff, “Two things have to be done in quick succession. First, we must heal the village. Second, we must bring the rain. I’m going to prepare for the ritual in the village square while you heal the village by contacting the spirit of the deceased shaman and lead him away from the village.”
Wiglaff was terrified about executing his task. He had no idea what Ugard meant by leading the shaman’s spirit away from the village. Having no choice, Wiglaff could not complain without violating the mentor-apprentice bond. If Ugard ordered him to divert the spirit, he would do so by whatever means possible.
Ugard inscribed the square with the geometry necessary for the ritual. Meanwhile, Wiglaff spread his bearskin on the ground outside the shaman’s former dwelling and went into a trance. A band of children gathered to watch the stranger meditate. Wiglaff ignored them even when they climbed onto his bearskin and touched him to see if they could disturb him.
Wiglaff had no trouble locating the disgruntled spirit of the murdered shaman. The spirit confessed, “I will plague this village with all manner of misfortune. I deeply resent your presence. I plan to interfere with the rain ritual and cause your shaman to be hacked to death just as I was.”
Wiglaff knew he had to act fast. He told the spirit, “I can help you ruin the ceremony, but you’ll have to come with me to fetch the new grain to substitute for the grain he’ll use for the ceremony.”
The spirit liked this idea. He gladly took Wiglaff’s extended hand while the shaman-in-training went into a deep trance to reach the Elysian Fields. There, he revealed the golden grain rippling in the sunlight. “I’m going to release your hand for a moment. You gather as much grain as you can in both your arms. When you’re ready, we’ll return to the village to do harm.”
The spirit released Wiglaff’s hand and jumped into the field, pulling up sheaves by the handful and tucking them in his arms. The more grain the spirit picked, the more he wanted to harvest. He became lost in his own activity. Meanwhile, Wiglaff backed away and left the spirit behind.
Ugard was almost ready to perform the rain ritual when Wiglaff came out of his trance. The shaman looked at Wiglaff significantly, and the shaman-in-training nodded that the spirit had been removed. The villagers were now all assembled as Ugard said they would be. Wiglaff quickly rolled up his bearskin and went into the hut of the former shaman. He did not want to interfere with his master’s ceremony, but he watched everything from inside the hut.
Ugard performed the ritual exactly as he had described it to Wiglaff. In rapid succession, the clouds came, the thunder and lightning followed, and then came the rain, which filled the irrigation ditches and left the village and its villagers soaking wet, yet infinitely grateful. Ugard walked over to the hut where Wiglaff was waiting and told him to follow him out of the village. The two men walked through the muddy square and continued walking back toward their mountainside. The village chieftain ran out to thank them for performing the miracle and to offer them a hut where they could stay indefinitely. Ugard shook his head slightly indicating he did not want the offer, and the chieftain went back to his village.
Ugard told Wiglaff, “He’ll have to find another shaman. I make it a practice never to remain long where a shaman has been killed by the villagers. They get in the habit of killing their shaman, and there’s no end to the killing. By the way, how did you deflect the spirit of the shaman they hacked to pieces?”
Wiglaff smiled ruefully, “I led him to the Elysian Fields and left him there happily harvesting the golden grain in the sunshine.”
Ugard cocked his head and regarded his apprentice with new respect. “I would never have thought of doing that.” From the shaman’s droll expression, Wiglaff could not tell whether he was joking. As if reading his mind, Ugard said, “I don’t joke about things like that. When I said, ‘I would never have thought of doing that,’ believe me. One day, perhaps, you’ll show me the Elysian Fields. When that happens, of course, I’ll want to come back with you to the land of the living.”
After that exchange, the mentor and apprentice continued their journey home to the cavern and spread their bearskins on the earthen floor for their nightly meditations. Wiglaff was glad to have experienced the ritual of the rain. He was also pleased to have been successful in diverting the butchered shaman. As he drifted off to sleep, Wiglaff wondered seriously whether he would find the shaman’s spirit waiting for him the next time he ferried a spirit to the Elysian Fields. The thought of the betrayed spirit standing in the field with his arms full of grain made him shudder. Then he shook his head, smiled and slept until morning.