PART ONE: THE BUSHLAND

Chapter Four- Funeral Ceremony

A palm nut bowl of ash sat at the Shaman’s cylindrical tree stump table. He was preparing for the Ceremony of Blanque: the skull-faced god of death. Wiseherder, the Shaman, began spreading the ash across his face. He was to embody Blanque at the remembrance service for Bibiji.

Wiseherder covered his face in the dusty remains from last night’s fire pit. He used the soot in a separate container: the top half of a river clam shell. The Shaman pushed the black coal residue against his thumbs, then spread it around his eyes and nose to create the vast holes of a skull. He spread white ash across his lips and used the soot to draw little lines, illustrating teeth upon them with the finger bone of a Cactus Bat he found dead by the outskirts of the Forbidden Land.

Wiseherder was the only tribesperson allowed to enter the Forbidden Land. He would be going there again, later that day. The Shaman went there to leave the bodies of the deceased to be swallowed in the Sands of Time.

Wiseherder found his Blanque garb: the striped hide of the Equid Mule to emulate a skeleton. He grabbed his quartz medallion and walking staff, and made his way out of his extremely large tent. As the Shaman, he was granted the second largest dwelling, behind the Chief. The main reason for his large home, other than tribal status, was the fact that the Shaman was the tribe’s doctor, and often had to see many patients that needed a place to lay and rest, eat, pray, meditate and participate in personal healing ceremonies.

His doorway was eight palm nuts wide and thirteen palm nuts high. The tribe had built it long ago for The Great Ancestor. Nobody from the tribe knew how they did it, but the common belief was that the tribesmen climbed trees to drape it. But there was no carpenter among them that could construct such a complex frame during Wiseherder’s time.

Wiseherder was the sixteenth Shaman since the tribe had settled into their common dwelling, which the people called Bounty. In Bounty, there were rare fruits, nuts and grains that made life easy to sustain. They also live in close proximity to the Great Bushland Watering Hole, which was known to all creatures from even a ten day's walk. It was known to the tribe as The Pool.

As Wiseherder made his way toward the fire pit, he came across Orion and Sisi. They were in mourning. Sisi was hugging Orion as he quietly sobbed. They were startled when Wiseherder cleared his throat to subtly announce his presence.

Orion was extremely embarrassed when he realized Wiseherder had seen him crying. He slunk off into the bush in shame. Sisi sat in tears on a stump as the Shaman gazed off at the rustling leaves of a retreating Chief.

“He loved her, you know,” Sisi began, “He was going to make her Queen Chieftain.”

Wiseherder solemnly nodded, as he leaned on his twisted staff. He was aware, as Orion shared all his innermost feelings with the great witch-doctor, who was top advisor to the Chief. Wiseherder was also their sole guardian, since their parents had faded from this world.

“He said he will never know love again…” she continued, “that the fate gods have decided he will be the god of solitude and loss… that there is no hope… that his heart has turned white… like a specter…” she began to loudly cry.

“This is nonsense.” He reassured her. “These are the words of a man in mourning. Bibiji has just passed, and only time can cure these invisible wounds. Don’t worry, my child,” Wiseherder gently patted Sisi’s shoulder, “Orion will come around.” He kindly smiled and shined his wisdom into her eyes.

Wiseherder’s efforts to calm Sisi were lost on her, by a simple fact that the Shaman had forgotten. His face was painted with the grotesque, skull-like appearance of the death god. Every word he spoke was undermined by his appearance. She felt the subterranean groans of distrust inside her soul.

“I just don’t know what to do… I would do anything for him… for the tribe…”

“Now is not the time child. Let’s go.” He put out his hand to help her to her feet.

“I need a few moments alone… to prepare myself.”

“Understood.” The old man lumbered down to the fire pit to prepare for the ceremony.

Not long after he arrived and began preparations, a crowd gathered. Wiseherder sparked the fire with flint and began rubbing fibers until they smoked. The flame caught in his hand, and he placed it under the carefully constructed teepee of twigs within the pit. Darkness was now approaching, as it was the evening of the day.

Quickly, three Priestesses carried over a large river clay cooking pot full of water, and placed it across two thin logs intersecting the fire. They were dressed in Swifthorn hides and Moon Cat masks. After they placed the pot on the fire to boil, they danced away in a whirling blur. Wiseherder pulled a leather pouch from his fiber belt and sprinkled various herbs into the water. The hunters began drawing a circle around the fire with their spears. The younger men started drumming out a pulsating and formidable beat.

This was the loudest call in all the world: the hand of man. The beat echoed through the Bushland. Some creatures were startled and scurried away. Others came out of the earth to investigate. Most inhabitants were used to the sound by now and simply went about their business. Birds and flying insects observed the rhythmic vibration of Bounty from on high.

The Priestesses now approached the heating water in single file. Each dropped a Tree-Toe into the water and danced away, mimicking a Moon Cat gait on all fours. Tree-Toes were little button fungus that grew out of the roots of the Bakro Trees. They had magical properties, and helped with group visions and communication with the spirit world.

The water was just starting to slowly steam. Wiseherder added a red powder, made of ground up sun-dried Hades Peppers. They were extremely spicy and cut the pungent bitterness of the Tree-Toes. The scent of the potion was filling the camp as it approached a boil.

Orion was nowhere to be found. Sisi was mingling with the other huntsmen. Gobi was consoling her, while Harra and Moja stood nearby. Their heads were down, looking at small puddles of tears. Gobi gave Sisi a gentle kiss and spoke, “At least we didn’t lose you.” She laid her head on his shoulder and softly sobbed. He held her tightly now, never wanting to let go again.

The shaman was now meditating; preparing to go into his ceremonial trance. He rifled through the bushes, and pulled out a long roll of Seed-Fiber cloth. He unrolled the cloth to reveal an extremely long wooden smoking pipe. He packed the bowl head full of dried Rope Flowers. He put it to his mouth and stuck the full pipe into the fire.

Wiseherder inhaled the smoke and said a small prayer, “To the spirits of Bounty, to the gods, to the one we call today. Great Blanque, inhabit me, so we shall commune with our beloved.” he exhaled, and became the terrifying god of death. He scooped at the pot with a large river clay bowl. He drank the potion. Within minutes, he felt the early effects. The path was cleared to the spirit world, and the door was now opened.

Wiseherder stood in front of the fire with the bowl in hand. He raised it above his head. “Come and feast on the Great Spirit, my friends.” his painted face was pale and terrible. The whites of his eyes were covered in bloody veins. His shiny teeth were bared, as he embraced the channeled god, Blanque.

The tribe lined up, one by one in a procession. Each member said “Thanks be to the Great Spirit,” and drank of the potion, so they could commune with the spirit world. Soon, everyone was seated in the short-grass and the theatrical ceremony began.

The Priestesses were equipped with various masks, costumes and props. They had assigned a small cast to help act out the narration of the Shaman with them. They were to recreate the death of Bibji. Wiseherder told the tale:

“When the full moon sucks a hole into the black night sky, in the void there is window into Great Blanque’s eye.” The actors held up a flat wooden moon made of tree bark. It was held by a stick that was attached with fiber rope.

“It’s then the demon Moon Cats stalk the ground, and their lord, the color sucker can be found.” The priestesses danced around as Moon Cats, shaking their heads and waving their arms under Swifthorn ponchos.

One of the Priestesses pounced upon an actress. The two other Priestesses removed their masks and held them out with their left hands and shouted “SHE HAS BEEN BITTEN!!!”

“Behold, the Great Chief!” The Priestesses proclaimed, as an actor came forward with a spear and pretended to stab the Moon Cat. “Praise the Great Chief. He has slain the beast. Let this tale be told, even at the last campfire.” The crowd erupted in applause, as the “Great Chief” ran off.

An actor dressed in the hide of an Equine Mule came upon the two corpses. “I am Color Sucker, Lord of the Moon Cats, servant to the Great Blanque. Alas, Bibiji has fallen, as well as this Hell Cat. But I shall make great use of their color, once again.” He removed their costumes. They were dressed in white seed fiber cloth underneath the hides. Color Sucker now exited the fire lit ceremonial epicenter.

The Shaman then leapt forward, with his ghastly death face. The potion had now taken effect. The tribe no longer saw actors, but vessels of spirits and gods. “Behold,” Wiseherder bellowed, “I am Blanque, the great god of death. My servants have completed their thankless work.” He gazed into the crowd with wild bulging eyes, “Do you now call me forth from the spirit world?”

“Yes, Great Blanque.” The crowd responded on cue.

“What is it you ask?”

“To commune one final time with our beloved.”

“It is I who block the way and I who hold the key.”

“Praise be to you, and all the gods.”

“Very well. I shall grant your request.”

He gazed upon the crowd with a terrible stare. His eyes bulged from their sockets. He pointed his finger out toward them. “I will need a sacrifice, and a vessel. One to take her place and one to receive her.”

“I will” Sisi raised her hand and stepped forward. The crowd gasped. She stood among the hunters with a small Bush Fowl in her hands, as an offering to the wicked god. Gobi had captured the flightless bird for the sacrifice.

But Hara held onto her hand, “Stop, there must be another. You are the Queen Chieftain!” He tried to reason with her, but she just softly kissed his cheek, smiled, and gave a look into his eyes, conveying that she was an unstoppable force of nature.

Secretly, Hara was in love with Sisi, but he had never truly expressed his feelings. They were very intimate and the rest of tribe already assumed that they would become mates, eventually. Sisi was constantly leaning on him, hugging and kissing, and looking deep into his eyes. She had yet to express any deeper feelings verbally, but most believed them to be star crossed soulmates, in a budding love affair.

For this reason, Hari feared for Sisi to be part of this funeral ceremony. Many hosts had come out of the trance, forever changed; usually for the worse. But Sisi was no ordinary woman. She was the daughter of gods.

Sisi approached the great stone that was to be the sacrificial altar. She handed the bird to Wiseherder. He took the fowl a quickly cut its jugular. The blood gushed onto the stone, which was already stained in blood and orange spice of a hundred or more sacrifices.

“This stone is my mouth. I am quenched, and I will open the way.” He dropped the lifeless bird and grabbed Sisi’s wrist, “Stand here, child”

He guided her to the soul entry point. Wiseherder blew a puff of smoke into her face, and Sisi’s eyes rolled into the back of her head. Her neck jerked back, as she faced the sky, arms spread wide. As she spoke, her voice was changed.

“I speak from the realm beyond realms. A terrible fate has come to befall upon our tribe. Our great chief is involved in an inevitable curse that will consume our people, and the whole Earth. Already the pale shade of forbidden desire grows inside the fallen gods… they shall never reach the immortal plains. They shall never become gods!”

With this statement Sisi collapsed. The ceremony was abandoned to care for her. Nobody in the tribe spoke of the events. The shaman and Hara cared for the queen chieftain, as the other hunters searched for Orion. There was great apprehension felt among the camp.

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