The Shamen's Bargain

Everything I touch turns to ash. Turns to a pile of gray and black and white slipping through my fingers like shifting sand. The aroma biting at my nose. I want to feel the embrace of another human against my skin or even the fur of a dog’s warm coat. But I can’t. I’m cursed. 

I sit on a rock just outside the nearby village. I watch people go about their day; some are picking corn while others are cooking a stew. No one dares venture in my direction perched atop a solemn lonely rock. They know what I’m capable of. They know the curse I carry. But they won’t have to worry long. I’ll be back on the road, just my two lonely feet to keep me company. Dreaming of the day the curse is lifted. Can it even be lifted? 

The village is nestled a few miles from a riverbank, where the leaves are vibrant orange and yellow. I was told someone could help me there. I was told that a shaman would be waiting among rocks that surrounded a single white tree that contrasted the others. Light but void of color. 

“I can help you under one condition,” the shaman said. His wool coat was draped with red and green tassels. His eyes were void of color, his skin pale like the clouds above us. 

One condition. What could that be? I wonder. His brow arched, his colorless spheres scanning my body, watching as my hand started to shake. “What condition?” I asked, my voice low and wavering.  

“You must give me your right eye.” His voice cut through the air as he stood tall and resolute. 

“An eye? Why would I do that?”  

“You want to feel again. You want to rid yourself of the ashes.” The shaman lowered his brow, the corner of his mouth pointing down. 

My hands started to sweat, and my heart quickened. Lose an eye but gain the ability to touch again? I could feel some hope rise in me. But then my stomach dropped. What if the shaman was lying? What if he just needed my eye for some other purpose? Then I would be left in the dark, still watching my loved one turn to ash in my hands. 

He looked at me and his colorless eyes seemed to soften. He reached out his hand to me, offering comfort. But I refused. The corner of my lip twitched slightly. I could feel my gaze growing distant. He could see the discomfort in my eyes. 

“There is another way, but you will have to give me something else,” he said. My eyes widened and my lips gently parted. My mind began to race with questions.  

“Can I trust you?” I asked. A mix of doubt and hope swirled in the pit of my stomach. I tried to search his eyes for a hint of deception, but I couldn’t read them. 

“That is up to you, but I can only offer you two choices. Give me your right eye or something else,” he said. His voice sounded just like a vessel for his words, carrying no weight to them, no enthusiasm, no concern. 

“Something else.” The words rang in my mind like an echoing chorus. I bit my lip. “Tell me what else I must offer you?” I asked as sweat began beading down my forehead. My hands were still trembling. 

“You must go through that door.” He pointed to the towering rocks that surrounded the area. But there was no door. My brow knit together I gazed at the rocks, puzzled. 

He waved his hand carefully and rhythmically, and several rocks crumbled down, revealing a dark passageway.  

What could be waiting for me? Could it be a fate worse than losing a single eye? 

I chose the door. 

He handed me a torch. “You have chosen. “Now you must fulfill your choice,” he said. He stopped and his mouth hung open as if he had more to say but he didn’t. 

 My heart quickened; my pulse beat erratically. The torch trembled in my hands. I put one foot in front of the other, reluctantly moving forward, closer to the passage. 

Darkness soon engulfed me, and the torch fizzled out, turning into a pile of ash. I wanted to feel along the walls of the passageway. I knew if I did, it would cause the whole place to crumble on top of me. Rocks would fall everywhere, and I would die. I stepped forward and continued. Each footstep was heavier than the last. 

A light shone brightly off in the distance, and I wondered if it was the exit. But the light engulfed me, and I could feel myself being transported to memory. Everything looked like a shade of gray with a few colors bleeding in like a strange portrait. The sky was gray, but the trees were gold, their leaves falling at my feet. 

“Mom!” I shouted. My voice was light like a child’s. 

I could feel the ground beneath my feet. I reached for a rock and aimed it, ready to throw it at one of the thatched-roof homes. But the rock crumbled into a pile of ash. 

“What did I say about throwing rocks?” I voice said sternly. I turned to see my mother. Her lips pointed down. Her eyes fixed on mine. Panic began to fill my lungs and I didn’t want to relive this memory. But I felt pushed towards it. 

“Why, am I here!” I tried to shout, but my voice was only an echo through space. Only the memory could speak. “No! Get away from me!” I shouted, running away from my mother. I wanted to change what was going to happen, I wanted to tell my mother how much I loved her, but you can’t change a memory. 

My heart thudded in my chest. I made my way to clearing my feet taping against the rocks below. She continued to follow me. And I tried to maintain my distance. But she closed in. She reached her arm for me. 

“Stop, you’ll turn to ash,” I said, my voice wavering. I fell and curled up, hiding my face from her. A soft thud hit the ground below. I looked up, watching ashes dance in the wind. My skin turned pale, tears welling in my eyes. 

She was gone. It was my fault. Or was it? Did I have control over the ashes? Did I intend for my mother to disappear? No, I couldn’t control her fate just as much as I couldn’t control my own. I watched her ashes dance in the wind, but this time I felt lighter a heaviness lifting off my chest. There was a beauty to it, and I couldn’t say it because it was a memory. But my heart spoke, giving her a heartfelt goodbye. Her ashes became a beautiful tribute, even though it was the horror so many years ago. They drifted in the wind like a portrait among the vibrant yellows and oranges that started to appear around our home. Bye, Mom. 

The memory started to fade, and the darkness surrounded me again. What was this place? What was going on? I tried to wrap my head around it, but I couldn’t make sense of any of it. I continued on. I put one foot in front of the other, this time feeling a light sense of confidence rush over me, even though I was unsure of what was waiting for me. 

Light sparkled in the distance and then swallowed me whole. The gray landscape filled the area; only a few vibrant roses shined brightly against the backdrop. My father was picking the flowers carefully. I found my feet making their way towards the bed of roses. 

“Your sister’s going to love these,” he said. His voice was warm and comforting. He picked several more roses until he had a nice bundle. He looked at me. His eyes wide. A smile running across his face. For a moment, my worries seemed to vanish in thin air, vanished like my mother’s ashes. 

This time I didn’t fear what was to come. I knew the memory and I knew it well. I didn’t like it, but I couldn’t control it. I gazed at my father once more, taking in my surroundings and thinking about my sister, mother, and father. He handed me the bundle of roses, accidentally brushing his fingers against mine. My hands were so small at the time. My father was rough and callused. 

I watched as he gradually turned to ash. His face seems to almost evaporate, the specks of gray and black drifting in the breeze. The roses remain intact. My eyebrow rose, my jaw agape. Something had changed. The breeze felt cool against my skin. I breathed in deeply before wishing my father farewell. The light around me faded, leaving me in darkness. 

A smile ran across my lips. The weight that held me down was even lighter. Another glow appeared but this time I could see an exit. I could feel the cold rocks against my fingers. Tears started to spill down my cheeks. I watched as my hands slid against the stones. I was cured. I could feel. 

I emerged from the dark cave. The sun shined brightly against my skin, the yellow and orange trees gleaming around me. The tree that sat in the center was now vibrant green no longer void of color. I finally understood what the shaman wanted. To take my grief away. To remind me that I can’t change the past. But I can let it shape me to form me into a new person, one not held down by my grief. I could not control what happened to my mother or even my father. But I can forgive myself. I press my hand firmly against the tree, feeling the bark against my skin. It didn’t turn to ash, but it felt strong and resolute. The ashes that had drifted between my fingers were like the grief that I held onto. Now, I could finally let it go and watch it drift in the wind, blending in with the vibrant colors around me.