The Shamanic Curse

The Shamanic Curse

The night was black and starless. Watching from his tent, Sean knew something was wrong. There had been an upheaval among the powers of evil, and he could feel its effects even here. He was a capable seer, but that did not mean he welcomed glimpses of the future.

A voice came from beyond the tent flap.
“Sean, we have a problem. The Tribal Circle has discovered what happened. A powerful sorcerer has gained access to the necromancers’ power.”
Sean drew a sharp breath. “That’s not good. Necromantic magic is more powerful than most disciplines. What does the Circle want us to do, Levak?” If the sorcerer mastered that power, entire branches of magic could be destroyed.
Levak offered a faint smile. “That’s the trouble, my friend. The Tribal Circle intends to send nine of our best shamans after him. They believe the power of Three Squared will be enough to contain and destroy him.”

Sean’s blue eyes widened. “Are they asking the wizards and witches for help?”

The red-haired man shook his head. “No. They believe we can handle him ourselves.” His smile faded. “Are you having a premonition?”

Sean nodded slowly. “I sense that many of us will die in the attempt. A necromancer is nothing to take lightly. We need all the help we can get, just as we would against any of the Darkened.”

Frustration tightened his voice. There was no hope of changing the outcome if the Circle refused to act on his vision.

Levak’s expression hardened. “There’s nothing to be done. You’re one of the nine, and you’re the only one who has faced any of the true Darkened.”

***

A month later, Sean sat with the eight other shamans assigned to destroy the necromancer Soliniak. The reports were grim. Soliniak had already wiped out a small enclave of gifted people.

Of the nine, Sean alone had experience fighting those who had fallen from grace. He had spent the past month training the others, trying not to dwell on the deaths he had foreseen.
When he stood, the others rose with him. They were powerful, but some lacked the skill this mission demanded.

His eyes lost focus, their blue deepening as a vision took hold. Soliniak stood over a man Sean recognized as a minor empath. The necromancer raised his hands to strike.

“We have contact,” Sean said. “He’s in the Cave of Truth.”

He began weaving a gateway spell, linking his power with that of his companions.

***

Sean entered the cave with the other eight shamans. His vision was close to becoming reality. Unless they acted quickly, the empath would be badly hurt.

As they advanced, Sean cast a power-draining ward around the cave, preventing spells from escaping its confines.

“You’ve come at last, shamanic devils.” Soliniak’s hands flared with a deathly white glow. “I will destroy you and everything you hold dear.”

He hurled his power at Ityara, one of the least experienced members of the group. She collapsed, clutching her throat.

“One down. Eight to go.”

Another blast followed. Sean caught it and transmuted its energy into the spiritual power he would need. He knew what he had to do. The question was whether he could force the spell through the necromancer’s defences.

He began to concentrate.
An explosion tore through the cave. Six more shamans fell beneath the force of Soliniak’s death spell.

Only Sean and Soriyin remained standing.
There was no time left. Sean doubted he would survive, but he called upon his power, a blue glow spreading from his eyes.

“I call upon the spirit guides. Separate the body from the soul. Release him into the Dreamscape.”

***

In the Dreamscape, Sean wore his familiar spirit form: a shimmering man with the head of a bald eagle.

Soliniak stood before him, his spirit rotting like a lich from Sean’s worst nightmares.

“What the hell have you done to me, boy?” the necromancer demanded.

“I’ve brought your spirit into the Dreamscape.” Sean grinned. “Here, you won’t find me so easy to defeat.”

He sent a blast of blue-white energy towards Soliniak. A shield of dark magic rose to block it.
Before Sean could strike again, the necromancer crumpled into a lifeless heap. His shield collapsed. The Dreamscape faded, and Sean found himself back in the cave.

Soliniak’s body lay before him, covered in cuts.
“What did you do, Soriyin?” Sean demanded.
He had already crossed a forbidden boundary by forcing a spirit from its body without consent. Such an act bore the mark of the Darkened. Soriyin had gone further, using violence against a helpless body instead of following the prescribed protocol.

Soriyin smiled. “I killed him, Sean. He can’t harm anyone else now. He can’t awaken the souls of the dead.”

Sean shook his head. “You idiot. You’ve condemned us both. The Tribal Circle will have us executed for breaking its laws. It won’t matter that we succeeded.”

A single tear slipped down his cheek.

***
Two months later, Sean and Soriyin sat before the Grand Master of the Shamans.

“Through your negligence, many have died,” the Grand Master said. “You also used forbidden magic to achieve your purpose. Soriyin, for the torture of a man whose spirit was fighting in another realm, you are sentenced to death. Guards, take him.”

The guards seized Soriyin and dragged him from the chamber.

The Grand Master turned to Sean with a smile.
“In recognition of your years of service, we have chosen another punishment. You inflicted no bodily injury, but you forced a spirit into the Dreamscape. You will remain among the living, denied true peace until you are free of your guilt.”

Chanting rose behind him. Sean turned and saw five powerful wizards standing in a circle. Their spell reached for him.

He fell to the floor as life surged through his body, filling him with agony. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound escaped.

“There is another condition, Sean,” the Grand Master continued. “You will become the Oracle for the world. Until another is given the same curse, you will remain its source of information.”
At last, the spell eased. Sean felt a power within him that had not been there before. His sight had sharpened, and with it came the deaths of those he had failed to save. He could feel them now.
Endless life would be agony.

“Your sight has grown considerably,” the Grand Master said. “You must learn to control it. Guards, take him to the Hall of the Seers. Place him in a cell until he can manage his new powers.”

The guards lifted Sean from the floor and carried him away.

***
He woke in the night to find the spirit guide who had helped him most standing beside him. Antinanco held a staff crowned with a buck’s antler.

“You have a serious problem, Sean. The sight will take over your life. You must learn to control it, or it will control you.”
Sean nodded. The pain had not subsided. “I can feel it strengthening. Will it change the way I see?”

Antinanco shook his head and chuckled. “The way you see will remain the same. Your visions will become more accurate, and your command of the Dreamscape will grow. You will also be able to complete the Shaman Wheel, which you have yet to master.”

A vision broke through before Sean could answer.

He saw a terrible tornado sweeping through the tribe. He knew the names of those who would die. The storm was coming soon, and he knew he could not save them. It was too late to stop it. Even a weather worker would be powerless against its strength.

Tears streamed down his face as he felt the dying people’s pain with an intensity he had never known. Other disasters followed: earthquakes, erupting volcanoes, deaths far beyond the tribe.
Antinanco bent over him. His hands became solid for a moment as he pressed them to Sean’s forehead.

“I cannot shield you for long. Eagle of the Sun can protect you for a little while, but you must learn to manage these powers yourself.”

***

Eighteen years had passed since Sean was cursed. Today was his fiftieth birthday, though he felt little desire to celebrate.

The intervening years had been difficult. Once he stopped using his sight to protect every group, many of his people had died. The resulting disputes had continued until a new Oracle was chosen.

When the curse was placed upon Liyarra, Sean had expected his own power to diminish. It had not. Once someone was cursed as an Oracle, the power remained.

He trained Liyarra in every aspect of her duties and discovered that he was a good teacher. These days, he spent most of his time instructing young shamans and acting as a liaison between the other magical sects.

He entered his classroom and surveyed the students. None appeared older than fourteen.
“Good afternoon, class. Today, we begin your new training. You’ll learn the intricacies of your individual powers, and we’ll test you to discover where your gifts lie. Are there any questions?”

A little girl raised her hand. Sean could sense the power inside her, straining to be released.
“Do our powers come from the spirits?”

“Some do,” he said. “Each of us also has a natural talent for magic. Some of you may see the future or glimpse the past. Others may speak with spirits. Some can shapeshift into the animals associated with their totems.”

He smiled at her. “You, Lily, can shapeshift at will. I need spells to accomplish the same thing. Be careful, though. When you’re learning to move in an animal’s body, you may find yourself reluctant to change back.”

“So I can call upon the totems in my own way?”

“Yes. Each of you will call upon the spirits differently, whether through spells or other means. I’ve taken the forms of the totems I cherish most. In time, your own totem animals will reveal themselves, and you’ll learn how to assume their forms. Mine is the bald eagle.”
He looked around the room. “If you already know your totem, please tell us your name and what it is.”

A boy stood. He could not have been more than eight, unusually young for a potential shaman.

“Leonaidas. My totem is the lion.”

Sean nodded. The boy’s parents must have recognized his totem almost immediately. Neither was a shaman, but their ability to detect totems was extraordinary.

A fourteen-year-old girl rose next.

“I’m Adrianna. My totem is the turtle.”

Sean had known her parents for years. Their shamanic gifts were limited, but Adrianna had inherited more from her grandfather’s line. She would be powerful, and her gift might allow her to heal others in ways few would recognize.
Lily was the third and final student to stand.
“I’m Lily. My totem is the cheetah.”

She had been born to a shapeshifter and a human shaman. Her father had not known what his future wife was when they conceived Lily, but their daughter had inherited gifts from both.
“Only three of you have identified your totems so far,” Sean said. “The rest will learn in time. When you do, you’ll be able to attempt this.”
He began a short spell.

“Light as a feather, free as the eagle. I offer my power to Father Sky. Change me into my totem.”
His body slowly took the form of a bald eagle.
He flew into the rafters, circled the room, and swooped towards the floor. As he neared the ground, he changed back into a man.

“With practice, you can all learn to do this.”
He smiled and moved between the desks, examining the notes the students had taken with their previous teachers.

He did not mention the craving for fresh meat that always followed a transformation. Preferably cooked, at least.

***
An hour after class, Sean sat in the dean’s office. The school taught every magical sect, bringing their students together for basic instruction before they moved on to their individual disciplines.

“Thank you for coming, Sean,” the dean said. “There’s something I’d like to ask. Why do you still look about thirty-five when you’re fifty?”

Sean smiled. “When I was younger, I made an error in judgement. I cast a forbidden spell, and the Circle cursed me with continuous life. I’m meant to remain here until I can forgive myself and enter the afterlife free of guilt. That was eighteen years ago.”

The dean whistled. “That’s a long time, my friend. Which sect can cast such a curse?”

“I don’t know, Natril. Few would perform it now. Most decent people consider it dark magic. And before you ask, I remember very little of the ceremony beyond the pain.”

Natril nodded. He was a powerful firemancer, one of the few wizards who still devoted themselves to a single discipline.

“Specialists like me are becoming rare,” he said.

“Most wizards no longer concentrate on one element. Sometimes I wonder why I chose fire, though I’m thankful I didn’t choose earth. Earth magic is far more difficult, and I still haven’t found a fully qualified teacher for it.”

He paused. “You know the Circle did not recommend you for the shamanic teaching position. But I couldn’t turn away someone with your experience.”

Sean laughed. “I understand. The Tribal Circle didn’t want a Cursed One teaching the next generation. I know its rules well enough to work around a few of them. Hell, I still have the Oracle’s powers, though someone else took over the duties after five years.”

His smile faded as he studied Natril.

“You’re afraid of leaving this school in the hands of someone who lacks the strength to lead it. What troubles you so much?”

“You are very good, my friend.” Natril leaned back in his chair. “I’ve been wrestling with my approaching death for more than twenty-five years. I’m dying, Sean, and I could think of no one capable of leading this school.”
He met Sean’s eyes.

“I believe I’ve finally found someone, though it means we’ll need another specialist teacher.”
Sean waited.

“You are going to be my successor.”