Dearly Departed

Stan returned to Dyssa midday and made a beeline for his home. He didn't want his fellow villagers to see him in his disheveled, clearly distressed state. Mira was waiting for him at the door.

"Oh no." The first words out of her mouth were as much a plea for him to be lying as they were confirmation of the truth. She knew that something had gone horribly wrong.

"I found him by the river." Stan pulled the satchel off of his shoulder, not yet willing to part with it. "There was a dragon."

"What?" She looked at him incredulously. "A dragon? Do you think it was--"

"I don't know." Stan shook his head. He shrugged, helplessly. "I don't know anything anymore. None of it makes sense to me."

"Are you okay?" It had taken Mira a few moments to come up with the question. She had suffocated several others -- about the dragon, about Aurelius -- before that.

"Yes. I am unhurt. I set his funeral pyre. This, and these --" Stan dug around in his pockets for the three rings that his father had worn, "Are all that is left of him."

"Does that mean you're shaman now?" Mira asked. She reached out to wipe soot and dirt from his face. His eyes met hers, and he nodded.

"Not exactly how you pictured this happening, is it?" Stan asked. He cracked a weary smile. "Never fear. A bath and some sleep, and I will clean up just fine."

"I'm not worried about your appearance right now." Mira said. She wiped more of his face, cleaning her hands absent mindedly on the towel that she had been holding. "I'm worried about your soul."

"You don't need to worry about me." Stan said, although he did not feel as brave as his words sounded. "We'll tell Dyssa in a few hours. We'll have our day of mourning. And then we'll figure out why there was…" he paused, considering his words, "a dragon near my father's body."

"Go, then. Sleep." Mira said, gently ushering him into the back room. "I'll keep them away. I'm sure Brenda has caught your whiff already."

A few hours later, Stan woke with a parched throat. His numbness had not yet dissipated, but he certainly felt more at ease with the knowledge that he was shaman now, and for whatever reason, his father was gone.

Mira was nowhere to be found in the house, and he didn't feel like mustering the energy up yet to face villagers. He settled on a drink, a leak, and then sitting on the bed with the unopened satchel in his lap.

His father's words and disapproval rang through him. Whenever he asked about the satchel or the book that was inside, his father had shook his head, "Not yet. You're not ready." For nearly a decade.

Guess I'm ready now, father. He thought, but his hands were shaking a little as he unwound the string of leather that bound the satchel tightly closed around the worn pages of the book. He had no context here -- he didn't know if this was his father's book alone, or if it, like many others, had been passed down from generation to generation of shaman-king in Dyssa.

Opening gently to the first page, it seemed like it was a multi-generational text. The writing on the cover page seemed older and faded compared to the inks that he would've chosen. Its warning was simple: "Only the shaman's voices shall be heard and seen here. Curses upon those who are not shamans." AKA, "If you're not a Shaman (TM) -- you can fuck right off."

Stan flipped the page and read on.

Dyssians gather each year to celebrate the transformation of boys into men. Each boy must prove himself before he is allowed to take the mantle of manhood.

The shaman's charge is to guide each boy to his destiny. Some brave souls may find their quest without a shaman's touch. Those boys should be effusively praised and allowed to proceed to manhood. Most boys, however, including a shaman's son, will need to be led to their destiny.

Stan was angry. This was what his father had been hiding from him? The fact that sometimes, kids had to be coaxed to be heroic? Even a goatherd could see that the rules were bent for smaller, slower boys. After all, every boy became a man. And just like men, he was sure that even some of the women had to be coaxed or guided into womanhood. How was this some sacred secret?

Disgruntled, he set the book down and looked up. Mira had walked in, and he hadn't even realized. He smiled warmly at her. Her amber eyes were cast in shadow, long hair braided down her back.

"Heya, handsome." She said, approaching him. She took a seat beside him, the bed creaking underneath their weight. "How did you sleep?"

"I feel better." He admitted.

"Do you want me to go sound the horn? Gather the people?" She was suddenly all business. "They should know. That. You know."

"Yes. Go ahead. I want to spend some time to gather my thoughts, maybe clean myself up, but I'll be ready soon."

Mira nodded and backed quietly out of the room. Stan's mind was racing. How would he tell the villagers that he, still in his twenties, was now the shaman-king of Dyssa? He was just going to have to wing it and see what happened.

He heard the horn begin its low, rumbly baritone appeal to the villagers. Its tone seemed to vibrate in one's core. It pulled at the soul. Come home, it is time. He could hear his ancestors awaken along the village edge. The horn was only ever sounded during important moments in the village history. This was certainly one.

Idle curiosity opened the shaman's Book of Secrets once again, this time to a random page. Unlike the first page he read, this one had large, blocky letters filling the center of the page, shaded and stylized in a red so vibrant they seemed to glow.

HOW TO CREATE A DRAGON NAPPING

Wait, what? Stan's curiosity was piqued. He flipped the page.

To create a dragon napping, one must be sure to successfully work out where a dragon would be located. In Dyssa, this is most commonly the mountains above the village to the west.

When you have decided to perform a dragon napping, you must be sure to travel up the mountain and prepare the site. The site must be clean and dry. If this the mountain has not been used in a while, it must be prepared first. You will need the carcass of a sheep, along with some sulfur and some dragon's breath herbs.

These herbs can be found along the ridges, growing in rocks and sandy soil. The combination of sulfur will create bursts of flame at randomly intervals, along with random hissing noises. In combination, these will create both dragon flame and dragon roar.

A dragon napping must be performed in late spring, summer, or early fall. You must not create a dragon napping when there is chance of frost, because you will put the victim in actual danger.

Stan's mind was swirling. He had seen a dragon with his own two eyes just the day before. Why would shamans actively encourage dragons to kidnap…?

Mira's voice cut through his swirling thoughts. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." He said absentmindedly. He shut the book as if it was burning his fingers. He retied the leather string around it, as if somehow that would bind the secrets screaming from its pages. He turned to go.

"Friends, villagers, brothers, and sisters. I come to you today with sad news. My father, Aurelius, was murdered most foully by a fiendish dragon on his way from our village of Dyssa to the nearby village of Hankor. This senseless act troubles me greatly, for it is the first time that a dragon has been seen since I rescued Mira from the dragon a decade ago on Grokum mountain. It was with a heavy heart that I said goodbye to my father yesterday with a funeral pyre. I then returned home to bring the news to you."

As Stan spoke, he heard some audible gasps from the crowd. The sun had set and he could only make out the silhouettes of his fellow villagers, but he knew by the size of the crowd that most, if not all, of the villagers were present. He continued.

"As per rite and ritual, I am the person who inherit's my father's mantle and role in the village as shaman and king. Would anyone like to challenge my position? " This question, although customary, was always awkward and carried the risk of revolt. Not a word escaped from the crowd, so Stan spoke again.

"Please give me time to deal with my father's death. Our day of mourning will begin now and last until tomorrow evening. After the day if up, we will have a celebration of life and feast. After that, we will decide what to do about the dragon. During this time, I ask that you give me and my family some privacy, and allow me to mourn most fully. If there are urgent requests, you know where to find me. Blessed be."

Stan stepped down from the trunk-turned-podium in the center of town and turned to go. He was greeted by his fellow villagers clasping his arm, whispering their condolences, but mostly allowing him to pass unfettered through the crowd and back to his home, and Mira, who was waiting patiently by the door.

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