Song of the Shaman Read Online Free PDF Page B

is a powerful awa. If your sister is willing to receive the songs, chances are good she’ll be cured.”
    Their path narrowed alongside a buoyant stream. Across the way Charles watched them fixedly. Benjamin cleared the overgrowth with his machete; Louise trailed a few paces back. The contrasts between the young man and his grandfather were great: Benjamin’s physique was longer, his skin fairer, his profile sharper. Most of all, his eyes were golden while Don Pedro’s were coal black. When the trail widened and they walked side by side again, she spoke her mind.
    “You’re very different from your grandfather.”
    “How so?”
    “Well, you’re much taller for one.”
    Benjamin grinned.
    “The Nrvai are not very tall people. I take after my father. He was a Spaniard.”
    Her puzzle solved, Louise eyed him again and recognized bits and pieces of Spanish conquest carved in his face. Mestizo.
    “Did you grow up here in these beautiful hills?”
    “Yes and no. My mother was living here when she met my father. He was a hard Christian missionary, very strict. She fell in love with him, but he refused to marry her unless she renounced her Nrvai beliefs and grandfather’s shamanism.” He chuckled softly. “My father called it ‘devil’s work.’ When my mother consented they married and moved to a big house in San Jose, where I was born.” He chopped a limb off a spindly tree and scraped at the bark. “I knew nothing about this place or the Nrvai until I was twelve years old, when my parents died.”
    “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—” Louise thought she was prying, but he continued.
    “Our house caught fire one night. I was pulled from my bed by an unknown visitor.” Benjamin divided the branch into three logs. “Grandfather said it was Sibo who sent a dwalok spirit to save me from the flames. Then I came here with my grandfather. I had never met him before. That was nine years ago.” He stomped his feet; caked mud crumbled off the sides of his boots. “Grandfather knew I would be with him someday. He believes I am the only one who can learn his methods and pass them on.” Benjamin swung the sack brimming with plants back and forth at his side like a pendulum. She felt compassion for him, but she could see he didn’t need it. Apparently he had cast off the past. His brow was unfurled, his gaze calm and present.
    “When did your mother die?” Again his golden eyes poured deep into her, like a liquid sunset.
    “Eight years ago. I was twelve, too. Since that day my life has never been the same.”
    He slung the bulging sack over his shoulder, its shape like that of a crouching jaguar.
    “Grandfather says one has to die for another to be reborn. That’s the nature of the Creator. It’s what the elders told him and what he told me.”
    The sun was lower in the sky, and a lavender mist colored the trees surrounding the dwelling when they returned. Charles paced in front of the doorway.
    “What took you so long? Maud has fallen asleep!”
    Louise peeked inside. Maud lay deep in the hammock, snoring loudly. Benjamin answered before Louise had a chance.
    “Sleep is good. She’ll be more receptive during the healing ceremony.” Charles stepped back as Benjamin thrust his machete in the wall of woven palms. “We found everything Grandfather needed.” He took the sack off his shoulder and smiled at Louise, his mouth favoring one side.
    “Well then, let’s get on with it.” Charles said, tired of pleasantries.
    They went inside. Don Pedro was waving a fan made of feathers over glowing embers in the hearth. He clapped his hands when Benjamin approached him with the sack. After exchanging a few words the awa opened the bag and shook its contents on the raised wood floor. He squatted down to inspect each vine, leaf, root, and flower, murmuring to Benjamin beside him. The two separated the plants into piles; a potpourri of heady scents filled the space. The heat of the day lifted and a cool draft blew