Of every twenty stories I start, I rarely complete more than one. Most end long before they're finished, either as stray .doc's or as scribbles in my notebook that I never even type out. This is one of these scraps. To make up for the fact that I haven't posted anything new in well over two months, I thought it would be interesting to see if anything can be made from these scraps. That's why I've posted the first 1500 words of something I typed up a few months ago.

 

 

 

The challenge to you all is to finish this short story in 1000 words or less, so the total word limit will be 2500 words. After a week I'll post my own result, and although I doubt I'll have the time to judge every entry, it'd be fun to see if we can get some sort of constructive criticism going. Even if you're not going to write, you can still help by giving constructive criticism to those that did.

 

 

 

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Shaman

 

 

 

SaÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ise watched the shaman quietly. The lithe form perched on the rocky outcrop was a mystery to him. The young woman had come to the village two days ago. Foot traffic had been light for the past few weeks, but the young falconer was sure that even in a carnival crowd the spirit speaker would have stood out quite clearly. She stood well over six feet tall, taller than most men. She was dressed from shoulders to ankles in animal hides despite the desert-like climate that dictated the pace of life this far from the ocean. Every step was accentuated by a breeze of clicks and rattles, betraying the large amounts of talismans and fetishes that were undoubtedly hidden in the many folds of her clothing. The noon sun glared off the fragments of crystal that were wedged in various cracks that ran along the length of her staff.

 

 

 

The stranger had walked on silently, ignoring the clamouring of merchants, the patrolling guards that marched along the walkways, the children running and playing in the street. She simply walked on until she reached the main square. There she stopped, right in front of the private sweat lodge that belonged to the villageÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s own shaman. The old crone was a spiritual leader only in title, a woman in her final days more interested in daily gossip than her flockÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s spiritual health. The young traveller had extended the tip of her staff and drawn a circle in the sand.

 

 

 

At that point the woman had attracted quite a crowd, but even as she squatted down in the middle of her circle she remained silent. The crowd watched her quietly, and she watched them quietly in return. Finally the mass of onlookers parted, although it was with some difficulty. A bent, withered figure shuffled forward, sending up billowing clouds of dust. By custom, a town shaman was required to greet all fellow spirit speakers, no matter what their business in their territory was. NaÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ila had eyed the visitor suspiciously as she shuffled around her, playing close attention to the tattoos that circled all along the young shamanÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s cleanly shaven head. Then, without saying a word, the crone had turned around and shuffled off again, leaving the young visitor to her own devices and the onlookers to their confusion. After about an hour the crowd had disparaged, but the shaman remained seated.

 

 

 

That was two days ago. For most of those two days the visitor had simply sat there, occasionally softly crooning to herself but otherwise silent, not moving even to drink or to eat. Then, at the dawn of the second day of her vigil, she had suddenly gotten up, dusted herself off, and started walking again. This had caused quite a panic among the village elders. Travelling shamans didnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t just walk into a village for no reason. If a spirit speaker had chosen to visit the town, there had to be some sort of disturbance in the astral world. The woman wasnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t stopped when she passed the town gate out of fear for offending the spirits, but the elders still called for a volunteer to follow the shaman. SaÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ise was that volunteer.

 

 

 

Now the falconer leaned against the withered trunk of an old tree, wishing that the spirit speaker would have chosen a more shadowy place to survey the valley beyond. He mopped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt, fighting a losing battle against the sweat. He had lived in this harsh climate since birth, but even he had trouble handling an all-out battering from the noon sun. The weight of the water skin hanging from his shoulder was reassuring, but even with it he wouldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t last another day in the sweltering heat. He had to be back by sundown, but he also had to follow the orders of the elders.

 

 

 

SaÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ise never really cared much for spirit worship. He was willing to accept that they were the ones that made the sun come up and the winds blow, but somehow he doubted that they would miss one more voice in the choirs. It was an attitude that seemed to be shared among the younger generation in the desert settlement, and it was one of the few things NaÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ila was still preaching about these days, to little effect. Still, in spite of his apathy towards worship, SaÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ise had nothing but respect for shamans. Especially young, female, raven-haired shamans that gently swayed their hips as they walked. Still, like most others this one would probably be celibate, but it didnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t hurt to keep his mind busy while he waited for her to conclude whatever business she had here.

 

 

 

ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâ¦Ã¢â¬ÅDo you believe?ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬ÃâÃ

Well that was a spectacular response :|

I'll give it a try sometime... but only after finals are over (in two weeks) :wink: