Dying Art
02.12.10
The old shaman looked down upon the village from his vantage point higher up the hill. He sighed at the sight of the people milling around. Not a soul there had seen less than 50 summers. The younger folk had been trickling out of the community for years, flocking to the city in search of … what? He did not know. None who had left had ever returned. Was that through choice, he wondered, or did the city lure them in only to lock its gates behind them?
Sadness had been threatening to overwhelm him for days. He had no one to pass his knowledge onto; none of the folk left in the village wanted the responsibility, and teaching them would only have been delaying the inevitable. The Art would die out, along with its people, and soon. The previous night he had had the Dream; he knew he would be dead within a matter of days.
“Shaman Father, what should I do?” he said out loud. He feared that even his old teacher’s spirit wasn’t listening. He himself as a newly chosen shaman had seen to it that his predecessor’s bones were buried in a perimeter around the very tree he was now sat under, so that the channels of communication between teacher and student could remain open across the grave. No, the old shaman could hear him; this he did not doubt.
A little breeze shook the branches of the tree, and they thrummed sounds that only a shaman could interpret. He took in a sharp intake of breath. This was the first time his teacher had responded to him from the spirit world. His surprise turned into apprehension as he realised what his predecessor was advising him to do. Long after the breeze had stopped and he found himself once again truly alone, he was still sitting in the same spot, weighing the consequences of dabbling in the darker side of the Art. After much deliberation, he gave in; the Art would die completely if he didn’t do something about it. That overshadowed any of the risks associated with the darker face of it. He steeled himself for the task ahead.
As there was no human that he could pass on the Art to, what he had to do was create a living being and channel his knowledge into it. It had always seemed strange to him that creation of life could ever be associated with the dark side of any art – surely that was the very essence of the art that the Earth herself practiced? Still, he took all the warnings that his Shaman Father had given him very seriously. In order to make a living being, he had to select a material worthy of life.
He chose a rock; it was the size of a young child and smooth, which meant it had been washed by the elements innumerable times over the years. After he found some suitable tools, he began carving the rock, carefully chiselling it down till it had taken on the shape of a manikin. Once satisfied with the sculpture, he took a deep breath and started on the relevant incantations.
He was delighted as well as surprised when the manikin came to life. The little mouth he had carved for it widened into a smile, and the creature made to take a few steps towards its creator. But the shaman’s delight was short-lived; he was dismayed to see that his choice of rock had been a wrong one – it was too heavy a material for a living thing. One by one, the manikin’s head and limbs proved too much for its body and separated from it, scattering onto the grass around. Its mouth returned to the short line he had chiselled into its face and froze once more.
He knew he was running out of time so he didn’t stop to let this failure upset him; he had to try something else. He cut off a thick branch from the noble old tree his teacher was buried around and set to carving this into another manikin. He performed the incantations again and held his breath as he waited to see what would happen. The manikin made its first few steps towards him and he grinned, relieved. The new creature then smiled at him, but the wood was too brittle. The smile cracked its head in half, and this manikin too fell lifeless to the ground.
Despite these two failures, his determination increased. So what if rocks and wood were not worthy of sentient life – he knew what was. He brought out his hunting knife and carved a large chunk of flesh out of his thigh. He bit into a piece of hide to take his mind away from the pain. A torrent of blood gushed out of his leg; it pooled in a small depression in the soil by his feet. He carved a crude manikin out of the hunk of flesh and chanted the words again. It was no use; again he watched in despair as it came to life for a mere instant before shriveling as what blood was keeping it plump trickled out onto the grass.
This last failure was too much for the shaman; he fell back onto the grass, spent. The last of his life flowed out of his veins and onto the soil beneath him. He drifted out of consciousness on his way into the spirit world, and in his delirium a rogue utterance of the incantation escaped his lips. He did not live to see the dark clouds gathering above him as the pool of blood by his feet began to bubble and release black steam.
Related Posts:
Tags: Fantasy, Flash Fiction, fridayflash, Horror, Writing
I bow to your brilliant imagination for inventing cultures and worlds…another excellent, and bloody (you never disappoint!) job! 🙂
Tsk, tsk, better to have let the Art die than see it loosed on the world like that!
Your worlds and characters are always so complete and believable. This was a terrific and captivating piece.
Yes, captivating. Success in dieing breath. Very nice.
Wonder what kind of shaman the blood will make? Wonder if that’s a good thing for the Art? Well conceived piece. Nicely done.
You had me at “The old shamen”… The very roots of all creativity and imaginings and leapings into other worlds. Perfectly rendered here.
I join the others who have said that your creation of worlds and characters, no matter how fantastical, make one feel as they could have existed.
The writing is just terrific!
Archetypal Mazzz – things in threes: Stone, wood, flesh – like the history of life on earth itself. And bloody, of course, life is. Another great piece. Are you channelling the spirit world?
Simon.
“It had always seemed strange to him that creation of life could ever be associated with the dark side of any art – surely that was the very essence of the art that the Earth herself practiced?”
This will keep me thinking for a long time.
I really liked this this. Very evocative and tragic. With a little ominous thrown in for good measure.
Terrific, really terrific.
This is magazine quality work you are doing here!
Very cool. Read a bit like a fable through most of it, but ended in a horror story. Great job!
Oh, my heart is broken, particularly over the stone manikin breaking off piece by piece and the smiling cherubim mouth turning back into a chiselled line! Wonderful stuff Maria 🙂
Gruesome and sad. Did he even TRY a “help wanted” postcard in the local newsagents window?
Fantastic story. A sad, sinister and beautiful tale.
This whole story had a nice slow steady rhythm that perfectly matched the movements of a dying old man.
I wonder what will become of this new life, without teacher or counselor.
Oh, wow. Once again I completely entered a world you created. I love the tone of this piece–so perfect for the situation–the shaman’s task, personality, wistfulness, and desperation. I have a feeling the next shaman will have no idea what wistfulness or desperation (in a conscious sense) is…
Oh-oh… I want to see what comes to life next! My mind is awash with images of a 1/2 man-half elemental creature made of rock, tree, stone and flesh…
Maria, I can only echo what everyone else has already said – fantastic world-building here, as usual.
I’m not sure why, but this line – “he chose a rock…” cracked me up.
Your writing is always spectacular. Thank you so much for sharing it with us.
Oops…bubbling blood and black steam can’t be good. Great tale full of description and leaving us to our imaginations at the end.
What a marvellous tale! You’ve created something here that reads like a real traditional tale. I would believe it came from its own culture, something long gone. Very well done. And nice, ominous ending.
I’ve enjoyed your horror and suspense but you also write fantasy quite well. So many things about this piece are impressive but the story itself is what lingers. I found myself completely immersed in it. So creative. Nicely done.
This idea of a noble old tree is wonderful. Love to travel with you. It’s always nice to get away for a while. Thank you!
Maria,
This is one of my favourites of your stories. Like Amy, I cannot help but wonder at your ability at imagining a new world each week, and like marc, you had me hooked at the mention of a Shaman.
Scary and disturbing, but also beautiful. Made me think of Annie Dillard’s “Teaching a Stone to Talk”.
David
Another brilliantly dark tale and one that really gets the reader’s imagination going – would love to know more about ‘the art’…. One tiny criticism is that you’ve used two different spellings of manikin, but that aside your writing is flawless – you have such a talent for creating amazing dark and macabre worlds!
I thought the piece of flesh would work… had high hopes for the flesh.
Sorry he had to die, though. Died and missed all the hiss.
Like everyone else, I thoroughly, thoroughly enjoyed your story!
If I ever turn out to be a shaman, I want to be just like him!
Only not dead, of course.
Huh, I love a story that keeps going long after the words run out. Thanks Mazz.
Hmm
Black steam…better watch out!
Nice job!
Oh dear, no good can come of this.
A well crafted tale and a well-realized world in which it was set. Nicely done.
Awesome. That is a great story, one I am confident you could turn into a novel as the evil incarnation takes over the world 🙂
As ever, thanks to all for commenting and of course pointing out typos etc! Manikins have now been corrected, thanks Heather!
Mari, Oh so clever, crafty, and suspenseful!!
I love the manikins idea, even though he wasn’t very good at getting them to live. I was very sad each time they broke.
Your imagination is intensely wonderful and I love the worlds you create. I agree with Skycycler about this being archetypal!
That black steam was awesome!!
Oh, no! And there will be no one left to stop whatever is created or even understand it. Chilling tale birthed from your oh-so creative mind! Never thought of creation as being part of the dark arts…that’s an interesting concept.
I desperately want to know what happens next! I guess that that’s the point as all of your stories do that and it’s part of what makes them linger with you. When’s your first novel due out???
You do description so well! I could see it all happening and feel the old man’s desperation.
Well done!
Cecilia
Maria, The tone and pacing is beautifully done and matches the story. Since you can create such vivid and complete worlds in your fiction. I wonder what your dreams are like. ~ Olivia
What a great fable, played out in a well-described “other world.” Nice job, Mazz.
This is beautiful, poignant and deliciously dark.
I wonder about the future(s) of the dying arts of our own world as well.
Wow! I really enjoyed the imagery and ideas presented here. Others are right – you’ve really created something beautiful and thought-provoking.
It’s always a fun visit in your imagination. Thanks for the invite.
I did hate that the shaman’s self-mutilation was pointless. Someone, carving your own flesh should amount to some small victory. But, that’s because I’m squeamish–it’s not a reflection on your talent.
I love the depth of your characters. This was another brilliannt tale.