Initiation

“Ai, this is why children should stay at home.”

Silvan had finished recounting his story, gently rubbing the bump on his head. This didn’t help, instead of subsiding the pain grew from his touch. He couldn’t help but think about how many poor souls had fallen victim to the ladle before him, while the lady was mumbling things in her language.

“So you’re Urho’s grandmother… and the shaman he told me to find?”

“So you are capable of thought. Or is your mind the kind that needs motivation first?”
She clanked her utensil against the metal pot, playfully punctuating the remark.

He was in his mid thirties, but somehow she made him feel like a schoolboy again.
“Urho said you would know how to cure my friend. What do we need to do?”

“Ai, dumb child. Do birds fly before they grow feathers?”

“No… What?”

“Presumptuous brat. You’re asking for things that don’t even serve your goal.”

Silvan was stumped.
“How does knowing how to cure my friend not help?”

She was not amused by his lack of understanding. Radiating hostility, she muttered a single word.
“Angakkuq.”

“What is that?”

She started speaking in her native tongue again. While Silvan couldn’t understand it, it was clear that he angered her.

“NOT WHAT! WHO!” she finally shouted, making Silvan flinch a little. “And before you ask the next stupid question, the answer is me! I’m Angakkuq! Do you understand now? You’re asking the wrong questions while also incapable of understanding any wisdom I could share with you!”

The shaman shook her head, turning her attention back to the soup.
“I don’t understand why Urho is so fond of you. He entrusted you with his weapon, and all you have to show in return is shame. Ignorant of how little you understand. Why the mountain has refrained from devouring you until now is beyond me!”

The more she spoke, the less sense it all made to him.

“I’m sorry for being so… ignorant, but my friend needs help, your help. Can’t you just cast a spell or prepare some mystical remedy?”

The shaman mumbled again, glancing at Urho’s rifle every so often.

“Angakkuq,” she finally said again, looking at him over her shoulder.

“In this tent, I am the authority. To anyone who enters, I am Angakkuq, and they call me such with much reverence and respect.”

Silvan nodded slowly.

“Do you really understand what that means?”

He thought about it.
“You’re an important person whose counsel should be followed?”

“Hmhmm yes that’s true. However. The correct answer is that there are rules. Rules anyone and anything that enters this space needs to obey.”

That made sense, he thought. Like a CEO of sorts.

Her eyes narrowed as if he had spoken out loud.
“You said that your encounter with the wolf felt like a ritual. Correct?”

“Yes, he watched my every move carefully and reacted accordingly. But that’s to be expected of a wary animal.”

“But when did that ritual start?”

Silvan hadn't thought about that yet. He played the memory back, this time focusing on that detail.
“After I surrendered. When I accepted my fate. Accepted death.”

“Angakkuq,” she repeated.

An authority, he recalled. One that demands reverence, respect, and obedience.
“I followed a rule and… was rewarded for it?”

That caught her attention and she sat back down with him.
“You’re beginning to understand. But you still don’t see the bigger picture.”

Visibly struggling to put the pieces in place, she sighed.

“If you were a caribou stumbling across a pack on the hunt, would you jump between them and their prey?”

Obviously not. But then why did it do that? Where did it even come from? The dots began connecting as he reviewed his day, from the moment he woke to the point he passed out in the snow.

“I broke rules. Absolutes that are invisible to me.”

The shaman finally smiled again.
“Go on, child.”

“My time was up… But instead of resisting… I embraced it!”

A raspy noise escaped the shaman’s open mouth. She grabbed her grandson’s rifle, cocked it, and pointed it straight at him.

Eyes wide open, Silvan slowly raised his arms.
“What are you doing?”

Still smiling, she answered with a question.
“What would happen if I shot you now?”

He didn’t think himself in danger. But looking down the shaft, the pressure was real. Somehow this felt familiar though.
His thoughts brought him back to the encounter. He could see the predator before his mind’s eye. Ready to end his life whenever it so chose.

“I think it doesn’t matter. I would care. Your tribe would care. Urho would care. But you are the authority here. Entering this tent, I forfeit my rights and am forced to obey yours. So in the end it doesn’t matter.”

She glared at him, then offered the rifle. Silvan grabbed it, surprised when she refused to let go.
“It seems Urho was correct in placing his faith in you. I’ll have to scold him when he returns. But you are still mistaken about one thing, and not understanding would surely be the end of you.”

She let go of the rifle and sank down into her chair.
“You’ve lived on this mountain for quite some time. Tell me. How many times has the mountain blessed you for following its rules? Three years is an ample amount of time to accidently follow a rule you didn't know about."

This was a tricky question, he soon realized. What was luck and what was a blessing? The same issue applied to his misfortune.
Thinking in endless circles, he tried shifting his approach.

A change of perspective.
If he was a mountain god enforcing rules over many millennia, where would he draw the line?

They sat in silence as Silvan meditated, searching for a satisfying conclusion. He had lost his grasp on time when it finally hit him. Feeling somewhat enlightened, he knew he’d found the answer she was looking for.

“Not. Even. Once.”

Her face softened as she let out a hearty laugh.
“So there is some hope for you after all.”