• The sun rose with its usual gracefulness. The cloud captured a few of its rays, casting lonely shadows on the sleeping village beneath them. Before he awoke, Skye had already positioned herself amongst the dense leaves of the mulberry tree. She waited in silence, moved the leaves in front of her ever so slightly, and then waited in silence once more. She had started this hobby a few months ago after he had cured her mother of an illness no one else could. She had been on her death bed. For nine days he had stayed with her. Skye heard him as he sang and recited prayers for her. She could smell the mystery incense he burned and wondered about the long periods of silence. It mystified her. When he left, mother was healthy again. Never did he ask for payment for his deeds. No one knew his proper name, because no one dared to ask him. He was known only as the Shaman. Whenever a problem plagued the village, he fixed it. If someone fell gravely ill, he healed them. If someone was lost, he found and guided them home. When a family member died, he meditated. They all believed he was guiding the departed to a better place. The Shaman warded of great eagles, before the village was affected. Because no one understood how the shaman worked his miracles when nothing from the village worked, they all feared and respected him. Skye knew it was some kind of magic, but she new of only the magic of the old ones. Having never seen real magic, she couldn’t identify what he was doing. His secrecy intrigued her; she wanted to know what the others all feared to ask. However, the village did not permit anyone to bother the shaman with useless and unwanted questions just in case he decided to disappear, leaving the village defenceless. That is why she observed him, hidden in the trees. Today was no different.
    Around her, the village was slowly waking. If she had looked, Skye would have seen children practising to fly. Unsuccessfully, but practising all the same. Their fathers watched them in their attempts, laughing merrily at the mistakes. Most mothers watched from a window as they prepared breakfast. Nevertheless, Skye wasn’t looking; she was fascinated as the Shaman set his breakfast table for two. He never had company. She leaned forward to check on one else was in the room. Had she been looking, she would have seen a triumphant kid as he soared towards her tree. Maybe she would’ve been able to stop herself falling from the tree as she was an unsteady flyer herself. Yet she wasn’t paying any attention the world below her, the boy pierced the mulberry tree flying out of control. He collided with Skye, sending her hurdling towards the Shaman’s house and with a noisy landing; she hit the Shaman’s door matt with the whole village looking at her. They were shocked by her sudden appearance, the shock wouldn’t last long. Behind her, the door opened.
    Even in her few short months of ‘observation,’ Skye never imagined his home to be more than the elegantly dressed table, with its lack of proper chairs. The walls were coved in paintings, animals and things she didn’t recognise. What she assumed to be the kitchen and bedroom were hidden from sight by a curtain blended almost perfectly with the walls. The room in which she now stood smelled like her mothers had.
    Still in shock from her crash, she was unable to gather enough courage to refuse the Shaman’s invitation in front of the accusing eyes of the village. She dreaded leaving the Shaman’s house and facing the village. She knew she’d be punished for watching the person they were all dependants on and feared. If he was as all powerful as they though he was, he should have known I was watching and exposed me sooner. She thought. He only had to hint at a problem and the villagers sought to fix it so he wouldn’t think to leave forever. The table was still set for two. Had he known? That was a question she couldn’t answer.
    “Please, sit down,” Skye jumped at the sound of his voice, she had almost forgotten he was there. He smiled as he indicated the cushion opposite him at the table. His smile reached his eyes, like he was greeting an old friend. Smiling back, Skye sat where he’d pointed. He served tea in silence. Handing her a cup, the Shaman smiled another glowing smile.
    “You have many questions for me,” He said. He hadn’t asked, he stated like he knew it was fact. Even as her head swarmed with questions, Skye struggled to find an appropriate one. So many accusations and thoughts of disbelief, her innocent and enquiring questions were other lost or distorted in her head under the Shaman’s gaze. He waited patiently for her, he made on effort to force her to speak. Just his smile lingered in his eyes. All her months of watching, waiting and wondering the truth of him, to expose him as the fraud she thought he was, but now, given the chance… Skye couldn’t find the words to say what she was thinking. Before this moment, she was certain he was a fraud, twisting the village for his will and giving nothing of his knowledge for others to help the same way as him. Now, Skye wasn’t so sure. The truths that were so plain and clear a few moments ago were washing away like the sand on a beach. This realisation was depressing for her. The Shaman noticed the change in her.
    “Do not feel disheartened my dear. Few have questioned my ways before, although these few, like yourself, all had just reasoning for this. Why do you question me?” The words washed over Skye like summer rain, she now felt calm and sleepy but alert and attentive all at the same time.
    “Who are you?” The voice came from her but Skye didn’t recognise it. He chuckled softly.
    “I am the Shaman,”
    “But what is that?” He only smiled this time.
    “I am someone who is influenced by and communes the spirits in matters of health, safety, protection and many other things,” Still he smiles.
    “The spirits? Like dead people?”
    “No my dear, a spirit controls something. There is a spirit for almost everything; some are more influential than others. I commune with them on matters that concern the village,”
    “I don’t understand. How do you commune with them?” Again he chuckles softly.
    “My dear, there will be many things in your future you do not understand at once. Communing with the spirits is one of them. Here,” He hands her some fruit off the table. She accepts. She feels as if she is in a trance.
    “How did you become a Shaman? Are there more?”
    “Yes my dear, but only a few. The spirits do not talk to just anyone. They choose only to talk to who they believe are pure of heart.”
    “How do they know?”
    “That is something I cannot tell you,” The room feels warm and cloudy. She remembers the table from when she entered the room. It was empty of food then,
    “Why now is the table full? How did that happen?”
    He smiles. “You must go now my dear, I do believe I will see you soon,”
    She wonders what he means. She’s sitting right across from him. He raises a hand and says something she can’t hear. Everything goes black.