Nate could certainly guess. "It's like the Yanomamo drug epena." Over the years, he had worked with various Yanomamo tribes and been invited to participate in epena ceremonies. Epena, translated as "semen of the sun," was a hallucinogenic drug Yanomamo shamans used to enter the spirit world. It was strong stuff, fabled to bring the hekura, or little men of the forest, to teach medicine to a shaman. When Nate had tried the stuff, all he had ever experienced was a severe headache followed by swirls of color. Furthermore, he was not particularly fond of the drug's delivery system. It was snuffed up the nose.
Dakii handed one of the loaded straws to Nate and one to the shaman. The Ban-ali leader waved Nate to kneel beside the hammock.
Nate obeyed.
Kouwe cautioned him, "The shaman knows he's about to die. What he is offering is more than a casual ritual. I think he's passing the mantle of his responsibility to you, for the tribe, for the village, for the tree:"
"I can't take that on," Nate said, glancing back at Kouwe.
"You must. Once you're shaman, the tribe's secrets will be open to you. Do you understand what that means?"
Nate took a deep breath and nodded. "The cure:"
"Exactly."
Nate stepped to the hammock and knelt.
The shaman showed Nate what to do, but it was similar to the Yanomamos' ritual. The small man positioned the drug-loaded end of his reed straw to his own nose. Then motioned for Nate to bring his lips to the other end. Nate's job was to blow the drug up the other's nose. He, in turn, positioned his own straw to his left nostril. The shaman brought the other end to his mouth. Through the straws, the two men would simultaneously blow the drug into each other's sinuses.
The shaman lifted an arm. They both took a deep breath.
Here we go . . .
The Indian brought his arm down.
Nate exhaled sharply through the reed, while bracing for the jolt to his own sinuses. Before he even finished blowing on his end of the straw, the drug hit him.
Nate fell backward. A burning flame seared into his skull, followed by a blinding explosion of pain. It felt as if someone had blown the back of his head off. He gasped as the room spun. The sense of vertigo overwhelmed him. A pit opened in his mind, and he was falling. He tumbled, spinning away into a darkness that was somehow bright at the same time.
Distantly he heard his name called, but he couldn't find his mouth to speak.
Suddenly his falling body shattered through something solid in this otherworld. The darkness fragmented around him like broken glass. Midnight shards fell away and disappeared. What was left was a shadow shaped into a stylized tree. It appeared to be rising from a dark hill.
Nate hovered before it. As he stared, details emerged. The tree developed three-dimensional conformations, tiny midnight leaves, tiered branches, clustered nut pods.
The Yagga.
Then, from beyond the hill's edge, small figures marched into view, all in a line, heading up the slope to the tree.
The hekura, Nate guessed dreamily.
But like the tree, the figures grew in detail as Nate floated nearby, and he realized he was mistaken. Instead of little men, the line was a mix of animals of every ilk-monkeys, sloths, rats, crocodiles, jaguars, and some Nate couldn't identify. Interspersed among these darkly silhouetted animals were men and women, but Nate knew these weren't the hekura. The entire party marched up to the tree-and into it. The shadowy figures merged with the black form of the tree.
Where had they gone? Was he supposed to follow?
Then, from the other side of the tree, the figures reemerged. But they had transformed. They were no longer in shadow, but glowing with a brilliant radiance. The shining troupe spread to circle the tree. Man and beast. Protecting the Mother.
As Nate hovered, he sensed the passage of time accelerate. He watched the men and women occasionally wander back to the tree as their radiance dimmed. They would eat the fruit of the tree and shine anew, refreshed to take their place again in the circle of Yagga's children. The ritual repeated over and over again.
Like a worn record, the image began to fade, repeating still, but growing dimmer and dimmer-until there was only darkness again.
"Nate?" a voice called to him.
Who? Nate sought the speaker. But all he found was darkness.
"Nate, can you hear me?"
Yes, but where are you?
"Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."
Nate drew toward the voice, seeking it out of the darkness.
"Good, Nate. Now open your eyes:'
He struggled to obey.
"Don't fight it . . . just open your eyes."
Again the darkness shattered, and Nate was blinded by brilliance and light. He gasped, sucking in huge gulps of air. His head throbbed with pain. Through tears, he saw the face of his friend leaning over him, cradling his head.
"Nate?"
He coughed and nodded.
"How do you feel?"
"How do you think I feel?" Nate wobbled up from the floor.
"What did you experience?" Kouwe asked. "You were mumbling:"
"And drooling," Anna added, kneeling beside him.