The Summoned
#1 of The Summoner and The Summoned
The Summoner and The Summoned is a long-form fantasy story in the context of a D&D styled world following the travels of a rather monstrous party of 'adventurers' and some of their more traditional counterparts.
At an unseen signal the drums started thumping rhythmically, adding to the already high levels of excitement. It was time for the ascension of an apprentice to the title of Shaman, the first to earn this right in over two decades, and nearly every member of the sprawling wolven village had gathered in the square outside the High Shaman's hut at sundown to witness the culmination of the event. An hour had passed since the light of the sun had vanished entirely over the horizon and the large group was milling about in the light of a massive bonfire, voices nearly silent in reverence despite the anticipation.
Of these, none was more excited, or nervous, than Marak. The tall, dusk gray wolf paced at the edge of the crowd, golden eyes scanning and ears twitching nervously for even the slightest indication that the rituals within the hut were coming to a close. While many others within the crowd had witnessed an ascension before, he had barely quickened within his mother's womb the last time it had happened, so he was unfamiliar with the finer details. To make it worse, this ascension was of special significance to the wolf because the apprentice in question was his older sister and only sibling, Matala.
The start of the drumbeat sharply focused the crowd's attention. Four wolves stood outside the High Shaman's hut as an honor guard, to prevent any interruptions in the ceremony; that they had started beating upon their hide shields with their ceremonial clubs marked that the time had come. The ceremony was complete, and it was time for the new Shaman to step before the crowd. The flaps of leather covering the entrance to the hut are pulled aside, and the High Shaman steps through, hunched, his fur streaked with white and his jeweled staff, the mark of his station, clutched in one trembling hand as he uses it to support tentative footsteps toward the fire. Like most of the villagers, he is dressed in simple leathers, the skirt that is common to both of the village's sexes and a pocketed sash across his shoulder and chest; unlike them, the High Shaman's leather are dyed a deep red, the mark of station born by all Shaman within the village.
He is followed immediately by the village's three other Shaman - two men and a woman, all older adults, the latter wearing a chest binding across her breasts instead of a sash. The High Shaman and his attendants slowly approach the fire; once he is a few feet away, he stops, then raises one gnarled hand, plunging the entire village into stark silence. A bit of a smile coming to his face, the wizened wolf's voice boomed out; as much as age had taken from him, his voice remained strong, and he was easily heard by every wolf that had gathered. "I will not bore you all with the prattling of an old man. We all know why we're here - to welcome Matala into her role as Shamaness and into service of our village. There is but one item of ceremony left to complete. Matala, come forth."
A moment later the covering of the hut is again pulled aside, and a young wolfess steps out, her light gray fur practically shining in the firelight. She still wears the unadorned leather of the rest of the village, but her long head fur is adorned with strings of beads, her exposed fur painted with ancient symbols passed down by the fore-bearers. She approaches her elders and kneels down before the High Shaman. He continues speaking, directed this time at the wolfess but still heard by all in attendance. "Matala. You have trained here for ten years, and in the judgment of myself and the other Shaman of Arakana tribe, found worthy of joining our number. Cast aside the trappings of your old life, that you might be reborn into the service of your people and village."
Matala stands and steps forward toward the fire, taking a deep breath to steel herself. 'This', she thought, 'was the part I was dreading. Not the years of study. Not the tests where failure meant I ate the wrong mushroom and probably died. This stupid final custom that was probably dreamed up by some horny old man centuries ago.' Still, it had become part of the process, and she wasn't going to earn her title without going through it. Reaching to her chest, she starts undoing the cords holding her bindings together, then slips the garment off, baring her breasts to the entire assembled village. Her cheeks starting to flush from embarrassment, she casts the garment into the heart of the fire, quickly vanishing within the roaring flame. Swallowing apprehensively, she undoes a tie above her tail and pulls the skirt down, throwing it into the fire to joins its mate, her nude form stepping back next to the old wolf to nervously listen as he finishes the ceremony.
"As she came in to this world, so is she reborn. I welcome you to our order, Shamaness Matala."
The official part of the ceremony was finished. The old wolf continued for a minute about how this was a day of joyous celebration and until the next sundown it would be a time for revelry and feasting, but she had much more important concerns for now. Stepping over to Mora - the other female Shamaness, as well as Matala and Marak's mother and only remaining family member - she reached out and accepted a bundle of red leathers and immediately set to getting dressed now that her title was official and she was permitted to wear the new garments. The older wolf smiled at her, planted one paw on Matala's shoulder, and spoke up. "You did good, little one. Don't worry about them, they're all going to be so drunk by morning that they won't remember their own names, let alone what happened tonight." Indeed, it sounded like the ceremony had already been forgotten in favor of the party as cheers rose up from the crowd, many of its members rushing out to bring the prepared food and drink.
Finishing up the last of the ties on the leather, Matala looks out over the now boisterous group. "Maybe I could join them. I wouldn't mind forgetting also."
Grinning, the older wolfess flicks the younger in the forehead, earning a startled yelp. "Nope! We all went through it, and you know the rules. We all have to stay sober so that we can clean up after whatever mess the rest of them make. I'm expecting no fewer than four cases of acute alcohol poisoning and at least one concussion, and that's if they hold back a bit." Lifting her hand up and wiggling her fingers, she continues, "I could always scratch your head if it would make you feel better."
For a moment, Matala looks aghast. "I am not a pup any more!" That moment of righteous indignation is short lived as Mora completely cracks up and, after holding back a smile for a few seconds, Matala joins her, doubling over as she tries to catch her breath. Yes, it was a momentous day for the village, as their small group of Shamans formed the heart of their society and their continuity was critical - they were advisers to the elders, doctors to the sick, midwives who welcomed forth every new life, and sometimes even worked a bit of magic. But for Matala, the only real difference between today and tomorrow is that she wouldn't need to have someone looking over her shoulder as she worked. It really hadn't been necessary for some time, she was a gifted doctor and the strongest practitioner of magic the village had seen in generations, but she it was rare for someone to finish the training before their 30th year, and she had just turned 24. The High Shaman might have stalled yet longer, but as summer turned to fall, he had grown concerned that this winter might be his last; as a result, he chose to move forward while he could still officiate and the weather was still nice enough for everyone to enjoy the event.
Looking over Matala's shoulder, Mora speaks up. "Doesn't matter how old you are, you're still my little pup... and before you protest... it looks like someone has a present, you might want to deal with that instead of arguing." Turning around, Matala sees Marak approaching with a bundle under his arm. She steps forward to greet him, but stumbles as the entire world seems to shift before her, colors growing gradually more muted, her body growing lighter. Looking down, she is shocked to find that she can actually see the ground through herself... except for the runes painted on her skin, which have started glowing. Panicking, she starts desperately looking around for the High Shaman, hoping he can explain what is going on; she faintly sees Marak drop his bundle and dash toward her, one paw outstretched as if to grab her before she can fade away completely. Then, she sees nothing.