Path Of The Shaman Novels & Stories

I knocked on the wooden door, which creaked open slowly. ‌ "Ah, Alpha,” the shaman greeted with a knowing look. "I sensed your presence. Come in, my Precious Leader.” ‌ The interior of the hut was dimly lit by the flickering flame of a single candle. Various mystical artifacts adorned the shelves, attesting to the shaman's deep connection with the spiritual realm. I hesitated for a moment before entering, the gravity of my predicament weighing on me. ‌ "I seek your guidance, wise one," I spoke, my voice filled with a mix of determination and desperation.

“He led my mom and, by extension, me to the school’s zen pond. I could guess how the whole thing must’ve looked to the rest of the school. It was a strange sight. This Chthonian shaman and my mother walking side by side and a bowed, remorseful head floating behind them. Mom kept prattling and looking back over her shoulder as though she feared that if she stopped talking to me, I would float away like a balloon or something. Not a few of the students gawked freely at us. It was dusk and classes had just ended. “A crowd of students had gathered, especially Brew-nins and Raven-nins, not because of their concern for me but because of the shaman’s supply of the spirit umbilicus root and his aura

After saying her prayers to the Spirit guide, Luntian throws a mix of salt and zirconium at the fire. It made a sizzling noise, the minerals cracking until it turned to smoke. The Spirit guiding the forest appeared, and it roared in front of her. “Ahmina ya ruh alnamir, atlah toh.” She prayed with closed eyes. As the Shaman prayed, the forest glowed and the fireflies hiding in the forest came out of the shadows and created a path towards the maze-like forest, creating a guide. Animals, bugs and critters alike lined up in the darkening forest.

They arrived at the chambers of the shaman, where the ancient being was waiting, his eyes clouded with the knowledge of his craft. The shaman nodded to Kurt and Wynn, gesturing for them to enter. The room was dimly lit by flickering candles, and the scent of herbs and incense hung in the air. The shaman motioned for Kurt to sit in the center of a ritual circle, marked with glowing symbols and runes.

With a swift movement, he turned, the shop was no more. He waited for me all these years, he thought. Finally, he's at peace. Rest, my friend, you have earned it. My quest continues. The shaman didn't turn, until he didn't exit the village, he looked at it once more and continued down the path. He stopped for a moment, looked into the reddish sky. He sky was bright without a cloud. The road was new, recently built. It was a great thing, with the new government. He walked slowly, with confidence, to his meeting place. A man asked for his help. He didn't want to turn the man down.

The cameras went black—my doing, a trick I’d learned from years of hunting. I stood again, crossing to the safe in the corner. The book lay inside, its leather cover worn and warm under my fingers as I pulled it out. I flipped to the page, the ritual’s words staring back at me—Latin, jagged, promising salvation. I traced the lines, my pulse steadying. Three lycans, their blood drained into a silver basin under the full moon. The shaman swore it’d work, swore it’d strip the venom from my veins. I had to believe him.

I staggered to the door, flung it open as the guard snapped to attention. “Get the car,” I rasped. Blood dripped down my chin. “I need the shaman.” He didn’t ask questions, he just ran downstairs to get the car ready, it was better this way than to use a horse. I followed slowly, swaying, as one hand pressed to the wall for balance. The ride to the shaman’s hut was short and quiet as the guard drove like his life depended on it. The shaman’s hut sat at the edge of the forest, half-hidden by pines.

Not just for me, but for my pup. One afternoon, I needed to get some fresh air after doing hours of meditation. The power within me was shifting and buzzing, making it almost unbearable. “I will walk a little,” I told the shamans, finally rising from the mossy ground. Shaman Esprit nodded without argument. “Do not stray too far,” she warned in a cold voice. Nodding, I slipped between the trees, sensing the change in the wind’s direction. The birds were chirping in the distance and somewhere a squirrel scurried across branches.

One can not touch shadow, but as my hand lifts, it deforms into the hand of a Black Death, a shadow grip around its neck and its eyes widen in wonder. Her head raises, eyes staring into mine, a deep dark oasis. a shallow gasp leaving its lips. As I stare into its eyes, I search through the valley, to its soul. There I see the slave girl, carrying a basket of dead flowers through the dark halls of the Night Court. "Haven." My voice is mixed with shadow and chaos, calling through time and space, through her shadow to her soul. She immediately freezes, a dark sensation crossing her spine, and the hair on her neck raises. She studies the flowers in her basket as they turn to ash, and then, slowl

I nod too. The shaman sighs, closes his eyes, and when his hand comes in contact with my belly, I have another vision. It's the woods, a familiar woods. The moon shines above, and there's a naked man stretching on the ground, all large and dirty. “It's true!” The shaman suddenly exclaims, eyes wide on my stomach as he snatches his hand away like I'm on fire. Jaxon moves in front of me, like he wants to shield me away from the shocked shaman.