[CYM] 11 – Severing Spiritual Ties

“If I receive the spirit, will I become a shaman like you?”

She would be able to perform sword dances, control the winds, and cast all manner of impressive spells. Her heart raced at the thought.

But the look her mother gave her was stern. She shrank under that freezing gaze.

“Cut it down.”

“What?”

Her mother handed her an axe, which she nearly dropped in shock, almost severing her ankle.

“There will be no initiation, no becoming a shaman for you.”

Her mother’s voice was firm as stone. She blinked dumbly. She had never considered a life other than as a shaman, and now she was being denied that path.

Her mother pushed her toward the tree. In her hand was not the curved sword she had hoped to wield freely, nor a pouch of ashes and embers, but a sharp axe to cut down her own roots.

“The illness from the spirit lasts only four days. After that, let’s leave. I’ve heard there are many foreigners in Arahan; it would be good to go there. Red hair might not even be uncommon there.”

Arahan. A distant foreign land reachable only by a twenty-day sea journey.

Just the mention made her limbs tremble. She wasn’t naive enough not to understand her mother’s intention to sever her from the path of a shaman by force.

Yet she felt like crying, remembering her mother’s words that the tree would become a guardian spirit for her. That it would come with the ripe, beautiful maple leaves on the wind of autumn.

“Hurry.”

“...”

“What are you waiting for?”

Only after her mother’s repeated commands did she swing the axe so hard her body staggered, and the tree began to fall. Thud, thud. Her head echoed with each impact.

Finally, after repeated efforts, the proud trunk of the sacred tree was cruelly severed.

Thud. She collapsed next to the fallen tree, panting. Looking at the dead sacred tree, her mother’s weighty voice fell.

“It would be good to leave around autumn. The land of Muritmaegol is not good for settling down long-term, so it’s better to hurry.”

The departure was sooner than expected. Unable to ask why, she simply watched her mother’s retreating back, as she always did, cold and distant.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✦ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

The illness struck after she cut down the sacred tree. She became sleepier, her body weaker. What she thought was heatstroke from the fieldwork turned out to be the first sign of the illness.

Then came the unwelcome hallucinations and auditory hallucinations. Upon waking, she would see black mists floating in the air, and with closed eyes, she heard disturbing noises. Occasionally, a red thread seemed to pour down on her, threatening to consume her.

‘...What?’

There was no one else in the room.

For four days, she struggled with these voices and visions until she regained her senses. The first thing she saw was her mother, quietly placing a wet cloth on her forehead and feeding her medicine.

“You’re awake.”

Her mother’s tone was dispassionately cool as she faced her recently awakened daughter. But she soon sat up straight, and her mother, with clumsy tenderness, stroked her back.

“Let’s go out for a walk if you’re feeling better.”

It was the anniversary of her deceased brother’s death. They always held a memorial, so despite feeling beaten, she forced herself up.

After managing to swallow some water, she stepped out onto the ripening ground with her mother’s support. Her body was sore and weak from lying in bed so long, her muscles soft, and her stomach unsettled.

They walked along the Soru Riverbank to a small wooden shrine in memory of her brother. She helped her mother quietly place incense and food offerings. With no portrait to place, they directed their ceremony toward the wide river.

“Here. Your brother made this to tie around your wrist on the day you were born.”

Her mother handed her a red cord adorned with a knot and multicoloured pebbles—an exquisite accessory.

“I’ll give it to you now.”

Standing still, she took it from her mother.

“For me?”

“Yes.”

It should have been hers long ago, but it took seventeen years to reach her. Why now?

A keepsake from a brother she never saw. Her stomach felt heavy, and she felt nauseous as if she was about to reject the porridge she just ate. Her emotions were mixed.

“Even before you were wriggling in the womb, he treasured you greatly. Even in death, he will protect you.”

Ah, her mother felt guilty for cutting down her guardian tree. For not wanting to make her a shaman and choosing such a drastic method. What she believed to be selflessness was actually selfishness.

But she could not say she would have acted differently if she had a daughter herself.