Of the peoples of Shdustu, only the Nikkad divide their mystic practitioners into the five primary paths by which divine essence may be manipulated. This is common, for the development of that division relies upon a level of formal training and transmitted knowledge that only settled, literate peoples can supply the organization to obtain. Other cultures, such as the Bahab, Kharal, and Rutar, as well as many similar peoples found in other wide and thinly settled lands, produce instead generalist mystics who manipulate divine essence through a simplified method of following forms unlocked through inter-generational trial and error. Their lack of formal training allows them to retain the ability to manipulate such energies in different ways, a trait more specialized practitioners lose early in their training. Lady Indili explained this to me as similar to the development of a specific handwriting style. A trained scribe will, over time, form their letters in a specific way and become almost completely unable to retain legibility if attempting to deliberately deviate from this method, but a novice can imitate many styles at once. This sort of adjustment, of increasing mastery tied to a narrow scope of production is common in numerous crafts and seems to be sourced in the nature of human bodies themselves.

The term shaman is used for these generalist mystics, who often have wide-ranging roles in their societies acting not only as multi-form mystics but also as herbalists and storytellers in addition to their mystical practices. This term is of somewhat dubious accuracy and is sometimes applied to all mystics from lands where the revelation has not yet reached and also historical figures from pre-revelation times who may not have been mystics at all. The term is also sometimes used pejoratively, which I consider unfairly tarnishes the shamans of Shdustu who, though burdened by limited theological training that contains numerous mistakes, misconceptions, and heresies, are still proper practitioners doing their best to honor the Divines. Nevertheless, the term sees widespread usage and it would be pointless to attempt to shift discourse toward some new label. Additionally, while faith may vary, it seems the role in societies of shamans remains rather similar wherever they exist, including the great forests of the far north. Many Bahab shamans refer to these individuals using the same term they use to describe themselves.

I have not discussed shamans at length prior to this point because, though I observed and spoke with Kharal and Bahab shamans many times, those interactions were always brief and highly formalized. It was only during the time spent among the Rutar that this changed. The shamans of Varu-Tavur were often about and I moved casually among them through much of the winter. Additionally, Evulun, the female shaman of early middle age who took it upon herself to accompany the sorcery students to Crisremon, attended many of the classes I conducted and regularly offered translation suggestions so that I might better communicate with the girls, was a nearly daily presence throughout those months. This inevitably offered a vastly superior portrait of the lives and roles of shamans than any prior brief observations might supply.

Shamans, very importantly, remain mystics. However much their skill may be limited by lack of education or knowledge of the formulas necessary to enact advanced techniques, the ability to channel divine essence is an essential prerequisite to this path. While potential mystics in the Sanid Empire are identified during the mandatory early childhood education all children receive, among peoples lacking such a practice it falls to the shamans to identify would-be apprentices. This is usually done by administering a version of the tests used to unlock access to divine essence around age ten. As the capability is quite rare, essentially any child who succeeds will be pressed into training as a shaman, though just as many will fail the apprenticeship as will become practicing mystics, something similar to the situation in the Sanid Empire. In truth, the success rate may well be significantly lower. The generalized role a shaman plays in their society is a highly demanding one, something that the more bounded trades of mystic specialists mitigate against.

It generally takes a minimum of ten years as an apprentice to be acknowledged as a shaman. This process is generally conducted one on one, master to apprentice. Switching masters is not unknown, though it is usually the master who makes that decision. There are also holy sites such as Varu-Tavur where multiple elderly shamans may gather together and collectively teach a larger group of students. Training requires the transmission and assimilation of a vast amount of knowledge purely through oral means, and the memorization capacity of shamans, often supported by specialized memory techniques, is formidable. They must learn natural history, societal rules, legends and tales, and religious ritual. They must also master practical skills. Shamans lead religious services and ceremonies, work as healers, prepare herbal medicines, and serve as key advisors to societal leaders. Their only recompense is that they need not work for their own sustenance. Their peoples support them, absolutely. In times of calamity the shaman will be the absolutely last one to starve, and there are numerous stories of tribes that have perished save for the shaman endlessly offering prayers for the departed. They are also provided protection. Those who carry the three masks of the Divines are sacrosanct individuals, never to be touched and always offered succor. Remarkably, this rule seems to be honored by all peoples in Shdustu, even by wizards, with only Sunfire Cultists rejecting it.

Unlike priests, healers, and sorcerers who are tied to the institutions and temples that support them, shamans are bound instead to communities. This, as I see it, is the most fundamental difference in their practice. One obvious demonstration of this is that while shamans are no more able to produce children than any other person who channels divine essence, they are not forbidden marriage in the manner of mystics in the Sanid Empire and most settled lands. In fact, among the Bahab, Kharal, and Rutar it is quite common for female shamans to marry local leaders, usually as a secondary wife, and for male shamans to marry wealthy widows. Both of these bonds strengthen their authority and provide access to leaders. I found this practice very strange, but most people born in Shdustu accepted it without question.

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The daily activities of the shamans bear the greatest resemblance to those of priests. They lead weekly services, which are often held outdoors with the congregation gathered to stand in triangular formation rather than inside a temple. The shaman will stand in the center wearing the appropriate mask and conducting the acknowledgment ceremony of the endless cycle. These services and the prayers invoked tend to be simplified compared to proper temple services and feature many repeated lines. The most familiar comparison from the Sanid Empire is to the brief service that is often conducted prior to battle. This is clearly a concession both to the needs of the environment, standing outside for long periods is deeply uncomfortable in Shdustu for much of the year, and the limits of memorization. Additional ceremonies intended to accompany births, coming of age, marriage, and deaths are all parts of the shaman’s regular repertoire. Those used in Shdustu are not that dissimilar from those conducted in the Core Provinces, though they feature extensive use of animal motifs and limited language. Beyond their ceremonial duties shamans also provide counseling of the same sort as priests provide, though they use different parables and observations based in the wonders of nature suited to their homelands. Rutar shamans spoke endlessly of the properties of water, while those of the Kharal invoked the wind instead.

Shamans also spend a great deal of time serving as healers. Though their skill is limited by their reduced knowledge of anatomy and bodily processes, they retain the ability to move divine essence through the body in order to alleviate certain injuries at the price of exhaustion. Rather than the treatment of prolonged disease or subtle maladies, shamans focus their efforts on the treatment of acute injuries. Most acquire great skill with common injuries in their communities. Kharal shamans have the greatest practice with arrow wounds and the broken limbs caused by falls from horseback. Bahab shamans have much experience with concussive injuries caused by falling stones and frostbite inflicted upon the digits. Rutar shamans are best at treating at treating the killing cold from a body that falls into freezing water. Mystic healing will be augmented by whatever herb lore and wound treatment skills the shaman knows, which is primarily used for that purpose.

Sorcery and its counterpart wizardry are the least common and least capable of a shaman’s mystic abilities. Often these abilities seem to be used only to impress and mystify rather than any practical purpose. For example, many shamans can gather ambient divine essence and shape it into a brief spark of flame, but flints can do the same, and without draining the user. Still, even small tricks may save lives in desperate moments, and Shdustu is not a land with a shortage of desperation.

Shamans also serve their people as living reservoirs of knowledge, which is essentially the only form of scholarship they possess. This is not to say that tribal peoples lack understanding of the world. I myself observed their ability to swiftly and accurately identify plants and animals, to gauge sign at a glance, and to predict weather from cloud patterns and the behavior of animals, but these are all things learned through the everyday lessons of survival upon the steppe. They can only be experienced, not taught. Such theoretical knowledge as is available to peoples without writing, including that contained in the Enlightened Revelation itself, is kept within the minds of the shamans. This is memorized, contemplated, and passed from one generation to the next, teacher to student. I had little chance to interrogate the understanding possessed by the shamans among the Bahab and Kharal, but Evulun spoke to me at length regarding the impact of seasonal water levels on what type of plants would grow in the marsh and which animals could then live in such confines and also how extreme cold kills fish in ponds when the ice reaches all the way down to the muddy bottom. She was able to diagram these processes in detail and did so using papers and charcoal I provided to her. My copy of these drawings was later lost, but it is my hope that the originals I left in Varu-Tavur were preserved for the benefit of future generations of Rutar.

Knowledge, ceremony, and mystical ability all combine to convey great authority upon the shamans. While the precise extent of this authority varies, from nearly outright rule among the Rutar where the villages' elders are endlessly deferent to shaman suggestions, to a more nebulous advisory position among the Kharal. No khagan will openly defy a shaman, but with dozens under their dominion they can always find at least one maverick willing to support their plans. Their authority is therefore distant and nebulous while remaining formidable. Just as priests are separated from the Sairn people by virtue of dwelling in temples rather than houses, shamans stand apart among their people, often living on their own and bound by the touch of mysticism and their ties to the Divines. The Kharal saying ‘the shaman rides alone even among ten thousand’ characterizes this relationship most elegantly. Respect is universal, but they are usually kept at a distance, even by those they take as spouses. The touch of sorcery and wizardry has much to do with this, for that gulf is one that no level of friendship or love can ever bridge completely. Those whose sight reaches into the realm of the Divines see a different world.