Night had long since fallen by the time Makatai left the Nine Cranes and started the walk back to Rising Bear. It was drawing late into the year, and that alongside the preparations for Otherworld’s Harvest meant that he didn’t leave until darkness had covered the land. As an apprentice shaman he wasn’t directly involved, he just had to oversee the proceedings, ensure that there were sufficient offerings to appease spirits, and measure out the Soulsbane into a quantity where you would be able to see the deceased a little better, rather than join them. He felt a little bad for the children, who weren’t yet old enough to be allowed enough soulsbane to last them the entire evening, but they should have been asleep long before the festivities were done so he supposed it didn’t matter too much (although he had always eaten a little more than he should have as he loved to stay up and talked to his grandfather during the harvest).
He hoped Ahanu would be alright. The wounds he had sustained were nothing major, and with proper care from a delicate shaman they would be healed in no time. He was more worried, however, about the fact that Ahanu’s beloved, Aitya, was furious at the both of them and had barely started to calm down before he left the Nine Cranes. Ahanu sure knew how to pick them, he thought to himself. But he knew that no girl made him happier. When they were children he would mention her all the time, and besides Makatai knew that a girl any softer than Aitya would be no match for Ahanu’s carefree attitude. But even despite all her complaints he saw her gaze soften anytime they spoke, and whenever Ahanu turned away from her Makatai had often caught her blushing. In this instance however this usual pattern was replaced by a sympathetic and caring gaze, and Makatai knew he’d be fine.
Wandering home and tired from the day he came across a river he had previously seen before on his travels, which came as some surprise as he knew the lay of the land like it was all a part of his own village. The moon had since risen and a pale grey light pierced the clouds, illuminating an ancient-looking bridge far downstream. He approached tentatively, curiosity outweighing caution by a greater margin with every step he took. The darkness around him seemed to grow thicker and more tangible the closer he got, almost as though he could reach out and touch it.
Arriving at the foot of the bridge after what felt like an eternity, Makatai peered through the murky black to the other side. Across the river, at the other side of the bridge, stood a tall, well-built man who looked to be of about 50 years of age. Painted markings on his face highlighted his gaunt cheekbones and stern brow, while the long grass on the other side, animated by the cool night breeze, came up to his knees despite his height and slowly tugged at and played with his long black hair held in two braids. A plumed headdress adorned his head, bearing the feathers of a bird Makatai had never seen before. But above all Makatai felt the stranger’s gaze boring into the back of his skull. Those tired but proud eyes took Makatai in like a hunting owl debating whether to let the terrified mouse go, or whether to feast upon it and spare it from future suffering.
Makatai was, for the first time in a long time, truly caught by fear. He had been afraid in the moment earlier as he dealt with the bear alongside Ahanu, although he never doubted their ability. He had dealt with similar situations prior (although not quite on that scale) but this felt very different, very wrong. A feeling deep in his stomach told him he should run to this man, greet him like a long lost relative, embrace him like a father. But a deeper feeling, one far more primal and raw, travelled from the base of his spine to the back of his neck. This feeling told him to run, to flee as fast as his lungs and his legs would allow, to not pause for breath as he escaped from this place and from the gaze of this individual, who he knew wasn’t supposed to be there.
This man felt so similar to a spirit, yet also characteristically different. Makatai had communicated with spirits before, helped them pass over to the other side if they had lost their way to the Otherworld. Even the one he and Ahanu had encountered, although much more lively than most others he had dealt with prior, gave off the same feeling of purposelessness. They had all seemed confused and slightly afraid, but Makatai had grown adept at easing their worries and aiding them across. This man, however, did not behave like that at all. He behaved like no spirit Makatai had met before, and all the while they both stood there, unmoving, simply holding each other’s gaze.
Just as he decided to listen to his fear and turn toward home, the man spoke out to him, causing him to freeze on the spot. “Makatai Plainstrider". He called, his deep voice easily reaching Makatai from the other side of the bridge and echoing slightly through the blackness. Likely sensing Makatai’s fear, he called out again “You know me, Makatai. You have known me all your life. Step towards me, young shaman. Cross this bridge so we may talk. There are things you must know, Plainstrider. Things that time and your father have hidden from you".
At the mention of his father, Makatai turned, fear quickly replaced by a feeling verging on anger. “How do you know my father?” Shouting, he started across the bridge towards the stranger, who still stood unmoving on the other side. “Tell me! How do you know Shaman Inadu?” “Inadu was a good friend of mine. I knew him as a boy. He grew up in my clan. One of the best shamans I ever taught". “And who are you to be speaking of my father so freely?” Rage still edged Makatai’s voice, threatening to build if the foreign individual did not explain himself. He had now arrived at the far side of the bridge, and the freezing grass felt as though it clung to his boots and stuck around his legs as he moved through it. “Forgive me. I have not quite had the chance to introduce myself. But we must hurry, you haven’t much time here. My name is Chief Noaidi, and long ago was the chief of the Black Eagle clan, to which your father belonged".
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Makatai was confused. He knew most all other local clans, at least those who frequented the plains within perhaps 50 miles from his village, yet had never heard that name before in his life. “The Black Eagle? How come I had never heard of this clan before?” “We kept to ourselves, never announcing our presence as we roamed. No banners marked our tents, no tattoos on our bodies. We hunted by dark and had our own shamans, own customs, own rituals". “You said you were the Chief. I was correct in my assumption then? You really are a spirit?” The look in Noaidi’s eye turned dark, no reflection visible therein. Or maybe they themselves were reflecting the total blackness of the pair’s surroundings, in some impossible way. The only light now came from the faint blue shimmering of the water that ran below the bridge Makatai had crossed. But even then, through the veil of shadows and far behind the figure to whom he spoke, he could see flickers of deep purple, violent red, and pale white occasionally dancing far in the distance, and as the silent minutes drew past they crept ever closer. Noaidi spoke again, startling Makatai, who had turned his attention to these unknown entities. “You are correct Makatai. I am indeed a spirit. I died 20 years ago, not overly long before your birth". “Then what do I feel from you? I have met spirits prior and none have felt so alien, yet so familiar, as you do". Makatai stood straight, Intensity burning in his eyes as his stare lept to match Chief Noaidi’s icy visage.
“You know of the phenomenon of the Ghostshift? Of course you should, every last person from Hikarikage to Avalon does". “Of course I know, what shaman wouldn’t?” “Explain then. So I can know your understanding". Makatai had heard what he was about to repeat a hundred times over. It was a definition glued to the inside of his skull thanks to his mother’s diligent teachings. “The Ghostshift is where a spirit, determined enough to persist after death, binds with a still living soul and lends them their power. This combination of life and death, through means still unknown, will most often grant indefinite powers relevant to the lives of both the host and the spirit. Each Ghostshift results in a different set of powers". Noaidi flashed a brief smile, which vanished almost immediately. “Good. Whoever taught you that must be an excellent shaman. However, one part of this explanation is known to be false. Ghostshifts, as you know, are a rarity in this world. However, there are plenty of people who die with wishes still unfulfilled, in unfortunate circumstances and with regrets or a wish to remain. So should there not be more Ghostshifts?” Makatai considered it for a second or two. “I suppose so” He replied. Sensing the Chief had more to say, he motioned for him to continue. “A ghostshift only occurs when a large number of individuals die at once, within a short space of time. The strongest spirit present will inherit the spiritual strength of all the other souls who die at that time. The strength of one individual alone is nowhere near strong enough to persist after death in any meaningful way, no matter their determination".
An image was slowly starting to form in Makatai’s head, an image he truly wished he could be rid of. “You said your clan had customs? Their own shamans? What… What happened to them?” In the back of his mind, Makatai already knew what Noaidi was going to say, and almost didn’t want to hear it, but it was too late. “We all died. Every last one of us, bar your father, were tricked. Slain by a monster. Your father was spared as he was not present at the time. The slaughter was on the night of Otherworld’s Harvest and Inadu was deep in a forest nearby, gathering more Soulsbane. But my spirit clung to this world, and I remained, my duty to my people far from fulfilled. My spirit was the one to bind the souls of my people together, and trap them in this form".
Makatai needed to leave. Those lights had drawn closer, and he hadn’t noticed before but he could hear his pulse growing slightly louder by the second. He had realised somewhere along the line that he was no longer in the world of the living, perhaps the second he set foot on that bridge. How long since, he had no idea. But the spirit before him still left questions unanswered. Even as he thought this, he felt his body being pulled back to the bridge, the Otherworld rejecting his still living flesh.
“Noaidi!” He screamed, as the bridge tugged at him, wishing to expel this alien presence that defied nature. “You never told me what manner of spirit you were! Answer me! What are you?” Even before he had started forming the words Makatai knew the answer, and the prospect sent shivers down his spine. “You are already aware, Makatai. I know that you are. I know everything you do. I am your Ghostshift, Makatai. Bound to your soul by your fathers request. His last words to me were that you should know the truth, once I found you to be of strength enough to handle it. We will speak again soon. Very soon". As his words drew to a close his form grew more and more transparent, a mist rising from the ground and seeming to eat away at him. True enough it rolled over him and blew on, and Chief Noaidi was gone. Makatai, meanwhile, stopped resisting and allowed the force to pull him back over the bridge. As soon as he was over he felt dry grass beneath his feet and saw the moon far above in the night sky, and knew he was back on living ground. He had never felt so relieved, yet so afraid of the truths that the cold dark sky held, in all his life.