Deep Trance

No one had seen, nor heard from Ch’Truta in over twenty-four hours. Inside his tent, there was a meeting happening, even though Ch’Truta was alone. He had been in the deepest trance he had ever experienced.

In the darkness of the swamp, Ch’Truta was alone. He knew being alone in the dark was not the best idea, yet he was drawn in spirit to the place. Something great and dreadful walked in the midst of the fog wafting low above the swamp. It was close, so close chills went up his spine. The spirits of the swamp were there. He witnessed them surrounding him, bowing their heads to that which approached. Then, he saw it. The foot of the one who devours. Great fear came upon Ch’Truta. His belief was that he was finished. He bowed himself prostrate before the god of the swamp. The spirits’ voices eerily whispered, “Rise!” Ch’Truta rose, swamp mud covering him. The spirits pointed skyward. The shaman peered upward. He saw three cast armies surrounding a city by the sea. The one in the middle was chief and was led by Islana, Sister Locust. The army to the left was the Bloodletters, led by Wurm. To the right was led by a woman whom Ch’Truta had yet to meet. She was mysterious, welding power. Her raven black hair was a mane, her raiment bear skin and leather. These surrounded a city by the sea. Why was the sea open. It was an escape route. People choosing not to fight were fleeing. Women and children fleeing. Then Ch’Truta saw the three armies becoming a three-headed dragon, Islana the middle and largest head, Wurm the head on the left, the raven crested mysterious woman the head to the right. The three heads reared back, then thrust forward spewing fire down upon the city. Soon, the entire city was ablaze. Victory was on the horizon.

As the vision ended, Ch’Truta lay silent upon the floor. Unconscious. Paralyzed. Until the effects of the contents of the bowl waned. In the silence, he praised the god of the swamp for being blessed to see what he had destined to happen.

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