The Mark of Cain

Village of Duyuh

In the hill village of Duyoh lived a Tukang Manag, known to her people as Dayung Borih.  A strong Shaman, she could contact the spirit world, often communicating with good and bad spirits.  She was also the Priestess of her village, and everyone depended on her skills to bless the harvest each year, or surely the village would have perished, being on hilly rocky ground without any topsoil for planting.  Also, with her blessings, the villagers were able to constantly hunt the wildlife or fish the fast running river for food.  She was also the healer of many ailments that would befall the villagers, especially those who went into the jungle to hunt.  For the jungle was the place that was inhabited by all sorts of spirits, and one never knew if an action or word could offend them, in return causing a sickness that only a shaman could cure. Of course the older generations knew the law of the jungle, and would often share stories or songs, with the younger people to teach them this wisdom that would ensure that they did not offend the malignant spirits living in the jungles.

“Never comment on it if you ever smell something sweet while walking in the jungle,” was one such law that the elders said, over and over again.  “When bad spirits go past you, they leave a fragrance that would entice anyone to follow them, to their death.  Sometimes, they appear as balls of light, the red ones are good spirits while the green ones you should avoid at all cost.”

The Dayung Borih was very old but nobody knew her actual age.  Ever since she was called by the spirits to become a Priestess eons ago, she had lived a life of strict abstinence, from certain foods, activities and s****l pleasures.  However, the one thing that she must never eat, or lose her powers, was the meat of deer from the jungles.

The surrounding mountains were jagged limestone, and over thousands of years the rain water had carved out huge cave chambers.  The scenery was as beautiful as it was deadly here.  Very few large animals could survive in the areas near the village, and most often the hunters had to walk for miles through the jungle to the low lands where jungle fruit were in abundance to support wildlife.

She picked up an ancient sword and pulled the sharp blade out of its sheath of Minyenkad Wood.  The spirit had informed her that a visitor would come soon, seeking her service.  Yes, she ought to get ready for this important visitor, for he was the chosen one, who will eventually decide their fate. First she must get hold of the beautiful cockerel that she had been saving for this occasion, sadly cut its head off in one swift blow, and make a blood offering to the gods.  Next she went out into her small garden and picked the flowers from seven different bushes.  They were of all colours and nectar, meant for her cleansing bath to purify her soul for the important ritual to come. She must once again, enter into the spiritual realm to seek the help of the most powerful spirits, risking her own life if she did not take care to follow the steps laid down by her ancestors hundreds of years ago.  When the visitor arrived, she would have to impress him, with her trance and dance, her chanting and show of magic.

The village of Duyoh stood on a hill with giant boulders and the terrain looked impossible for humans to build on or inhabit, yet there it was, consisting of a communal longhouse, a ritual head house and of course the temple of Panca Dayukng of which she was the Priestess.

About seventy families lived in the longhouse, its sturdy tall poles made of hard wood, while its walls and floors were mostly of bamboo.  Each of the family had their own room, in the long row of seventy rooms, with the middle one being the largest in size.  This was the home of the village head man.  The head house was rounded in shape, not unlike the round table of the famous knights of King Arthur. It was used for certain ceremony, important meetings and as its name suggested, human heads from past head hunting expeditions, hung from the roof over a smoking fire.

Maybe the most important building was the Temple of Panca Dayukng.  It was so mysterious that nobody had seen the inside, apart from the Priestess of course.  Here she would dress up in her most terrifying costumes, chant prayers, and her young male assistants would beat drums of skin from animals. 

Tima the tea lady in his office had been most helpful.  She asked about his health, brought him hot brew of teas and plates of cream-centred biscuits. His favourite kinds were from Marks and Spencer’s, delicious English biscuits. Cain was beginning to feel better whenever he saw her, but deep inside he knew his journey had not yet started.  His dreams were still dark, a sense of impending doom, and his intuition told him that the curse was still very much upon him.

“Feeling better, dear?” Tima asked as she placed yet another hot brew on his desk.  Cain smiled gratefully at her and said that he was not feeling any better.  In fact, his dream last night was so vivid, like it was sending him a message, but when he woke up he couldn’t for the life of him, remember what that message was. She was most kind, telling him not to worry and that he must be strong.  Then on second thought she asked, “Have you ever considered trying a more traditional way?”

“You mean like a shaman?” replied Cain. “Yes, I have, if only I knew where to find one.”

Tima started to clear the cups and put them on a tray. 

“Let me wash these things up, then I will tell you.”

She went into the pantry and quickly put all the cups into the sink.  As she turned the water tap on, she cast a quick look behind her shoulder to make sure nobody was watching her.  Then with a smile on her face, she washed away all the traces of evidence from the cups.