On the Death of Shamans

I see the end, our missions done. A few thousand years is all that it took to end the shaman's threat. First, we made the written word the key to all we seek. The magic oaks were cut, the chants were stopped, and wise men and women were driven from the land. The word was made flesh and sailed the seas and the "Requimiento" crushed brujos, curing wives and ancient story tellers by the fire. And the word was made endless sound in everyone's head. Somewhere, the last curandero walks alone in a small and dusty town, and somewhere in the world the last dream teller sits on a rock with no children at her feet and in a neon city a Mistress of Spice gives up her powers. Soon the silence that breeds magic will be lost in a white noise world.