Shedun Wine

The Legend of SheduN

In the ancient days, when the Armenian Highlands still breathed dragon-fire and the whispers of forgotten gods, a colossal winged bull cast its shadow over the Ararat Valley. The people called him SheduN, the Guardian of the Heavenly Gates. He was woven from sunlight and the volcanic blood of the earth: the body of a lion, the wings of an eagle, and the head of a man crowned with the horns of a bull. SheduN protected the sacred vineyards planted by the gods themselves long before the Flood, so that after the end of the world, humanity might once again taste paradise.

In the year 3014 BCE (according to the secret chronology kept by the winemakers of Gokhtan), disaster struck. A dark spirit of envy, born in the heart of a jealous king from neighboring lands, poisoned the sky above Ararat. The sun dimmed, the vines began to wither, and people forgot how to laugh.

Then SheduN descended from the peak of Mount Masis.

He walked barefoot through the vineyards, leaving blood-red footprints behind, for he trod upon the grapes with a heart full of sorrow. Wherever a drop of SheduN’s blood fell, the darkest, richest grapes were born, infused with his immortal strength. For three days and three nights he wept, and his tears fell into the vats where the villagers crushed the fruit. On the fourth day, he spread his mighty wings, scattered the darkness, and rose back into the heavens.

But he left humanity a gift: a wine in which his sacrifice and his triumph are forever sealed.

Ever since, in the small village of Gokhtan nestled at the foot of Ararat, once in a generation a harvest appears that carries the reflection of SheduN’s wings. It is picked only on the night when the constellation of the Bull burns brightest in the sky. The grapes are crushed by foot, just as SheduN once crushed them. The wine is aged in karases buried deep in the very cliff where, they say, the imprint of his paw can still be seen.

When you open a bottle of SheduN Réserve 2014, first you hear a distant, low rumble of thunder; that is SheduN sighing from the depths. Then comes the taste: black cherry and pomegranate rind at first, followed by the smoke of ancient fires and bitter dark chocolate. And at the very end, barely perceptible, the faint sweetness of the blood of an immortal creature who once saved the world at the cost of his own shadow.

They say that if you drink a glass to the last drop, alone, under the open sky of Ararat, for a single moment you will see him: immense, sorrowful, with eyes the exact color of this wine. He will look at you and nod, as if asking:
“Do you remember?”

And you will nod back.

Because now a part of SheduN flows in your veins.  
Forever.