Cold grew in the pit of Osha’s stomach, though he was lost as to what was happening. Moments slipped by ... until a heavy footfall made his gaze shift instantly.
Out among the trees beyond the clearing’s far side, two branches among a cluster of cedars moved. Then the limbs separated from the others and drifted out around the tree into view. Below them came a long equine head with two crystalline blue eyes larger than those of a majay-hì.
Any deer would be small next to this great sacred being, as large as an elk or any human’s horse. Its long silver-gray coat ran shaggily over its shoulders and across its wide chest. What had at first appeared to be branches were the horns rising high over its head in two smooth curves without tines.
Osha’s voice choked in his throat until he whispered one word. “Clhuassas!”
The “listeners” were among the oldest sacred beings, like the majay-hì, who guarded the an’Cróan lands from all interlopers. He had seen one of them only three times in his life, and always from afar. That it stood so close to the greimasg’äh was somehow disturbing.
“My thanks,” Brot’ân’duivé whispered.
Osha realized what the greimasg’äh had done. Brot’ân’duivé had somehow called a clhuassas, but how ... and why?
The sacred one stalked slowly into the clearing, and sunlight made its coat shimmer like threads made from the metal of Anmaglâhk blades. Its eyes appeared almost too bright to look upon, and Osha shied away from doing so. More shocking was when it stepped up to the aging greimasg’äh and lowered its great head.
Brot’ân’duivé put his forehead against the bridge of the sacred one’s nose.
It snorted and then stamped a forehoof once that made the ground shudder under Osha’s feet. But the sacred one did no more than that and became still.
“Osha,” the greimasg’äh said. “Come ... now.”
Hesitantly, Osha inched into the clearing. “What are you doing?”
“Climb onto its back,” Brot’ân’duivé ordered.
Osha froze as the cold in his belly raced through his bones. “No! I will not ride one of our sacred creatures like some beast of burden!”
“It has already been too long since I received the stone!” Brot’ân’duivé answered angrily. “And this one will carry you far more swiftly than you can run. It has agreed to do this.... Now mount.”
And then Brot’ân’duivé took out the smooth message stone and thrust it out.
Osha stared in horror between the stone and the listener. Worse, the sacred one swung its head toward him. It watched him as if those large unblinking eyes could see every flaw or failing within him. It took a step.
“This is its choice,” Brot’ân’duivé said. “Climb on.”
Still caught in disbelief at what was being asked of him, Osha fixated on the words its choice. Swallowing hard, he took the stone. Averting his eyes, he stepped in carefully at the sacred one’s side and reached up.
When his fingers closed on the mane down the back of the listener’s broad neck, he grew sick inside and faltered.
This was sacrilege.
Somehow Osha pulled himself up and swung his leg over; he snatched his hands away from touching the clhuassas.
Brot’ân’duivé stepped closer. “In silence and in shadow.”
Osha would neither look at the greimasg’äh nor repeat the oath of his caste. The clhuassas lunged without warning, and Osha was forced to grab its neck. It raced off through the trees too quickly, and Brot’ân’duivé was gone from his sight.
The few days and nights that followed became a blur.
By what Osha could estimate, from where he left the greimasg’äh, the listener had to carry him roughly seventy-five or eighty leagues. He did not know how far it could travel in one day or night, especially in the densest parts of the forest. His mind and heart were both so shaken and sickened on the first day that he did not even pay attention to the distance covered. He barely noticed tree branches rushing past his head as he held on and allowed himself to be carried eastward.
By evening, hunger and thirst and exhaustion began to take their toll, and those awakened the part of him that had curled up inside. He did not know how he could—should—properly address the one who carried him.
Finally desperation drove him to whisper, “Stop ... please.”
The sacred one slowed to a halt and remained motionless.
Osha slid to the ground, and his legs gave way beneath him. He had never ridden any animal, let alone another true being. As he crumpled on the ground, the silver-gray clhuassas stepped farther into the brush and swung its head from one side to the other ... until its great head came fully around, and those huge crystal-blue eyes pierced him.
The sacred one exhaled slowly, snorted at him, and stomped one hoof.
Osha struggled to his feet, but his legs still shook as he stumbled closer.
There beyond the clhuassas was a vine low to the ground and filled with ripe bisselberries, purple and plump. He dropped to his knees and began to eat, taking advantage of both the food and its moisture. He ate them, bitter skins and all, but, halfway through gorging himself, he froze and stared at the berries in his stained hands.
Osha heard the clhuassas breathing behind him. When he slowly looked up, he then shriveled inside under the sacred one’s gaze. It had carried him—him, not even a full anmaglâhk now that he had lost his teacher, his jeóin. And here he was stuffing himself in front of it.
How shameful!
Osha averted his gaze as he slowly raised his cupped hands. When he felt its muzzle, as large as either of his hands, touch his fingertips, he shuddered. And then he felt its tongue drag over his hands and the berries. When he dared to look up, all he could do was stare.
It would be one moment he could never forget, for when the clhuassas halted and lifted its head to look at him, he lowered his hands to find he still held three bisselberries. And the listener snorted at him again.
How long had it taken him to understand?
Even when he ate those berries, somewhat slick with saliva, he was still uncertain. Each time he gathered more and offered them up, the sacred one left three behind for him. Finally it turned away and stood silent for a moment, and when it looked his way, it closed its eyes and hung its head in stillness.
Osha did not know what to do at first. He merely settled where he was. Later, not realizing he had fallen asleep, he woke with a start at hearing—feeling—thunder in the ground beneath him.
The sacred one stood waiting.
This was how the following days and nights passed, with Osha clinging to the back of the clhuassas, their journey broken only by intermittent stops for rest in which the sacred one found them food or a stream from which to drink. At some time over one following night, when dawn came, Osha could feel that his guardian was growing weary.
Nothing he did or said convinced it to slow or halt for longer rests. Even when he grew bold enough to plead and beg, it pressed onward. As they drew nearer to the coast, and the trees and brush grew sparser, water became more difficult to find.
One morning, after sleeping only part of a night, Osha woke up so thirsty that his mouth was too dry to speak. The clhuassas stood waiting and watching him. When he climbed onto its back, to his surprise, it turned north and bolted. Osha knew they needed to be heading southeast.
“Stop!” he tried to say through cracked lips, but it did not listen.
Not longer after, it halted. When Osha looked down, his gaze met the sight of a trickling creek. In relief he dropped to the ground and drank his fill. This time he did not flinch at thunder in the ground when the clhuassas stepped in beside him to do the same.
No water had ever tasted so good, and no moment of his life had ever been so serene. Though it did not relieve his grief in losing his teacher, his shame for abandoning Leanâlhâm and Gleannéohkân’thva, or his suspicions concerning the greimasg’äh ...