Four Minutes

Four…
 
The world was nothing more than a haze in the distance, ephemeral half-remembered places from Het’heru’s many travels, some only bits and pieces of drawings from books, and yet others blurred imaginings from descriptions she’d read. At the center of this myriad palette of colors and scenery was an old water well. The tattered sails flip-flapped in an unfelt breeze as the wooden rotors spun round and round, drawing water up into the stone reservoir from the deep bowels of the earth. Smells of fresh-turned earth warred with the heady scent of the springtime grasslands, dapples of wildflowers strewn through endless expanses of green. Distant rumbles of dozens of kodo feet lingered in the air, punctuated by the sounds of the water well at work, wood and stone grinding as the mill circled endlessly.
 
A shu’halo woman stood along the cistern, an earthenware jug held in her hands. She dipped it carefully to allow the water to flow into it steadily. Her ears lofted and she looked over her shoulder; pale blue eyes seemed to focus on something in the distance, then they focused on me.
 
“You should not be here,” the shu’halo woman said. “It is not your time.”
 
I feel as if I open my mouth to make a reply, but no sound issues forth. I feel helpless. I look at her in entreaty.
 
“I told you that he would lead to your death. Oh, my little light, why did you not get away when you could?” The shu’halo woman set the jug down on the edge of the reservoir, leaving it behind as she approached me. She took my face in both hands. I felt as if I might weep. “There is so much darkness in you, so much pain, but always have I taught you to survive, cikala wi. When a huntress is lost, what must she do?”
 
Find the path. I knew the answer, but my voice would not speak it. Still, the shu’halo woman nodded as if I had.
 
Three…
 
A wind blows and the scene dances away upon it like so much desert sand, vanished, erased, until there is nothing left. Only darkness.
 
Brilliant in hues of vermillion, topaz, and hesperidian flared to life in a plume of flame that jettisoned from the heart of a shu’halo totem. The carvings upon it spoke of the storied life of a shaman and spirit-caller, the painted plumes and markings denoting it to be of the Silvermane Tribe. Within the amber light cast by the flames a shadow moved; large, powerful, filled with presence. Hoofsteps, thunderous and steady, tamped upon the ground with purpose and strength. The earth cracks and trembles.
 
The shaman stops. Eyes the color of the sea at night settle upon me. A mane the color of silver stars limned through with steely gray frames a strong, serene face.
 
“What darkness is this that clings to you, cikala wi? You are not a creature made for darkness. It is why you are named Het’heru – House of Light – for you are the Light of our life, your mother and I, and a Light within our tribe. You house all our hopes for our future.” The shaman intoned. “There is no room in you for darkness.”
 
The shaman reached out to place a hand upon my shoulder. “What do we say when we feel we have taken on too much?”
 
A burden shared is a burden halved… I knew the answer, but my voice would not speak it. The shaman nodded as if I had.
 
Two…
 
Pristine was the river that snaked through the shaded glen dappled rapids glinting and gleaming with a life all its own. Beneath the canopy of the trees it was viridian twilight, shadows crept and danced, chittering with the voices of squirrel, bird, and hare. It was scented with hints of pine and hickory, as beneath my hooves leaves and pine needles crumbled and broke to release more of that heady bouquet. I could practically taste the water on the air, clean and crisp with a faint tinge of metal, sharp and mildly bitter upon the tongue.
 
In the center of the glade there was a single shaft of moonlight and within it stood a shu’halo maiden. She was beautiful, her face still slightly rounded with youth. Her hair was the gold of fresh-shorn wheat, her eyes the color of new leaves in spring. Her tender ears lofted at the birdsong on the air, her soprano voice joining them as she sang to them a song of her people. A song of dreams, a song of hopes, a song of a life full of promise.
 
Her eyes turn to me, her voice falling to the barest sigh. “Heru…” She said with deepest fondness, running to me with open arms. She threw them around me, but I could not feel them. “You should not be here. You have far too many who still need you. There is an endless night upon the horizon and only your Light can guide them through it.”
 
I tried to embrace her, but I could not feel my arms. I could not feel my body. What was happening.
 
“Heru… Remember what I told you so many times on Hunter’s Rise?”
 
Do not follow the fears of your mind; be led by the love in your heart. I knew the answer, but my voice would not speak it. The maiden nodded as if I had.
 
One…
 
“Greetings, aspirant! It is my pleasure to welcome you to Bas–”
 
Time’s up.