The Flying Horse, Sils'chk, the third rotation of Planting Season

When the Pale Horse appeared, all my herd fled but me. I should have flown because just the sight of him frightened me. He was also beautiful. His loveliness is why I stayed because looking at him fulfilled something inside me.

"You are Death," I said as he walked up to me. "Have you come for me? Is my time in this life now over?"

"I have come for you," Death said, "but for a task in this life. You have many years to live, but you will spend them in my service. I have chosen you to become one of the seven revelators of this third age of miracles and interventions."

"Oh," I didn't know what else to say. I thought I was a dead horse, but now the God of Death wanted me to work for him. I didn't understand how this could be.

Death neighed a laugh, "Let me explain what I will expect from you and what you can expect from me. I will place knowledge in your head. That knowledge will be what the Cosm mages call a revelation. You will relate this revelation to the prophet, who will write it down so you can convey it to my High Priestess when you meet her."

"The Cosm are evil and not kind to our people," I protested. "I want nothing to do with them."

"Not all Cosm live on Alkinosuk, my son," said Death, "and not all Cosm are bad people. After I impart my revelation to you, you must leave here and travel to the far west to meet the prophet and my High Priestess. The High Priestess is a Cosm mage who is also generous and kind. You should not fear her, for she will treat you with honor."

"What about this prophet?" I wanted to know. "Is the prophet also a mage?"

"No, son," Death nickered, "the prophet is a Coyn girl named Emily. She has a mate called Tom, who the god Galt has blessed. I would like you to be his mount. He will have few demands for you, so your life will not be one of hardship."

"You want me to be the mount of a lowly insignificant Coyn?" Despite talking to Death himself, I was appalled. "Are Coyn even intelligent? They can't even take care of themselves. They are so worthless that they are banned from living on Alkinosuk by the Cosm who live on the coast."

"You have never even seen a Coyn, my son, nor have you ever talked to one," Death looked at me, and I found I could not look away. "What you have heard is a falsehood. The Coyn are the most intelligent race on the planet, but they are enslaved or oppressed in many places, so their gifts are not obvious to the other races. Only a handful of other people on the planet are as intelligent as Emily. You must heed one other thing: your rider is blessed by Galt. That means Galt expects you to be a good and faithful friend to the Revered Tom. You should never forget that Galt is not just the god of knowledge and justice; he is also the god of wrath. Serve Tom well if you do not wish to anger Galt."

With that, the Pale Horse touched his nose to mine, and I screamed in pain as strange knowledge filled my head. The next thing I remember was waking up with my herd mates surrounding me in concern. They were shocked and bereft when I told them I was leaving Alkinosuk, probably forever. My poor mother wailed and neighed in distress for an entire day, but I could not disobey the commands of the god who chose me to be his revelator.

With the knowledge that Death gave me, I crossed the straits to the mainland. Traveling across the continent to the west coast took me sixteen days. I knew I had to find three ships sailing southeast along the coast toward the land of the Chem. The prophet would be on those ships. All I needed to do was follow them to where the Chem had their temple to Vassu, the water god.

When I landed at Sils'chk, the Chem there told me the ships would arrive carrying the prophet and her mate. I didn't talk with any of the Coyn after the boats docked. There was some confusion about the Revelator of Vassu being dead, despite his looking alive to me.

The Chem shamans took the prophet and the Revered Tom to their village to consult with her, so I lost my opportunity to try to talk with them the day they arrived. I asked the other Chem present, and they told me that the prophet and her mate would be staying in the guest huts while at Sils'chk. I found the clump of huts and grazed there, watching for the two Coyn starting the following day.

After three days, I had yet to see the two Coyn. The ships left, and I feared the prophet went with them. I found some Chem who could talk normal speech and asked why I never saw the prophet at the huts. That's when the village residents told me about the other clump of huts on the far side of the temple that was just for visitors. I flew around the island and found the visitor huts, though the grazing there could have been better.

I spotted the two Coyn the following day as they walked toward the main village supporting the temple. I trotted over to introduce myself to my future. I straddled the path so they couldn't get around me and put my nose down so I could look them in the eye when I spoke. They were small—smaller than even the Chem. I worried they might be too frightened to talk to me.

"Hello," I tried to sound positive though I still doubted how intelligent they were. "You're Emily, and you're Tom, and I'm Spot. Death sent me."

The tiny prophet smiled up at me, "Hello, Spot. Did you get that name because of the white spot on your nose?"

"My mother gave me that name so no one would confuse me with my older brother, who also has a black coat but has a white blaze on his forehead. She named him Splotch."

The little prophet blinked, swallowed, shook her head, and then looked up at me. "You say Death sent you. Do you mean Gertzpul, the God of Death?"

"That's one of his names," I replied. "Among my people, we call him the Pale Horse because he appears to us as a white-winged horse trailing white mist. He causes great fear in anyone who sees him. He came to see me and gave me a revelation, which you will record since I do not know how to make words with human symbols."

"I can certainly do that for you, Great One," she made a human smile at me, which I knew was a gesture conveying pleasure and friendliness. "Was that you who followed us down the coast last rotation?"

"What's a rotation?"

Both of the Coyn gaped at me. Then the little prophet recovered herself, "A rotation is a ten-day period that the Cosm and Coyn use to track the passage of time. There are nine rotations in a season and four seasons in a year, which the Chem call a turn. So, were you the black flying horse who followed our three ships down the coast around ten days ago?"

"That's right. That was me. I was so happy I found you so easily after such a long journey. I didn't even get lost."

"Where did you come from, Spot?" Tom asked me. He had a pleasant voice for a human.

"From the great mother herd of Alkinosuk," I said, proud that I came from the mother herd. I wasn't one of those poor nags bred in captivity by Cosm or living on the meager grazing of the northern steppes."

Both the Coyn gaped at me again. "You flew here from Alkinosuk, on the other side of the world?" The little prophet was gobsmacked.

"How far is that, Em?" Tom asked the prophet.

"From the basic calculations I've made, based on the pendulum project run by the Shrine of Giltak, I think it's around sixteen thousand kilometers from Mattamukmuk to Sussbesschem."

"Give me a unit of measure I can understand, miss egghead," Tom gave the prophet a funny look.

"About ten thousand miles," she replied, "give or take a few, or about 800 wagon-days, assuming a conversion of twelve miles to one wagon-day. I'm still struggling to establish standards of weights and measures with the shrines, so everything as far as distance is concerned is an approximation."

"All I know is that it took me sixteen days to reach the west coast from Alkinosuk," I said.

"Gertzpul has made you one of the seven revelators foretold in the Prophesy of the Great Breaking, Spot," the little prophet looked at me with what I believed was a serious expression. "The sentient races will give you the honorific of Great One and the title and style of the Blessed Spot, Revelator of Gertzpul. Once your revelation is recorded, the Shrine of Gertzpul in Fosk will provide for you for the rest of your days if you desire. What do you want to do after I write your revelation down?"

"Death told me to be Tom's mount," I responded.

"He what?!?" Tom said. "

"Oh my," the tiny prophet frowned, "I've never drawn up a contract with a flying mount before."

"Contract?" I wasn't sure what she was talking about. "What's a contract?"

"What?" She made a face at me that I couldn't interpret. "You aren't familiar with contracts?"

"Isn't a contract what you do to catch a disease?" To contract an illness was the only use of that word that I knew.

The prophet looked at the Revered Tom, "And here I was worried I might get bored while in Sussbesschem. I wish Kamagishi or Aylem were here to help draft a fair and legal contract between you and Spot."

"Em, I can't enter into a contract with Spot," Tom looked panicked. "I don't have anything to pay him with."

"Tom, dearest," the prophet smiled, "you never need to worry about money. My income from paper alone would buy a holding or two."

"But, but, but," Tom retreated backward.

"I really hope you're not going all twentieth-century manly man on me," she grinned at him. "I can bring home my own bacon if I need to."

"I can't sponge off you," Tom sounded panicked. "It's not right. I'm supposed to be taking care of you. Isn't that why Galt did the blessing thing?"

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear," the little prophet shook her head. She turned to face him and hugged him around the chest, which was as high as she could reach, poor thing. I couldn't imagine how someone so small and weak could survive on her own. Of course, she had to have someone looking after her.

"Tom dearest," she had her eyes closed, and she was smiling, "you do take care of me, but that doesn't mean you need to go out and make your own money to support me. What a silly thing to do. Even if I didn't have my own funds, the shrines in Fosk will take care of us if we want. Personally, I just want a cabin in the mountains on the north side of the Great Cracks, or maybe the beach house that Ud built on the coast of the Fenlands."

Tom made a human frown, "I know we don't lack assets, but it just doesn't sit right with me somehow."

"Of course, it doesn't, numbskull," Emily looked up at him with what I thought was a sad face. "We both come from that mid-twentieth century big-Catholic-family culture. We both thought I'd stay home for a few years and raise the kids once you got your artwork into enough galleries to support us. You had such a good start with the galleries in Santa Cruz and San Jose. Your mum was going to move up to the Bay Area to help us. We were on track for a traditional middle-class family on the model of 'Father knows best,' but Fosk and all the other counties on Erdos are different from that. Men don't usually become the heads of families here because women mages dominate civic power. Between being a powerless Coyn and a guy who has lost all his cultural advantages as a paterfamilias, it can't be easy for you, despite your three decades already lived on Erdos."

"You think?" Tom sounded uncertain. "I just don't know what to think anymore. One rotation, I'm just the Villa's barn manager, and the next rotation, I'm a semi-saint with a free ride from the shrines and Cosm introducing themselves because they say they want to be my friend. And now, a giant flying horse says the God of Wrath sent him to be my chauffeur. It's almost too much happening too fast."

"It's okay, Tom," I tried to reassure the little man. "I understand that this is all new to you. You don't need to worry since I'm here to help. I'll take good care of you and your filly. We can worry about your contract thing later."

The two Coyn, still hugging each other, looked up at me with speculation.

"We need to get Spot included in our discussions with Twee and the other shamans," Emily stated with a crease between her brows. "He is the revelator of Gertzpul. He needs to know what we're doing and what we're planning for this summer."

"Your will, Great One," Tom said.

Emily punched his breath basket, "Stop it, Tom Martinez. It's bad enough I can't prevent my friends from using all that Foskan hierarchy nonsense, but don't you start."

After Tom regained his breath, he lifted Emily by the armpits and held her up so she was at eye level with him. He grinned and lisped in a funny voice, "Yeth, dear. Whatever you say, dear."

The two Coyn didn't talk like they were dimwitted, which I found reassuring. They reminded me of how my mother and father traded barbs over sweetgrass. They invited me to speak with the Chem shamans, which was where they were heading when I stopped them on the path. My worst fears over their intelligence evaporated, but I was still worried about Tom's and Emily's lack of size and strength. I became even more concerned when I learned they were preparing to make war in Mattamesscontess. The peaceful Chem were going to war with the help of two Coyn weaklings? Just what were the gods thinking?