The last Oseye

by ArchAngelic The Reborn

Disclaimer: This story is mine and mine alone, so please do not use any part of it without my specific written consent.

ArchAngelic the Reborn says: I write slash/yaoi/MxM – whatever you want to call it – so if you’re not into that kind of thing DO NOT read this story. Also, I’d love it if you would REVIEW, since I’m addicted to those little emails in my inbox…and last but not least, this is not meant as an attack on Christianity. I believe in Freedom of Religion, so I’m not one to tell anybody what he or she should believe or not. In return, I only ask that you grant me the same honour. And, technically, I’m a Roman Catholic…

I shall be the Oseye. That much is clear, and has been clear, for most of my life. I’m the first Osernach in twenty-five years and the chances of the current Oseye, my teacher, finding another student before she dies are slim, so I shall be the Oseye.

I was barely six when I received the first one. It was in the middle of the night, and I woke up screaming my lungs out. My father was at my side in an instant, hugging me tightly while I slowly calmed down. He then guided me to his own furs and held me tight until I fell asleep again. He was a good man, my father. I wish I had gotten to see him one more time before he died.

But like I said, I was barely six when I received the first one. My very first vision. The first sign of my abilities, and the first proof of the enormous power I had in me. The proof that I was special. Although right then, I didn’t realize how special I really was.

To my father, I already was special, even before that vision. I was his only child, and I was a son. Although my father wasn’t one to look down upon women, he was glad that the line of his fathers would not die with him. And he made me aware of how glad he was every day by showering me with love, which made me feel special.

Although, mind you, I would trade my happiness and all this ‘excess’ love my father showed me in an instant if I could revive my mother. She had died giving birth to me, something that had been predicted to her but which she chose to ignore. Or not ignore maybe…embrace would be a better word.

Yes, she had embraced her death knowing that she would be granting my father his fondest wish: a son. And, as my father stressed to tell me every day, by the time she had been told my birth would mean her demise she already loved me such much that she chose death over harming me in any way. Because to her, I was special.

But in the instant I received that vision, I became more special than ever. Special because I had the Cha, the witch-power, the ability to wield the Craft. Not many people had the Cha. In fact, the people who had the Cha and were alive the moment I received my vision could probably be counted on one hand.

But that wasn’t why it was difficult to convince my father that it really was a vision. Of course, children have nightmares. Nightmares tend to be very realistic. But when I explained to my father what I had seen, when he saw the anguish in my eyes and heard the fear in my voice, he was forced to contemplate something more than a simple nightmare.

But even then, the thought of a vision seemed unlikely. Why? Because the Cha had only presented itself in women thus far and the mere thought that I should have it was too ridiculous to even voice. And my father, though more open-minded than many of our tribe, was not one to challenge the laws of our religion, even in thought.

But in the end, he was forced to acknowledge that something had taken place which uprooted the deepest beliefs of our very religion. For my vision was of the Ondror, a brutal thieving tribe with which my own tribe had been at war with many times, although I did not know it then.

I only saw the cruel men with their jagged swords invade our lands to kill our men, rape our women, take our children as slaves and steal whatever was valuable to them. That was the first thing that had helped convince my father: he knew no stories of war had ever reached my ears, and no six-year-old child can imagine such horrible things on his own.

The other thing was my description of the Ondror with their jagged swords, teeth necklaces and bearskins. The last time something had been heard of the Ondror was twenty years prior, when our last war with them had been won by our warriors. Since then, nothing had been heard of the Ondror and no wars had been fought with other tribes.

So it was that my father finally decided upon consulting Lirnea, the Oseye. The Oseye was an old but powerful woman, one very much knowledgeable in the Craft and her Cha was immense. She was the latest in a long line of Oseye dating back centuries in the past, and she was the one to be consulted in matters such as these.

It was she who proved beyond any doubt that I indeed had been gifted with the Cha, and so it was that my life took a twist none could have foreseen. For immediately the Oseye claimed me as her Osernach, her student, and I was forced to live with her.

The day my father brought me and my things to her house was the last day I saw him. Not long after, the Ondror attacked. But thanks to me, our men were ready. They awaited them at the border, and crushed the attack before it even began. They say it was the knowledge that survival meant he would return to an empty house that tempered my father’s fighting spirit.

So it was that the first thing I did as an Osernach was to bury my father, and for that reason I spent the first year of living with Lirnea hating. Hating Lirnea, for claiming me as her Osernach. Hating my father even, though slightly, for believing a child and consulting the Oseye in the first place. And hating myself, for being special.

But now, it has been ten years since the death of my father and the discovery of my destiny. And if there is one thing that is certain, and has been certain ever since my father died, it’s that I shall be the Oseye. The first male Oseye in a long line of females. Because I’m special.

T.B.C.