White Horse Talisman (10 page)

“Are you okay, Adam?” called Holly.

Adam barely heard her. Magic filled the air. The rock slabs around him pulsed and throbbed with life. He reached out and touched the rock opposite.

It moved. The beam of light from the broken talisman lit the opening of a new passage.

Adam looked down the dark passage with horror. Dull red flames glimmered in the distance. Fear washed over him, fear of things lurking in small dark places. He turned towards the entrance to ask Owen and Holly for help but was stopped. Frantically he pushed with his hands and his shoulder. An invisible barrier blocked him from the entrance. He was trapped.

“THE BLOWER OF STONE MUST ENTER ALONE!” boomed a voice.

Adam shrank back.

“THE BLOWER OF STONE MUST ENTER ALONE!” boomed the voice again.

Adam took a deep breath. “I am alone,” he said. His voice shook. “I'm Adam. I blew into the stone. Wh … who are you?”

“I MAKE IRON BEND AND WATER FLY.”

“You do?” said Adam, baffled.

“PROCLAIM MY NAME,” continued the voice.

Adam groaned “Oh no, not a riddle. I'm no good at rid–dles. I need Holly and Owen.” Once more he turned back, but the invisible wall held. He sank back, cracking his head on a rock. “Ouch!” he cried, rubbing the spot. “Okay, okay … I'll try on my own.” He pondered the riddle. Come on brain, think. Lots of people bend iron. But flying water? “Do you mean water going over a waterfall, or pouring water?” he called.

No answer.

Adam concentrated.

Who makes iron bend? he mused. People in factories, bridge builders, welders, blacksmiths, ironworkers … yes, that was it! Blacksmiths, of course. The blacksmith makes iron bend when he's making horseshoes. And red-hot horseshoes are dunked into cold water … which evaporates into steam … so … flying water! “Are you the blacksmith?” he called.

Still no reply.

But that had to be it. Adam thumped the rock in frustra–tion. It was the only thing that made sense. He muttered the words to himself. “‘I make iron bend, and water fly. Proclaim my name.' Oh … I've got to name you … and … and … this is Wayland's Smithy.” Adam raised his voice. “Are you called Wayland?”

“ENTER, BLOWER OF STONE.”

Adam moved forward. Nothing stopped him. “Let's get this over with,” he muttered, and screwed up his courage. Holding the half-talisman up to light his way, he bent double and edged into the low entrance. With each step the red light grew stronger and the passage grew warmer. Soon he was dripping sweat. His heart beat so loudly, it was almost deafening. But was it his heart? Adam paused to listen. The tunnel glowed and pulsed with fiery red light. The noise was not his heartbeat; it was the rhythmic blowing of a gigantic bellows in a blacksmith's forge. The sound overwhelmed him. He could go no farther.

“WHO SENT YOU?” boomed the voice.

Adam thought for a moment. He mustn't mention the dragon. “Er … The White Horse. We … we … were told to … br … bring the broken talisman here,” Adam shouted.

“WHAT DO YOU SEEK?”

Adam shrugged. “The red mare, I guess. To find her for the White Horse and …”

“AND?”

“Can you fix the talisman?” finished Adam, his voice shaking with effort and fear.

An image appeared on the fiery walls. Two halves of the talisman moved towards each other. They butted together.

FLASH! A light like a million fires blazed. CLANG! A giant hammer struck an anvil. The talisman on the wall shone whole. The design was clear, not one horse, but two galloping horses.

Adam stared.

Wayland spoke again:

“THOSE YOU SEEK ARE RUNNING STILL,
THOUGH HIDDEN NOW, BENEATH THE HILL.
WHAT LIES BELOW IS SEEN ON HIGH.
SEEK THEM WHERE THE MAGPIES FLY.

SEEK THEM AS SMALL SHADOWS, CAST
BY THE SUN WHEN NOON HATH PASSED.
RED LIKE WHITE IN SLUMBER LIE,
THE TALISMAN WITHIN THE EYE.”

Adam struggled to take it all in.

The voice continued: “TAKE HEED YOU FIND NOT THAT YOU MUST NOT SEEK! SEEK INSTEAD HE WHO BEARS MY NAME.”

Gradually the fiery glow on the walls, the talisman image, and the echo from the forge faded. The feeling of magic drifted away.

Adam found himself sitting in the rock alcove, clutching the half-talisman. Holly and Owen peered in at him from beyond the lintel.

“So?” said Owen.

“So what?” said Adam.

“So, did you hold the talisman up?”

Adam gazed back at them. “Didn't you hear anything?” he asked.

“No,” they chorused.

Adam stuck out one hand. “I've gotta get out of here.

Please help me.” His hand trembled.

Two arms grabbed Adam and he half crawled and was half dragged out of the hole. He sprawled on the turf, blink–ing up at Holly and Owen.

“How long was I in there?” he asked.

“Only a couple of minutes. What's the matter? Are you claustrophobic or something?” Holly asked.

“Weird … really weird,” Adam stammered. “Wasn't I in there for ages?”

Holly and Owen shook their heads.

Adam closed his eyes. “I must be going mad. Wayland spoke to me!”

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN
A
LL
M
IXED
U
P

Adam told about Wayland's voice and the new passage.

Owen and Holly gazed at the half-talisman.

“I never really believed …” Holly whispered. She traced the partial design etched in the gold. “So this is part of two horses. Do you think it's the White Horse and his mate?”

The gate squeaked.

“Hello, hello, hello. Find something interesting?”

The three children jumped. Holly dropped the talisman back into Adam's palm. He stuffed it in his pocket as an elderly man with a walking stick strode into the clearing.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Smythe.” Holly's smile was bright, but a red flush stained her cheeks.

“Er, hello, sir. W … w … what are you doing here?” stam–mered Owen.

“Taking my daily constitutional. I often march this way.” Mr. Smythe twirled his stick. “I think of it as coming to see my ancestor!”

“You do?” said Holly. She looked across at Owen. He shrugged.

Mr. Smythe laughed and banged his stick on the lintel stone. “Wayland's Smithy … and Smythe … See?”

“Not really,” admitted Holly.

“Smythe … that's a corruption of smith. Having the name Smythe means my ancestors once were blacksmiths, like Wayland.”

“Honest? Everyone called Smythe once had a blacksmith in the family?” Owen was intrigued.

Mr. Smythe nodded. “Might have been several centuries ago … but occupations were often what gave people a last name. John the smith became John Smith, and Pete the miller became Peter Miller.”

“What about the name Baker?” asked Holly. “I've a friend called Sandra Baker. Does that mean someone in her family made bread?”

“Probably,” agreed Mr. Smythe. “Then there is the name John–ston — that was originally John's son. And Thomson was …”

“Tom's son,” finished Owen with delight. “Is this what you researched when you were a historian?”

Mr. Smythe laughed. “No. I analyzed aerial photos. I discovered archeological remains on the ground from clues that could only be seen from the air. But now I'm retired, I indulge myself with any research I fancy. Names have always fascinated me.”

Mr. Smythe turned to Adam, who had been standing in a daze. He stuck out his hand. “I live in the Big House in the village. You must be Adam; I heard you were coming. How's that little sister of yours?”

“She's going to be okay,” Adam gasped as his hand was pumped up and down. He was not used to the idea that everyone in the country knew what was going on at the neighbors'. “We're going to visit her again this afternoon.”

“Good, good.” Mr. Smythe sat down on a protruding stone at the edge of the mound. He waggled his stick at Holly and Owen. “Anything I can do, you let me know, pronto! Can't have visitors to our fair country running into problems.”

“We'll do that, sir.” As Owen smiled his thanks he looked across at Holly and raised his eyebrows in a silent question. She gave a tiny nod. “Actually there is something, sir,” Owen continued. “But it's a secret … you have to promise not to tell if we show you.”

Mr. Smythe stood up and saluted smartly. “Captain's honor.”

Adam's heart sank to his boots. Surely Owen wasn't go–ing to tell a grown-up about the talisman. A spark of anger flared. The Smythe man would take it, say it was important or something. Adults always took away interesting things; they could never be trusted. Adam heard Owen's voice, but it was as though he was speaking from far away.

“Well, sir … Chantel … that's Adam's sister … the one in hospital.” Owen paused, trying to get his thoughts straight.

Mr. Smythe nodded encouragingly.

“Well, she was given half an old coin … She was told it was an old talisman … and we are trying to find out about it. Want to see it?” Owen finished.

Adam's face flushed and his eyes sparked. How dare Owen offer to show the talisman without asking?

Mr. Smythe twirled his cane and sat down again on his stone. “I'd be most interested.”

That did it. Anger swept over Adam like a red tide. No way was he going to show the magic talisman to a strange adult. It was his now. He needed it for the dragon.

He spun on his heels and sprinted towards Mischief.

“Hey, Adam,” shouted Owen in surprise. “What's up?”

He set off in pursuit.

As Adam passed by, Holly stuck out her foot. Down he crashed. Owen, unable to stop, tripped over Adam's body and thumped down on top of him. Both boys gasped with pain. Owen rolled off Adam and sat up, rubbing his ribs. Adam turned on his side and pummeled Owen's back awk–wardly with his fists.

“How could you?” Adam gasped between thumps. “Why? … It isn't yours anyway … We weren't to tell.” He let fly with another volley of weak punches.

Owen rolled out of the way as Holly ran over and threw herself down on Adam's chest. She held his flailing arms.

“Quit it, Adam Maxwell,” she ordered. “Or I'll tell Mum you were fighting.”

Adam subsided. He still gasped for breath, but the pain from being winded was wearing off. His anger burned bright and strong. He glared up at them. “You can't have it,” he yelled. “It's not yours. It's mine! Mine and …” He clamped his mouth shut.

“And whose?” asked Holly.

The color ebbed from Adam's face. In his fury he'd nearly blurted out about the dragon. He heaved his body to dislodge Holly and rolled over again to lie face down, his head buried in his arms. If only Wayland would open up the ground and swallow him whole.

Holly and Owen clambered to their feet.

Mr. Smythe also stood. “Tell you what,” he said as he brushed off the seat of his trousers. “Come and see me when you've sorted things out with your cousin. You know where I live.” He strode out of the clearing, whistling.

Owen lifted his foot to kick Adam in the ribs.

“Don't!” shouted Holly.

“He started it,” Owen muttered. “And he's lying there like a baby.”

“Well don't you make it worse,” Holly snapped, then turned and poked Adam with her own foot. “Come on, Adam, get up.”

Owen gave a snort and pointed to Holly's outstretched boot.

Holly glanced down. “That's different,” she said, grin–ning. “Oh, do get up, Adam,” she said, chuckling and delib–erately poking him with her foot again. “We didn't mean to upset you by telling Mr. Smythe. We just forgot you wouldn't know he's a friend. He often talks to us. We should have gone to see him earlier. He collects information about horse magic. Come on. Get up.”

Adam rolled over and looked up at the two grinning faces.

“Come on, Adam. I'm sorry I tripped you.”

Owen thrust out his hand to help Adam up. “We'll tell you all about Mr. Smythe if you tell us who else you think the talisman belongs to,” he offered.

Adam grasped Owen's outstretched hand and rose stiffly to his feet. But he refused to speak.

Holly stamped her foot.

“Adam Maxwell, you're a pain! I'm glad I tripped you.

You've been a pain all day. You hardly spoke to us at breakfast, and now you've tried to run off with the talisman. It's not just yours, you know. And you've embarrassed us in front of a friend when all we are doing is trying to help.”

Holly stomped over to her pony and unknotted the reins.

“Okay, you're on your own. Come on, Owen. Let him stew.”

She led Harlequin through the gate.

Adam looked stonily at the ground.

Owen rolled his eyes and walked over to where Batman nibbled the grass. He mounted, and dug his heels into Batman's flanks. Batman tossed his head several times and followed Har–lequin through the gate and out onto the Ridgeway.