White Horse Talisman (2 page)
It was seven minutes after midnight.
Chantel Maxwell couldn't sleep. She was exhausted from the long plane journey from Canada, but her mind buzzed with excitement and worry.
“Four weeks in England, without Mom and Dad,” she murmured, turning her head to find a cool spot on the pilâlow. “But I like White Horse Farm.” She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. It was no use; she was wide awake.
Chantel slid out of bed and tiptoed over the floorboards. They creaked and groaned. She glanced towards her cousin. Eleven-year-old Holly lay sprawled across the next bed. She did not stir. Chantel slipped between the curtains and leaned out of the window beneath the thatched roof of the old farmhouse.
The night was filled with magic. She breathed deeply, trying to place the smells of the English countryside. The aroma of chickens and geese and the musky scent of horse wafted up from the pasture. A clean, green-smelling breeze rolled down from the hills her cousins called the downs. The full moon gleamed, throwing everything into sharp relief, so different from Edmonton, the Canadian city where she lived with her brother Adam.
“Blue shadows,” Chantel murmured in surprise. “And stars ⦠so close.” She lifted up her hand to the sky as if to touch one.
Whoooosh.
A flash of light streaked the night.
Chantel almost tumbled out of the open window in exâcitement. “A shooting star ⦠a real shooting star ⦠It landed up there!” She craned her neck to check the downs beyond the farm, where an ancient white horse was carved into the hillside, a magical horse carved through the grass into the white chalk so long ago that no one could remember how or why. The shooting star had aimed straight for it.
It was seven minutes after midnight, on the seventh day.
The shooting star touched the white horse. Brilliant blue light flickered across the chalk carving.
Chantel sighed dreamily, “If that was a magic star, I'd wish the White Horse would come to life.”
The blue light grew stronger and a ghostly horse shook itself free of the chalk. Equus paused, absorbing the moonâlight and growing more substantial. He was a king among horses, with flared nostrils and starlit eyes blazing with intelâligence. The sculptured head turned from side to side. At last! A Magic Child was near. He could sense it. Ears flickered, and the spun-silver mane and tail lifted in the breeze. Musâcles rippled solidly beneath his skin. Equus tossed his head and whinnied, then pawed the ground seven times, raising a shower of silvery sparks.
No one answered. The child did not yet know of her magic. He must wait. Equus bunched his powerful haunches and with a great leap galloped across the midnight sky in a flurry of moonbeams.
I must be dreaming, Chantel thought, and tiptoed back to bed with a smile of wonder on her lips.
It was seven minutes after midnight, on the seventh day of the seventh month. The witness was seven-year-old Chantel, who did not understand.
No matter. It was enough. The summer of magic could begin.
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“Come on, you lot, get up,” Owen called. He grinned at Adam and pounded a wicked tattoo on the girls' bedroom door before clattering downstairs, laughing.
Adam and Owen had been up for ages. They'd collected eggs from the chickens, admired the racehorses, fed carrots to the ponies and been chased by the geese.
They erupted hungrily into the kitchen.
“Breakfast's ready. Tell your sisters,” Uncle Ron said as he juggled slices of bread and a large frying pan full of bacon.
“Breakfast time, come and get it,” bellowed Owen from the bottom of the stairs.
Dressed and ready for action, Holly ran down, but several minutes passed before a sleepy Chantel entered the kitchen.
“Chantel! You're still in PJs.” Adam Maxwell looked at his little sister with disgust. “We've been up for hours.” He grinned across at Owen and took a huge bite of his sandwich.
Chantel stood beside Uncle Ron. “Sandwiches? For breakfast?”
“Not sandwiches. Bacon and egg butties, an English treat.” Uncle Ron flipped an egg out of the fry pan and flopped it onto a big slice of homemade bread covered with bacon. He slapped a second slice of bread on top, cut the sandwich in half and handed the plate to Chantel.
The egg yolk oozed enticingly and the smell of the bacon made her mouth water. Chantel sat at the table and took a bite.
“This is good.” Suddenly she was ravenous and wolfed it down.
Holly grinned across at Owen. “It's the first day of the summer with our cousins. What shall we do?”
“Can we go to see that white horse carved in the grass?” asked Adam.
Chantel stopped eating as a fuzzy memory tugged at the back of her mind. “I dreamed about a horse ⦠a white horse ⦠last night,” she said softly.
As usual, Adam ignored her. “Can we hike up there?” he asked.
“Great idea,” said Holly excitedly. “We'll show you the White Horse and the old Iron Age fort on the top of the hill.”
“Let's ride up.” Owen looked at Adam, then towards Chantel. “Can you ride? Can she?”
“I can ride.” Chantel was hurt. “We've been trail riding in the Rockies. I love riding, don't I, Adam?”
“Guess so,” Adam said. He turned to Uncle Ron. “She rides a bit, but I've taken lessons. Can we ride the race-horses? They're cool!”
Uncle Ron laughed. “Definitely not! They are highly strung speed machines only exercised by their trainers. You kids are welcome to use the ponies, as long as you are senâsible ⦠but don't forget your riding hats.”
“We don't have any.” Chantel was worried.
“There are lots in the tack room. One will fit,” Holly said, licking egg off her fingers.
Uncle Ron squeezed Holly's and Owen's shoulders. “Reâmember your cousins are not used to riding all day. Take it easy. You've got a whole month together.”
The kids rolled their eyes and left the kitchen.
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Adam almost tripped over his little sister on the stairs. Châantel was sitting on the top step, staring into space.
“What's up with you?” Adam said.
Chantel shook her head. “Nothing, just waiting for Holly.”
Adam bent down and stuck his face into Chantel's. “Listen, you, this is my holiday. You weren't coming until Mom stuck her oar in, so it's still my holiday with Owen. No messing it up. Mom and Dad shipped you out of their way, but you're not going to get in mine. Understand?”
Chantel's lip trembled, but she stuck out her chin deâterminedly. “Mom and Dad didn't want you around either,” she retorted.
Adam flushed. “Who cares? They're just nuts. Always fighting. I'm glad they're not here. Owen and I have plans this summer, and you better not mess with them.” He pushed past her.
Chantel sighed.
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The afternoon was hot and sticky â the sort that ends with a storm. Owen, Adam, Holly, and Chantel ignored the heat. They had taken their time exploring the roads around the farm and village, but now trotted briskly along the Ridgeway, the narrow track that wound along the crest of the downs. Adam chattered away to Holly and Owen, ignoring his sister.
For once, Chantel didn't mind. She was gripped by the strange feeling of being pulled forward, drawn up the Ridgeway by an invisible thread. She leaned over her pony's neck and urged it on. “Come on, Snowflake.” She edged ahead of the older kids, humming a little song under her breath.
“She's happy.” Owen jerked his head towards Chantel.
Adam laughed. “She's weird. She lives in a dream world. I bet she thinks she's a princess or something.” He looked up at the sky. It was a dull, hazy blue. The air felt hot and thundery. “Is there going to be a storm?”
Holly glanced around. “Maybe. But we're not far from home.”
She kicked Harlequin's side and caught up to Chantel.
Chantel strained forward. The dream horse memory was clear in her mind. As she approached the carving she could hear it calling, a whinnying song urging her uphill. As the pony carried her closer, the horse's voice grew stronger.
Humming her own song back, Chantel leaned forward to pat her pony's neck. Snowflake whickered softly in reâsponse.
“You okay?” asked Holly as she and Harlequin drew level.
The question brought Chantel back to reality for a moâment. She nodded, gave Holly an excited smile, then strained forward again.
Holly stared at the younger girl.
Under her hat, Chantel's small face was rosy with efâfort. Damp tendrils of red hair were plastered against her cheekbones.
“Are you too hot?” Holly asked. “We can go back if you like. We can always come up another day, when it's cooler.”
Chantel looked at her cousin with surprise. “Go back?” she said. “No way! I'm nearly at the White Horse.”
They passed a small tree. Chattering with alarm, a large blue-black bird with white markings flew across the track.
“One for sorrow,” Holly muttered.
“What?” said Chantel.
“The magpie rhyme for telling fortunes.”
Chantel looked baffled.
Holly chuckled and chanted,
One for sorrow, two for joy,
Three for a girl, four for a boy,
Five for silver, six for gold,
Seven for a secret never been told.
Good, that's old magic. Seven for a secret never been
told.
Chantel gasped and put a hand up to her head.
The dream horse spoke in words Chantel could underâstand. Its voice echoed and rolled inside her head. She reeled in the saddle.
Hello, child. Don't be frightened. I'm the White Horse,
your friend. Walk towards me.
“Hey?” Holly leaned over and grabbed Snowflake's reins as they slipped from Chantel's fingers. “Are you okay?”
Chantel nodded. The color ebbed and flowed in her cheeks. “Did you hear it?”
“Hear what?”
Only you hear me, child. Do not be afraid. Walk this way.
A sense of warmth and friendship washed over Chantel. She slid off Snowflake and took the reins from Holly. “I'll stop here. You go to the fort. I'll wait. It's cooler here. I'll be okay.” She led Snowflake off the track towards a fence across the swell of the hill.
Puzzled, Holly stared after the tiny figure leading the white pony. “How does she know where to go?” she muttered.
Adam and Owen trotted up. Holly pointed. “Look at Chantel. It's as though she's been here before.”
Adam gazed resentfully at Chantel. He did not rein in. There was his little sister being “interesting” again! She was always doing something to get attention. She constantly did it to Mom and Dad, and now she was trying it on Holly and Owen. Well, too bad; this was his holiday and he wanted to see the fort. “She's daydreaming again,” he said as he trotted by. “Let her wait. She'll be fine.”
Holly and Owen exchanged startled glances.
Chantel looked back and waved happily.
Holly and Owen shrugged. They followed Adam.
The three older children rode to the crest of the hill and dismounted. Holly repeatedly glanced back at Chantel, but the small figure stayed in one spot. Holly turned her attention to Adam and his reaction to seeing the enormous circular ditch and high bank surrounding the flattened summit of the hill.
“I thought you said there was a fort here.” Adam was puzzled.
“This is it. This deep ditch and high embankment. It's called Uffington Castle, but it's not a castle made of stone. Up there the bank was topped with a high palisade, a big fence, but the wood rotted away thousands of years ago.” Owen pointed into the hollow of the deep ditch. “That was for protection. Dad said there would be stakes sticking out of the bottom, to prevent raids and impale intruders.” He grinned, drew an imaginary sword from his belt and started to fight with Adam.
Adam feinted back, slipped and grabbed Owen. They rolled down, over and over until they lay in the ditch bottom, laughing hysterically.
The placid ponies flicked their tails, dropped their heads and lipped the short turf.
“Idiots!” shouted Holly. “Come on. We'll catch it if anyâone finds out we've left Chantel on her own.”
Adam and Owen scrambled up the sloping sides of the ditch and dodged around Holly, using her as a shield. Laughâing, the three of them led the ponies over to the fence where Chantel had left Snowflake.
Chantel was still standing on the very edge of the hill, staring. Adam, Holly, and Owen joined her.
The view was breathtaking. The hillside dropped away before them, falling steeply towards a wide green valley. But where the short turf began curving downwards, ancient hands had excavated narrow trenches deep into the chalk. The grass had been removed, leaving a series of thick white lines curling over the swell of the hill. The carving was so large that the complete horse could not be seen this close. But the face was clear, a long nose, ears, and a gigantic white eye looking up at the heavens.
“I see you,” whispered Chantel. She could feel the magic pulsing from the ground.
Holly, Owen, and Adam were oblivious.
“This smaller side valley is called the Manger.” Holly gestured down the steep side of a combe opening onto the main valley. “The White Horse is supposed to feed there at night.”
“And see the small conical hill, way down in the middle of it?” Owen pointed.
“The one with no grass on top?” asked Adam.
Owen nodded. “Yup. You'll never guess why.”
Adam shook his head.
“That's Dragon Hill. A dragon was killed there. Nothing ever grows where dragon's blood was spilt.”
“Cool.” Adam stared in fascination at the small, bald-topped hill far below, then turned to join his cousins as they ran beside the chalk lines, tracing the shape and size of the White Horse over the hillside.