White Horse Talisman (4 page)
Just then Halydd started to sing.
Come all ye men at arms, Choose your horse, and sing.
Strong and true, Halydd's voice rang out.
We'll leap the downs,
and ride the wind, And glorify the king.
One by one the other boys joined in. Defiantly they roared the chorus together.
We'll glorify the king.
We'll glorify the king.
We'll leap the downs, and ride the wind,
And glorify the king.
Alin's heart lifted and the blackness receded. His friends in arms were with him again, egging him on to ride the wind. This was what it was all for â to glorify the Horse King â to perform a great feat that would show the Horse King that his followers were worthy of protection for another seven years.
Alin gave a great yell, “To the Horse King!” and jabbed his heels hard into the ribs of the red mare.
She leapt forward over the edge and began the heart-stopping downward journey.
A piercing whinny came from the horse corral as the foal realized her mother had gone. The small creature took the wattle fence at a standing leap, scattered the priests and followed.
Astounded, youths, priests, king, and spectators watched the foal leap over the edge and slip and slither in the wake of Alin and the red mare's death-defying descent. In a trance, Alin felt the world pass by in slow motion. He closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping his balance and helping the red mare ride the wind.
The wind roared in his ears, competing with the blood pounding in his head and his heart's rapid beats. Alin heard the red mare's frantic scrabbles and hoof beats as she strugâgled against the vertical pull of gravity forcing the pace. He gripped with his thighs, thrusting his heels forward over her withers, and lay right back against her haunches to compenâsate for his weight. His body was one with hers. He willed her to fly.
A great gasp came from the crowd below as the miracle occurred.
The wind seemed to cradle the boy, mare, and foal, genâtly bouncing them from tussock to tussock in great graceful leaps. All three flew downwards at one with the spirit of the Great White Horse. Only once did the mare's haunches start to slip to one side, but her hind muscles bunched and she dug in her hooves. Alin shifted his weight and felt her right herself during the next leap.
This was riding. This was how the Great White Horse galloped from hilltop to hilltop. This heart-stopping, breathâtaking descent was truly riding the wind.
Neither of them heard the roar of the crowd as they reached the bottom, the foal still scrambling in their wake. Alin became aware that the angle of the descent had changed. He rapidly changed position until he was crouched low over the red mare's neck. Together they galloped the full length of the valley to stop trembling and dripping with sweat and lather beneath the Blessed Thorn. The foal arrived a few seconds later and stuck like glue to its mother's flank and Alin's leg.
Startled, two magpies fluttered up from the branches, callâ ing joyously. Alin threw back his head and laughed with relief. Two for joy â the omens were certainly with him today.
The Blowing Stone's deep note echoed around the valley. Dimly, Alin realized it was being sounded in respect for the previous king. He gently nudged the red mare and foal. All three looked towards Dragon Hill.
The young king spread his arms wide in joyful acceptâance of the knife stroke that would unite him forever with the Great White Horse God. As the king's body dropped, Alin slid from the red mare's back and fell to his knees in a gesture of honor. For the next seven years he would be keeper of the White Horse and king to his people.
He rose, patted the red mare's flank and ran a comfortâing hand over the back of the trembling foal. Two horses had ridden the wind. Two for joy! What a powerful omen! A strong omen that the priests could only interpret as good. He, Alin, would honor these horses in a special way so that they would always be linked with him and his reign. He would have their image carved on a hillside. Yes, into the red clay beyond the downs. A carving like that of the Great White Horse God, one big enough to be seen from afar. Yes, that's what he would do. He would show his thanks by offering his brave red mare and her foal to the White Horse God as a fitting tribute.
His eye lit upon a small sharp stone. He bent down and picked it up. Using the sharp point, he swiftly scratched a second horse into the gold talisman. Then he held it up towards the carving on the hill. His voice rang out, “Thank you, Great White Horse God. You sent me power and blessâing. In return I will give you a mate.”
Alin tossed the stone and dropped the talisman back around his neck. It winked in the sunlight. Then he proudly walked back up the valley to meet his new subjects and to accept the golden cloak from the high priest.
The red mare and foal followed.
CCC
All that happened a long time ago?
Yes, child.
You are the Horse King?
Yes, child. That is one of my names.
Chantel's body shivered with awe.
And Alin was the
Magic Child?
He was the first.
Then how can I help you? I'm not brave like Alin. I'm
just a kid.
You can help. You have a special power. A belief in dreams
and imagination. Humans call it intuition. I need that power
to help find the red mare and foal that Alin created. They
have disappeared from the memory of your people and your
world is so changed I can no longer see where they lie. They
were my mate and child. I miss them.
Equus sighed.
Will you
help them ride the wind with me again?
How? ⦠I don't understand.
Chantel's unconscious body showed her distress. She tossed and turned restlessly on the hospital bed.
The old magic is almost forgotten, but you can help
renew it. Talk with the other young people. If everyone
helps, we will find the red mare and the old magic will be
strengthened. Magic still lives if there are believers.
Am I a believer?
You are. You performed the ritual.
But how can I make the others believe?
Remember what you found at my carving? Part of my
magic talisman is still clasped in your hand. Ask the others
to take it to Wayland's Smithy.
Wayland's Smithy,
Chantel repeated slowly. She turned in her sleep and her free hand touched the closed fist. Her fingers visibly tightened again.
Yes, I'll help you, White Horse.
Chantel's lips curved into a faint smile and her body relaxed on the bed. She murmured the strange name “Wayland's Smithy” aloud, slipped her fist under her pillow and drifted into a deep, natural sleep.
CCC
The doctor who had been leaning over Chantel's bed straightâened and turned to her Auntie Lynne and Uncle Ron.
“She'll do. She's out of the anesthetic and sleeping natuârally. She'll drift in and out of sleep for a couple of days. But then she should be fine. We'll keep her under observation until she is fully alert. But I have every confidence you'll be able to take her home on Wednesday.” He patted the cast on Chantel's leg and turned to go.
Chantel shifted in her bed and muttered, “Wayland's Smithy,” but her eyes did not open.
Her aunt and uncle leaned closer to catch what she said.
“Ignore anything she mutters. She's dreaming.” The doctor smiled at Uncle Ron and Auntie Lynne. “Concussion sometimes temporarily affects the mind. She might wake up confused, or have vivid dreams she thinks are real. It's quite normal. It will pass.”
CCC
Adam, Owen, and Holly sat by the telephone.
Adam seemed to have shrunk. His eyes looked enormous, and his red hair and freckles stood out against his white face. He shivered and pulled a worn traveling blanket further around his shoulders.
“Mum says shock makes you feel cold,” Holly said.
Adam tugged the blanket angrily. “I hope Chantel's not badly hurt. Mom and Dad will be mad. I was supposed to look after her. They'll say it was my fault, just you watch. I knew there would be trouble if Chantel came to England with me. Things always happen to her, then get blamed on me.”
“Don't be daft,” Owen said. “You didn't cause the lightning. No one's going to blame you. We're all lucky to be alive.”
BRIIIINNG-BRIIINNNG. BRIIIINNG-BRIIINNNG.
Three hands shot towards the telephone, but Owen reached it first.
“Uffington 6291, Owen speaking.”
“Hello, son. Tell everyone Chantel is going to be okay.”
“Hold on, Dad. I'll put you on the speaker.”
Owen pressed a switch and Uncle Ron's voice filled the room. “Chantel has a concussion and a broken leg.”
Adam gasped. “How bad is it, Uncle Ron?”
“She'll be fine. The break was clean. She can have the plaster off in six weeks.”
Everyone groaned.
“That's the summer gone. Poor kid,” whispered Holly.
“The doctors checked the concussion,” continued Uncle Ron. “She's fine but needs rest and quiet in hospital for a couple of days. Then she can come home and recuperate at the farm.”
“Can we visit her?” asked Adam shakily.
“Not today. She's still groggy from the anesthetic. You can visit tomorrow afternoon. She keeps on muttering about her white horse. You can reassure her about Snowflake.”
“Okay,” said Adam quietly.
Uncle Ron's voice softened. “Don't worry, Adam. Chantel will recover. She's lucky. You all are. A lightning strike so close but no one hit. It's a miracle.
“By the way, Adam, I've phoned your folks and left a message. It's about three am in Canada, but I'm sure they'll be in contact when they wake up. We're coming home soon. Everything all right there?”
“We were just worried,” Holly said. “It took ages for you to phone.”
“I know. We waited until Chantel came round from the anesthetic. Once she spoke, we knew she was fine. You can stop worrying now, promise?”
“Promise,” everyone called back, grinning shakily at each other.
“How are the ponies?” Uncle Ron asked.
“Mr. O'Reilly has seen to them,” Owen said. “He's rubbed them down and settled them in the barn. And Mrs. O'Reilly gave us tea, but Adam's not eaten much.”
“Adam. You're not to worry about Chantel. Understand?”
“Yes, Uncle Ron.”
“Auntie Lynne and I will be home soon. Hang in there.”
With a loud click Uncle Ron rang off, leaving the speaker buzzing until Owen leaned over and switched it off.
The cousins looked at each other.
“I was scared Chantel would die.” Holly voiced everyâone's fears.
Adam nodded, his throat too tight to speak.
“Poor kid â that broken leg will spoil her holiday. We must find ways to make it up to her,” said Owen.
“What about the old pony carriage in the back of the barn?” said Holly. “If we clean it up we can take her out in it. Then she won't miss out on our trips.”
“Great idea.” Owen thumped his sister's arm affectionâately. “We'll make sure the holiday isn't ruined.”
They both grinned at Adam.
Holly, Owen, and Adam walked towards the hospital room, wondering what they would find.
“Chantel Maxwell? She's in there,” said the nurse, pointâing out the doorway. “She needs rest. Don't stay long, and don't excite or upset her.”
Chantel lay against her pillows, half-dozing. A large hump under the bedclothes marked the wire cage protecting her plastered leg. She looked small in the big bed.
Adam's heart twinged with pity.
Hearing footsteps in the doorway, Chantel turned her head. Her face was pale and there were deep circles under her eyes. Her smile was anxious. “You're here at last.” Her voice was soft but urgent. Her eyes checked behind them. “Good, no grown-ups! I need to talk to you ⦠about the White Horse.”
“Snowflake's fine.” Adam bent over and gave her a clumsy hug. “All the ponies are.”
Holly and Owen nodded their agreement.
“No ⦠no ⦠not Snowflake.” Chantel pushed Adam away and struggled to sit. “The real White Horse. The one carved in the hill.” She dropped her voice. “He's real. He talks to me.”
Adam and her cousins avoided her eyes.
There was a long pause.
Adam cleared his throat and spoke gruffly. “You've been er ⦠dreaming, Chantel. It's ⦠it's ⦠the bump on your head.”
Holly nodded. “Yes ⦠that's right. The doctor said conâcussion does weird things,” she added kindly.
Chantel's eyes filled with tears. “You don't believe me. I knew you wouldn't.” She rolled away from them, pulling the pillow over her face.