by AO Spade
Contents
Chapter One - Beyond the Boundaries
Chapter Two - A Test of Blood
Chapter Three - Safety and Solitude
Chapter Four - Magic Is Here
Chapter Five - Forest of Wonders
Chapter Six - Scenes from the Past
Chapter Seven - The Journey Home
Chapter Eight - A Mage's Return
Chapter Nine - A Mage's Welcome
Chapter Ten - A Leader's Consideration
Chapter Eleven - The Press Of Time
Chapter Twelve - A Friend's Support
Chapter Thirteen - A Startling Discovery
Chapter Fourteen - A Tribe's Distress
Chapter Fifteen - A Mate's Acceptance
End Notes
CHAPTER ONE
Beyond the Boundaries
WITH THE CAMP at his back, the mage shifted to four-legs and walked toward the smell of water. His lip curled away from his teeth, but he did not know why. Alvarr reached out for the land, searching for taint. He found none, but it meant nothing. This whole place is wrong. Our lives are wrong.
What would Laren think about his leaving? He shook his mane. His feelings were not important; none of theirs were. As he reached the edge of their occupied territory, a thick, sweet stink of romeya rose up to his face, and he stopped. Crushed under his hoof was a strong, healthy flower from the smell of it, running with potent sap.
And then, he looked ahead and noticed what he had not seen in the darkness: a field of romeya. It covered the ground between many large, dark mounds of piled earth and branches, as though many huge trees had been struck by lightning at the same time, and their massive trunks were all that was left.
I had no idea. All this poison weed, just outside our camp, so easy for Barron and Nassor to eat. Alvarr could never destroy an entire mass like this, even if he had known of it. Clamping his teeth together against the smell, he lifted and set his hooves to touch as little ground as possible as he walked toward one of the mounds. Who else will fall to it? His insides squirmed at the thought of more stallions lost to the drug, but he knew that they would. The weaker-willed among them would never be able to resist.
Alvarr came closer to one of those mounds of dirt, branches, and now he could make out long-decayed vines. Despite the romeya, he cautiously trotted closer. It stood as high as his head.
Oh. It's a dwelling. It had collapsed long ago, but a section of vines was still woven together in the style of their dwellings. The sides are different, earth and branches. Maybe mud? These had been abandoned long ago, far before even Elder Mastok had been a foal.
Alvarr reached with his sharp front hoof and pawed a section of the brittle debris. It crumbled and splintered at his touch, nothing more than dust. Yes. It had been many generations since anyone lived there, but this entire section of land had belonged once to the stallion camp.
Did we settle here first, and then move into the current camp? Did we abandon this place because of the poison flower? Or... did the stallions abandon these dwellings because they the tribe had dwindled in number so much that an entire piece of land was no longer needed?
It was a chilling thought. If they had once needed to fill these dwelling all the way down to the river... The Elders must have known!
He stamped his hoof, ignoring how the scent of decay and romeya intensified. "Why didn't you tell everyone?" he whispered. Elder Pastor, he was the oldest of them all. Surely that aged man would have seen the truth. Why had even Elder Mastok not made much of it? Yes, the Elders had mentioned how there were fewer stallions in the camp than there had been in the past. But they hadn't said that the tribe was dying. Empty dwellings stood in their camp. Would fewer and fewer stallions cross over until they just disappeared?
Alvarr paced around one of the ruined dwellings, ears back. He could go back. He was not far from the camp; no one would ever know he had intended to go on a much longer journey. He could report what he'd found and... No. Nothing would come of it.
The mage examined other mounds, but they were all the same: old branches and dirt that became dust at the slightest touch. Nature had reclaimed them a long time ago. Alvarr continued walking toward the river, passing more ruined dwellings.
His horn did not glow, nor could he sense any whisper of power. In his mind, he saw the leaf with the drawing that could have been the river, the mountains, and the vast, unmarked land beyond the edges. The notion made him feel as dizzy as if he were standing at the top of a mountain, looking down from a great height. I don't have to go all that way, he told himself.
He sped up as he detected the sound of water. He could wash the stench off his hooves and forelegs. Soon, his legs had taken him to the edge of a small hill. Below him, the river ran slowly, glimmering here and there as the water caught the moonlight. It was a smaller river, the other side easily visible. Everyone knows where it is, but none of the tribe ever comes to this water. The stallions drank from the smaller streams around the camp and the grazing fields.
But even without the romeya, Alvarr thought that the area felt somehow unfriendly. It wasn't the ruined dwellings; that was just decay, just the cycle of Nature. He didn't know what it was, but as he forced himself to stand next to the river, Alvarr had to admit that he, too, would prefer to avoid it.
Alvarr moved the dark exposed rocks by his hooves. The water sometimes came up over where he stood, but this dry season had made it recede. The water would not be as deep. It would be easy to swim across as equine or man-shape. His heart raced at the thought, and he wasn't sure why. It wasn't that he could not swim; all their people could, though few had the chance. The other side of the river was only more woods, just the same as the trees on this side. Nothing to fear.
Alvarr put one hoof on the rocks. An invisible resistance pushed back.
What is this? He forced himself to go another step. It was as though something was slowing him down, a heavy sensation pushing back against his legs.
This is not right. Alvarr put his head down and leaned into it, willing himself to move.
When he managed to shuffle forward toward the water, icy fear coated his body. He shivered uncontrollably and backed away from the river bank on shaking legs. He could not see it, but something was there. Something magical. Alvarr shifted to man-shape and walked toward the water again. Heel to toe, he crept along the rocks until his big toe touched the water. But as soon as the cold current closed over his ankles, the thick barrier repelled him.
This is magic, all right. But I am a mage. He took a deep breath and stood against the force. He would not let it make him move. It was not alive. It was nothing to fear. And, sure enough, the force did not change. He shook his long hair back and waded in deeper. In man-shape, the cold reached to his very bones, and that, along with the current and the magical barrier, made him want to turn back.
Just another step, he told himself. His long hair floated behind him as the water reached his waist, and then sunk, waving behind him. Another step, and the rocky river floor dropped away. It had become too deep for his feet to touch.
He took as deep a breath as his shivering would allow. Nature, protect me. Alvarr closed his eyes and cast himself into the current, swimming for the other side.
His arms pulled and his legs kicked. Black fear wrapped around him as the direction of the water tried to pull him downstream. The mage kept his eyes squeezed shut. He didn't want to look at the bank and find out that he was no closer. I have plenty of energy. I am strong.
Alvarr found his stroke and his panic receded, though the cold made it necessary to move quickly. As he swam, scenes rose in his mind.
A small black stallion leading a
charge of many, many other stallions behind him.
The stallion guiding them across the river in four-legged shape, shouting.
An atmosphere of fear and terror, some people with wounds that were still bleeding.
The stallion, drawing Nature's Order to himself, laying a compulsion tied to the land itself between the mountains and the river, then collapsing at the water's edge, barely breathing.
Alvarr's feet scraped rock. He had found the bottom of the river. He waded the rest of the way, first on his toes, and then on more solid footing, and walked out of the water. The chill had numbed his body all the way through, and he rested against a boulder, wringing water from his soaked hair, and waiting for that uncomfortable prickling to wash over his skin as sensation came back.
But it was more than the cold that numbed him. Why had he imagined those terrible scenes? Who were those people? Alvarr didn't recognize any of them, though the small black stallion was the leader. I hope it is not the future after Laren... is no longer our leader.
He shivered as a wind blew his wet hair against his bare side, shoulder, and leg. He was beginning to warm up again, but he could feel a difference in the air here. It was a little thinner, maybe, a little more wild.
No. It is because I'm absolutely alone now. The world was neither his enemy nor his friend. Alvarr gazed back toward the camp, though he could not see it. If he came to harm, no stallion would be able to cross the river to come to him.
Alvarr went into the woods on the other side of the river. Dawn was coming; he could already hear the sound of the landscape changing. But he should sleep, if he could.
He found a large tree with wide, low branches. This will have to do. The limb he found was more than wide enough to hold his slender body. He supposed he could have shifted to four-legs and dozed, but he could tell that he was exhausted and needed true rest, not interrupted, watchful half-sleep.
Nature will protect me, he thought, as he settled himself, but away from the protected ground of the camp, the mage could not bring himself to believe it. As he fell into a surprisingly deep sleep, he wondered if Laren had noticed he was gone yet.
A stallion walked through the silent camp, threading his way through dwellings. The moon shone on his gray coat and mane, and showed the fatigued set of his shoulders. His hooves hardly left the ground as he took slow steps.
"Unable to sleep?" A white-haired old man met him at one of the drinking streams. He stooped to fill a hollowed-out rock.
"Yes," the gray stallion said. "It is a restless night."
The small sound of water filled a long moment. "It is a restless time," the old man said, standing up. "Our mage is gone."
The gray stallion's coat rippled and twitched, though he made no other movement. "Gone?" the question carried no emotion, as flat as the top of a water-worn rock.
"Gone to fulfill his purpose." The old man lifted the hollowed rock to his lips and drank.
"What does that mean? And how do you know he has left us?"
"Listen to the land, stallion leader, and you will know that Alvarr no longer walks on the stallion territory."
"I... Good night, Elder," the gray stallion said, and trotted away. When he neared a dwelling, he shifted to two legs. Putting his hand on the living-wood door, he entered the empty chamber and sat down on the pallet, head in his hands.
A night-bird shrieked over Alvarr's head, but the mage was pulled into sleep once more.
An athletic gray stallion, young and high-spirited, galloped across the fields in late summer, three of his age-mates just behind him, one blond, one long-legged and red, one almost white. The four tribe-brothers laughed and talked as the afternoon sun slanted over their coats and the high grass brushed their legs.
A dark brown stallion stood some distance away, watching, with ears pointed forward. When the four young stallions approached, he trotted toward them and touched noses with each. "Greetings, new stallions," he said. His voice was strong, but it carried an edge of something wrong -- illness, perhaps, or just fatigue. "I am Justo, and I welcome you."
"I am Ferro," said the blond stallion with a swish of his light tail.
"I am Mano," said the long-legged one with a reddish coat.
"I am Amral," said the white stallion.
"And I am Laren." The gray was the largest of them, and the fastest. He was the only one who met Justo's gaze; the others kept their heads down in deference to the stallion leader.
The season changed to spring. Laren and two of his age-mates were chasing each other around one of the grazing fields. The athletic gray stallion galloped in a tight circle, trying to shake off his friends. Then, long-legged Mano stumbled, and a loud cry trumpeted from his throat. Laren and Amral swerved and came to their friends' aid.
Mano had stopped, holding one leg in the air.
"Is it broken?" Laren asked.
"I don't know. Something happened to it," Mano said, swaying.
"Shift," the gray urged. "I'll take you to the Elders. Everything will be all right." He turned to the pale stallion. "Amral, let's shift and help him. It's not far."
All three of them changed to their man-shapes. On either side of their hurt friend, Laren and Amral supported their tribe-brother as the three of them slowly walked back toward camp.
The season changed once more. This time, leaves fell around two brown stallions as they argued, just inside the forest area. They were too far away for distinct words to be heard, but both of them had partially-erect members and angry eyes. One of them reared and lashed out with hooves, though not making contact with the other.
But before the other could answer, Laren came at them both at his fastest run. He forced his way in between the two brown stallions, breaking them apart. "You must stop," he said, panting. "Our leader is... Julto is very ill. You must govern yourselves, if you can." The gray stallion stamped with impatience on the leaf-covered ground.
One of the stallions turned to him. "If he is sick, who will lead us during the Time of Mating?"
Laren shook his mane and twisted his head back toward camp. "I don't know," he said in a low voice. "Nature will help us. We must just have faith."
Alvarr blinked awake at sunlight coming through yellow-brown leaves. All around him were the thick limbs of a tree. Leaves rustled around him, and his cheek rested against broad, rough branch. I am not in the camp. He had made it through the first night, though this was not the first night he'd spent away from his tribe. It was, however, the first of many that were to come.
A bird scolded him with a shrill whistle. "Don't worry, I'm leaving," the mage said, and stiffly climbed down, wincing as his bare skin scraped over the unyielding bark and his ever-long hair snagged on every bump and twig.
Once on the ground, Alvarr shifted to four-legs and went back to the river. It was curious. From this direction, he felt none of the dragging barrier of the fear-compulsion. It was simply a river cutting through land. Either he had imagined the fear, and the scenes that appeared in his mind, or they really were remnants of the first stallion leader. But now, he could sense no other people at all, either present or past.
It is as though I'm the only one living. He drank from the slow water, which still tasted of summer, and ate some of the grass that grew beyond the rocky bank on the other side. It is grass, like any other. He thought, somehow, that the water and grass on this side should taste different.
After he had eaten his fill, he faced the forest. The trees were just like the woods on the other side of the water, but Alvarr reached out with his energy and sensed a difference in Nature where the land started to change. He walked into the trees.
At first, everything was the same as ever. Changing leaves, some falling, and the sweet, dry taste in the air. But then, the leaves became less yellow and more dry and brown. He started to see bare branches, not because they had lost their leaves to the season, but because they had died from the lack of rain. His hooves started to kick up dust that caught in his nose and throat. He looked
for a stream, but no stream bed ran with anything more than mud.
And then, he reached a section where no trees still lived, just columns of dead, dry wood: true death, not the slow, cold sleep of winter.
It should not have been a surprise. It had not rained in the camp for many days, and the weather here was the same as the weather there. Still, he had never seen this early death come to so many trees at once. If the entire land became like this, every living thing would die.
The mage kept a slow, steady walk through the mostly-dead forest until the sun became low in the sky, shining its hot red-gold rays straight through the bare branches. He stopped, torn between pressing on through nightfall, and sleeping early to keep up his strength.
He did not want to stay in this dead place any longer than he had to, but he decided to get an early start in the morning. Nothing that could harm me is here. Nothing alive is here, he thought, sending his energy out to make sure. When he found nothing but the barely-present current of Nature under the ground, he willed himself to sleep, standing up on four legs. He did not dream.
The next morning, Alvarr swallowed in an attempt to wet his dry throat. If he had to, he would try to get some moisture from the rivulets of mud, but he could hold out another day for true water. He cast his awareness out, but he could find nothing of life in this part of the forest. He pushed ahead through the dead, dry trees, wincing every time he brushed against any knee-high growth or twig, for it snapped at once, no longer tethered to Nature.
What would Laren think of this? Would he be as disturbed as the mage, or would he try to deny that it was anything out of the ordinary? Alvarr tried to imagine Laren's steady gray presence next to him, as though they were walking together.
Finally, he saw flashes of blue sky up ahead, and he reached the edge of the woods. Ahead of him was grass, mostly brown and dry with very little green. Thankfully, there was no romeya to clog his nose with its awful, too-sweet stink.
