Stallion Mage: True Mates: Mpreg Romance

by AO Spade

  He shook himself all over, trying to erase his dark thoughts. Toward the bottom of the slope, Alvarr saw the first rounded dome, the skull of someone who had died in their two-legged form. Its empty sockets stared at the sky, half-buried in the ground and glowing like starlight. Bones surrounded it, the remains of a man-shape.

  For the first time, the mage found a slight energy from these remains. He stopped and touched the skull with his horn, and a restlessness passed to him, then vanished. Whoever this was didn't have time to shift. He was surprised when life left him.

  Alvarr wanted put his human hands on it, but he was afraid that if he did, he would lose the light, and whatever magic was leading him would fade.

  Nature's blessing upon you, he thought to the ancient remains. I will bring you peace.

  He could see the forest, a dark smudge that swallowed the trail of bones, at the base of the hills and mountains. The mage smelled the evergreens and tripped over a hard clump of weeds. A cascade of pebbles tumbled down the slope.

  I need to rest.

  He clenched his teeth and moved slowly, carefully down the rest of the slope, passing more skeletons that showed him the way down. When at last he reached the edge of the forest, he thought his legs would give out as the nervous tension left his body.

  Inside the dark forest, the only light was from the faintly luminous bones. I'm sorry, my brothers and sisters. I can't continue. Hoping that nothing would prey upon him, Alvarr lay down and was instantly asleep.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Forest of Wonders

  FROM THE LIGHT coming through the branches of the forest, Alvarr thought that it was mid-morning. He had slept very late, and some time in the night, he'd shifted to man-shape. The memories of the night were sharp and clear: the vision from the past, the glowing bones. I am here. If nothing else, I have found the place where our people once lived.

  Alvarr rose from his place on the ground, shifted, and started walking toward the water-smell in the air. This whole journey, he had surprised himself with the amount of care he was taking with his body. It was as though he were obeying some traveler's instinct that told him when to rest, and graze, and drink. Maybe it was because he was an earth mage, and his body was of the earth. Maybe it was because he wasn't a fool; he knew no one else was around to help him if he became sick or injured.

  Overhead, the leaves drifted to the forest floor. He shifted to man-shape to better see the vivid reds and oranges, and picked up a leaf that was as big as his hand.

  Though the bones of many people lay just underneath the dirt, and it had been the place of a great tragedy, Alvarr still thought the terrain was beautiful. It was no wonder the ancient people chose this land.

  The pond he found was wider than the one in the wooded area in the stallions' territory. No ripples or waves disturbed the water. Even to his nose in two-legged form, it smelled fresh, safe to drink. He doubted that Nature would let him drink anything tainted.

  He stooped by the water's edge and frowned at what he saw. Is that really me? Or was it another vision? He looked different, not as he remembered himself. The mage's hair grew thick and shiny, a heavy mass on his head. His skin and eyes were bright with health, and what he could see of the rest of him was still him, but strong. He held out an arm. He was still slender, but despite his days of constant travel, he had gained muscle, maybe from the plentiful and good food.

  Or is it that I am normal, but have grown too used to seeing thin faces and dull coats? He'd gotten enough to eat, but he was small, and could grow his own food. He rarely went out to graze with others, and could roam farther without fear of night; perhaps things were more lean for his tribe-brothers. If I come back with a way to help, whatever they think of me, it will be worth it.

  He cupped his hands and drank. The water tasted sweet, but something was strange about the pond, and it took him a long moment to realize that the pond was empty of life. No fish swam under the clear surface, and no water insects drifted across the top. Just as there was still no birdsong or rustle of creatures.

  The mage got up and walked without purpose, trusting in Nature to guide him. This forest, even empty of fish and birds, had many things that his home did not. Mushrooms, for one thing; Alvarr didn't remember ever seeing this many mushrooms, even when it had been raining regularly. Here, they grew beneath the trees in the rich forest floor that had kept its dampness. Dark mushrooms even grew on the trees. He broke one off at the stem and sniffed it. It had a tangy, earthy scent that was oddly appealing, but he didn't know what to do with it. Alvarr tossed it back onto the ground to go back to Nature.

  And he kept encountering low, dirt-covered boulders. Usually wider than he could encircle with his arms, these round, flat stones stopped at his knee. Sometimes, they came in clusters or lines, and Alvarr could not find a reason why they should be in those formations, other than that they had been placed there.

  But why would anyone place such heavy boulders? Was it an ancient children's game, where they jumped from surface to surface on two legs? Alvarr supposed that was possible, but it seemed like a lot of trouble. Foals could amuse themselves without such things.

  A felled tree lay across Alvarr's path, uprooted by the weight of its own branches that finally pulled it over. By the freshness of its roots, the tree had recently toppled. The thick roots stretched out from the trunk, some still attached to the ground.

  Alvarr frowned and found a one of the flat boulders. He took the time to truly look at it. After brushing off dirt and debris, he found a pattern of rings widening from its center. Alvarr ran his fingers over the grayed surface, then dug around the base with a rock chip, discovering buried roots. These are not boulders, he thought. They are trees. But how?

  If a tree broke off from its trunk, it would be jagged and splintered. This was smooth as a water-leveled stone. No doubt time did some of that work, but to be this flat was extraordinary.

  It has to be the work of people. They cut it somehow. Alvarr had sometimes used a sharp stone wedge to cut off his hair when he was younger, but no wedge of stone could cut through an entire tree.

  The stone would have to be huge, and not break. And why would they want to cut a tree? What did they do with it?

  But this was not the first mystery of the ancient people. The bundle of flat, straight leaves that the Elder kept... how had people made those? Surely they did not grow like that; Alvarr had never seen trees that yielded such leaves. The flat, straight sides had to have been prepared somehow. And the white material of the tent was another question. How could something be so old, yet endure so long? It was woven in the way that they wove dwellings, but from what?

  They must have had ways. Now, Alvarr understood Elder Mastok a bit better. He wanted to keep and expand on knowledge. The same excitement hummed through the mage's body, and he turned in a circle, unable to decide where to start looking for new secrets.

  A line of cut-off trees stretched away from him, and he started following it. If people cut them, they moved the cut trees away as well. That, the mage could easily imagine. With many people pulling, or perhaps pushing on four-legs, anything could be moved. There had been many cut trunks. How would they use so many trees? Some of them had to be as long as a river was wide.

  Oh, maybe that is why. They put them across a river, so that they could walk across it on two legs. Swimming the river near the stallions' camp had exhausted Alvarr; he could see the sense in making a way to cross that wasn't cold and wet.

  At the end of the stumps, Alvarr discovered the purpose of harvesting all those trees. Whole, cut trunks lay on the ground, grown over with vines and moss. A few more trunks lay on top of them at angles that suggested some kind of order . The bottom halves of the trunks touching the ground had rotted and fused with the earth. But Alvarr could tell that this area used to be a dwelling, a huge one that could shelter many people.

  He stepped between the long trunks until he was standing where the center of the dwelling would have been. He looked
up toward the sky, trying to imagine what it would be like to be under a shelter as tall as a tree.

  Some short tree trunks stuck out from the ground at intervals. When the mage examined one, he found a straight notch carved straight across the surface. That's where something would fit. Another tree trunk that is thinner? A branch? He put his arm in the notch. He could almost envision a way to secure all these huge pieces of tree, if notches were cut out of more of them. It would have taken many people, and much time.

  Alvarr wrapped his tangled hair around his wrist, thinking. The ancient people spent far more time in man-shape than his people did. Even the mares, who were not afraid of magic, spent most of their time on four legs. They had no need to walk on two-legs, most of the time.

  But the ancients could not have lived this way without the use of their hands. Was that a good thing? Alvarr did not know. Stepping over the trunks, he took one last look at the remains of the giant structure. These, too, are bones.

  He took a different direction, walking toward a slight mound in the ground that would serve as his landmark. His bare foot sunk deep into a hidden hole in the ground. He shouted in surprise and fear as the hole crumbled, widening. His leg sank to the knee with nothing to support it. He put his arms out to either side to stop his fall, but he could feel the vibrations as the ground started to crumble under his slight pressure. It hasn't rained here, either, was all he had time to think before his entire body crashed through the very earth.

  He slid through the hole in the dirt and fell through empty space. He landed wrong, and pain stabbed his ankle as it twisted on the hard surface below him. He folded to the ground and clutched the joint, squeezing hard, but not even the pain could take Alvarr's thoughts off the darkness.

  He did not usually fear the dark, but this was darker than anything he'd ever experienced, even the cave. Sitting on what felt like an earth floor, he waved his arms in all directions but did not touch anything. How big was this space? And what was in it?

  The quiet of the earth was absolute; Alvarr could not hear the wind, nor the trees. This was the silence of death. He wrapped his arms around himself, and his teeth started chattering.

  How far under am I? The earth had not been able to support him. What if it all collapsed and buried him? He looked up, but the ground seemed to have closed above him, letting in no light.

  He blinked again and again, but he could see nothing. His heart pounded, and he started to gasp, unable to get a full breath. No, no, I have to think. I have to be calm, he told himself, but he kept imagining dying here, all alone, trapped under a heavy layer of earth, maybe drowning when the rain came and he was unable to move, the hole filling up little by little.

  Icy sweat coated the palms of his hands. He balled them up into fists. No one knew he was there. No one had any way to find him. He'd never see his home again. The Elders would never know what happened to him, and the tribe would be lost. He would never see Laren. Laren might die without me.

  He'd never allowed himself to think that before, but wasn't it true? No, Laren would find a way to survive. But would he do it if no one else could, or would he choose to die so that another could live? Alvarr could not answer that.

  He stared into the darkness and forced himself to imagine Laren in as much detail as he could. His tall, strong form on two-legs, with thick brown hair and skin that turned quite brown when the sun shone on it. His capable hands, his scent. If the leader was there, he would help Alvarr become calm, to think.

  Take deep breaths, imaginary Laren told him. The big man enfolded the mage in his arms and held him against his warm chest. You're not alone. What's happening to you now? Nothing. You are all right. Alvarr closed his eyes and tried to feel Laren's presence as though it was really there.

  The leader's voice sounded in the mage's mind. You must get out of here and come back to us. To me.

  How? Alvarr asked.

  Shift. Use the light of your horn to see what's here. Let three legs take the burden of the one that is hurt.

  Alvarr opened his eyes. Shifting. Why hadn't he thought of that? Well, he had, because he was the one who had imagined the conversation.

  Would he be able to shift in here? He was a small stallion, but still larger than anyone on two legs, and if this place had been formed by the ancient people, it was with hands, not hooves.

  But what harm could it do? He shifted, and got up from his folded knees. In this form, the pain of his ankle was not too bad. He lifted the hoof and set it down. It was more shocking than damaging, he concluded, and stood lightly on it.

  The light of his horn showed not natural, rough rock, but smooth earth. He had been right; this place had been made by the ancient people. I hope it's not a burial ground. I've had enough of those. He carefully moved in a circle, pointing with his horn. The underground room was very small. He hardly had enough space to move in a circle, and his horn almost scraped the earthen walls at times.

  Elder Mastok should have come, however impossible that may have been. The old stallion's heart would leap with joy. Many bundles, wrapped with that same white cloth, were set in holes dug into the earth. The holes had been lined with stones fitting close to one another, possibly for protection against burrowing creatures.

  Alvarr knew the bundles inside were more of those flat white leaves with marks and images on them. He picked up one and examined the wrapping. He knew that the ancient people's hands had made the covering, though magic might have also been involved, since nothing from Nature could last for so long. But the flat leaves still intrigued him. These were thicker than the one Elder Mastok had. Perhaps they had come from a different tree?

  Alvarr couldn't imagine a use for all these bundles. They already knew the story of the rift, and surely that was the most important knowledge to preserve. Had the ancient people made so many likenesses of their people? Or, Elder Mastok had said that some of the marks were actually words. Maybe they encoded their secrets, like the secrets of how the leaves were made.

  There were more than he could carry, but he could not leave them there. He needed to find a way out, and to take the bundles out as well.

  Now that he could see, Alvarr noticed a series of stones that led up into the wall. It might have been how the ancient people got in and out, but now, it was a solid mass of earth. He would have to get out the same way he got in, but he could not find the hole.

  He imagined Laren crossing his arms. Use your power, earth mage.

  Help me, he willed. Grow down to me, or I will die here. He sent his energy to mingle with the earth's, and a bright burst of power answered. A slight sound above him made him point his horn up. Thick green vines grew down to him. Alvarr shifted and held his hand out where he thought they would eventually touch.

  He gripped the vines and climbed, careful not to touch the fragile earth walls. As he hauled himself up, he realized that his magic had responded to him. Perhaps it was becoming stable again.

  No, it is this place. Though it was devoid of life, Nature was with him here, and Alvarr felt more normal than he had in a long time. He forced his head and shoulders through the hole, widening it so he could easily find it again. There is no fear of rain.

  He put his hand on the spot and asked for more of Nature's aid. Blue flowers spread out from his palm, small and sweet smelling, perhaps this land's version of his favorite white flowers. He would come back to this place and find a way to retrieve the items inside, but he didn't want to bring everything with him as he further explored the ancient camp.

  On four legs, Alvarr grazed on the tender grass beneath the trees. Now that he was in the sunlight again, he could think about the many things he had discovered.

  He'd found an ancient dwelling made from entire trees that the people had cut somehow. He'd found bundles of leaves, possibly with more knowledge in them about the way they used to live. Was this what Nature had wanted Alvarr supposed to find?

  The knowledge of the rift had already affected the tribe, and the only way they
knew about it was because of the ancients' drawings. Only he, the Elders, and Laren knew it, but the rest of the tribe would eventually know. Alvarr would be able to confirm that the story of the rift was true, and that would help them accept the knowledge of these new items-

  No. Many of them would not be able to accept it. The mage shook his mane and trotted to the edge of the mound, now covered in blue flowers.

  Alvarr had no way of knowing the contents of those flat leaves, but if he brought them to the Elders, and they showed details of a way of life they didn't know, or that they needed to change their ways to survive, what would that do to the tribe? The more traditional members might respond with anger and even violence. Stallions don't change.

  He could see Cantril's nervous, skeptical look, and Elder Sevan's challenging dismissal, though he might come around. Laren would look at Alvarr as though the mage was a stranger, and ignore him, unable to take in all that Alvarr had seen. They won't change at all. Despite the land's descent into wasteland, they won't believe me.

  They wouldn't understand the code of squiggles and drawings on the flat leaves. They would discount it as 'the Elder's domain' and go on. Go on dying slowly.

  He didn't want to be the one to bring change, and strife, to the tribe. Perhaps that made him a coward, but he wasn't a leader, and he was already different enough. He was a stallion with magic and a glowing horn. And one who mated with another stallion.

  Perhaps it was a foolish dream, but when Alvarr returned, he just wanted to live with the tribe again as one of them. Maybe Laren would honor him for his bravery and finally accept him fully. Maybe the other stallions would follow suit, once they saw their leader's example.

  None of that will never happen. Alvarr tore off a mouthful of nutritious forage. He'd never been one of them, but when he returned with these bundles, and the story of his journey that none of them could have made, and his tales dwellings somehow made of entire trees, Alvarr would be set apart forever.