Stallion Mage: True Mates

by Spade, AO

  The vines, though, were not going to last much longer, and Alvarr did not believe he could grow any more in this terrain. He remembered the sound of the bundle bouncing and skidding behind him; in two-legged form, he'd been able to control its path much better.

  That evening, Alvarr dared to unwrap the material completely. As he'd suspected, the rough treatment had damaged the bottom of the bundle quite a lot. Some of the vines' windings had almost worn away completely.

  He sat down in two-legged form and figured out a way to retie everything so that the vines on the bottom could last longer. As an experiment, he reached out with his power and asked Nature to replenish the vine. He laid a piece on the ground and willed it to grow. Nothing happened, but he was not surprised.

  Before he left the stallions, he'd been forced to use his power because so much of Nature's energy kept leaking into him. And in the old camp, he thought it had stabilized. But since he'd left the ancient people's camp, his magic was barely there, as though it was asleep. Was it reacting to the terrain? Or maybe being a stallion and a mage was just an unstable combination. Those sounded sounded like questions for the Elders.

  As he lay his four-legged shape down in a grassy hollow, he sent a plea to Nature. If I am serving you at all, please watch over me.

  The next day, the mage was a bit afraid to graze. He remembered the strange nausea, and wondered if it was anything to be concerned about. He felt fine now, but he looked over at the waving grass and felt no desire to eat. Don't be stupid, he told himself, and made himself graze. He caught a glimpse of an herb that would normally interest him, but his stomach twisted at the thought of tasting anything but plain grass. A new, interesting plant was probably what had gotten him sick.

  How far do I have left to go? The air here smelled unfamiliar; he was still a long way off from home, but at least he was traveling in the right direction. He grazed slowly, conserving his energy, trying to think of what to do when the vines became unusable. The won't last the journey.

  He left the cloth-wrapped items at the bottom of the next peak, which had a smaller, more gentle path, which he climbed with ease. It was wasting time, but he did not want to risk pulling his bundle up a slope for nothing. When he got to the top, the sun was just starting to set.

  He looked ahead and shook his mane. The barren land. Though the storm had touched this area, too, Alvarr could see mostly the brown of the earth, and the scent of dry dust and ice filled his nostrils.

  How was this possible? Alvarr stamped a hoof. This had happened too many times in his life, and the only conclusion he could make was that Nature's power was helping him, either by making him faster, or somehow making the distance he traveled shorter.

  The mage shivered. This was an aspect of Nature that he did not like at all. Nature can change Nature's rules, but I hope that I never have that power.

  He went back down the slope. If the barren land was ahead, he would have no water for a few days. He found a nearby stream and drank deeply, trying to store the water in his body. After crossing the barren land, he would still be days away, but on familiar ground.

  The vines would dry and become brittle. In man-shape, he twisted them together to make a thicker vine. The work was coarse and unskilled, especially with his fingers coated in sticky juice. He just hoped it would survive the crossing.

  Traveling in man-shape was out of the question; he remembered the battle with the strange beast. His horn could defend him. Even if no other dangers befell him, his two-legged form was not nearly as strong, fast, or enduring as his four-legged form. I must take no chances.

  With a final look behind at the hills and mountains that hid the ancient land, Alvarr shifted, took the vine-rope in his teeth, and started the slow journey across the dry, lifeless terrain.

  His cloth-wrapped bundle dragged between his front legs because the vine-rope had gotten shorter. The sound of it scraping on the earth made him nervous. He had to stop and listen when he thought he heard something different. He was terrified of anything ripping or tearing, and still worried about what he would do when he had no more vines to bind it together.

  The sun started to set on the first day traveling across the barren land, and the wind changed. It brought a fragrance to Alvarr's nose, that of a plant, one he had not smelled when crossing in the other direction. A plant might mean water. Alvarr couldn't smell any nearby, but he decided to walk against the wind to see what he could find.

  The plant-smell grew stronger, a thick and oddly beast-like smell. As Alvarr followed his nose, he thought he recognized certain things: a small rock formation, the way the land sloped. But then, he saw a dark, low-growing smudge of bushes ahead. I don't rememberer those.

  He walked up to the edge of where they started. No, he definitely had never seen these strange plants before; he would have remembered these tough, thorny bushes that only came up to his knee. They crawled over the ground, keeping low, probably for protection against the wind. There were flowers among the dark, angular growth. He took the risk of shifting to two-legs to see this plant's colors.

  The flowers had black petals with red centers, and the stems were not dark green, as his four-legged vision had seen, but a dark brown, almost black. They faced away from him and into the distance as though they were racing.

  Of course. This was where he had battled the beast, and the thorns had grown from its spilled blood. He crept closer and shuddered. The thorns, grown out of bare black wood stems, were half as long as his hand.

  He shifted and backed away from the wicked-looking vegetation. This is Nature, but not all of Nature is good for our people. Still, it would be his silent companion for a distance, for it grew in the direction of Alvarr's home.

  The mage followed alongside the thorny flowers, wishing he could walk more quickly. The terrain here, though not favorable to life, was gentle on the material, as long as it did not snag on any of the thorns. He shook his head, but he couldn't get the heavy, strange scent of the flowers out of his nostrils.

  Even when evening fell, Alvarr was disturbed at how flower heads still pointed in the direction of the camp. He thought they'd follow the direction of the sun. It was as though they were waiting for something to meet them.

  At first, Alvarr was able to walk next to the plants. They sprawled along the ground and sent out shoots as they went. But the patch widened, forcing the mage to deviate from his straight path toward the woods. He looked ahead to see the dark growth taking over the ground in all directions.

  How far does it spread? Would he be able to get around or through it? He put a hoof over a thornless part of a stem and jerked it back. The brief contact had sent the energy of hunger. For meat? For blood? He did not fear any of Nature's creations, but this plant deeply disturbed him. After all, Alvarr had watched it grow from the beast's body, unfurling quickly. Nature had grown it for a purpose, but not one known to him.

  Alvarr would not risk traveling through it. He could not think of a way to carry his items over the thorns. For now, he would walk around its edge. The delay frustrated him, now that the stallion camp was within a few days' travel.

  It would also add more time to his journey, which mattered in this dry place. Any time spent sleeping would increase his time spent without water. So Alvarr again fell into that dozing walk, keeping enough awareness not to walk into the black stems with their thorns and black-red flowers. He was not altogether surprised when he saw the sky lighten.

  And far ahead, the dark brambles blended into what Alvarr thought might be a dark line of true trees. If it was the forest line, he just needed to travel through the dead part, then the living part, cross the river, and then he would be back home. Though the word home felt wrong associated with the stallion camp. Nevertheless, it was where he had to go.

  Laren, you were wrong. I am coming back. Though Alvarr knew he should conserve his energy, he couldn't but pick up his pace, the twisted vine dangling from his mouth and trailing between his forelegs. He followed the curving edge
of the flowers. Blood flowers, he decided they should be called.

  His legs did not want to move that fast, probably due to the lack of water and true rest. But Alvarr was small, he was young and healthy, and all traces of his nausea were gone. Definitely a bad herb.

  Alvarr made himself keep up the pace, leaving miles behind him. His lungs moved air steadily in and out of his lungs. His legs made a steady one-two gait. And the dark line of trees that marked the beginning of the woods grew closer.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A Mage's Return

  HE GOT CLOSE enough to the forest to see the dead, dry branches. I forgot about that. The black, thorny bramble also grew toward the forest, its flowers pointing the way, though some lengths away. We will travel together some distance more, then.

  Slowing to a walk, the mage reached out with his energy. It did not respond, and while he wasn't surprised, a sinking dread filled Alvarr. It had deserted him, it seemed.

  No, he reminded himself with a shake of his mane. Don't be stupid. Nature had been with him in ways he had not imagined during the journey. Nature was with him still, it had to be. How could the earth itself abandon him, an earth mage?

  Though he knew it would be still at least two days without water, he tossed his head, took a fresh grip on the vine between his teeth, and broke into a trot, trying to leave his doubts behind. As he passed through dry brush and over fallen leaves that were more dust than anything, he forced himself to think. He did not have a plan for what he would do once he reached the others.

  He imagined himself entering the stallion camp, dragging the strange items. Would the other stallions be curious? What would be the looks on their faces? Perhaps they would be shocked to see him again. Maybe they thought I bolted and died.

  How would he explain where he had been in a way that made sense to the Elders, if no one else? What would Laren think? Would Laren even speak to him?

  And his worst fear, even worse than being shunned and sent to live on his own. What if no one believed him? Some stallions won't want to change the way they live. They won't want to believe me.

  But it didn't matter, what happened to him, because there was so much more at stake than just one person's unhappiness. Though it was not a happy thought, Alvarr found some comfort in it. His existence was to serve Nature. How many others could know why they had been born? It was a wondrous thing... even though his magic slept inside him. But perhaps my magic has left me because I lack faith.

  These thoughts kept Alvarr occupied through the rest of the dead woods, still keeping a healthy distance away from the crawling blood flowers, which seemed to live even where nothing else could. I suppose this terrain is much like their native land.

  After he slept under a dry tree on the second day, he opened his eyes and realized that he was looking at a green, living part of the forest.

  Alvarr smelled water, and this time he knew the source. The river. The thorny blood flowers had taken him at an angle away from the camp, but he was still heading straight toward the river.

  He was half a day through the trees before Alvarr realized was what he didn't scent. When he'd left, the disgusting smell of romeya had lingered in his nostrils, even after he had crossed the river. Now, it was gone, even when he stopped to taste the air.

  A cautious hope touched his heart. If that poison flower was gone, maybe, as Elder Sevan claimed, it was just a bad year, and next year, the land would recover. Maybe the dead part of the forest was just Nature reclaiming the land so that it could be made new again.

  There was a slight burning pain on his leg. He looked down and saw that a thorn had scratched his leg below his knee, drawing faint beads of blood. He hadn't noticed that he was so close to them. The flowers grew in abundance, all facing the river, but they had changed. Now, the flowers came in both dark and light.

  Despite his eagerness to get home, Alvarr found himself slowing as he walked toward the river, dragging his package. Dirt and dust covered it, discoloring the once-white material. The vine was barely hanging on, especially where his jaws clamped it.

  He was afraid to check the contents. It had been a long while since he'd unwrapped the bundle. What if he had come all this way, only to find that everything had been destroyed?

  He splayed out his hooves and made himself drop the end of the vine. Shifting to two-legs, he crouched by the bundle, and made himself unwrap it. There were the bound bundles of leaves with their markings, safe inside their own white wrappings. He ran his hand over them but couldn't feel any moisture, easing his fear of rot and ruin.

  The mage-made tool that was wood somehow grown into sharp points had been untouched by the journey, but Alvarr had expected that to endure. He held his breath as he opened the straight-sided wood. The likenesses were still perfect, so lifelike he expected the three people to move. So that is good. He started slowly, carefully rewrapping everything. It would not do to be careless now, not when he was so close. He stopped and listened for the distant sound of the river. There it is. The sound that marked the boundary of the stallion camp.

  He closed his eyes and breathed deeply to calm his sudden nerves, letting the breeze stir his hair against his shoulders. He had to convince the stallions that the rift was real, and that they needed to join with the mares. And possibly find their true mates.

  A sudden sadness cut into him, right where he was unprotected. He put his hand on his stomach. I'm a mage. I'm not likely to have a mate. Not the way he had seen between Rulea and her stallion, or Alvi and hers. His chest ached, and his eyes stung with tears. But you knew this already, he told himself. This is no surprise. But in the privacy away from the tribe, he gave into his emotions, which seemed to change every time the wind did.

  It is because there is no one to see, he admitted. How much of himself had he been holding back, even when he lived with the mares? All of it.

  And because there was no one to see, he defiantly imagined himself with a true mate, someone for companionship. Someone he cared for, and who cared for him -- not just what he could do, but Alvarr himself. Who he was.

  After a day of gathering herbs and helping the tribe's young healer, Alvarr entered his dwelling, which was made of a straight-sided wooden frame and living vine walls. He was older, and his muscles had strengthened. Though he was still slim, he was energetic and powerful, no stranger to work, even after seeing to a birth.

  On the man-sized pallet, his mate lay, asleep from a full day's work. A straight-sided hole cast silvery moonlight onto his back. He was turned away from Alvarr, and the light touched his strong shoulders and back.

  Though Alvarr tried to be quiet, his mate stirred and sat up. "Just coming back?"

  Alvarr admired the handsome man, though he had seen him many times, of course. "Yes, finally." He hurried toward the pallet with its promise of sleep, and lay on its soft surface.

  His mate's arms came around him and rolled Alvarr over until the mage rested on his chest. "Was it very bad?" He spread Alvarr's hair out, untangling it with gentle fingers.

  Alvarr shook his head. "The birthing was hard, but Elora is strong and will be fine."

  "And the foal?"

  "Healthy," the mage assured. "Normal." His mate's worried expression eased. Alvarr's heart warmed at how he cared for all the tribe's foals as if they were his own.

  A strong hand stroked Alvarr's hair. "Go to sleep."

  "If you will." The mage's eyes were already closing in the warm safety of their bed.

  When Alvarr's imagined scene came to an end, an echoing emptiness was left. I want that. The honest thought escaped before he had a chance to pull it back. He wanted a companion to be with him, not just a friend, but someone to understand who would also understand him. Someone who would not be afraid of his magic. Someone who would accept that magic was part of Alvarr, a part that could not be severed and have the mage still be himself.

  He wanted to rest with someone in man-shape, to offer and receive comfort, to give and receive help. To build a life toge
ther, not separately.

  And it was a stallion that Alvarr wanted. The mage blew out a breath and reached for a handful of his long hair, only to remember that he had cut it. I don't know if I imagined a man because of what had happened with Laren, but I've never felt the urge to mount a mare.

  So, he was different, but he'd be different even if he wanted a mare-mate because of his magic and his horn. Over the many generations their people had lived, he couldn't be the only one, could he? Were there any mates who were mare and mare, or stallion and stallion, in the ancient city? Perhaps his wise Mare-Mother knew, but he would never find her.

  With his hand, he picked up the end of the twisted vine, which he'd had to shorten again, and started walking toward the river. His hooves dragged. Now that he knew what he wanted, he would see what he could never have in every dwelling, in every interaction with his tribe-brothers. Not that I want any of them for a mate. But that wasn't the point.

  Laren would have to speak to them about true mates. Perhaps I can just tell the Elders, and they can spread the word to the rest of the tribe.

  Cowardice was unbecoming of someone who had battled the night-fear, killed a predator, survived on his own for several nights, and discovered an ancient civilization. I serve Nature. Whatever happens to him would happen.

  When the glimmer of the river came into sight from between the trees, which had lost most of their leaves, Alvarr realized that though he could get across, his items could not. The cloth had kept off the ice from the ice storm, but putting his bundle in deep water was a different situation.

  He let go of the vine and went up to the beginning of the bank, the smooth dark stones exposed by how low the water was this season. The river flowed swiftly. He put a leaf on the water's edge, and the current spun it in circles, then dragged it away with a speed that was not just on the surface.