by Bex Hogan
Tired and despairing, the mere thought of Bronn brings tears to my eyes. I miss him already, though it’s barely been two days. But it’s the knowledge that the number of days without him will only grow that makes me forget how to breathe.
I shouldn’t stay here. Without Esther’s enchantments I’m sure it’s not safe. But where is there for me to go? Exhausted I lie back in the dirt and close my eyes. Talon will wake me if he needs to.
When I do wake up, it’s with a start. It’s still early, the light weak as it struggles to stake its claim on the day, and my sea vulture is nowhere to be seen. Hoping he’s just gone hunting for breakfast, I eat a little of my own.
I’ve awoken with a renewed sense of clarity. I’m where I’m supposed to be. It’s only here that I can find magic, an army or both, and I must find them fast. I have to get home before the next blood moon – to save Torin. And then maybe together we can unite these islands as we longed to do in the first place.
Which means I’m going to have to try to find Esther. She’s the only link I have to this land. I’m certain Talon can help me; sea vultures can find anyone. I just need to wait for him to return.
But he does not. I scavenge the huts for anything that might be useful – a fruitless task, but as I remember the many potions and ingredients that once filled the shelves I’m reminded of my love for the art of healing. It’s been lost under the immense weight of needing to save the people, and the seductive power of magic. I must not forget who I was. Who I am. Someone more drawn to heal than to hurt. I’ve drifted a long way from that person. It’s time to find my way back.
The sound of breaking twigs interrupts my thoughts. Someone’s coming and it’s not Talon. Perhaps Esther’s returning, or it could be the brothers, having tracked me down, intent on claiming their sacrifice. I’m back out of the hut in a split second, and stand ready to defend myself against any attack, dagger drawn. My nerves rattle as the sound comes closer but then the marram grasses part and my breath catches in my throat. Ambling towards me with its head low is the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen. Feathered feet, trailing tail, a shaggy mane – the horse is the colour of moonlight. Wise eyes peer out from behind the long forelock, staring right at me. I don’t need to be a Mage to know it’s no ordinary horse, nor this a chance encounter. It walks with calm confidence directly towards me and when it’s an arm’s length away, it stretches out its muzzle for me to stroke. When my fingers reach its nose, warmth spreads through them and into my blood; the reassuring, familiar whisper of magic binds us as we touch. The horse snorts contentedly and then, to my astonishment, it lowers its front legs and bows. I do the only polite thing and bow back.
Introductions made, I walk closer and pat the mare on her silken neck. ‘You’re a beauty, aren’t you?’ I swear she nods her head in response. ‘Where did you come from? Do you know what happened here?’
I’m not actually expecting a response, but I almost wouldn’t be surprised if she gave one. She doesn’t speak, though. Instead she turns her head round to nudge me, nibbling at my sleeve. When I don’t respond, she nudges harder.
‘What?’ I follow her gaze and smile. ‘You want me to come with you?’
Now she makes a joyful whinny and I laugh. It’s as if she knew I’d need a guide. I’m hardly overwhelmed with other options. Though I hate to leave without Talon, it just feels right to be with the horse. And Talon should be able to find me wherever I go. He’s done it before.
‘All right then,’ I say, as I jump on to her back. ‘But I should warn you, I’m not the best rider.’
The mare shakes her head as if to tell me it hardly matters. She’s in charge. All I have to do is hold on. But she takes careful steps as we move out of Esther’s clearing, moving slowly for me as I become accustomed to my position. I twine my fingers into her mane and begin to relax, sensing I can trust this horse to look after me.
She’s taking me inland, away from the water, and north, in a direction I’ve never been. A flutter of anticipation tickles in my chest at the prospect of exploring more of the island. I’ve only ever seen the marram forests, and while their beauty is mesmerising, the chance to see beyond is exciting. The mare is certainly very purposeful; she knows exactly where she’s going, and I feel sure we’re headed towards Esther. Who else could have sent me an escort?
We travel for a long time, the day passing without any sign of Talon or anyone else, and it’s after noon when the horse comes to a halt. I’ve allowed myself to relax and it takes me a moment to realise the atmosphere has shifted, that the horse is tense beneath me, and there is a specific kind of fear to be tasted on the air.
We’re being hunted.
I lean down towards the mare’s neck and whisper, ‘What’s wrong?’
She throws her head to the left, indicating that’s where danger lies, and I turn slowly to look, simultaneously sliding my dagger from my boot.
To start with I can see nothing, just the darkness among the giant grasses, but then I glimpse it – the glint of eyes.
The she-wolf launches at us before I’ve even had time to process what’s happening. The horse rears up, and I clutch at her mane to stop from sliding off, but then the she-wolf is leaping at the mare’s breast, sinking her fangs deep into the horse’s flesh. I lean over to plunge my dagger into the she-wolf’s neck as the mare screams. Immediately she releases the horse, who isn’t waiting around for another attack and sets off at such a gallop it’s all I can do to cling on.
She races through the forest, not slowing despite her injury, weaving effortlessly in and out of the trees for what feels like for ever, until she begins to stagger and eventually comes to a halt in a particularly dense part of the forest. There is no sound apart from my heart racing and the laboured breathing of my steed. I leap from her back moments before she falls to her knees and then collapses on to her side. She’s dying.
Soothing her as best I can, I run my hands down her neck towards the wound. Fresh blood spills down her white hair, and I can see it’s deep – too deep. I have nothing but the few items in my satchel and the clothes I’m wearing, so I tear the sleeve off my shirt and press it down hard to staunch the bleeding. The horse whimpers, and I stroke her head, desperate to help but not knowing how. I scan around us, searching for anything that bears a similarity to my remedies, and my gaze falls on a tall grass with blue seedpods balanced precariously at the tips. I recognise it from a sketch in one of my books but can’t remember its exact properties. And yet I’m drawn towards it, something telling me this is medicinal rather than poisonous. Grabbing a handful of the pods, I split them open, sending plumes of sapphire dust into the air. Salvaging as much of the powder as I can, I spit on it, using the tip of my finger to mix dust to paste. Once it’s thick and gloopy, I smear it over the horse’s wound, pressing it into the warm flesh to plug the bleeding hole.
It’s an act of instinct and only once it’s finished do I wonder if I’ve done the right thing. For all I know I’ve just forced poison straight into the horse’s bloodstream. When she fails to improve, my shoulders drop as low as my spirits. The mare can join the list of those I couldn’t save, and I gently lift her head to rest in my lap, smoothing the forelock absent-mindedly as I wait for death to claim her.
But then the smell of burning reaches my nose, and to my horror I see the wound is bubbling, smoke rising from the damaged tissue. The horse pulls away from me, crying in pain, shaking her head in protest as she struggles to stand. Uttering a piercing shriek, she gallops off, swallowed up by the immensity of the forest.
I stare after her for far longer than is necessary because I have no idea what just happened. My confidence is shaken. If I can’t trust my instincts, then what do I have left?
The horse brought me a long way inland, and I can see the edge of the forest approaching, tantalising close. All that lies ahead of me is the vast mountainous range and that’s certainly the direction the horse fled.
I have to know what I did to her, have to know w
hat that plant was capable of, and so I decide to follow the trail of blood she left in her wake. If I’m being honest, I also have to know if she’s lying somewhere in terrible agony, so that I can put her out of her misery if needs be. It’s a thought I don’t relish.
It’s not hard to track her. Blood and hoofprints are enough for even the most inexperienced hunter to trace. I soon emerge from the cover of the forest and stare up at the climb before me. I’m woefully ill-equipped for a trek up a mountain, but what else can I do? And so I begin the journey, hoping I’ll stumble across the mare before too long.
Hours pass. There’s no sign of the horse, but as the path winds higher the temperature falls and my teeth begin to chatter as I slowly lose all sensation in my extremities. I’m confused. The droplets of blood have ceased and on this rocky surface there’s no way to see hoof marks, but this must be the way the horse came. There’s no other route apart from this worn-out old track. That I’ve not found her yet makes no sense.
I press on, fully aware of how aimless this search is becoming, and how it highlights my lack of direction and my woeful ignorance of this island. But perhaps she’s returning to Esther – after all, who else could have sent her to me? And I have to find Esther, I just have to. Otherwise I’ve failed, and everything I’ve left behind, everything I’ve done – all those barbed words I used to impale Bronn’s heart – will have been for nothing. So I keep walking, even as the snow begins to fall, searching for an invisible horse.
As night wraps its deadly cloak round me, the temperature drops even further and I know I’m in trouble. If I don’t find some shelter soon, I’m going to die up on this desolate mountain. The path all but seems to have disappeared, and I’m climbing aimlessly. My feet are numb blocks at the end of my legs, and I’ve started to trip and stumble over rocks my frozen toes can’t detect, when I hear something. The faintest sound of a horse whinnying.
Tired and freezing, I head towards the noise, wanting to find the animal it came from, hoping it’s my mare. Tonight may be the last for both of us, but better we spend it together than apart. The wind is whipping up now, the blizzard near blinding me, but still I keep walking. Eventually I reach a copse of ice trees, their pale blue trunks shimmering even as their branches obliterate the light of the moon. This time when I fall to the ground I lack the energy to get back up, the strong gale buffeting me down, so instead I crawl on my hands and knees towards the sound.
The cold has coiled round me like creeping ivy, binding my body with invisible ropes so that I can barely heave myself along, but as I reach the edge of the copse I see light. Fire. And a hut. A strangled cry of hope escapes from my mouth and I’m just about to attempt the struggle to my feet when a heavy boot crushes down on my shoulder and the end of a spear is thrust into my face.
‘Stay there.’ The voice is as harsh as the terrain. ‘What are you doing here?’
I raise my hands as best I can in surrender, wishing I wasn’t frozen into incapacitation. ‘I’m looking for a horse.’ Maybe it’s not wise to have been honest, but my wits are dulled, my brain trapped in a fog.
There’s a pause, and while I can’t lift my head enough to see my attacker’s face, I can sense fury spiking off her like razors.
‘Rayvn!’ Another voice is calling in the distance. ‘What is it?’
The blow to my head comes swiftly and I black out. When I come to, I’m being dragged along by my left leg, which is doing a surprisingly good job of reviving me.
‘Rayvn, what are you doing?’ The other voice is closer now and I look up to see two women standing over me. They are undoubtedly sisters, with hair the colour of the ocean’s depths and features that are almost identical yet entirely different. The woman holding my leg is all angles and edges, whilst the other has kindness smoothing the steely glint in her eyes. They are both buried under heavy layers of cloaks and hoods – a stark contrast to my one layer, which is damp from snow.
‘Found her on the boundary. She’s come for the horses.’
The woman who is not Rayvn looks at me now and sees I’m conscious. Frowning, she steps over to squat beside me.
‘Is that true? You here for the horses?’ Her eyes burn into me, her lips set straight, and it strikes me there’s something about her that seems familiar. Like somehow we’ve met before.
‘Not horses, horse.’ I’m struggling to speak my face is so numb. ‘It was dying.’
Her squint deepens, while Rayvn’s grip tightens on my leg. ‘What are you talking about?’ She turns to her sister. ‘Let her go.’
My leg is unceremoniously released and I shuffle to sit up, wondering if the feeling will ever return to my fingers. ‘Is Esther here?’
The woman frowns. ‘Who?’
‘I was looking for her … She sent me the horse, but then we were attacked and she was injured … the horse I mean, and I tracked it this way.’ The stream of words is garbled and I’m dimly aware that my brain is slowing down. The woman is looking at me with such surprise I wonder if my words actually came out in the right order.
‘What’s your name?’ And the same kindness that softens her features is abundantly clear in her voice now.
‘Marianne.’
‘I’m Olwyn,’ she says, and she shrugs off one of her many layers and wraps it round my shoulders. ‘I think we need to talk. Let’s get you inside.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, reaching for the hand she’s extended. But as my fingers do their best to curl round hers, my heart stops entirely. Because on her wrist is a birthmark. It’s faint, almost undetectable, but I’d recognise it anywhere.
She bears the mark of the crescent moon.
The hut is small, the fire that blazes warming every nook and cranny. Olwyn guides me to sit beside it, ignoring her sister’s protests, and then covers me in blankets.
‘Olwyn, stop this madness,’ Rayvn says, her spear still firmly in her hand. ‘What are you thinking?’
Olwyn ignores her sister. ‘Are you hungry?’ she says to me. ‘Some warm soup perhaps?’
I nod as best I can, the heat from the fire causing a burning pain in my limbs as it defrosts them. Still, it’s not quite as fierce as the stare Rayvn fixes on me, her gaze never lifting.
As Olwyn sets a pot over the flames, a small figure appears from a back room, a young girl with features finer than a bird’s, who couldn’t be past her twelfth year. Her face is the image of her older sisters’, but more delicate and while their hair is blacker than jetstone, hers is bright white, just like the horse who led me here.
‘Olwyn?’ She’s clearly nervous of my presence.
Olwyn springs to her feet and walks over to the girl. ‘Pip, everything’s fine, go back to sleep.’
‘No.’ Rayvn glares at Olwyn. ‘It’s not fine. You’ve brought a stranger into our home. You’ve put us all in danger.’
Pip’s eyes widen with fear, but Olwyn just sighs. ‘Calm yourself,’ she says. The words are gently spoken but with enough authority to quieten Rayvn. ‘Pip, why don’t you come and meet our guest?’
And with her arms protectively wrapped round her little sister Olwyn brings Pip nearer me.
‘Pipit, this is Marianne. Rayvn found her on the boundary, looking for one of our mares.’ Now Olwyn looks at me, but it isn’t suspicion in her eyes, more curiosity. ‘Is that right?’
Again a nod is all my frozen body can muster, though I desperately want to ask her who she is how she has the same birthmark as me, and what that could possibly mean.
‘Would you fetch our guest some soup, while I speak with Rayvn?’ Olwyn asks Pip, who nods while the older sisters huddle in a corner and argue in loud but indecipherable whispers.
Pip nervously passes me a mug and I’m about to take it when I pause. I have no idea who these women are and have lowered my guard too far already. The last residents I met on this island wanted to drug and kill me. Who’s to say these sisters won’t do the same?
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Rayvn says, striding over when she
sees my hesitation. ‘If we wanted to kill you, we’d stick you with a spear.’ And she grabs the mug from Pip, taking a large mouthful of the soup to prove it’s safe to eat. ‘If you don’t like our hospitality, you can always leave,’ she says, and holds the soup out like a challenge. I rise to it, and the liquid slips like fire down my throat.
‘Thank you,’ I say after another few mouthfuls, the hearty broth reviving me from the inside out. ‘And don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt your horses.’
Pip looks reassured, but Rayvn is less easy to placate.
‘So what do you want with them?’ Rayvn says, and I sense that whatever Olwyn has said to her means she will tolerate my presence at least long enough to hear an explanation.
I tell them everything that’s happened since I discovered Esther’s abandoned home, leaving out some of the details of my failed attempt at healing, but hoping the rest of the story explains why I’ve stumbled on to their very remote land. ‘But obviously I was mistaken,’ I finish. ‘Esther isn’t here.’ Though I’m beginning to suspect this might be exactly where the horse intended to bring me all along.
The three of them are all staring at me – Rayvn in confusion mixed with outrage, Olwyn in amazement and Pip in disbelief, her mouth hanging open.
‘What?’ They’re making me suddenly uncomfortable.
‘You rode the mare?’ Olwyn sounds in awe, though it seems an odd thing to focus on in the scheme of the story. ‘She let you?’
I nod, watching Olwyn and Rayvn exchange a very meaningful look.
‘Pip, go wake up Mama,’ Rayvn says, and for the first time she puts down her spear.
