by Aiden James
Was I drunk? After brief consideration, I decided I was not drunk, although I wished I were and that this scene was all a bad dream.
The guy spit to the left of him. “You got a name?”
The horse gave a soft nicker and turned, facing me in another direction. Instinctively, I flattened my hand on its neck to calm it. In front of me, near the edge of the debris-littered road, a white ornate sign, framed in gold, hung from two posts. Welcome Home to Solomon Brandt Estates, written in black script, stuck out at me from inside the frame.
“The idiot doesn’t know his own name,” belted another voice from the crowd.
“I-I’m… Solomon Brandt.” The weak rasp of my voice sounded unfamiliar. My seared throat begged for liquid.
Laughter rang throughout the circle of bystanders that formed around Excalibur and me.
“Yeah, sure you are. And I’m Abraham fucking Lincoln,” said someone else.
More laughter.
Their jesting didn’t divert my focus, however. My gaze was plastered to the name on the sign. My name. I was certain of it.
“Hey, Frank, did you call the cops?”
“Yeah, they’re on their way.
The guy called Frank removed his white hat, similar to the yellow ones, and raked a hand through his flaxen hair. “You’re gonna pay for the damage to that sewer line, asshole.”
After managing to work a wad of spit, flavored with dirt and blood, down my parched throat, I turned toward him and answered in a stronger voice. “What is a sewer line?”
The grin Frank sported was a sign of trouble—I knew that much.
The muscles in my chest twitched under the lacerations, adding to the sting. Excalibur pawed at the flat, strange-looking ground. Even though I sat upon a horse, I could tell I was a good six inches taller than the guy glaring up at me, and broader. Although the muscles in his arms bulged from whatever he had been doing, I somehow knew I could snuff out his life with one blow, in my best form. But I wasn’t in good form, and I had to find out why.
A squeal like nothing I’d ever heard before pierced my eardrums. My mount crouched on its hind legs. With a white-knuckled grip on the horse’s mane, and my knees pressed hard against its sides, I clung to the beast beneath me, as his front hooves lifted and his upper body reared.
The screeching grew louder, and my heartbeat drummed against my chest wall, as I fought to hang on to Excalibur—my lifeline.
The crowd parted, and through the break burst a shiny, white, motorized vehicle, with swirling red and blue lights on top.
With a jolt to my entire body, the horse landed on all fours.
A man and a woman, wearing some sort of identical uniform, exited the vehicle and swaggered toward me. My gaze drifted over the strange-looking couple, until it landed on a handgun in a holster fastened to the woman’s belt.
Powerless as I was, my urge to flee the lynch mob suddenly grew stronger. With amused expressions, the uniformed couple stopped a few feet from my mount, closing the gap in the circle. As the man opened his mouth to speak, I leaned forward and spoke low into Excalibur’s ear.
“Run.”
Without hesitation, Excalibur reared once more before lunging at two men, who sprang to the side, creating a tight opening in the circle. The horse dashed between the frantic-looking people, then veered right and jumped a white picket fence.
The force of the wind stung my skin as Excalibur carried me up an oak-lined driveway toward an enormous white house with a row of huge columns across the front. For a fleeting moment, I felt as if he was taking me home. Familiarity picked away at my brain as we hurtled up the drive closer to the mansion. As familiar as the structure and sweeping grounds seemed, the place also looked foreign, leaving me more confused than ever.
When we rounded the side, leaving the cool shade of the oaks behind, an expanse of well-trimmed lawn, with paths laid out in rose bushes, lay before me. The sun beat down on my exposed skin as Excalibur galloped through the floral labyrinth, as if he knew exactly where he traveled to.
Shouts from the mob carried across the breeze, then diminished altogether as we neared the woods edging the back field. But Excalibur didn’t slow until we were well hidden amongst the moss-covered trees in the dense forest. I loosened my grip on the mane and straightened, flexing my cramped fingers.
The inside of my thighs chafed against the horse’s hide, and I was sure, by the bouncing I received on our escape, my most sensitive areas would be blue and blistered. But despite the agony, I remained on my mount, for I knew nothing else.
A canopy of twisted branches shaded us from the sun as Excalibur wove his way through the old forest. Before long, a chill settled over me, awakening wounds, transforming misery to new heights. But the unbearable thirst soon overpowered all other conditions that assailed my body, heightening my sense of survival. There had to be a water hole, a puddle, somewhere in this damp, mossy shelter.
With little strength left, I hunched over the horse, closed my eyes and focused on the sounds surrounding me. Overhead, the canopy of leaves rustled softly, and then stilled altogether. Small birds chirped somewhere in the distance, and sticks snapped beneath the weight of the stallion. These things, along with my raspy breathing, and a low snort now and then from Excalibur, kept me company.
The sweet scents of honeysuckle and magnolia carried through the forest and settled under my nose. Although their perfume blended together in the air, I could distinctly pick each apart, as if embedded in a memory. A warm lull blanketed me, tranquilizing my body and spirit.
Maybe the end was at hand—my last few breaths.
As I flitted in and out of consciousness, hoping death would soon take me, darkness crept in, ripping away the blanket of comfort, and seeping into each of my wounds like salt. Moaning hurt my throat. The dark shadow stretched over the forest, bringing with it raw coldness; its musty, earthy scent swallowed all that was good. My goose bumped skin came alive, and I knew death had eluded me once again.
And that made me angry.
Despite my parched throat and the agony I knew yelling would cause, I lifted my head in the air, pulling the veins in my neck, and forced out a noise that sounded like something between a roar and a growl. Feeling more satisfied than I had imagined, I repositioned my grip on the mane and dug my heels into the horse’s sides.
Excalibur picked up speed, weaving through the trees that I could barely make out traveling at this speed. But the darkness traveled with us. If I didn’t know better, I would think dusk had fallen upon us—in a hurry. But by the position of the sun in the sky before we entered the woods, it could not be much past midday.
As we rode through the darkening forest, my wounds sizzled and bled as if sharp tree limbs raked over my skin, reopening them. Trails of blood ran down my body, dripping on the white beast I sat on.
Just when I thought I would go insane, we broke into a rocky clearing and back under the afternoon sun, leaving the mysterious shadow, and all its foreboding, behind. The bleeding stopped, along with the latest batch of pain. I tilted my face toward the bright globe in the sky, set my shoulders back, puffed out my chest, and took a deep breath, feeling the welcomed warmth wrap around my body.
When I checked over my shoulder, the forest behind me seemed as tranquil as when we had entered it. But although the darkness had disappeared, I felt the evil lurking nearby, waiting for its chance to swallow me.
I swept my gaze over the new terrain. Nothing about the clearing looked familiar. But something had to stick out. I had to belong somewhere. I couldn’t have just appeared on a horse in the middle of a street I had never seen before, half dead, and with no memory of my identity, no memories of anything before an hour ago.
My gaze fell to the back of the horse’s head, the spot between his tall pointed ears.
“Who am I?” I said, patting one side of his regal neck. “You know, don’t you, boy?”
Excalibur replied with a soft nicker.
“I’m Solomon,” I
answered back with a nod. “Solomon Brandt.”
alfway across the clearing, a pulsing wail—the same dreadful sound that came from the white vehicle—shattered the silence. Before I could nudge him, Excalibur picked up speed and headed for the hills looming ahead. As I bounced on the horse’s back, gritting my teeth, as if that helped the pain any, I searched the area, but other than various sized boulders and shrubbery, nothing stuck out. However, I still had the feeling of being chased.
They searched for me, whoever they were.
The piercing sound screaming danger chased us as the pebbled ground beneath turned lush and green and we began to ascend. Excalibur soon found a path that took us into the hills where low-lying trees provided airy shelter from the sun, as well as refuge from our pursuers, wherever they were. The loudness of the siren lessened.
From the summit of the first hill, I could make out, in the far distance, the tops of buildings—strange-looking structures with shiny silver domes, equal in height with the surrounding trees. Maybe I lived there. The mansion we rode past on our escape from the lynch mob flashed in my head. The place had felt like home for a moment, yet foreign, all at the same time.
As we rode on, the landscape turned into a wooded area, less dense than the last forest. The siren had either stopped, or we had enough distance between us; I couldn’t hear the heart-pounding noise anymore. Weariness settled upon me again, and my head began to droop, when Excalibur’s ears perked up. I heard the noise at the same time he did—frogs. Hope filled me, temporarily dousing the agony. Where there were croaking amphibians, there would be water. Excalibur twisted his way through a web of alders, leading me closer to the glorious sound. A few minutes later, we came to a stream, lined with rocks and mossy banks. Excalibur stopped for the first time since fleeing the mob and pawed at the ground.
I hadn’t really thought about dismounting until now. Excalibur neighed softly, as if feeding me a line of encouragement, or maybe he, too, wanted a drink of the life-sustaining liquid.
“Okay. Have some patience,” I said.
Using my hands, I lifted my right leg over the horse’s back until I sat side saddle, and then slid down his side. But when my feet hit the ground, I collapsed to my knees with a groan. But pain didn’t matter in that moment. I crawled over moss until I reached—gold.
Excalibur and I drank together. I filled my grimy hands and brought the cool offering to my parched lips. The refreshing water, rushing down my throat, revitalized me as I sucked the liquid back as fast as I could scoop it up. Then, despite the cold, I positioned myself so that I sat on the edge of the stream, and hung my feet in the water.
As I lay back on the moss, I heard something that shot a jolt of fear through me. I sprang back into a sitting position.
The sound came from a woman… She was singing. I held perfectly still, as did Excalibur. Then the voice ended abruptly, followed by bushes rustling. I jumped to my feet, expecting my knees to give out, but they didn’t. Frantic, I flicked my gaze to the horse. Panic set in as I wondered how I would get on his back. I was a tall human, but he was a tall stallion. He lowered his head until our eyes became level with each other’s. The lustrous honey flecks stood out against the browns of his irises, as he stared at me. Then he did something I didn’t expect. He nudged me in the shoulder, and again, until I made a half-turn.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
Whether he ignored me, or this was his answer, I didn’t know, but he snorted and nudged me again, this time between the shoulder blades. I took a step in the direction he pushed me in and glanced back.
I nodded toward some bushes, and what appeared to be a path worn between them.
“This way? Do you want me to go this way?” I walked as I spoke.
Excalibur followed close behind.
I was deep into the path and about to take another step when I heard something that sounded scarily familiar—a click.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the barrel of a rifle, pointed at the side of my head. Suddenly, I didn’t want to die. I stared straight ahead, sucked in my chest, and held back the next breath. Excalibur must have stopped breathing, too, he was so quiet behind me, or maybe he had taken off, after he led me to my doom.
“One more step and I’ll blow your brains all over your white-ass body.”
The fact that this was a threatening woman’s voice surprised me. Keen senses I didn’t know I had until then kicked in. In a flash, I grabbed the gun’s barrel and yanked it from her grasp. The gun felt light, although I didn’t know what I compared it to.
Now in control, I turned the weapon on her, but quickly lowered my defenses when I saw a petite, middle-aged woman crouched before me, her brown hands held out in front of her shocked expression.
“Tell me your name.” I issued the command in a deep, strong voice, surprising myself.
When she didn’t answer, I said, “Why do you stare?”
“Wh-why do I stare?” Her hands flew to her hips, rattling the many gold wires she wore around her wrists. She straightened, glaring at me, as if she just decided she wasn’t afraid. “Huh, maybe because there’s a naked, psycho, body builder on my land. And he’s holding the gun on me that I should be holding on him. Maybe that’s why I stare.”
Her brazen tone threw me off guard, and I lowered the gun, wincing as the tension left my shoulder.
She flashed me a look of disgust.
“Why are you on my land?” she asked, turning the situation back in her favor.
As she spoke, her wide-eyed gaze traveled down my body, reminding me once again of my nakedness. But I didn’t move. This was her land, not mine. I was the trespasser, not her.
“I search for my home,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed. “You were searching, huh? What’s your name?”
After a brief hesitation, I answered, “Solomon.” I scanned the bush on either side of her. “What is this place?”
“The woods?”
“No. The area?”
She narrowed her gaze on me further and answered slowly, “Savannah… Georgia.
Savannah. Georgia. Something about the place sounded comforting.
I considered giving her back the gun as a gesture of trust—I needed someone on my side—I needed food, clothing. But I had to find out more, and if I simply gave her the gun, she might turn it on me again. I couldn’t risk it.
“Woman, is there a—”
“Woman?”
She looked like she might jump me. The intensity of her glare pushed me back a step, making me trip over a tree root. I stumbled and fell, opening a gash on the outside of my leg. Excalibur back-stepped out of the way. It was then this feisty woman seemed to notice the horse.
“Who are you?” she asked him in a surprised tone.
I wasn’t sure if she expected him to answer or not.
“This is Excalibur,” I said pushing myself to my feet. Warm blood trickled down my leg. “And I already told you, I am Solomon.”
Glaring sideways at the horse, she took a few steps backward. “Y-yes. You did.” Her gaze fell to the fresh blood on my leg. “Praise the Lord. You need a doctor.” She glanced at Excalibur again, then back to me. “Do you have a pack… with some clothes in it? Some I.D., maybe?”
I held my hand out toward Excalibur. “I have only the horse, and I don’t know for certain that he is mine.”
“And you really don’t know where you came from?”
“I seem to have forgotten, and I shall appreciate any help in the matter of finding out.”
“Really, hmm,” she said low, as if she spoke to herself. She took a moment to consider something, while drumming the fingers of one hand on her hip. After a deep breath, she said, “Okay, come with me. I’ll get you some clothes, and drive you to a hospital, but that’s as far as my goodwill goes, you got that?”
“Thank you…”
“Melba,” she said.
“Melba,” I repeated.
She untied a pink scarf that had
been wound three times around her neck and held it out to me.
I looked at the garment, confused.
A blush of red peeked through the brown skin on her cheeks, and she closed her eyes and looked away. “Take it and cover yourself up.”
It was only after the scarf was in my hand that she peered at me from between two fingers.
I looked at the silky offering draped over my fingers, then back at her.
She did an eye-roll thing, snatched the scarf back, then wound it around my waist, tying the loose ends at my hip, all the while her head tilted upward.
When she finished covering me, she turned toward the path and said, “This way.”
My companion and I followed.
Although Melba was tiny, she walked with confidence, her back straight, and her stride strong. She wore her trousers and shirt loose, covering any curves she might have had, and her black silky curls bounced on her shoulders. Her appearance seemed strange to me, but how would I know what was or wasn’t strange, since I did not know otherwise. Yet, although she acted tough, she seemed refined, educated—out of place for… for a woman of color.
She never once looked back to see if I still followed, or if I was about to hit her over the head with something—I still held the gun.
A few minutes later, a familiar and welcome scent wafted past me in a teasing manner as we left the trees behind and walked into a yard. The perfume of peach and magnolia blossoms, swaying on a light breeze, greeted me, welcomed me, and somehow, foretold of spring. I could almost taste their sweet nectar on my tongue. A vision of hot peach pie, cooling on a sill, tugged at my memories. An image of a tiny, older woman of mixed race, similar to Melba, and wearing a flour-dusted apron, appeared in a haze in front of me. I tried with all my might to look past her, to see her surroundings, but like a snap, a sharp noise dissolved the haze, and the vision ended.
The siren blared again, growing louder by the second.
