by Lari Don
Twenty centaurs came into view over a low rise, galloping in a long line. Helen could see the glowing white of Petros in the middle, with pale grey centaurs to his left, shading darker grey through to black centaurs at the left wing; palominos to his right, shading through bays and chestnuts to darker brown at the right wing.
As they reached her, Helen stepped forward, away from the invisible barrier. She didn’t want to be pushed back through before she had time to talk.
“Why are you here, human girl?” boomed Petros. “Haven’t you done enough harm to my son?”
“I came to see Yann and to offer my help.”
“We received your impertinent note. We require no help from you. Your presence here is an insult. Leave now, before we force you out.”
“I also have information…”
Helen was interrupted by the centaur nearest to Petros. A young female centaur, a pale dappled grey, with plaited ash-blonde hair and a grey leather waistcoat. She called out, “Petros, you know the rules. Any humans who break through the unwelcome field must never be allowed back out. We can’t let her leave. We must silence her. Permanently.”
“Calm down, Epona. This human child has known our secret for over a year and has not given it away. We can safely let her leave. She has taken three steps onto our moor, so she can take three steps off again.” He looked at Helen. “Do as I say, girl. Turn and leave. Or we will throw you out.”
Helen looked at Petros, surprised to discover he wasn’t the most anti-human centaur in the herd. She took another step forward.
Petros shook his head. “Misplaced courage will not impress us, child. Leave here now.”
The grey centaur stamped her hooves. “This girl has been a risk for months. She’s a risk to Yann, encouraging him to gallivant all over Scotland when he should be here guarding our lands. She’s a risk to the whole tribe, knowing our secrets. Now that she is actually on our lands, and Yann can’t defend her, we should get rid of her.”
Helen could see that Petros was ignoring the girl centaur, so she ignored her too and spoke directly to him. “I want to offer my help and my mother’s help to heal Yann. There are techniques which could…”
“Human techniques? You offer human healing to my son?” Petros laughed. “You think we’re so primitive that we can’t look after ourselves, that we need human help to heal our warriors?”
“Do you have a hospital,” she asked, “with surgeons and anaesthetists, with drugs, electric shock paddles and tiny electrodes to kick-start hearts?”
“No.”
“Then I think you do need help.”
“We do not need human help.”
Helen was finding it hard to stay calm. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want anyone to know about you. You’re denying Yann life-saving treatment to protect your secret! That’s so selfish!”
“Human girl, do you know my son so little? Do you think Yann would choose to be saved if the price of his life was our freedom?”
Helen bit her lip. She knew the answer to that. “But the price doesn’t have to be your freedom. Humans can keep secrets. Yann trusts me. Don’t you trust his judgement?”
“No, I don’t. He is reckless and foolish, and risks far too much every time he meets you.”
“Yann? Reckless? Taking risks?” Helen grinned. “Would you want him any other way?”
Yann’s father almost smiled. Then he sighed. “I do not have time to debate with you. In memory of my son and his friendship with you, I will let you leave safely if you go now, but I will not let you take one more step onto our lands.”
“In memory of your son!” Helen yelled. “Have you given up on him already? How dare you give up!”
Helen took three more steps onto the centaurs’ precious moor.
Petros reared up, right above her. “I warned you! Are you as reckless as my son?”
“Not usually, but he’s asleep, so someone has to be. Let me tell you what I’ve come to offer and then, if you still want me to, I will leave.”
Petros snorted. “I begin to see why my son allows you to accompany him. Tell me what you offer.”
“First let me check the symptoms and diagnosis. My friends say Yann’s human heart is too small to keep him alive, so if his horse heart doesn’t restart soon he will die. Is that right?”
His father nodded.
“My mother knows healers at the university in Edinburgh, who have equipment to kick-start horse’s hearts. I give you my word they will do their best to save him and I will make sure they never tell anyone.”
The dappled centaur muttered, “I know a way to ensure their silence…”
Helen said, “Lavender does memory spells. We could try that.”
Petros shook his head. “The arrogance of humans, to imagine we do not have healers as experienced as yours. Our healers use cleansing herbs to prevent infection and mend wounds, and stimulating herbs and massage to restart hearts.”
“Then why don’t they restart Yann’s heart?”
“Because my son’s injury is not just physical. Your human healers would be as powerless as ours. The injury is not just to the flesh. It is a magical injury. It was inflicted by an object controlled by magic, and it resists ordinary healing.”
“So heal it magically!” Helen shouted.
“We are trying! We have summoned the best magical healers in the land, and I should be at home waiting to greet them, not here arguing with you. You’ve given me your ignorant and insulting offer of help, now get out. And don’t ever come back.”
He folded his arms and stared at her.
She said softly, “But you don’t think those magical healers can help, do you?”
He didn’t answer.
“You’re already mourning Yann and doing things in his memory, Petros. Why don’t you think they can help?” Helen considered what she knew about the magic her friends used, or resisted using. “Or are you not sure about the kind of help they offer? Are they dark magic users, because the magic which injured him was dark?”
He shrugged. “The Three are neither dark nor light. They are something else entirely. But you are right: I don’t want them or their magic to spend much time in my house.”
“I don’t use any magic,” Helen said. “You don’t need to be afraid of what I’ll bring into your house. And even though I’m a small, weak, non-magical human, Yann isn’t too proud to ask for my help. I know a little of your world and a little of mine, and that combination has worked so far. Please let me search for something, anything, which will undo the magic that’s killing Yann.”
Petros frowned. “What can you do?”
Helen had no idea, but she had to try. “Yann values my help, and you know the old legends say magical quests are more successful with a human involved. Rather than letting me leave safely to respect his memory, let me come through in respect for our friendship.”
“Petros,” hissed the young centaur, “she wants to find out our secrets. She may even have led Yann into that trap so she could get through our defences.”
Helen laughed. “No one can lead Yann anywhere! He got himself into this, so why not use his methods to get him out? Let his friends try to solve this.”
Petros scowled and looked at the low sun. “You are persistent. I have no more time to argue. I will let you see Yann, so you’ll realise there is nothing you can do for him, then perhaps you will stop pestering us. But you will walk to my home. No human rides on my back.”
“That’s fine,” Helen agreed. She didn’t want to get any closer to him.
“We should blindfold her,” said the dappled centaur.
“Why? To hide our secret grass and our confidential heather? Don’t be daft, Epona. She is here as my guest, so stay out of her way if you can’t be polite to her. Xanthos and Tolemy, escort this human to my house at her own pace.” Petros looked straight at Helen. “I do this for my son. If you betray him, I will not stop Epona silencing you in her own way.”
He galloped
off, Epona still arguing at his side. Helen followed, flanked by two bay centaurs, neither of whom were as tall as Petros, but both bigger than Yann.
After five minutes trudging, the centaur on her right spoke. “Is it true Yann lets you ride on his back?”
“Em. Yes. But only in emergencies,” she said. Though nowadays, an emergency was any time Yann couldn’t be bothered waiting for her to walk.
“That’s disgusting,” said the other centaur. “I hope he washes afterwards.”
“Why do you all hate humans so much?” Helen asked.
“Why not? You cut down trees, and plant factories and shopping centres. You scar the land with roads and railways, and you poison rivers and seas.”
Helen shrugged. “We don’t all do that.”
“What do you do to stop it then?”
“What do you do to stop it?” she snapped back. “Apart from hide behind that invisible barrier?”
After that, no one spoke as they walked across the moor.
Helen had always imagined Yann’s home as a mix between a stable and a barracks, so she was surprised when they came over a ridge to see his father’s house ahead of her.
It looked like a model out of an ancient history project. White stone, tall columns, flights of wide steps, and statues of centaurs and other fabled beasts round a fountain at the front.
Helen ran through the garden, up the stairs and into the villa. Then she followed the sound of subdued voices towards a bright warm room opening off the back corner of a large hall.
There was a gathering of fabled beasts beside the fireplace. Helen moved closer to see what they were all looking at.
It was Yann, on a low couch, with a dressing on his chest, and a face so white and still he could be another statue.
Gathered round the centaur were his friends. The friends Helen had hoped she might see: Rona, Lavender, Catesby and Sapphire, whose scaly head was poking through a window.
And others she hadn’t expected:
Tangaroa, his black hair and blue tattoos gleaming;
Sylvie, crouched in her wolf form at Yann’s head;
Lee, already holding his hand out to Helen.
Everyone was here. To say goodbye.
Chapter 7
Helen knelt down and took Yann’s hand. “It’s Helen! Can you hear me? Come back and join us!”
She heard Petros snort behind her. “We all talk to him. We all ask him to come back. If that’s all you can offer…”
A faint knock echoed from the front of the villa.
“They’ve arrived!” Petros trotted away.
Helen squeezed Yann’s hand, then looked at her friends. “Why are you all here?”
Lee smiled, his faery glamour almost blinding her. “News of the Master’s reappearance travelled fast, and I heard our hoofed friend was injured, so I came to see what I could do.”
Sylvie, who wouldn’t change out of her wolf form just to speak to Helen, nodded in agreement.
Helen looked at the blue loon. “But Tangaroa, aren’t you competing in the Sea Herald contest this weekend?”
He shrugged.
“You have to compete!” Rona said quickly. “You so nearly won last time!”
“I was beaten by a better competitor.” Tangaroa grinned at the selkie, his white teeth bright in his blue tattooed face.
Rona whispered, “But I didn’t win fairly.”
Helen raised her eyebrows in warning at Rona. They’d never admitted to Tangaora that Rona had cheated, and he’d never guessed why she’d resigned after she won. Rona frowned at Helen, then said more clearly, “I didn’t win fairly because of outside interference. You could have won last time, Tangaroa, so please go north and win this time!”
He shook his head. “I’ve missed the start now anyway. And Yann is more important than a title.”
No one could argue with that. So they sat silently, staring at Yann.
Helen felt his pulse. It was slow and erratic. She put his wrist down. “I’m glad we’re all together. But what can we do?”
“The injury was caused by a magical trap,” said Lavender. “It has to be healed by magic. But strong magical healing has to be earned as well as found.”
“Why is the magic so powerful?” Helen asked. “Was it doing more than just holding the boulders in place?”
“I’m not sure,” said Lavender. “It was a strange trap. You, Rona and the unicorn came out almost unscathed, and Yann only has a couple of bruises from the rocks. If he hadn’t reared up, the branch would just have scratched him.”
“But he did rear up,” Helen said, “and that branch stabbed him as effectively and accurately as a spear.”
Lee, who was the Faery King’s champion and experienced with more weapons than Helen was happy imagining, leant forward and examined the bandage over the site of the wound. “You’re right. It was a perfect shot…” He looked at Helen. “Why was he rearing?”
“To kick a rock away from me. It was just chance he reared at that moment.”
“No it wasn’t,” said Tangaroa. “If he saw a rock heading for you, of course he would kick it away. That’s not chance. That’s Yann.”
“Then it was just chance the branch broke at the same time.”
Lee frowned. “Was it?”
Helen shrugged. “We’ll probably never know. But we can try to find out what the Master wanted us to do for him.”
Lavender replied, “We may never find that out either. The kelpies lost the Master’s trail in the Cheviots, so perhaps he’s left Scotland for good.”
They heard hoofbeats returning, so they stopped talking. Petros was walking towards them with a dark-brown female centaur and, between them, three human figures.
The three people were huddled together and wrapped up in red hooded cloaks, as if they were cold or hiding. As they got nearer, Helen saw glimpses of their faces. A very young woman, no older than the fifth or sixth years at Helen’s school, a plump woman who was the right age to be the girl’s mother, and a wrinkled woman old enough to be her great-great-grandmother.
The resemblance was very strong, as if they were all related. Or, Helen thought as she watched them glide towards Yann, as if they were all the same woman, at different ages.
Petros ordered, “Let the Three see my son.”
Yann’s friends stepped aside, to stand close together by the window, under Sapphire’s blue head.
The three women knelt by Yann and laid their hands on him.
“He is badly hurt.”
“He is dying.”
“We feel the pain … of the moment he fell.”
“We feel the rip … in his large heart.”
“We feel the weakness … of his small heart.”
“Pain … rip … weakness.” They repeated the words as if they enjoyed them.
“Shall we try … to heal him? Or shall we sit with him … and experience his death?”
Helen watched the three women closely. The girl would speak half a sentence, then the ancient woman would finish it. Or the plump woman would start saying something, and the girl would finish it. It wasn’t a conversation; it was like one mind speaking, using different faces. Helen shivered.
“This one has … lots of life and death in him … lots of fire and pride and fight … He will injure more … kill more and spill more … blood if we heal him … He is worth saving.”
The three women stood up, then turned to face Yann’s father and the brown centaur beside him.
“The magic is deep … but there are ways … to heal him … There are a few tokens … of the healing force left … in this old land … If you can offer us … a healing token … then we can clear the magic … from his heart … so he can fight again.”
Petros nodded. “I will find a token.”
“No, centaur … Your heart is filled … with pride and arrogance … You would save your son … because you love him … but also because he is your heir … and you would be humiliated … not to have an heir … That is
a selfish reason.
“The healing force … will only reveal its tokens … to those who approach … with pure motives … clean hands … and innocent intent.
“You cannot save him, Petros … You must search … your own heart to discover … if anyone can.”
The Three laughed, giggling, chuckling and creaking in turn.
“We will return tomorrow … at sunset on the spring equinox … Spring brings new life … so a healing at that moment … will be most powerful … If you offer us a healing token … at sunset tomorrow … we will save your son … If there is no token … he will die.”
As they turned to leave the room, Petros asked desperately, “But what are the tokens?”
All three women spoke at once. For the first time three voices, soft and young, strong and healthy, old and cracking, spoke together.
“You must bring us:
“The scabbard of King Arthur’s sword;
“A flower washed by seven waterfalls at dawn;
“The paired cliffs’ hidden gems;
“Or water from the footprint of a king.”
When they had left, red cloaks sliding silently over the white stone, Petros put his head in his hands. “If I can’t save my son, who can? Who can quest for these tokens for us, Mallow?”
The slim brown centaur by his side spoke for the first time. “Don’t you see what is in front of you? Look at our son’s friends, who have given up honours and braved dangers just to keep him company. His friends might quest for these tokens.”
Petros looked at Helen and the group around her. “Perhaps we need your help after all.”
*
Helen and her friends sat beside the fountain. They’d found Yann’s silence distracting, and wanted privacy to discuss what they should do next.
Once they were settled in a rough circle, with Sapphire’s body and tail curling all the way round them, Helen said, “So, those three creepy healers suggested four possible tokens. There are,” she counted quickly, “eight of us. We could split into four teams and try to get all of them. Or we could stick together and go for the easiest or nearest or most powerful. We need to know where they all are first.”
