An End to Summer
Page 4
He wanted to call him a liar except he felt the truth of the excuse keenly. Shylo was as young as Alexander. He threw the thoughts at Alexander in desperation. This had been his first hunt. He’d been too caught up in bloodlust and the joy of the flight and the attack. He had not paid attention. His companions had used his eagerness to mislead him.
Alexander flexed the shadowy wings at his shoulders, testing them for flight. They felt weak and awkward. He wanted so badly to fling himself after Shylo and give him something to remind him to be mindful in the future. The new wings were untested and his spirit form was so different, he didn’t trust himself to give chase.
Mercy! I am bound to you, spirit-kin. Gods and devils! Please! By my oath and the blood you’ve drawn — I owe you my faithfulness for your intervention. Forgive me! I am your humble servant. Please.
Bound to this stranger? What did that even mean? He growled low in his throat and clapped wings to his sides. It was the only answer the prince needed. Shylo wheeled gracefully in the air and flew off, diving at one of his brethren with a snarl. Whatever was said, he didn’t broadcast it wide enough for Alexander to hear.
He didn’t follow after the horses. Instead he leapt to a higher rock and watched the mares charge down the mountainside, making their way with all haste towards the sea. His thoughts were consumed by the wounded mares. The mare that had been attacked was whole enough to continue down the path even though she’d been savagely clawed. As he watched, she plunged down the path and out of sight as she rounded the corner.
The line of horses continued, not as packed together. He had to make his own crossing though, and try to find the red mare and make sure she was all right. With care he made his way down the mountainside, sending out soft, mental assurances that he was a friend, not a danger. Now that panic was not blinding them, they seemed able to see past the shroud his spirit form had created and into the safe spot where his true form lay in the protected net of shadows.
Chapter 5
He reached the tree line without incident and moved through the gloom of the tropical forest as the path evened out. As light began to touch the horizon he came out of the vegetation to find the ocean was right there past the curving dunes. The beach in all directions was packed with horses. They regarded the furious waves crashing onto the shore.
The ocean here made the familiar northern California coastline look tame and tranquil. Past the fierce waves he saw the shore—their goal. Padding forward, he wove his path through the crush of horses, sniffing out the red mare. He passed the mare that had been attacked on the plateau. Her chestnut shoulders bore the vivid scarlet marks where talons raked her. Her dark eyes were glazed with shock as she watched the waves in grim determination.
He found the red mare walking back and forth in the wet sand, head turned to the ocean, watching the waves cresting and falling towards the shore. There wasn’t the sense of fear in any of them, just the urgent desire to reach the distant land.
Glancing over her shoulder, the red mare spotted him and extended a greeting that encompassed an acknowledgment that he’d saved many of them. Then businesslike she said, Now we swim, little pronghorn. Delight lit her voice.
He didn’t know what shocked him more, the change in his name or her suggestion that they must swim the dangerous tides ahead of them. Swim?
There was not much food to graze on this shore. It was certainly not a safe place for them to have their foals and sustain themselves. There was no way for a newborn to survive swimming through those waves.
The dawn of the first day of winter. As the sun rises, the waves will be small enough for us to venture into. Be ready. She looked back to the ocean, body quivering with anticipation.
He turned to watch the waves rising and curling towards them and his stomach twisted in fear. This was something his brothers and their mounts would love. It made his blood run cold. He didn’t have to do this. He might stay on the island and live comfortably off the fruit in the jungle and there was fresh water to drink. There were probably fish in the calm waters on the far side of the island. Nothing said going to the mainland was going to be his ticket home. What if the way home was waiting for the right time here where he’d come in? Why would the doorway home be somewhere else?
There was no way to know if the door would open here either. He didn’t want to stay there alone. That required he choke down his fear and swim.
Feeling his pulse race, he watched the water crashing in, judging not only their size but also the movement of the current. It looked most brutal going into the surf while the water outside of the impact zone seemed less turbulent. He could only speculate at what reefs might be under the surface. There were only a few obvious spires of rock down the shore where the passage became wider.
He needed to stay as close to the narrow channel as possible and not get pulled into the rocks. The way the waters churned and slammed the rocks he didn’t want to be crushed into them either.
The moment the sun kissed the horizon with a sliver of gold, the herd began to move. Hundreds of them took to the waves to do battle with the savage ocean. They cried with trumpets of challenge to the sea as they plunged into the oncoming waves and swam boldly into the frothy water.
Become a stallion and earn your name, spirit-kin, the red mare cried to him in delight as she galloped for the water and threw herself into the incoming wave. Her voice joined the others ringing off the coastline.
He found himself swept into their enthusiasm and the momentary hesitation was torn away. Their mental and verbal encouragement bolstered his courage and he found himself leaping into the ocean like he was one of them. His first crossing. He wanted to prove to himself he could do this. He was no longer a child, a fawn, or a foal, to let his fear rule him.
The cold of the water was a shocking contrast to the thick tropical heat. The first wave that hit him drove him under and he pushed forward, kicking with front and hind legs and fanned with his wings to push himself through the water.
His fragile human body would have been driven back and under by the force of the wave. Even his sturdy spirit form struggled not to get overwhelmed in the powerful undertow. He was nearly the size of the mares, but he was no match to the strength of the sea. A wave crashed over him and bowled him over, spinning him as it drove him down deeper. Disoriented, he tried to find the surface, blinded by the bubbles churning around him.
His lungs burned as he held his breath and willed himself not to panic. He remembered the lessons he’d had for surfing the rough, cold waters back home. Do not panic. Conserve your strength and look towards the light. He tucked his limbs tight to his body, hoping he wouldn’t be dashed against sharp reef and waited until he saw the light above and angled that direction.
Breaking the surface between waves he sucked in a sharp breath of sweet air. The next wave that slammed him was not as strong and he swam forward with all his strength, cutting through the calmer middle waters, surrounded by mares all struggling for the distant shore. He was nearly pulled under by a struggling swimmer until a lucky wave cut between then, untangling their limbs before getting trapped.
Waves closer to shore were kinder. He caught one of them and used his wings to float the surface and ride the curl of it as it lapped forward. It wasn’t easy by any means. There was still the length of sea to cross without getting pulled towards the spires. For hours he swam the vast water, fighting forward for each push back. With lungs burning, he reached the rocky shoreline.
Finally he fought his way to land, panting with the last of his waning strength. His limbs trembled with the effort, muscles expended to their last fiber. Around him the mares were struggling over the rough shoreline, some on weak legs and others bounding ahead and up the dunes.
They made it!
When he reached the top of the dunes, he turned to look behind him. The stretch of water between the island and the shore was full of horses. They came from all directions. The majority of the band cut through the narrowest spot where the
waves were kind in comparison. Those that got pushed into the rougher current found themselves tossed about, struggling valiantly to reach the far shore. Luckily the beach was mostly free of obstacles. The few spires of rocks down the shoreline proved to be treacherous, though. He watched helplessly as the weaker horses were battered against the rocks and lost.
Shuddering, he pulled his attention from the struggles in the water and continued up the stony shore and across the sandy dunes. Beyond the sand stretched the wide expanse of the grasslands where mares already began to gather. Most had heads low, panting out to catch their breath.
Alexander’s shadow stretched out dark against the pale sand. His ears flicked as he regarded the delicate tri-pronged horns. The black stag? He recalled the twisting fear in the hunter’s mental voice. Surely, he was mistaken. Wearily he crumpled into the tall grass, his body finally giving up on him. He didn’t even have the energy to find the red mare to make sure she made the crossing safely.
Chapter 6
He didn’t sleep long. It was still daylight when he woke and found himself in his human skin, itchy from the salt and the grass he’d fallen into. And yes, still naked. Embarrassed, he put a hand to his groin as he sat up and felt amusement prickle in the back of his head.
We are naked too, spirit-kin. The familiar voice of the red mare filled his thoughts, weary and pitched in pain.
He spotted the mare standing nearby, though he didn’t need to see her to know she was in labor and her swim had left her dangerously weak.
If I had wanted an easy life, I would have selected a farmer to bind myself to. Do not give up on my little ones yet. I am not as fragile as you believe.
His cheeks burned with the blush at her scolding. Ashe pulled himself to his feet. He felt as weak as a foal himself and wished he could be stronger and braver. A glance around the grass showed that many of the other horses were in the same condition as the red mare. She was the one horse on which he focused his attention. Once he was sure she and her foal were all right he would worry about the others. That is, if they even allowed him to care. They might take it as an insult for him to do anything.
“I am sure you will be fine. I’ll stay with you, though. You helped me, I won’t abandon you.”
She blew out a snort and he felt amusement. She didn’t respond in words and yet he sensed her approval and encouragement that he remain. Her attention turned inward and he was sure he felt the phantom pain of her labor in his stomach. Well, he did tell her he would stay. If he wanted to leave, he should have done it.
The birth required his help and he thanked his auntie Marion a thousand times for the years of hands-on education. He never appreciated the work involved at the time and he owed her a huge apology for being a pain in the ass when she asked him to lend a hand turning a foal.
He expected the foaling would go smooth until he saw the single hoof extended. With apology on his lips, and hating not having a way to sanitize anything, he attended to adjusting the foal to draw out the second leg so the foal could be delivered without harming the mare. With a sense of pride, he watched the striking paint amble to his feet. Only then did he realize she had a second foal.
The second foal was more challenging because the red mare was so tired.
“You can do it. Don’t you dare give up now. Just a little bit more. Come on, you can do this.” He coached along with the other mares who had gathered to witness the birth. Some were still wet from their crossing, others had come up earlier. All were full of encouragement with equal weariness.
At last the second foal was delivered, a filly with mirrored pattern to her brother. Unfortunately, she was not breathing. The delivery was too long and the journey too difficult for her. These things happened. Twins surviving was particularly unheard of even in the modern world with vets and technology. Still, he couldn’t let her die without trying something. He knelt at the side of the unmoving foal and tried breathing life back into her. It was something he’d helped with only once, but he knew the steps from his first aid training. One did not surf the dangerous northern California coast without knowing CPR.
What are you doing? Her little spirit must be allowed to fly, do not consume it! The red mare’s emotions were frantic against him as he worked to revive the second foal.
For several minutes he tried to revive her, he would not give up without a fight for her and her pulse was there, just so faint. Tears burned his eyes as his efforts didn’t improve her unmoving form. Just when he was about to give up and admit he’d lost her, the little foal uttered a fractured, croaking cry. She sucked in a deep shuddering breath and thrashed strongly under his hands. Her pulse thrummed with an unexpected strength under his fingertips as she lifted her head to blink up at him.
Around him, the mares in attendance started in surprise as he sat back in the grass and let the filly struggle boldly to her feet. He wiped his burning eyes with his forearm, sniffling with emotion. He’d done it. In awe, he watched the pair nursing, torn between tears of joy and laughter.
I don’t understand. How? And a soft, awed whisper of understanding came. You have the breath of life in your lungs. I am Lady Shara, Bearer of the Winternight Flame. The red mare spoke her name carefully, giving it a full pronouncement that sang through him. Greet my foals who have not yet earned their names. I would be pleased if they would be worthy of you.
That made him blush as the quiet touches of the young foals reached him, peeking around their dam’s legs to regard him. They were mostly white with bold patches of gold over their sides and haunches. Their long legs suggested the same athletic build as their dam.
We will think upon a proper name for you, life bringer.
“Alexander is just fine.”
That is your foal name, spirit-kin. You are a stallion now. You need a full name as you run with us.
He rubbed the back of his neck knowing instinctively that arguing wasn’t going to do him any good. He sensed their respect for him deepen. There was the unspoken importance that he embrace the name they selected because he’d earned it. He must accept the honor of being one of them.
It was all he had energy for that evening. Luckily no other mares nearby dropped their foals. With his stomach growling for food, he curled up in the grass and fell asleep, feeling both more tired and more fulfilled than he had in his whole life.
Thankfully he found food the next morning in the form of berries growing plentifully along the banks of a river. The filly and colt followed him, acting both as guard and companion in equal measure as they frolicked together. He noticed several other new arrivals had come in the night. As he filled his growling stomach with the berries, he watched the youngsters play in the tall grass, practicing the skills they would need as they grew.
Later that day, they began the next leg of the migration. It was the long trek across the grasslands to the crescent shore. Word of what he’d done traveled fast and it occurred to him that Bearer of the Winternight Flame was a mare of high rank in the herd. It didn’t surprise him the way she took charge and the others responded with respect to her authority. She obviously had done this journey many times.
He walked with Shara and her twin foals, aware of their constant interest and their dizzying questions as they picked at his memories. They wanted to know if his sisters and brothers and their mounts would meet them at the crescent shore. He struggled with how to explain it to them.
Thankfully Shara coaxed them away from the topic with a simple explanation. He comes from far away. He is on the journey with us so he might find his path home. We must see him safe there, my children.
Her statement made the two foals his personal protectors.
It is good for them, Shara said. It will be their duty when they earn their name and find a rider. It will be the most important responsibility of their life. The lessons will keep them safe in battle.
It made Alexander think of Remmy, sitting alone with the simple horses without one of his own to talk to. No sport. No adventure.
“He is just hurting right now,” Alexander answered, feeling the need to defend his brother somehow. She wasn’t seeing the best part of him. Christopher was certainly not showing his better nature right now.
He is hurting others around him as well. Perhaps Remmy will abandon him. There is a tear in the soul when we have to break the bond.
“Can he do that?” Alexander felt a prickle of dread in the pit of his stomach.
The bond is forged in the heart and spirit. It is not easily done, but when one is as careless with their heart as your brother is, Lord Remmington is within his right to shatter the union. We are not meant to sit idle. She tossed her head and looked off in the distance, blowing hotly at the suggestion of living without a goal and task.
He was not even Remmy’s selected rider and he had experienced the full force of the stallion’s grief when he’d been left behind. He understood it better now, as he ran with the herd. They barely stopped and these were the pregnant mares and those with newborns at their side.
The other mares gradually offered him their names. He was overwhelmed by their titles and the brave deeds they’d accomplished to acquire them. There were river horses and those from the mountains and swamps and the long, dry plains of a places named Fa’burk and Lyni and the little lower islands of Klorwur. There were other lands, however the horses in this group did not come from the east or the cold north. Some had siblings, parents and offspring who went to live with their bound riders in those distant places. They would all come together on the blessed shores of Talgraem and celebrate the next generation.
He learned that the mount would only carry the rider they selected to be bound to. At first he dreamed one of the mares would pick him. It became obvious they were too focused on their foals and getting to the far shore whole and healthy. The journey would take them five months. They would reach the inland beaches at the first of summer and participate in the festival events until the beginning of autumn.