The Black Stallion and the Lost City

by Steve Farley

  Alec turned away from the town and jogged off into the night, quickly picking up the trail of the two horses. He followed the tracks to the road leading down to Acracia.

  Everywhere along the road were signs of devastation from the earthquake that had shaken the mountain. Fences were down and stray sheep and goats gathered in the road bleating. A giant cedar tree had been lifted out of the ground and lay toppled on its side. A barrier wall next to the road had collapsed. Alec ran along, trying to stay focused, following the trail the stallion and the mare had left in the wet dirt.

  All at once, Alec heard the drumming of hooves behind him. He turned, thinking it was the Black, but it was not the stallion or Celera. Charging down upon him was the shoe-stealing mare he and the Black had met on the road earlier that day.

  Alec held up his hands. “Whoa,” he called to her. The mare splashed to a stop in a mud puddle only a few feet away. As before, she wore no tack whatsoever, not even a halter. The mare beat her forehooves on the wet ground.

  “What are you doing here?” Alec said.

  The mare bounced back and forth on her hooves, then side to side.

  “Sorry, girl,” Alec said. “I don’t want to dance right now, and your boyfriend already took off.”

  The mare lowered her head and came to Alec. She stopped jigging and stood still before him, as if inviting him to mount up and go for a ride. Alec didn’t need to think about it long. If he was going to catch up with the Black and Celera, he would do better on horseback than on foot. Alec trusted he could handle this unfamiliar horse as he had so many others, green ones to mean ones, at the farm and on the track.

  Alec spoke to the mare, then touched her and leaned his forearms on her warm, wet back. Her coat felt coarse, almost like rough fur. She did not move away from him.

  “Okay, Shoe Thief,” he said. “You behave now. That’s it. You’re a good girl.” The mare looked over her shoulder at him, listening to his soft words as if she’d heard them a thousand times before. Then she straightened her neck and waited for him to make his move.

  In one swift step, Alec pivoted his body and vaulted onto the mare’s short back. The instant his legs wrapped around her, she was off and running, not in the direction the Black and Celera’s trail was leading but in the opposite direction, back toward Tarta. Using soft pressure from his legs, hands and voice, Alec finally managed to get her slowed down and turned in the right direction.

  Soon they were splashing ahead through the puddles and loping along the road back to the citadel. The mare moved willingly, but Alec was not fool enough to believe he had much control over her. Even the best riders could be unseated while riding bareback, even on a horse they knew well. And this horse was unlike any Alec had ever ridden. He gripped the white mane and pressed himself closer to her neck. There was a strange, heavy smell about her, a wet muskiness more akin to some wild forest animal than a horse. He tried to stay in rhythm with her shuffling strides. At least he was covering some ground, he thought. He shifted his weight in response to the mare’s action, trying to keep his body centered and his legs ready to answer any sudden change in direction or speed. The wet mane whipped back into his face as the mare broke into a gallop. She was not fighting him, but there was something more than untamed about this petulant mare who had stolen his shoe earlier that day. Had she ever carried a rider before? Alec wondered. Through his legs and seat, he could feel shudders of pleasure running through her like intermittent waves of electricity. To Alec it was almost like a purring sensation, as if he were seated atop a contented mountain lion rather than a mare. The shoe thief glided smoothly along, barely seeming to notice the human clinging to her back like a giant bug.

  Alec had no idea where she was taking him but could only hope that her instincts led her to the other horses and that the Black was with them. Her ears were angled back, and she bounded ahead, not like a flight animal but with all the intense focus and grace of a predator on the hunt.

  The muddy ground passed beneath him in a blur as the mare carried Alec past the sacred pastures to a place where the road forked, one fork descending to the acropolis, the other leading farther up the mountain. Alec wondered if the Black and Celera had come this way.

  The mare barely slowed as she swung her body hard to follow the fork climbing up the mountain. She careened forward along the moonlit road, running fast and close to being out of control.

  A cloud covered the moon, and too late Alec saw what looked like a dark wall ahead. It was a fallen tree stretching from one side of the road to the other. Alec could tell the mare wasn’t going to stop, and he had no time to prepare for the jump. The mare took off without hesitating, soaring into the air, her legs brushing through the tops of the branches. She staggered only slightly as she touched down, but it was enough to bounce Alec forward and unseat him from her slick back. Jarred loose from his mount, Alec was launched into the air. He just managed to pull his legs up under him before he slammed into the ground, rolled and came to a stop.

  Alec lay motionless for a minute, gasping for breath as the mare continued flying up the road. He crawled to his feet and for a moment could not even remember who he was or how he came to be here. Then the buzzing between his ears slowly subsided, and he recalled the wild ride on the mare and his search for the Black. He tried to keep his mind focused, but his thoughts remained as scattered as windblown leaves.

  Alec stared into the night, trying to get hold of himself. He’d had the wind knocked out of him and was scraped up and covered with mud, but otherwise he was unhurt. He took a cautious step forward, testing each leg before putting weight on it. Satisfied that everything seemed to be in working order, he immediately began searching the road for tracks. After a minute, he found one set of hoofprints, then another, then a third. One set Alec felt fairly certain were those of his horse. In spite of the moonlight painting the muddy road, it was still too dark to be positive.

  Alec continued on, not sure of where he was going. At least there were still tracks on the road, Alec thought. If the trail had broken off into the woods, it would have been almost impossible to follow. He hurried along the route up the mountain, again asking himself how in the world he ever ended up here.

  The road wound through the forest, and soon he came to a long row of neat, orderly houses that seemed to be leaning into each other for support. The dwellings were made of white stone and built in low two- and three-story stacks against the base of a cliff wall, like small apartments. The arched shadows of their doorways stood out against the white walls in the pools of bright moonlight. Not a single light shown in any of the windows. There were none of the ornate fountains or plazas here as in the city below, or even the lush but overgrown gardens of Tarta. Here all was simplicity itself, white and clean-looking but humble. Smoke rolled out the chimneys, and there was a smell in the air Alec could not identify. All was still except for the sound of his own footsteps. Just keep moving, he told himself.

  The trail of fresh hoofprints led straight down the center of the village. Alec saw no signs of collapsed walls or buildings here, or anything that even looked damaged. Perhaps the earth tremors had not reached this high up.

  At the other end of the main street was an old man shrouded in a blanket and sitting on the ground, his back propped up against a wall. The man looked very skinny, little more than a skeleton in ragged clothes. He was the first person who appeared much over thirty years old that Alec had seen since he came here. Alec spoke to the man, but the old guy seemed to be asleep.

  Alec passed the last house on the far side of the strange little town and looked toward the summit of Mt. Atnos, home to the Oracle and the temple of Diomedes. He could see little dots of light moving around the faint outline of the temple. What were they? Alec wondered. People carrying flashlights? Perhaps a rescue party of some sort? Was that too much to hope for?

  The street became a wide path that led farther up the mountain. There were more rocks than trees here. In the pale moonlight splashed over
the ground, he could see telltale traces of horses—fresh manure and muddy hoofprints along the path.

  Alec heard something that made him stop, the distant cry of a horse coming from somewhere among the lofty peaks. Could it have been the Black? He waited in vain for some clue telling him where to go, straining his ears in the dark, his heart pounding in his chest. Gazing up to the temple, again he felt as if he had stepped back in time and was now locked on some predetermined path, one he had no choice but to follow, one leading unstoppably upward to the summit of Mt. Atnos and the temple of the ancient horse master Diomedes.

  The passage to the top zigzagged higher, and Alec saw more lights. People were carrying torches, he realized, though it was difficult to make out much more than that. The lights were clustering around a dark shape, what Alec at first thought might be a small windmill built in a cleared area along the slope of the mountain. Or perhaps it was a very large statue of some sort. Despite the bright moonlight, it was impossible for Alec to tell exactly what the object could be.

  All at once, the torches were tossed onto the structure. Even from a quarter mile away, Alec could hear a whooshing sound as the windmill burst into flame. A moment later he smelled burning oil in the wind.

  The fire spread rapidly, running along the edges. It was only after the object was completely consumed by fire that Alec could finally see what it was—an enormous wooden horse that now burned like a beacon in the night.

  Built into the mountaintop above the flaming horse figure were columns that rose to a domed roof, the temple of Diomedes. Alec couldn’t see what was inside, but he could hear a chorus of voices singing somewhere not far off in the dark.

  Alec crept closer. The moon was very bright, and now the burning horse also added light to the nocturnal landscape. He kept to the shadows, unsure of what he should do next. He could see movement on the lawn in front of the temple, people dressed in robes, and there were horses, too, all riderless. It must be some sort of ceremony, he thought. Perhaps the burning of the wooden horse was an offering of some sort, or perhaps it was meant to invoke the legendary Trojan horse.

  The droning murmur of chanting drifted in the air and was soon joined by the soft beat of drums. Alec could make out figures circling the towering effigy, swaying and waving their long arms across the glow of the fire.

  Then, above the noises of the ritual, Alec heard a sharp, piercing sound ring through the air, the war cry of an enraged stallion. It was the Black—he was sure of that now—and he was close by.

  Alec followed the sound. The Black was surrounded by a crowd of Acracian guards bearing spears and torches. The men had managed to get ropes around the Black’s neck and one hind leg and were trying to force him into submission. They swarmed around like insects as they tried to overpower the enraged stallion. The Black twisted his body. Rearing up, he fought the ropes that held him and screamed again.

  Alec picked up a stick from the ground for a weapon and charged headlong at the men in a desperate attempt to free his horse. He ran into the crowd, swinging the stick like a club and crying out at the top of his lungs.

  Alec slammed into one man and clubbed at the hands of another. The Black shook one of the ropes loose and reared again, his coat gleaming like black satin in the firelight. Throwing all his body weight back onto his forelegs, he brought his hooves to the ground with an explosive crash. The men scattered and the stallion broke free. A moment later he was running off into the night. Two of the men chased after the stallion, and the others turned their attention to Alec.

  The Temple of Diomedes

  Suddenly a voice from beyond the group barked an order and the guards backed off. It was Spiro. He shouted a reprimand at the men and dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

  “Dear, dear,” the governor’s chamberlain said, his voice softening as he addressed Alec. “I am terribly sorry, Herr Alex. Please forgive those overeager fools. They were only acting under orders.”

  Alec had a hard time keeping his anger in check. “Fools?” he said. “Those men are dangerous. This place is dangerous. This is the second time my horse has been attacked.”

  “Medio is very protective of this area. The temple of Diomedes is the heart of Acracia. None may come here unless they are granted special permission by the governor himself.”

  “I didn’t want to come here in the first place, and neither did my horse,” Alec said. “We are just looking for a way out of here. If those security guards of yours hadn’t interfered, we’d be long gone already. Now the Black has taken off again and—”

  “Yes,” Spiro said. “I would imagine that neither the bonds of human love nor Acracian walls could hold the likes of him for long. But Fire-eyes is here. Perhaps your Bucephalus is with her. At any rate, he cannot be far off.”

  Spiro gestured to the temple and beamed at Alec with polite courtesy. “It is good to see you here, and I am glad you could join us, oh messenger of the gods.”

  Alec shook his head. Here we go again, he thought. “No, I’d rather not …”

  Spiro smiled and took Alec by the arm. “Now that you are here at the temple, I really must insist,” he said.

  Alec shrugged off the man’s hand, losing his patience. “No,” he said. “Now I must insist. Who are you anyway? How do I get out of this place?”

  Spiro stepped back and bowed his head apologetically. “You came by way of the white road and must leave by way of the red road, through the gateway at the temple of Mt. Atnos. Thus spoke the Oracle.”

  “There is a road to the other side of the mountain?” Alec said. “That’s terrific. Red road. White road. I don’t care if it’s the pink road with purple polka dots on it, as long as it gets me out of here.”

  “That’s the way out for you,” Spiro said, “the best and only true way. But I was hoping you would change your mind and stay with us a time. If you really must go, be assured we will await your return.”

  “Fine,” Alec said. “We will all get together next year and have a big reunion. Right now I need to get back to work, and I am not leaving without Xeena and my horse.”

  Spiro nodded. “Of course,” he said.

  “So where is this road?” Alec said. “How do we reach it? Is it this way?”

  “This way,” Spiro said, leading Alec onto the temple grounds.

  Spiro gestured up to the moonlit temple as they walked along. “I beg you to take stock of this place while you can, messenger,” he said. “The ancient world has been reborn here. Not retold as in a play or mocked in a show, or even imitated in some meaningless ceremony, but born again in the flesh, as you will be. Wait and see, young Alexander, your destiny will be fulfilled again.”

  Alec’s frustrations boiled over. “You people are crazy,” he said. “Please listen to me, Spiro. One last time, I am not a messenger and my name is not Alex. It is Alec. Alec Ramsay. I am a jockey. I was born in New York. My horse’s name is the Black, not Bucephalus.”

  Spiro looked at Alec. His face hardened, and it appeared that Alec’s words were finally sinking in. He shook his head with disappointment. “Do you mean to say you still believe your coming here was just an accident, that it wasn’t preordained somehow?”

  “Preordained by whom, the gods? I just can’t buy that.”

  “Then the time has come for you to leave,” Spiro said.

  “That’s fine with me,” Alec said. “I appreciate your hospitality but—”

  “Of course, Alec,” Spiro said, bowing his head, then gesturing to the fire on the mountain summit. “This way, please.”

  Alec knew he wasn’t arguing with a lunatic. The man’s intelligence was perfectly clear, and Alec knew he was sincere and believed what he was saying, as mad as it might sound.

  Spiro led the way ahead and spoke to Alec as they walked along. “Of course, you may do as you wish here, messenger,” he said, his voice becoming more serious. “But it is my duty to warn you. If you fail to pay homage to the gods and ask their blessings, you will never see your land,
your friends or your home again. Once you have honored the gods of heaven, then and only then will they grant the passage you desire.”

  “And how am I supposed to pay homage to something I don’t believe in?” Alec asked.

  “Once you have seen the truth,” Spiro said, “perhaps you will believe.”

  “The truth?” Alec said. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Spiro did not answer.

  The ancient temple was clearly lit by the glow of the burning horse effigy. Vines climbed up the stone columns all the way to the domed roof. Even the steps leading up to the temple were covered with a tangled web of vegetation. Small crowds of Acracians grouped together at the temple base and spread out around the clearing. All wore masks, and some were crowned with goat and deer horns. Others wore simple pasteboard masks cut in the likeness of wolves and mountain lions. Many were in costume.

  At the top of the steps was a small pavilion and throne where a figure sat presiding over the spectacle. By the man’s size, Alec guessed it was Medio, though it was impossible to tell for certain as the person was wearing a mask, a grotesque thing made of metal with a wide-open mouth. A small, gilded sword hung at his side.

  Medio rose from his throne and descended the temple steps. As he reached the bottom step, he was joined on his right by the albino mare Celera, her red eyes gleaming in the firelight. Then a cloaked figure stepped from the crowd gathered around the flaming horse. She alone was unmasked, wearing only a sheer veil over her face. It was Cyrene, the priestess who had interpreted Celera’s prophecies during the banquet. She moved with small, even steps to stand at Medio’s left.

  At a gesture from their leader, the crowd proceeded up the stairs and into the temple. Alec joined them. Once inside, Medio raised his arms and beckoned for Alec and Spiro to approach him. “I believe King Diomedes would like to have a word with you,” Spiro said.

  “King Diomedes?” Alec said. “Isn’t that Medio?”