Sea Horses: the Talisman

by Louise Cooper

  ‘N-not really. At least, I never used to be.’ Tamzin was nearly crying.

  ‘I know. It’s not as frightening in a city, is it? But I think the storm’s out over the sea somewhere. It probably won’t come inland.’

  Tamzin wanted to believe her. But there was something weird about this. Something unnatural.

  She said, ‘We don’t usually get thunderstorms in December, do we?’

  ‘Well… no, we don’t, I must admit. And certainly not with a gale, either.’ Then Nan forced a smile. ‘Don’t worry, pet. This house has stood up for three hundred years, so it’s not going to fall down just because of a bit of wind and rain.’

  ‘That wasn’t what I was thinking,’ Tamzin whispered.

  Nan’s expression changed. ‘No,’ she said more soberly. ‘I understand. But you mustn’t let yourself think like that, Tamzin. I tell you what; I’ll shut the curtains, and we’ll turn the radio up good and loud, shall we? Then it won’t seem so bad.’

  There was no more lightning or thunder, but nonetheless – and despite Nan’s advice – Tamzin couldn’t concentrate on the tree any more. They finished decorating it but she wasn’t in the mood to appreciate how lovely it looked. When Nan went to put the decorations box away she sat down on the sofa, staring at the floor and feeling jumpy and miserable. On the radio, the carols had finished and the twelve o’clock news was beginning. It was a local station and, as the announcer started to speak, Tamzin felt another icy sensation clutch at her.

  ‘… The weather is threatening to cause havoc in several towns and villages in west Cornwall. Gale-force winds are buffeting the county, and this morning there were several isolated but severe thunderstorms accompanied by torrential rain. The Met. Office describes this combination as “highly unusual”, and flood warnings have been issued for all of Cornwall’s main rivers. Falmouth Coastguard have also warned that this afternoon’s high tide could make coastal conditions dangerous, and people are being urged to keep away from beaches, sea fronts and harbours. Our reporter Mark Teague has more details…’

  Nan came back at that moment and for a minute or so they both listened to the newscast. Then Nan looked at Tamzin’s pale, stricken face and said quietly, ‘It’s just a coincidence, love. Nothing more.’

  ‘No,’ Tamzin whispered. ‘It’s the Grey Horse. I can feel it. It’s coming back, just like the warning in the rhyme. You know what it says: “Then I shall come from surging sea, and turn your world to stormy grey”.’

  ‘Now, Tamzin, listen to me.’ Nan came over to the sofa, crouched down and took a firm hold of Tamzin’s hands. ‘You’ve got to stop believing that the Grey Horse is making this happen. Because if you do believe it then you’re giving in to the Grey Horse, and that only makes it stronger. Do you understand?’

  Tamzin nodded unhappily. ‘Oh, Nan, if only I could find that piece of the statue!’ Suddenly she pulled her hands free and scrambled to her feet. ‘Maybe if I went to the beach now –’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Nan grabbed hold of her again. ‘Do you think I’d let you go anywhere near the beach in this weather?’

  ‘But –’

  ‘No, Tamzin!’ Then with a great effort Nan calmed herself. ‘If you went on the beach with the wind and tide as they are, you’d be putting yourself in danger. That’s what the Grey Horse wants you to do. But there are other ways to fight it. Better ways. Trust me, Tamzin. I know.’

  In the lamplight Nan’s eyes looked very blue, and suddenly Tamzin remembered her first day at Chapel Cottage, and the impulse that had goaded her to meddle with the Grey Horse statue and break it. This was the same sort of feeling: reckless, making her want to do something stupid. As if some power outside of herself was working on her and pushing her…

  The crazy urge to go to the beach abruptly faded away, and Tamzin swallowed. ‘You’re. right, Nan.’

  ‘Yes, I am.’ Nan’s eyes searched her face for another moment, then she relaxed. ‘The feeling’s gone, hasn’t it? Good.’ She stood up. ‘Come on, love. Let’s get back to the tree, and think about Christmas.’

  Tamzin and Nan both did their best to forget about the Grey Horse. But it wasn’t easy. If anything the gale was getting worse, screaming in the electricity wires and shaking the cottage as if it would tear it apart. Then in the afternoon, the radio reported that a cargo ship was in distress off Land’s End, and later came a second report that the Coastguard had lost radio contact with a Newlyn fishing boat, and there was ‘growing concern’ for the crew.

  Tamzin and Nan were in the kitchen making mince pies when they heard this. Nan’s face turned very serious, and after a few moments’ thought she said, ‘Do you know, Tamzin, I’ve never been much of a churchgoer. But I think it might be good to go to the midnight service in the village tonight.’

  Tamzin nodded, and swallowed. ‘I know I ought to be in bed by then,’ she said. ‘But… could I come too?’

  Nan smiled, and relief showed in her eyes. ‘I wouldn’t dream of going without you,’ she said.

  So at half-past eleven they put on their waterproofs and struggled through the battering wind to Nan’s car. In the cottage everything was ready for the morning, and Nan had left all the downstairs lights on for their return, like a welcoming beacon.

  The night was pitch-black and despite the windscreen wipers the road ahead was little better than a blur. Nan drove very slowly and carefully. It was only a mile or so to the village but to Tamzin the journey seemed to take forever. All the same, she was glad they had decided to go to the service. It would be comforting. It would help.

  She was staring through the windscreen, trying to see the road ahead, when for no apparent reason the memory of her nightmare came into her mind. Howling gale, pounding sea; the vast wave rising to engulf her… For an instant she seemed to hear again the sound of galloping hooves. Then, cutting sharply through the memory, a surge of vivid blue stabbed into her brain, and with it a wordless, warning voice –

  ‘Nan, look out!’ It was as if some outside force made Tamzin shout without knowing why. Nan trod on the brake pedal; ahead there was a crack, a groan, then a glimpse of a huge shape, darker than the night, toppling across their path.

  The car slithered to a halt as a tall tree crashed down across the road and landed five metres in front of them.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Nan stared wide-eyed through the windscreen. ‘Oh, Tamzin, if you hadn’t shouted…’

  Tamzin’s heart was pounding and she felt sick. She knew what Nan was thinking: if the warning had come a moment later, the car would have been right underneath the tree when it fell. She hadn’t seen it coming. She hadn’t known. But something had told her.

  Slowly she turned her head and looked at Nan. ‘The Blue Horse warned me,’ she whispered. ‘It saved our lives.’

  Nan didn’t answer. The road was completely blocked by the fallen tree, and in the light of the headlamps its bare branches reached up like clawing hands. Nan put the car in reverse and started to go carefully backwards. There was a turning a short way back; she reversed into it, turned the car around and stopped again on the grass verge. ‘Tamzin, have you got your mobile?’ she asked.

  ‘Y-yes.’ Tamzin’s voice shook.

  ‘Then ring the police, will you, and tell them what’s happened. I don’t suppose anyone else will come along now, but you never know.’

  Tamzin nodded, glad of something practical to do, and dialled 999. The police said they would send someone out as quickly as possible and, as Tamzin hung up, Nan said, ‘Well, there’s no hope of getting to the village tonight. We’d better go home.’

  Neither of them spoke on the drive back. But when they reached their turning, from where the lit-up windows of Chapel Cottage should have been visible, Tamzin said, ‘Nan, there aren’t any lights.’

  ‘There must be a power cut.’ Nan changed down into first gear and they bumped slowly down the rough track. ‘I should think there are power lines down all over the place.’

  She stopped the
car as close to the front door as she could get and, with a torch to light the way, they made a dash for the house. Baggins came mewing to greet them and rubbed himself round their legs as if he was relieved to see them safely home. Nan lit lots of candles, then put a saucepan of milk to heat on the stove.

  ‘Hot chocolate, then bed,’ she said kindly. ‘It’ll all seem different in daylight.’

  From the sitting room came a faint whirring sound, then the clock on the mantelpiece began to chime.

  ‘Midnight,’ said Tamzin. ‘It’s Christmas.’

  ‘So it is.’ They listened until the twelfth chime sounded and faded away, leaving only the noise of the wind.

  ‘Happy Christmas, love,’ said Nan.

  ‘Yes,’ said Tamzin. ‘Happy Christmas, Nan.’

  That Christmas Day was the strangest Tamzin had ever known. By morning the rain had stopped, but the gale was still blowing and the electricity had not come back on. The phone was out of order too. Nan said that the lines must be down and would probably take some time to put right.

  Nan did her best to make everything cheerful. The cottage was lit by candles and paraffin lamps, and a fire burned warmly in the sitting-room hearth. For all her efforts, though, the house felt strange and isolated. Even the Christmas tree looked menacing rather than festive with no lights to brighten its dark branches. It reminded Tamzin of the tree that had crashed down in front of the car last night, and the memory of that gave her a tight, nervy sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  However, there were some happier things to concentrate on, and after breakfast they turned their attention to the pile of parcels under the tree. Tamzin’s parents had secretly sent a large package to Nan: inside were several presents, including a pair of Inuit moccasins, a book about pony-trekking in the Rocky Mountains and a watch that told the time in different parts of the world. There was a long letter too, and Tamzin laughed tearfully as she read Dad’s droll account of what he called their ‘adventures’ in Canada. Nan gave her a beautiful wooden box containing a complete, professional set of paints and brushes. Tamzin was thrilled – but when she opened her second present from Nan, her face sobered. It was a necklace of turquoise beads.

  ‘Blue,’ she said softly. ‘It’s beautiful. Thank you, Nan. Thank you.’

  Nan looked embarrassed. ‘I know it can’t replace your bracelet but… well, it might help a little bit.’ She smiled. ‘Now, I’d better open my presents, hadn’t I?’

  Tamzin had bought her a big box of chocolates, a jazz CD (Nan loved jazz) and an exotic Indian wrap with a silky fringe. Nan was delighted. ‘I shall wear it to every party I go to!’ she declared. ‘But I’d better not keep it on while I’m cooking the lunch. Which reminds me, I’d better get lunch started. How about helping to peel the potatoes?’

  As there were only two of them to eat the Christmas lunch, Nan had bought the smallest turkey she could find. It was starting to cook, and Baggins was sitting in front of the oven sniffing ecstatically, when Nan tuned her battery-operated radio to the local station for the news.

  It wasn’t good news. The missing fishing boat had not yet been found, and two lifeboats that had tried to reach the stricken cargo ship had been forced to give up because of the huge seas.

  ‘Navy rescue helicopters are standing by at RNAS Culdrose,’ said the announcer sombrely, ‘but they will be unable to join the search until the weather conditions improve. We will, of course, bring you any further news as soon as we have it.’

  Nan switched the radio off, and her face was sad and serious as she said, ‘Those poor people…’

  Tamzin knew that she didn’t mean just the boat crews but also the families and friends waiting anxiously on shore. The feeling in her stomach came back with a sick lurch, and again she thought of the ancient, warning rhyme.

  Could the Grey Horse be doing this? Was the warning coming true, bringing the old legend to life? It was almost too horrific to think about but, as the day went on, it preyed on Tamzin’s mind. She didn’t really want her Christmas lunch, though she ate as much as she could to please Nan. Then afterwards, feeling restless and uneasy, she rang Joel on her mobile. Their house phone was out of order too, Joel said, and so was the electricity. The fields and paths were a sea of mud after the torrential rain and Mrs Richards had reluctantly decided to cancel tomorrow’s party, as no one could possibly get to the stables until the ground began to dry up.

  Tamzin was almost relieved, for she didn’t feel in the least like partying. The only thing she would have liked to do was go and help with the stable work; it would have taken her mind off other things and she very much wanted to see Moonlight. But that was out of the question until the weather improved.

  In the afternoon she and Nan played games in an effort to make themselves feel more festive. But nothing could really cheer Tamzin up until, at teatime, her parents called from Canada on her mobile. It wasn’t a long call because of the cost, but it made all the difference, and she was even able to joke about the weather. When she said goodbye, with a last Happy Christmas, she felt as if a weight had begun to lift from her shoulders. And when she looked out of the sitting-room window into the gathering dusk, she saw that the gale was finally starting to ease.

  ‘It’ll be calm by tomorrow, you’ll see,’ Nan reassured her. ‘We’ll be back to normal before we know it.’

  Before Tamzin could reply, her mobile rang again.

  She picked it up. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Tamzin? It’s Marga.’

  Tamzin was astonished. ‘Hello! I thought you weren’t on the phone?’

  ‘We’re not. But I got a mobile for Christmas – isn’t that brilliant? I called Joel just now and he gave me your number. Are you having a fantastic day?’

  Tamzin laughed ruefully. ‘Well, we’ve got a power cut, and the ordinary phone’s not working –’

  ‘Yes, Joel said. What a wind! And that rain last night… Did you think you were going to get flooded out, down there in your valley? It must have been scary!’

  ‘A bit, I suppose.’ Tamzin didn’t want to admit the whole truth.

  ‘Did you go and look at the sea?’ Marga went on.

  ‘No. Nan said it was too dangerous to go on the beach.’

  ‘Pity. I bet it’s amazing; really rough and wild! We’re inland a bit, of course, so I can’t see it from here. But I can hear it roaring in the distance. Listen, the reason why I rang is, I thought maybe we could all meet up at the stables the day after tomorrow. Or are you busy?’

  Tamzin rather got the impression that Marga hoped she would be busy, and felt a tiny flicker of annoyance. She replied, ‘No, that’s fine,’ then added deliberately, ‘I was going up there anyway. But only if Joel says it’s dried out enough.’

  ‘It will have done,’ said Marga confidently. ‘The weather’s not going to stay like this; not this time anyway.’

  ‘What do you mean, not this time?’

  Marga laughed. ‘Well, you never know in Cornwall, do you? Gales can blow for a week. Or longer. OK, then, see you at the stables. Oh, and happy Christmas!’

  She had gone before Tamzin remembered that she hadn’t asked for her mobile number. She tried to call it back on her phone’s menu but pressed the wrong option by mistake and erased it. Not that it mattered. Marga would have given the number to Joel. She’d definitely have done that.

  She sighed, and Nan looked round at her. ‘Something wrong, love?’

  Tamzin hesitated, then shook her head. ‘No, Nan. I’m fine. Really I am.’

  Nan and Marga were both right, and by the following morning the gale was over. The world was eerily quiet, though the wind’s noise still echoed in Tamzin’s imagination so that she kept shaking her head as if to clear it. At lunchtime the electricity came back on and by mid-afternoon the valley path had dried out enough for Tamzin and Nan to walk to the beach, where they stood in the car park at a safe distance from the sea, and watched the waves tumbling and pounding in on a huge tide.

  Tamzin slept
soundly that night, and in the morning Joel rang to say that, though the path to the stables was still very muddy, it should be easy enough to get through.

  Tamzin was very glad to be at the stables again. Barney greeted her like a long-lost friend and Moonlight, too, seemed delighted, pushing his muzzle against her face and tickling her with flapping lips.

  Marga arrived on Lossie, and the three of them walked round the driest parts of the paddocks making more plans for the Fun Day. It had been decided that two fields were to be used. Jumps would be set up in the smaller one, while the larger would be used for other events like bending races, best turnout and, as the highlight of the programme, the musical ride.

  Though she didn’t want to admit it to Joel or Marga, Tamzin was a bit nervous about the musical ride. She wasn’t sure that she was experienced enough to do it with confidence. And it would be terrible if she made a mistake on the day and spoiled the whole thing. With only two weeks to go before the event, she would have liked to start practising straightaway. When she suggested it, though, Joel shook his head. ‘We can’t, today,’ he told her. ‘Dad’s done a load of posters and we ought to spend this afternoon putting them up around the district.’

  So after their usual sandwich lunch they saddled Moonlight, Lossie and Jester, and set off for the village. The fallen tree had been cleared from the road (there were still a few broken branches in the hedge but that was the only sign), and the three of them spent two hours fixing the posters to noticeboards, telegraph poles and anywhere else they could find.

  ‘That should be enough to bring people flocking in,’ said Marga, holding Jester’s reins as Joel put up the last poster.

  Joel grinned at her as he remounted. ‘Word’s getting around anyway. Loads of our regular riding customers are going to join in, and Mum’s already heard from four people who want to bring their own ponies. I think we’re going to have quite a success on our hands!’

  Marga shortened rein, and Lossie tossed his head as she turned him around. ‘I’d better get home before it’s dark,’ she said. ‘Shall we get together again tomorrow morning?’ She looked at Tamzin and smiled. ‘Then we can start practising for the musical ride and see if Tamzin’s up to it.’