The Horse Dreamer (Equinox Cycle Book 1)

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The Horse Dreamer (Equinox Cycle Book 1) Page 26

by Marc Secchia


  “Well, it’s a stupid tradition!”

  “Because surviving on one’s own in this land is easy?” he sneered. “What does a soft Plains Horse know of this territory?”

  “What do you know, genius? Been in the Gorge before? Sat on a fumarole?”

  Sanu grabbed her tail. “Stand down, Zara, or join the fight. Your choice.”

  Once more, the temptation to kick her alleged friend was almost irresistible. What a ridiculous waste of time, energy and resources. Sanu’s chuckling did not help in the slightest. But Kesuu was nodding, seemingly pleased by her heated response.

  “So it’s North by a whisker toward the asteroid belt to find the purple double-volcano, first?” he said. “Then directly East for thirty miles, skirting a lava lake?”

  “Exactly.”

  He raised a fist above his head. “Tribe! Move out!”

  With her usual eloquence, Zaranna blurted out, “Um …”

  “Prefer to wait for the Earthen Fires to burn your bones?” he asked, with a sage and very annoying air.

  “No, but …”

  Kesuu reached out to pat her on the meat of her upper shoulder. “Alright, by the Ancestors, I’ll admit I doubted your every move. But you fought as one of the Tribe today. Not bad for a Plains Horse. Being alive is a reasonable outcome, even if it comes with sulphur-stench, Earthen Fires and the toxic fumes of a volcanic hell. Plenty of underworld creatures would find this place rather homely.”

  “Sure.”

  Wow, with this level of conversational skill, she should join her school’s debate team.

  “Don’t think this means I like you, Zaranna. Your idiocy has dragged my daughter into an Abyssal Lord’s personal inferno. Redeem that and we might talk.”

  She scuffed the ground with one hoof. “And the others?”

  “The other Tribes will catch up once they’ve resolved their differences. I’d give it a couple of flares.”

  What more could she say? Mooch. Scuff, scuff. Sulk. Zaranna trailed along with the Outland Humans, a stranger in a smouldering wasteland.

  Piles of ash alternated with stretches of glossy black or grey rock, a volcanic glass melted and re-melted by the rise and ebb of the Earthen Fires. The ground was broken by a crazy pattern of cracks, like a drought-blasted field, most of which smoked at the very least; the deeper cracks oozed lava or spat fire. A foul miasma of smoke and ash enveloped them as they walked along, conveying a bitter, sulphurous tang into the throat and lungs, and causing the people to mutter and cough and tighten their mouth-veils.

  Kesuu led his people with the help of a quintet of scouts who worked the terrain, rushing here, popping up there, bounding over boulders and crevasses with more vim and vitality than a team of squirrels frantic to gather the last nuts of the season. Behind came a screen of younger warriors protecting the Tribe and clearing out venomous reptiles. How did lizards the size of small ponies survive out here, Zaranna wondered, eyeing a victim whose severed head lay ten feet from the rest of its body? The older warriors carried the infants, the sick and the elderly. None were left behind.

  Survivors, Sanu had claimed. This bunch were more like survival ninjas.

  The sun blazed above the Gorge, but within, all was haze and stifling heat. They marched a few hundred feet from the chasm’s edge; Zaranna walked over twice to take a look, but found only bottomless blackness. Every so often, ominous rumblings sounded below – probably Shuzug and his cronies playing demonic chess with their hapless minions.

  Approximately eleven flares later, the scouts sighted the twin purple volcanoes. They were indeed a violently mauve colour, something to do with the minerals they relentlessly spat into the skies. Kesuu declared a short break.

  “Hoof picking? Drink of water?” Sanu offered.

  “A drink. I’m parched.”

  “I didn’t think any place could be drier than up there,” said Sanu, gazing wistfully across the chasm to the Obsidian Highlands, now just a bleak, forbidding rampart of igneous rock jutting uncompromisingly into a turquoise sky. “I’ll miss it – I mean, we couldn’t go back now, and I wouldn’t want to, but I will miss the Highlands. Is that crazy?”

  Zaranna eyed a group of squabbling youths. Did these people do nothing but fight? “Totally off your rocker,” she said.

  Sanu gave her a quirky look. “Are you yanking my weapons belt, Horse? Fine. Here comes payback.”

  Elder Tirkuu tottered up to them, making full use of his metal walking-pole. Without ceremony, he held out a piece of cloth. “Zaranna, the people would be more comfortable if you wore a mouth-veil like them.”

  Zaranna cast Sanu an incredulous glance. “I’ll look ridiculous.”

  Tirkuu’s white beard moved in what had to be a smile, although it was hard to discern beneath that cotton wool bush on his face. “It’ll filter particles and evil odours from the air you breathe.”

  “So Equine magic is evil but spelling a piece of cloth is acceptable?” she complained.

  “People trust what they know.” The Elder nudged Sanu. “Will you allow me to treat your wounds, Zaranna?”

  “Um …”

  “Exactly,” Sanu snorted. Zara tried to stomp on her foot, but missed. Agile Annie was as fast as a hummingbird at the best of times.

  “Only if you treat the people first,” growled the Horse.

  That decision placed her at the back of a very long queue. Sanu elbowed her flank and whispered, “How smug?” Having that self-righteous bubble popped was probably for the better, Zaranna told herself, wishing for the umpteenth time she could fold her arms and scowl properly.

  After a short rest, the Tribe turned inland, leaving trail-sign for the Humans following somewhere a few flares behind. Zaranna plodded and plodded, gasped for air, and plodded some more. The atmosphere was like inhaling rancid, lukewarm soup. Sanu and her kin seemed at ease, commenting that the weather was just a little hotter than usual. Zaranna thought she would fall over any moment, but she made it through to the evening without embarrassing herself too badly.

  “Gourd of water?” asked Sanu. “This is our ration for today.”

  “Do I get a ration?” Zaranna licked her cracked lips.

  “Do you get a ration? Well, since you enjoy honesty, let me say that you sweat far too much for this climate,” said the girl. “You stink like a skunquine, and your survival likelihood diminishes with every drop of moisture you waste.”

  That only earned Sanu a tired toss of her mane. Heaven’s sakes, the young warriors were squabbling again! But Zaranna drank greedily from the gourd. “More, please.”

  “Half is the ration,” said Sanu.

  “I’m five times your size!”

  “My ration is to wet my mouth this evening, and two mouthfuls in the morning.”

  She could only shake her head. Four flares later – how the Tribe knew that since the sun had set and could not be seen clearly during the day anyway, was beyond her – the other Tribes arrived and the fighting flared up anew. Wrangling. Outright brawling. Grappling and red-faced shouting. Unbelievable. Where did they find the energy? Then again, who thought forcing a bunch of fractious, larcenous, two-legged chameleons to share close quarters was a good idea? Invisibility-fuelled pranks were thicker than the smoke in the air and Kesuu seemed to think it all completely harmless, even with the odd tooth being knocked out. Sanu said they grew back, along with most other body parts. Handy, or from what she had seen, this lot would be the eyeless, toothless ridicule of all Equinox.

  She slept, but did not dream.

  * * * *

  With a tap of a talon upon her shoulder, Illume woke Zara a number of flares before dawn.

  “What’s the time, Mom?” she asked sleepily.

  He rumbled, “I rather suspect your mother does not smoke at the nostrils on most occasions, Zaranna. Wake up.”

  “Huh. Shows how little you know my mother. Nice of you to show your face.”

  “Churlish chit of a phony-pony,” he sneered. “Follow me and do
try to keep a civil tongue in your mouth. My scales itch from the dishonour of saving all these Humans and Horses. I fear I’ll start moulting from the disgrace.”

  Sanu’s eyes had cracked open. Zaranna said, “I’m just off to be hauled over the coals by Illume, Sanu. You sleep.”

  When they had walked a short ways from the camp, Illume abruptly dropped onto his stomach and curled his muzzle back toward his tail, facing Zaranna. His lips stood level with the barrel of her torso, while – speaking of barrels – a breath of fire from his deep, slit nostrils would strike her right between the eyebrows. Even lying down, the top of his back was as tall as the roof of Whiz’s farmhouse. She decided that Dragon fear was actually a very healthy emotion.

  Without preamble, he growled, “Did I see you doing weather magic, Zaranna?”

  “Uh … weather magic? That dust storm?”

  “Aye, that little sandstorm. Summoning Wind-Riders with a cunning flutter of your curling eyelashes, is what I mean! Don’t play cutesy-horse with me!”

  Zaranna watched his eyes warily. Not good. No, there was definitely more bonfire than spark in those night-sky pools. She said, “If I did something wrong – yet again – I’m sorry, Illume. I don’t seem to be placing many hoof prints in the right places. You, ah … offered mentorship? I think I’d rather need that.”

  That was eating humble pie and the plate along with it.

  “Grr.” The Dragon blinked. Had he expected more argument? “I suppose I did somewhat neglect to elucidate the dangers. Or tell you the history of Dreamers. Or tell you –” he coughed as delicately as a multi-tonne flying fortress was able “– well, anything much at all. Now …”

  The Dragon performed his chin-scratching routine, along with rumbling deep in his throat and a gout of smoke from the nostrils. Zaranna was beginning to learn that he did this to cover up confusion. Senescence in a Dragon? Perhaps she should not raise that subject or she might be learning first-hand if the Outland Humans could indeed regrow limbs. What she wouldn’t give for that ability on Earth …

  He said, “Last I left you, you were safely bound for the Pegasus Council of Sentalia Vale. How did you contrive to bungle a little walk down the Vale so spectacularly?”

  Quietly, Zaranna told him about their adventures since Illume had left her in the swamp. The mention of Shuzug made him grow very, very pensive indeed, but he did chuckle roughly at some of her descriptions of their misadventures. Then he questioned her closely about her arrival on Equinox, echoing Worafion’s assessment that breaking through without a portal was an inconceivable deed – or perhaps ‘highly improbable’ was a better descriptor, he suggested with a wry grin, present evidence having convinced him with its sarcastic sufficiency. The Dragon inquired about her life before Equinox, and again seemed to grow agitated as she described the ‘Red One’s’ interference.

  When silence replaced her words, it was a tranquillity of companionship and shared reflection. Even the night seemed to hold its breath out of respect. Illume reached out. With the tips of two talons, he stroked her mane gently.

  She suppressed a shudder.

  The artist in her, meantime, observed anew the quality of Illume’s scales. He had no need of roseate dawn skies to showcase their beauty, but she wondered at the nature of his flesh. What she had initially taken for hide or rough armour, appeared rather to be a metallic crystalline substance with a discernible inner lucence, as malleable as plastic, yet clearly incredibly hard and durable – like the leaded glass of old stained-glass windows, she thought. The hide flexed effortlessly with his light breathing. Already, the injuries inflicted by the Gryphons appeared to be healing over. Where she could see bloodstains, if blood it was, they struck her as myriad filaments of crystal, like the bundles of fiberoptic cable down in Whiz’s workshop. He was more alien than she had surmised. Yols would love this – a whole different form of biology to wrap her virtuoso brain around.

  So transformed from the beast of the swamp! Where had he been, to reappear like this?

  Finally, in a very low voice indeed, the Dragon said, “How darkly the fires of my grief do groan at your suffering, Zaranna. This is all quite … unprecedented. Where shall I start?”

  She asked, “Why is weather-magic so dangerous?”

  “Aha! Ahem!” Finding surer ground, the Dragon said, “Most equinoctial magic is elemental in nature, Zaranna. That is, the source of power is the natural realm – water, air, fire, earth elements, crystals, wild magic, Earthen Fires, Sky-Fires and so on. There is a clear hierarchy of magic. In the lowest rung are the magical practices such as these the Outland Humans employ for their weapons-making, medicinal work and spirit-summoning. Their chameleon ability is based on the element of water.”

  “Not air?” Zaranna asked, surprised.

  “No. Perhaps the greatest element of your brain is air, but for most Humans, it is water.”

  “And fire for a Dragon?”

  “How perspicacious, Dreamer.” But he accompanied this with a droll, approving gesture of his paw. “Quite. Your power appears to stem from the way you harness Equinox’s elemental magic, as best I can discern, and that’s what makes you so dangerous.”

  “Er … I thought the magic was dangerous. Not me.”

  “Both, naturally. You because you are untutored, and even if you were … well. Less insults and more explanation, methinks. Take water. Some creatures avoid it, some bathe in it, some drink it and others, like you, live it. You become water. You grasp the very essence of wateriness.”

  “So our Hooded Wizard …”

  “Is a drinker. A manipulator of what exists. He can harness powers like flow or steam or the natural heat or cold in water. He must rely on what he can reach or access in his immediate environment. You summoned Storm-Pegasi – am I right? Aye? And those Wind-Riders?” At her quick nod, he said, “Each element has its weaknesses and strengths, and its pitfalls. Take the Storm-Pegasi. They are the elements of air and lightning, combined with wild magic. Thus, they are ungovernable. They would as likely kill you as your enemies, and make no distinction.”

  Zaranna considered this, head askance. Did she not remember the Storm-Pegasi stepping over her trembling body and destroying the Darkwolf Clan? And how had Jesafion survived that avalanche of hooves?

  Illume the Stars punctuated his words with fire hissing between his fangs. “I see your doubts! What if those Storm-Pegasi had not stopped on the next hilltop? What if you had summoned a hundred times as many? Little filly, this is magic of fearful power, as you saw in that storm you described here in the Obsidian Highlands. It is not to be trifled with – you boldly rush in where Dragons and Pegasi fear to tread!”

  “I understand, Illume.”

  “Do you?” The huge Dragon gentled his tone with an evident effort. “Do you understand that the Dreamer may take many forms, and some of those forms do not possess intelligence as we know it? How would the Dreamer return without a mind to grasp the need to return, without a mind capable of Dreaming? How can the Dreamer resist the wild magic of a storm or a lightning bolt, which perishes ere the eye should perceive it? Zaranna … I know you fear to trust me too far. Trust me in this, at least.”

  He knew her fears. “Maybe you should start by teaching me how to keep a Dragon out of my mind,” she said, tightly.

  Illume sighed at such great, gusty length, she wondered if he meant to start a sandstorm of his own.

  Finally, the Blue Dragon said, “I sense my guileful, wholly draconic approach has not been as subtle as I hoped. Aye, Zaranna. I sought to bring you under my wing by subterfuge – and I would still have that, but without the … dishonesty. Most Dreamers have been Pegasi. Most, therefore, came under the influence of Pegasi early on, as I feared you might with Jesafion, but – true-fires, Zaranna – I thought him so arrogant he would overlook the powers of a Plains Horse. I had to leave to brief the Bluewing Clan. That was more imperative than my schemes regarding you.”

  Try as she might, Zaranna could not expel the bitt
er taste of betrayal from her mouth. She had thought the old Dragon a friend. Trusted him. Leaned upon his wisdom. Yet here was another creature, like Sanu, whose first instinct had been to exploit her. How could any friendship endure this?

  What an idiot, to imagine camaraderie between Equine and Dragonkind.

  Sweet, naïve Zaranna. Sold down the river by her desire to please, to trust unhesitatingly, to help others as best she could. Jesafion had warned her against the Dragonkind. Sanu’s people hated the Pegasi. The Pegasi treated Humans like dirt and Plains Horses little better. The Dragons were rightly suspicious even of their own Clans and Colours, and clearly distrusted the Equines – and who would trust the Winter Wizard’s daughter?

  No-one.

  Silence opened between them like a great, dark sinkhole leading straight to the demonic realms.

  Chapter 20: Volcanic Hell

  AFTER A CONSIDERABLE hiatus, Illume the Stars cracked open his massive jaw and said, “Beyond this planet of Equinox, Zaranna, lie the asteroids and the stars. In the same way, beyond the physical world lies the world of magic. We Dragons call this world the Loom, although I find it a frustratingly inaccurate term. We believe all threads of life are woven into the great Loom, or if you wish, the precise academic terminology we Dragons prefer is ‘cohesivist metaphysical theory’. Human Wizards spoke of the Veil, an invisible magical cloaking or coating or additional property of all matter – this is the so-called ‘exclusive materialist theory’, in which magic is viewed as strictly separate and distinct from matter or life. Unicorns and Pegasi, on the other hoof –”

  “Stop!” she cried, halting his lecturing. “Please … Illume the Stars, I don’t understand what you’re doing? I cannot think through these issues when I feel so hurt.”

  Stiffly, he growled, “I said, no more dishonesty! What more do you want, Zaranna? Again, I have little time and I must, and will, come to you again if you call – I’m sorry, curse it! I did wrong! I let you down and I am about to let you down again.”

 

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