The Horse Dreamer (Equinox Cycle Book 1)

by Marc Secchia

  “Fleas,” sneered the hulking Commander. “How did you cross Azoron’s Gorge, mad filly? And why, by the accursed darkness of the Abyssal Plains, did you bear a mere Human – this child – upon your back? You seem vanishingly plain to have caused so much trouble.” Now he too approached the threesome, settling his wings with an incensed ruffle. “Are you insane? Which luckless Plains Tribe do you hail from? Tell us!”

  “None, o noble –”

  “What? Untwist your tongue, be you a true Equine!”

  Zaranna steeled herself. “I do not hail from Equinox at all, Commander.”

  In six days, she had thought of no other tack that would not implicate Illume the Stars and start a whole different war. Truth. She kept coming back to truth, to its necessity, even though she felt as if she were force-feeding herself a porcupine. Illume had warned her.

  The eyes pinning her grew cold with realisation.

  Even so, she was caught unprepared. An invisible force struck her so hard Zaranna saw more stars than Equinox had in its night sky; she wheeled through light and darkness before coming to at the side of the hall, with Sanu bending over her, gently patting her cheek. The tang of blood filled her mouth. She struggled to her hooves; with an incoherent cry of rage Zanfurion lashed out a second time, slapping her with the force of a Dragon’s paw back across the chamber, almost to the King’s hooves. Something broke audibly in her side, stabbing agonisingly each time she breathed, sharp, shallow flutter-breaths.

  “Control yourself, Zanfurion!” snapped the Pegasus King.

  “Earthen-scum traitor!”

  “Zanfurion!” Now his voice was thunder, shaking the chamber. Sparks shot from the King’s horn and flanks and hooves, filling the air with crackling and the scent of ozone. He loomed over Zaranna, yet his voice shook as he roared, “You are already disgraced. Do not tempt the wrath of the High Council in this manner!”

  Coughing out blood, she whispered, “What have I to lose, o King?”

  “Your honour!”

  “But to gain a life?” For many breaths, his silver eyes bored into her green, and Zaranna confronted him with every ounce of honesty she could muster. She said, “If I must lie, King Arafion, then let me lie thus. I flew over Azoron’s Gorge without wings. May I … please … give you Jesafion’s Soul-name, that you know I speak truth at least in part? The disgrace … aiee! If saving a life means disgrace … it’s nothing compared to Jesafion’s fate. I promised …”

  Slowly, his face seemed to twist up from the inside. Arafion whispered, “You did this for my son?”

  Half a dozen voices cried, “She lies!”

  And Zanfurion trotted forward, growling, “Let me terminate her miserable life now, Majesty.”

  Zaranna breathed the name Jesafion had given her.

  The King shuddered. The star-jewel he wore about the base of his horn tinkled slightly as his head shook; abruptly the great head turned away from where she lay fallen, and a huff of breath exploded from his chest. Wordless anguish.

  Into the brutal silence, Sanu interjected, “I was scouting the Pentacle when a flight of Gryphons ambushed me and dropped me into a chasm atop the Obsidian Mountains. There, this Plains filly found me, and for the sake of your Prince, took me upon her back and healed my knee, which was cut to the bone and torn by scavengers, that I might direct her across the trackless Obsidian Highlands to Kesuu’s Tribe, that by some miracle she might cross Azoron’s Gorge and win through to Sentalia Vale to warn your people of the impending war and to plead for Prince Jesafion’s life – and this is how you treat her?”

  “Sanu, please,” said Kesuu, breaking into her swelling diatribe.

  She shouted, “This High Council has an unshakable grasp of absolutely the wrong priorities. Congratulations, Commander!”

  Kesuu roared, “Sanu!”

  All of the Pegasi were shouting at once, but the King silenced the room with another deafening burst of thunder.

  Tiny as she was, Sanu stood right under the massive Pegasus Commander’s nose, shaking her finger up at him. “Zaranna might be mad, but she’s braver than the bloody lot of you glorious Equines rolled into one! Shame! Shame on you all!”

  Gripping his daughter’s arm, Kesuu hissed, “Enough, Sanu! Majesty, I apologise for my daughter’s outburst. We came to expiate our guilt by joining the forthcoming war. Kesuu’s Tribe would fight on the side of the Pegasi.” And he knelt very slowly, and placed his head upon the floor before King Arafion’s hooves. “I beg for the lives of my people, Majesty. Allow us to serve until old blood is washed clean.”

  For a moment, the only sound in the chamber seemed to be the King’s heavy breathing.

  His beautiful white muzzle turned to Kesuu. “Seven years.”

  The Councillors burst out once more, almost wailing in fury, but the expression the King turned upon them silenced them. Utterly.

  Kesuu seemed stunned. “Seven …”

  “Nay, not a lifetime, for many lifetimes have already been spent, and for far too long, blood has been spilled upon the Obsidian Highlands,” said Arafion. “We are not unmerciful. Seven years’ service, Kesuu, in exchange for full restoration, including the misdeeds of your daughter. Let us bind peace between us, the Pegasi and the Outland Humans, who will be outlanders no longer.”

  Why? Why would he act thus? From all Illume had told her of the Pegasi, Zaranna could not understand. Were they desperate for troops? Acting to secure the peculiar skills and traits of Kesuu’s people? The Dragon had speculated that the Pegasi might act thus to gain honour at little cost – Arafion’s regal tone suggested this interpretation might be correct, although Zara could not help but wonder how many Humans might conveniently perish on the front line. She glanced at Sanu; the girl’s cheeks were damp with tears.

  The Pegasus King added, “Kesuu, I will brief my Councillors as to my will in this matter. But you, Plains filly – what is your name?”

  “Zaranna, your Majesty.”

  “Zaranna of the Plains Clans, you will brief my Commanders and Captains of the Host. Should your information be found deficient, we will move at once to the matter of your abominable behaviour, and your blasphemy in this very chamber against the spirits of the Dreamers of old. While the sacrilege of bearing a Human upon your back demands no explicit penalty under our law, for it has never been so much as considered by any rational creature under the Sky-Fires of Equinox, I myself consider your deed to be an act of high treason against all Equines.”

  Now, the Pegasus refused even to look at her. He was so much Jesafion! The same stance, the same arrogant toss of the mane. Gathering the High Council with his gaze, he continued, clearly quoting from a text, “The just punishment for high treason is to be taken to the place of mourning and scoffing and there to be hung from the neck until dead, until the eagles and kites of the air have sated their bellies, after which the traitor’s bones shall be scattered into the abyss of Earthen Fires, there to rot for all eternity.”

  “A punishment just and true,” his Councillors echoed.

  How Zaranna shuddered!

  “Yet, I choose to stay judgement – at this time.” The King paced away, taking measured strides that communicated great gravity of heart and purpose. He addressed a chocolate-brown Pegasus. “Erlasion, summon the Elders of the Plains Horse Clans forthwith to explain who this Zaranna is, and what her history of unstable, un-Equine behaviour is. We will begin the military briefing in a quarter-flare in this chamber. Our first priority is the safety of our people – as we were reminded.” His eyes flicked to Sanu. “Summon a healer for the Plains Horse. We wouldn’t want any deficiency in her health to cloud her … good judgement.”

  The art of the scarcely-veiled threat. Zaranna wished she had a hand; she could have mopped her feverish brow. This was worse than being in a pickle. This was a whole barrel of pickle-piranhas and they were eating her alive.

  The Council broke up; chatter rose as they moved off into small groups or departed the chamber.

  Er
lasion trotted past her, saying to a beautiful golden female Pegasus, “Clearly a defence built on the insanity argument, Vehluria.”

  The statuesque mare said, “We’ll strip and flay whoever coached her in this madness, this draconic plot.”

  “Dreamer. Helper of Humans. Cha! Cha! Contemptible falsehoods …”

  Their voices faded.

  To her surprise, the Pegasi bade Kesuu and Sanu remain for the start of the briefing. Zaranna found her feet, feeling as Jesafion must have felt after his tangle with Shuzug. But a pretty Unicorn mare soon appeared, who was as green as grass and clearly overawed by the chamber and its denizens; the touch of her horn, however, made Zaranna see butterflies. The headache and pain eased and she felt immediately stronger.

  The Unicorn gazed up at Zaranna from soulful, long-lashed eyes. Clearly no colt, she stood barely half Zaranna’s height, and her foot-long horn glowed like a delicate jade crystal centred upon her forehead. She trilled, “Why not heal yourself, filly? You have the magic.”

  Commander Zanfurion glared at her. The filly fled.

  Shortly, a group of other Pegasi, male and female, marched in with a chiming of armour and lined up with military precision along the chamber’s left wall, giving the King and his Councillors plenty of wing-room. Five Councillors had departed. These must be the Captains of the Host, Zaranna thought. Not one was less than an incredible specimen of horseflesh – muscular, vein-poppingly fit, and clearly as arrogant as the sun rising in all its pomp. Their armour was made of a strange, metallic-blue type of crystal that appeared to be fairly light and flexible, perfect for aerial combat, she realised. It had no discernible clasps or straps, but covered the neck, chest, withers and flanks, with smaller segments for the canon bones and even the hooves. They kept their great, swan-like wings neatly folded at their sides, as if to brush up against one another would be to offer mortal insult.

  Unlike the Councillors, the Captains did not chatter, but their disapproval was a palpable, concerted force, burning across the chamber.

  “Order,” said Zanfurion.

  The King started by questioning Kesuu about his daughter’s rescue from her self-appointed mission to scout the Obsidian Pentacle. Then he moved to Sanu’s failure to find out anything much about the fortress, Zaranna’s appearance and the bargain they struck that the Plains Horse might be guided across the Obsidian Highlands; they dwelled at some length on her speculations about Zaranna’s mental state. Under intense questioning, Sanu let slip the Blue Dragon’s help in crossing Azoron’s Gorge.

  So much for that gambit. Zaranna quailed as cries of rage echoed around the chamber.

  With relative calm restored, Kesuu related the Darkwolf and Gryphon attacks on his tribe and their subsequent journey across Azoron’s Gorge. Zara did not appreciate how poorly she came out, although Kesuu took pains to mention her help in saving the Tribes’ lives. If the King’s line of questioning was anything to go by, she might as well start tying her own noose and save them the trouble. How on earth was she to escape a hanging?

  But King Arafion was not intent on fastening that noose just yet. He was still coiling the rope. Turning to Zaranna, he said, “So, how exactly did my son end up in the Hooded Wizard’s clutches, filly?”

  Stuff this conversation down a Worafion-style garbage chute. If she was going to die, she would go down fighting. She answered sweetly, “Why, we walked a Safeway directly from Sentalia Vale to Obscurant Vale, o King.”

  “What?”

  “You didn’t think the Darkwolf Clan were invading your Vale from the mountains, Majesty? There’s a secret Inter-Vale Safeway up north, near the Swamp of S’tyrax.”

  The King shrilled, “By my wings …”

  Zanfurion bellowed, “My troops have been over every inch of those mountains a thousand times! I swear, filly, this time you’ve gone too far. Speak the truth, curse you!”

  A third time, he beat her with his powerful battle-magic. But this time, Zaranna saw red. Butterfly-red. She tried to leap aside, but skidded on the highly-polished wood and felt the strike punch her left flank brutally, throwing her into one of the Councillors’ stalls. Despite trying to roll with the blow, she splintered before slamming into the chamber’s wooden wall.

  Faster than a gnat’s heartbeat, Equinox vanished.

  * * * *

  “Blast it!”

  Zaranna threw her duvet covers off her head. Had she been wrestling simultaneously with her duvet and Commander Zanfurion, aptly named for his uncontrolled temper? No wonder she felt so good about life. Everything was crumbling around her, both on Earth and on Equinox.

  What time was it? Dawn? Not yet. Yes, she was in Whiz’s house, and somewhere in another world an oversized Pegasus bully was enjoying a third round of Zaranna-bashing.

  “You picked the wrong girl, fish-breath,” she growled.

  I need to sleep. I need to return, now.

  Darkness. She barely felt her head thump down on the pillow.

  * * * *

  Tucking in her legs, Zaranna leaped from a prone position directly into a fighting stance.

  Come, my friends. Dance with me.

  Butterflies poured around her and into her in a great river. The power was immense. Explosive. With a wild whinny, Zaranna lowered her head and charged at Zanfurion, teeth bared, hooves thundering across the wooden floor. Lightning spat past her tail; the Commander flung up a shield, exactly as Jesafion had done against Shuzug, and paid the price. The small Plains filly sheared through his defence to strike him like a freight train amidships, flinging Zanfurion off his hooves, slamming him into the line of his Captains. They collapsed like dominoes. In a second, she faced a panting, squirming tangle of neighing Pegasi, the magic raging to be released, the hunger for revenge overwhelming … she summoned even more …

  And Zaranna saw what she had become. Illume’s cautions rang in her ears. Was this truly her? This panting, power-crazed, vengeance-driven girl? No. She must put this away from her. Standing tranquil in the pool of shock within that chamber, she allowed the butterflies to slip away between the fingers of her mind. Their job was done. Hers was just beginning.

  Turning to the Pegasus King, she lowered herself once more to her knee. “I apologise for disrupting your Council, o King. It shall not happen again.”

  Carnage. Thankfully, she did not think she had killed anyone – this time. But only she could know how close it had been, how in extremity, the magic wanted to fill her heart and soul, to bear her up, to fondly gallop her over the cliff-edge of sanity …

  Like his son before him, the Pegasus King whispered, “By the Ancestors, who are you?”

  “I am one who promises to submit to your judgement – upon my oath, o King. But first, I must speak. Commander Zanfurion, let me help you.” She unleashed her white horses.

  He stood. Dark hatred twisted his features as he glowered at her.

  “My first memory of Equinox is that of running into Prince Jesafion’s knee,” said Zaranna. “May I tell you what happened after that?”

  * * * *

  Until well after sunset, she stood in that chamber and patiently answered questions and sketched layouts of the Obsidian Pentacle and its surrounding mountains with an ingenious ink-pen, which was screwed into a foot-long tubular holder sporting a spatulate end she could hold in her mouth, and earned – well, if not respect, then at least regard, from the Captains of the Host and the Pegasus King. She wanted to dance for the sheer joy of recalling and not muddling all that Jesafion had instructed her to relate, but she was far too hoof-weary for that. Mental mnemonics and crazy gymnastics, it all boiled down to one beautiful truth.

  Let the dyslexic remember!

  Let her remember that the punishment for treason was death by hanging. Tears stung her eyes, but refused to be wept into being. She would not fail. She must persuade this High Council to rescue Jesafion.

  Shown to a small chamber somewhere within the great Sentalia tree, Zaranna gazed in gratitude at a manger full of fresh g
rass, a bucket of cool water and a pile of soft, lush-looking straw in a corner. She needed nothing else, nor did she bother to grow angry when the sturdy wooden door was firmly bolted behind her, leaving her imprisoned in a windowless room with just a small, apparently magical wood-carved lamp for light.

  She threw herself on that straw.

  To sleep. Perchance, to dream – of Alex. He needed her.

  Chapter 22: When Kings Conspire

  BEcause of a bad road accident on the lower M5, Whiz chose the scenic route to Cape Town via the famous, cliff-hugging Chapman’s Peak Drive to Hout Bay – if they arrived at all.

  “Do you think we could take hairpins at less than ninety miles per hour, Whiz?” Zaranna asked crossly.

  “Just testing the gravitational stabilisers,” he averred. Hood down, hair flapping in the breeze, watching turquoise oceans flash by to their left, Nonno stormed past another car. “Taking my favourite girl for a spin along the most beautiful drive in the world. You didn’t even feel that bend, did you?”

  “I would like to see less blur and more scenery.”

  “You’re as demanding as your mother.” He sang, “Hey, beauty let down your hair … hey, beauty, let me take you there …”

  “How can you be happy?”

  “I’m a man in love. Shall I not be happy?”

  Zaranna sighed. “Yes, Whizzbang. She’s lovely and smart and sings Italian arias while driving, we discovered that last night. Could have enjoyed a career singing opera, she’s that good.”

  Whiz waved his hands like a sweaty teenage boy pretending to pick fruit. “And have you seen her –”

  “Grumps! Hands on the wheel – and you’re disgusting. That’s just wrong.”

  “What, a man can’t appreciate the scenery?”

  He glanced at her with a ridiculous overdone leer; Zaranna crossed her arms over her breasts with an answering scowl. “Don’t you dare.”

  “You also have very nice … you know, hair.” This earned him a growl in the back of her throat. Honestly, the way he behaved, he needed to marry a Dragon. Well, minus on the halitosis. “Zars, what’s wrong? Is it just El Scottish Mano? Or something more? I saw that Pegasus you were splashing on the canvas back at the farmhouse. Quite the beast, isn’t he? Have you considered doing an art degree when you’re done messing around with school?”