The Horse Dreamer (Equinox Cycle Book 1)

by Marc Secchia

  Zaranna accepted his hand up; Whiz was surprisingly strong, lifting her without apparent effort. She was grateful for a hiatus from a series of rapid-fire revelations, a chance just to let her mind settle into something less than a mad gallop.

  “Your royal throne,” he said, depositing her on her wheelchair.

  She said, “So, you pinched Grandmother from Illume? How did the illustrious Blue Dragon take it?”

  “Badly. We’re sort of mortal enemies. Lifelong death-wishes, curses, Dragon oaths to exact revenge … that about covers it, I think. Especially since I used the Imjuniel on him.”

  Marvellous. Flush one friendship with Illume down the drain.

  “So, you’re saying Mom’s a half-Dragon and I’m a quarter? Unless Dad is also hiding something?”

  Whiz stopped dead in his tracks, halfway to the kitchen. “Actually, your Dad –”

  “No, Gramps!”

  “He’s an assassin.”

  Zaranna spluttered something rude and rather unladylike at that point.

  “He doesn’t, however, know about your mother’s draconic nature. Just that she was hurt in the escape. And he’s loved her since they were kids. It’s really very sweet.”

  She wheeled over to the coffee-maker and set about preparing coffee. Loving assassins and Dragons, Wizards and Dragonstones – did she know anything at all about her family?

  Whiz, filling the coffee pot with water from the sink, called over his shoulder, “So your Dad’s real name is Pytor-yan-Teturi, and he comes from a world called Andamon. He’s a saboteur, assassin and martial artist by birth. That was his caste, so he didn’t exactly get a choice of professions handed to him – basically, he’s a ninja on steroids. You know about the supposed magical abilities of Japanese ninjas?”

  “Gee, let me guess. Japanese magic is real?”

  “Superlative intuition there, Zip-Zap.”

  All Zaranna could think was that her lovely, suburban British parents living there in Yorkshire were actually aliens. Could her day get any better? Pytor and Suarienne. Aliens, living right next door to you.

  “And, in case you’re wondering,” Gramps continued, “you really are called Zaranna, and Dragons don’t come in quarters.” She made a rude drain-emptying noise in his general direction. “You’re a full-blood Dragon. There isn’t any other kind. However, having a Dragon as the Dreamer is a tad unprecedented. That’s why you can appear as a Plains Horse, I’d guess. And break through Equinox’s natural magical shielding.”

  And do healing magic. And summon equinoctial storms and butterflies … could this explain why Yolanda was so incredibly clever? Probably.

  She said, “Nonno, the Red Dragon was searching for the Imjuniel. He said I was hiding it. But he meant you, didn’t he?”

  “Downstairs in my room, in a magical trunk hidden behind the chimney,” said Whiz airily. “The greatest treasure of our wizardly clan, that is. The one bulwark we have against those treacherous lizards. Because if Dragons have learned how to travel between worlds without the portals, Zingle, we have a very big problem. All humanity has a very big problem indeed.”

  “I think there’s a bigger one. I don’t think the Hooded Wizard, Mister W, is actually Human at all.”

  “You owe me a tale, Zaranna. Start talking. The accident triggered your dreams, right? How did it start?”

  Now here was a peculiar moment, sitting by the kitchen table listening to the coffee machine gurgling like a happy infant, discussing Equinox with her grandfather, the Wizard. Zara felt as if she needed to screw her head on a whole new way. Just wait until a load of Equinox socked Yolanda and her unshakable belief in science right between the teeth!

  * * * *

  In the late afternoon of that cloudless Cape Town Sunday, Doctor Martinez buzzed by in her green VW Beetle. Zara and Whiz saw her roll in, but they were down in the paddock walking a horse – Zaranna was mounted up on Lady, a placid, chestnut-coloured American Quarter Horse who had retired from ranch work a year before, trying out a special saddle fitted with additional thigh and waist straps for a disabled rider.

  “She’ll pop down if she needs us,” said Whiz. “Probably wake that sister of yours with her banging and clattering in the kitchen, however. Never met a woman quite so capable of cooking up a real storm. Like you.”

  Zaranna chuckled. “Can you take Lady off the lead rope now? I think I’m ready to strike out on my own. And then, as Christi is here, I’d like to try out my legs. I meant to surprise Alex with them, but I don’t think that’s likely after this morning.”

  Whiz suggested something rather dramatic and gruesome involving Dragons and roast boyfriends.

  “Awfully quiet up there,” said Zara, waving at the house.

  “Quite at home in my house, that Latin bombshell,” said Whiz, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Alright, Zoomer. Take her away.”

  For the first time since her accident, Zaranna was saddled up on her own. She spent a good hour and a quarter working with Lady, relearning what had come so naturally before – transitions were especially hard without the balance of her calves and ankles, which she had relied upon before, and most of her signalling needed to be done with her hands and voice, rather than the legs. She even tried a few small jumps, her heart leaping into her throat every time. Maybe it was easier just being a horse!

  Afterward, Whiz helped her back to the house and Doctor Christi gave her another of those looks, followed by Yolanda, this time! Zara returned a Whiz-special eyebrow waggle, with interest. Honestly. Were they planning something sneaky?

  “I think you need a shower, sis,” sniffed Yolanda, applying her habitual sledgehammer approach to life. “Need a hand?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  Doctor Martinez, today wearing a figure-hugging floral print dress that clearly pleased a certain gentleman very much, greeted her with a kiss upon each cheek, and pressed a sheaf of paper into her hand. “Alex penned you a novel. Good luck, darling.”

  “Ah …”

  The Doctor made a half-half gesture. “Apologetic, I think.”

  Yolanda gripped the wheelchair’s handles. “Alright, sis. You talk and I’ll scrub. Actually, I haven’t had a chance to shower since the flight. Only just woke up.”

  “Oh, and I thought it was the garbage I was smelling,” suggested Zaranna, aiming for her most complimentary tone.

  Whiz said, “Good Lord, can you pair of sweaty old socks just clear the kitchen already?”

  * * * *

  Alex’s letter was a profuse apology plus a family history and annotated explanations, penned in a tidy, sloping hand, twenty-one double-sided pieces of paper. After reading it through, she felt as if she had run a marathon. She had never imagined, never guessed someone could live a life like that, or put up with that level of deceit and physical and psychological abuse. Zara had Yols find the number for Groote Schuur. She phoned, spoke to the operator, then waited to hear Alex’s voice.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Thank you, Alex.”

  That was the sum total of the intelligible conversation they managed. That, and she remembered hearing Yols say in the background that Alex would be released in the morning.

  Afterward she bathed and Yolanda fixed her makeup so she didn’t look quite so much the blotchy, weepy teenager. Now and again, her sister hinted that there was something they ought to talk about, but Zaranna was not biting. Not until she had more time to process what Whiz had told her that afternoon, and to think about how they might bring Yolanda in on their secret, and then Mom would arrive on Wednesday and how could they talk to her about Equinox? She bit her lip. Ouch.

  Since Darling Big Sister insisted on sundresses, she picked out a pretty teal colour that she wore over what she wryly called her ‘socks’ – black lycra tights that covered the scarred ends of her stumps. Zara eyed her prosthetic limbs, lined up against the wall, with trepidation. Maybe later.

  When everyone gathered in the lounge again, Yols leaped in without any p
reamble. “Whiz, Zaranna, sit down. Listen. You two are hiding something and we – Christi and I – have a right to know what it is. Now speak, or I shall turn my mind-powers on the pair of you.”

  Zara froze. Equinox. The Brain must know, but how?

  “Hiding?” asked Whiz. “Have you been conducting biological experiments like you used to when you ran around this place in nappies, young lady?”

  They all laughed, but not at all comfortably.

  Yols pulled out her finest schoolmistress frown. “Aright. Allow me to summarise and one of you can just break in at any point when you want to admit the truth, alright? Good. Doctor Martinez and I decided to start discussing Alex’s miraculous recovery, this afternoon, while you were out riding. Nice job, by the way. You looked great out there.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Shut up, you rotten liar.” Zaranna stared! “After reviewing the paperwork Doctor Martinez brought with her, we agreed that there was no possible medical explanation for Alex’s recovery. All signs were that he would have passed away within twenty-four to forty-eight hours. So I applied my brain to the problem. I hacked into the hospital security system and downloaded the closed circuit television recordings from Alex’s room from Friday morning.”

  Oh … not good.

  “After reviewing the evidence, the good Doctor and I decided to erase the hospital’s records, leaving the only record here on Whiz’s computer. Would either of you care to make a statement at this point?”

  “Exactly how am I implicated in this?” asked Nonno, with commendable dignity.

  “We’re coming to you, you old reprobate,” Christi advised.

  Rather grimly, Yolanda continued, “Let’s review the tapes, shall we?”

  Moving over to the computer, she brought up the screen and shared it with the 50-inch plasma TV. Zaranna was rather startled at how similar she and Doctor Martinez looked from behind. Same curvy figures, wavy dark hair and the flashing black eyes she had never quite as much appreciated in her sister as right now. Brain-Box was steamed, and they were about to receive the brunt of whatever broadside she had prepared. Zara knew this mood in her sister. Fight or die.

  “Alright. We’ll start here, with your boyfriend looking like he’s on death’s door, which he was. 7:17am – you can see the time in the corner of the screen. Fast forward a couple of hours. My dear sister enters the room. She appears to be praying, then – boom!”

  “The tape jumped,” Gramps pointed out.

  “Oh, really? Shall we slow it down?” Her manicured fingernails tapped the keys rapidly. “I applied a little enhancement routine I’ve been developing for Dad’s work – you do know that I work for MI5 on the side, don’t you, sis?”

  Zaranna gasped, “Merciful heavens!”

  “Exactly. Aren’t family conferences such fun?” A ‘you’d-better-not-cross-me’ frown creased her forehead. “Back to the green-eyed monster, aka my beloved little sister, who is apparently praying one moment, then, watch this. We have a distinct glow, a halo developing around her head and fingers, if you look closely. There. What is that?”

  “Dirt on the tape?” suggested Whiz.

  Zara’s eyes widened as she recognised a glowing horse-head emerging from her face and upper body. Marvellous. The tape had caught the moment perfectly. Yolanda ran the enhancement routine again, explaining the fraction of a second it took for the power to gallop from Zaranna’s body, without a shadow of a doubt, and charge at Alex. Then the tape did jump, but ten seconds later it was back and everyone was rushing around like a hive of disturbed wasps.

  “The rest we know,” said Yolanda. “Alex makes a full recovery. Whatever disease or infection or condition he had vanishes from that second onward; every reading on every machine suddenly starts to show a perfectly healthy young man. In fact, healthier than ever before. He had a lot of scar tissue, especially on his legs and back, noted in the medical records. That’s gone. Which brings us to the obvious question.”

  Doctor Martinez griped, “Obvious? There’s something obvious here?”

  Yolanda snarled in the direction of the wheelchair, “Yes, the question is, who in God’s name are you two, and what did you do with my sister?”

  Chapter 26: The Crystal Ocean

  There was a nasty silence. The sort of silence where everyone stood or sat in the room and looked as though they had swallowed something nasty. Her sister shook with the force of her uncharacteristic eruption. Whiz looked confused and disgusted. And Zaranna knew there was no way out of this one. She must intervene.

  “I’ll explain, Yolanda.”

  “Try me.”

  “I healed him with my superpowers.”

  “Try again, sis.”

  “Our parents are aliens and you’re actually descended from a Dragon.”

  Yolanda stamped her foot. “Beauty! So help me, wheelchair or none, if you do not offer a sensible reply this instant, I will march over there and beat the stuffing out of you.”

  “That’s the problem,” she said, gazing at Yols with all the love she could muster. “There isn’t any sensible, reasonable explanation that you’ll actually accept.”

  Now Whiz stood, and moved to Christi’s side. He knelt before her. “Crystabel, you’ve known me for a very long time. Something is about to be said –”

  “Whiz!” She rubbed tears out of her eyes with her knuckles. “If that statement ends with anything like, ‘and you’re welcome to walk out of that door and never come back,’ then I will personally slap you down on your rug and perform open heart surgery and stuff those words right back inside. If there’s craziness or danger or a miracle – heck, I don’t know – I am not leaving! Capisce? I have to know. More than that, you devious old salt, there have been many inconsistences in your stories since I first fell in love with you, all those years ago.”

  That was the verbal equivalent of whacking him with a short plank. “You … did?”

  “I did, and I do. It only took me two decades to accept the truth.” Reaching out, the Doctor caressed his cheek with a trembling hand. “Your granddaughter and I discussed that, too. Quite aside from your ridiculous stories.”

  Whiz glared at Yolanda. “You’re as bad as your sister. Pair of monkeys.”

  “I went to your car,” Yols threatened.

  “You didn’t!”

  “Then, I checked under the hood.”

  “Vile betrayer, snooping in my most sensitive regions,” cried the Whiz, not caring how that statement might be construed.

  “Come over here and kiss me,” Christi demanded.

  Yolanda’s hands-on-hips posture described an irritated teapot as she surveyed the two adults setting a very bad example on the couch. “And there goes the last sensible word we’ll have from him this evening. Yes, Zu-Zu, I checked the car and there’s bits of technology under there that would make MI5 slaver. There’s also bits that shouldn’t, by rights, exist. Not illegal. Impossible by any law of physics I know, and my research is impeccable – was impeccable, until Nonno interfered.”

  Zaranna had a brainwave. “Yols, could you place a call to Dad?”

  “He’s out of –”

  “Oh, can we quit arguing? Place it emergency or whatever you spies do. I’m going to write one word on a piece of card here, and we will show it to him. No explanation. I guarantee you, Dad will fall off his rocking chair.”

  Thirty seconds later, Yols had negotiated the black-head-on-screen affair and moved on to Dad, who smiled at them, his picture clear and unwavering, for once. “Hullo, sweet family. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Hello, alien Dad. Zara searched his features for hints of his past. Looking to the hard planes of his face, the folded corners of his eyes which he had always ascribed to an ancestor from Eastern Russia, wondering if the neat beard hid something – scars, perhaps? His darker, slightly sallow colouration. The way he moved, always alert, with grace bordering on the feline. Beloved, yet unknown.

  Yolanda held a placard in front of the camera. �
�Explain this.”

  Peter – Pytor, more accurately – turned the colour of a starched sheet and dropped the phone, or device, or whatever he was holding to receive the call. They heard, “Wednesday with Mom, or earlier?”

  “Wednesday,” said Yols, and ended the call. “Aright, Beauty, you’ve earned my undivided attention. What exactly does the word ‘Equinox’ have to do with making Dad fall over? That was fun, though. Do you think we could do it again? Do you think we should demand the adults get a room, or at least a towel to mop up all that slobber?”

  “We’re done,” said Christi, pushing clear of Whiz. He made puppy eyes at her. “Whiz-bang. More, later, if you’re good.”

  “I am a bad, bad Wizard,” he said.

  “I like those, too.”

  “Ugh,” said Zara. “Will you come through to the living room? A picture’s worth a thousand questions, as they – uh, whatever the saying is.”

  * * * *

  Feeling a sense of urgency, Zaranna and Sanu spent the day traversing the Dragon Safeways, taking multiple branching tracks that always seemed to lead them away from impending danger, a coldness or presence that lurked nearby, watching. Always watching. The tunnels never changed. How anyone found their way down here, except for magic, Zara had no idea. She bore the Human girl on her back to help them travel faster. A number of times they thought they heard Dragon wings ahead or behind, but nothing emerged to threaten; they might as well have been alone in the world. Sanu snacked occasionally on a paltry few scraps of dried fruit, and helped Zaranna to drink from her gourd.

  The Plains Horse thought about belonging to a family of Wizards and Dragons, and the way her grandfather had spoken about the Imjuniel. Such a symbol of hatred between Humans and Dragonkind, the source of so much warring. And how would they find Jesafion? Perhaps when they reached the end of these tunnels, she could summon Illume? He might know Worafion’s whereabouts.

  Toward the end of what Zaranna imagined must be another day within the tunnels, the character began to change. The path gradually transformed to a translucent bridge arcing through the mists and the cavern appeared to draw back until she and Sanu saw no other structure apart from the Safeway path. Here, her hooves no longer tapped sharply, but seemed to sink slightly into the soft, pale pane of glass.