“I shall give you something hard,” Talis said, his face screwed up in a way that made him look about thirty years old.
Callie’s eyes sparkled. “Yes, please,” she said. “Make it very hard.”
Talis’s eyes lit up with his idea. “Make him a yellow butterfly.”
“And her?”
“Ugly and mean. Long thin face. Long, thin body. And she has a horrible character.”
Meg almost laughed aloud at that. The children had been bickering all day because Talis had said his chores were much more difficult than hers, so Callie had offered to trade with him. Talis had an inflated opinion of what he did and he was so very sure of himself that he never exerted his full effort. But Callie had a plain girl’s knowledge that she was always going to have to work for what she had, so she’d scurried around and done all Talis’s chores in half the time it took him to do them. So now his reference to “long, thin body” and “horrible character” had to refer to the way Callie had taunted him after she’d beaten him in the chores.
“And what else?” Callie asked, smiling knowingly at him.
“Mmmm. Three wishes. I like the three wishes and…And I want fighting. Not so much kissing this time.”
Callie looked into the fire for a moment, then began to give a slow, secret smile. After a glance at Meg to make sure she was still asleep, she began to tell a story about a mean little boy who had been turned into a yellow butterfly after he insulted a wicked witch. His quest was to find a girl who liked him for himself. This was difficult, since he’d never said a kind word to anyone and actually didn’t even know how to be nice.
It took Meg some time to realize what Callie was doing, that she was making up this fascinating story. It wasn’t something the child had heard in the village—Meg had never heard such a story—but she was creating it as she went along. At some point Meg opened her eyes and leaned forward to hear the story, no longer pretending she was asleep, and began to listen.
When Callie saw that Meg was awake and listening, she stopped her story. Her stories were for Talis and him alone; no one else had ever heard them or knew anything about them. They were a secret between the two of them, and she thought that he liked her stories because, well, because he loved her. Surely no one else would want to hear her stories. Surely other people had their own stories running through their heads as stories constantly ran through Callie’s head.
But when she stopped, Talis nudged her crossly in the ribs, motioning for her to go on. Also, Meg was frowning, as though she too wanted to hear the rest of what Callie was telling.
Tentatively at first, but growing stronger by the minute, Callie kept on with her story, and she found that an audience of one was nice, but an audience of more than one was even better.
After the story was finished, Meg didn’t say a word. She just picked up her knitting from the floor and told the children it was time for bed.
Callie was very disappointed that Meg said nothing about her story. Did she like it or not? Maybe it was too silly for her, what with yellow butterflies who were actually boys.
All the next day Callie moped about, poking at her food, feeding her rabbits, feeding the chickens, but not enjoying the animals as she usually did. The only thing she showed any enthusiasm for was making lots of hints to Meg to give her compliments about her story.
But Meg, usually so smart where the children were concerned, didn’t seem to understand what Callie was hinting at. She just did her daily chores as usual and said nothing about the night before.
That night as they sat around the fire, Talis nudged Callie. “Go on,” he said. “It’s all right.”
“No,” Callie said sullenly, by now truly hurt by Meg for all day saying absolutely nothing about her story.
A few minutes later, when Will was beginning to nod off, the never-to-be-repaired harness in his lap, Meg said so loudly, he nearly fell out of his chair, “I should like a horse, a white horse that…that flies.”
Will looked at her as though she’d lost her mind. “You’re going daft, old woman,” he said. “Horses can’t fly. And if one was for sale I couldn’t afford it.”
Meg, her hands full of clothing to be mended, was pretending to look down but, actually, all her attention was on Callie. It had been half-humorous, half-heartbreaking to watch her sulk all day. And Meg had quite vainly enjoyed the way the child had practically begged her for praise.
While Will was still looking at his wife, waiting for her to explain what she’d meant by horses that fly, Talis jumped up, his arms extended. “Yes, a white horse that flies and a boy who leaps on him and rides to the stars.”
Will’s eyes and mouth were agape.
“You like that, Callie?” Talis said encouragingly.
Callie was sitting with her knees drawn up, hugging them to her body, a smile of great satisfaction on her face. She now understood that Meg had been teasing her all day, just as Talis teased her. Actually, Meg had liked her story very, very much. She had given Callie the highest compliment a storyteller could be given: She was asking for more.
“No,” Callie said softly. “The horse hates boys. Hates them very much. A boy hurt her once.”
Will stopped trying to figure out what was going on. Both Meg and Talis were dead silent, leaning toward Callie and waiting. He did the same.
“Before the boy can ride he must win her trust, for she is a filly, a filly with a beautiful, long, golden mane.”
When Callie paused, Talis knew that was his cue to ask a question. “How does he win her trust?”
Everyone listened as Callie began to spin a story of mischief and magic.
19
Why do I have to pick berries?” Talis whined. “That’s women’s work. I’m a man.”
Before Meg could speak, Callie gave a snort of laughter. “You’re no more a man than I am,” she laughed. “You’re a vain rooster of a boy and you are good for nothing but picking berries.”
Her words were harsh, but over the winter Talis had grown at least three inches while the only thing that seemed to grow on Callie was her hair. It annoyed her that in the village he sometimes ran off with boys twice his age and left her alone for as long as an hour at a time. She would have loved to run off with girls her own age, but—she would have died before admitting it to Talis—the girls bored her. So she ended up staying with Will while Talis ran around the village.
But yesterday Talis had stepped on two honeybees and today his foot was so swollen he couldn’t do his chores, the chores that, in spite of what Callie had done to prove otherwise, he considered something only a “man” could do. But Meg said Talis was well enough to hobble up the hill with her and Callie to fill buckets with fat, juicy berries. So Talis was protesting this great imposition, saying it was too unmanly for him to do.
But Callie knew the truth. Talis liked to pretend that he was very tough, that he was fierce and strong, but she knew what not even Meg did, that Talis had very, very delicate skin. Stinging nettles hurt him so much that at night, silently, tears ran down his face. It wasn’t that he couldn’t stand pain; he hadn’t been nearly as hurt by the blows from Will’s belt that Talis had felt more than once for his carelessness. But anything that affected only his skin hurt him terribly. He hated that his skin blistered easily; the chafing of a leather jerkin could raise a great welt on him, so in secret Callie often sewed patches over rough places on his clothing.
Now, today, because of his bee-stung foot he was going to have to hobble up the hill and traipse through nettle-laden berry vines that would sting his sensitive skin.
Usually Callie would have cared about him but she was angry that he had been stung yesterday while running with some village louts and leaving her behind. When Will teased Talis, saying he could later bake the berries into pies, Callie laughed extraordinarily loudly, making Talis look at her with narrowed eyes that said he’d pay her back later.
There is nothing as inept as a male doing something he doesn’t want to do, Meg thought as s
he watched Talis picking a berry an hour. Also, he had no qualms about complaining incessantly about everything he could think to complain about. Mostly he complained that Callie wasn’t doing her “duty” in telling him a story to pass the time while he was laboring under such duress.
After putting up with Talis for about two hours, just when Meg was about to give him what he wanted, which was to be sent home, out of the trees came a dark streak. It was a horse, a great, fierce beast of a thing running straight toward the brambles and Meg, Talis, and Callie. When it reached them, it reared on its hind legs, towering over the three of them like some giant bear out of a legend.
For the first time in her life, Meg swooned, the blood leaving her head, her knees buckling under her as she started to go down. Even as she started for the ground her one thought was for the children: They would be terrified by this giant animal rearing over their heads. She must stay alert so she could protect them—at the risk of her own life if need be.
As she was falling, trying her best to bring herself out of her faint, she saw that the children were staring up at the underbelly of the horse with wide eyes. She had to save them!
Minutes later, when Meg opened her eyes, she was on the ground but the children and the horse were nowhere to be seen. Instead, lying in a heap at the foot of a tree, was a boy.
Shaking her head to clear it, Meg pulled herself up and went to the child, but when she looked down at him she hesitated. He was richly dressed, clothed such as she’d never before seen anyone dressed. There were jewels on his cloak; the little knife at his belt was a work of silver wire and emeralds. By his head was a velvet cap that had rubies as big as walnuts about the brim.
“Sir,” Meg said hesitantly, reaching out her hand to touch the child, but not daring. Was he a great nobleman’s son? He had to be.
A groan came from the child as he moved to sit up and Meg held out her hand to give him support.
Abruptly, he opened his eyes and glared at her, his thin nostrils flaring as he looked her up and down. “Do not touch me, old woman,” he said in an accent that only education and illustrious ancestors could bestow.
Immediately, Meg drew back, watching as he struggled to his feet. He was a thin boy and Meg guessed he was a bit older than Talis, even though he would have been a shadow next to Talis’s blooming health.
She watched as the boy, almost staggering, held on to the tree and raised himself. There was a great lump forming on the side of his head.
“What have you done with my horse?” he asked, looking at her as though she had the animal hidden in her skirts.
“I…,” Meg began, then, suddenly, her senses came back to her. Where was that animal and, more important, where were the children?
Fear ran through Meg as she envisioned her dear, innocent children being trampled by that monster, that Satan’s demon she had seen rearing over them. What did her dear little children know about unruly horses with steel-shod hooves that could split a man’s skull? Her children had been raised on a farm with gentle beasts of the field. The only horse they had seen had probably pulled a cart for Moses when he crossed the Red Sea.
After a quick bob at the boy holding on to the tree for support, Meg grabbed her skirts and started running up the steep hill that overlooked the berry patch. Had it been a normal day, she would have had to struggle to climb that hill but when the safety of her children was involved, she had wings on her feet.
Still, at the top of the hill, she paused, her heart pounding so hard her chest was about to burst, so it took a moment for her eyes to clear. Even when she could see, she didn’t believe what was before her.
At the bottom of the hill, on a flat piece of land that was common grazing, was that hideous horse the boy had been riding, its nostrils flared, its hooves half on the ground, half off. On top of the animal’s back was Talis, sitting in the saddle as straight as a knight’s lance, looking for all the world as though he had been born in that saddle. He was controlling the big horse easily, pulling on the reins, not near to losing his seat when the animal’s front hooves came off the ground.
Meg couldn’t move; she was frozen in place. Somewhere along the way she had forgotten that Talis was not a farmer’s son. Here was a young gentleman. In spite of his rough clothes, Talis was as elegant as the rich boy who owned the horse.
“Me!” Meg heard Callie shout as she pulled at Talis’s leg. “Let me.”
It took Meg a few moments to realize what Callie was saying, that she wanted to ride the horse too. Meg’s heart, just now beginning to calm down, leaped once again to her throat as she started to run down the hill. Talis will take care of her, she told herself, not allowing herself to ask who would take care of Talis. He will not allow anything to happen to her, Meg reassured herself.
Once again shock made Meg stand still as she saw Talis dismount, then pick Callie up so she could climb onto the saddle of that angry beast. Alone. He had put tiny Callie on that huge, angry horse alone. Meg couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and definitely couldn’t make a protest.
It would be hard to describe what she felt as she saw that wee girl, her hair having come loose from its braid so it looked as though there was more hair than girl, sitting alone atop an animal the size of a small building. Meg was sure that in the next second she’d see the child crushed and bleeding beneath the great hooves.
But what she saw was Callie pulling on the reins, her laughter ringing out across the fields when the horse’s front hooves came off the ground.
“Hold him!” Talis shouted at her. “Keep him under control.”
How, Meg wondered, could a tiny girl control such an animal? And more so, how did Talis know about controlling such an animal?
Meg sat down on the ground hard. She was seeing something that she did not want to remember. These children were not hers. Had they been hers and Will’s, they would have been afraid of an animal such as this. They would be doing what Meg had done with the boy who owned the horse: bobbed a curtsy and called him sir. Never, never would farm children have felt they had a right to take turns riding the richly draped horse of some bejeweled lord.
“Do you want a turn?” Talis shouted at Meg when he saw her sitting on the ground halfway down the hill. “It’s much fun.”
Meg could only shake her head and look on. It was as though she had entered one of Callie’s fairy stories. When Talis ran to the front of the horse and it reared back on its hind legs, Meg’s heart hardly fluttered. She knew that Talis knew what he was doing. She didn’t know how he knew, since she was sure he’d never seen a horse such as this one before, but she had almost as much confidence in his abilities as he seemed to have in himself.
Leaping to catch the bridle, Talis pulled the horse’s head down to his own. At first the animal gave him a wild-eyed look, but within seconds Talis managed to calm it with his hands and his voice, whispering secret things that the creature seemed to understand.
“Oh, you’ve tamed him,” Callie said, disappointment in her voice as she sat straight in the saddle. “I could have made him fly.”
“Fly! Ha! What do you know of flying horses or any horses, for that matter?”
“I know as much as you do. Let him loose and I shall gallop over the fields.”
“Not alone, you won’t,” Talis answered as he easily vaulted into the saddle in front of her. He seemed to have forgotten his injured foot that less than an hour ago he had declared was killing him. “Hold on to me,” he called to her before the great horse reared once more, then took off as though it had been hit with a whip.
Meg sat where she was, still not believing what she had seen.
What brought Meg to her senses was the yelp of the young lord as he came limping down the hill, just in time to see his horse with its two riders galloping away. For a moment Meg’s mind raced. Within the flash of an eye she envisioned Talis and Callie strung from a gibbet, hanged by the neck, their little bodies lifeless. Hanged for stealing this boy’s horse.
Meg’s first thought was to kill the child. Better she should hang for murder than her precious children should be touched.
If Meg was dumbfounded, she was not more so than the boy. This morning he had stolen his father’s horse, trying his best to prove to his father that he was indeed a man and could ride the brute. But the horse had run away with him the moment his seat touched the saddle. It had run for so many miles and for so long that now Edward had no idea where he was. And what is worse, two peasant children had just stolen the horse. Under no circumstances was he going to admit that the children were riding the horse with more ease than he had ever managed.
With a glance at the fat old woman who was obviously nothing more than a farmer’s wife, Edward saw that she was looking at him with murder in her eyes. She might as well kill him, he thought, it would save his father the trouble.
But what put the steel back in his spine was that the children sitting atop his father’s horse came back into sight. God’s teeth but that boy could ride! Where could he have learned to ride like that? Who was his teacher? He could only be ten years old, twelve at the most, yet he rode as though his mother had been a mare.
Edward looked at the children, laughing, the girl with the extraordinary hair flying out behind them, sometimes wrapping about both her and the boy, and he was eaten with jealousy. If he could ride like that his father would take him everywhere. Edward doubted if this boy had ever fallen off a horse in his life.
One minute Edward was watching them, that malevolent woman glaring at him, advancing stealthily on him as though she meant to do him harm, and the next he was tearing down the hill.
“Get down!” he shouted. “How dare you steal my horse! I will see you hanged for this.”
Meg came running down the hill, her hands outstretched, going for the child’s throat.
“Stealing?” Talis said, laughing. “We kept him from running off. Had we not been here you would have lost your horse.” He cocked his head to one side, looking down at the boy from his lofty height from atop the horse. “Or is it your horse? If it was yours then you should have been able to ride him.”
Remembrance Page 16
