His routine suddenly struck him as rather boring.
Shrugging the thought from his mind, he reached the stall. All the while, he held on tightly to the pony coin for fear of losing it. He very much wanted to get a good price for it to enable him to sample the exotic foods he passed along the way.
‘Those two goats,’ a familiar, gruff voice said. The stall man pointed towards the fattest goats and thrust some notes towards Hannan.
‘Same price as always, perhaps a little less for the second goat. It’s not as plump as I’d like.’
Hannan was just about to take the money, eager to make his sale and fill his empty stomach, when he noticed a dusty-coloured pony tied to the stall. He looked at the coin in his hand, and back up again at the pony.
‘He’s not for sale,’ said the gruff voice, noting Hannan’s wandering eyes. ‘Unless you want to give me all of your goats!’
‘Oh no, no, I was only looking!’ said Hannan, waving his hands and shaking his head. He had seen many donkeys before, plenty of camels, and he had even seen horses when his parents were still at home. But he had never before seen a pony.
‘I found him at the base of Emi Koussion, the highest peak in the Sahara Desert,’ the man said proudly. ‘He just stood there, with nothing on but a halter.’
‘The highest peak? It’s a sign,’ Hannan whispered quietly, thinking of the sorcerer’s song and the coin he left behind. ‘I’ll take the pony!’
The stall man looked startled and so too did Hannan, almost as if he did not know the words had come out of his mouth.
‘The pony? For all your goats?’ the stall man questioned. And Hannan, not wanting to appear meek, nodded his head.
In a flurry of activity, the goats were herded into pens, the pony was untied and handed to the now goat-less shepherd.
Hannan looked rather befuddled, and the old stall man must have felt a little guilty for taking so much and giving so little. So, in a gesture of goodwill, he gave the boy back the money for the first two goats, and wished him good day and good luck.
With no goat grain to buy, Hannan bought an apple for the pony and some warm, spicy food for himself. Then he sat upon a rock looking up at his new pony, and wondered what on earth he was going to do next.
‘I don’t even know your name,’ he said to his pony sadly. Hannan’s adrenaline had disappeared, leaving him feeling thoroughly miserable. He missed his goats already. He scratched the pony’s head and instantly, his hand became dirty. ‘I don’t even know what colour you are under all this dust.’
With that, the pony’s ears pricked up and it looked into the crowds and beyond. Hannan jumped to his feet, causing his pony to spook a little. He was sure he saw the back of a crimson cape with gold tapestry disappearing into the crowds.
‘Wait, wait!’ he bellowed, pulling his pony along, who amiably trotted alongside him. ‘Wait, Sorcerer Scridgemore!’
As you can imagine, Hannan received many strange looks. A sorcerer, indeed? But he kept running, and his pony cleared a path with his little choppy strides. Always, the cloak was almost in sight, and Hannan continued to call out, hoping to catch the old man’s attention. But when the crowds lessened until there was nothing but empty space and the border of the desert on the horizon, Hannan and his pony stopped.
‘He’s gone,’ Hannan said sadly. He may have cried, if at that moment his pony had not neighed shrilly, reared up, and galloped off towards said horizon.
4
A SEEKER’S TEAR
‘Stop, stop!’ Hannan called, clinging onto the lead rope. At first his legs were able to keep up, but soon he fell to his knees. Determined not to let the pony go, he gripped with all of his might (proving he was very brave indeed). He bounced along the dusty ground, each time with an ‘oomph’ or an ‘ouch’ or some other words I do not feel at liberty to say. The pony did stop, eventually. But when he did, the pair found themselves in the middle of nowhere, with no land or marker to help Hannan decide which way was home. All around them was miles and miles of dark orange sand.
‘Oh no!’ Hannan said, realising at once where they were.
They were in the perilous Sahara Desert.
While Hannan scraped himself up from the ground, his pony went onto the top of his hooves and shook his entire body with a happy groan. All the dark, gloomy dust that had been resting upon his colourless coat shook off, revealing a glowing white coat. So white, in fact, that it sparkled as if encrusted with diamonds. Hannan could hardly believe it, and ran his hand along the pony’s sleek neck.
‘Wow, you are beautiful!’ he said, wide-eyed. The only problem for poor Hannan was that in the process of his pony’s reveal, he had become covered in the gloomy, dirty dust himself. And stuck in the middle of the Sahara Desert, there was no way to wash it off.
‘Well,’ Hannan began, very used to talking to his animals, ‘I suppose we had better find our way home.’ He sucked a finger and stuck it into the air to determine which way the wind was blowing. The tricky thing about this method of tracking home, was that Hannan did not actually know which way the home wind blew.
So he shrugged, deciding to track the hoof prints left by his pony instead. He led the pony because Hannan had never actually ridden before, and he was too afraid to try with a pony he did not know particularly well.
His method for finding home was all very well and good, until a sandstorm whipped up the sand in all directions. Hannan covered his face with his arms, and the pony jogged alongside, sheltering his head behind Hannan’s back. It was terribly confusing as to which way was which and, when the storm finally stopped, there were no hoof prints either in front or behind them to lead them back.
‘Oh bother!’ Hannan declared, already wishing he had not set out on his strange adventure. But he could not help thinking of the sorcerer’s song and began to sing it aloud.
‘For if the Seeker’s brave
and believes in what he seeks,
he’ll no longer be a slave
of the boring and the meek.’
Raucous laughter erupted behind him and Hannan spun around, expecting to see someone. But nobody was there except his pony.
‘Did you hear that?’ he asked his pony, who stamped his hoof and gave a hearty neigh.
‘Of course I heard it! It was me laughing!’ said the pony, swishing his long, flowing white mane.
Hannan wondered whether he was still in the cave, dreaming. He even considered if the sun had caused him to hallucinate (having heard that the desert can make you see strange mirages). He pinched the warm skin on his arm.
‘You’re not asleep, young man,’ the pony began. ‘Stranger things have happened than a pony who can talk!’
Hannan raised his eyebrows; he doubted that very much. Perhaps he liked the sound of his own voice, or perhaps he understood the boy’s confusion, because the pony continued.
‘Let me introduce myself. My name is Sahar. I’m a very magical pony!’ he said rather smugly. He pulled a face that looked something like a superior smile. ‘And you, I know, are young Hannan.’
The young, goat-less shepherd did not ask how the pony knew this, nor did he question how Sahar could talk. Lots of strange things had happened in a small space of time, and the shock allowed Hannan to continue as naturally as if he was talking to his wordless goats.
‘Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sahar. Why, may I ask, did you wait until now to speak to me, and actually…’ he became a little cross, ‘why did you gallop off like that?’ Hannan looked down at his torn trousers and grazed knees.
‘Why, I had to find out if you truly were a Seeker!’ The pony cocked his long white head to the side, his ears flicking forward in interest. ‘You are certainly brave, because you gave up all you had for a chance of something new. And you are certainly courageous, as you held on so tightly to the rope, and many have dropped it over the centuries. And,’ the pony lowered his voice in a conspiring whisper, ‘you sang the song.’
Hannan digested the information,
which did not sit too comfortably in his stomach now unsettled by rich, exotic food and strange happenings.
‘Did you say centuries?’ Hannan asked, clinging onto what may have been the oddest part of Sahar’s speech.
To Hannan’s surprise, the pony winked and did a strange little dance. He pounded his front hoof three times, then his opposite back hoof twice. He marched around in a circle on the spot with a peculiar, high-kneed action. Then the pony shuffled closer to Hannan in strange, foxtrot-like steps, and, when he was only inches away from the boy’s face, he cried out, ‘TA DA!’
Hannan backed away quickly in surprise, expecting something extraordinary to happen. But alas, nothing did.
‘Oh!’ said the pony, with an element of disappointment. ‘It has been such a long time since I discovered a Seeker, I have failed to remember the correct sequence. Let me try again.’
And then the pony tried the dance many times, each time slightly different from the last.
Eventually, Hannan fell to the floor in uncontrollable fits of laughter. ‘Stop! Stop!’ he cried, clutching onto his sides. ‘I can’t take any more!’
And he continued to laugh, and then grunt, and then tears rolled from his eyes, making trails down his dirty, dusty cheeks. Hannan realised he had not laughed so hard since before his parents had left him a very long time ago.
The pony’s eyes widened. ‘Yes, that’s right, that’s right! I also need a tear from the Seeker for the thing he wants to seek!’
The pony walked towards the boy, and very gently rubbed his head against the boy’s wet cheeks.
In a flash, every colour Hannan had ever seen, and even colours he never knew existed, exploded from the pony in swirls and stars. The colours twirled in the warm breeze, up and around the pony. Up and around the boy, and then, when they subsided, Sahar was donned in the most exquisite set of tack Hannan had ever seen. Silks of gold and silver and crimson draped from his mane, ribbons of midnight blue and twilight green flowed from his tail. A saddle was perched upon his back, made of leather so soft it looked like a comfy armchair.
‘Come on, jump on!’ Sahar said.
‘I, I, I can’t ride,’ Hannan stuttered. His cheeks flushed with a pink glow.
‘You don’t need to know how to ride where we’re going!’ laughed Sahar. ‘Come on, I’ll show you. Even the best of riders would not be prepared for this.’
5
SKY HIGH
Tentatively, Hannan put his foot in the stirrup and clumsily clambered on board with a huff and a grunt.
‘Are you ready? Hang on!’ Sahar called. Without waiting for a reply, he launched into beautiful, long galloping strides and, as he did, a remarkable thing happened. Pure white feathers sprouted from around the saddle, at first disappearing behind them in the wind. And then more and more appeared, until two large wings formed and spread out gracefully from the pony’s shoulders. Still galloping, the wings whooshed through the air and slowly, very slowly, Sahar and Hannan left the ground, flying effortlessly into the sky.
‘Woohoo!’ Hannan cried, looking down at the desert far below. ‘We’re flying, we’re really flying!’
The pony’s legs continued to gallop through the air, yet instead of the sound of pounding hooves, all Hannan heard was the rhythmical whirl of large wings beating beside him, slicing through the warm desert wind.
‘Oh! It has been such a long time!’ Sahar said, swooping and dancing in the air, and suddenly he burst into song.
‘We’ll fly together hopeful
and find the magic lake,
but only one sole action
the Seeker must then take.
‘Only drink the water,
or only bathe your skin,
but if you take the water
be sure it’s the only thing.’
‘Why does everything magical always seem to sing?’ asked Hannan, a little frustrated with the riddles.
‘Why, we don’t sing because we’re magical; we’re magical because we sing!’ laughed Sahar.
‘Then why the riddles?’
‘Because, dear boy, you can’t expect all life’s answers to be given to you. You have to search. After all, you are a Seeker; you must seek the truth!’
Hannan was not completely satisfied with the answer, but the view was so beautiful from high up in the air, he soon forgot his cares. He watched their shadow fly across the orange sands, and breathed in the clouds they occasionally flew through. Higher and higher they went, until the air became quite cool, and just when Hannan was getting a little worried, Sahar began his descent.
‘There it is!’ the pony proclaimed, heading towards a mountaintop.
Unfortunately for Hannan, Sahar’s landing was nowhere near as smooth as his take-off, and they plunged towards the ground.
‘Slow down, slow down!’ Hannan begged.
‘I can’t!’ Sahar called from over his shoulder. ‘I don’t know how to brake!’
With that, the two landed with a thud, tumbling and rolling across the ground in two separate heaps. The feathers upon Sahar’s wings floated away until he was a pony once more.
‘Well, that wasn’t too bad,’ Sahar said a little coyly, avoiding eye contact with Hannan, who was sporting a rather sore-looking lump upon his head and an eye destined to swell and close with bruising. ‘Good job we landed on sand!’
Hannan opened his mouth, ready to give Sahar a royal telling off, but stopped. Surrounding him, on the top of the mountain, was the most beautiful oasis he had ever wished to see. Hannan was used to dry, barren land, green-brown grass, and brittle, fruitless trees. So when a lush jungle presented itself to him, he fell to his knees in admiration.
‘Is this a mirage?’ he asked the pony.
‘No, no, my friend, this is no mirage. This is Lake Furkan!’
6
LAVENDER AND PRIMROSE
Instantly, Hannan noticed the sparkling blue waters of the lake and the clean, crisp mist around it. He could even feel the moisture from the jungle lake rest upon his skin. Immediately, Hannan raced towards it.
‘Do come on!’ he called back to his pony, who remained standing on the spot.
‘This is not my quest, and I cannot assist.’
The pony’s voice grew distant as Hannan continued to run, both with the thirst of a camel’s aunt and the need to bathe his skin. Yet, just before he reached the lake, he slowed, noticing the foreboding fence line. Hundreds of bones: arm bones, leg bones, and even skulls encircled the entire perimeter in the fence line. Hannan soon forgot about his thirst. Then he noticed a piece of paper spiked on a finger bone, and upon it was another riddle, the warning riddle, which you may remember from the start of this story.
Well, Hannan was tired of riddles. He was tired of songs, and he was even almost tired of adventures.
‘What is the point of this beautiful lake if I cannot swim within it and drink from it? And how can bottled water create magic?’ Hannan wondered aloud. He heard footsteps tiptoeing behind him. Turning around, Sahar was trying to appear as small as his frame would allow. Which is not really that small when you consider the size of a pony.
‘Shhhh,’ Sahar whispered, ‘I shouldn’t tell you, but I can remind you…’
Remember what it is you seek;
don’t look for something more.
For the fence line will give you a peek
of what will be in store.
So decide on if it’s water
to drink or bathe or keep,
and if it’s magic that you’re after,
you’ll reap what you have seeked!’
‘Seeked?’ said Hannan. ‘Is that even a real word?’
The pony raised his hoof to his mouth in a gesture indicating a secret shared. Hannan sighed, sat upon a rock clutching his pony coin in his hand, and thought about the riddles. He knew he had to be brave and courageous – and surely he was! He had given up his usual life and routine to take a risk, not to mention riding a flying pony high above the sands. Now, he h
ad to act with caution. He was thirsty, but alas, he was also dirty. He thought about the promise the lake’s riddle gave and reread the warning note to remind himself.
Bathe in me when blue
and your youth will stay with you.
Drink me when I’m gold
and your fortune will unfold.
Don’t wet your lips or skin
and your adventures will begin.
So bottle me and keep
if it’s magic that you seek.
But if you do all three,
you’ll break the law of Cree.
And soon you’ll understand
you’ll never leave the sand.
Eternal youth? Well, Hannan did not want to stay a child forever; he wanted to grow up and have more thrilling adventures, so he decided not to bathe in the water when it turned blue.
The art of alchemy? Well, he had already found a precious gold coin, and Hannan decided he had always found a way to make enough money to live. Perhaps, he considered, this was an art he already possessed. So, he chose not to drink the water when it turned to gold, despite his desperate thirst. Because if he bottled the water, he would gain what he was seeking. And wasn’t he a Seeker? Wasn’t that what the pony and sorcerer had both called him? What Hannan wanted was far more important than gold and far more important than eternal youth. Yes, Hannan wanted his family back. He turned sadly to Sahar.
‘I’ve been seeking my parents for many years –’ he began, but the pony interrupted him.
‘You haven’t been seeking them for years; you have been waiting for them for years. And waiting does not always give you what you want.’ The pony’s coat began changing colour. Dark pink swirled before merging into the deepest of crimson red. Hannan, so used to peculiar things happening of late, hardly paid this colour change any attention.
Magical Adventures & Pony Tales Boxset (Vol 1 - 6) Page 7
