BOOK ONE
THE SUMMER OF MAGIC QUARTET
THE WHITE
HORSE TALISMAN
ANDREA SPALDING
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
Copyright © 2001 Brandywine Enterprises BC Ltd.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data
Spalding, Andrea.
The white horse talisman
(The summer of magic quartet; bk. 1)
ISBN 1-55143-187-4 (bound) — 1-55143-222-6 (pbk.)
I. Title.
PS8587.P213W44 2001 jC813’.54 C2001-910959-8 PZ7.S7319Wh 2001
First published in the United States, 2002
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2001092686
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for our publishing programs provided by the following agencies: The Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP), The Canada Council for the Arts, and the British Columbia Arts Council.
Cover design: Christine Toller
Cover and interior illustrations: Martin Springett
Printed and bound in Canada
IN CANADA:
Orca Book Publishers
PO Box 5626, Station B
Victoria, BC Canada
V8R 6S4
IN THE UNITED STATES:
Orca Book Publishers
PO Box 468
Custer, WA USA
98240-0468
03 02 01 • 5 4 3 2 1
Dedicated to Gavin and Janet Clarke, a much loved brother and sister-in-law. For years they uncomplainingly hosted our many trips to England, providing beds, food, laughter, love, and the loan of a car. They even hid their sighs of relief as we drove off on our travels! Thanks — this book is one of the results.
Acknowledgements
As always, many people helped me research and write this book. I would particularly like to thank my husband Dave, who encouraged and helped me along every step of the magi–cal journey and found incredible research material. Our friend Tim Sands was an entertaining and knowledgeable companion on one of our research trips, and took some terrific photos. Special thanks to Professor Paul Smith of Memorial University, who was able to locate The Scouring of the White Horse by Thomas Hughes, and to Professor Bill Sarjeant, who lent his copy of S.G. Wildman’s The Black Horsemen.
The amazing women in my life are always a source of sup–port. My daughter Penny patiently read and commented on my many (many) drafts, Cheryl Oke several times provided wonder–ful meals on days she sensed I was snowed under, and fellow writers Sheryl MacFarlane and Georgina Montgomery always provided an ear and advice when I hit a problem. Thanks also to all the members of my family, who shower me with love and approval (even on days I forget they are coming) and provide grandchildren who ask for another book.
Grateful thanks to the Orca pod for its support and encouragement on what has turned out to be a long-term project, and to Canada Council and BC Arts Council for their support.
NOTE: Celtic spelling was used for two names in the story. “Myrddin” is pronounced “merthin” and “Halydd” is pronounced “halith.” “Traa dy liooar” is Manx, the Celtic language of the Isle of Man. It means “time enough” and is pronounced “trae de lure.”
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE The Wise Ones
CHAPTER 1 One for Sorrow
CHAPTER 2 Two for Joy
CHAPTER 3 The Broken Talisman
CHAPTER 4 Three for a Girl
CHAPTER 5 Four for a Boy
CHAPTER 6 Wayland’s Secret
CHAPTER 7 All Mixed Up
CHAPTER 8 Five for Silver
CHAPTER 9 A Dastardly Deed
CHAPTER 10 That You Must Not Seek
CHAPTER 11 Together Again
CHAPTER 12 Six for Gold
CHAPTER 13 Power Struggles
CHAPTER 14 Seven for a Secret
PROLOGUE
THE WISE ONES
Before the gods that made the gods
Had seen their sunrise pass,
The White Horse of the White Horse Vale
Was cut out of the grass.
from The Ballad of the White Horse
– G.K. Chesterton
In the Place Beyond Morning, terrible trouble arose.
The Dark Being marshaled her forces and stood before the great Gates of Sunrise, poised to seize power.
Inside the silver citadel the Wise Ones held council.
The Lady fingered the heavy turquoise, amber, and colored glass necklace around her throat, and watched while the tools of power were laid on the stone table before her.
Equus dislodged the gold talisman from his forelock, Myrddin surrendered his staff, and Ava lowered her head so the silver circlet could be removed. The three objects were placed reverently before the Lady.
“Without these tools of power, the Dark Being will find victory brings nothing,” said the Lady.
“Destroy these, and we are nothing,” responded Equus.
The Lady gave a smile as brilliant as sunshine. “Not destroy, conceal.”
Three pairs of eyes stared at her.
“In a galaxy known as the Milky Way spins Gaia, an almost unnoticed misty blue planet. On it are many places of great beauty, among them an island known as Angel Land after the fair-haired race that inhabits it. Those people will honor your tools and keep them safe. The talisman, staff, and circlet will be hidden in the center of Angel Land.”
“And the necklace, Lady?” Myrddin asked.
“That I must guard. A smaller isle lies off the coast of Angel Land. It is home of a mage called Manannin who keeps his island hidden within a cloak of mist. I will hide there.
“Go swiftly and safely on the wings of dawn, my friends.
Conceal your magic tools in Angel Land, trust in the hu–mans, then leap for the stars to watch over them.”
“Come with us, Lady,” Ava pleaded.
The Lady shook her head. “The necklace and I must sleep behind Manannin’s cloak. As long as the beads and I stay linked, so shall the magic link us all.”
“We must help Angel Land keep the old magic alive,”warned Myrddin.
Ava and Equus nodded agreement.
A gigantic roar erupted as the forces of the Dark Being battered the Gates of Sunrise.
“Fly!” cried the Lady. “All others are gone from our citadel. Only we remain.” She stretched out her arms in blessing. “Traa dy liooar, let there be time enough.”
The great gates shattered behind them as the four leapt for the stars.
So the Wise Ones departed the Place Beyond Morning. Hiding among sunbeams and traveling along moonbeams, they hurtled through galaxies towards the misty blue planet and Angel Land.
Foiled, the Dark Being vowed to search to the ends of time for the objects of power.
Ages passed.
In Angel Land, the people welcomed the Wise Ones and created ceremonial places to honor the magical tools entrusted to them.
The talisman was held by the People of the Horse, who rode the valleys between the chalk downs. They carved a great white horse to honor Equus.
Ava’s circlet was concealed within a small sanctuary guarded by a henge of stones.
Myrddin’s staff was laid to rest at the center of a laby–rinth. A mountainous tor was raised to protect the spot.
Behind Manannin’s cloak of mist the Lady slumbered. A castle rose over her resting place
.
In the way of all things, the centuries moved forward and memories faded. The angel-haired people passed into the mists of time. The name of their land became England, not Angel Land. The Wise Ones’ tools were forgotten, and the old magic dwindled into fragments of songs and stories remembered by children. Only the ceremonial places re–mained. Though their meaning was lost, they were admired as curiosities from a bygone age.
The vanquished Wise Ones watched from the stars while the Lady slept. To keep the old magic alive, they chose children and whispered to them in dreams. But as the years slipped by, fewer and fewer children heard their voices.
One day the fabric of the universe shuddered. The Dark Being and her forces entered the Milky Way.
The Wise Ones showered the misty blue planet with star messages and warnings. The people below admired the celestial fireworks but did not understand their meaning.The Wise Ones were near despair. Without human help, their tools would be lost forever. They sent another shower of star messages.
One was witnessed by a seven-year-old child who still believed in dreams.
CHAPTER ONE
ONE FOR SORROW
It was seven minutes after midnight.
Chantel Maxwell couldn’t sleep. She was exhausted from the long plane journey from Canada, but her mind buzzed with excitement and worry.
“Four weeks in England, without Mom and Dad,” she murmured, turning her head to find a cool spot on the pil–low. “But I like White Horse Farm.” She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. It was no use; she was wide awake.
Chantel slid out of bed and tiptoed over the floorboards. They creaked and groaned. She glanced towards her cousin. Eleven-year-old Holly lay sprawled across the next bed. She did not stir. Chantel slipped between the curtains and leaned out of the window beneath the thatched roof of the old farmhouse.
The night was filled with magic. She breathed deeply, trying to place the smells of the English countryside. The aroma of chickens and geese and the musky scent of horse wafted up from the pasture. A clean, green-smelling breeze rolled down from the hills her cousins called the downs. The full moon gleamed, throwing everything into sharp relief, so different from Edmonton, the Canadian city where she lived with her brother Adam.
“Blue shadows,” Chantel murmured in surprise. “And stars … so close.” She lifted up her hand to the sky as if to touch one.
Whoooosh.
A flash of light streaked the night.
Chantel almost tumbled out of the open window in ex–citement. “A shooting star … a real shooting star … It landed up there!” She craned her neck to check the downs beyond the farm, where an ancient white horse was carved into the hillside, a magical horse carved through the grass into the white chalk so long ago that no one could remember how or why. The shooting star had aimed straight for it.
It was seven minutes after midnight, on the seventh day.
The shooting star touched the white horse. Brilliant blue light flickered across the chalk carving.
Chantel sighed dreamily, “If that was a magic star, I’d wish the White Horse would come to life.”
The blue light grew stronger and a ghostly horse shook itself free of the chalk. Equus paused, absorbing the moon–light and growing more substantial. He was a king among horses, with flared nostrils and starlit eyes blazing with intel–ligence. The sculptured head turned from side to side. At last! A Magic Child was near. He could sense it. Ears flickered, and the spun-silver mane and tail lifted in the breeze. Mus–cles rippled solidly beneath his skin. Equus tossed his head and whinnied, then pawed the ground seven times, raising a shower of silvery sparks.
No one answered. The child did not yet know of her magic. He must wait. Equus bunched his powerful haunches and with a great leap galloped across the midnight sky in a flurry of moonbeams.
I must be dreaming, Chantel thought, and tiptoed back to bed with a smile of wonder on her lips.
It was seven minutes after midnight, on the seventh day of the seventh month. The witness was seven-year-old Chantel, who did not understand.
No matter. It was enough. The summer of magic could begin.
CCC
“Come on, you lot, get up,” Owen called. He grinned at Adam and pounded a wicked tattoo on the girls’ bedroom door before clattering downstairs, laughing.
Adam and Owen had been up for ages. They’d collected eggs from the chickens, admired the racehorses, fed carrots to the ponies and been chased by the geese.
They erupted hungrily into the kitchen.
“Breakfast’s ready. Tell your sisters,” Uncle Ron said as he juggled slices of bread and a large frying pan full of bacon.
“Breakfast time, come and get it,” bellowed Owen from the bottom of the stairs.
Dressed and ready for action, Holly ran down, but several minutes passed before a sleepy Chantel entered the kitchen.
“Chantel! You’re still in PJs.” Adam Maxwell looked at his little sister with disgust. “We’ve been up for hours.” He grinned across at Owen and took a huge bite of his sandwich.
Chantel stood beside Uncle Ron. “Sandwiches? For breakfast?”
“Not sandwiches. Bacon and egg butties, an English treat.” Uncle Ron flipped an egg out of the fry pan and flopped it onto a big slice of homemade bread covered with bacon. He slapped a second slice of bread on top, cut the sandwich in half and handed the plate to Chantel.
The egg yolk oozed enticingly and the smell of the bacon made her mouth water. Chantel sat at the table and took a bite.
“This is good.” Suddenly she was ravenous and wolfed it down.
Holly grinned across at Owen. “It’s the first day of the summer with our cousins. What shall we do?”
“Can we go to see that white horse carved in the grass?” asked Adam.
Chantel stopped eating as a fuzzy memory tugged at the back of her mind. “I dreamed about a horse … a white horse … last night,” she said softly.
As usual, Adam ignored her. “Can we hike up there?” he asked.
“Great idea,” said Holly excitedly. “We’ll show you the White Horse and the old Iron Age fort on the top of the hill.”
“Let’s ride up.” Owen looked at Adam, then towards Chantel. “Can you ride? Can she?”
“I can ride.” Chantel was hurt. “We’ve been trail riding in the Rockies. I love riding, don’t I, Adam?”
“Guess so,” Adam said. He turned to Uncle Ron. “She rides a bit, but I’ve taken lessons. Can we ride the race-horses? They’re cool!”
Uncle Ron laughed. “Definitely not! They are highly strung speed machines only exercised by their trainers. You kids are welcome to use the ponies, as long as you are sen–sible … but don’t forget your riding hats.”
“We don’t have any.” Chantel was worried.
“There are lots in the tack room. One will fit,” Holly said, licking egg off her fingers.
Uncle Ron squeezed Holly’s and Owen’s shoulders. “Re–member your cousins are not used to riding all day. Take it easy. You’ve got a whole month together.”
The kids rolled their eyes and left the kitchen.
CCC
Adam almost tripped over his little sister on the stairs. Ch–antel was sitting on the top step, staring into space.
“What’s up with you?” Adam said.
Chantel shook her head. “Nothing, just waiting for Holly.”
Adam bent down and stuck his face into Chantel’s. “Listen, you, this is my holiday. You weren’t coming until Mom stuck her oar in, so it’s still my holiday with Owen. No messing it up. Mom and Dad shipped you out of their way, but you’re not going to get in mine. Understand?”
Chantel’s lip trembled, but she stuck out her chin de–terminedly. “Mom and Dad didn’t want you around either,” she retorted.
Adam flushed. “Who cares? They’re just nuts. Always fighting. I’m glad they’re not here. Owen and I have plans this summer, and you better not mess with them.” He pushed past her.
/> Chantel sighed.
CCC
The afternoon was hot and sticky — the sort that ends with a storm. Owen, Adam, Holly, and Chantel ignored the heat. They had taken their time exploring the roads around the farm and village, but now trotted briskly along the Ridgeway, the narrow track that wound along the crest of the downs. Adam chattered away to Holly and Owen, ignoring his sister.
For once, Chantel didn’t mind. She was gripped by the strange feeling of being pulled forward, drawn up the Ridgeway by an invisible thread. She leaned over her pony’s neck and urged it on. “Come on, Snowflake.” She edged ahead of the older kids, humming a little song under her breath.
“She’s happy.” Owen jerked his head towards Chantel.
Adam laughed. “She’s weird. She lives in a dream world. I bet she thinks she’s a princess or something.” He looked up at the sky. It was a dull, hazy blue. The air felt hot and thundery. “Is there going to be a storm?”
Holly glanced around. “Maybe. But we’re not far from home.”
She kicked Harlequin’s side and caught up to Chantel.
Chantel strained forward. The dream horse memory was clear in her mind. As she approached the carving she could hear it calling, a whinnying song urging her uphill. As the pony carried her closer, the horse’s voice grew stronger.
Humming her own song back, Chantel leaned forward to pat her pony’s neck. Snowflake whickered softly in re–sponse.
“You okay?” asked Holly as she and Harlequin drew level.
The question brought Chantel back to reality for a mo–ment. She nodded, gave Holly an excited smile, then strained forward again.
Holly stared at the younger girl.
Under her hat, Chantel’s small face was rosy with ef–fort. Damp tendrils of red hair were plastered against her cheekbones.
“Are you too hot?” Holly asked. “We can go back if you like. We can always come up another day, when it’s cooler.”
Chantel looked at her cousin with surprise. “Go back?” she said. “No way! I’m nearly at the White Horse.”
White Horse Talisman Page 1
