They slid down the bank on the seats of their pants and darted into the crowd. The two boys dodged past people in their Sunday best, tripped over a pair of fighting dogs and followed their noses to the pie booth.
“Two pies, please.” Thomas proudly held out his sixpence.
He sank his teeth into the fragrant pastry. Hot gravy burnt his lips and ran down his chin, but it was delicious. “Mmmm, steak, kidney and mushroom. Mother should hire Granny Bates as our cook,” he mumbled. “This is better than anything our housekeeper makes.”
“Come and see the scouring,” said Joe, his voice muffled by pie. Pastry flakes covered his chest.
Thomas laughed and looked down at his own clothes. Spots of gravy and a thousand crumbs joined the grass stains and burrs. His mother would have a fit when she saw him again, so he might as well make his adventure a good one.
He followed Joe back up the ramparts.
The downs fell away to the valley as usual, but today the White Horse could hardly be seen. The carving was covered with hundreds of men. Some were on their hands and knees scraping away the top layer of chalk. Others were trimming the edges of the figure with sharp knives. Still more men toiled uphill from a nearby quarry, carrying buckets of fresh white chalk. This was poured on the cleaned areas and tamped into place with stout poles. The empty buckets were filled with the scrapings and taken back downhill. The work was done in respectful silence.
Thomas watched in fascination. “Is your father helping?”
“’Course he is,” said Joe proudly. “He’s been scouring since his fourteenth birthday. I’ll do the same.”
“Me too.” Thomas straightened his back. “I’m seven now, but I’ll be fourteen next scouring.”
Joe drew himself up taller. “When Pa’s dead I’ll take over his job like he did from Grandpapa. I’ll be the next Eye Maker,” he boasted.
Thomas hesitated. He didn’t want to seem ignorant, but his mother had not told him much about the scouring.
“What’s that?”
“He’s the man who scrapes the eye clean. It’s the most important job of the scouring,” said Joe. “It’s done first. Pa did it yesterday. He collects the eye scrapings in a bucket and mixes them with some fresh chalk. He has to ride with the bucket to the Vale of the Red Horse. The red mare is being scoured too. Pa stamps his scrapings into the eye socket of the red mare. He stays overnight and rides back here for the end of our scouring festivities. He’ll be back this afternoon.”
The booming call of the Blowing Stone sounded from the far side of the earthworks. People obeyed the call, streaming out to stand along the edge of the slope into the Manger.
“Come on, Thomas. That’s the signal for the first race.” Joe started to run. “They’re going to chase the cheese down the Manger.”
“Wait for me!” Thomas struggled to keep up. He made it through the ditch in one piece, then crawled on his hands and knees through the legs of the crowd to sit beside Joe on the very edge of the Manger.
Fourteen stalwart young men stood flexing their muscles at the head of the steep drop.
Thomas gasped. “They’re never going to run down there, are they?”
“They are.” Joe grinned. “Pa said they ran horses down in the old days. But I don’t believe that.”
“Me neither!” Thomas’s eyes were as round as Granny Bates’ pies.
A bear of a man, wearing the striped apron of a butcher, rolled a large wheel of cheese to the head of the Manger. The contestants readied themselves in a ragged line behind it. The chairman of the games appeared, riding a white horse. He reined in and held out a red handkerchief.
“Cheese!” hollered the chairman.
The butcher pushed the cheese wheel over the edge of the slope. It bounced from hillock to hillock in gigantic leaps.
“Go!” the chairman shouted as he dropped the red handkerchief.
The lads leapt forward.
Some lost their footing right away, rolling and sliding down the steep slope. Others tottered and stumbled, out of control. The race was between two young men who threw their bodies well back, dug in their heels at every step and kept their balance. One was a fair-haired lad from Wantage and the other a dark-haired gypsy.
Thomas hooted and hollered. “I bet the gypsy wins, don’t you, Joe?”
“Naw. Look at the legs on that Wantage lad. They’re strong as tree trunks.”
The crowd egged the pair on and the race looked like a dead heat until they reached the bottom. Then the gypsy showed his speed. He sped like a racehorse to the cheese, touching it a full body length ahead of his rival.
The Blowing Stone sounded again, louder and more ur–gent. It blew and blew, the sound booming around the vale.
The startled crowd moved back into the earthworks to see what was happening.
Thomas felt brave now. He pushed and wriggled as well as Joe. He elbowed through legs and slipped between volu–minous skirts until he found himself at the center of the fair, pressed up against the stage built for the wrestling.
Two men stood on the stage.
“’Tis Pa.” Joe sounded startled. “He looks right upset.
Something must be wrong.” He waved to attract his father’s attention, but his father did not look down.
“Who’s the other man?” asked Thomas.
“The town crier from Wantage,” Joe replied.
The town crier rang his hand bell. “Hear ye! Hear ye!” he bellowed.
The music stopped. The crowd fell silent.
“Hear ye the words of the Eye Maker. Take note, for the news be dreadful.”
Joe’s father took a deep breath, stepped forward and shouted as loudly as he could, “Dear friends and neighbors, I have just returned from the Vale of the Red Horse. Sadly … the red mare is no more.”
A gasp rose from the audience. They strained to hear more.
“The landowner refused to do his duty,” Joe’s father con–tinued. “He would not give the gold to supply the scourers with their bread and ale.”
A scatter of boos sounded, and silence fell.
Joe’s father swallowed hard. “The scourers … they pro–tested … but the landowner grew angry. Last night … he harnessed his horses … and ploughed the red mare under.” His voice cracked. “Her like will ne’er be seen again.”
Sadness and shock rippled through the crowd. Handker–chiefs fluttered as some of the ladies wiped their eyes. But the shocked silence prevailed. The crowd was waiting.
“Is the same thing going to happen to our horse?” Tho–mas whispered.
Joe trod on his foot. “Shhhh, listen.”
“Hear ye! Hear ye!” the town crier bellowed once more. “Lord Craven-Smythe, who willingly supplies the bread and ale for our scouring, has made a decree. Let it be known that he will seek help from the government of this fair land. He will ask the House of Lords to pass laws to preserve our ancient White Horse forever.”
The Blowing Stone’s note echoed again and again as the crowd roared its approval and broke into spontaneous song.
“We’ll glorify the king.
We’ll glorify the king.
We’ll leap the downs, and ride the wind,
And glorify the king.”
Thomas and Joe stood in the center of the crowd.
“The poor red mare. That’s not right,” said Thomas. “Someone should make her again. Come on, Joe. Help me wish. Let’s do horse magic.”
The two boys faced each other and linked the little fin–gers of their right hands. They closed their eyes and chanted, “We wish, we wish, but ne’er in vain. We wish the red mare back again.” They unclasped their little fingers, held them up and spat over them.
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The vision shimmered and faded.
Chantel sniffed, her eyes full of tears. The red mare was ploughed under. That’s why she never came back. How aw–ful. She wiped her eyes and sniffed again.
Equus whickered softly. But you are the Magic Child.
You will raise her for me. You will make Thomas’s wish come true.
Was Thomas really my ancestor?
He was.
Wow. I’m glad I liked him.
Equus gave a bray of laughter. You now have all the in–formation I can give you, child. The blacksmith will assist.
Sleep deeply and believe. I will watch and wait.
Chantel threw her arms around his neck and hugged as tightly as she could. I’m glad you were saved forever.
She wanted to say more, but the dream had tired her out. Her eyelids drooped. She let sleep take over.
CHAPTER TEN
THAT YOU MUST NOT SEEK
Back at White Horse Farm, Owen slept, but Adam forced himself to stay awake. He needed the half-talisman so he could visit the dragon again. He wanted to ask the dragon to help him find the red mare. If they found the red mare, they would find the other half of the talisman. If they found the other half of the talisman, he could free the dragon and share its power. Adam couldn’t stop thinking about how the dragon’s power might make his life better.
The problem was, he didn’t have the broken talisman. He had tried a million excuses to borrow it from Holly, but she wouldn’t let him.
“Go away. It’s my turn,” she’d said, laughing.
Adam had tried sneaking the gold piece out of her jeans pocket while she was in the bath, but Auntie Lynne had chased him from the girls’ room before he’d found it. He was desperate. There was only one way left. He’d wait until everyone was asleep, then snitch it.
If the dragon could find the red mare, why didn’t the White Horse ask him to help? said a small voice at the back of his mind.
Adam groaned silently. There was his conscience again, making life difficult. Like Mr. Smythe, it kept telling him the dragon was bad news. He suppressed the annoying voice. The dragon was nice. He would help it, and it would help him. He just needed the half-talisman!
He crept to the bedroom door, checked who was asleep. The light was out in Holly’s room. Auntie Lynne had gone to bed early and her room was dark. But he could hear the TV. Uncle Ron was still downstairs.
Adam returned to bed, his mind drifting back to the meeting with Mr. Smythe. Adam had never met an adult like him. A historian who believed in horse magic and dragon magic. Amazing!
Do you believe in magic? asked his conscience.
Adam stared at the shaft of moonlight banding the covers on his bunk. He considered the question and spoke softly to himself. “I guess I do now. I believe in horse magic and dragon magic.”
A feeling of warmth and friendship washed over him.
Hello, Adam, said a kindly voice inside his head. I knew you would become a believer. I’m the White Horse. Now you can call for me whenever you need me. Remember … I am always here.
Adam froze, not daring to reply. This was too much … another voice. No way was he getting involved with that horse … it was hard enough dealing with the dragon. Terrified, he curled into a ball and waited and waited until the feeling of friendship faded away.
“The brother admits he believes in me!” rejoiced Equus. “The others will follow, I know it. They believe in their hearts. They just have to declare.”
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“But the brother is still influenced by the dragon,” wor–ried Myrddin.
“He is, but have faith. If he chooses us of his own free will, our magic will grow a hundredfold,” Equus replied.
Myrddin twitched his cloak. “The dragon offers power and flattery.”
“The boy heard Equus. He is beginning to listen to his heart,” Ava said.
Myrddin shook his head. “It seems so futile. Still only two, at the most four, human children.”
Ava gave a ripple of laughter. “How soon you forget, Myrddin. Remember watching helplessly from the stars? That was futile. Now we have hope!”
She spread her wings and soared around her compan–ions. “Celebrate the hope. Hope the human children will find the red mare. Hope they will restore the talisman. A human shattered the talisman. If a human causes it to be remade, Equus will be whole again.” Ava gave a shrill echo–ing call. “Myrddin, maybe the children will help you and me. Celebrate the hope. Celebrate the hope!”
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It was midnight. Adam lay rigid in his bunk. The White Horse had not spoken again. Maybe he had dreamed it. His conscience was quiet now too, and so was the dragon. The only sounds now were those of the old farmhouse settling for the night. His eyelids drooped for the hundredth time. He shook himself awake.
Uncle Ron finished watching TV. Adam heard his heavy footsteps creaking up the stairs and along the corridor. Adam checked his luminous watch dial. How long should he give Uncle Ron, ten minutes, half an hour, an hour? Not an hour.
He couldn’t stay awake that long. He turned over and watched the chink of moonlight creep across the floorboards. He’d get up when it reached … His eyes closed again.
Adam pulled himself up with a start. If he was going to search Holly’s room, it was now or never. He wriggled out of his bunk bed. One of Owen’s arms hung loosely over the side, but Adam slipped past it. He tiptoed to the door. Owen stirred slightly. Adam stiffened, then relaxed. If anyone chal–lenged him, he was just going to the bathroom. He lifted the latch on the door and tiptoed into the corridor.
The boards under his feet squeaked and groaned no mat–ter how quiet he tried to be. He reached the bathroom door, opened it and flicked on the light. All was silent except for the beating of his heart and a faint rumble from his aunt and uncle’s room. He grinned. Uncle Ron was snoring. Good.
Adam stepped across the corridor to the girls’ room. The door squeaked as it opened, but again no one stirred. He slipped inside.
Using the beam of light spilling from the bathroom, Adam tried to find Holly’s jeans in the piles of clothes scat–tered on the floor. First he found her T-shirt, then a sweater. Ah … his toes felt tough jean material. He squatted on the floor and felt up each leg and into every pocket. The talis–man wasn’t there.
Adam groaned silently. He could guess where it was; Holly was sleeping with it. He peered through the dim light towards Holly’s bed and realized only then that something was wrong. The room was too quiet. No one was breathing there but him.
He padded over to the bed and felt the covers.
The bed was empty. Holly wasn’t there.
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Owen woke up terrified. A hand was clamped over his mouth, and another hand shook his shoulder.
“Owen, wake up,” a voice whispered. “Wake up … but be quiet.”
The hand tightened over Owen’s mouth as he groaned.
“It’s me, Adam,” the whisper continued. “Nod your head if you’re awake.”
Owen nodded frantically.
The hand removed itself from his mouth.
“Wha … what the heck?” Owen sputtered. “Idiot. You nearly smothered me.”
“Shhhhhh! I’m sorry. I was scared you’d yell and wake the whole house,” Adam whispered. “You’ve got to come with me. Holly’s missing and I bet I know where she’s gone to Dragon Hill.”
“You’re dreaming, Adam. Go back to bed.”
“I’m not, I’m not.” Adam shook Owen’s shoulder again.
“The dragon took me there the night I slept with the talis–man. Now he’s taken Holly.”
Owen stared blearily at Adam. “You met a dragon? You never said. When?”
Adam ignored the question. “Look, if you don’t believe me, go and check Holly’s room. She’s not there. She’s not in the house. I bet she fell asleep holding the talisman and the dragon took her to Dragon Hill. That’s what happened to me. Come on, Owen! We’ve gotta follow her and see what she’s up to. I’ve tried, but there’s no way I can find my way to Dragon Hill in the dark.”
Still muddled with sleep, Owen swung himself out of bed, switched on the light and stared at his cousin. Adam was dressed in his jacket and boots. He was smeared with mud and looked exhausted.
“I can’t find my way in the dark,” cried Adam in frustra–tion. He thought fast. “What if Holly needs help? Mr. Smythe said dragons are trouble.”
“If this is for real, you’ve got some explaining to do, Adam Maxwell,” said Owen. He dressed silently.
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The night was black. Clouds obscured the moon and stars. Owen knew the way well, but the darkened land looked unfamiliar. Tree branches grabbed the boys from above, and grasses and weeds snatched at their pant legs below.
Adam was scared, but anger drove him on. He would have done anything rather than wake Owen, but there was no other way of getting to Dragon Hill. His anger at Holly burned deep inside him and fueled his determination to find out what was going on. And now he couldn’t even trust the dragon. How dare the dragon talk to Holly instead of him, Adam? He was the dragon’s friend.
The boys stumbled across country to avoid going past prying eyes in the village. Eventually, scratched and winded, they reached the lane that wound towards Dragon Hill.
They stopped to catch their breath.
“We’re going to look right idiots if she’s not up there,” said Owen.
“She will be … I know it,” panted Adam. He peered through the night, trying to make out the top of Dragon Hill. “See … I’m right! There’s a glow … on the top.”
Owen could see nothing.
“You owe me, Adam Maxwell,” Owen grumbled as he set off up the lane. “You owe me big time.”
They trudged on in silence until they came to the foot of Dragon Hill. Adam clutched Owen’s arm and pointed again. This time the glow of light at the top of the hill was unmistakable, but what worried Adam was that unlike the soft glow from the talisman, this glow was blood red.
“Don’t make a sound as we climb up,” Adam whispered.
“Crawl the last bit. Until we can see what’s going on.”
Owen grunted agreement and they started the climb.
A rough stairway was gouged into the side of the hill. But the turf steps were damp and slippery. Both boys found it safer to half crawl. They clambered slowly and silently.
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