The Stolen Herd

by K Madill

  They had reached a row of colossal trees that had been hollowed out and turned into homes. Each one had a shiny, painted door and the roofs were made of green, leafy branches that grew into tall, peaked points.

  “Here we are,” Luco said, stopping in front of a maple tree house with a red door that matched its late fall leaves “There is nothing like coming home.” He gestured at the door. “This is my mom’s house, the house I grew up in.” A mouth-watering smell wafted out the open window.

  Luco opened the door and stepped into the front hall. Late afternoon sun streamed through the windows and the air was thick with the smell of apples and cinnamon. Luco gently set his bag down on a bench beside the door as Arkas had fallen asleep in it.

  Luco crossed the room and stepped down into a large kitchen made of wood and stone. Mandamus lingered in the hall sniffing nervously, tail high. He’d never been in a human’s house before.

  He stepped gingerly to the entrance of the kitchen, and peered in, careful to stay pressed against the wall and out of sight.

  Luco’s mother was rail-thin, had short hair the color of wheat and wore a red apron. She stood before a brick wall that held many different sized ovens, a few of which were red-hot. She pulled a handkerchief out of her apron pocket and mopped her forehead, jumping when she saw Luco’s reflection in one of the oven’s glass doors.

  “You’re home!” she cried, spinning around and racing over to him.

  She wiped her floury hands on her apron then wrapped her arms around his shoulders, squeezing tightly.

  “Hey, Mom,” Luco replied and Mandamus suddenly noticed the weariness in his face and the faintness of his voice.

  It had been a hard few days for Luco and Mandamus, and even though he was beginning to love Luco, Mandamus couldn’t help but feel another stab longing for his herd. After all that had happened, Luco, at least, got to go back to his mother, his family, and his home. Mandamus could not. He waited awkwardly for Luco to introduce him.

  “I was worried about you,” she said while dropping her arms. “You’ve been gone longer than usual. I’m sorry about tryouts but you can always go again next year. In fact, maybe I’ll come with you, what do you say? We’ll make a holiday out of it, and maybe go to the beaches in Darahua afterwards or—” she paused, and a shiver went through Mandamus when he realized she was staring at his shadow on the floor of the hall.

  “Who is that?”

  “This is Mandamus,” Luco told his mother, grinning at her shocked face. He beckoned for Mandamus to come closer, so Mandamus ambled towards them, going slow on the smooth tile floor that felt slippery under his feet. “He’s mine.” Luco grinned proudly.

  Luco’s mother’s eyes widened at Mandamus who was suddenly aware of his dirty hooves and muddy coat, illuminated by the bright light of the kitchen.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi, Mandamus,” Luco’s mother replied staring up at him with confusion. “I’m Patte, she turned to Luco. “Luco, what do you mean he’s yours? How did you manage to leave for an audition and come home with a horse?”

  “It’s a long story,” Luco told her, plunking himself into a chair at the table. “I was on my way back from tryouts when my motorcycle broke down. That replication of our Sun Marble didn’t quite hold as much energy as Drollo and I hoped it would.”

  Patte made a disapproving noise. “I don’t know why you had to fool with a perfectly good motorcycle.”

  “Anyway,” Luco went on, rolling his eyes. “I was making my way to the Silver Train and thought I’d stop for something to eat. Since I was so far out, I had to make a campfire for my tea and breakfast. Am I ever glad I decided to camp instead of staying in a hotel this time. I would have been screwed without my tent after my bike broke down. Afterwards, I was under my lucky star again, I suppose, because I met Mandamus. He and his friends are trying to rescue his herd that were taken by the Rakhana and to do that, he’s got to see the Sleeping Prophets. I’ve decided to go with him.”

  Patte’s face dropped.

  “What do you mean, you’re going with him?” she asked looking fearfully from him to Mandamus. “You can’t. Drollo needs you on the farm.”

  “Drollo’s not going to have a farm for much longer if things keep up the way they are with new taxes being introduced at Asura’s whim,” Luco told her. “The kingdom is taking a huge chunk of our produce. You’re still baking,” he gestured at the ovens on the wall, “at seven o’clock at night to fill an order made by the queen.”

  Patte’s eyes were downcast and Mandamus knew that Luco was right. “The amount the kingdom takes from us rises every year,” Luco said. “We can’t keep up. Someone has to do something.”

  “And you’re that someone?” Patte asked sadly. An oven timer dinged, and she rushed over to open the door.

  Luco sighed and stared down at his callused hands. “I don’t know,” he answered with a shrug. “I can’t get a seat on that stupid orchestra, but maybe with someone else on the throne, I could. I love Uncle Drollo, Mom, but I don’t want to end up like him—dependent on the weather and the soil to make my living. I want more.”

  “And helping this horse take on the queen of our kingdom, that’s what’s going to give you more?” she asked, sliding several pies out of the oven.

  “It’s not just about helping him. I’m Bonded to Mandamus now, so I can’t just abandon him, and he has to go to the Prophets. He needs my help.”

  “I would never suggest you abandon someone,” Luco’s mother said wearily throwing her oven mitts on the table. “It’s just that, it’s dangerous out there as it is with the army riding about and you’re going to go to looking for them?” She wrung her apron looking miserable.

  With a pang of guilt, Mandamus remembered his mother had looked just the same when he’d volunteered himself to go to the Sleeping Prophets. Glancing at Luco, he could see the same guilty but determined expression that he remembered feeling himself.

  “Well,” Patte said, untying her apron and tossing it onto a kitchen chair. “It’s Friday night and you know what that means. Dinner at your grandmother’s.”

  She grabbed a few savory smelling loaves of bread from the counter and smiled at them. “Let’s go.” She beckoned at Mandamus. “We’re going to have to tell her about all of this too.”

  Luco’s grandmother lived on the outskirts of Roseneath so it was a fair walk to her house from his mother’s. They walked in silence and while they did, Mandamus realized that Luco’s mother continually watched him out of the corner of her eye.

  They finally reached a large tree house with a white scalloped fence and lavender-colored door. Patte stepped up on the porch and let herself in. “Mother,” she called. “Luco’s home.”

  Mandamus stepped cautiously inside his second human home. This one had mingled smells and too many corners. Thick beams of wood crisscrossed the ceiling and the floor was made of flat, hard stone. A stout badger sniffed at their ankles as they made their way down the hall lined with bookshelves to an airy room dominated by a long, wooden table. The air was rich with the smell of cooking.

  A small, plump woman in a mauve dress was standing in the middle of the room in front of a large round window holding a paintbrush. An easel with an almost finished painting of a full moon stood in front of her. When she saw them, she plunked her brush into a jar of dirty water on the table beside her and gave them a large grin that reminded Mandamus very much of Luco.

  “Grandma,” Luco shouted, speeding over to give her a hug.

  “Ah, Luco,” his grandmother said replied fondly returning his embrace. “At last you have come home.”

  After pulling away, she studied him closely. “You have come home, but you are not staying,” she said with a frown. She searched his face again. “Oh, my Luco, and you are in love!”

  Luco’s mother turned to him, looking confused. “Is this true?”
/>   “What? No!” His neck turned red and color crept up to his cheeks.

  “Oh, Luco,” his grandmother said sadly, “you think this love is impossible.”

  “Grandma,” said Luco, with a nervous titter. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Luco’s grandmother turned to Mandamus. “And here is the Alsvid horse,” she said breathlessly while reaching up to touch his mane. “It’s nice to meet you, Mandamus. My name is Proxima but you can call me ‘grandma’. Aren’t you just a dream! It’s true what they say about your beauty.”

  Now it was Mandamus’ turn to be shy and he gave a humble nicker.

  Proxima stroked his muzzle.

  “You poor child,” she murmured. “You have been through so much in your short life, haven’t you? Your lovely little mare friend was worth that first meeting though, wasn’t she?”

  “What mare friend?” Luco asked.

  “The Mares of Diomedes,” muttered Mandamus. “How does she know about Albethia?” he wondered.

  “What mares?” Luco asked his grandmother.

  Proxima gave Mandamus an encouraging wink.

  With a great deep sigh, Mandamus told Luco and his family the full story of his departure from the Harena. He described his run-in with the mares and how his aunt Daleth had come to his rescue. He told of the size of Barcus’ claws at the trial, and about the strange butterfly who’d stared so seriously at him. He finished his story by recounting his horrific meeting with Aicha the imp.

  Luco let out a low whistle as he reached out and patted his shoulder. “You’ve had quite the trek so far, my friend.”

  Mandamus nickered.

  “Your aunt Daleth, she wasn’t frightened of those flesh-eating mares at all, was she?” Proxima asked. She shot Luco’s mother a significant look as she pulled a smoking hot pan of lasagne out of her oven.

  “No,” Mandamus replied, the image of his aunt’s golden face flashing before him. “She’s not scared of anything. When I was a foal, I had a nightmare that a fire monster was outside of our caves. I woke up thinking it was real and when I told her, she raced out there to chase it off. She would have driven it straight into the ocean, had it been real.”

  “She sounds pretty brave,” Luco said admiringly.

  “She sure is,” Mandamus said proudly. “She even used to be Bonded to the king of the Silver City.”

  Luco’s mother looked back and forth from Luco to Mandamus with scared eyes and chewed her lip nervously.

  “She’s hiding something,” Mandamus thought. What could it be? But before he had a chance to ask, there was a quick knock and then the door burst open.

  “We heard you were home!” voices shouted, and two new women raced toward them.

  “Aunt Geminga!” Luco cried, leaning down to give a thick, muscular woman with a mane of frizzy hair a peck on the cheek.

  Geminga handed him the large bowl of salad she’d been carrying then shoved him aside. “Sorry, Nephew, you know you’re my favorite out of everyone, but what’s this I hear about you getting a horse?” she swooped down on Mandamus, fingering his mane and staring into his white eyes.

  “Aunt Alfin,” Luco exclaimed, hugging a short, wiry woman who carried a cake in one hand and held her long skirt up off the ground in the other.

  “Yes, yes,” she said, wriggling impatiently out of his arms and setting the cake on the counter. “Time for hugs in a minute, I want to see this horse too.”

  “Hey, back off,” Proxima said sharply. “I’ve barely had a chance to pet him yet.”

  The women circled Mandamus stroking his neck and admiring the length of his tail. Geminga pulled out a pair of shiny scissors and snipped off a lock of his mane.

  “For later,” she told him, grinning as she stuffed the hair and scissors into her pocket. She ran her hands down the length of his torso making his coat quiver.

  Mandamus’ head swam from the swirl of their skirts and the scent of their perfume, and he was relieved when Luco’s grandmother finally dropped her arms from his neck and called everyone to dinner.

  After an array of pastas, breads and salads topped off by his aunt Alfin’s signature cherry star cake for Luco and a trough of oats with honey for Mandamus, the pair bid everyone goodnight and tumbled happily out of Luco’s grandmother’s house feeling fed and sleepy. Luco led the way as they trod through the woods, down the road before reaching another squat, hollowed out tree, this one with a chipped door and decrepit porch. Luco climbed one sagging step and pushed open the door.

  Luco’s place was untidy. The wood floors were carpeted with dust. Knitted blankets were strewn carelessly along a long couch. Pairs of worn boots lay in a tangle by the front door and the hearth of the stone fireplace was covered in soot.

  “Books,” said Luco, when Mandamus had nuzzled the wall, nibbling at the contents of the shelves. “Guitars,” he pointed to several that were mounted on stands in a corner. “Telescope,” he pointed a long cylinder on a stand that was pointed at the sky, “and this,” he picked up a small glass jar from the shelf next to him. “This here is Dreamer’s Sand from the deserts. The same desert where the Sleeping Prophet’s live. It is supposed to be the same sand the Sandman uses when he comes to put you to sleep.”

  “You never told me you’ve already been to the desert.”

  “I haven’t. My grandfather went; this was his jar.”

  Mandamus had never seen such a collection of things. In the middle of Luco’s round kitchen table stood a tall glass vase. Inside, liquid crashed against the sides, making a sound like the rush of the sea. Mandamus felt a flash of homesickness.

  “Okay, so, where are you going to sleep?” Luco murmured, looking around. “I don’t have a barn. It won’t take much to build you a shelter, but I don’t know what we’re going to do tonight. My room is upstairs,” he pointed to the top the wide, wooden staircase. “I think you’re ok with a couple of steps, but not actual staircases and you won’t be good coming down them, that’s for sure. You know what? You can sleep out here!” He crossed the room and opened another set of double wide doors that led to a lean-to. Mandamus stepped cautiously over to it and sniffed it out.

  Fragrant, soft wood shavings carpeted the wood floor. Firewood was stacked up against the wall. The door to outside was built in two sections and Luco crossed the shed to open the top half.

  “I cut wood in here and I haven’t swept so for once, my messiness comes in handy.

  “Sure, I’ll sleep out here,” said Mandamus looking around uncertainly. He pawed the sawdust-covered terrain. At least it was soft.

  “It’s not much, I know,” Luco said apologetically. “I’ll build you a shelter tomorrow, ok?” Mandamus nodded. It wasn’t the shelter that bothered him, it was the fact that Luco would be in the house, presumably up in this room and he, Mandamus, would be out here alone. Luco and Arkas were his herd and he did not want to sleep by himself, but he bade Luco goodnight and watched wistfully as he climbed the stairs two at a time.

  Arkas dove into the lean-to and crashed into Mandamus’ neck. He hung upside down from his mane yawning loudly. Mandamus was relieved. At least with Arkas there, he wouldn’t be on his own.

  Just as Mandamus was nodding off, he heard footsteps on the stairs. He popped his head through the opening into the living room and there stood Luco, barefoot and wrapped in a blanket.

  “Feels strange up there by myself,” he said sheepishly. He plonked onto the couch and stretched out, fanning the blanket over his legs and chest. “I think I’ll sleep down here tonight. Goodnight.” He closed his eyes.

  Mandamus nickered happily and shifted his weight on to three legs as was customary for a horse when he slept standing up. Arkas snuggled into his mane and a bright curl of moon flooded the lean-to with soft, silvery light. At peace, he drifted into dreams.

  Chapter 15

  Saddles, Brid
les, and Bits

  The next morning, Luco and Arkas were woken up early and by a crow named Corvus. Corvus, who was Roseneath’s messenger, had been sent by Luco’s grandmother to invite them for breakfast. He had spotted Luco and Mandamus sleeping peacefully through the open window and he coasted into the house, landing silently on the kitchen table. Then, drawing a deep breath, he let out the largest squawk he could muster.

  Arkas, who had moved sometime in the night from Mandamus’ mane to a rafter in Luco’s ceiling, was startled awake, and let loose a jet stream of fire as he lost his grip. Luco shot up with a yell and rolled off the couching, hitting the floor with a grunt. Mandamus, who had been awake since dawn, ran to the open half of the door with a whinny of alarm.

  “Breakfast at your grandma’s,” said the crow, wiping away tears of laughter with his wing as he watched Luco pull Arkas out his hair. The crow then hopped along the window sill then darted out the window.

  Arkas glowered at Mandamus and Luco then dove out after him.

  “Give me a minute, Mandamus,” Luco said, heading for the stairs. “I’ll wash up then we’ll go. Hopefully, there’ll be pancakes.”

  Mandamus watched as Luco disappeared at the top of the steps then pulled his head out of the door and trotted towards the small gate at the far end of the lean-to to wait for Luco.

  After Luco was ready, he and Mandamus hurried down the road and soon reached Luco’s grandmother’s white painted fence and lavender door. Luco’s mother and aunt Alfin were hurrying in and out of the house with steaming platters, for the morning was warm so Proxima had decided that breakfast should be eaten outside. She had set up a table in the front yard, amid the crescent-shaped flower beds and pumpkin patch, and it held the biggest feast Mandamus had ever seen. Stacks of pancakes towered over plates of toast and muffins. Mandamus sniffed at a platter of strawberries and Arkas licked his lips at a cluster of boiled eggs in silver cups.