Wind Rider

by P. C. Cast

  Anjo’s muscles tensed as she readied herself.

  “SKRAAW! SKRAAW!”

  Ghost was luminous with strength and rage as he reared, striking out at the Flyer with his deadly front hooves as the creature dived at him, shrieking its death call. He almost caught the Flyer this time, but the creature twisted midair, barely escaping Ghost’s powerful teeth.

  “Now! Go, Anjo! Go!” River’s words were all the encouragement the filly needed. She burst from the tree line, racing toward the battling stallion.

  The creature was circling low over Ghost, preparing for another dive attack as it folded its leather wings against its thick body. Poison glistened from the tip of the creature’s beak as River used Anjo’s massive forward momentum and threw the spear. It was a decent shot—not fatal, but it did hit the Flyer, scraping a bloody furrow across the creature’s back, knocking it off balance so that it tumbled to the ground, where Ghost, screaming in anger, stomped it over and over again with his hooves until it was a flattened puddle of blood and gore mixed with grass and dirt.

  River quickly hung the leather throwing strap over her shoulder and unsheathed the knife she, like all Herdmembers, carried with them out onto the prairie, as Anjo galloped to the stallion. Living or dead, just one scratch from the poisonous beak of the Flyer would be enough to hurt Ghost, perhaps even permanently, so as Anjo slid to a stop before the stallion, River dropped from her back and rushed to Ghost.

  “Whoa, boy. Easy!” she soothed as she hurried to the irate horse. River glanced at the bloody mess that had been a Flyer and felt a wave of relief. The lizard-like bird was not much more than a gory stain, and no longer any threat to Ghost or anyone else. She shifted her attention to the golden horse. “Easy, boy. You killed it. All is well—all is well.”

  The stallion stopped rearing and stomping the dead Flyer to turn to face River and Anjo. He fidgeted to the side, snorting, as his ears pricked at her. He looked ready to bolt, so River focused on her own emotions. Every member of the Herd knew that all horses are intuitive—all can sense the emotions of humans, even unbonded humans. River stood still and calmed herself and deepened her breathing, and as she relaxed so, too, did the stallion.

  Beside her, Anjo nickered in gentle encouragement as Ghost began to calm.

  “Good—good,” River murmured. “What are you doing out here all by yourself, Ghost?” She moved a little closer to him and he snorted and took half a step away. River was too experienced an equestrian to chase after a shy horse, so instead she turned to Anjo, whose coat was wet and steaming, though her breathing was already beginning to slow. She ran her hands carefully up and down Anjo’s sweaty legs, checking for bowing or tenderness as she murmured assurances to her. The filly was still a little shaky, but seemed completely sound.

  “Sand and water is what we need. I smelled water within the cross timbers, so let’s go see what we can find,” River told Anjo. She draped her arm around her filly’s neck, but before they turned to head back into the timber line, River met the stallion’s curious gaze—which was definitely focused on her and Anjo. “Come on,” she encouraged. “Come with us, handsome. I’ll tend to you, too.” Then she clucked at Anjo and the two of them began walking into the tree line.

  River didn’t look back at Ghost. She didn’t have to. With her newly awakened senses she could feel that he followed them just as surely as Anjo would. Sure enough, within several yards River heard running water. The bank was a gentle slope from the post oaks and scrub down to a sandy, willow-lined stream.

  Anjo waded in eagerly and River followed her after hastily kicking off her pants. She untied the travel pack from Anjo’s sweaty back and took it to shore as the filly drank from the shallow, swiftly moving stream. From the travel pack River pulled out a square of tightly woven hemp fabric and began to wipe down her filly while she pawed playfully at the water.

  “That’s good. Keep standing out here in this cold stream. It’ll help those young tendons.” River crouched, feeling carefully up and down Anjo’s legs again, and breathing sighs of relief, as she—again—found no evidence of injury or strain. Anjo was sending River waves of reassurance and nuzzling her gently when her ears pricked forward and she snorted.

  Ghost joined them in the stream. First, he studied the filly and Rider, then he dipped his muzzle to the water. River kept wiping down Anjo as she snuck glances at the stallion.

  He’d grown a lot in the past year, and she was pleased to see that he was in good flesh. Somehow he’d made it through a long, icy winter with no visible injury. Sure, his beautiful, silver-white mane and tail were a snarled mess, but other than that he looked sound. There had been a lot of gossip about Ghost after he’d fled the Rendezvous, with the consensus of the five Herds being that the young stallion must be severely flawed. No one—not even River—expected him to live long on his own. River’s mother thought that though the colt had appeared healthy and strong, he must have an internal, not yet visible flaw that would prove fatal. After all, a normal yearling always chose a Rider. It was only those who were sick, deformed, or broken in some way that didn’t bond with their human. River hadn’t wanted to believe it, but she’d been there. Ghost had leaped right over her head to escape the Choosing, so there had to be something wrong with him.

  And over the past year the stallion had not once been sighted—not by Herd Magenti, nor by any visitor from the other Herds—even though there had been a concerted effort to find the colt. Everyone had assumed the poor weanling had fled to die a lonely death. It was sad, but it was also simply a part of the great, unending spiral of life.

  Now here he was, looking strong and healthy and being oddly protective of Anjo and River.

  She was using her fingers to comb through Anjo’s tangled tail when Ghost approached the filly. He moved slowly, his neck bowed, prancing a little to show off.

  As Anjo watched him, River made her way slowly to the filly’s head, where she stood quietly, working her fingers through Anjo’s mane and ignoring Ghost. The stallion moved closer. He nickered softly, stretching his neck long as he reached his muzzle toward the filly.

  “Ah, I see. You like my Anjo.” The sound of her voice had him trotting back a few steps, but River simply turned again to Anjo and continued grooming the filly while she talked to Ghost. “I understand why you like her. She’s perfect, isn’t she?” River smiled as the stallion’s ears flicked at her, listening.

  An idea came to River. “Come on, Anjo, let’s finish up on the bank.” Neither filly nor Rider so much as glanced behind them at Ghost, but both heard him wading through the stream after them. While Anjo dropped her head to lip the sweet, young grass on the bank, River pulled on her pants and went to the travel pack, reaching into it for Anjo’s favorite treat, sweet spring carrots. Grabbing a handful, she returned to Anjo, who eagerly broke off grazing to eat a carrot.

  When the stallion left the stream and walked hesitantly closer to Anjo, River slowly raised another carrot. “Here, handsome. Want one? I brought plenty. They were supposed to be for our victory celebration after our maiden ride. We didn’t expect to have to share them, but we also didn’t expect our ride to be so dramatic.” Making sure she didn’t move too quickly, River offered the carrot to the stallion.

  Ghost snorted and backed several steps. River smiled and shrugged. “Don’t want it? No problem. Anjo loves them. Here you go, perfect girl.” She gave the carrot to Anjo, who took it into her already carrot-filled mouth immediately and kept crunching happily.

  When River turned back to the stallion, Ghost had moved several strides closer again. She lifted another carrot. “Change your mind?” River offered it to him again. This time the stallion stretched his neck out as long as it would go until he could lip the carrot from her hand, which he did quickly and then backed up several feet to eat it.

  River offered another carrot, thankful she’d packed plenty. “Want more? We don’t mind if you eat them. There are plenty back at Herd Magenti. You should come with us. We could do s
omething about combing out your tangled mane and tail.” She spoke conversationally to him, as if it were every day that she and Anjo came upon a rogue stallion, and while she talked Ghost moved closer. And then closer. Until finally he was standing right in front of River and Anjo. “Here you go, handsome.” She gave him another carrot. This time he didn’t retreat to eat it, and River instantly went back to fish more from her pack—giving one to Anjo and then offering Ghost the second. The stallion didn’t hesitate, but accepted it right away—and that’s when River took the opportunity to stroke his wide forehead.

  He snorted and startled, but Ghost didn’t move away.

  “Good boy—sweet boy. Why did you run away from the Rendezvous? Why are you out here all by yourself?” River murmured to him as he munched carrots and she moved slowly beside him, running her hands along his neck—stopping at his mane, where she untangled a few clumps of silver hair. Ghost tolerated her touch, but when she bent to feel the length of his leg, he sidestepped, signaling that they weren’t that good of friends.

  Yet.

  “Hey, I get it. I wouldn’t let a stranger mess with my legs either,” River told him as she moved back to his neck and continued to try to rake her fingers through his snarled mane, wishing for the wide wooden mane comb she used on Anjo. He did allow her to wipe his sweaty coat down with the grooming cloth, and River murmured appreciatively at his excellent muscle development and his smooth, golden coat. “I just don’t see anything wrong with you—anything at all. Actually, you’re as magnificent as I thought you’d grow to be when I knew you as a yearling.”

  Ghost relaxed under River’s calm, confident grooming until he and Anjo were grazing side by side while River untangled the stallion’s mane and tail. On a whim, River unbraided several of the strips of purple ribbons from Anjo’s mane, and Ghost even tolerated her braiding the brightly colored, beautifully embroidered cloth into his silver mane.

  “There, now if someone from any of the Herds sees you they’ll know you belong to Magenti, and we’ll hear about it—how they saw a golden stallion with Magenti colors all alone on the prairie.” Saying it aloud made River feel desperately sad for him. She considered tying the spear-thrower strap around his head into a makeshift hackamore, but quickly rejected the idea. “I’ve barely gained your trust. I know I’ll lose it if I try to force you to come with me. So, Ghost, let’s hope you follow us because you want to—because you’re tired of being alone. This year’s Rendezvous is in seven days. I’ll bet you’ll find your Rider there if you give it another try. You know, not all humans get Chosen their first time either. Maybe that’s what happened to you—it just wasn’t your time to Choose.” As she spoke, River kept stroking the stallion’s golden neck, rubbing his wide head, and dressing his mane in Magenti colors.

  The big colt actually closed his eyes, cocked one rear leg, and napped—though if Anjo moved too far away as she grazed, Ghost woke himself to remain by her side.

  When both horses had cooled and their coats were dry and shining, River checked the sky and knew that she and Anjo needed to head back to the Herd. Still moving nonchalantly, River repacked the travel kit and strapped it to Anjo’s back again. Ghost snorted at the bag, but he also remained by Anjo’s side.

  “Progress,” River said as she stroked the stallion’s neck. “Let’s see how much more progress we can make. We’re going back to the Herd now, and we’d really like you to join us.” She gave his neck one last pat before returning to her filly.

  Anjo didn’t hesitate, but through the strength of their bond she understood exactly what her Rider needed, and she bowed to her front knees so that River could mount her. Using only leg pressure, River turned Anjo, and they recrossed the stream and went up the little bank to the tree line.

  Before heading out onto the seemingly endless expanse of green, River studied the sky, using her newly enhanced senses, which detected no imminent danger. She glanced behind them. Ghost was just a few feet away, watching them with pricked ears and what River thought was sadness in his big, brown eyes.

  “Come on, handsome,” she encouraged. “Come home with us.”

  Then River clucked at Anjo, but after just a couple of strides, the filly stopped, snorting at a section of the prairie just outside the timber line.

  River knew better than to force her horse to move. Anjo was sending her feelings of concern—not fear, but there was obviously something not right close to them. And then Ghost was there, positioning himself in front of Anjo so that she couldn’t keep moving forward.

  “What is going on with—” River saw them! Part of a pack scurried from a clump of scrub to a fallen log, to lie in wait there.

  “Yoties!” River shivered as she named them. Yoties were canine-like creatures that were about the size of grown rabbits. Individually they were annoying, with their sharp teeth and feral attitudes, but they weren’t particularly dangerous. But yoties were never alone. They traveled in huge packs of as many as twenty-five or thirty creatures. Though even that many yoties couldn’t fatally wound a horse—not even a yearling—horse was their favorite prey, which is why they had evolved a way to take down a full-grown equine. “Yoti holes—everywhere.” Now that she’d been alerted to their presence, River could easily see them. The prairie in front of her was riddled with holes, though they would have been impossible for River and Anjo to see as they sprinted to the presumed safety of the tree line.

  A terrible shiver of fear skittered down River’s spine. She stared at Ghost. “That’s why you herded Anjo away from here. You saved us. Thank you—thank you so much!” As if he understood, Ghost tossed his head, watching her. “Please come with us. I promise to take care of you—to help you find your Rider.” Glancing at the sky, she added, “But we have to go now. It’s going to be dusk when we get back as it is—we can’t wait any longer.” She clucked at Anjo to move out, and the filly picked her way carefully around the yoti traps.

  Once free of the deadly holes, Anjo fell into a steady, leisurely trot. The pace was slow, but wouldn’t stress the filly’s young bones and tendons, and it would return them to the Herd by dusk. Ghost remained by their side, trotting along with them—but only until Anjo turned toward the Herd’s spring campgrounds. As they made the turn, the stallion bolted in the opposite direction. Anjo paused, and she and River watched the golden horse race away until he faded into the darkening horizon.

  River felt Anjo’s disappointment; it mirrored her own. She sighed and clucked at Anjo to keep moving, which the filly did easily, though she threw several looks over her shoulder at the empty prairie behind them.

  “I know,” River told her. “But we can’t force him. Well, I’ll tell Mother what happened. Maybe she’ll have—”

  Anjo squealed and tossed her head as she flooded River with negative feelings.

  Surprised, River stroked her filly’s neck. “Hey, okay, it’s okay. If you don’t want me to tell anyone about Ghost I won’t.” River felt Anjo’s relief, and she decided she was in agreement with her filly. “You’re right. Let’s keep him to ourselves. Obviously, he doesn’t want to return to the Herd—for whatever reason. So, you and I will just have to keep returning to him—with plenty of carrots. Maybe someday he’ll trust us enough to follow us all the way home and be reunited with our Herd.”

  Anjo snorted in agreement as River smiled, imagining the look on her mother’s face when she and Anjo trotted into camp with the golden stallion following them. “And people say nothing happens in a Herd without the Lead Mare and her Rider knowing. Ha! Ghost will definitely be a surprise to everyone, even Mother and Echo!”

  As the sun set, they trotted slowly into Herd Magenti’s spring campground, which sprawled around the stone monoliths that marked a convergence of ley lines. These stones weren’t as huge or as numerous as those at the massive Rendezvous Site, but the cave that lay at the center of the spiral was large enough to hold all of Herd Magenti, and though the beautifully dyed purple tents with the Magenti standard flying proudly were pitc
hed outside the enormous opening into the earth, at the first sign of dangerous weather or predators the Herd, complete with every horse, could retreat to within the safety of the cave—and with supplies stockpiled within, as well as an underground river, they could remain there, invulnerable, for many months.

  River meant to go directly to the private tent she shared with Anjo that had been a gift from her mother after the Choosing, but not far into the campsite several people greeted River and Anjo, “The Mother Mare’s blessings on you, Wind Rider!” and as the Herd realized they had returned from their maiden ride, a cheer of celebration rolled through the Magenti.

  She tried to wave off the congratulations nonchalantly, nudging Anjo to pick up her pace so that they could disappear inside their tent, and they almost made it, but just before they reached the privacy their tent promised, River saw a group of Riders spread out around the center monolith. Led by her beautiful, strong mother, they were wind dancing. In time to a circle of drums, they were practicing the intricate series of poses that kept the Riders strong but lithe, focused on the present and able to draw on that focus in times of stress and even battle. Anjo slowed as she and her Rider appreciated the graceful flow of the wind dance, as well as the difficulty of the complex movements that had the dancers’ bodies slick with sweat.

  Then her mother glanced above the heads of the others to see River and Anjo—and she motioned for her sister, April, to take her place, then hurried toward the newly arrived pair.

  “Get ready. She’s not going to be happy about this,” River muttered to Anjo, whose ears twitched back to listen.

  “My daughter and sweet, sweet Anjo!” Dawn gently caressed the filly’s muzzle as Anjo nickered a greeting. “I see that you have completed your maiden ride. The Mother Mare’s blessings on you, Wind Rider.”

  “Thank you, Mother.”

  Dawn was walking a tight circle around Anjo, inspecting the filly with her eyes and hands, making sure she was sound.