Rocking Horse War

by Lari Don

  So Pearl concentrated on the land, her gaze moving smoothly between the brittle heather at her feet and the route ahead. Thomas’s eyes were moving too now, but he was glancing up and around and behind.

  Pearl preferred the silence to his awkward questions and worrying answers. But as they broke away from the side of the gully to angle right towards the pass, she saw Thomas glance yet again at the sky.

  She blurted out, “What are you scared of?”

  “Scared? I’m not scared of anything!” he snapped.

  “Then why do you keep looking round? You’re like a rabbit who scents stoat.”

  “I’m just being careful. We’re in the mountains now.”

  Pearl snorted. “Of course we’re in the mountains! We’ve been climbing a mountain for the last fifteen minutes!”

  “Yes, but we’ve crossed the line: the boundary between our land and the mountains. We could be attacked at any time.”

  “Attacked? Why? Is this the Laird’s land already?”

  “No, this is no one’s land at the moment: not his, not ours. But he sometimes attacks us when we try to climb here.”

  “And do you attack him if he climbs here too? Or are you always the innocent victims?”

  “Well, we can’t let him have a chance to search for the …” He stopped, glancing up and behind again, his eyes flicking about fast.

  Pearl laughed. “Stop looking round like that!”

  “Don’t you like to know what’s going on around you? I thought you were proud of reading the land.”

  “You see movement more easily out of the corner of a steady eye than if your gaze is flitting around like a butterfly. Tell me what you’re looking for and I’ll find it for you.”

  “I’m looking for the Laird’s spies.”

  “His swans? I think even you could see a swan on a heathery hillside without all that peering and staring!”

  “Not swans. He uses other birds too.”

  “You had pheasants dancing for you earlier. Aren’t you afraid they might have been his spies?” Pearl didn’t hide the scorn in her voice.

  “I didn’t make the pheasants dance. Jasper’s song did.” Thomas frowned. “I knew the triplets’ powers would be different from ours, but I didn’t expect dancing pheasants!” He shook his head. “Anyway, pheasants are too dim for the Laird to use as spies.”

  “Do you really believe that if some birds see us, they’ll tell the Laird and we’ll be in danger?”

  “I believe it,” he said firmly. “Perhaps you should believe it too, along with all the other things you’ve believed this morning, like rings rolling uphill.”

  Pearl turned round slowly. A thin scattering of tiny meadow pipits darted about to her left, and she remembered hearing the distinctive sound of a startled grouse not long ago. Tipping her head up, she saw two specks high in the sky, probably crows swooping in the air currents.

  “Pipits? Grouse? Or crows?” she asked.

  Thomas stopped a pace above her and shrugged. “Most likely crows, they’re the cleverest and they fly furthest.”

  Pearl couldn’t believe they were being spied on by birds, but she had spent the morning hunting rocking horses, so perhaps it would be wise to be cautious. She looked at herself and Thomas. Her clothes had been dull enough when she put them on, and now they were camouflaged with mud. But Thomas was far too bright.

  “Button your jacket to cover your red waistcoat,” she instructed, “and pull the lapels up to hide your ridiculously clean shirt. If we’re being hunted, we should use the land to hide ourselves, and we should stop arguing so loudly.”

  Thomas frowned, but he did close his jacket before they set off again up the slope.

  Then Pearl’s steady eye glimpsed a dark movement ahead of them. Instantly, she dropped down into the low heather.

  Chapter 10

  “Stop! Down!” Pearl whispered hoarsely.

  Thomas stared at her, flat on the ground at his feet.

  “Get down!” She tugged the hem of his jacket so he landed in the dirt, and she almost smiled as she realised that might finally take the edge of his dangerous tidiness.

  Before he could yell at her, she put a finger to her lips, pointed up the hill and mouthed, “Deer.”

  “Deer?” He responded in a whisper because she’d spoken in a whisper. “We don’t need to worry about deer. He never controls anything that doesn’t fly. Come on, and stop being scared of everything!”

  She leant close to him to whisper, “I’m not scared of deer. But if we scare the deer, they’ll run. Then anyone, or anything, watching, will know the deer have been spooked and might guess we’re here. So stay down and stay quiet.”

  He glowered at her, but nodded once.

  Now he was persuaded, she stopped using words and gestured that he must stay where he was. He rolled over and lay back casually in the heather with his arms behind his head like someone having a nap, but Pearl noticed he did it very quietly and he was careful to keep below the tops of the sparse heather.

  Pearl crawled upwards, checking the wind. Even on a still day, there were always air currents around the peaks. Pearl felt a gentle current coming down the side of the Anvil. She was downwind of the herd, if they were there.

  And they were. The red deer were grazing just over the next rise, hidden on the hillside far better than people with bright clothes and silver rifles. Pearl edged closer and saw a skinny stag with ten fragile points on his antlers, in the middle of his harem of eleven thin hinds and five stunted calves. This small herd wasn’t as impressive as the ones she hunted on the northern mountains.

  The stag kept lifting his head, sniffing the air and glancing round. The movement she’d seen was the tip of an antler swinging up and down. But his vigilance was mostly for show. Pearl searched for the oldest hinds, so old their hides were greying. They had protected many years of young, and would be the first to bolt if they suspected danger. The most alert hind was on the top edge of the herd, keeping watch with her wide-set eyes and swivelling ears.

  If Pearl and Thomas were to get round the herd unnoticed, they would have to stay under the line of sight, stay silent, and stay out of the downward air current above the herd so their scent didn’t reach that alert hind.

  If they took the easy path, back to the left and up the side of the burn, they would be hidden by the gully, but eventually they’d have to cut across through the air current. So instead they would have to go to the right, with nothing to use as cover except the thin heather. They would have to move very slowly. Would Thomas have the patience to do that?

  She crawled back towards him. He was no longer lying on his back like a cat in the sun; he was low on his stomach, his dark eyes watching her. Alert, but not like the deer watching for danger; like a predator waiting for its prey to come close.

  Was she his prey?

  Pearl was accustomed to being the hunter, to tracking and stalking, shooting and gralloching. She wasn’t used to feeling watched and afraid.

  She urged herself forward. She may not be on familiar land here, but she was used to being outdoors. Thomas spent nine months of the year at an English school. He couldn’t possibly be as comfortable and skilled on moors and mountains as she was. He was no danger to her.

  She moved slowly towards him, staring back at him until he blinked. Then she lay down beside him, and put her mouth to his ear. “There’s an alert hind at the top of the herd, and the air is moving down the Anvil. We have to go back down a hundred yards, and up the glen to the right of them. We have to be slow and quiet.”

  He shook his head. She turned away so he could whisper in her ear. His breath was hot. “That will take far too long!”

  “Any other way will startle them,” she insisted.

  “If you know so much about deer, can’t you just cast a spell on them so we can walk right through the herd?” he whispered through gritted teeth.

  “No. This isn’t magic, it’s skill. If we don’t do it right, they’ll tell the whole m
ountain range we’re here. If you want to blunder through them and crash on over the pass, that’s fine. You’re the one who thinks we’re being spied on by swans and conspired against by crows.”

  Thomas glared at her. Maybe he’d never been given orders by a girl before. Or maybe he’d never been given orders by someone who couldn’t sing before. She shrugged and shifted slightly as if to stand up.

  Thomas put his hand on her arm. “Alright. This is your lore. You got close without startling them. I probably couldn’t have done that. So you lead.”

  They turned round and slid away from the Grey Men’s Grave.

  Pearl knew the best stalkers could move so carefully and so close to the ground that a deer grazing ten feet away wouldn’t see the heather twitch.

  Though she was well trained by Father, she wasn’t an expert yet, and neither she nor Thomas were wearing proper stalking gear. But they were both slim, both supple, and both deadly serious.

  So they moved slow and silent as sundial shadows, and the deer didn’t notice them. But Pearl noticed growing frustration in Thomas’s face every time she glanced back at him.

  Pearl could move like this for hours, but Thomas was already tiring. He was having to drag his gun and that huge twisted branch along with him. Pearl considered offering to help, but she’d be delighted if he left the stick or the gun or both behind, so she just kept going.

  After twenty minutes creeping through the ground cover, Pearl reached the mouth of the pass. She sat up and smiled at the deer grazing calmly below.

  Then Thomas emerged from the heather beside her. He wiped his hands on the lining of his jacket and ran his fingers through his hair, picking out bits of grit and heather. He raised his silver gun and aimed at the alert hind. Then he lowered the weapon and looked at Pearl.

  “Did you enjoy that, then?” he demanded.

  “I enjoy a challenge.”

  “But who were you challenging? Yourself or me? This isn’t a game.”

  “Are you sure it isn’t a game?” She raised her eyebrows. “Aren’t we playing for the future of the triplets?”

  “If we are, you’ll win the crawling-like-a-snake competition, but I have many other talents up my sleeve.”

  “Actually, you have a beetle up your sleeve.”

  He jerked his arms, flicking his hands at the ground, and when nothing fell out, he scowled at her.

  Pearl grinned. She was truly happy for the first time since she’d heard Father’s voice last night. Then she glanced behind her at the Grey Men’s Grave. Still in the morning shadow of the Anvil, it looked deep and dark and cold.

  Chapter 11

  The shadow of the Anvil would hide Pearl and Thomas from any birds swooping in the high bright air. So, in the fewest words possible, they agreed it was safe to get up and walk through the pass.

  The ground wasn’t flat, but it wasn’t a hard climb either, so for five minutes they walked together without arguing or racing each other.

  Pearl looked up at the steep slopes of the mountains to her left and right. The huge weight of ice which had moved this way millennia ago had ripped rocks from the mountains and dragged them along, scraping out this pass. Then the glacier had thrown the rocks away.

  Stepping round the moraine scattered by the ice, Pearl felt chilled. Even though it was late morning, the sun still hadn’t reached into the Grey Men’s Grave because the peaks either side were so high.

  “Why is it called the Grey Men’s Grave?” she asked. “Is anyone buried here?”

  Thomas stepped in front of her and grimaced, showing all his straight white teeth. “Are you scared of ghosts?”

  “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “You don’t have much imagination, do you?”

  Pearl suddenly imagined Thomas falling face first into the slimy bog which had trapped the gold hoop, and she bit her lip to stop herself laughing. She’d enough imagination for that. Then she saw her house, empty and tidy, no triplets to annoy her. Was that her destiny?

  She shook her head clear of pictures. “I was hoping for facts, not ghost stories. Do you know why it’s called the Grey Men’s Grave? Is it just because it’s deep and dark?”

  “It does feel like we’re six feet under, doesn’t it?” Thomas squared his shoulders to hide a sudden shiver. “I’ll tell you as we walk. This isn’t the list of boring facts you’d prefer, but it’s the story my family tell.

  “Many generations ago, the mountains were cared for by my family. So were the haughs and fields to the south and the moors and forests to the north. We had many houses and castles, but the family stronghold, where valuables and women were taken when enemies threatened, was high in the mountains.”

  “Valuables and women, indeed.” Pearl snorted. “What enemies did your family have?”

  “Rival clans. The English. Vikings. Romans even, long enough ago.”

  “Your family has always been good at annoying people, then.”

  He looked at her sharply, but kept speaking. “Centuries ago, Hugh Landlaw, Lord of the Mountains, Moors and Meadows, had no sons to inherit his lands and power. But his two daughters married well: both wed younger sons of families who used landlore. They were called Tam Horsburgh and Johnnie Swann.

  “In order to choose his heir, Landlaw set his sons-in-law three tasks. The one who completed all three would be the next lord, holding the key to the mountains’ music, as well as controlling the moors and meadows.”

  Pearl listened to Thomas’s steady voice as they walked briskly through the pass.

  “The tasks were set in the month the Lord turned fifty. The first was to prove their skills by using landlore to entertain his birthday guests. The second was to bring him a gift: either a rock from so deep in the ground that it was still burning, or a ball of snow so cold that it was still frozen in summer. The third task was to find and use the keystone which linked the family and their lore to the mountains. Only the old Lord knew exactly where it was hidden.

  “They both managed the first task. Tam Horsburgh made a forest dance. The trees did an Eightsome Reel, the Gay Gordons and, of course, Strip the Willow. The Lord laughed and clapped Tam on the back. Johnnie Swann made the water in the River Stane rise up and write Happy Birthday in the air. The Lord gasped and kissed him on both cheeks.”

  Pearl watched Thomas as he described these fantastic events. His face was serious, like he was reciting a list of kings or other historical facts.

  “Then they had to solve the riddle of the second task. Johnnie Swann found a deep hollow in this very pass, packed with snow which the sun had never warmed. He wrapped a lump the size of his head in layers of dried grass and leather. He ran all the way through the August sun to the castle of Landlaw Hold. At the feet of the Lord, he unwrapped a lump of snow the size of his fist. The Lord dropped the old cold snow into a horn cup, and drank it as it melted away.

  “It looked like Johnnie had won. Because my ancestor Tam couldn’t dig deep enough to find hot stones. He explored caves under the Witch’s Hump at the far end of this range, and the Rhymer in the northern peaks, but the rocks there were cold and damp, not hot. He travelled on a fishing boat to Iceland, but the molten rocks he collected there were grey and hard by the time he sailed home.

  “When he had only three days left, he galloped to the east coast and went deep into the ground of the Kingdom of Fife. He returned with a sack of black rocks. He laid the rocks on the stone floor, built a pile of sticks and parchment round them, and lit the kindling with a flint. The black rocks caught fire. He put his bare hand in the flames, grabbed a lump of coal, and threw it to his father-in-law, shouting out, ‘It is a rock from deep in the ground, and it is glowing with heat, my Lord.’ His father-in-law slapped at his smouldering cloak and laughed.”

  “He cheated,” objected Pearl.

  “That’s what Johnnie Swann said. But the Lord said the last task would decide the winner. ‘Race each other to find the keystone. Then we’ll see who is worthy to be my heir.’


  “So the next day, Tam and Johnnie kissed their wives and baby sons goodbye and raced each other up the Keystone Peak, the highest, steepest, deadliest mountain in the county.”

  Pearl glanced up at the mountain on their right, bright silver in the late morning sun.

  “Tam was taller and stronger on the slopes, running and leaping; at first he was in the lead. But Johnnie was like a spider up the ridge; he was in front as they neared the summit. Their wives watched the race from below. They didn’t see who arrived first, nor whether either man found the stone that would make the range sing.

  “All we know is that the two men fought to the death on the summit, and fell down into this pass, where they were buried for ever.”

  Thomas ended with a storyteller’s flourish, sweeping his arm round the pass.

  Pearl shook her head. “Their bodies wouldn’t have rolled all the way down here! They’d have landed on the plateau or been trapped by rocks on the slopes.”

  “Well, that’s the story we’re told. That they fell here and were buried here. But there is another end to the story. I’ve only heard it once, not from my grandfather but from my mother, the last day she ever spoke to me. It might explain how they really ended up here in the Grey Men’s Grave.

  “She told me they didn’t fall from the summit. They flew. They leapt off the summit together and wrestled in the air. They stabbed each other in the heart at the same moment, then fell from the sky, their arms wrapped round each other. They were buried in the same grave.”

  Pearl opened her mouth to ask if flying was common for people who claimed to hear the land. Then she hesitated. Would even asking the question give Thomas information he could use against the triplets?

  So she asked instead, “But why the Grey Men’s Grave? They were both young, weren’t they?”

  “Yes, but Tam’s dark hair and Johnnie’s golden hair turned silver grey in the fall from the sky.”

  He kept walking south. “After their husbands’ deaths, the two sisters never spoke to each other again. When the old Lord died, he left the southern meadows to the Swanns, the northern moors to the Horsburghs, and the mountains to whoever could win the final task, whoever could find and use the keystone.