Dragons in the Earth

by Judith Tarr

  I’d expect that of Aziza, and Rosie had never been impressed by anyone or anything. But Ricky looked almost subdued.

  While the mares came off the van and settled in stalls, the stallion up front alternated between tense silence and thunderous pounding. The crew from the Cirque ignored him. I tried to—it couldn’t be horribly dangerous to let him raise hell, if they weren’t stressing over it—but he was getting mad, and he was pushing it at me.

  “Don’t let him,” Elissa said when all the mares were stowed.

  I jumped a bit. I’d been too focused on him to notice that she’d come out of the barn.

  She stood beside me, easy and casual, while her brother went back up the ramp one last time. “He’ll mess with your head if he possibly can,” she said. “Just tell him to back off. Think like a mare. He’s only a stallion. He might think he’s king of the world, but mares rule.”

  “Only . . .” I didn’t know if I dared to laugh. “I grew up in the wrong culture for that way of thinking.”

  “You can learn,” Elissa said. By which she meant, I’d better.

  It took Philippe a while to come out. The pounding had stopped, but the silence had a simmering quality.

  Mares might rule, but testosterone makes the most noise.

  After all that racket, he came down the ramp even more delicately than the mares. I was still forcing myself to see the ordinary world, so what I saw first was how little he was—barely bigger than a pony.

  He looked exactly like my little stone horse, though his coat was whiter, more toward porcelain than jade. He wasn’t tall but he was round and solid and compact, with a sweeping curve of neck and tiny curling ears.

  Then I blinked, and almost fell over backwards.

  He was huge.

  Some animals are what they are because they want to be. They can look like a tiny three-color kitty or a pink purse dog or a shimmery porcelain pony. But on the other side, where the truth is, they’re completely different.

  You see a star in the sky, it’s a point of light. A pinprick in the interstellar blackness. It takes an astronomer to tell you how big that star really is. How it burns and roars and blazes. How it sweeps planets in its wake.

  I flailed, blinded. My hands caught hold of something.

  They recognized it before my brain did. Horse halter. Horse head, so solid and still it felt unnatural.

  I was holding on to the stallion for what literally felt like dear life. He felt like a horse. He smelled like one. Looked like one, again, finally.

  That was the way I was going to have to see him. The other part, the part that was real, was too much. My brain couldn’t hold it.

  He blew warm breath on my hand and started to lick it. Looking for salt, old horse people would say. I knew he was doing it to claim me.

  I had the leadrope in my hand, somehow. His stall was in the corner nearest the door, across the aisle from his mares.

  He floated along beside me, dancing gently. I stayed as close to earth as I could, because if I let myself get as light as he was, we’d both catch the first breeze that came by. Then who knew where we’d end up.

  I stowed him in the stall. He circled once, blew out a snort to warn the ghosts not to interfere, and went down and rolled in the beautiful new shavings. When he came up, his mane and tail were thick with them. He shook them off in an explosion of pine-scented fluff.

  Finally it dawned on me that there were other people in the world. Grinning people.

  “You’ll do,” Elissa said.

  8

  They were there for a week. Dorrie stayed with me. Philippe and Elissa bunked in the apartment over the barn. As accommodations went it was basic, but it was clean and the crew had fixed up the facilities, so everything worked.

  The first day and two and three, we did normal horse things. The weirdness with Bel hadn’t dissipated by the next morning, but in the hard clear light, while we fed everybody and cleaned stalls, it sank down below the surface.

  By the time they were done eating, the sun was high enough to burn off the frost, and the air was starting to get warm. We pulled off the light blankets we’d put on the night before. Nobody said anything, but we all knew what was next.

  Philippe led Bel out first. I ended up with Aemilia; Dorrie had Illyria. I expected Elissa to take one of the others, and then we’d come back for the rest, but when I looked over my shoulder, she had all four stall doors open and the mares were walking calmly out after us.

  Aemilia brushed her lead lightly against my arm. They knew what they were doing. All I had to do was trust.

  As if that was easy.

  We turned them out in the big pasture in front, the one with the shelter in the corner, angled to block the wind when it howled from the west. The rain had revived the grass, but what mud there was had dried.

  It was as good a pasture as we had short of irrigation, here in the desert. Philippe turned Bel loose in it, and he headed straight for the sky, then came down dancing.

  If Aemilia had been human, she’d have been rolling her eyes and making remarks about boys. She led me through the gate, and waited with conspicuous patience for me to unbuckle the halter.

  When she was free, she took a minute to drink the air. Then she showed Bel how to dance.

  Illyria was right behind her, and the rest plunged past. They were all airborne.

  I’d never seen anything like it. Horses dance; it’s part of what they are. But mostly, when I’d seen them, they’d been either running all-out or doing individual leaps. They didn’t fly in formation.

  “They’ve been together a long time,” Elissa said beside me.

  “Were they part of the Cirque?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No, never.”

  I wanted, maybe needed to ask why they weren’t still in France, and why they had to be hauled all the way out here, but I couldn’t find a way to say it, except sideways. “Your family bred them? In France?”

  I don’t know if, or what, she would have answered. Bel and Aemilia whirled past us, spraying us with dirt. Bel’s intentions were obvious. Aemilia equally obviously wasn’t having any.

  She was going to kill him. And I had no faintest idea what to do about it.

  Elissa wasn’t doing anything at all. She stood where she was, brushing dirt off her shirt, and watched Aemilia plant two good ones squarely in Bel’s chest.

  He squealed and veered off. Aemilia threw one last kick in his direction, shook herself thoroughly, and went for a good, long, deep roll in the fresh new grass.

  “Mares rule,” Elissa said.

  “But won’t they—what if—”

  “They’ll settle things their way,” she said. “They always have.”

  “But what if one of them gets hurt?”

  “Do you worry about that with your horses?” she asked me.

  “Well,” I said, “yes. But—”

  “But you let them settle things. Yes?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Relax.”

  Elissa hadn’t said it. At first I thought it was Dorrie from outside the fence, but she was away by the stock tank with Philippe, tinkering with something in it.

  My eye caught Aemilia. She was up and grazing, tail flicking at a fly. Now she’d got my attention with an actual word, the rest came in the more familiar way, in images and emotions.

  I should stop fretting and start trusting, and use my eyes. Bel had been with these mares all his life—forever, was the sense she gave me, but I supposed that was horses living in that famous perpetual present. Was there a mark on him?

  I had to admit there was not.

  So then, she said, as if that settled it.

  He was grazing, too, some way down the field, close to but not on top of three of the other mares. Everybody was peaceful; the Airs and explosions were done. They’d claimed their space. They were happy.

  I’d need a lot more time to be that calm, but I was clearly not going to catch any slack in the meantime. I eased myse
lf out of the pasture, and did my best to believe I didn’t have to stay and hover.

  We found a routine. Nights in the barn till the horses acclimated to our colder nights. Days in the pasture. Personal time for each horse: grooming, the first couple of days, and various forms of work or play.

  I’d never learned to drive a horse. It was Dorrie who taught me how to make sense of the tangle of straps and fasteners that made up a harness—which was a total surprise. “You never told me you could do this,” I said, not exactly accusing, but after twenty years—damn.

  “It never came up,” she said. She was setting up Alicia with the cart, and I was supposed to be helping, but was probably just getting in the way. Elissa was in the outdoor ring with Illyria, riding dressage figures, and Philippe was in the pasture with the rest, playing what looked like an exuberant game of tag.

  Dorrie poked me to move over while she backed Aemilia between the shafts. I pulled my attention back to the process of hooking her up. Or whatever. I didn’t even know what it was called.

  Some horse girl I was, not being sure of a term. My education was severely inadequate. Riding, longeing, a little care and feeding.

  “Here,” Dorrie said, pointing me toward the cart, now it was a proper unit with a horse to pull it. “Get in.”

  Dorrie and Aemilia made it easy. They showed me how to hold the lines, and how to back and turn. We went trotting down the drive, with me all nervous and proud, and I could feel the grin stretching my face.

  That was the first time I really felt the good part of what I’d got myself into. Money is nice, but horses need attention, and these horses knew things I’d always wanted to learn.

  The cart was enough to start with. We left the chariot in its stall. Maybe next time, I thought. Whatever I meant by that.

  By the middle of that week, I was starting to feel somewhat competent. I had the feed sorted out. There was a schedule. I put up a whiteboard in the barn, and everybody got a slot on it, including my crew—well, not Aziza, she was retired, but Ricky and Rosie had their own places on the roster.

  Emma showed up the day I set up the board. I’d been so busy I hadn’t even noticed it was Wednesday. Emma always rode on Wednesdays, morning or evening, depending on weather and her crazy quilt of jobs.

  I’d been driving Aemilia and then Illyria, and Elissa had ridden Alicia and Zenobia. By the time Emma poked her nose into the barn, Elissa had Eneida in the crossties, and had just about talked me into riding Matina.

  I don’t ride in front of people. Trails, no problem, I’ll throw a saddle on and a leg over and go out, but ring riding is between me, my horse, and whatever gods happen to be in the neighborhood. I hate showing; I lock up solid.

  It’s the sensation of being judged. I’m convinced I’m the worst rider in the history of bad riding, and the whole world will know it.

  Ride in front of Elissa? No way. She’d never let me near one of her horses again.

  Emma was a gift from heaven. “Hey!” I called out with desperate good cheer. “Look who’s here! Best rider I know. Present company excepted, of course.”

  Elissa was very polite. She even smiled. “Good morning,” she said. “Claire is going to ride Matina. Will you help her saddle up?”

  As if I needed any kind of help to put a saddle on a horse. That was one thing I could actually do.

  Emma’s eyes were wide. “I know you,” she said to Elissa. “You’re in the Cirque.”

  Elissa didn’t blink. “I don’t know you,” she answered with a flicker of humor, “but I think I know your name. Emma, yes? I’m glad to meet you. Will you be riding Ricky while Claire rides Matina?”

  Emma nodded. She was as close to speechless as I’d ever seen her.

  “We’ll be a pas de trois,” said Elissa. “Ah! Here is Matina. Good morning, Matina.”

  Philippe had brought the grey mare up, and Emma was even wider-eyed. Philippe looked faintly shell-shocked himself. Emma has that effect on people. She’s six feet tall and built like a gazelle, and she looks as if she always knows exactly where she is and how she got there.

  That calmed me down. No one was going to pay attention to me while they had Emma to look at.

  Philippe very kindly went with her to get Ricky. Elissa led Eneida out to the arena. I was alone in the barn with Matina: Dorrie wasn’t even out of bed yet.

  Up to now I’d mostly bonded with Aemilia. The other mares were gracious and cooperative but not asking to get any closer.

  In the quiet of the barn, very gently, as if afraid of spooking me, Matina opened up. She showed me where her itchiest spots were, and how to brush out her tail to silvery fullness. Then she let me know exactly where she wanted her saddle, and how to fit her bridle.

  Aemilia was a queen. Matina was a soft-spoken elder statesmare with a distinct set of preferences as to how her world should be arranged.

  She didn’t look old. Her legs were clean and her ribs were well covered; she had a lovely topline, no falling off of muscle there. Her movement was sound and strong. She’d been in heat when she came: I’d seen Bel’s frustration when she wouldn’t let him do something about it. I’d have pegged her at a healthy ten or twelve. Fourteen, maybe, but in great shape.

  There weren’t any birthdates or ages on the papers. Which was strange, but maybe where she came from, they didn’t keep track of those things.

  Whenever or wherever she’d been foaled, she was definitely an old soul. She made me feel like a wide-eyed young horse kid, which I hadn’t been in more decades than I wanted to count.

  When she was tacked up, I scraped myself together and led her out to the arena. I passed Emma and Philippe on the way, with Ricky being a twit on the lead. They were laughing at him.

  Matina shared the inner eyeroll and the shrug and sigh. She parked herself by the mounting block, and stood perfectly still once I was on, giving me time to sort out stirrups and reins and my balance and all the tiny little things that go into sitting on top of a moving object with a mind of its own.

  With one thing and another, we were striding out, riding big slow figures, getting to know each other’s rhythms. It was easy, casual, peaceful. The wind was just enough to cool us down; the sun was warm but the blast furnace was off for the year.

  I felt as much as saw Elissa ride literal rings around us. It didn’t matter. Matina didn’t care, and I didn’t, either.

  When Emma brought Ricky in, the air had sparks in it for a bit, till the mares’ complete lack of nonsense penetrated the recesses of his tiny gelding brain. That was what Elissa meant, I thought while I picked up a trot and started riding spirals in, spirals out. Think like a mare. Be a mare. Then the boy calms down and forgets to be silly.

  Mostly.

  Elissa finished before the rest of us and left. Philippe was already gone, off to town on some errand or other.

  I was having too nice a time to stop, and Matina wasn’t tired. We waited for Emma to be done, then had a short cooldown ride around the outside of the pastures. The other mares followed us, and Bel was in full bounce-and-bugle mode, which didn’t impress Matina in the slightest.

  Emma had her hands full with Ricky, but that only made her laugh. She rode it out and got him walking like a sensible horse. Then she said what she’d been holding in all that time.

  “They gave me a job.”

  I blinked at her. “Who? What?” Emma had more gigs than I could ever keep track of. “The dance company? The yoga studio?”

  She shook her head. “No! Them. The Cirque people. They want me to work with some of the mares. Riding, driving. Some liberty work. He’ll show me how.”

  That felt . . . weird. I’d been shying away from the thought of keeping up with eight horses and one mule after Elissa and Philippe left. This was a fantastic solution. A godsend. Perfect.

  And I was jealous. Mine, whined the little gobbler inside. My job.

  I hope I hid it. “Oh!” I said brightly. “That’s awesome.”

  “I’m not sure I believ
e it’s real,” she said. “It’s not all the horses. Four mares, he said. Not Matina. Or Aemilia. I’ll keep riding Ricky, and Rosie when you’re busy. They’ll pay me. Training fees, he said. Illyria wants to jump. That’s how he said it.”

  “Illyria loves to jump,” I said, which I hadn’t known before it came out. Not Matina, then? Or Aemilia? Well, good. Those were the ones I’d have put my hand up for.

  Emma dropped Ricky’s reins on his neck and hugged him in an excess of happiness. He tolerated it remarkably well.

  When you’re twentysomething and very spottily employed, a steady gig means the world. I was going on twice that and I knew exactly the feeling.

  “The NDA’s going to be hard,” she said. “No phone pictures. No social media. Can’t even name the horses in public or it’s off with my head. But I guess the Cirque doesn’t want the place crawling with fans.”

  I had not signed a non-disclosure agreement. Nor had I been asked to. I also didn’t remember any serious temptation to tell the world what I had here. One of the perks of age, I suppose. My paranoia was well honed through years of learning the hard way.

  “But!” said Emma, blissfully unaware of anything I was thinking, “it’s the best job ever. I’ll still have time for dance and to help at the yoga studio. I’ll be here six mornings a week, plus whenever else I’m needed. And—” She did finally seem to remember I was there: she slid a slightly nervous look in my direction. “They said I can have the barn apartment. As long as they can stay there when they come. There’s room for two more bedrooms—throw up some walls, slap on some paint, there you go. Might even put in a half-bath if I can find the fixtures for cheap enough.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said. “Don’t worry about cheap. I don’t think money is much of an object here. Do it right, do it proper, and you’ll make them happy.”

  She relaxed enough that Ricky let out a giant sigh. So I had a vote, did I? Or she thought I did?

  It really did sound good, once I’d got over the pang of having to share my beautiful shiny dream job. Sharing it with Emma was a dream of its own. I’d known I’d have to contract out some of the horsework anyway, and she was the first person I’d thought of, before I got all grabby and jealous. Philippe had taken care of it for me.