He nodded just slightly and glanced to the windows again, longing to be in the wind and feel the grass under his feet. For the first time, he dared to reach for the shadowy place inside himself where his spirit form slept. He didn’t know what he would do if he found it, like the rest of his busted insides, dashed to pieces. He didn’t need to worry. The dark flicker of shadow greeted him with delight. Safe. Not defeated, not even fractured. It slept, longing for his call. Like a huge, dangerous weapon, it waited for him to be strong enough to hold and wield the power of it.
“I don’t want you to chill yourself either, young man. Please, don’t allow him to tire himself. He needs rest and food if he’s going to recover. The moment he starts to backslide, I’m going to pull the plug on this madness.” The nurse rambled in frustration to Amy, disregarding Alexander as a child.
Amy slid a glance at him and winked, but otherwise appeared to be fully in agreement with the nurse. “Oh, we will never allow him to backslide. We know how important it is that he eats. That’s the whole reason that we wanted to bring him here.”
He honestly tried to eat the boiled oats that were cooked for him. Unfortunately, his stomach promptly rejected the offering. Amy pursed her lips and vanished from the room as the nurse helped him settle back into the bed. What she returned with was a small bowl with the scent of warm pears curling up from the steam as she stirred it. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she ignored the nurse’s tutting and offered Alexander the spoonful like he was a baby bird.
It tasted so good. It was mild and sweet with just a hint of tartness. It tasted of cooked pear and honey. For a moment, his stomach rolled and then settled. He managed to eat two bowls without losing it.
“Well, what is in that, anyway?” the nurse asked as she stared in surprise.
“Old family recipe,” Amy answered with a secret smile. She walked to the window and swung it open. The fog had burned off and warm sunlight was streaming in. It smelled almost like home. Brine and salt hung heavy in the air though without the weight of humidity he’d grown to love. When the nurse had retired to her room Amy drew out blankets for him and she carried him outside to join Mambo who was grooming a huge, pale steel-gray mount.
The mount’s dark eyes regarded Alexander and he knew this had been the unyielding strength of that war-mount who had helped Remmy.
“Millon, Slayer of the Iceblade, who came to me in my darkest hour of need,” Mambo said in introduction. He smoothed a hand down the broad forehead as the big stallion watched Alexander and lightly brushed against him mind to mind.
Zan’Dar, the voice growled through him, powerful and loud and full of joy. He pulled Alexander in close mentally and wrapped him in warmth once he was held close. My poor son. My poor child. Like being sheltered from the wind. For a moment, it was as though Alexander could breathe more easily. He was sheltered behind an unyielding guard. Tell me of my children. They thrive? How fares my soul-brother Darian Spear Eater? Does the old war chief’s eye still cause him to suffer the cold? And our lovely Shara? You saw her. Tell me all!
Alexander gladly shared those memories he had. All of them, running through in a moment and then again as the big stallion quavered with joy. My children. They do thrive. Ah, my Chirmeng! Death of the Oathbreaker indeed. Marshall and….he runs for your beloved? And Mortari! I…I am sorry, Zan’Dar. I am so sorry. It was with great reluctance that he pulled himself away from the thoughts and memories. The last of those, grasping tightly, the twins, Amberlynn and Jasper and it was obvious those were his foals as Mortari was. I owe you, Lifebreather. I OWE you.
“How?” He croaked, trying to clutch onto the thought. It was all slipping away from his grasp. He was not strong enough to hold them.
Later we will speak of this. I am sorry. I have weakened you too much in my greed. He sounded apologetic while he kept him wrapped tightly and protected.
Sleep now, small warrior. My rider and his oath sworn guard you. We will talk more on this, later. I will tell my rider all of these things. We will find a way, he is very clever, my rider.
He woke later in the sunlight, cheek resting on warm fur and blinked awake. Amy was on one side of him and Mano the other and they were using some mount as a pillow, gazing skyward. It was so warm and there was not even a wind where they were resting. The formidable guard tightened around him as his mind fumbled outward out of reflex.
Safe.
He was safe.
And guarded. And somehow he didn’t spiral into panic.
He didn’t feel like he was going to fly into pieces. It was the pains in his body that had roused him for the first time since waking. He let out a soft whimper as he tried to shift to ease that discomfort.
“That’s a good sign,” Amy murmured and brushed a kiss to his cheek. “We should get our heads out of the clouds and return you inside before you get chilled and the nurse gets her panties in a twist. Mano?”
The mount they rested against proved to be Millon. He assisted helping him up and into Amy’s arms to be carried. The big mount was there the whole way to the house with assurances that he and the others would be right there and would not release him to the dark. As sure as Alexander kept Amberlynn from flying into the ether before her time, they were not going to let him go before he was able to do his great things.
It didn’t seem right that he wouldn’t have his love or his mounts for the future he was being forced to march through. Then again, trouble was always following him, what did he expect?
Chapter 24
“Zan’Dar—” Mambo said with that infuriating smirk.
“Don’t you dare speak that name!” Alexander gripped the spoon in his quavering hand and lunged forward with the snarl. “You don’t ever get to call me that!” He heard the mount, Millon, the aggravating little man’s mount whisper a warning but he wasn’t sure if was for him or for his rider.
“Easy,” Amy cautioned and put herself between the two of them. Her height loomed over both man and boy. “Do not give that nurse a reason to carry you back to your bed.”
Her words reminded Alexander painfully that he was only a child now. A foal again. Prey.
Mambo regarded him with his fierce and soulless silvery gaze and then suddenly inclined his head and nodded. “Yes, of course. Forgive me. I overstep.”
“Yes, you do. You fucking asshole,” Alexander snarled despite Amy’s strong hand on his arm that stopped him from doing anything foolish.
Alexander might have the mind of a man in his maturity, but his body was only fifteen. And he was so weak. Even that slight action had left him winded and trembling. He was far from his seat of power and anyone who could aid him. He might as well be talentless. His eyes stung with humiliating tears.
“I’m sorry.” Mambo sounded stricken. His brows knit as he glanced at Amy. “I’m so sorry.” Unexpectedly, he showed the deepest display of compassion Alexander had ever seen in him. “I meant no disrespect.”
Alexander fell back into the chair and hung his head. He was too sick to fight. Pain throbbed through his whole body. His empty stomach churned, making him feel queasy and weak.
“He just wants to make sure you eat. We both need you to continue eating, heart-son,” Amy said when Mambo retook his seat.
He didn’t want to eat anything right now. When he closed his eyes, the horrible emptiness tried to pull him under. If not for the ring of mounts standing guard, he would surely have no chance.
“He would want you to fight.”
“Fight,” he said the word around the sickness rising in his throat. “I think he would rather I died for him.” He realized he was crying when Amy’s arms went around him.
“It will be all right, my beloved one. Just be gentle with yourself. You are not alone. Do not throw yourself from us.”
He nodded and Amy kissed his forehead before moving across the kitchen to try to make him something to eat.
She served the same strange mixture of the pears, and he saw that she had a whole basket of the small fruit that grew fro
m the red tree. The pearls. A pain shot through his heart at the memory of Bennonton, whispering that he smelled of pears and cinnamon. It was a bittersweet memory.
Yes, his beloved would want him to fight. His mounts would demand it, too. And so he forced himself through more of the fruit his second-mother carefully prepared for him.
When his ravaged body was able to process that, he lived off it for another few weeks. By the end of summer, he was skin and bones. At least by then he was finally able to eat boiled grains, broth and some other mild fruits. Some days they walked him down the beach or up the hill, and he would nap in the sun with the herd of war-mounts watching guard over him.
His mother and father, brothers and sisters and his grandmother came every day to see him. Christopher remained in Scotland, however, Derek and Cal came to him between their busy competition schedule. Remmy stayed with him. The big red stallion was fiercely protective. They shared the grief of loved ones missing.
“Do not leave Christopher,” Alexander told the stallion one afternoon as the big horse sprawled beside him.
Remmy snorted and glanced away, irritation rippling across his emotions.
“He will be back. He is just hurting. He needs you. He just doesn’t know it.” He laid his head against the stallion’s side as the mount threw his affection around him. In that moment, he sensed that the big horse would have changed his loyalties and left Christopher for him. Alexander knew it would patch some of the burned and tattered holes inside him, but he couldn’t allow the horse to do that. Christopher didn’t need his wounded heart burdened with the broken bond. And it wouldn’t fix anything.
With a heavy sigh, Remmy nuzzled at his hair and relented although he didn’t withdraw his protective guard. He would never let Alexander go.
Between him and the other mounts, they developed a bandage for the worst of his wounds. He didn’t feel like he would shatter anymore when something reminded him of his love and the heart that no longer warmed his. It would be all right.
One afternoon Amy and her champion, Mambo, found him at the side of the house sobbing at the hooves of Millon who stood guard over him. The big stallion’s mane and tail were painted blue. Alexander had looted the collection of pastry dyes for everything close to the right color.
It wasn’t good enough. No earthly dye could equal that electric blue. It wasn’t close to being worthy of the big sapphire stallion who had sired his mounts. Alexander realized now, the twins were his, too, the last gift of Shara and Darian before he’d come here. He’d crossed over, to aid the infuriating, soulless blond man.
His clothing was soaked through and he shuddered and trembled with the cold and effort. But he would be damned if he let summer pass without giving the mount his proper thanks.
Easy, smallest brother. Patience, warrior, Millon whispered to him, his own emotions tangled with a mixture of pride and nostalgia. We must stay strong. I miss them, too. His Shara and their Darian. He missed them the way Alexander missed his general. Amy sighed softly as she extracted him from the legs of the mount and carried him inside. For a few days he was blue dappled and no one except the mounts seemed to understand what he’d done. It was simply another glimpse into Alexander’s slip from sanity as he recovered as far as the nurses and doctor were concerned.
When he finally was able to return to school, everyone thought he had cancer. Well, the kind ones did. The cruel children whispered that he had AIDS. Strange that he had not remembered the bullies. Over the years he’d lived else-world he had been respected so long, he forgot the horrors of the taunts. They were not expecting him to stand up for himself and it only took one decisive fight that broke a kid’s nose to stop the cycle of violence.
For a few weeks, his cousins avoided him.
They were not talking about what happened. No one mentioned the neatly stitched scar over his brow from the rocks they’d thrown or the way they’d left him to die or how they tried to cull him from the line. Alexander held the knowledge in his heart. It was a weapon for use later. It was a poison he would drink to sustain him until he fulfilled his revenge.
Then one afternoon as he walked home, the four of them caught him in the twilight.
“Hey, Prey. Hey, little wimp. Where is our money?”
Money? They were still after the coin?
He stopped and the four of them swarmed in around him, poking and shoving him.
“It’s been months. You owe us a lot of tithe, boy.” Courage sneered down at him.
He was four years older than Alexander, strong, powerful and cruel. It twisted a deep rage inside his chest, that these young men would bully a boy. The old warrior spirit in him glared back at these creatures as he let his pack slide from his shoulder. “You are cowards,” he whispered.
“Yeah? Seems like we weren’t the one who pissed himself and went tumbling down the hill last time we came to collect. So, who is the real coward here?” Princeton leaned in and poked at the center of his chest.
Alexander was ready for him. He grabbed the finger and twisted it back, satisfied when he felt it snap under the jerking movement. The war-mounts were already demanding to know what was going on. His head was buzzing of their voices as they realized he was in danger.
Princeton howled out in pain and jerked his hand backward, shocked that his torment would be foiled. His retaliation enraged the other three young men. He was not fast enough to avoid the punch to his face from the eldest of his cousins. Courage’s fist connected with his jaw with all the power the big man had to give.
Hot blood filled his mouth when the knuckles split his lip. In answer to the pain, the coiled darkness of his spirit form roared forward to protect him.
Enough!
He grabbed for the shadowy spirit and it nearly blinded him with the power it held. This was not only a stag, fully crowned and gleaming like black diamonds. He was huge like one of the deity born. One moment his attackers were ganging up on him and the next they were thrown back by the rush of power that slipped free around the shadows he created.
He danced towards them, striking with sharp cloven hooves, trying to trample their frail, squirming bodies. The mewls of pain they made were sweet songs to his bloodlust and fury.
Zan’Dar! Louder than the other war-mounts, Millon’s voice roared through to him. It froze his vengeance in his throat. You are no killer. You must let them retreat, little warrior. Do not tarnish yourself for an empty revenge.
It might have been worth it. A blemish on his already torn and blistered soul, just to see them all crippled, crushed and blinded. No, he knew the mounts were right. These petty fools were not worth it.
He let them crawl away, shaking his massive antlers at them in threat in time with a flap of his dark wings. Let them see what he would bring as weapon to their future battles. His spirit-form was far removed from the spotted fawn they’d taunted months ago. He choked on the mercy as they hurled insults back at him. No, he would walk the more difficult, noble path.
After that incident, he took more care about walking alone. He spent his hours after school retraining his body. He split his time between the stables and the sword practice with Mambo. His mind knew all the right moves in spite of the differences in these weapons from what he’d known. His body was small, frail, weak and slow.
One afternoon when he finally submitted, Mambo crouched beside him on the floor, silver eyes cutting into him. “All right, Zorro, you are going to have to walk before you run, okay? Be gentle with yourself. How long did it take you to learn this before? Stop punishing yourself. That’s enough for today.”
It was humbling and the stupid nickname stuck, damn the man. He steadily grew stronger. He ran and he swam and he practiced. What time he had left he spent with his aunt Marion and her horses. Most of those horses were ordinary mortal beasts though that didn’t matter. It was work for his body that he needed and he longed for the strength and vitality of his old, mature stature. He hated looking at the emaciated, young boy in his reflection. He had f
lashes of Shylo the first day at court. Better to keep busy and too tired to think long on all that he’d lost and everything he still had yet to regain.
One afternoon while he helped stack hay, his cousin Sean’s screams startled him from his work. In the middle of the yard stood a huge paint horse, the bold gold markings gleaming. Blood coated the horse’s side where a spear was thrust into its shoulder and another in its hip. Brilliant red, purple and blue feathers were strung in the long white mane and tail.
Zan’Dar! Amberlynn’s voice sang through him as he stumbled forward towards her. The familiar voice and her overwhelming relief and joy crashed over him, stronger than the pain in her body. I knew it was the right path!
“Trying to eat spears like Darian?” he whispered as he pressed his forehead to hers.
She laughed into him. A small price to pay, my rider. You are wounded too. She gingerly caressed the spots inside him with a low croon of sympathy. The others will come soon. Jasper is right behind me. Be brave.
Sean gawked at the horse to Alexander and back again. “She’s yours?” he rasped and pointed. “What the fuck happened to her? Should I call the vet?”
“Call Amy.” He stroked a hand over her tangled mane and the glorious feathers, feeling his chest tighten. Tangled there in the hair was the charm he’d thought he’d never see again. The token from Princess Winnifred. The gold gleamed like Bennonton’s lovely eyes. His Bennonton! He clutched the pin in his hand desperately, wishing he could hear his warm laugh and feel his arms around him.
You are much, much smaller than I remember, your Grace, she said wearily after they had tended her wounds and fed her warm mash. She was resting comfortably, lying in her hay so he could nest into the crescent of her limbs. She pushed her muzzle into his face and blew warm breath at him. It was filled with the same minty scent he remembered in his stricken dreams.
It made him laugh until he cried. He hugged her neck hard and she spread her familiar love and dedication over him, reinforcing her new connection to him with as much pride as she had the first time.
An End to Summer Page 21