by Steve Farley
THE BLACK STALLION SERIES
By Walter Farley
The Black Stallion
The Black Stallion Returns
Son of the Black Stallion
The Island Stallion
The Black Stallion and Satan
The Black Stallion’s Blood Bay Colt
The Island Stallion’s Fury
The Black Stallion’s Filly
The Black Stallion Revolts
The Black Stallion’s Sulky Colt
The Island Stallion Races
The Black Stallion’s Courage
The Black Stallion Mystery
The Horse-Tamer
The Black Stallion and Flame
Man o’ War
The Black Stallion Challenged!
The Black Stallion’s Ghost
The Black Stallion and the Girl
The Black Stallion Legend
By Walter Farley and Steven Farley
The Young Black Stallion
By Steven Farley
The Black Stallion’s Shadow
The Black Stallion’s Steeplechaser
The Black Stallion and the Shape-shifter
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2011 by Steven Farley
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Visit us on the Web! www.randomhouse.com/kids
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
eISBN: 978-0-375-89887-7
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
v3.1
To my family
and my animals
Contents
Cover
Other Books in This Series
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
1. The Race Scene
2. Acracia
3. Diomedes
4. On the Set
5. The Falls
6. The Far Side of the Mountain
7. Acropolis
8. Fire-eyes
9. Dust to Dust
10. Forbidden Pastures
11. Popi
12. Nocturne
13. Dark Visions
14. The Temple of Diomedes
15. The Red Road
16. Escape
17. Home
Afterword
About the Author
The Race Scene
Hollywood had come to the Balkans. Fresh off his latest sensational blockbuster, acclaimed director Stiv Bateman had set his sights on ancient Greece, Thrace and the story of the young king Alexander the Great. It was an extravagant picture with an extravagant budget, a cast of thousands and big-name stars. It also included the participation of Alec Ramsay—who many horse-racing fans considered to be a real-life young Alexander—and his horse, a real-life Bucephalus, a stallion known only as the Black.
Anyone who followed horse racing had heard about the mysterious Black, a horse as notorious for his personal history as for winning races. The Black’s hatred of the whip was legendary in track lore. Rumors hinted the midnight-black stallion had even killed his previous owner, an Arabian tribal sheik, in revenge for mistreating him with a whip. And, as was fabled of the legendary Greek king Alexander and his black stallion Bucephalus, it was said that no one but Alec Ramsay could ride the Black.
From his hilltop vantage point, Alec looked out over a wide valley crowded with horses, men and machines. They were high in the Rhodope Mountains of Bulgaria in a location that had been chosen just for this scene. It was in a seldom-visited part of Thrace, almost a day’s drive from the production headquarters in the city of Xanthi, across the border in Greece. Before them, a thousand actors were taking their places on a prepared battlefield. The small army that was the film crew hung back along the sidelines among towers of lights and camera cranes.
Alec kept an eye on the Black, who nibbled at some grass as they waited together outside the wardrobe and makeup trailers. The stallion was carefully groomed and tacked up in a specially designed saddle, bridle and light armor. Flashes of sunlight danced off a polished copper breastplate lying against his coal-black chest. His ebony mane fringed the contours of his fine head and long, powerful neck, and his silky tail rose and fell behind him like the crest of a black wave.
Alec tried to hold the stallion steady as Leigh, a production assistant from the film’s wardrobe department, crouched beside Alec’s leg. She fiddled with the hem of his costume, a plain toga of fine linen.
“Keep still, please,” she said through a mouthful of safety pins.
Alec did his best not to move, then closed his eyes as Harv, the makeup guy, dusted his face with powder. Through the lead line, he could feel the Black move his head beside him.
“Guess this has been pretty crazy for you,” Harv said.
Alec popped open his eyes and blinked. “I’m not used to it,” he said, “but it’s been fun, really exciting. Who wouldn’t want to be part of something like this?”
That was certainly true enough, Alec thought. How often do you get a chance to be in the movies? Even his parents and Henry Dailey had thought it was a great idea. “Take the money and run.” Wasn’t that what everyone had said he should do? It still amazed Alec that the film’s publicity people had asked him to stand in as Alexander in a few scenes and had been willing to spend so much money to make it happen. Just for starters, his airfare over here with the Black must have cost thousands of dollars. Certainly it was the Black they really wanted, more than Alec himself. Few horses in the world could project his strength and beauty. It made Alec proud to think other people recognized this fact too.
Harv chuckled and gave Alec another swipe with the powder brush. Alec closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. No matter how well he and the Black were being treated, somehow he still couldn’t help but ask himself what he was doing there—though it was a little late to be wondering about that now. He knew before he took this job that it wouldn’t be as simple as everyone made it out to be.
Sure, he thought, everyone was nice, and the food and accommodations were first-rate, but all the waiting around was driving him crazy. As the producer had promised, Alec didn’t really have to do much acting; he just had to show up for some riding scenes and a few stand-in shots like this one. So far, all Alec and the Black had done was some close-up work with the Black and an interview with Alec for a supplemental behind-the-scenes feature.
This time Alec and the Black were doubling for Alexander and Bucephalus in a shot that would lead up to one of the battle scenes. Bateman said he wanted a look that only the Black could give him.
A young woman carrying a clipboard walked toward them. “They want you on the set, Alec, whenever you’re ready.”
Harv handed Alec his bronze helmet and helped him get it centered and adjusted on his head and around his face.
Five minutes later, Alec and the Black were down on the set. Spread out before them were many, many actors and extras costumed as ancient Greek soldiers and armed with shields and spears. Some were assembled into blocks of infantry so tightly grouped together that they functioned as a single weapon, like
a human tank bristling with spears. Behind the porcupine-like phalanxes of warriors stood hundreds of horses and riders, everyone waiting for the fanfare that was the signal to begin.
Marshals in golf carts shuttled between the different groups of infantry and riders, doing crowd control. Muscle-bound actors with long hair roping out from under their helmets argued and laughed. Sour-faced old guys watched the clock. Photographers’ lights flashed as the actors and extras posed in the warrior outfits, everyone standing around, everyone passing time, waiting, waiting, waiting, everyone finding it almost impossible to stay busy. These were moments of patience for some, moments of nervousness for newcomers and a traffic jam of anticipation for everyone.
Alec’s attention gravitated to the horses. He marveled at how many breeds were represented here. There were Arabians with flowing manes and tails, compact Andalusians and statuesque white Lipizzans. All were decked out in plumes, skirts of armor and breast and head plates, some with unicorn spikes, all meant to recall warhorses from ancient times.
Positioned along the edges of the battlefield, technicians were making last-minute adjustments. Some wore headphones and fiddled with soundboards. Others were hunched over consoles lined with blinking meters and dials. To one side, crane trucks with hydraulic lifts hoisted camera operators in baskets up into the air.
Alec took it all in, scanning the crowd for familiar faces. He recognized the producer Freddy Roth in his sport jacket and jeans, arms folded across his chest, eyes focused, apparently deep in thought. On the other side of the field, he saw Karst Balastritis standing with his sixteen-year-old son, Matt, and thirteen-year-old daughter, Xeena. The three were working for the production team, Karst as a top trainer and Matt and Xeena as wranglers and assistants. Matt and Xeena were doubling as extras and stunt riders too.
Karst was one of the first people Alec had met when he arrived in Xanthi almost a week ago. He was a proud native of this land, a big, gregarious man with dark hair and olive skin. Karst and his kids reminded Alec of a close-knit circus family—athletic, hardworking and full of energy.
Someone called his name, and Alec turned to see Jeff, the assistant to Freddy Roth. The skinny, young Australian wore aviator sunglasses and a New York Yankees baseball cap turned backwards. A jumble of laminated ID cards hung like medallions around his neck.
“There’s been some rethinking about the schedule and the next scene,” Jeff told Alec. “We just got the latest weather report, and they’re calling for a chance of rain tomorrow. Stiv wants to stage the race in front of the assembled troops before the big battle scene now, when the weather is good, rather than risking a washout tomorrow. The course is all marked out down by the river. You know where I’m talking about?”
Alec nodded. “I walked it with Karst yesterday.”
“Great,” Jeff said as he started to hurry off. “See you there.”
The last-minute change in plans was a pleasant surprise for Alec. He’d been looking forward to the race scene. Alec and the Black were to play the parts of Alexander and Bucephalus for the riding sequence and were to win the race. It would be a natural for the Black, Alec thought, and probably their biggest scene in the entire film. They wouldn’t even have to act. If nothing else, it would be more exciting than the beauty-pageant posing he had been doing up to now.
A few minutes later, the horses picked for the race were grouped down by the river. Karst and the other trainers had done a good job in selecting the runners, and it was plain to see that these were some of the best-looking horses of the hundreds assembled there for the battle scene. Some were long-limbed and lean. Others were compact and solid. All looked fit, capable and ready to race.
Just off the riverbank in an idling speedboat, Stiv Bateman and a camera crew waited to film the race. The director, a burly man with a heavy beard, military boots and camouflage pants, sat in a raised chair near the bow of the boat. Two other camera boats were floating farther upstream. Radio static from walkie-talkies crackled in the air.
The horses lined up for the start at a spot marked by a strip of white tape on the ground. A short distance from where the tape ended, a heavy-duty pickup truck idled, ready to track the race from onshore. Mounted on the back of the truck was a small cherry picker. From his roost in a basket atop the crane’s arm, a camera operator fiddled with his equipment, then leaned forward to frame up the shot in his viewfinder. Another team of photographers stood behind a camera on a tripod positioned in the grass. Next to them, the assistant director paced back and forth like a football coach on the sidelines of a big game. A guy holding a clapboard slate stood ready to identify the scene and take number.
Alec sat up and tested the spring in his stirrups. It didn’t matter now that he was dressed in some silly costume of an ancient Greek king. This was a race, even if it was just a staged one, and Alec and the Black were in their element. Alec rested his face against the Black’s neck, his eyes focused ahead, his knees pressed against the stallion’s shoulders.
Once the horses were more or less in position, Bateman called out, “Okay, people. Get into character now, but wait for my signal to go. Ready. Speed!”
“Speed!” echoed the soundman from his position offscreen. The assistant with the clapboard stepped in front of the camera. “Young Alexander, scene seventeen-B, take—”
Suddenly there was a squeal from one of the horses. The assistant standing in front of the camera jumped back to get out of the way as two runners broke from their positions in line and charged ahead in a false start.
“I said to wait for my signal!” Bateman cried out impatiently.
Outriders caught up to the horses before they could get too far and helped steer them back to the starting line. Meanwhile, Alec and the other riders did their best steadying their mounts and keeping the line intact.
Finally the two runaways were back in place, and the sound and cameras started to roll once again.
“Action!” Bateman called from his perch on the bow.
There was an instant of relative stability and then they were off. The camera-laden speedboats in the river wound up their engines and moved out in pursuit.
Voices filled the air as the riders urged on their horses. A colt on the outside bounced out and half reared before his rider could set him on his way. The rest bolted off in a mad panic. In a split second, Alec had the Black after them.
The Black gathered himself and settled into stride. Alec coaxed the stallion along and guided him closer to the river’s edge on his right. The Black felt good and was anxious to run after so much standing around over the past few days. The horses swerved and started to bunch up as they approached a bend in the river.
Alec did his best to hold the Black back. Bateman’s instructions were for a come-from-behind win to the race, with a close finish. But, as always, once he got going, the stallion wanted to run all out. This was just another race to the Black, and he would do whatever he could to get out in front. Alec could feel the pull in the reins all the way to his shoulders.
As the horses swung into the right-hand turn, Alec switched modes and went from restraining the Black to encouraging him. The Black responded and they galloped into the middle of the pack, slowly gaining ground on the others.
Alec moved with the stallion as they came out of the turn. Edging farther to the inside, he pulled the Black just to the left of a big gray colt running hard a length off the water’s edge. The Black paced the horse a moment, then started to pull away. Alec saw a lead runner directly in front of the Black was losing steam and coming back fast. He guided the Black to the right and started to drop in, just in front of the gray, moving to the inside slot along the river where there was a clear path to the lead.
Suddenly the gray’s rider shouted a warning. There was someone running up the inside that Alec couldn’t see! Even worse, with the gray blocking the view, the oncoming rider hadn’t seen Alec make his move for the inside path either.
On a professional racetrack it might have been diffe
rent. There the gray’s rider would have known that it was his responsibility to give a heads-up to the other riders in such a situation, especially when two horses running hard on either side of him were making for the same spot and couldn’t see each other. But this wasn’t a racetrack and these riders weren’t jockeys. By the time Alec heard the gray’s rider call out, it was too late. The Black was already on a collision course with the inside runner, a big bay who was sprinting ahead like a mad demon and trying to squeeze his way between the gray and the riverbank.
Once he realized what was happening, Alec had no choice but to check the Black with a hard pull on the reins. It kept him from dropping in on the bay, but it was too late for the bay and the gray running next to him. Blocked to the left by the fading leader, and in front by the Black, the gray was trapped. He spooked and broke hard to the right, careening off course and taking the approaching bay with him. Instantly the two horses went flying over the riverbank, hitting the water six feet below with a mighty splash.
Over the clamor of grunting horses and shouting riders, Alec could hear Bateman calling out orders from one of the camera-laden speedboats that had been tracking the runners from the river.
“Keep the camera on them!” Bateman squawked over his bullhorn from his position on the bow.
Alec pulled the Black up and circled around to see if he could help the riders who had gone into the river. Down in the water the horses were shrilling. A minute later, they and their riders scrambled up a low spot in the embankment. Alec recognized one of them as Karst’s daughter Xeena and suddenly realized she was the rider who had been caught on the inside when the gray spooked and charged the river. Thankfully no one seemed to have been injured in the spill beyond a few scratches and getting wet. Xeena and the gray’s rider were already laughing it off. What a relief, Alec thought. He knew there was no way he could have prevented the accident, though he and the Black certainly had been a factor in causing it. In the end, there was no one to blame.
“That was terrific,” Alec could hear Bateman call out to the riders from the water as they turned their horses back to the staging area. “Bonuses all around for you people. Now let’s go back and do it again. Just try to stay out of the drink this time.”