by Steve Farley
Alec fought his way through the foaming stream, desperate to reach his horse.
“Be careful, Alec,” Xeena cried out close behind him.
“Go get help,” he called back over his shoulder.
The water deepened, rising past his waist to his chest. The current became stronger, like whirling chains tightening on his legs. Fierce and unstoppable the water ran, not toward the falls and the sun outside, but deeper into the darkness of the mountain. And it was taking the Black with it.
“Black!” Alec cried out again. Straining his eyes in the shadows, he could see his horse struggling against the current of dark, bubbling water that was dragging him downstream and toward the back of the cave.
For a moment, the stallion found enough footing to stop his thrashing and begin fighting the current. Alec splashed closer, coming almost near enough to touch the stallion. All at once, the Black slipped again and rolled into the water. Alec leaped through the air to make one last desperate attempt to reach his horse. His body flattened and was swept up in the turbulence, his hands stretched out.
The fingers of his right hand felt something and closed around the lead shank that trailed in the water at the stallion’s side. With the touch of the rope came a feeling of intense relief. Whatever happened to them now, Alec thought, he wasn’t letting go. Whatever happened now would happen to them together.
Alec clenched his fist around the shank as the current dragged them deeper into the tunnel. All around him was cold, wet darkness and black water. He saw nothing and heard only the slap of water on the walls of the cave. Alec quickly realized that fighting the rip current was harder now than before. Tied together with the Black, their speed was only increasing, their combined weight making it all the more impossible to battle the current. To make matters even worse, the water was deeper here, and when Alec tried to find the bottom, it was no longer there.
The rushing stream overwhelmed them, running ever faster as it hurried them through the lightless void. Alec fought to keep his head out of the water. All his channels of sense and reason seemed blocked, his brain racked by an overpowering fear. He felt more than heard a roar in the blackness ahead and around him, like the sound of an oncoming train inside a tunnel. The Black’s lead shank suddenly jerked wildly and was torn from his hand. Alec grabbed desperately after it but felt nothing but empty space. The water beneath him fell away, and he was in a free fall, tumbling through a hole in the darkest night imaginable.
Alec had taken plenty of spills in his life, but never anything like this. “I am alive,” he told himself, thinking of nothing else but those three words and repeating them over and over in his mind as he fell through the air. To black out now would mean to die. His only chance of survival was to stay awake and hope for a soft landing.
After a long drop, he hit the water again, water that felt like concrete as he slammed into it. Dark, cold wetness swallowed him as he was driven deep under the surface. Alec held his breath, hanging on to the three-word chant in his mind telling him he was alive, awake and conscious. He tried to roll himself into a ball and felt his body tossing head over heels until one leg struck bottom. It was a hard hit but not as hard as it might have been in shallower water. Pushing off the bottom, Alec swam for the surface, gasping for air as he finally reached it. Opening his eyes, he saw nothing. Everything around him remained pitch-black.
“Black,” Alec screamed as he beat his arms against the current, groping the darkness, listening for any sign of his horse. He knew that if he had survived the fall, chances were the Black had too. And though he could see nothing in the darkness, he knew his horse must be close. He called again but still no answer came.
Alec realized he was now caught in still another underground river running somewhere deep inside the mountain. The current spun him around and dragged him along as he struggled to catch his breath. He commanded his mind to stay conscious. It was his choice to live or die, and he knew he must live.
For many moments, time seemed to stand still. At last he could see the tunnel ahead was no longer quite so dark. He began to make out the contours of the cave walls, twenty feet on either side of him, and the ceiling hanging less than six feet above.
The dark waters of the river funneled around a curve. Alec’s legs bumped into rocks. His feet touched bottom, but he couldn’t have stopped if he had wanted to. The current quickened as it approached a vertical slit in the dark rock wall.
The opening was a six-foot-wide gash in the rock and through it beamed brilliant shafts of sunlight. The current grew faster still, funneling water through the passageway and spilling Alec out into the blinding daylight. His eyes tried to adjust to the light as he was swept along in the ripping current.
At last he saw that he was now caught midstream in a river little more than thirty feet across, narrow and deep, almost like a canal. Bordering the riverbanks, tall, thick trees stood shoulder to shoulder.
As Alec gathered his wits, again his thoughts were for his horse. Was he still alive? Surely he must be, but where? And what about Xeena? Had she gone back for help, or had she been swept into the underground river too? He could only hope she had been smart enough not to follow him across the stream and was able to get to safety when she had the chance.
But there was no question about the Black, Alec thought. He must be around here somewhere, unless he had been swept down a different tunnel. Alec couldn’t believe it. They had been only an arm’s length apart when they dropped down into that hole or whatever it had been. Surely the current would have carried them to the same place. But where was that? Again his gaze searched the shore on either side, and again he saw wall-to-wall trees with no sign of anything familiar, or even man-made.
Alec raised his head out of the water. “Black,” he called, his voice garbled and weak. He looked around him but could see no sign of his horse, only the monstrous tree trunks and the canopy of leaves above. He leaned back into the water and sidestroked along, edging toward the riverbank. Jolts of pain shot up his left leg as he kicked his feet. For the first time, Alec realized that he must have hit the bottom harder than he had thought.
The river hurried Alec downstream, curving around a bend. Using his good leg and cold, weary arms, he let the current carry him along until he reached the embankment at last. He caught hold of a tangled network of exposed roots beneath a tree trunk leaning over the river. With what seemed like all the strength he had left, Alec dragged himself out of the water and onto the bank. The ground here was all roots, thick and thin, layered on top of each other like a nest of snakes.
He coughed, gasped and cleared his mouth. He tried to speak, just to hear his own voice and confirm that he was indeed alive, but no words would come. He took a couple deep breaths and tried again, finally managing a low, guttural groan. Breathe, he told himself, just breathe. His eyes scanned the roiling water for the Black, but again he found no sign of his horse.
“Black,” Alec called out, but he was so weakened by the ordeal that the sound of his cry did not travel far. If he could just find a path through the woods, Alec thought. If he could just … He tried to get up and then collapsed out of exhaustion, falling unconscious to the ground.
The Far Side of the Mountain
Two hundred yards upstream, the Black scrambled out of the water and onto a pocket of grass tucked into the dense wall of trees lining the riverbank. The stallion dropped his head and stood still, thankful to feel the earth beneath his hooves once again, his breath coming hard and fast from his battle for life inside the mountain. Maddened by the hellish experience, he screamed an explosive neigh. His body was cut up, bruised and beaten by river rocks, and chilled to the bone by the cold water. And yet he was unafraid and did not feel tired or weakened. Sharpened by his fight for survival, his senses felt more acute than ever. He wanted to run, but, hemmed in by trees, he was unsure where to go. Of one thing the stallion was certain: He was in a strange new land, and instinct told him to beware.
His pains were quickly
forgotten as he stared out to the woods and the peaks beyond, his small, fine head raised high, sniffing the air, his nostrils quivering, his ears pointed and alert. Warmed by the sun, his body began to tremble, not from cold but from excitement and curiosity. The unknown woods, the strange path, the liberty to go where and when he pleased, all spoke to him of freedom. The sweet call to liberty was tempered only by one other thought—where was his friend, the boy who shared his life? He searched the air for some scent of him but could find none.
The stallion gazed out into the forest green and waited. Soon the breeze told him someone was there, or had been there not long ago. It was his own kind, of that he was certain, though there was something off about the scent, something unhealthy, the smell of fear and blood. The Black picked up the other horse’s trail and before long found hoofprints and a mound of fresh manure. He kept going, wary but confident that whatever lay ahead, his speed, endurance and cunning would keep him safe.
The scent in the wind led to a narrow tree-lined path running away from the river. Soon the Black began climbing higher through the dense forest. The breeze softened, and as it did, the scent of horse became fainter and then vanished completely.
The stallion pawed the ground in frustration as it became clear he had lost the trail and was heading in the wrong direction. He listened and looked about him at the silent woods. Then, with a quick step back, he turned around and returned the way he had come, trusting his senses to lead him where he needed to go.
As the Black retraced his steps down the trail, he was again struck by something very strange. The tall, gnarled trees and piles of rocks that marked the path only minutes before seemed to have moved from one side of the trail to the other. His sense of direction seldom failed him, and the feeling of being disoriented now startled him. Other signs told him he had lost his way, signs he would have noticed had he passed along this path before. He sniffed the air, wary of this place where scents were so easily cleansed from the wind and landmarks seemed to shift and move around of their own accord.
Suddenly the trail opened to a clearing, one that hadn’t been there on his way up the mountain path. His eyes remained sharp, his ears and nostrils alert, ready to catch the slightest noise or faintest scent. The sun shone brightly on a patch of inviting green grass. He waited until he was certain there was no sign of danger, then dropped his head to graze.
The sweet, clean grass gave the stallion new energy. Soon he felt enough at ease to lie down. He rolled on the warm ground and kicked his legs in the air. Climbing to his feet, he again whiffed a light gust of wind funneling through the trees. There was no sign of the mare, but once more the breeze carried with it the perfume of other horses.
He stood quietly, watchful and ready. The only thing about him that moved was his mane, stirred by the wind. Once more he felt the excitement of his newfound freedom in this untraveled land. Long-sleeping memories of life in the wild spoke to him as he looked around, memories of his birthplace in the high mountains of the great desert. Now he was free again, free to follow whatever path he chose.
After a minute, the Black struck out to chase the scent of horse, once again smelling the breeze. He found another trail and trotted easily through the woods, his hooves falling softly on the pine needles scattered over the ground. Winding his way through the trees, he lost the scent once more and was again unsure where to go. He stopped and waited to collect himself, listening for the slightest sound and puzzling over how to read the signs his senses told him were here. His powerful gaze searched through the woods. There was something out there, of that he was certain, but what?
The breeze stirred again and brought new information. He veered off the path and zigzagged through clusters of pines until he reached a place where the branches hung low, forming a tunnel of trees. The familiar scent of his kind became stronger here, and there were clear marks on the ground that others had passed this way not long ago.
The stallion moved slowly into the darker shadow of the passageway. Inside, the sound of the wind ceased. Strands of sunlight filtered through the leaves above and cast shifting patterns of light and shadows on the ground before him. After a few moments, the path opened upon a grassy pasture. The Black followed the scent upwind to a small stream. He stood still beside it, his nostrils flared, his ears cocked. There was a faint sound of splashing ahead, beyond a stand of trees.
Following the course of the stream through the trees, the stallion came upon a small pool. His eyes widened as he finally beheld what the signs in the wind had told him were there. It was four mares. Three were splashing about and playing in the water along the streambed. And grazing on the bank of the pool was the magnificent albino beauty he had first seen at the waterfall. She was big, lean but muscular, with a long, arched neck. Her head was small, her eyes large and wide-set. The Black stood silent and watched as the breeze riffled her high-set tail and the snow-white mane fringing her slender neck.
The albino sensed him well before the other mares. She suddenly became alert and raised her head a notch. Then she froze, blades of grass still stuck between her lips, her thick forelock falling down to her eyebrows. In the pool, the other mares were still unaware of the stallion’s presence downwind. The albino stared straight at the Black, but she did not cry out or make any effort to warn her sisters of the stallion’s arrival.
The Black announced himself with a loud snort. The mares in the pool stopped their playing and turned to him. He remained still and watched them, dazzled by their extreme loveliness. The band of mares looked back at him, then at each other in amazement at the sudden appearance of the stranger. With frightened cries, the three ran from the pool into the woods, but the albino remained.
The stallion waited, but she did not make a move to follow the others. She was plainly unafraid of the Black. Her tail swished angrily as she stared back at this unwelcome intruder who had spoiled her afternoon.
The Black stayed where he was. He knew that in the wild, where there was a band of mares, there would also be a stallion nearby. Moments later, the band returned, but this time they were led by a young stallion with a pale gray coat.
The Black whistled a warning and waited for the inevitable. He felt no fear. His body began to tremble in anticipation of the battle that was to come. It was not his first, and he knew what to expect. His courage and cunning would see him through this fight as they had many times before.
The young gray stallion screamed his challenge, throwing his head and tossing his mane. Then he broke into a run and charged to the pool, making a show of his speed and strength. The Black watched him, content to let the other stallion make the first move. The gray shrilled again, yet there was something uncertain in the sound of his cries. His long-limbed stride fell unsteady. The anxious gray broke his charge, slamming to a stop beside the mare on the far side of the stream leading to the pool. His red-rimmed eyes flashed and bulged in their sockets as he glared at the black stranger silently waiting for him.
All at once, the gray turned his attention to the albino mare, warning her of their danger with squeals and snorts. When she did not heed his commands, he swung his hindquarters around, lashing the air with his hooves. She sidestepped the blow, then with a savage cry, lifted her forefeet to trample the ground between them.
The enraged gray stallion whirled toward the Black and stood battle ready, his nostrils flared, his ears pinned against his head. There was no turning back for him now. Behind him, the band of mares clustered together for protection, watching and waiting for the fight to come.
The gray rocked back on his haunches and sprang forward. This time he leaped over the stream and made a headlong charge at the invader to his realm. The Black stepped forward to meet him, his fury mounting as he rose up on his hind legs, lashing the air with his hooves, then bringing them crashing to the ground. The lead shank dangling from his halter whipped snakelike around his head.
The two horses faced off for a brief moment, and the mountain air rang with their war cri
es. Then the young gray bravely reared and lunged at the larger, older stallion, his teeth seeking the Black’s neck. But the gray was not quick enough, and one of the Black’s forehooves caught him squarely in the shoulder. The blow staggered the young stallion. Moving steadily closer, the giant black horse took the offensive and rose up again, his ears pinned, his mane waving about his fine, small head like a black flag.
There were more squeals and the sounds of hooves battering flesh. Overpowering his attacker with cunning and experience, the black stallion landed blow after blow. And then the fight was decided, over almost as quickly as it started. The gray cried out in defeat and wheeled to get away. The Black chased him, but his intention was not to kill but only to frighten. To kill one so young and inexperienced would prove nothing.
The gray scampered off across the pasture on the far side of the pool, calling for the mares to follow him as he fled. Frightened by the battle, the band had scattered but now regrouped to follow after their defeated leader. All but one.
The black stallion watched the mares run off and knew he could have taken them, but he let them go. He turned his attention to the one who remained. The one who had so captivated his imagination since he first saw her. The whitest of the white would now reckon with the blackest of the black. Surely she would accept him, even praise him in his triumph.
The mare stood in the streambed watching him approach, still unafraid, her ruby-tinted eyes holding him in their powerful gaze. Never had the stallion beheld such a horse. She was beautiful but somehow repulsive at the same time, unimaginably different from the rest of his kind. Almost imperceptible in the scent around her was something frightening, something that spoke of wolf or some other predator.