by Steve Farley
The Black slowed to stop and then stepped forward to meet her. She whinnied and tossed her head, as if to welcome him. Then, like a great white bird that had been driven from its perch, the mare spun around and bounded away. For a moment it looked as if she might turn back, but then she kept going. The stallion broke after her, but his hesitation had cost him. It would have been easy to catch her in the open, but the stallion knew that once she reached the trees, it would be different. This was her turf, not his. There among the unknown trails of this strange mountain forest, he would be at a disadvantage.
The mare reached the trees and slipped into the shadows. The Black raced in behind her. He had to slow almost to a stop to let his eyes adjust to the dark forest again. Even as he waited, the sound of the mare’s hooves ahead told him where to go. Soon he was plunging through the mottled tunnel as fast as he dared.
He broke into a clearing again and searched for some sign of the mare. It was as if she had vanished completely. He frantically scented the wind for some hint as to where she had gone. Her scent was there, but his nostrils caught fresh smells, too, and his pricked ears could hear the sounds of voices, the sounds of people. The wind filled his nostrils again, and then, very clearly, he scented one person in particular, his partner, the boy who was his friend. With a fierce snort, he wheeled around to follow the trail upwind.
Acropolis
It was the sound of his horse’s cry that brought Alec Ramsay back to consciousness. He lay on the muddy ground, trying to remember where he was and how he got there. Then came the whistle again, loud and clear, a sound unlike any other—the war cry of a stallion. It was the Black. Pulling himself to his feet, Alec followed the sound. The stallion was no more than fifty yards away, not in the water but already up on the riverbank. And he was not alone. A group of men were there, calling back and forth in excited cries and whoops. They wore white robed uniforms and carried pitchforks and spears. They were trying to surround the Black. The men closed in on the stallion like a pack of hungry wolves, threatening him with their weapons.
Who are these men? Alec thought. A hunting party from some mountain tribe? What were they trying to do to his horse?
Alec cried out but could produce only a strangled gag from his water-tortured lungs. And, even though he was only a short distance away, the hooting men did not see him. All their attention was focused on the Black. Desperate to reach his horse, Alec took a step, only to fall as his injured left leg collapsed beneath him. He got up again and hopped ahead on his good leg. Each painful bounce shot an arrow of pain through his injured left ankle.
Calling out in words of some language Alec did not recognize, the robed men were attempting to maneuver the Black back against the stream. They formed a semicircle in front of the stallion, waving their spears and closing in tighter around him, blocking his escape.
The Black was standing his ground before his tormentors, rearing high, his forelegs striking out into the air. White lather ran in streaks across the glistening black satin of his shoulders. His mouth was open, his teeth bared. Lightning flashed from his eyes.
The men scattered out of the way as the stallion plunged his forelegs to the ground again and again, his body contorted, his eyes filled with hate. Thunder rolled from his hooves with each crash of his pounding legs. Then, with another wild, high-pitched whistle, he reared again.
One man strode forward, braver than the rest. He held a club like a baseball bat. When the stallion’s hooves met the ground, the man lunged closer, fiercely swinging his bat.
With a quick side step, the Black avoided the blow. Reversing direction, he turned on his attacker. The man cried out as the stallion stuck him on the shoulder, butting him to the ground. The other men recoiled and then quickly regrouped. Brave in their anger now, they moved in to protect their fallen comrade, pushing the Black back against the stream. The stallion was trapped, magnificent in his savage fury, but also alone and frustrated.
Alec found his voice at last and called out, but the hunters were so caught up in the frenzy of their battle with the Black that they still didn’t hear him. Or perhaps they did hear him but were simply ignoring him. Clearly the Black was giving them plenty to think about. Alec hobbled closer as one of the hunters pulled his wounded friend back.
Another hunter raised his spear, and at the same instant that Alec shouted “No,” a cry cut through the air, an urgent voice calling out one of the few Greek words Alec actually understood.
“Oh-hee! No!”
It was a young woman’s voice, and it startled all of them. The men turned in the direction of the shouts, and Alec saw the water-soaked figure of Xeena rush in to step between them and the Black.
More shouts filled the air as the Black noticed his friend. The men could not stop the Black as he broke away and ran to Alec.
Alec raised his arms to the stallion as his horse came to him. With the touch of his horse, Alec felt new strength pulse through his body. He rubbed his face against the wet warmth of the dark coat. The shaking and trembling of his body stopped.
They may not be safe, Alec thought, but they were together and alive.
Between the stallion and the sudden presence of the two waterlogged strangers, the men in the hunting party seemed unsure of what to do. One roared madly, another laughed, and yet another raised his spear and jabbed at the sky. Then, as one, they regrouped and turned their attention to the Black and the young man.
Xeena’s voice rose louder. She was not pleading now. Alec did not understand the words, but the meaning was clear: stay away!
The men stopped. But then one stepped forward to confront the girl. Another shouted angrily to Alec in Greek, then in German and finally in English. “Papers!” he demanded.
The Black snorted and pulled back as the men gathered in front of them. Alec held on to the stallion’s halter, feeling better for the first time in hours. After what had happened inside the mountain, this was nothing. Certainly the men would help them once they knew what he, Xeena and the Black had just been through. Up close, Alec saw that they all looked to be no more than teenagers. Their spears and white togas made him think of boys dressing up for a school play. But they weren’t acting like boys. They were acting like police, and quite unfriendly police at that.
“American,” Alec said, raising his hands. “Everything okay. No problemo.”
The closest young man’s face contorted with disdain at the sound of Alec’s casual American voice. “Papers!” he repeated. It was an absurd request, considering the circumstances, like pulling a shipwrecked sailor from the sea and asking him for ID before giving him a cup of water to drink.
Alec patted the pockets of his soggy jeans and shrugged. “Sorry,” he said coolly. “I must have left them in my other bathing suit.” He wasn’t used to being ordered about by a guy wearing a toga. He ignored the man and turned to Xeena. “Are you okay?”
She nodded.
“Tell these psychos that we need help, would you?”
“Papers!” the man barked again, shaking his spear for effect.
Alec was about to tell the man what he could do with his papers when Xeena said something, and the man turned to glare at her, then pointed his spear off to the right toward the woods.
“Just do what they say, Alec,” she said. “They must be the security force for the Acracia resort. They want us to come with them.”
Two men walked in front of Xeena, Alec and the Black while the rest took up positions behind. The guards ushered Alec and Xeena to the head of a path leading into the forest. Alec kept a short hold on the Black’s lead shank. The stallion had scratches and scrapes along his right side, but otherwise he seemed to have survived their ordeal in the underground river without serious injury. Of course, Alec would not know for certain until he had a chance to stop and examine his horse, and the guards didn’t seem likely to agree to that. Alec could see they were still frightened of the Black, and they were dangerous in their fear. The one who had been knocked to the ground s
taggered along at the rear of the procession, his friends now leaving him to fend for himself.
The guards hurried them up the path, goading them along as if they were criminals. Alec limped ahead, shivering with cold. He was angry about the way they were being treated but smart enough to know that arguing was pointless. Sooner or later they would have to report to someone in authority. When they did, Alec planned on giving whoever it was an earful.
Xeena picked up a stick and handed it to Alec to use as a crutch. Alec started to say something, but she put a finger to her lips and made a sign to him to be quiet. Alec tried to read her expression. Somehow he wanted to laugh, just to break the tension. After all they’d just been through inside the mountain, now they were being hustled along by these spear-happy juvenile delinquents to who knew where? Alec shook his head. Whatever happened, he thought, at least he and the Black were on dry land.
Xeena marched along stoically beside him, her face a mask. What had happened to her in the underground river? Alec wondered. There would be time to talk about it later.
The men led them on, and soon the path opened up to a clearing bordered on one side by a stream and by woods on the other. This stream was narrower and slower moving than the one that had swept them through the mountain. The water was darker, too, almost black, even in the sunlight. Across the stream and beyond a narrow strip of carefully tended grass was a thirty-foot-high stone wall. The wall ran along in a straight line for what seemed a hundred yards or more in either direction before vanishing back into the forest shadows. Alec saw movement atop the wall, someone waving them all toward a heavy wooden gate. Above and beyond the walls were the tops of towers and temples. Some of the high roofs were curved like quarter moons.
What sort of place was this? Alec thought. If this was Acracia, it was supposed to be some sort of upscale resort. But the young men surrounding him didn’t look like security guards to Alec. And why all the security, anyway? he wondered. Why the hostility? Didn’t anyone see they were hurt and needed help?
The security guards drove Alec, Xeena and the Black forward. There was a small cabin next to the gate, a sentry post. A helmeted guard emerged, dressed in the same white toga-type costume as the others. He looked at them with suspicion. Suddenly everyone began speaking at once.
Again words flew back and forth between Xeena and the guards. Alec wished he knew more than half a dozen words of Greek; at least, he thought Greek was what they were speaking. Perhaps it was Bulgarian or Russian, but whatever it was, Xeena seemed to be holding her own in the conversation, her tone respectful but determined.
All at once, there was the sound of a horn trumpeting through the air. The guards instantly stopped their shouting. Standing at attention, they cast their eyes straight ahead. The sound from the horn faded, and a commanding voice called down from atop the ramparts. Alec looked to where the voice was coming from but couldn’t see a thing.
Some guards remained at attention while three others ran to push open the heavy wooden doors. Here we go, Alec thought. At last they’d reached someone in charge. The guards backed off and gestured for them to pass through the gate.
The Black stood still, his head held high, his eyes peering beyond the giant, swinging doors, ready and alert for whatever might come. The stallion swished his tail lightly. Alec waited, knowing that his own frail, human senses could never match those of his horse. If there was danger ahead, the Black would be the first to warn them of it. Alec wondered what time it was. By the position of the sun overhead, he could tell they were already well into the afternoon.
Beyond the open gate were voices, but Alec could see no one. They started over a small wooden bridge, crossing above the stream and the embankment that edged the wall’s foundation stones. The dark entrance through the gate yawned at them as they cautiously made their way past the towering wooden doors. The passageway led through thick stone blocks for at least twenty feet. Could these walls really be that thick? Alec wondered.
The passageway opened onto a path of hard-packed red dirt. Alec looked around him. At first he thought the place was a fortress, or perhaps a castle with a moat around it, the sort of place a medieval king might live in. But now he saw that the interior was much larger, a complete city surrounded by walls.
The dirt path ended at a stone block building. Atop the windowless structure was a balcony and beyond that a distant line of columns. A man wearing a sleeveless white tunic was descending steps from the balcony. A blue cloak was draped over his shoulder.
The man came toward them and called out in words Alec didn’t understand. He was about Alec’s size and young-looking, but his face was framed by a wispy beard. His hair was cut short, unlike the longer-haired security force from the forest and the helmeted guards at the gate.
Xeena returned the greeting, and they spoke a moment. The man kept his eyes fixed on the Black. The stallion threw back his head, and Alec spoke to him and held him still.
“What’s he saying?” Alec asked Xeena.
“He says we must come in and that we are lucky to have found our way here.”
Alec managed a laugh, gesturing to the troop of guards who had captured them. “I’d say we didn’t have much choice in that.”
The young man gave a small bow and spoke to Xeena, though clearly his words were meant for Alec as well. Xeena listened and then nodded. “He says we should follow him. He says we are just in time for dinner.”
“Dinner?” Alec said. “Tell him we need a telephone.”
Xeena relayed Alec’s words, and the young man replied with a smile and gestured farther up the path. “He says he apologizes for the way we have been treated and that we should get some dry clothes and a moment’s rest.”
The robed man bowed again and then started up a path leading away from the balcony steps. Alec didn’t have the energy to argue, even if he’d known what language to do it in. Alec, Xeena and the Black followed a path up into the walled city.
They came to a courtyard in front of what looked like a replica of a classic Greek temple, complete with high Ionic columns that rose to support a great gabled roof of carved stone. In the center of the courtyard was a small marble altar. A stone figure rose up behind the altar, a life-size statue of a rearing white horse.
It was an awesome sight, but Alec could hardly appreciate it. He staggered ahead, leaning on his tree-branch crutch for support with one hand and holding tight to the Black’s lead with the other. Pain shot through his leg as he tried to keep up with his horse. He would have liked to mount up, just to take the pressure off his ankle, but he didn’t dare risk it until he was certain the stallion was sound enough to handle his weight. After all they’d just been through, it seemed a miracle that any of them were still standing at all.
They crossed the courtyard, and their guide led them to a narrow ramp that ran up to the temple, a wide, empty pavilion with a stone floor and high ceiling supported by rows of columns. Passing outside again, they came to a plaza lush with grass and flowering trees.
Under one of the trees, they surprised three girls playing dominos around a stone table. All were wearing white tunics much like their guide’s outfit. The girls had been laughing and talking but became quiet and stared as the strangers passed by. The guide greeted them, and the girls politely answered, then returned their attention to their game.
Alec looked around and was surprised to see so few people outside. The buildings bordering the plaza seemed almost empty, though he thought he could see figures moving within the shadows of the doors. But no one stood in their doorways or looked out their windows.
The Black nudged Alec’s shoulder as their guide led them to a garden at the far end of the plaza. In the center of the garden, among the flowers and sculpted trees, was a circular fountain of marble and rough stone. On an island pedestal inside the fountain stood another statue of a rearing white horse, its forelegs striking out into the air. Like the statue in the gateway entrance, its neck was long and slender and arched to a small, re
fined head.
Someone was waiting for them beside the fountain, a short, bald man with a long, wispy beard. Despite the bald head and beard, he looked to be no more than thirty years old with a young face and sharp, deep-set eyes so bright and animal-like they were almost inhuman. He spoke to them in English with a heavy German accent.
“Welcome to the acropolis of Acracia and the palace of Governor Medio, a refuge from the modern world,” the man said. “We have been expecting you, young Alex.”
“Expecting me?” Alec said. “How’s that? And … how did you know my name?”
“Could it be any other?” The man smiled and nodded knowingly, as if he and Alec shared some dark secret.
“Actually it’s Alec, not Alex, but how …”
“Of course it is,” he said, cutting off Alec’s words. “Myself, I go by the name Spiro. There are few English speakers here, so the governor asked me to carry his blessings and bid you welcome. Acracia is honored to have you, young lord. Her cups are brimming over. May I offer you a drink?” He dipped a large clay cup into the water of the pool and held it out to Alec. “Drink deeply, and of your own free will,” he said.
It was an almost ceremonial gesture. Even the cup seemed more like a chalice than a cup. It was hand-painted pottery decorated with horses, moons and stars.
Alec didn’t want to be rude, so he accepted the cup and drank. The water tasted cool and clean, incredibly fresh. A tingling sensation warmed his insides. The man then refilled the cup and passed it to Xeena, who glanced at Alec and then drank from the cup as well. The Black sniffed at the water in the pool at the base of the fountain. He snorted, bobbed his head and back-stepped a few paces. “Easy boy,” Alec said.
“What magnificence,” Spiro exclaimed. “Is he of the red road or the white road?”
“Road?” Alec asked.
“Yes, by what path did he bring you here, the red or the white?”
Alec didn’t know what to make of that question. He was cold and wet and had had just about enough of these toga-wearing fools for one afternoon.