USK157 accepts invitation from USENC7. Can be on private chat this afternoon. Reach out over regular frequencies. 73.
I scrolled back through my past emails to find the contact I’d used when the shed had originally been built. It took a bit, but I found the email and replied, explaining the storm and that my shed would need repaired. I could purchase materials and pay the help; I just couldn’t put it back up myself. Then, I refreshed my coffee and made sure I had a notepad and pen, because something told me this was going to be a long conversation.
I settled at the radio and tuned to one of the two public Radio Arcanum frequencies. I listened for traffic and when a few minutes went by without conversation, I announced, “USENC7 calling USK157.”
A few moments later a voice answered. “USENC7, this is USK157. I’m so glad to hear from you. That was fast. How are you?”
“Doing well, thanks.” Just speaking with someone who knew about unicorns, at least, reassured me that perhaps I could find an answer. “You?”
“Things are settling down and that’s nice. I couldn’t believe they did an article on me in the Times. I mean, things really aren’t that special around here. Shall we move to a private frequency?”
“Sure. That’d be great. Thanks.”
She gave the information for the private chat area and we moved to the frequency. “So how can I help you?” Olivia asked. “And where are you located?”
“I’m in eastern New Mexico. I don’t have a node like you do. But I do have a pair of unicorns and a pegasus family on the property. They seem to stay here and I am their caretaker, though they don’t let me do anything with them.” I paused, because what I was about to say sounded so crazy, so outlandish that it seemed as if I spoke it aloud someone might call me crazy. “I don’t really have a connection with them, but after the storm last night and I helped the pegasus filly, the stallion asked me for help. The filly is afraid to fly. If she doesn’t take to the air soon she risks losing her wings and possibly death.”
There, the words hung between us, across the miles and through the airwaves, for better or worse. At least I’d spoken them to someone who knew unicorns and wouldn’t think I was making things up.
“Oh.” Her soft gasp filled the space, then faded. “I’ve never seen a pegasus. Do they look like something out of a storybook the way the unicorns do?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “They do.”
“How marvelous. My unicorns do tend to keep to themselves. When something happens they will communicate with me or I’ll start to get feelings, but when things are quiet like they are now, I could go for days, maybe even weeks or months without sensing anything. Does that makes sense?”
“It does.” It also explained why it wasn’t until the shed fell on the filly that they hadn’t tried to reach out. “So is there a way for me to foster this connection? I’ve been reading the book—”
“Oh that! I don’t want to say it’s all wrong, because some of it’s good, but if you’re referring to the care and protection of magical creatures, a lot of it was written by someone who’d never seen anything like a unicorn in his life.” Olivia laughed. “But really to create that connection the most important thing to do is to be open to it. Spend some time outdoors with them if you can. Make yourself available. You’ll start to feel their moods shift.”
“I can do that.” Just talking to Olivia, even though I didn’t know her except from the news article, made me feel so much better. “I have no idea how to teach a pegasus to fly.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to reach out. You Musimagium?”
“I am. There’s an office in Albuquerque. I have no idea who to contact, though.”
“USK157,” Olivia paused to give her identifying information. “Let me reach out. I’ll give you my email.” She gave an email that placed her at the Akron auxiliary. “I can give you my personal one if you want this completely off the radar. All communications are monitored for quality control blah blah blah. But I am the Director of Akron, so very few of my emails get monitored. I just have to let people know that may happen.”
“That’s no problem. I replied to the contact I had in the Albuquerque office about repairing the shed. I have RA and would not be able to rebuild it without help. It’s not like I can call a local contractor with no fences and magical creatures on the property.”
“Oh true. I guess the unicorns shelter in the woods, but you probably don’t have that there. It’s mostly desert, isn’t it?”
“It is,” I confirmed.
“I’d love to come and see it. So yeah. Reach out to me. I’ve got a meeting soon, so I need to go, but I think start by just opening yourself up to what they have to say. That’d be the best way to start. I hope that helps.”
“It does. Thanks. 73. USENC7.”
“73. USK157.”
The line went quiet, and I turned off my radio. I checked my email and sent a quick message off to Olivia to make sure we connected. It’d been too soon to expect a reply from Albuquerque, so I decided to curl up with the book again. I agreed with Oliva’s assessment, and yet, I found value in reading it. If nothing else to learn what I shouldn’t do or what wasn’t working. With the sun high overhead, I didn’t dare go out and spend much time around the pegasus family. That would have to come later when it cooled off, and I’d need to make sure and take my walking stick when I did. I tucked my legs beneath me and began to read. At least for the first time since the storm, I had help, someone to support me, and an idea of what to do. It was a start.
Chapter Three
Shortly after sunrise the next morning, I hiked to where the shed was and found a flat, smooth rock not too far away. I sat, laying my walking stick down next to me, and breathed deeply. Though the air already hung with the promise of heat for the day, the cool desert morning allowed me relative comfort. I’d tossed on a light jacket, ready to be discarded when the weather warmed.
At first my mind wandered. A roadrunner emerged from the scrub, pecking at a few early rising bugs before ducking back to presumably sit on a nest. Hawks soared overhead, riding thermals just beginning to develop. I thought I saw a snake slither across the sandy ground, far enough way not to be a danger or be identified. I focused on my breath. Narrowing my world down to the air sliding past my nostrils as I inhaled, the rising of my chest and filling of my lungs, then holding it ripe with promise, before I slowly exhaled, I brought my thoughts back to me and the equines’ situation.
I refused to count the breaths, afraid that the numbers would take my thoughts away from the animals. The sun rose higher, the sky losing its pink and orange glow. Still, I breathed.
I found a stillness in the rustle of the breeze in my hair that I’d pulled back with an elastic, a few strands escaping to slide across my cheeks and forehead. In the quiet, energy moved. Not the crack of lightning or the sparks that had erupted from my fingers when I’d used the levitation spell to lift the roof of the shed, but rather the quiet hum of the power that ran through the ground and connected all of us. Plans. Animals. Humans. The current of magic that coursed through the vein-like ley lines of the earth and pulsed in my blood and in the notes of the music that I’d once played. Here, I tapped into it, like reaching ground water, and it flowed into me.
I’m here.
I sent the thought on the current of energy not knowing where it would go or who would receive the message. I kept my breathing slow and even, my expectations clear.
Five white shapes appeared on the horizon, instantly recognizable and I closed my eyes for a moment to block out the magnificent sight of them trotting towards me. Plumes of dust rose from their hooves. The pounding of their hoof beats, almost in unison, rumbled through the ground. My heart beat in time with their drumming hooves and I leaned forward as if I could see a better glimpse of them. They stopped, the cloud of dust blowing past me. I coughed and sensed…contrition?
“It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it,” I said, finding it far easier to speak out loud r
ather than try and establish some sort of mental connection.
The heavy feeling lifted.
I paused, not quite sure where to go from here. The leap to having a complete conversation, even one as short as we’d had yesterday, seemed too far. The air warmed. I shrugged off the jacket, tying the sleeves around my waist. The sun’s rays soothed my muscles, relaxing them. I breathed deeply and inhaled the scent of desert warmth and horse.
You called. The voice rumbled in my mind, rusty as if unused.
I laughed a bit, because some would say that about my mind, or at least I would in one of my self-depreciating moments. I realized that my thoughts had wandered, the control I’d felt earlier slipping away. “I wish to connect with you. I don’t know how.”
The stallion snorted. You called. We came.
The question hung between us. Was that not connection? He had a point. “I’ve reached out for help in rebuilding your shelter. I also want to help the filly.” My voice fell silent.
Good. The pegasus stallion nudged the filly. They nickered softly to one another, as if having a conversation of their own. She will fly. You help.
The stallion made it sound so easy, yet I knew it to be anything of the sort. The filly stepped forward until it stopped in front of me, then reached out its muzzle and touched the front of my shirt. It lifted its head to blow a warm breath into my face. I will stay with you. The voice was soft, hesitant, as if the very idea of talking to me might be the scariest thing that it’d ever done. And I realized that to this young pegasus it probably was.
“I will protect you. You’ll be safe.” No matter what else happened, whether she flew or not, clearly her parents were giving her into my care and I refused to let them down.
The stallion nodded, nudged the mare, and they turned around and left.
The unicorn mare stepped forward. My mate and I will help. She will not be alone.
For a moment my back bristled. Of course she wouldn’t be alone. She’d have me. Except, I was a person, on two legs instead of four, who slept in a house and ate food I cooked and she…well, I still didn’t know how they sustained themselves. A deep breath calmed my nerves. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
I grabbed my walking stick and stood. “Let’s get back to the house before the day gets any hotter.” The filly walked beside me, the two unicorns following behind. They moved at my pace, slow, excruciating as we picked our way across the ground. The sun crept toward its height, and I guessed that I’d been sitting out there for a good hour. Warmth filled my face; I’d probably been sunburned.
We made it to the house, our sad little parade, and I walked around back. The covered patio floor was a cement slab. I stood in the shade, appreciating it’s coolness, lured by the siren song of air conditioning from inside the house. “You will need a source of clean water, right? And maybe a fan to keep cool during the heat of the day. You didn’t eat the hay I gave you, so I’m thinking that’s out of the question. What do you eat?”
Thankfully living alone had me giving into a habit of talking to myself. Voicing these questions out loud to a pair of unicorns and a pegasus seemed odd, especially since I expected answers. I’d get used to it.
Water. We manage food. The hay you brought was not well tended. Would have made us sick. Not your fault. You didn’t know. The mare said. Shade is good. Thank you.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Please tell me what you need, but for now I’ll go into town and get a water trough to put here by the house. I should have done that sooner.” A stream ran through the property, ebbing and flowing, but never quite stopping. “I’ll return soon. I promise.” I said the last to the filly who stood just outside the shade looking at me with wide eyes.
~* * *~
My old truck thankfully started and I went into town, returning with a large blower fan and a water trough, along with a new hose, and a few bales of what appeared to be rather nice looking timothy hay. I’d also taken down the names and numbers of a few people who sold hay that I saw on the bulletin board at the local feed store. I also had a bag of what appeared to be really high quality horse treats on the seat next to me. I thought, perhaps, I could use these to bond with the filly and get her to trust me more.
The first step to getting over fear, in my mind, has always been being ready to trust. Though I also knew that trust came hard. Trust in my abilities got me through my first concerts. I still remembered my mentor telling me to rely on them. I’d practiced enough that by that time my repertoire was more muscle memory than knowledge. When I relaxed and trusted, the music flowed. In time, so too did the magic. I felt the filly would have the same thing happen.
I parked in front of my house and managed to wrangle the empty water trough onto the ground. It landed with a large thud that no doubt was heard by the animals in the back yard, though they might have gone out into the property. It took only a moment to get my hand truck from the garage, lay it down sideways and lift the handle, then pull the empty trough onto it. Then, I made a slow, but relatively easy circuit around the house to the back patio. The filly and the unicorns were nowhere in sight.
I set up the water trough just under the roof so they could stand in shade and drink, or remain in the yard. Then, I returned with the box containing the fan. By the time I had it set up next to the house, ready to plug in for the afternoon heat, sweat drenched me. Luckily, I had the hose running to fill the water trough and I splashed the cool water on my face and arms. Instant relief.
Refreshed from the water, I left the hose running and brought the first bale around to the corner of the patio. I set it down, my arms shaking with exertion. I sat on the patio and waited for the trough to finish filling. The work exhilarated me. For the longest time I did nothing more strenuous than walking around on the property. I tried to play the piano, the fine work required too often impossible given the pain in my knuckles. Here, the bigger movements, the lack of fine detail, meant I could do more and feel…well useful. Perhaps working with the filly would help me too.
I smiled at the thought. My doctor had told me to find a hobby, something to get my mind off of all the things I could no longer do. I’d laughed. Scoffed, really. I’d been a concert pianist, trained in some of the highest schools of musical learning, not to mention the academy at Melody. I could have gone there, I suppose, and sought out a teaching position. But how could I have taught when I couldn’t play?
The trough finished filling, and I turned off the water. Deciding to make one, final push, I brought the last bale of hay into the corner of my garage, and then parked the truck inside. The treats went into the house with me, and I put them on the kitchen counter. Midday medication and a small meal helped restore me, but a nap would do the same thing as well, so I went to the couch and lay down with the curtains open to the back yard so I could see the equines if they were there when I awoke.
I arranged myself on the couch, the aches of my exertion starting to seep from my joints into my bones. The medicine would take effect soon and sleep would help. I breathed deeply, happy with the work I’d done and the connection I’d fostered with the unicorns and the filly. When I awoke I’d check my email, see if the equines were here. Maybe if I offered the filly one of the fancy treats I’d purchased, we’d forge an even stronger connection.
Chapter Four
I awakened to the sound of heavy rain on the roof and leaden gray skies out the window. When I glanced outside, I saw the filly and the unicorns beneath the canopy on my patio and a small pile of manure off to one side. Something I hadn’t considered, but would soon need to figure out a system for handling. Not every day was as good as today had been in terms of pain, and I certainly didn’t want it to pile up. Yet another thing I should probably reach out to my contact about. Perhaps Albuquerque had someone who might want an apprenticeship.
It all seemed so horribly boring and mundane, when all I really wanted was to get outside and start working with the filly. However the lashing rain kept me indoors, especially when I opened
the patio door and immediately was met full blast by a gust of wind and water. “Sorry,” I said as I pulled the door closed and scurried for a towel to dry off.
However, my computer and radio were set so I could look out the glass doors so I sat there, checking my email. I heard from my contact that a small contingent would be happy to come help me rebuild; I just had to send word. Since I had the materials list from the first time I’d build the shed, I pulled it up on my computer and made notes of what I’d need to repair the main shed, as well as build a smaller one here. Something told me that even when the work with the filly was done, I wouldn’t be abandoned.
I placed an order to the local lumberyard and they promised to have it delivered within a few days, then I replied to the email and let my contact know. I also received a lovely letter from Olivia telling me more about her unicorns, as well as offering to connect me with someone named Rose who lived in Colorado. I eagerly accepted the invitation.
A community was beginning to form. One that I’d not dare hoped or dreamed for when I’d begun this, and I stared longingly at the piano. Perhaps I’d held myself away from it for too long, afraid of my fingers and the pain that I’d experienced. Not today, for I still hurt from my earlier exertions, but my ears longed to hear the music coming from the hammers hitting the strings, the changes in pitch and tone I could evoke. It might not be a grand piano, or even a baby grand, but it was old, well loved, and kept in tune even though I hadn’t touched it since its purchase and move to my home.
The rain eased. I turned on the radio and tuned to one of the public frequencies. A conversation between a couple of people whose call signs I didn’t recognize about some weather effects on magic kept me entertained while I went through my exercises. By the time I finished the rain had stopped, and I tore open the bag of horse treats and put a few of them in a small plastic bowl to take outside.
The Pegasus Project: A Musimagium Story (The Pegasus Enchantment Book 1) Page 2