All the King's Horses

by Laura C Stevenson

  Cathbad raised his hand again, and the ten trumpeters began to play – not a fanfare this time, but a melody so beautiful that it made you want to laugh and cry at the same time. As they played, Mongan and Manannan marched slowly out of the cave, bearing a black circlet on a green pillow. When they reached the king and Cathbad, all of them turned and walked to the two tall stones. Cathbad covered the ground with a silver cloth, and the king knelt on it. The trumpeters’ melody came to an end, and all the faeries leaned forward, watching.

  Carefully, Cathbad took the black crown from Manannan and Mongan’s pillow and walked towards the king’s stone. Standing in front of the king, he lifted the crown high, and slowly lowered it. As it got closer to the king’s head, the crown grew brighter and brighter, first gold and red and green, then a blur of white. As it touched the king’s head, it blazed so brightly that even the faeries put their hands in front of their faces. When we looked again, it was simply a gold circlet, decorated with rubies and emeralds – but its light wasn’t all gone; it hovered around the king. Slowly, majestically, he stood, and suddenly the air was filled with the music of a harp. The cheer that had started around the amphitheatre died into a wondering murmur.

  ‘What is it?’ I whispered to Epona.

  ‘The Gift of the Otherworld,’ she whispered back. ‘It has been withheld from our kings for so long, only the very oldest of Us can remember its being given. But now it is offered. The king may have his heart’s desire – the thing he has wanted most, all his life.’

  Colin and I exchanged looks; she must have known what we were thinking, because she smiled sadly. ‘What he asks for must be tangible. There are some things that even the Otherworld cannot give.’

  I pursed my lips and looked slowly around the amphitheatre at the thousands of faces, all shapes and sizes, still, watching – waiting for the king to state his heart’s desire. None of them was the face I wanted most to see.

  Suddenly, all those faces changed, and I looked towards the stones just in time to see the king say something to Cathbad and Manannan. The two faeries looked at each other as if they’d been turned to stones themselves, and Mongan, who’d been standing by them, began to argue – you could tell by the way his hands moved. The king said nothing; he just waited. We strained our ears so hard they hummed, and everyone else – even the Sidhe – leaned forward, trying to hear. Finally, Manannan nodded slowly, and Cathbad made some announcement in the faerie language. A ripple of excitement went all the way around the amphitheatre. Next to me, Epona murmured, ‘Impossible.’

  ‘What is it? What is it?’ whispered Colin.

  ‘The king has asked to ride Enbharr – which no-one but Manannan, faery or mortal, has ever dared to do alone. What’s more, as you’ve seen, today, Enbharr is a ruler himself. Nobody – even Manannan – could possibly lead him away from his herd, so he will have to be brought here by the forces of the Otherworld itself. And those forces strip the training from even the most obedient of horses.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Colin, his eyes as round as saucers. ‘Does the king know that?’

  She was about to answer when the ground began to shake, and the horses in the circle of Sidhe began to stamp and sidle restlessly. Suddenly, the ground in front of the king and the others burst open, and Enbharr leapt out of it, his mane flying and his ears flat back. The ground rumbled shut behind him, and he stood still for a moment, staring at the crowd; then, whirling around to bolt, he saw the faeries grouped around the king. He stopped, his head snaking back and forth, and all of them – even Manannan – backed towards the stones. All of them except the king. He stepped forward, and in the silence, I could hear the murmur of his voice.

  Enbharr reared high into the air, striking out, and the king stopped, but his voice went on and on, and eventually, I saw one of Enbharr’s ears flick forward. Coming down with a crash, he pranced away, but after a few feet, he turned. Stood. Trembled. Listened. The king started forward, still talking. Enbharr pawed the ground, sending great chunks of turf flying out behind him, but he didn’t move away. The king came a little closer, reaching out a hand. Enbharr stopped pawing, but he shrank away from the hand as much as he could without actually moving. The king took one more step, and laid his hand on his neck. I glanced quickly at Manannan; he was standing in front of the stones like a statue, his arms crossed in front of him.

  The king stroked Enbharr’s neck, straightening his mane and talking. Gradually, Enbharr lowered his head, which was what everybody knew the king was waiting for. He nodded, stroked Enbharr’s beautiful grey face, rubbed him behind the ears – then vaulted onto his back. The horse’s head flew up, and he half-reared.

  ‘Oh boy,’ murmured Colin. ‘A rodeo.’

  But there wasn’t a rodeo. The king sat perfectly still, and when Enbharr came down, he started to walk forward. It wasn’t much of a walk – he moved each foot as if he expected the ground to give away under him – but when I glanced at Epona, she was shaking her head in wonder. After ten steps, Enbharr halted. Walked again. Halted. Turned. Walked … Then his head came down, his nose came in, and he and the king trotted once around the amphitheatre, each step perfectly spaced.

  When they’d gone around once, the king turned Enbharr to the two stones and halted between them, perfectly square, and perfectly still. The faeries began to applaud, but Enbharr looked around uneasily, and the king held up a hand and spoke. Manannan smiled and signalled the trumpeters. Their instruments flashed in the sunlight as they lifted them to their lips, and they began to play. And the king and Enbharr began to dance.

  It was dressage … except it wasn’t. With dressage, even the best horses dance only because their riders have spent hours and hours teaching them how to do it, so though it’s beautiful, you always end up having to admire the rider, not the horse. But here, Enbharr moved so joyfully that it seemed he was making up the dance; his neck arched, and his ears shot forward, and he trotted perfectly in time to the music. As he passed the cave, his strides grew slower and higher, until he was trotting in place, his neck perfectly arched, his tail swinging like a dancer’s skirt with the movement of his hind quarters. Then the king signalled to the chief trumpeter, and the music changed to a kind of jig. Enbharr struck off at a canter, and they did circles and figures of eight and serpentines, wonderfully collected but perfectly free, changing leads every ten strides, then every five, then every three – and at last, as they reached the far side of the amphitheatre, every stride. The Sidhe began to clap, and this time, it didn’t bother Enbharr at all; he danced back to the centre of the ring and halted between the standing stones.

  The music stopped – at least, the trumpets stopped. But as the king and Enbharr stood still, the light from the hero’s crown encircled them, and when it reached the dark, terrible stones, there was a new sound … not music exactly, or a voice, or a wind, but sort of a combination of all three. It grew and grew, until it filled the amphitheatre, then died away into the quietest silence I had ever heard. The king bowed his head, laying his hand on Enbharr’s neck in a kind of benediction.

  Out of the silence came Manannan’s voice. ‘Bravo!’ And as if it was a signal, the faeries – even the Sidhe – went wild, laughing and cheering and singing all at once, while the faery animals danced weird dances around the top of the amphitheatre and the Sidhe horses capered on the field. I leaned towards Epona as soon as I had my horse more or less under control. ‘What was it?’ I shouted over the noise.

  ‘It was the stones,’ she shouted back. ‘The land of Faerie paying tribute to its king.’

  I looked at Colin, but he was still busy with his horse, so I looked back at the king. He had just dismounted. Manannan strode forward to congratulate him, but the king had turned to Enbharr, stroking him. Something about the way he did it seemed almost familiar … But when he turned around to greet Manannan, he held out his right hand, and it was whole. I swallowed, looked away – and realized Epona was watching me. But all she said was, ‘I think Manannan and Mongan are
going to walk out; that means you must ride their horses in the procession, and the order is important. You must stay next to me; your brother will ride next to Boand.’ She pointed to the faery in the blue cloak just as the trumpeters blew another fanfare and marched to each side of the road that led out of the amphitheatre.

  The king turned towards them, one hand still on Enbharr’s neck. I saw him nod at Manannan, and the two of them walked between the trumpeters, one on each side of the great grey horse. Behind them came Mongan; then two by two, the Sidhe in the circle turned their horses and followed. Because of where we’d been standing, we went out last; when we reached the top of the amphitheatre, I looked back. The road we’d been riding on had disappeared, and the last of the faeries who had been sitting in the sides of the amphitheatre were scrambling over its far sides, looking uneasily over their shoulders.

  The procession of Sidhe moved down to the lake. At the bottom of the hill, the Sidhe who had left first were crowded around the king and Enbharr, talking and laughing. The king was still wearing the hero’s crown, but it was obviously in his way; when we were still fairly high up the hill, he reached up, took it off, and tucked it under his arm in a friendly sort of way, as if it had been a riding helmet … Riding helmet. I stopped my horse and stared, feeling the way I had when he’d patted Enbharr. Only this time, I was sure.

  Epona touched my arm. ‘We can’t stop here; the hill … oh. You’ve seen, then.’

  I bobbed my head, but I couldn’t say anything because I’d started to cry. She moved the brown mare close to my horse and put her arm around me. ‘I was afraid you would.’

  ‘Afraid?’ I sobbed. ‘I think it’s the most wonderful thing that ever happened.’

  She frowned and started to say something, but I shook myself away and eased my horse up next to Colin’s. ‘Colin,’ I said.

  ‘Hey, come on,’ he said. ‘Stay in … Geez, what is it?’

  ‘Look at the king. Forget the right arm. Forget the long hair. Look at the way he’s carrying the crown.’

  ‘Yeah. It’s just the way Grandpa used to …’ He stopped and stared. ‘Oh,’ he whispered. Boand looked at him the way Epona had looked at me; then she stopped her mare so Colin and I could ride on together. When we got to the bottom of the hill, Epona spoke. Her voice was very soft, but instantly, the crowd made room for us to ride towards the Sidhe closest to the king. He had turned towards the palace, talking to Manannan. But as we halted a few feet behind him, all the Sidhe suddenly became quiet, and he turned around to see what it was.

  ‘Grandpa,’ I said. ‘Grandpa.’

  THE KING TOOK a step back, staring at us as if he couldn’t believe we were real. Then suddenly his whole face lit up, and he shoved the crown into Manannan’s hands. ‘Sarah! Colin!’ he said, striding towards us with his arms open. In a second, he’d put one arm around each of us and scooped us off the horses, the way he had when we’d been little, and we were hugging him and laughing and crying all at the same time.

  Finally, he put us down, stood us in front of him, and looked us over, the way he had at the beginning of every summer. ‘It’s longer leathers you’ll be needing soon,’ he said, smiling at Colin. Then he looked at me; and instead of squirming, the way I’d done before, I looked back at him, wondering. He was Grandpa, all right; there was no doubting that, but I could see why it had taken us so long to recognize him. Part of it was his whole arm, which made him stand and move a little differently than the Grandpa I remembered. But it was his face and eyes that were really different. At first, I thought maybe they’d been blank for so long I’d forgotten what they’d been like; but the more I looked, the more I realized that wasn’t so. His face was younger, but his eyes kept it from looking like a young man’s face. Behind the green-grey they’d always been, they were like faery eyes, wise and deep and without time … when they met mine, I saw something in them that even Manannan’s eyes seemed not to have. Maybe it was just that he was looking at me a little sadly.

  ‘Has it been so long I’ve been away, then?’ he said, shaking his head.

  ‘No, no,’ I said hurriedly. ‘It’s just the haircut and the contacts. They were Grandmother Madison’s ideas, and you know how she is! I’m the same old me – right, Colin?’

  ‘Sure you are,’ he said. ‘Except …’

  ‘Oh, come on!’

  ‘There’s your proof,’ he said, grinning at Grandpa. ‘Same old Sarah – see?’

  ‘Same old Colin, too,’ he said, laughing. And I felt better, because the laugh got rid of the thing in his eyes that had puzzled me. He put a hand on each of our shoulders and looked at Epona. ‘The horses are cool, but it’s a long day they’ve had. Will they stand if we go down to the stones there and talk?’

  Cathbad glanced at the sun and muttered something in the faerie language, but Epona smiled. ‘I think we can ask them to stand for a few minutes.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Grandpa, bowing slightly. ‘And join us, if you will.’ He looked at Manannan and Mongan. ‘You too, my lords.’

  I saw that Colin, like me, would rather have been alone with Grandpa. But we’d never argued with Grandpa, even before he’d been a king; and besides, the air felt the way it does when something is up. So we took his hands, and the six of us walked to the edge of the lake.

  When we got there, Grandpa sat down on a long, flat rock and drew us near him. Then, looking at the faeries over his shoulder, he motioned them in front of him – graciously, but as if he expected them to obey him the way the stable boys had at the Smithes’. And they did. Even Manannan. Colin and I stared at each other.

  ‘Sure and I have no fear that anybody in Faerie would dare to choose me as king if they’d harmed my flesh and blood,’ he said, quietly, but in a voice that would have made me shake if he’d been talking to me. ‘Still, I ask – how do these children happen to be here?’

  Colin squirmed as the three faeries looked at each other silently. ‘It’s OK, Grandpa – really!’ he blurted. ‘They haven’t hurt us at all! We’re under Pro—’

  ‘Let Them tell Their own story, Colin,’ said Grandpa sharply. ‘Lord Mongan?’

  ‘It’s a story I’d rather not tell, that’s for sure,’ said Mongan, with a wry smile. ‘But since I must – well, as Your Highness knows, even the greatest hero can’t be made king of the faeries until he’s in the moment between life and death. That poses Us a serious problem.’

  ‘You mean,’ said Colin, ‘if You’re a split second late getting to him … ?’

  ‘We lose him,’ said Mongan, shaking his head. ‘It happened many a time in the Old Days; Heroes died quickly on the field of honour. That was why We were so happy when you moved into the house Mr Ryan built in Our honour between his fine railroad tracks and the Ring. We could keep an eye on you easily – providing, of course, that your family could be trusted not to meddle with Our powers. And on the Feast of Samhain, these little ones showed Us that they could be trusted, for they gave oatmeal to a faerie.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Grandpa, and he looked at us so proudly I couldn’t stand it.

  ‘We didn’t know that’s what we were doing,’ I said. ‘We thought we were just helping the warehouse people – until later, anyway, when Colin did research.’ I looked at the faeries. ‘Would you really have driven us out of the house if we hadn’t? Even with Grandpa there?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Epona. ‘Even though We had no assurance that he would become our king until the Seer’s dream assured us that he would, We felt that the risk of losing him was less than that of losing Faerie. Mortals who do not know the ways of Faerie do it great damage. Think of the cloverleaf, the warehouses – even of Mr Ryan’s house itself, now. We can never risk letting those who cannot think beyond their own welfare find the Ways into the Otherworld.’

  Her eyes looked deeply into mine, and as I nodded, I saw, in kind of a shade behind her, an old woman with a thousand wrinkles and brown stumps of teeth, wearing a tattered coat from the bottom of a Salvation Army box. ‘Jenny �
� ?’ I whispered.

  She nodded. ‘Yes, Jenny. And your charity to me preserved you from great danger later that evening when you followed your grandfather into the Ring to bring him home.’

  Grandpa gasped and tightened his arms around us. ‘You stepped into a faerie ring on the Feast of Samhain? Dear God, to think that you were in danger like that, and I …’

  ‘It should never have happened,’ said Manannan, a little shortly. ‘We had sent minions to guard all the Ways to the Otherworld, as we always do at Samhain. Unfortunately, the minions at the Ring recognized Your Highness as you wandered towards it in the fog, and led you into it, foolishly thinking they could earn a great reward by bringing you directly to Us before the time had come. They could not, of course; but they were so preoccupied with the effort, they did not see the children until they had stepped into the Ring.’

  Grandpa shook his head. ‘But if the children had spoken to the minions—’

  ‘– Little would have happened,’ said Manannan. ‘Their charity, as Epona says, would have protected them from blindness or abduction, though not from terror.’

  Terror. I thought of the fog and the way the minions’ eyes had glowed. If we’d spoken to them, what would they have done?