by Sharon Hinck
The baby’s plaintive cry rose from the cottage, and Jalla hurried inside. In spite of my worries about the race, I smiled. The infant would be cared for here—as long as Jalla stayed away from the next convenings. It was a wonder any child survived its parents’ indifference. An instinct must draw adults to take over the feeding and shelter of at least some children after each trip to the lake, or none would survive. But to have the little ones shifting from home to home with no faithful parents? My smile drooped. Maker, these people need to know Your love.
A bird chirruped from a nest in a nearby willow, and a wave rolled underneath. The people of this world hadn’t seen the ocean, but they could feel its effects each day. The angle of the sun changed as the island turned. The earth rocked as currents shifted. Tree homes swayed, and the tang of sweet, citrus sea air carried from beyond the barrier vines. Even their art carried images of waves and stenella. Their ancestors must have known the sea. How strange that no one believed me when I attempted to explain the ocean. Just as my world saw evidence of the Maker all around, but some still chose not to see.
I stroked Windrider’s forehead. “Have you raced before? Or do you usually carry loads to other villages? We have to win. Today is your day to be fully the pony you were meant to be.”
“Let’s get this over with. I’ve signed up for another sword combat tonight. After I win this wager, I want to return in time.” Brantley’s voice was as rough as the scuffed leather of his vest. He couldn’t spare a “Good morning?”
I bit back a sarcastic reply. His curls were slicked back and still damp. His trousers had been brushed clean, and he no longer wore the makeshift bandage on his scratched palm. He could have at least returned my scarf. “I’m ready. I’ve been ready.”
His lopsided grin didn’t charm me today. “Had to give Morra enough lead time,” he said. “Do you accept him as our official judge?”
“And if I don’t?”
“This wager was your idea. I have better things to be doing. So, if you’d rather concede—”
“Mount up.” I waved to the stodgy gelding.
He frowned, walked around it a few times, but then shrugged and hefted himself into the saddle without using the stirrups. His legs dangled close to the ground. If he tried to use the stirrups, his knees would be forced up to his chin. And Brantley didn’t bother dismounting to adjust the length. I hid a grin. Jalla was giving me every advantage she could think of.
“How long ago did Morra start out?” he asked.
I squinted at the position of the subsun, barely peeking above the tree line. “Just after primary sunrise. He’s had a lengthy head start.” I placed my good foot into a stirrup and settled onto Windrider, shifting my shoulder bag to hang behind me.
“See you at the lake.” With that taunt, Brantley kicked his heels and urged his pony into a full-out run.
I lifted my reins and squeezed my thighs, leaning forward to signal Windrider. She trotted to the trailhead, then surged into a smooth canter. My fear tempted me to coax her into a harder pace immediately. But if Windrider was anything like a dancer, she would preserve her stamina better if we didn’t spend all her energy in the first mile.
Even with occasional shifts when the path rode up and down from a wave beneath the island, my pony’s gait was smooth as a windless sea. I kept her at the relaxed canter, watching the path unfold before us. Trees and fields blurred past, and a sheen formed on her neck, but her ears stayed forward and eager, and her hooves moved with the lightness of a novitiate in the first class of the day.
I kept my weight forward, my thighs cramping with the effort to become one with her and make her journey easier. Straining ahead, I still didn’t see Brantley, although occasional hoof marks marred the boggy sections of the path.
Had he gotten so far ahead that I’d never catch up? After an hour, my physical strength was failing, even though Windrider was doing the true work. I lurched sideways, my bad ankle no longer supporting equal weight in its stirrup. Gritting against the pain, I pushed my heel down, regaining my center.
She stumbled at my awkward shift but didn’t slow. I bent over her neck. “Thank you, brave creature.”
Her ears pricked and swiveled, and her gliding gait increased a fraction.
The trail burst from a section of forest to a broad meadow. Finally, I caught a glimpse of Brantley. My heart sank. He was so far ahead. This was hopeless. But I had to keep riding.
Where the field of yellow grains transitioned to the pale green of daygrass, a stone well stood out against the softer colors. Jalla had told me to let Windrider rest there.
Brantley reached the well and looked over his shoulder. I drew closer. White foam flecked his pony’s mouth, its eyes wide with strain. After his brief glance, Brantley turned forward and urged his mount onward. His pony ought to be exhausted by the clumsy and breakneck pace, but they ate up ground and disappeared into the trees.
When we neared the well, I reined in Windrider to a soft trot, and then to a walk. Jalla knew this route, and she knew her ponies. I slid off and walked Windrider in loops around the well, letting both of our heart rates slow. Then I pulled up a half bucket of water, drank a few sips, and offered it to her. She drank a small amount, then nuzzled my pack.
I laughed. “When we reach the lake,” I promised. Jalla hadn’t specified how long to rest, and my bones itched to keep moving. But I took the time to check the pony’s hocks and fetlocks. No swelling. No tenderness. Her bright eyes proclaimed that she was enjoying this race. I tightened the girth and remounted.
We left the well and sprang into a gallop. I was tempted to give Windrider her head and let her tear along at full speed, but we were only halfway to the lake. There were many miles ahead. “Shh. Easy now. Save a little for the end.”
She settled back into her canter. Even moderating her gait, we still soon caught another sighting of Brantley. He jostled side to side as his pony’s hooves dug into the turf. I pressed my lips together. Brantley showed none of the grace that was so evident when he rode Navar. Yet they stayed far ahead with no sign of slowing.
He would surely win. How close was the lake? I didn’t recognize any landmarks, so I couldn’t gauge our progress. But Windrider knew it was time to sprint. She strained against the bit, and her strides stretched as far as the canter would allow. I’d invested every ounce of self-control to pace our pursuit. Now it was time to fly.
“Haw!” I tapped my heels against her flanks. “Run free!”
Windrider almost unseated me as she bounded into a gallop. My spine jolted back, but I quickly tightened my core muscles and leaned forward into the exhilarating pace.
We gained on Brantley with each stride. His pony valiantly fought for the gallop, but then pulled up and reared as if annoyed with the unreasonable man on his back. To his credit, Brantley kept his seat, tugged his gelding around, and continued down the trail. He shook the reins, shouted, kicked his heels, yet still we gained.
The path was narrow, so as we caught up, I looked for a way to get around them. How close was the lake? Was there still time for me to pull ahead?
The blur of green parted, and we emerged into full sunlight. Windrider needed no direction from me. She bolted to the left side of the path and sailed past Brantley’s pony, who snorted, frothed, and dug in with new vigor.
The other mount wasn’t as weary as I’d hoped. Each time we pulled ahead, the other pony surged in again, as we ran neck and neck. I kept my focus on the rise ahead of us, where trees again rose against the blue of the sky. The hill marked the surrounding slopes of the lake.
“Almost there,” I called over the sound of hooves, jangling tack, panting animals, and gasping humans.
As we ran up the hill and entered the last stretch of forest, Windrider never broke stride. Beneath my legs her mighty lungs swelled and fed her the breath she needed for the last bit of the race.
I didn’t dare turn and risk losing my balance, but the pounding sound of pursuit seemed only inches behin
d us.
We crested the hill. Below, the lake spread in a deep, blue expanse with ripples displaying a broken impression of the sky and the far bank. Morra sat on the tangleroot near the edge but jumped up at our approach. I focused on his wide eyes, the circle of his astounded lips, and the way those lips pulled into a grin. I had no idea how to adjust the stride for the downhill slope, but again Windrider proved her name. Her posture shifted, and she carried me smoothly down the hill as I leaned back against the momentum.
When she pulled up near the lake’s edge, I slid off, flushed, heart still racing. My pony couldn’t step any closer to the lake’s shore because the mat of tangleroot wouldn’t support her weight. Would Brantley recklessly charge past us and declare himself the winner by technicality? How close was he?
I looked back.
Sweat matted my hair, and I pushed it out of my face. His gelding bucked and skittered in circles at the crest of the hill. Brantley flailed around trying to regain control. His pony reared one final time and unseated his rider, then sagged, sides heaving. From the bottom of the hill I could hear the creature’s snorts and Brantley’s curses.
Morra beamed at me and reached out a hand. “Come touch the water. Make it official.” My legs felt permanently bowed, but I managed to hobble to the edge and sink to my knees. I splashed a handful of water into the air, celebration and relief sprinkling down over me. Then I indulged in a long drink. Morra filled his hat and offered water to Windrider, then walked her in a circle until her breath came smooth and even again.
As soon as I could convince my shaky legs to support me again, I stood and hugged my mare. “You were amazing. Thank you. You have no idea how important this was, but thank you.”
“Glad I was being here to serve as witness.” Morra grabbed a fistful of moss and rubbed down the sweating flanks of my pony. His efficient efforts reminded me of Ginerva massaging sore muscles for the dancers in her care. “When we be going back to the red village, they be cheering for you.”
Back? No. We could never go back to the red village. I had to find a way to keep Brantley from returning there, else I’d surely lose him completely. The allure of their form of play would entice him to forget all about our world, our people.
Brantley stormed away from his pony and strode down the hill, a thunderstorm brewing on his brow. “Wretched animal decided to fight me in the last minute.”
I hid my triumph and said mildly, “You were ahead most of the way. Great riding.”
His pony now strolled toward the lake, and Brantley glared a sour look the creature’s direction. Morra hurried to tend it. Brantley crouched by the water and splashed his face, then tossed back his wet hair. “My riding wasn’t good enough.”
“You’ll honor our wager?”
“A futile gesture, but if you insist.”
He yanked his whistle from a tunic pocket. Still glaring, he stretched onto his stomach, head hovering over the water. He played a slow pattern of notes, then lowered the end into the water and played again.
When he finished, he leapt up and walked a few house lengths away, settling on the ground like a pouting child. His anger at losing was an encouraging contrast to the uncaring disposition he’d adopted since the convening. Perhaps the effects were wearing off?
I debated approaching him, but he bristled like a thorn bush, so instead I helped Morra attend to the horses. Windrider was rewarded with an apple, but I also gave a carrot to Brantley’s gelding and thanked him for rebelling against the man’s breakneck pace with such fortuitous timing.
Morra’s gaze kept lifting to one of the trailheads. Not the one where we’d emerged, but the one leading back to the green village. I smiled. “Do you remember the young woman who caught your fancy?”
He startled. “Of course I remember. But she be no longer special to me. The gift of the convening.”
I snarled. “The convening is not a gift! Caring for someone isn’t wrong.”
He pulled his head back like a startled chicken. “You be needing time at this lake. You be so upset by things.”
I drew a steadying breath. “Some things are worth being upset about.”
He scratched his head, mussing the auburn tangles. “There be plenty of girls at the red village.”
“Yet your heart is pulling you back home. I see it in your eyes. You miss her.”
His fist rubbed over his chest as if to erase what stirred there. “That be an offense.” Then he rolled his shoulders back, shook off the moment of worry, and laughed. “But what be your plan now?”
I looked at the calm surface of the lake. “Now I pray that Navar heard the whistle and can dive deep and long and find us here.”
Morra dropped to the ground and leaned back on his elbows. “And if not?”
I glanced over at Brantley’s sullen form, his prickles stabbing me even from a distance. “If not, our world may be lost to us forever.”
Morra crossed his hands behind his head and laid back, squinting against the suns. “That be grand. You’ll be staying here then.”
Trapped among people who chose to numb their hearts. Forsaken on a world with the man I loved who cared nothing for me. Would the pain become too much? Would I eventually join them in the soothing emptiness of the convening?
I sat on the tangleroot and dangled my legs into the sweet, milky water. If I considered that fate, I’d go mad. Instead, I’d stare at the surface and wait for a ripple, a wave, a signal that the stenella would emerge. However long it took.
“Try one more time. Please.” I stooped beside Brantley, where he sprawled on a slope of daygrass, and gestured toward the water’s edge. “Or give me your whistle and let me try.”
Brantley scoffed and turned away, so disinterested that he didn’t even watch the lake for Navar’s possible arrival. At least he wasn’t insisting on returning to the red village. He was honoring the terms of our wager. And perhaps his longing to see Navar was at work on some level, if not obvious.
The primary sun slid past its zenith, the subsun’s warmth joined overhead, and I grew anxious. We had to shelter elsewhere before nightfall. I couldn’t risk another encounter with the Gardener. Morra had tied the horses up by the forest’s edge in case we decided to ride them back to their village, or even use them to return to the green village. The youth seemed caught in an endless debate with himself about the best course. I sympathized. Should we camp in the woods near the lake, or would that be too dangerous? Should I venture back to the green village, and could I convince Brantley to come with me?
Meanwhile, Brantley remained surly. I pulled myself away from my vigil at the lake’s edge long enough to gather apples, persea, and lenka. When I brought them to Brantley, he accepted grudgingly. But all of my attempts at conversation fell flat.
I stared at the water, praying, willing, longing for Navar, then marched over to Brantley once more. “She may have been too far away to hear the first time. It’s worth trying again.”
He yawned. “No. You got what you wanted, now go away.”
I eyed the tunic pocket that held his whistle. “Morra wants to know if we’re camping here tonight.” I kept my voice casual and conversational, still measuring the distance to the whistle.
“Do what you like. I plan to head back to the red village when the ponies are rested enough.” Brantley wadded up his cloak, placed it behind his head, and closed his eyes.
His dismissal made my hands clench, but I forced a smile into my tone. “Well, thank you for trying.” I flexed my fingers, watched his even breathing, then reached for the whistle.
Quick as a darting harrier, his hand clenched around my wrist. I tried to pull away, but he sat up, his grip tightening. A sharp jerk yanked me closer to his face. His eyes changed from ocean to stone. Hard, cold, empty of life. “Until now I’ve tolerated your badgering because we traveled here together and because we once escaped the Order together.”
Even while his fingers bruised my arm, a seed of hope sprouted in my heart. Talking about our
past would surely bring him to his senses.
Then his gaze skimmed over me with scorn. “But I can’t understand why. What did I ever see in you? Why would any man tie himself to a frail cripple?”
I gasped as if he’d slammed his fist into my chest.
“Leave me alone.” He squeezed my arm for emphasis. “Do you understand?”
The pain drew a small whimper from my lips. This was more than just the numbing effect that I’d witnessed in the other people. He wasn’t merely uncaring. He was hostile. Whatever the Gardener had planted in Brantley’s mind was germinating into cruelty. Was such a thing possible? Most of the people at the convening had been coated with moss, entangled by vines, blanketed. Subdued. But I’d seen a thorn pierce Brantley as he had struggled and resisted the Gardener. What had that unleashed?
“You’re hurting my arm.” I choked out the words.
The snarl on his features dissolved into a wrinkle of confusion. He stared at his hand clenched around my wrist and released me as if my skin had burned him. He shook his head, rubbed his temples, then met my eyes. “What—”
“The lake be exploding. Every help us!” Morra’s shout propelled us both to our feet.
Ripples surged outward from a spot not far from shore, sending a wave cascading over the tangleroot. Morra fell to his knees and covered his face.
A familiar head rose from the water, craning to take in the new surroundings. Her long ears flopped as she angled her neck, and her lashes fluttered as she blinked.
“Navar!” I limped to the water’s edge. Her perpetual grin widened into joyful recognition, and she swam to me. I threw my arms around her neck, nuzzling the soft, leathery skin, not caring that my tunic got wet.
Brantley joined us slowly, as if sleepwalking. “It worked?” The stenella butted her long muzzle into his chest. As if that bump opened a lock, a chuckle emerged from the man’s lungs. He threw back his head and whooped. In one smooth movement, he threw off his tunic and knife belt. Then he sprang onto Navar’s back and waved his fist. Together they raced around the lake, water churning. For good measure, Brantley guided Navar into a brief dive. When they emerged, the sea creature used her muzzle to bat copper fish through the air and onto shore.