Tamzin picked up her book again, trying not to listen to the noises of the storm. But it was impossible to ignore them. Eerily, the sounds made her think of horses. The screaming wind was like wild neighing and the rain hammering on the roof tiles seemed to echo the sound of drumming, galloping hooves. Go away, go away! Tamzin said silently and fiercely. I don’t want to listen! Oh, go aw–
She yelped, and jumped like a startled rabbit as suddenly the lights went out. Darkness engulfed the room. In panic Tamzin fumbled for the bedside lamp but when she worked the switch nothing happened.
Fear set her heart thumping as she scrambled to her feet and tried to find the door. She bumped into a chair and knocked it over with a crash. At last her hand closed round the doorknob. The landing was dark too. She started to grope her way along, then to her enormous relief a light flickered on the stairs and Nan’s voice called from below. ‘Tamzin? Are you all right?’
Nan was at the foot of the stairs, a torch in her hand. ‘It’s a power cut,’ she said. ‘The wind must have damaged the electricity lines. It often happens in gales and storms. You’d better come down.’
Nan’s company was better than the thought of staying alone upstairs in the dark. With the torch beam to help her, Tamzin hastened down the staircase and into the sitting room. There was a fire there, and Nan lit candles in two sconces that stood on the mantelpiece.
‘That’s better,’ she said as the candle flames danced and brightened.
Tamzin looked around. The firelight was welcoming, but beyond it the shadows seemed to crowd in.
‘How long will the power cut last, do you think?’ she asked. Her voice was shaky.
‘Oh, it probably won’t come back on till tomorrow,’ Nan told her. She smiled. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. And at least the cooker’s gas, so we can still make hot drinks!’
She was trying to cheer Tamzin along, and Tamzin suspected she was trying to cheer herself too. That made her feel even more uneasy, and she sat down in a chair close to the fire, suppressing a shiver.
‘Would you like to play a game?’ Nan asked. ‘I’ve got Scrabble and Monopoly. Or perhaps cards are easier in this light.’
It was better than nothing, so they played Rummy and Chase the Ace for an hour. Then Nan taught Tamzin Clock Patience and left her to it while she went to make some hot chocolate. But Tamzin didn’t play Patience. Instead, she sat listening to the storm sounds outside; the ramp and shriek of the wind, the rush and hiss of the rain. It was like horses: mad, wild, dangerous horses, stampeding out of control. Like the cruel little stone horse now buried in pieces in the garden…
Suddenly she couldn’t bear the tension inside her any more. She jumped up from her chair and ran to the kitchen.
‘Nan!’ She faced Nan where she stood by the cooker, in the dim light of more candles. ‘Nan, I’m frightened! I know there’s something going on, and it’s all to do with the statue I broke!’
‘Tamzin –’ Nan began.
‘Please, Nan!’ Tamzin cried. ‘Don’t pretend! You see, I saw the words carved on the statue. What do they mean? Are they a curse?’ Tears spilled suddenly down her cheeks. ‘Oh, Nan, what have I done?’
For a moment Nan’s face tightened angrily… then abruptly the anger collapsed. Putting a hand to her own face, she said, ‘Very well. I’ll tell you. I didn’t want to, but I suppose you’ve got a right to know.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘I’ll finish making these hot drinks, then we’ll go back to the sitting room and talk.’
Outside, the wind screamed an echo that made Tamzin shudder.
‘It’s a very old tale,’ said Nan quietly. ‘My grandmother told it to me when I was young, and she learned it from her grandmother long before that.’
They were sitting together on the sofa. Their mugs of chocolate stood on a low table nearby, but neither of them had had so much as a sip yet. Wind rocked the house; rain battered the windows. On the sofa arm, Baggins lay asleep. Tamzin listened as Nan continued.
‘That statue has been in our family for hundreds of years,’ Nan said. ‘The words you saw carved on the base are in the ancient Cornish language and they mean “Guard This Stone”. But they’re only the first words of the rhyme.’
She got up and went over to the bookshelves, where she took out a large, heavy book with a black cover.
‘This is our family Bible,’ she said as she laid it on the table. ‘The whole rhyme is here, in English. One of our ancestors must have translated it into English years later, and written it down.’ She turned pages, which rustled with a strange, secretive sound. ‘Here it is.’
Tamzin leaned forward, and read:
Guard this stone that prisons me,
For if it should be cast away,
Then I shall come from surging sea,
And turn your world to stormy grey.
The words sent a chill through her. ‘It’s a curse,’ she whispered and looked fearfully at Nan. ‘Isn’t it?’
Nan sighed. ‘I don’t know, and that’s the truth. No one knows any more. All I can tell you is what my grandmother told me, and that was little enough.’
The flames of the fire dipped and flickered as wind roared in the chimney. The candles guttered and Baggins growled softly in his sleep. ‘Go on,’ said Tamzin. ‘Please, Nan.’
‘Well… there was an old legend about two spirits that haunted this coast long, long ago. They were known as the Blue Horse and the Grey Horse, and it was said that they came from the sea. The Blue Horse was a benevolent spirit. He brought fair winds and calm water, and protected the sailors and fishermen when they were at sea. But the Grey Horse was cruel. He brought storms and treacherous tides; he hated all humans, and took delight in wrecking ships and drowning the sailors on board.’
Nan paused, gazing into the fire. ‘My grandmother was very old when she told me this story, and she couldn’t remember all of it. But a time came when the Grey Horse tried to overcome the Blue Horse and destroy him. The two spirits fought a terrible battle. There were storms and gales and huge, raging tides, and the people of the coast were terrified, for it seemed that the Grey Horse would win and destroy them all. But one fisherman’s family were determined to help the Blue Horse. I don’t know how they did it: the tale is so old that that part of it’s long lost. But somehow that family joined forces with the Blue Horse, and between them they overcame the Grey Horse and defeated him.’
Nan turned to the table again. ‘When the battle was over and the people were safe, the eldest woman of the fisherman’s family - she was very wise and people believed she had second sight – carved a stone statue. The legend says that the evil power of the Grey Horse was imprisoned in the statue, and the family pledged to keep it for always.’ She turned a piercing, searching gaze on Tamzin. ‘You’ve guessed who they were, haven’t you?’ Tamzin’s expression gave everything away, and Nan nodded. ‘That’s right. They were our ancestors. And the legend also says that if the statue should ever be broken, the dark spirit will be released again.’
Silence fell. Even the sounds of the storm seemed to have paused for a few moments, and Tamzin felt a tight, choking sensation in her chest. At last, in a tiny, quavering voice, she whispered, ‘And I broke it.’
Nan looked away. ‘How were you to know? Maybe I should have told you before. Maybe I should have explained from the start.’ She sighed. ‘I inherited the statue from my grandmother. She told me to take great care of it and never let it out of my keeping. It was our duty, she said, to keep faith with the Blue Horse, and keep the Grey Horse’s evil power at bay. And in time, I was to pass that duty on to my eldest granddaughter, as our ancestors have done for centuries.’
‘Your eldest granddaughter is me…’ Tamzin whispered.
‘Yes. You’re so young, though. I didn’t want to tell you until you were older. I hoped you wouldn’t visit me, so you wouldn’t see the statue. But then your parents had to go to Canada, and there was no one else to look after you.’
Tamzin stared a
t the rhyme in the old Bible again. Guard this stone that prisons me, For if it should be cast away… The meaning was all too clear, and she began to shiver.
Nan took hold of her hand. ‘Don’t be frightened, Tamzin. It’s only a tale. In the old days people used to believe all kinds of foolish things, but we’re more sensible now, aren’t we? Maybe it isn’t true. Maybe there’s no such thing as the Grey Horse.’
‘But if there is,’ said Tamzin, ‘what will it do? What can it do?’
Nan sighed. ‘I don’t know, love. We’ll just have to wait and see.’
Tamzin desperately wanted to believe that the Grey Horse was just a legend. But she had felt the angry power in the statue. If that power had now been set free, what would it mean for her and Nan?
‘Nan,’ she asked, ‘what happened to the Blue Horse after the battle was over?’
‘The legend doesn’t say,’ Nan replied. ‘He seems simply to have vanished.’ She smiled an odd little smile. ‘I know what you’re thinking. Years ago I started painting blue horses because I hoped they might somehow call up the good spirit, to help me guard the statue. But I don’t think they ever did. Even if the Blue Horse exists, no one knows how to reach him any more.’
They both fell silent. Tamzin looked at her still untouched mug, but she felt too queasy to drink. A sense of dread had lodged inside her like a tight, hard knot, and she was very frightened. Then Nan took her hand again.
‘It’s getting late,’ she said. ‘You’d better go to bed now.’ Her fingers squeezed Tamzin’s kindly. ‘Try not to think about the Grey Horse, mmm? The storm will be gone by morning, and all these dark things will seem much brighter.’
Tamzin didn’t argue. Upstairs, with a reassuring nightlight, she snuggled deep under her duvet and tried to do as Nan had said. But how could she not think about the Grey Horse? A spirit of storms and treacherous tides, Nan had called it. Was tonight’s storm an omen? Did it mean that the Grey Horse was coming back to wreak havoc, as the old rhyme warned?
And if the Grey Horse was coming back, what could anyone do to stop it?
Suddenly, mingling with the noises of the wind and rain outside, Tamzin heard something new. She tensed, listening, and after a few moments she heard it again.
It sounded like distant whinnying.
She sat bolt upright. It was the storm, it must be. All evening the screaming of the wind had been making her think of horses. There couldn’t possibly be a real horse out there.
The sound came a third time, and she jumped violently. It was a horse’s neigh – and now it was right outside in the garden.
Tamzin scrambled out of bed and rushed to the window. She didn’t even think about being frightened; she had to know what was out there. Pulling back the curtain, she peered out into the wild night. For a few seconds she couldn’t see anything. Then, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she glimpsed a large, dark shape moving among the bushes.
It was a horse. There could be no doubt of it. Tamzin saw its mane tossing in the wind, the smooth, sleek shape of its neck, the gleam of its eyes. Fear hit her. She drew a huge breath to scream for Nan – and the dark shape wasn’t there any more.
Shocked, Tamzin stood staring at the place where the horse had been. It hadn’t galloped away. It couldn’t have done in such a short time. It had simply vanished into thin air.
Slowly she let the curtain drop. Her heart was thumping and she didn’t know what to think. Had the horse really been there? She was so wound up that she could easily have imagined the whole thing. Or maybe she’d been half asleep, and the sound and the dark shape had been a sort of waking dream.
With a shiver she turned back to her bed. As she did so, Nan’s painting caught her eye. The blue horse, galloping out of a sea under a full moon… In the dim, flickering glow of the nightlight the picture looked so real and alive. And as Tamzin looked at it, it seemed to her that it really did come to life. She saw the waves surging, saw the horse racing towards her, as if it would burst out of the picture frame and into the room.
The illusion only lasted for a moment, then it was gone and the painting was still again. Tamzin stared. She should have been frightened but she wasn’t. Instead, she felt a strange sense of peace washing over her; the complete opposite of the feeling she had had from the Grey Horse’s statue. It was silly, it was crazy, but she could almost believe that the horse in the painting had been galloping towards her to protect her.
Without knowing why, she whispered, ‘Blue Horse…?’ There was no answer, of course. The horse in the painting did not move again. But Tamzin felt comforted.
She went back to bed, and lay gazing steadily at the picture until she fell asleep.
By morning the storm was gone. The wind was still blustery and flurries of rain blew up the valley, but by the time Tamzin and Nan sat down to breakfast the sun was breaking through.
The electricity had come on again and Nan chatted cheerfully about everyday things, almost as if their talk last night had never happened. But it had happened and Tamzin couldn’t forget. Nor could she forget the dark shape she had glimpsed in the garden. However, a thought had occurred to her. Hadn’t Joel said that the riding stable where he lived was just a short way up the valley? One of the horses could have got out during the night and strayed along the valley path to Chapel Cottage. It was a rational explanation and she very much wanted to believe it.
Desperate to be sure, Tamzin said, ‘Nan, is it all right if I go to the riding stable this morning?’
Nan looked up from her toast. ‘The riding stable? Oh, of course, you met Joel yesterday, didn’t you?’ She smiled. ‘Yes, if you’ve been invited, you can go. Who knows: if you make yourself useful, you might be able to earn some riding lessons!’
So a short while later, Tamzin set off. As she headed for the gate that led to the valley path, she looked carefully at the garden. There was no sign of any trampling, which was strange. But then perhaps she had scared the straying horse off before it could do any damage.
The path ran between the high cliff headlands. It was a wet, muddy, uphill walk, and by the time the stables came in sight Tamzin’s legs were aching. A big wooden gate led to the stable yard and as she approached it Tamzin saw Joel sweeping out an empty stall. She called his name and he looked up.
‘Hi!’ He came to meet her, but Tamzin was anxiously scanning the row of stables with ponies’ heads looking out of the open top doors.
‘The horses,’ she said as Joel reached her. ‘Are they all here?’
Joel looked baffled. ‘Of course. Shouldn’t they be?’ He saw her expression and frowned. ‘What’s the matter?’
She told him what had happened during the night. ‘I thought it was one of your horses,’ she finished. ‘I thought maybe it had got out and…’ Her voice tailed off. Her heart was bumping and she didn’t like the feeling.
Joel shook his head. ‘No, it wasn’t one of ours. Couldn’t have been.’
Tamzin swallowed. ‘Has anyone else round here got horses?’
‘Not close enough for one to have found its way down the valley. Tamzin, what’s up? You look scared.’
She wanted to tell him that she was scared, and why. But if she did, she would have to explain about the Grey Horse. How could she expect Joel to believe her? He would say it was just a silly story. He would probably laugh and tease her, and that would make things worse than ever. So with a great effort she forced herself to smile and tried to sound casual as she said, ‘Oh, I was just a bit worried, that’s all. I mean, if the horse had escaped, and it hurt itself…’
‘Horses aren’t daft,’ Joel reassured her. ‘Anyway, it might have been something else – or nothing at all. It sounds to me as if you dreamed it.’
‘Yes,’ said Tamzin. ‘Maybe I did.’ And she thought, I wish I could believe that.
Joel said, ‘Well, now you’re here, how about helping me with the mucking out?’ He grinned. ‘Then if Mum says it’s OK, I’ll give you your first riding lesson. You said you w
ant to learn, didn’t you?’
Tamzin’s worries about the Grey Horse melted away and her face lit up. ‘Oh, yes!’ she said. ‘I’d love to!’
Mucking out was hard, smelly work but Tamzin didn’t mind in the least. For the first time in her life she was involved with horses, and she loved it. She forked soiled straw out of the stalls, put down fresh, then helped Joel to fill all the water buckets from the tap in the yard. She made friends with more of the ponies, and also with three cats and a big dog called Barney, who looked like a woolly hay-stack and slobbered happily all over her jeans. She was delighted when Moonlight seemed to recognize her, and spent a long time stroking his muzzle and talking to him.
‘He really likes you,’ Joel said, coming into Moonlight’s stall with a net full of fresh, sweet hay. ‘You can ride him on your lesson. He’s ideal for a beginner.’ He hung up the hay net. ‘There! That’s everything done. Come on then, we’ll take the ponies to the yard and saddle up.’
They were in time to wave goodbye to Joel’s mother, Mrs Richards, who was taking two late-season holiday couples out for an hour’s ride. Tamzin was glad Mrs Richards wasn’t there to see her first efforts with Moonlight’s harness. Putting the saddle on was easy enough, but the bridle was much more difficult. It seemed to be an endless tangle of straps and buckles, and Tamzin muddled the whole thing three times before Joel came to her rescue.
‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘The more you do it, the easier it’ll get.’ He slipped the snaffle bit into Moonlight’s mouth, pulled the bridle over the pony’s head and buckled the strap called the throatlash. ‘Right. Just a hard hat, and we’re ready.’
Sea Horses Page 3