by Marc Secchia
She had been trampling them! “Oh, God!” Zaranna gasped.
The Pegasus managed to look more startled than she was by her outburst.
“Oh no!” she picked up her knees, staggering like a drunken stoat as she crushed the perfect little creatures under her large hooves. “Oh, Jesafion, what do I do? Help!”
He had a particularly obtuse expression on his face, ears pricked up, eyes wide as he took in some small part of her ridiculous dance, her snorting panic, her exclamations of horror.
“Oh, Jesafion, I’m killing them! Please …”
The sugar-ponies milled around her in their hundreds and thousands, buzzing about like insects above the grass. Zaranna became aware of a rapidly worsening pain behind her breastbone – the very bloating Jesafion had warned her of. Her stomach growled mightily.
“Told you,” said the Pegasus.
With that, her stomach convulsed and Zaranna helplessly unleashed the most enormous belch she had ever produced in her life, Horse or Human. A ripper. It was so humungous, Illume would have expectorated a fireball of gratification at the spectacle. As it was, she was only just considering the trauma of a whitish blast of sugar-pony bits exploding out of her stomach when Jesafion’s shrill whinny cut across her awareness. Was he hurt? In pain? His follow-up, even shriller than the first effort, descended into a fit of hysterical laughter.
To her shock, the hitherto unbendable Prince of Starch lost the plot in its entirety, actually falling over while hooting and gasping and pawing at the air at some considerable length; every time Zaranna, with increasing annoyance, tried to sneak in a demand to know what exactly was so funny, he would break out in further paroxysms. He wept with laughter. He cackled like an overgrown, broody hen. He wriggled across the grass like a colt in the highest of spirits, until she had to turn her back and try to close her ears, for fear of saying something blisteringly rude and regrettable.
Jesafion had no such qualms. “You … withering … fool!” he guffawed. “Such a comedian! Oh, I haven’t laughed so well in so long …”
Zaranna opened her mouth to elucidate exactly which part of a sewer’s ecosystem constituted his parentage, when she heard a familiar sound.
“Dragon! Jes –”
With a slap of his magic, he set her running. Seconds later, Zaranna found herself quivering beneath the dappling shadows at the forest’s edge, peering up at the sky through a thick screen of jagged leaves. She must not think it! Must not think the name …
Rhenduror swept overhead, so close to the treetops that his belly and tail sent several branches tumbling. He was closely followed by two more Red Dragons. Wings outspread, they hissed across the open meadow, their dark draconic eyes searching with predatory intent. Instantly, Zaranna knew what it was to feel like prey. Yet there was something so awesome, so primal, in seeing that much tonnage of fire-breathing reptile hunting in the skies that she could not move a muscle. Breathe? Forget that. Even her heart seemed frozen, needing a defibrillator to restart.
“– she’s the one,” floated back to them on the breeze.
After several minutes had passed with no further sign of the hunting Dragons, Jesafion turned to Zaranna, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “She’s the one what? What did the Red Dragon want with a Plains Horse anyway?”
“I – I …” she stammered. She had never been much of a liar.
“What are you hiding from me?”
When she only gulped, unable to form any coherent reply, Jesafion began to walk back out to the meadow, stiff-legged with outrage.
Zaranna had an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Jesafion, I don’t think you should –”
“I don’t think you should lie to a Pegasus Clan Prince, little filly!”
She lunged, and sank her teeth as best she could into the gaskin of his right leg. With a cry of rage, Jesafion whirled and charged after her, but she dodged deeper beneath the trees, taunting the near-blind Pegasus with a forced laugh. At that moment, one of the Dragons came whistling back from the South, passing by so fast that he generated a palpable breeze. Ambush! Had they been as impatient as Jesafion clearly was, the Dragons would have fallen upon them in an instant.
The Pegasus stared at her with a bewildered air. “I just can’t figure you out. One moment you’re acting the fool, the next, you’re saving my life.” Lowering his great head, he impulsively nuzzled her neck. “You’re unlike any filly I’ve ever met before, Zaranna.”
She froze, dumbstruck. Ew! Ick! A horse was making a pass at her! This was beyond awful, wrong on far too many levels to even contemplate …
Apparently realising his error, Jesafion pranced sideways a half-step or so, breaking the contact. “I meant … that I see you like a valiant and faithful sister colt. You’re more Storm-Pegasus than Plains Horse, or I miss my mark.”
And she had thought a Dragon could rattle her! Lowering her muzzle, Zara looked at her hooves. Confession time. “Jesafion, I’m not who you think I am.”
“No,” he agreed. “Plains Horses clearly possess far more magic than our Pegasi Loremasters assume! You evince the classic control of a pony o’ the wisp, now add to that foresight and did I or did I not imagine you summoning a mighty equinoctial storm from the Beyond to our aid? How is it that one so powerful is so helpless, like the youngest foal in her ignorance?”
“Jesafion, I –”
“You don’t remember, do you? Something’s happened to you.”
What could she say? All Zaranna could think of was Illume the Stars’ opinion of Humans. Scum. The despised ones. Parasites. God help her, she did not want Jesafion to think the same of her, and before she could withhold, a lie slipped out. “I don’t know – I don’t remember – much about Equinox, Jesafion. I think Rhen … the Red One … might have touched me before … and the first thing I remember after that was when I ran into you battling the Darkwolf Clan.”
“He stole your memories!”
No, her legs! And the Hooded Man was plotting some evil with them … oh God, was this a dream, or did she have to accept that as Rhenduror had accused her and Illume had concluded, the whole intent was to draw her here? Was she the one? The Dreamer? Had the Red Dragon succeeded in trapping her in this accursed dream?
Zaranna nodded miserably, hating the lie, hating her weakness in allowing it to stand.
Urgency filled Jesafion’s voice. “What else do you remember?”
Yet the equation did not add up. Rhenduror seemed to have acted independently of the Hooded Man, boasting he had brought her to Equinox with his draconic cunning. Where had he been taking her before dropping her in the swamp? To the Hooded Man, yes – who did not believe the Wizard-daughter had indeed come to Equinox. Then who had been the torturer in her dreams? Rhenduror? Somehow, Zaranna realised, being the daughter of the Winter Wizard might be a terminally unhealthy relationship, one she should not admit until she knew more. Much more.
Somewhat timidly, she said, “I dreamed of a Human-like man, cloaked and hooded. I was unable to see his face. On his left forefinger he wore a strange red ring, perhaps a ruby, shaped in the likeness of a Red Dragon.”
“A Dragonstone!”
“A what?”
“That’s why the Red One’s up there! He possesses a Dragonstone and controls the beast!”
“He … well, accused me of hiding one such stone. He called it the Imjuniel.”
Jesafion’s ears flattened. His eyes bulged as though he had just seen her grow horns and spikes and transform into a Dragon. Zaranna took in his horror at the same time as realising the instant she spoke the jewel’s name, a strange tracery of filaments washed over her vision, then she saw her carmine-and-yellow butterflies. Oh, steaming piles of horse manure! The power of names … at first her companion had implied these stones must be legendary. But he knew the jewel’s name, and this frightened her; the magic frightened her even more. What had she unleashed now?
The White Pegasus snarled, “You Plains Horses have been hiding a Dragonstone all these years?
”
“No!”
“Tell me where it is! How could you? Don’t you realise what this means?”
“Nooo …”
“War!” he spat.
Zaranna flushed hot and cold, trembling quite uncontrollably. “N-N-No … J-J …” She could not even speak.
Slowly, viciously, Jesafion said, “I warn you, if you don’t confess this very instant, I will personally lead the Pegasus Clan constellations down to your homeland, little filly, and we will descend upon that place like a posse of Amethyst Storm-Pegasi and rip your pathetic Plains hovels apart until we find that Dragonstone! Do we understand each other?”
No, no, no! Here she had been trying to hide from her own fears, and she had single-handedly invited the Pegasi to destroy the Plains Horses! The manifold power of lies … this was no longer a joke, not in the slightest. Her ignorance and stupidity were about to result in an unknown number of people or horses being killed.
Chapter 10: Where Horses Fear to Tread
Zaranna FACED JEsafion with all the courage she could scrape together at short notice. “Look, Mister Jumps-to-Conclusions, I’m the one who’s been trying to save your stinking hide, here!”
Well. Less than eloquent, but it served. The Pegasus slowly un-bristled, which was the best way she could describe his reaction. The ears returned to normal, the mouth untwisted into a purse-lipped study in concentration, and his swelling magic subsided.
“Hrrr. So it appears. Unless a Pegasus Prince is integral to your cunning plans.”
“Which I cunningly don’t remember in the slightest detail?”
“Conveniently, yes. By the Earthen Fires, you certainly are not what you seem, Zaranna. The veritable Gryphon in Plains Horse hide.”
“Look, please don’t go starting any wars. I’m just trying to help.” Just trying to figure out his stupid world. Just finding her hooves, which she’d never had before. Illume’s warnings resounded in her ears. She was the bearer of a great and terrible fate … “How do you know the Dragons aren’t looking for you? Are Dragons and Pegasi allies? What about this Darkwolf Clan Enchanter? What does he want with the Dragons?”
“She’s the one?” Jesafion quoted, with a curt laugh. “Does that sound like a male Pegasus Prince to you? Come. Lead us south, Zaranna. We must find herbs and evade these searchers. I’ll teach you about Dragons. When we reach Pegasus territory and find safe shelter beneath our great wards, I’ll command a Pegasus Loremaster to remove this curse which has blanked out your memories. Then we will learn what it is the Enemy wants of a Plains filly.”
Why did his tone leave the distinct impression that she was the enemy?
Treacherous ground indeed.
* * * *
Zaranna struggled to wake. Who was knocking? What did they want of her?
“Zars, sleepyhead. I’m coming in.”
Oh. Mom. Somewhat different to an unfriendly red dinosaur coming to pinch and fricassee a leg of Human. “Come in, I’m awake,” she called.
“Righto, Inglenook Inglecorner Ingle-piece-of-Wood, rise and meet the day.” Susan popped a cup of coffee on the dresser beside her bed, Bustling-Mother mode evidently in full flow. “Fuel – drink up. Clothes. It’s off to the Infirmary today for your prosthesis fitting. Alex will run us down to Leeds as your father’s been called away urgently. Probably needs to burgle the International Space Station to stop the vicious intelligent monkeys from conducting experiments on Humans up there.”
“Alex is here?”
“Alex is present and accounted for,” floated through from the kitchen. “Alex is whipping up a tidy breakfast for whenever her Ladyship deigns to rise.”
“Hey, Alexei Romanov!”
“Hey … uh, Zaravich Zarakova … oh, it’s far too early for that. Does unpleasant things to my brain.”
Susan wrinkled her nose at Zaranna and whipped off the duvet. “He’s a peach.”
“Mom! It’s cold!” The tall redhead only laughed, her eyes sparkling with love. Zaranna said, “Maybe I should call you Beast. Alright, I’m moving. Seriously, I’ve always wondered if you aren’t secretly a tyrant leading a small dictatorship somewhere.”
Pushing into an upright position, Zaranna swung her stubs, as she had begun to call them, toward the bed’s edge. Protruding from her sleeping shorts, the scarred ends mutely proclaimed the violation of her flesh. She gripped the wheelchair’s handle and levered herself over onto the seat with a practised heave.
She felt Susan’s eyes watching her. Could she be the wizard? It just didn’t seem possible. The green eyes, the tumbling, fiery tresses … how could those belong to winter? Or Peter? He sometimes showed a core of inner hardness, product both of his training and his personality, but he seemed far too ruthlessly practical to be a mage comfortable with wielding esoteric spells and dabbling in the arcane. Why on earth was she even entertaining these ideas?
Wheeling to the bathroom to make her ablutions, she suddenly asked, “Mom, why do you love Dragons?”
“Always have, Snookie. Hairbrush?” Zaranna passed it over. “Dragons are emblematic of power, cunning and magic. So many cultures around the world have some mythology of Dragons, that it seems more than just a Middle Ages superstition. But for me?” She worried at a knot with the brush. “Zara … it’s about freedom. Freedom to fly. Freedom to feel the wind beneath your wings, to soar wherever you please. And beauty. The beauty of mighty wings searing a burning dawn sky … what about you?”
“Definitely the majesty.”
“Aye, thou draconic majesty. Thou tempestuous beauty!” Susan waved the hairbrush rather violently near Zaranna’s head, smiling at her in the bathroom’s vanity mirror. “If you had a Dragon name … now, let’s see. It would be something striking. Something as beautiful and brave as my daughter.”
Suddenly, the face in the mirror crumbled.
Susan began to work at her hair with strong, almost frantic strokes. “But Dragons don’t exist and we do, Zaranna. This is where we have to be – this is life. And there are days when it is just hard.”
Tears glistened within the mirror like rain streaking the windowpane of reality.
* * * *
The Darkwolf Clan closed in. Dragons roared overhead. Zaranna and the Pegasus Prince ran and hid, and hid and ran. It was all they could do to stay alive.
They snatched meals watchfully from the edge of the forests, preferably sneaking beneath overhanging boughs. They traipsed along overgrown streams to conceal their scent-trail, always trying to cut south, always turned back by marauding wolf-packs and the Twisted. Jesafion found his herbs – bitter, thistle-like plants that left thorns stuck in his lips and tongue – and soon began to show signs of a return to full sight. He patiently taught Zaranna about the many different herbs and plants, those which were edible and those not, and the medicinal uses of each, knowledge enough to fill an encyclopaedia. He occasionally probed her for more background, but she chose to reveal little more. Having almost started a war was enough. Period.
Dragons, in Jesafion’s exalted opinion, which was beyond question or reproach, were vile, untrustworthy lizards who took an avowed joy in backstabbing and treachery. This made them allies of the Pegasi, Zaranna inquired? She now sported a small burned patch on her right ear courtesy of her noble companion’s loss of control at this point. Like many matters in Jesafion’s world, the answer was apparently terribly complicated and beyond the capacity of a mere Plains Horse to understand.
Jesafion, in return, wore a new bruise above his left hock as Zaranna’s compliment for that response. A nice person should not enjoy watching him limp quite so much, should they?
Anyhow, mortal danger and squabbling princes and commoners aside, she learned that centuries before, Human Wizards had fashioned four ‘stones of power’ – the so-called Dragonstones – from foul Earthen Fire magic sourced in the Beyond, that mysterious realm that lay beyond the Outland, which she understood was the area bounding a carefully unspecified number of valleys controlled and
protected by the Pegasus Clans. The Outland was fully at the mercy of the terrible equinoctial storms. Four ‘seasons’ of Wizards had once formed a third nexus of power with the Horse Clans and Dragons. Autumn and Winter were good, Spring and Summer, evil. The general consensus was that the Hooded Man responsible for raising up the Twisted and binding Dragons and Gryphons to his bidding was one of these four original Wizards, or at least the leader of a wizardly clan. But for innumerable crimes, the majority of which Zaranna did not entirely understand apart from the creeping suspicion that the Human Wizards had simply become too powerful for the Pegasi to tolerate, the Dragons and Pegasus Clans had banded together, trounced the Wizards in a brief, brutal war, and cast them into a place ‘beyond the Beyond’ – off Equinox entirely, she assumed.
Dragonstones bound the will of a Dragon to the command of a Wizard, placing the mighty beasts effectively and inescapably under a Human’s control. The Wizards had many times driven Dragons to rise against their own kind, sparking wars between the different Dragon clans. Thus, the Dragonstones were hated by Dragons and they searched for them constantly, seeking to destroy them.
What then, of Illume’s so-called ‘special bond’ between Dreamers and Dragons, Zaranna wondered? His alarm at the threat to the Dragonkind had seemed genuine – had they even spoken of the Imjuniel? Or was Illume the Stars playing a deeper game altogether?
As they threaded along an animal trail which curved back toward the western ridge, yet again, Zaranna reflected upon that encounter. Illume was Blue. According to the spectrum of Dragon colours, he ought to be aligned with good – yes, a fire-snorting monster of high morals and unimpeachable virtue. Of course, that barely scratched the top of the iceberg – or whatever that saying should be. She was starting to become mighty confused between Earth and Equinox. Dragons came in a veritable rainbow of colours – the hotter, the more wicked and immoral, the colder, the better. So, Rhenduror the Red was vile, while Illume the Stars, as Bluewing Clan, was automatically Mister Goody Four-Paws. Whose good? How was ‘good’ defined? That was an entirely different kettle of fish, and Zaranna appreciated this aside from the Pegasus very much. Who’s good indeed! Could the Hooded Wizard be controlling Rhenduror via a Dragonstone? Were Illume’s intentions in learning Zaranna’s common name intended for good, or for the good of Dragon Clans who might be partial to having a Dreamer’s powers squished beneath their collective scaly thumbs?