The Horse Dreamer

by Marc Secchia

  “Sanu, I’m really not sure I know where this is going …” Zaranna squeaked in dismay. “Do you pick up boys this way?”

  “Pick up boys?” Sanu snapped back into – well, hopefully her right colour – but her face remained more puce than crimson. “What kind of slurry-pit patter do you think I am? Ha!” She folded her arms across her chest. “Maybe you Plains Horses are like that; I am not. And you can just shove that up your fumarole and erupt with it!”

  Her crude gesture left nothing to the imagination. Zara snapped at her, but the girl sidestepped lithely. “Down. Bad girl-horse. Down, I said!”

  “Stand still so I can bite you!”

  Sanu forward-rolled right between the horse’s forelegs, shot upright with a bright giggle and slapped her soundly on the hindquarters. She reared in shock, pawing the air with a shrill whinny. Somehow in a different place again, the wretched girl said, “See? This proves you’re a misplaced soul. Zaranna, you’re a girl in a horse’s body.”

  “What?”

  Sanu reached out a hand toward Zara’s wide-eyed, trembling muzzle. “Whatever you do, don’t step backward. Please. Sorry, but I needed to prove something to us both. You are a Human soul trapped in a Horse’s body. Why else would you be so blatant?”

  “Blatantly what?” Zaranna shrilled.

  “Mortified.”

  That deserved a kick in the shin and Zara connected with relish.

  * * * *

  So she had foolishly thought Equinox Humans were, well, Human. Surely a sin of the darkest and most diabolical conception. Foolishness of the highest order. The question was, how far or deep must difference extend before one became inhuman? The girl with hooves and a tail could most certainly relate to that question!

  And she would swat that mortifying wretch to next Christmas!

  The day passed in waiting. The villagers packed essential belongings into backpacks and belt pouches. They prepared food and harvested what they could from their meagre crops, and plucked all they could from berry bushes hidden in various gullies, dips and overhangs nearby. The children played as children might. A catapult competition developed between two huts at the near end of the village, two boys helped the blacksmith distribute weapons and tools, and a few older, bolder children came to stare at the Plains Horse. The children, especially the girls, were as limber as cats and could jump like excitable fleas. These Humans also had a secondary language which sounded like crickets chirruping, used during hunting and battle. They used magic extensively, such as for weather interpretation, enemy-scrying, tracking, strengthening the metal of weapons and keeping the edges sharp, and extracting poisons from plants to render them edible.

  Sanu admitted that her Tribe assumed all Equine magic was inherently evil.

  Toward evening, the warriors trotted out in four battle-groups led by Kesuu and his sons, leaving the injured Sanu behind to – smirk, smirk – look after her horsy friend. Grumpy Sanu made her reappearance with extra down-in-the-dumps for good measure.

  Sunset bronzed the Obsidian Highlands in swathes of orange-gold brilliance, glinting here and there off the exposed metal deposits, the sun appearing huge and shimmering upon the western horizon as the day’s heat radiated into the clear skies. Sanu pointed out a flight of Gryphons passing by to the southwest. Their lion-bodies were as black as obsidian for the mountain tribes or lime green for the forest-dwelling Gryphons, but their feathered, beaked heads were all bright crimson. Camouflage was not a necessity for these powerful predators, larger and thicker through the body than any horse. They soared on wide, stubby wings, their paws tucked beneath their bodies.

  Sanu shaded her eyes to gaze southward. “See that smoke? There’s eight Tribes within a sunspot cycle’s travel; five to the south and three to the north. Father says these are precision raids. The Hooded Wizard knew our exact location, all this time.”

  “We’ll escape.”

  “Where’s your supposed Dragon-friend? Basking on a cloud somewhere?”

  “I wish I knew, Sanu.”

  “Come on. I’ll show you to your hammock – oh, you sleep on your feet.” Sanu’s eyes twinkled over her mouth-veil. “You really are a full-time Dreamer, aren’t you?”

  Zaranna managed to snag a mouthful of Sanu’s new tunic top. She swung the girl off her feet with a chuckle.

  The tribe soon retired except for the ever-present sentries. Sanu ducked inside the low doorway of her family’s hut, which was no more special or ornate than any other. Zara peeked inside. Kesuu’s Tribe slept in beautiful woven hammocks slung just beneath the roof, fearful of bad Earthen Fire odours that might seep in at night. Sanu’s main task was the fletching of arrows, so besides a few clay storage pots, her hut boasted a neat workbench lined with knives, plier-like tools and a primitive vice, and baskets neatly arranged behind the workbench – shafts, feathers, twine, glue and arrowheads.

  Sanu curled up catlike in her hammock, clutching a dagger in her right hand. One green eye winked at her. “May dreams wreathe your sleep, Zaranna. Tell Alex about me. He sounds …dreamy.”

  Zara’s lip curled involuntarily. She was not letting Sanu within a few galaxies of her boyfriend! She said, “You know, Sanu, when I first rescued you, I gave you water while you were unconscious.”

  Sanu frowned up there in the gloom of her hammock. “How did you do that?”

  “Think about it.”

  Zaranna had been outside for several minutes, snacking on the long, bitter grass around the back of Sanu’s hut, when she heard a wild yell of outrage from within. Ah, sweet revenge. Now she would sleep well.

  But sleep proved as elusive as the magic of a pony o’ the wisp.

  * * * *

  Alex was not better the next day. Still unconscious. Nor the day after. Worse, in fact. Doctor Martinez’s dark eyes were shadowed, and she was very snippy with Whiz.

  Zaranna whiled away her days in the rustic farmhouse, cleverly renovated to modern glory, and turned into Morose Minnie. Gramps laid it on thick – home-cooked Italian meals, conversation, plenty of ice cream and a trip to a Hobbycraft warehouse to fill the back of the Viper with art materials – but how could she live, or create, or dream, when her man lay in a medically-induced coma suffering from an elusive, unidentifiable virus?

  The following day, Gramps had a big meet at Kenilworth Racetrack with his racehorses. “Come with me,” he encouraged Zara.

  “I’d just get in your way.”

  “Pixie …”

  “Gramps, I love you. You know I do. Alright? Don’t get it into that Luciano Pavarotti heart of yours that any other truth exists in this universe. Do you hear me?”

  He gave her quirky grandpa-glance number eleven.

  “Gramps?”

  “Y’know,” he drawled, “when you get that sparkle in those luscious lamps of yours, Pixie, you so remind me of my Ziryana, it fair blows me to another planet. I haven’t told you about your grandmother, have I? What did Susan and Peter tell you?”

  “Uh, Ukrainian supermodel, touchy subject?” Zaranna spluttered, ambushed by the emotions crowding his eyes. “Grizzly bear, time’s ticking. You’ll be late.”

  “Oh. Yes.” He threw over his shoulder, “Remind me, grand-dotty!”

  “Alright!”

  And with a whirl and a bang, Nonno was out of the door. Zaranna wheeled slowly into the sunken lounge, and from there up the ramp Whiz had installed into the family room and sunroom. Huge glass panels, which could be opened or adjusted with a remote control, provided a panoramic view from the house over an integral rimflow pool at the back to Noordhoek Beach and the ocean beyond. Lush green farmland. Low, mounded sand dunes leading onto a blindingly white strip of sand fringing the bluest of oceans. Quite the view. Whiz had spared no expense on kitting out his farmhouse, which was stuffed with the latest gadgets, expensive furniture and Whizard-ly innovations. Coffee at the press of a button. A robot waiter which could fetch snacks and mix a decent Martini, according to Gramps – and you will not be having one of t
hose, young lady! Big Brother is watching! He might be, too, although she could not spot any hidden cameras.

  Nonno was planning an elevator to ‘whisk his Pixie-dust’ from this level to the levels below, the ground floor and the basement, for the house was built on a small rise, being lower on the ocean side than the mountain side, where most of the paddocks were situated.

  Zaranna turned a slow, tight circle in her wheelchair. Alright. Another sucky day, minus Alex and minus Illume. Her gaze passed over Whiz’s pipe, which had an ornately carved bowl the size of a man’s fist, and a very long stem, to the picture hanging above the gorgeous meranti sideboard. Ziryana. Model-Granny. She chuckled, for the woman in the picture was perhaps mid-twenties, with high cheekbones and flashing chrysoprase eyes, lips pouting as she blew a kiss toward the camera. She was a great deal of Sarah, but even more her granddaughter. Waist-length white-blond ringlets – longer than Zaranna’s locks but having exactly the same colour and degree of curl – framed a slender figure pictured standing legs akimbo in a classic Bond Girl pose – a double-agent in knee-high black boots, fishnets, tailored shorts of scandalous brevity and a cheeky high-collared bolero jacket. Hmm. Glamour-Gran. The stunning enigma. She and Spy-Dad would have bonded like handgun and silencer.

  But she knew next to nothing about Ziryana, apart from the fact of her death.

  Nor about this sickness eating Alex’s life away.

  Zaranna pressed her chest as if she were the one with the pernicious virus filling her pericardium with fluid. She felt so helpless; two worlds-worth of helpless. She had to chase this fear away.

  Wheeling over to the worktable Whiz had prepared for her, Zara picked up a pencil and a sketchbook. If names had power, then images had even more power, according to Illume. Maybe if she captured enough of Equinox, the portal could be forced open. Maybe this was one way she could spite Worafion from wherever she was in the galaxy. She must be careful, however, not to grant the evil ones any further hold upon her life. It seemed she had escaped Rhenduror’s clutches for the moment; she must not invite the Red Dragon home to roost again.

  She sketched. Chewed the rubber off the pencil. Had a mug of excellent Ethiopian coffee, which made her think of Mihret. She should call her friend. Filled a book with botanicals. She outlined Jesafion in ten different poses, detailing the beauty of his musculature and the proud tilt of his head, recalling the exact way his eyes would flash as he made a point. One noble pose, she chose for a larger study. Jesafion, wings outspread, about to leap over the edge of a great waterfall. She worked for hours. Perhaps she would fill in the background later – a fanciful depiction of the asteroid belt with Storm-Pegasi galloping along it, or the moons as the eyes of Pegasi?

  The phone rang. No, the television? Once she figured out the buttons, a video image of her Mom appeared on Skype. She asked for details about Alex. They spoke for an hour; she had two items of news which improved Zaranna’s mood. Yolanda was flying to Cape Town on the weekend, just two days away, to be with her sister. And Susan would follow midweek after her big show in Manchester. Her father’s schedule, as usual, was unpredictable.

  Not even ten minutes later, as she worked on Jesafion’s right wing, she had another call. A blacked-out head said, “Zaranna Inglewood. Clearly state the passphrase.”

  “Dad? Uh … ‘the fat pygmy hippo dances the mambo.’ ”

  “Voice print confirmed. Connecting …”

  Her father’s wavering picture looked and sounded as if he was on the Moon, but he did have many complimentary things to say about Doctor Martinez. Apparently she had stitched up the Whiz the time he almost blew his arm off. Another story Grumps had conveniently forgotten to relate.

  Later again, Doctor Martinez called on the conventional phone to let her know that Alex had been placed in complete isolation. “No visitors tonight,” she added. “Sorry, Zaranna. Listen, what time do you expect Whiz back?”

  “Around six.”

  “I’ll pop over then, if that’s Ok with you?”

  “Six is fine … bye.”

  She set the receiver down numbly. Oh, Alex! What now?

  Zaranna wheeled over to the open windows, then out to the pool area. There was a comfortable-looking sun-lounger beneath a bright umbrella and the day was cast of that perfection only Cape Town could offer – blue seas beneath even bluer skies. She was worried to the point of a nervous breakdown. Maybe a little nap would change the odds. Catch Illume by surprise … because manipulating time was so clearly possible? Honestly. She must have sugar-ponies for brains.

  She slipped onto the lounger. Swim? Later. First, she would write her headline: Crazy Girl Usurps the Laws of Physics. Yols would tear her hair out – what fun!

  Closing her eyes, she reached out mentally. Illume, I need you, please. Now.

  Sleep sucked her in like a whirlpool of night.

  Chapter 18: Darkwolf Clan

  ZARANNA AWOKE BEFORE dawn with the distinct impression something distinctly wrong was distinctly afoot. She shook her muzzle in a distinctive – what? Echoes off a mountainside, her thoughts pinged around inside her skull, piling upon each other until the result was an indistinguishable mess. Pretending she had mental cowgirls whizzing around inside her mind, seated on white Pegasi and wielding a long, curling whip in either hand, she corralled her thoughts and bade them behave. Forthwith.

  Sanu slipped out of her hut. Apparently, she did not do half-awake. Daggers held at the ready, she turned slowly, sniffing the air. “Something’s not right.”

  Pure genius.

  “Did you hear the warriors returning two flares ago?” asked the girl.

  “Nope. I was snoozing joyously.”

  Sanu gave her the ‘you’re being a peculiar quadruped’ raised eyebrow. “Smell that?”

  A lovely, long whiff of the fresh morning air yielded nothing. All around her, warriors were slipping out of huts, pad-footed, on high alert. Kesuu appeared. He motioned to his troops, male and female warriors alike, to check various stations and all the exits out of the concealed village. The false dawn gave enough light for Zaranna to easily follow their movements, even though they kept to the shadows; above, a few stars still peeked between the overhanging slabs of rock. This place could not be easily found. Yet Tayburrl had attacked the other Tribes with the speed and impunity of full knowledge of their whereabouts. Kesuu believed the Pegasi had spies all over the Obsidian Highlands. How, then, could Worafion have remained hidden for so long?

  “Gryphons?” asked Zaranna.

  Chameleon-girl made a folding motion of her hand, which apparently passed for ‘no’ in her culture. “Something very strange,” she whispered. “Something I’ve never smelled before. Like –”

  “Sulphur and jasmine?” she guessed.

  “Exactly.” Sanu peered about, by her stance, clearly ‘protecting’ Zaranna.

  She had mastered her errant thoughts, but she failed to snatch back an amused ‘hrrr!’ Exactly the sound Jesafion often made. Sanu hissed, but Zaranna raised her voice, “Illume, you can stop teasing them and come out now.”

  Without warning, a vast Dragon’s head shimmered into being beneath the overhang, almost directly above Zaranna and Sanu. They both jerked in identical shock; worse, the warriors who shouted and broke in a shameful panic. A dozen arrows pinged off Illume’s gleaming blue-grey hide, but the upside-down muzzle only vented a great laugh. Then the lizard simply flowed down the overhang like liquid metal pouring hot from the forge, his great bulk flexing with impossible, mesmeric sinuosity. Zara collected her jaw from an ungainly slump. Illume? As Whiz would put it, quite the scrubber-upper! He literally gleamed with wellbeing right down to the tips of his polished talons, a gunmetal sheen of breathtaking, predatory menace. Death on legs, her brain screamed. Every muscle in her legs locked up in one giant, immovable cramp.

  Catlike, his massive tonnage alighted beside the small village, which as a result suddenly seemed far more huddled than before. A wall of draconic scale-armour towered over the
huts. The spikes surmounting the curve of his lumpen shoulders barely fit beneath the rocky roof at its lowest part, while his tail reached halfway across the field of crops toward the spectacular cutaway of the Gorge beyond. Illume’s left forepaw settled casually upon a rooftop, the extended, silvery talons exactly the height of a Human-sized doorway.

  A Dragon’s baleful gaze swept over the stunned congregation.

  Zaranna wanted to roll her eyes, but her body refused to obey. Dragon fear. Confronting ninety feet of bristling Dragon before breakfast probably had that effect on most sane creatures. For this was no ungainly dinosaur. This beast was a sleek, living furnace, his emotions as pyretic as the flame audibly boiling in his belly. His jasmine scent confounded Zara’s senses, inundating her in thick waves of butterflies. She knew him. Why this fear – unless it was not magical, not solely a primal reaction?

  With a muscles-popping flexion of his spine and an aggressive flare of his leathery wings, the Dragon growled, “I am Illume the Stars, Elder of the Bluewing Dragon Clan.” Stinking sulphur, barely-suppressed flame, smoke rolling between his fangs, he gave the moment his most compelling all.

  No-one breathed.

  “Lower your weapons, little Humans, lest I grow irritable.”

  Finding her tongue at last, Zara blurted out, “Fiery greetings, most noble of Dragons.”

  “Zaranna! You mischief-maker, you four-footed agitator, I do not appreciate being folded through alternative dimensions before dawn, thank you very much! Kindly flex your burgeoning magical muscles on some other creatures – take these hapless Humans, for example. They would make excellent minions for one with your power. Have you not considered the beauty of the centuries of wretched servitude they could provide –”

  “Illume!” she sucked in a long, long breath, not appreciating the incensed looks Sanu and Kesuu threw in her direction. “I’m trying to save these people, not reduce them to the status of … uh, underlings. They are not minion material.”