by Paula Boer
About to tell them about the mare at the cavern, Tress spotted Wolfbane galloping towards them, his ears pinned to his neck, the ground shaking from his hoof beats. “Watch out! He murdered Precipice!”
Boldearth cantered off to face him. The two stallions drew close. Wolfbane reared and thrashed his hooves, challenging Boldearth.
The younger stallion ducked away.
Wolfbane pursued him, driving him with his chest, ignoring his attempts to converse.
Boldearth dodged, nimble on his feet, snapping back in defence.
The mares retreated to a safe distance. Tress quaked as Wolfbane’s screams echoed against the cliffs.
The appaloosa’s inexperience was no match for the heavier stallion. After receiving vicious bites to the neck, shoulders, and rump, he fled.
Wolfbane pranced up to the small gathering of mares. “You’re all mine now. Get moving. We’re going upstream.”
Tress led the way without hesitation. Two of the other mares balked and received nasty kicks for their trouble. Even Half Moon was driven by the stallion’s teeth, Pebbles sticking close to her dam’s side as they trotted ahead of Wolfbane.
The small herd spent a tense night under the shelter of the cliffs near the hay cavern. The roar of the falls brought Tress bad dreams, bloodwolves with poisonous fangs leaping and snarling, and horses throwing themselves to their deaths, their bones littering the river.
When she awoke, she found Wolfbane storming in a rage.
All the other mares except Half Moon had disappeared.
Chapter 12
Despite the easy conditions north of Streak’s territory, Fleet fretted, his nightmares worsening and his hindquarters stiff and sore. Worse, he’d left the company of horses behind again. Although Streak had dropped his aggressive attitude, he didn’t invite him to linger. Fleet had left as soon as he’d told Streak his news. After fording the branch of River Lifeflow forming Streak’s boundary, he followed the major stream northeast. He and Yuma fell into their travelling routine with long familiarity, aided by their ability to converse.
Talking with the man was interesting, though did little to assuage Fleet’s need for other horses. Or Gem. The more he thought of the beautiful unicorn, their pleasures, and then her rebuff, the more he questioned why he must be the one to overcome Shadow. All he wanted was to return to Shimmering Lake, to gallop, and swim, and play. When the loneliness became too much, he even considered abandoning his promise to Sapphire, but Gem had made it clear she wouldn’t welcome him back, and his suffering demanded he rid himself of the bloodwolf poison. If that meant he helped other horses in the process, so much the better. Maybe then he’d be permitted to settle with a herd.
He cantered on, Yuma’s cheerful whistling in contrast to his mood. Tatuk darted in and out of view, reminding him of Gem. The ground squelched beneath his hooves, draining his energy as it sucked at his legs. “Isn’t there a drier route to Watersmeet?”
Yuma pointed. “Boasville is over to our right, built on a rise. The crossing is shallowest near there too.”
Fleet veered away from the marsh, relieved as his feet found firmer going. He picked up speed—the sooner this mission was over the sooner he could return—following the paths appearing through the short grass that widened as they neared the village, trampled by the feet of many generations of people.
Only the croak of frogs greeted them. Door hangings flapped in the breeze and no smoke spiralled from hearths. Dust eddies blew around the central shelter.
Yuma tensed. “Don’t stop. I don’t like the feel of the place with everyone gone.” He directed Fleet to where the villagers accessed the river.
Fleet splashed into the shallows, alert for scorcheels. The water ruffled in the wind, the dazzle preventing him from seeing what might lie beneath the surface. Currents pulled at his legs in multiple directions, upsetting his balance.
Halfway across the wide expanse, Fleet’s rump throbbed. The pain increased. Hot spikes shot down his thighs.
The water churned around his front legs. Something grabbed his left knee. Fire needled his flesh as if a swarm of biting ants were devouring him.
Fleet thrashed. A weight disconnected from his leg. He raced back to the bank.
He bounded to the village, oblivious of anything but the burning.
Yuma jumped off. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
“My leg. It’s on fire!”
Yuma squatted and peered. “It’s blistering. Don’t move.”
Remaining still took all Fleet’s self-control while Yuma rinsed his leg and squeezed blobs of bumblebee nectar onto the burn. “Did you see the scorcheel?”
“No. One moment you were wading across, the next I almost came off and we were back here. No wonder people abandoned the place.” Yuma rummaged in his pack and offered Fleet a handful of dried leaves. “Here, this might help the pain.”
Fleet swallowed the herbs, his mind spinning with visions of horses torn apart, their carcases devoured by bloodwolves or dragged beneath the water.
Yuma made a fire and set up camp, even though the sun still rode high in the sky. “What are we going to do?”
Tatuk arrived as if on demand. “The river narrows upstream, but it’s still too wide to jump.”
Fleet pushed away the pain. He had to get to the other side. “What if we go much further east?”
Yuma shook his head. “Two rivers join. One comes from the south, which will take us the wrong way. We need to cross here. If I had a spear, I might be able to defend us, but only if I can see the scorcheels before they attack.”
Fleet agreed there was no point going far out of their way, only to risk finding more scorcheels anyway. “I hadn’t made the connection before, but I’m sure my rump throbs whenever bloodwolves or scorcheels are near. That should give us warning.”
“Great. But we’ll still need to go back to the forest so I can cut a spear.”
Fleet shifted his weight, his discomfort subsiding. “Can’t you use your arrows?”
“No, they’re too short and will bend. I need a long, heavy shaft, preferably cedar or fir.”
“We’d better get going then. Those trees are a long way back.”
They returned to Boasville for Yuma to fashion a branch into a weapon, hardening the tip in the fire.
Fleet watched with interest. “Won’t the spear slip off the slime?”
Yuma shrugged. “I hope not. I’ve never tried spearing an eel before. I usually catch them on a bone hook.”
Fleet paced around the fire to ease his sore muscles. “What about the tusks you took from the wolf that killed Sapphire? Could you attach one of those like you bind the stone to your arrows?”
“That’s a good idea. The poison might kill the scorcheels even if I can’t stab them properly. I don’t fancy landing one, anyway.” Yuma extracted a fang from his medicine pouch and removed the hyssop leaves. He soaked a length of bark string and bound the tooth to the tempered shaft.
When the binding dried tight, Yuma kicked out the fire and mounted. “Are you sure you’re well enough to try again?”
Fleet walked towards the river. “Time won’t heal me. I need a cure for the poison.”
He trotted upstream of the shallows, stopping prior to where the water became murky and deepened in a narrow channel. His rump remained stiff, but didn’t throb. “Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Yuma tightened the fingers of one hand in Fleet’s mane, the other clutching his spear.
Fleet lunged into the water, splashing his legs high in an attempt to cross as fast as possible.
The riverbed dissolved beneath his feet. He swam.
Yuma was immersed to his waist. “I can’t use a spear like this! Get to shallower water!”
Fleet veered and let the current wash him back to where the scorcheel had attack
ed. His hooves met solid ground.
His rump throbbed. “Look out! It’s near!”
A long fin cut the water, winding its way towards him. Yuma twisted on Fleet’s back and thrust the spear at the scorcheel.
The beast reared out of the water, rows of needle teeth gnashing, slime streaking the air.
Fleet dodged.
Yuma thrust again. The bloodwolf fang grazed the side of the scorcheel.
Its crimson eyes whirled. Already as long as Fleet, it grew. Its grey body thickened. Crimson streaks glowed down its sides. It lashed out at Yuma’s leg.
Fleet lunged towards the opposite bank and burst from the water, ignoring his pain, terror blinding him. He scrambled out on the far side, galloping away from the river. Yuma clung tight.
He could run no more. He slowed to a walk and halted. “Are you alright, Yuma?”
“Yes, it missed me. But we won’t be using those fangs again.” He dismounted, soaked, gasping, and looking horrified.
“Why not? You did well.”
Yuma coughed and spat. “The venom made the creature bigger. Whatever Shadow uses to create bloodwolf poison must be what transforms eels too.”
Fleet hung his head, sucking in deep breaths. “The feathers are our only hope. We must keep going.”
Peak after ragged peak cleaved the horizon. Yuma squinted into sparkling white valleys, the sun transforming the hillsides as shadows crept across them. Birds of prey circled on unseen currents, watching for the slightest movement of a snow hare or weasel. Eventually the glare became too much and the climb too demanding. Yuma stopped looking, concentrating only on placing one foot in front of the other. He longed to complete this task; the adventure had stopped being fun moons ago. He had never suffered homesickness before. Now all he wanted was to drink mulled ale around a crackling fire and listen to his family chatter about their day.
His family. Had bloodwolves reached Waterfalls? He should go home, no matter what Fleet had to do. But he didn’t want to abandon the horse, and his friendship, when they might be close to saving the land.
He blinked, the white peaks in front of him dazzling, and gawped at the narrow track winding up the mountain. “Are we supposed to go up that?”
Tatuk fluttered his wings where he perched on Fleet’s neck. “It’s the only way in to Snowhaven.”
Vapour misted from Fleet’s nostrils as he scrambled up the steep slope. Yuma tagged on his tail, gasping from the high altitude, so different to the flats around Boasville. They reached a ridge.
Tatuk hovered over his head. “The bear’s cave is near.”
Yuma groaned at the steep descent; going down into another valley meant he would have to climb back up again. He released Fleet’s tail and let gravity pull him. Stones clattered down the hillside, loosened by his stumbling on the narrow track.
“Careful! You don’t want to disturb the bear.” The dragon flew ahead, giggling as he disappeared, as if this quest were a merry jaunt.
Where the ground levelled out, Fleet picked up the pace. Yuma lengthened his stride to keep up, and caught his breath. How were they going to get past the bear?
A narrow brook crossed the track. They hadn’t encountered scorcheels for days, but Fleet still flared his nostrils and blew at the surface before drinking.
Kneeling beside Fleet, Yuma sucked the water, the coldness numbing his tongue and making his teeth ache. They couldn’t rest for long; he had already lost sensation in his fingers and toes. He struggled to his feet and strode on, the exercise barely stimulating his circulation. A layer of snow obscured the path, creaking under their footfalls, their way marked only by the level ground of a well-trodden track beneath the packed covering.
Ice balled into Fleet’s hooves as if he had stones stuck to his soles, raising his feet off the ground. Yuma picked them clean with an old flint as often as he could. The sun disappeared below the horizon and a chill wind blew. He hugged his furs around him. “We need to find shelter and get a fire going.”
Tatuk flitted into view and twitched his wings for them to follow. A hollow in the hillside offered a windbreak and protection from any snow that might fall in the night. Yuma cleared a place to camp, and unstrapped a bundle of dense wood and a few pieces of kindling from his pack. He soon had a soup pot bubbling. The tiny fire did little to warm him. After a hasty meal, he curled into a ball, relieved the night remained dry. He’d need all the sleep he could get to face the next day.
Early morning fog rolled through the valleys, the treetops appearing like islands in a sea of mist. Yuma ate the leftovers from the brace of ptarmigan he had downed the day before with his sling, packed up camp, and set off on the trail in Fleet’s wake.
The sun chased away the last of the mist, revealing a landscape of glittering white. Once his stiff muscles unknotted, Yuma’s spirits lifted, despite still having no idea how they would claim the feathers. He climbed a steep rise and gasped as the mountain fell away in sheer cliffs, the path ahead narrow and twisted. Grey-blue shale slushed beneath his feet as he trod with care, the dizzying height churning his stomach. He rested his hand on Fleet’s rump for support until they reached a broader platform of trodden ice.
Tatuk perched on a jutting rock, greeting them as if they enjoyed the warmth of Shimmering Lake. “This is the cave. The feathers are deep inside. The guardian is with them.”
An overpowering odour of bear wafted from the entrance. Fleet blew through distended nostrils and pawed the ground. “I’m not keen on enclosed spaces.”
Yuma slipped off his pack. “I’ll go. Hopefully the bear will be deeply asleep. But if not, I have my arrows. You stay here.”
Creeping into the gloom, Yuma held his bow ready. He had replaced his flint arrowheads with jade in the hope they would be sharp enough to pierce a thick hide. Following the bear’s spoor, he crept deeper into the mountain, peering into the shadows, the way becoming darker the further he progressed, every boulder and stalagmite taking the form of a defensive bear. He should have made a torch from the remains of his fire.
Too late now.
Roaaarrr!
Yuma tensed mid-stride and tried to gauge which passage the bellow came from. Taking care not to make any sudden movement, he pulled his bowstring taut.
An enormous beast lumbered towards him, raised claws stretching higher than Yuma’s head. The bear gnashed his yellowed ivories and bellowed again, his anger echoing around the chamber.
Yuma couldn’t pass by the beast. His stomach flipped as if he tottered on a precipice. His arms shook. He retreated backwards to the mouth of the cave, step by careful step.
The bear stopped.
Yuma reached daylight, leant against Fleet, and exhaled. “There’s no point me trying to shoot that. There must be another way.”
Tatuk alighted on Yuma’s pack. “Bears like sweet things. Tempt him away.”
He didn’t have any corn. “Fleet, have you seen any sweetgrass?”
Fleet rolled his eyes. “If I had, I would’ve eaten it last night.”
Yuma rested his bow on the ground and ran a hand through his hair. “Can you make something the bear will like, Tatuk?”
The dragon hopped up and down on Yuma’s pack. “Sweets in here.”
Scratching his head, Yuma considered what he might have, going through all the contents of his food and medicine stores. Bumblebee nectar! Only a few cells remained. If they encountered more scorcheels, he’d need every drop. He extracted the pouch, sticky from where the wax casings had burst and soaked the suede. So much for saving them for future use. A sweet aroma wafted from the leather. Would it be enough to entice the bear?
He crept back into the cave.
The bear remained where he’d stopped, standing tall and formidable.
Yuma waved the nectar pouch in front of him.
The guardian sniffed the air and dropped onto hi
s forelegs. His long claws raked the ground as he approached.
Yuma flung the pouch down a narrow passage.
The bear followed, almost brushing Yuma with his thick fur.
As soon as the bear passed, Yuma ran into the depths of the cave. He mustn’t waste the precious moments the distraction might buy him. Light needled through a crack in the ceiling, making it easier to find his way to the bear’s den. The passage ended in a small cavern. Greasy patches of old hair stuck to smooth protrusions and gouges marked the walls, the space large enough for several bears. Relieved at the lack of other residents, Yuma quickly took in his surrounds. Bones and old droppings littered one side of the shelter. A deep bed of dry grass nestled beneath a high recess in the rock. Yuma leapt across in expectation, and scrambled up to inspect the hideaway.
He gasped. Five golden feathers as long as his arms glinted on their smooth shelf, the rock carved to match their shape. He reached to grab them.
A deafening roar reverberated around the chamber.
Yuma snatched away his hand.
The bear bellowed and lumbered forward.
Yuma dropped to the ground and fired arrow after arrow. They bounced from the bear’s hide. Down to the last one, Yuma dropped to one knee, steadied, and aimed at the beast’s eye.
The arrow hit the bear’s nose. It reared, clutching its face, roaring.
Yuma grabbed the feathers. Cradling them in both arms, surprised at their weight and solidity, he dashed past the guardian and ran for his life.
Chapter 13
Fleet didn’t like Yuma entering the bear’s cave alone—this was supposed to be his job—but at least the man had weapons. Hopefully, as Yuma supposed, the guardian would be hibernating and the feathers easily retrieved.
Roaaarrr!
Fleet sprang to the cave entrance. He hesitated.
Hooves clattered behind him.
A mighty unicorn burst along the trail, fury belching from his nostrils. He charged, his lowered head pointing a horn like an ancient branch from a whitebark pine, twisted and knobbly. His crimson coat dripped with sweat, in stark contrast to his black mane and tail, crusted with icicles.