The Bloodwolf War Page 6

  Fleet halted a few strides away, blowing hard. “No, I was at the village. Lots of tiny people ran out. I thought they were going to attack.”

  The filly snickered and quivered her upper lip. “Oh, those. They’re only youngsters. They can be very noisy but they won’t hurt you. Haven’t you any babies in your territory?”

  Fleet inhaled a deep breath and licked his lips, overwhelmed by the beauty of both young mares. “I don’t have a territory. My dam was in hiding when I was born. When she was killed I came to find King Streak.”

  The palomino stretched forward her nose. “You haven’t intro­duced yourself. I’m Golden Breeze.”

  The black filly marched up and pushed between them. “I’m Princess Silken Tresses of Flowering Valley. Did you get injured in the hog hunt?”

  Fleet arched his neck and held his tail high. “It’s not my blood. I was carrying hogs. I’m Fleet of Foot of Dark Woods.”

  “Carrying hogs? How disgusting.” The black filly withdrew.

  Golden Breeze sniffed his neck. “I’ve never seen another horse as black as Tress.”

  Fleet tossed his head. “I’ve never seen a golden horse. You’re both beautiful.”

  Tress snorted. “Breeze thinks the goddess is her ancestor, but her dam was chestnut.”

  Fleet glanced from one filly to the other. “Sapphire, my dam, was chestnut. So I guess the colour of our dams doesn’t matter. Who’s the goddess?”

  “Surely you know the creation story?” Tress edged away.

  Fleet followed her. “Sapphire only taught me how to survive. Will you tell me?”

  Tress stepped forward and reached out her nose. “Do you really not know it?”

  “No. Please. I’ve never had contact with anyone other than my dam.”

  The black filly glanced at her friend. “Well, in that case…”

  Delighted she agreed to recount the tale, Fleet listened with pricked ears.

  “…the goddess is a mighty golden horse with wings.” Acting out her story, Tress raced in a circle, calling out how the goddess wanted a playground, galloping across the skies to create the lands. After circling back to Fleet and Breeze, she stamped a hoof. “Lakes formed where her hooves touched the ground. The trail of her tail gouged out rivers. Where she jumped, a hill formed.”

  The filly sprinted off again, rearing and bucking before returning to continue her story. “When the goddess reared in joy, a mountain grew. She blew life from her nostrils into the rocks to make all the plants and animals. To complete Equinora she made horses, people to care for them, and unicorns to protect them.”

  “Unicorns? Can you tell me about them?” Fleet listened intently, admiring the filly. Her coat glistened and her tail flowed like a sparkling stream under a full moon.

  Breeze stepped closer. “They’re a myth, that’s what. Supposedly horned horses with magic powers.”

  Tress ignored her friend and continued to prance. “All the uni­corns are different colours of the rainbow.”

  Fleet had never heard such a tale. He glanced between the two fillies. “So unicorns are real? They’re truly magical?”

  Tress struck out with a foreleg and glared at Breeze. “Of course they are.”

  The palomino snickered. “So magical no-one has ever seen one.”

  Tress stamped again. “Let me finish. Every unicorn uses their horn for a different magic, and there must always be six to represent air, earth, water, fire, light, and spirit.”

  Breeze mumbled through a mouthful of grass. “All the stallions talk about finding a unicorn mare. Idiots. As if a unicorn, if it existed, would be interested in mating with a normal horse. It’s just a story, maybe to coax bachelors to leave the king’s territory.”

  A loud whinny prevented Fleet from asking more questions.

  Streak galloped up, his mane and tail flying. He skidded to a halt between Fleet and Tress, teeth snapping. Clods erupted from the ground. “What are you doing here? You should be with Blackfoot.”

  Fleet yawned in submission. “I fled the village when I was spooked. I didn’t mean any harm.”

  Tress came to his rescue. “It’s true, sire. The way he ran, he had no idea where he was going, and he doesn’t know anything.”

  The lead stallion kicked out at his daughter. “Be quiet. You and Breeze had better get back to the herd.”

  He barged Fleet backwards. “I told you to keep away from my mares. Tress and Breeze have destinies greater than running off with a disobedient colt from Dark Woods.”

  Streak struck the ground with his front hoof. “Finding you here makes my decision easy. I’ve considered Sapphire’s warning and discussed it with my warriors. Someone needs to seek help from the unicorns, and you’re used to travelling alone. You will leave tomorrow.”

  “So they’re not a myth. How do I find one?”

  The king snorted. “All I’ve heard is you need to cross River Lifeflow and follow Silverstream. One of the female unicorns is rumoured to live in the hills that surround a shining lake. I don’t know about the others.”

  That all sounded very vague. Fleet shuffled sideways and twitched off biting midges. Or did he only imagine them? His skin crawled with fear. “What do I say when…if…I do find a unicorn?”

  Streak tossed his head. “You’ll have to follow your instincts. Tonight you can stay with the bachelors. Keep away from my mares, or I won’t even allow you that respite. You must leave at dawn. If I see you in my territory after that, I’ll kill you.”

  As the evening cooled, Fleet sought shelter under a stand of willows near the river. Despite his exertions, he had no appetite. He’d finally found King Streak and a herd of horses. Instead of being welcomed and gaining their help, he had been shunned by the other stallions, been looked down on by two gorgeous fillies, and upset the king. Rather than joining the herd, he must continue on his own.

  His head spun from all that had happened that day—the hog chase, learning the creation story, and the reprimand from Streak. Although he had spoken in a matter-of-fact manner, Fleet had no doubt the king meant what he said. But did unicorns really exist? Maybe the king didn’t believe in the threat Sapphire had foreseen and was just trying to get rid of him.

  Hoping to gain more knowledge, Fleet sought out Blackfoot. He found the Head of Warriors grazing where the men had mown hay. “You must travel further than most horses. Can you tell me how to find the unicorn who lives near a bright lake?”

  The stallion looked at him as if he were a rotting hog. “I never go west of River Lifeflow. What do you think would happen if I deserted my post?”

  How could the big grey be satisfied with running with the bach­elors all his life? He was strong and more than able to attract mares. “Don’t you ever dream of starting a herd of your own?”

  Blackfoot flicked his tail in annoyance. “Not that it’s any of your business, but as soon as Breeze is of age she’ll be mine. Streak and I have an arrangement. There’s empty territory far to the east where I’ll start my herd.”

  Fleet asked a few more questions and discovered the herd hier­archy was more complex than Sapphire had led him to believe. Even Starburst had to fight to remain as lead mare to decide when and where the herd would graze, when foals would be weaned, and who would interact with people.

  Thinking of the queen reminded him of Tress. Who would win the beautiful princess? He had never imagined a creature so gorgeous, even if she found him uneducated. He could learn if given a chance. Golden Breeze was lovely too, but somehow the black filly pulled on his heart like he’d never experienced. What a couple he and Tress would make! He could imagine their offspring gambolling in lush meadows or snoozing under the oaks.

  Blackfoot interrupted his thoughts as if he’d read them. “You’ll need to do more than find a unicorn to win Princess Tress; you’ll need a miracle.” He strutted away, making it clear
the discussion was over.

  Despondent, Fleet looked for someone else to talk to. A pair of bays stood nose to tail under a broad maple tree. The leaves had started to turn deep orange, the smell of damp vegetation drifting up as he trod on the mulch, toadstools sprouting in the shade. He’d met the stallions earlier when Blackfoot gave out instructions prior to the hunt. Having been snubbed by Blackfoot, he re-introduced himself from a distance, unsure of the etiquette. “Did the people get many hogs today?”

  The nearest horse twitched an ear his way. “You’d have known if you’d done your bit instead of racing off with your man. How can you bear anything on your back? Think you’re special, don’t you? Well, you won’t find a welcome here. We all heard about you chatting up Tress and Breeze.”

  Fleet didn’t approach any closer. “I wasn’t looking for fillies. I was fleeing the village. The little people spooked me.”

  “So you can carry a man and hogs but you’re scared of babies?” The bachelor refused to enter into any more conversation.

  After trying in vain to engage with a few other stallions, Fleet drifted to the river. He had dreamt of racing with other horses or chatting in the shade. Now he was surrounded by his kind yet had never felt so lonely. Perhaps he shouldn’t have invited the man to ride him.

  Bachelors stood in twos and threes nearby, some alone on the perimeter keeping guard. Seeking the presence of another horse, even if he wouldn’t chat, Fleet wandered over to a stocky skewbald. At least this stallion didn’t flatten his ears as Fleet joined him. “What are you watching for? Can I help?”

  The guard introduced himself as Rocky and shifted to make room on a level patch of bank. “The number of wolves has increased this year. Normally we wouldn’t see any until winter. There’ve already been pad marks in the mud.”

  Quivering at hearing about wolves, Fleet pushed away visions from his nightmares. He sniffed the ground. “Are the wolves here red? The ones from home are grey.”

  “The ones that come out of Lost Lands are grey too. I’ve never heard of a red wolf.” The guard pricked his ears and gazed into the night, his nostrils distended.

  Pleased this stallion seemed content to talk as equals, rather than the patronising talk of the fillies or the aggressive attitude of the other bachelors, Fleet ambled closer. “I expect the smell of blood from the hunt will bring wolves in. How can people eat animals?”

  Without turning away from his duty, Rocky explained. “Their bodies need meat. And as they don’t have hair like us, they need the skins too.”

  “I’ve never encountered people before.” Fleet nibbled at a few low hanging willow leaves hoping they would alleviate the pain in his hindquarters. His wounds had stiffened from all the galloping. He wished Squirrel were here to massage him and apply the salve.

  Rocky shifted his stance, still keeping his vigil across the river. “I heard you had a man with you when you arrived, and I saw him on your back during the hunt.”

  Fleet acknowledged carrying Squirrel. “He’s the first one I’ve ever met. He saved my life. I liked his company and my dam told me I could trust people. He couldn’t travel as fast as me, so I thought it’d be easier to carry him. He brushed me and tended my wounds.”

  Rocky explained the bachelors didn’t go to the village like the mares and youngsters for grooming. Although the men put out hay and oats in winter for them, the stallions had little to do with the village. None had ever allowed anyone on their backs.

  Glad the guard was happy to chat, Fleet sought more answers. “How do you communicate with them? I don’t understand Squirrel’s mutterings, and it would be great to tell him what I want.”

  Fleet listened with new respect as Rocky described the various signals they used. So Squirrel had been offering to help him when they first met. A flash of annoyance at his dam’s lack of explanation accompanied the revelation. She hadn’t taught him anything of use for his new life alone or, for that matter, anything about life in a herd.

  It was too late to worry about that now. He wasn’t allowed to stay with the herd anyway, not unless he found a unicorn to save the herds from the bloodwolves. And who was the horse with twisted horns? Why did it have to be him to go in search of help? Many of these stallions were far stronger and wiser. He hadn’t set out to talk to Tress and Breeze. He could learn to fit in if Streak gave him a chance.

  And what if unicorns were a myth like Breeze believed? Was Streak sending him to his doom? Was there even a shining lake? Maybe it was poisoned.

  But he had no choice. He had to leave at first light, and had nowhere else to go. And he had promised Sapphire he’d do whatever was necessary to avenge her death and save the herds.

  Yuma rolled up his sleeping furs and stuffed his bag. Kneeling on the pack, he pulled the drawstrings tight before deftly tying a slipknot. He’d packed rations for a few days but hadn’t had breakfast. Hogs’ liver sizzling on the fire made him salivate.

  “Are you leaving already?” The quiet voice sounded disapp­ointed.

  “I need more flint if I’m to hunt hogs again. I only brought heads for small game.” Yuma accepted the bread Laila handed him, thanking her for her thoughtfulness, the thick crust smeared with fat from the stone plate used to cook the fresh belly flap.

  The girl squatted next to Yuma as he ate. “I wish I could travel like you. I love going to the forest to gather nuts and mushrooms. It’s so different from here, cool and calm. The birds are interesting too, like the crazy woodpeckers.”

  Yuma raised his eyebrows as he wiped grease from his lips. “I guess I’m used to them. I prefer your open grasslands. Especially the grouse! We don’t get them where I live. They’re delicious.”

  Laila twirled her braid. “The golden eagles think so too. I wish I could fly and see what they can.”

  Yuma had experienced the same desire. “I use the birds as my guides. If I see vultures circling there’s a good chance there’ll be something for me, even if it’s only bones for needles. The swifts heading south tell me winter’s on the way.”

  “I’ve seen them already. I think it’ll be a bad season.” The girl poked the fire. “Thank you for playing the songs last night. I prefer your animal music to Mojag’s ballads. He always sings of brave men and weak women.”

  Yuma laughed. “Would you rather the ballads told of weak men and brave women?”

  The girl shrugged. “That’s how I see the world. I’d better go. Mum will expect me to help with the grinding.”

  Yuma finished his meal and relaced his boots. Looking for flints was really an excuse. He wanted to check on the black stallion, concerned other men might try to ride him. It could take him days to find the bachelor herd. They had dispersed after the hunt and he didn’t know their territory. Of course there was no guarantee the horse would be with them. Yuma still didn’t understand why the young stallion had travelled so far on his own. He could be anywhere by now. That saddened him. He’d enjoyed being with the horse, and had already tired of being back in a village.

  Everyone had been hearty around the fire last night. Even Jolon had muttered Yuma had done well bringing in two hogs with the horse. Ale had flowed beyond their normal sleep time. Although he enjoyed playing his pipe to an appreciative audience, the same banter and age-old rivalries wearied him. He preferred being on his own. The thought of settling back at Waterfalls to take over as chief and raise a family made him shudder.

  Yuma hefted his pack and quiver onto his shoulders and left the communal hut. He crossed to where Chaytan sat under a tree, strip­ping flesh from one of the hog hides, and asked where the bachelors might be.

  His friend grimaced and gave rough directions. “And don’t talk so loud. My head is threatening to split like an overfull hog’s bladder.”

  Yuma slapped the young man on the shoulder. “Try some mint tea. It’s good for clearing away the cobwebs. It sounds like I might be gone a few days. Will
you keep a few marrow bones for me?”

  “Huh. Don’t be gone too long. People from Boasville have taken the best camps the last couple of years. Living so far north, they come whenever a severe winter threatens.” He bowed his head to his work, sliding a broad flint in regular strokes along the inside of the hide.

  Fresh droppings confirmed Chaytan’s suggestion that the bachelor herd was near the river. Yuma soon located the grey stallion that led the males and handed him a handful of oats. Horses of all sizes and colours dotted the pasture, all eating with gusto, another sign a hard winter was on the way.

  He spotted the black stallion standing at the river’s edge, splash­ing water over his shoulders and neck. Yuma whistled, and flushed with pleasure when the stallion whinnied back.

  On joining him at the river, Yuma washed his hands and face, the coldness refreshing him more than the walk, dispelling last night’s over-indulgence. He twisted ryegrass into a wisp to rub down the horse. The stallion’s bottom lip quivered as Yuma scratched along his spine. Concerned to see the wolf wounds reopened, he massaged the horse’s hindquarters. The underlying tissue must still be damaged. He probed deeper. The stallion flinched and lifted a leg. “Sorry, my beauty, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  Working on the horse’s other side, Yuma hummed in rhythm with the stroke of his hands, the horse softening beneath his ministrations, his head drooping as he relaxed.

  A shrill neigh carried across the grasslands.

  The horse threw up his head and trembled.

  Yuma recognised the lead stallion galloping towards them, ears flat back, and teeth protruding from curled lips.

  The black stallion shoved Yuma with his nose.

  Yuma sprang aboard, relieved he hadn’t removed his pack, slinging his leg over the horse’s flank as they plunged into the river. Even with the wide and shallow crossing, Yuma had to lift his feet to keep his boots dry. On reaching the far bank, the horse scrambled ashore and set off at a gallop, his eyes rolled back to check for pursuers.