White Horse Talisman Read online

  I must share a secret with you, said Equus as they stopped. Can your eyes see the others?

  Hazy forms shimmered towards them across the crystal sands.

  The children covered their eyes and peeped through the cracks between their fingers.

  “Myrddin, Ava, you are too bright,” called Equus. He spoke aloud for the first time.

  The shimmering dimmed and resolved into two shapes.

  A red-haired, red-bearded man strode towards them. He was wrapped in a dark cloak. As he moved, the cloak swirled with hidden colors. Beside him glided a woman with a bird headdress. Or was it a bird with a woman’s body? The children couldn’t tell. They gazed in awe at the silver and ebony feathers that covered her and framed her hawk-like features.

  “Meet Myrddin and Ava. My true name is Equus. We are three of the Wise Ones,” said Equus.

  Myrddin and Ava bowed.

  “Greetings,” boomed Myrddin. “Ages have passed since last we met with believers. Welcome.”

  “Blessings for restoring the talisman to Equus.” Ava raised her wings in salutation. She towered over the children.

  They shrank back.

  “Forgive me. I had forgotten how I seem to humans.”

  Ava refolded her wings and smiled.

  “You … you are beautiful,” stammered Owen.

  Ava nodded regally. “Thank you, child.” She turned. “Come, we must show you something no human has ever seen.”

  The horses followed, carrying the children across the sands and along a barely visible trail up the steep cliffs of glass. They stopped at the top and looked across a hidden valley.

  Above them, seven magpies circled.

  Holly counted. “Seven for a secret never been told,” she whispered.

  Below them lay the silver citadel.

  Its walls still shone, but their tops were blackened by fire. The golden gates at the entrance lay shattered and twisted. Beyond the citadel the land was shrouded in mist.

  A great sadness filled the children.

  “What happened?” whispered Holly. “Was there a war?”

  “That is the work of the Dark Being. She attempted to seize our tools of power,” rumbled Myrddin.

  “We evacuated the citadel, then hid our magic tools in a distant place called Gaia, that you call Earth. We thought if no one used magical powers, the Dark Being would feel less threatened and return to her own place in peace.”

  “And did she?” asked Adam.

  The Wise Ones sadly shook their heads.

  “She vowed to search to the ends of time until she found the tools,” said Equus. He sighed. “She has searched without pause, for eons, and now has entered your universe.”

  The children’s eyes widened.

  Ava gently touched the tip of one wing to each fore–head. “Fear not. We will not let the Dark Being destroy your world.”

  “We wish to retrieve the tools from Gaia,” Myrddin said.

  His eyes burned fiercely. “But your people have forgotten us. No one recognized our voices or understood the star messages.”

  “I heard Equus,” said Chantel.

  Myrddin’s face softened. “So you did, child. Because of you, his talisman is found.”

  “So … so … you need help … finding other tools?” asked Adam.

  “Yes.” Ava’s reply hung in the air.

  The children looked at each other and gave nods of agreement.

  “We’ll help,” they chorused.

  Ava spread her wings and gave a rapturous cry. “Yes! Yes!

  Yes!” Her voice echoed around the valley.

  Myrddin beamed. His red hair and beard crackled with sparks and the hidden colors in his cloak danced.

  Unnoticed by the children, the mist beyond the silver citadel thinned.

  “Thank you, thank you,” repeated Myrddin. “Help is strongest when freely offered.”

  Equus tossed his mane. “Chantel and Adam, Owen and Holly, you are bright and brave. You listen to your hearts. You can indeed help us. But finding our tools means waking Old Magic. As our magic stirs so does the Dark Magic.”

  “Like the dragon.” Adam gave a shudder. “He nearly got me, and Holly and Chantel.”

  “Yes, like the dragon,” agreed Equus. “Light and dark.

  There can be no light without the dark.”

  “Won’t you help us? You saved Chantel,” said Holly.

  “We will help with the magic, but we cannot interfere in the ways of your people,” Myrddin said.

  “You mean …” Adam struggled to understand. “You mean … we can fly with the White Horse and fight with the dragon and stuff like that, but you can’t stop Mom and Dad arguing and getting a divorce?”

  Myrddin nodded. “We can only offer a feeling of warmth and peace around them.”

  “Or send feelings of anger and hate,” said Adam ruefully. “Like the dragon sent to me.”

  “But you listened to your heart, Adam. In the end the dragon had no power over you.” Myrddin smiled.

  “There is no shame in refusing, if the task seems daunt–ing,” said Ava gently. “Do you need to reconsider?”

  The children exchanged glances and shook their heads.

  “Are you kidding?” Adam grinned. “Pass up a holiday full of magic? No way!”

  “Magic friends,” said Chantel, stroking the White Horse’s neck.

  “Magic adventures,” added Owen.

  “A summer of magic,” breathed Holly.

  “Will that be time enough?” Myrddin whispered to Ava.

  “Traa dy liooar? We must hope it will,” replied Ava.

  “Your night is slipping away. I must return you,” said Equus. “The journey is long so sleep and dream, sleep and dream. Ahead are your new tomorrows.”

  He and the Red Mare leapt for the wind.

  “Watch for the star messages,” called Ava.

  “We will.” The children waved back.

  “Then farewell. We will meet again.”

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Though The White Horse Talisman is a fantasy, it was inspired by a real English landscape. As a child growing up in England, I was fascinated by pictures of the three-thousand-year-old carving of the Uffington White Horse and always wondered who carved it and why. When I was ten I read Sun Horse, Moon Horse by Rosemary Sutcliffe and vowed that one day I would see the carved horse for myself. It never happened, and I grew up and emigrated to Canada. Five years ago, my husband decided it was time my dream was fufilled. He organized a visit to Uffington. The horse was beautiful. We marveled at its flowing shape and massive size, and both of us circled the eye seven times. (I won’t tell you what I wished for.) We were intrigued to discover that the Great White Horse wasn’t the only wonder in the area. It was surrounded by other fascinating ancient sites.

  My husband discovered the Blowing Stone Inn, so we stayed there, found the Blowing Stone and blew it. We walked the Ridgeway track, explored the ditches and ramparts of Uffington Castle and climbed Dragon Hill, where tradition says St. George slew the dragon. It really is bald on top! One evening we hiked to Wayland’s Smithy and entered the beech-tree circle at sunset. The magic of the place curled around me. As I stooped to crawl under the lintel stone, I saw a silver coin, an offering to Wayland, tucked in a crack. I knew then I had to write about everything I’d seen.

  The story research led me on a fascinating journey through books on Celts and Saxons, paintings of saints, dragons and white horses, folksongs and folktales, children’s rhymes, and other folklore. The description of the ritual scouring and the Pastime is based on the work of writer Thomas Hughes, who lived in Uffin–gton and recorded the customs of White Horse Vale in his book The Scouring of the White Horse. I’ve stayed true to the scouring except for one detail. I needed to link the Red Mare and White Horse, so I invented the role of the eye maker and the bucket of chalk that was carried to the the Red Mare. I grieve for the lost Red Horses of Tysoe. They were ploughed over by an angry land–owner in the 1800
s. Their ghostly images were last seen through crop marks and aerial photos in 1968. They are now irretrievably grown over — except in stories!

  As a child, I chanted the magpie rhyme many times. It’s one of the oldest rhymes in the English language. The number seven is a “magic number” in many cultures, including those of the British Isles. The wealth of folkloric material and ancient sites inspired me so thoroughly that this story became not one fantasy but the first of four. You will be able to follow Chantel and Adam, Holly and Owen through the United Kingdom’s mystical landscape in three more volumes of the Summer of Magic Quartet.

  Andrea Spalding

  August 2001

  Award-winning author Andrea Spalding has written many popular books for children, including juvenile novels Finders Keepers and An Island of My Own, Young Readers Phoebe and the Gypsy and The Keeper and the Crows and picture books Sarah May and the New Red Dress, Me and Mr. Mah and It’s Raining, It’s Pouring. An accomplished storyteller, Andrea hails from England, where she was long steeped in ancient lore, lore that now finds its full expression in the first volume of the Summer of Magic Quartet. She now lives with her husband on Pender Island, BC.