White Horse Talisman Page 3

  A great gasp came from the crowd below as the miracle occurred.

  The wind seemed to cradle the boy, mare, and foal, gen–tly bouncing them from tussock to tussock in great graceful leaps. All three flew downwards at one with the spirit of the Great White Horse. Only once did the mare’s haunches start to slip to one side, but her hind muscles bunched and she dug in her hooves. Alin shifted his weight and felt her right herself during the next leap.

  This was riding. This was how the Great White Horse galloped from hilltop to hilltop. This heart-stopping, breath–taking descent was truly riding the wind.

  Neither of them heard the roar of the crowd as they reached the bottom, the foal still scrambling in their wake. Alin became aware that the angle of the descent had changed. He rapidly changed position until he was crouched low over the red mare’s neck. Together they galloped the full length of the valley to stop trembling and dripping with sweat and lather beneath the Blessed Thorn. The foal arrived a few seconds later and stuck like glue to its mother’s flank and Alin’s leg.

  Startled, two magpies fluttered up from the branches, call– ing joyously. Alin threw back his head and laughed with relief. Two for joy — the omens were certainly with him today.

  The Blowing Stone’s deep note echoed around the valley. Dimly, Alin realized it was being sounded in respect for the previous king. He gently nudged the red mare and foal. All three looked towards Dragon Hill.

  The young king spread his arms wide in joyful accept–ance of the knife stroke that would unite him forever with the Great White Horse God. As the king’s body dropped, Alin slid from the red mare’s back and fell to his knees in a gesture of honor. For the next seven years he would be keeper of the White Horse and king to his people.

  He rose, patted the red mare’s flank and ran a comfort–ing hand over the back of the trembling foal. Two horses had ridden the wind. Two for joy! What a powerful omen! A strong omen that the priests could only interpret as good. He, Alin, would honor these horses in a special way so that they would always be linked with him and his reign. He would have their image carved on a hillside. Yes, into the red clay beyond the downs. A carving like that of the Great White Horse God, one big enough to be seen from afar. Yes, that’s what he would do. He would show his thanks by offering his brave red mare and her foal to the White Horse God as a fitting tribute.

  His eye lit upon a small sharp stone. He bent down and picked it up. Using the sharp point, he swiftly scratched a second horse into the gold talisman. Then he held it up towards the carving on the hill. His voice rang out, “Thank you, Great White Horse God. You sent me power and bless–ing. In return I will give you a mate.”

  Alin tossed the stone and dropped the talisman back around his neck. It winked in the sunlight. Then he proudly walked back up the valley to meet his new subjects and to accept the golden cloak from the high priest.

  The red mare and foal followed.

  CCC

  All that happened a long time ago?

  Yes, child.

  You are the Horse King?

  Yes, child. That is one of my names.

  Chantel’s body shivered with awe. And Alin was the Magic Child?

  He was the first.

  Then how can I help you? I’m not brave like Alin. I’m just a kid.

  You can help. You have a special power. A belief in dreams and imagination. Humans call it intuition. I need that power to help find the red mare and foal that Alin created. They have disappeared from the memory of your people and your world is so changed I can no longer see where they lie. They were my mate and child. I miss them. Equus sighed. Will you help them ride the wind with me again?

  How? … I don’t understand. Chantel’s unconscious body showed her distress. She tossed and turned restlessly on the hospital bed.

  The old magic is almost forgotten, but you can help renew it. Talk with the other young people. If everyone helps, we will find the red mare and the old magic will be strengthened. Magic still lives if there are believers.

  Am I a believer?

  You are. You performed the ritual.

  But how can I make the others believe?

  Remember what you found at my carving? Part of my magic talisman is still clasped in your hand. Ask the others to take it to Wayland’s Smithy.

  Wayland’s Smithy, Chantel repeated slowly. She turned in her sleep and her free hand touched the closed fist. Her fingers visibly tightened again.

  Yes, I’ll help you, White Horse. Chantel’s lips curved into a faint smile and her body relaxed on the bed. She murmured the strange name “Wayland’s Smithy” aloud, slipped her fist under her pillow and drifted into a deep, natural sleep.

  CCC

  The doctor who had been leaning over Chantel’s bed straight–ened and turned to her Auntie Lynne and Uncle Ron.

  “She’ll do. She’s out of the anesthetic and sleeping natu–rally. She’ll drift in and out of sleep for a couple of days. But then she should be fine. We’ll keep her under observation until she is fully alert. But I have every confidence you’ll be able to take her home on Wednesday.” He patted the cast on Chantel’s leg and turned to go.

  Chantel shifted in her bed and muttered, “Wayland’s Smithy,” but her eyes did not open.

  Her aunt and uncle leaned closer to catch what she said.

  “Ignore anything she mutters. She’s dreaming.” The doctor smiled at Uncle Ron and Auntie Lynne. “Concussion sometimes temporarily affects the mind. She might wake up confused, or have vivid dreams she thinks are real. It’s quite normal. It will pass.”

  CCC

  Adam, Owen, and Holly sat by the telephone.

  Adam seemed to have shrunk. His eyes looked enormous, and his red hair and freckles stood out against his white face. He shivered and pulled a worn traveling blanket further around his shoulders.

  “Mum says shock makes you feel cold,” Holly said.

  Adam tugged the blanket angrily. “I hope Chantel’s not badly hurt. Mom and Dad will be mad. I was supposed to look after her. They’ll say it was my fault, just you watch. I knew there would be trouble if Chantel came to England with me. Things always happen to her, then get blamed on me.”

  “Don’t be daft,” Owen said. “You didn’t cause the lightning. No one’s going to blame you. We’re all lucky to be alive.”

  BRIIIINNG-BRIIINNNG. BRIIIINNG-BRIIINNNG.

  Three hands shot towards the telephone, but Owen reached it first.

  “Uffington 6291, Owen speaking.”

  “Hello, son. Tell everyone Chantel is going to be okay.”

  “Hold on, Dad. I’ll put you on the speaker.”

  Owen pressed a switch and Uncle Ron’s voice filled the room. “Chantel has a concussion and a broken leg.”

  Adam gasped. “How bad is it, Uncle Ron?”

  “She’ll be fine. The break was clean. She can have the plaster off in six weeks.”

  Everyone groaned.

  “That’s the summer gone. Poor kid,” whispered Holly.

  “The doctors checked the concussion,” continued Uncle Ron. “She’s fine but needs rest and quiet in hospital for a couple of days. Then she can come home and recuperate at the farm.”

  “Can we visit her?” asked Adam shakily.

  “Not today. She’s still groggy from the anesthetic. You can visit tomorrow afternoon. She keeps on muttering about her white horse. You can reassure her about Snowflake.”

  “Okay,” said Adam quietly.

  Uncle Ron’s voice softened. “Don’t worry, Adam. Chantel will recover. She’s lucky. You all are. A lightning strike so close but no one hit. It’s a miracle.

  “By the way, Adam, I’ve phoned your folks and left a message. It’s about three am in Canada, but I’m sure they’ll be in contact when they wake up. We’re coming home soon. Everything all right there?”

  “We were just worried,” Holly said. “It took ages for you to phone.”

  “I know. We waited until Chantel came round from the anest
hetic. Once she spoke, we knew she was fine. You can stop worrying now, promise?”

  “Promise,” everyone called back, grinning shakily at each other.

  “How are the ponies?” Uncle Ron asked.

  “Mr. O’Reilly has seen to them,” Owen said. “He’s rubbed them down and settled them in the barn. And Mrs. O’Reilly gave us tea, but Adam’s not eaten much.”

  “Adam. You’re not to worry about Chantel. Understand?”

  “Yes, Uncle Ron.”

  “Auntie Lynne and I will be home soon. Hang in there.”

  With a loud click Uncle Ron rang off, leaving the speaker buzzing until Owen leaned over and switched it off.

  The cousins looked at each other.

  “I was scared Chantel would die.” Holly voiced every–one’s fears.

  Adam nodded, his throat too tight to speak.

  “Poor kid — that broken leg will spoil her holiday. We must find ways to make it up to her,” said Owen.

  “What about the old pony carriage in the back of the barn?” said Holly. “If we clean it up we can take her out in it. Then she won’t miss out on our trips.”

  “Great idea.” Owen thumped his sister’s arm affection–ately. “We’ll make sure the holiday isn’t ruined.”

  They both grinned at Adam.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE BROKEN TALISMAN

  Holly, Owen, and Adam walked towards the hospital room, wondering what they would find.

  “Chantel Maxwell? She’s in there,” said the nurse, point–ing out the doorway. “She needs rest. Don’t stay long, and don’t excite or upset her.”

  Chantel lay against her pillows, half-dozing. A large hump under the bedclothes marked the wire cage protecting her plastered leg. She looked small in the big bed.

  Adam’s heart twinged with pity.

  Hearing footsteps in the doorway, Chantel turned her head. Her face was pale and there were deep circles under her eyes. Her smile was anxious. “You’re here at last.” Her voice was soft but urgent. Her eyes checked behind them. “Good, no grown-ups! I need to talk to you … about the White Horse.”

  “Snowflake’s fine.” Adam bent over and gave her a clumsy hug. “All the ponies are.”

  Holly and Owen nodded their agreement.

  “No … no … not Snowflake.” Chantel pushed Adam away and struggled to sit. “The real White Horse. The one carved in the hill.” She dropped her voice. “He’s real. He talks to me.”

  Adam and her cousins avoided her eyes.

  There was a long pause.

  Adam cleared his throat and spoke gruffly. “You’ve been er … dreaming, Chantel. It’s … it’s … the bump on your head.”

  Holly nodded. “Yes … that’s right. The doctor said con–cussion does weird things,” she added kindly.

  Chantel’s eyes filled with tears. “You don’t believe me. I knew you wouldn’t.” She rolled away from them, pulling the pillow over her face.

  A small object fell to the floor with a faint tinkle.

  “You’ve dropped something.” Holly bent down and picked up a flat golden shape. She held it up.

  Chantel turned back, uncovered one eye and glared, then realized what Holly was showing her. She pulled down the pillow and leaned up on her elbow. “I forgot it was under my pillow … Now you have to believe me. The horse said to give it to you.”

  “What is it?” Holly peered at it. “Where did you get it?” She passed it over to Owen. He and Adam examined it.

  “It looks like half an old coin, a real gold coin,” said Owen. “Who gave it you?”

  They all looked at Chantel.

  She flushed. “You won’t believe me.” Her voice sharpened defiantly. “I got it from the White Horse. It’s not a coin.

  It’s a talisman.”

  “There are marks on it,” said Adam. He plucked the gold object from Owen’s hand and carried it over to the window where the light was brighter. He turned it several times. “One side is kind of like a whorl, but the other side reminds me of …” Adam’s voice was unsure. He held out the talisman on the palm of his hand so that Owen and Holly could look. “… part of the horse carving on the hill.”

  The three kids stared down at the broken gold piece and looked uneasily back at Chantel.

  Adam laughed. “The horse didn’t give this to you. You’re lying. You found it! You were digging in the chalk just before the storm. I saw you!”

  Chantel’s eyes filled with tears, but she brushed them away with her fist. “Yes, I found it in the eye But the White Horse told me to do it. He did give me the talisman, Adam Maxwell. He did! He’s asked me to help him, and he needs your help too. And that’s proof! You’re supposed to take it to somewhere. But I told him you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Yeah, right!” Adam snorted.

  Holly kicked Adam’s ankle to shut him up. She patted Chantel’s arm.

  Chantel turned to Holly. “I’m telling the truth. Honestly!

  The talisman has to go to ” Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember the strange name. “To Why … land … Smith something.”

  “Smithy?“ asked Holly in an odd voice “Wayland’s Smithy?”

  “Yes,” said Chantel, her face clearing. “That’s right.”

  Holly and Owen looked at each other. There was a long silence.

  “Weird,“ said Owen finally. He shook his head slowly. “Totally weird. How did you come up with that?”

  “I told you. The White Horse told me. Take the talisman to Wayland’s Smithy. You’ll see.”

  “See what?” asked Owen.

  Chantel gave a small shrug. “Dunno. He didn’t say. But I bet something will happen to make you believe me,” she finished.

  “I don’t get it, you guys. What’s going on?” Adam inter–rupted the three-way conversation.

  “We’re not sure,” said Holly. “But somehow your little sister has learned about Wayland’s Smithy. It’s a historic site, an old barrow along the Ridgeway. An ancient burial place.”

  “I thought a smithy was another name for a blacksmith shop,” said Adam.

  “It is. That’s part of the story. Wayland’s Smithy is the oldest prehistoric site in the area. It’s a long, grass-covered burial mound supposedly built by a god called Wayland, who was a blacksmith. The story says if a traveler leaves a horse there overnight, and places a silver coin on the rock at the barrow entrance, the horse will be magically shod by morning. So that’s why the barrow’s called a smithy,” Owen explained. “Come on, Chantel … who told you about it?”

  Chantel glared at them. “The White Horse,” she said.

  There was an awkward silence.

  Chantel’s voice shook. “Okay, fine. Don’t believe me … I don’t want to talk anymore. Go away! ” She turned over and pretended to sleep, but a tear trickled from the corner of her eye.

  CCC

  Adam, Owen, and Holly retreated in disarray down the hos–pital corridor and stood in a huddle by an elevator.

  “We weren’t supposed to upset her,” Holly said.

  “I know,” Owen agreed. “Mum said the concussion might make her hallucinate. But what are we supposed to do? Go along with everything?”

  Adam shrugged.

  Holly tried to grapple with the problem. “You know her best, Adam. Does Chantel honestly believe the White Horse is real?”

  Adam turned the gold fragment over and over in his hand. “She’s always making things up,” he muttered crossly. “She does it to get attention.” Then honesty got the better of him. “But she seemed serious this time.”

  “Yeah, but is she seriously nuts with concussion, or …”

  Owen trailed off.

  “Or is this from the White Horse?” Adam finished. “Come on, you guys. How could it be?” He tossed the talisman into the air. They watched as it spun back into his hand.

  “I dunno,” Owen said slowly. “But where did she get it? There are weird stories in our village. People are always talking about horse
magic. What if she is telling the truth?

  What if it’s the spell?”

  Adam rolled his eyes towards Holly, thinking she’d back him up.

  “Yes, yes. I forgot!” Holly’s voice rose in excitement. “Chantel walked widdershins seven times around the eye. I bet I know what she wished for. I bet she wanted to see the real White Horse.”

  Owen’s eyes widened. “And … and … the villagers say you get your wish in units of seven.” His voice quickened. “It was about seven minutes later the storm started and the lightning struck!”

  “And ever since she says she’s been talking to the White Horse,” Holly finished.

  “She could dream up the horse, but how could she dream up the talisman and Wayland’s Smithy?” added Owen.

  “Exactly!” Holly finished.

  “Hey, hold it. What are you two saying?” Adam interrupted.

  Holly shrugged. “I suppose we’re saying we might owe Chantel an apology. Maybe we should go back and really listen to what she has to say.”

  Adam stared at them in disbelief. “You’re joking!”

  “What have we got to lose?” asked Owen. “She’s either hallucinating, in which case we go along with it for now and all have a good laugh when she gets better, or her stories are true and we’re in for an adventure!”

  Adam snorted with angry laughter. Owen was supposed to be doing things with him, and now his little sister was sidetracking things. “You’re nuts. If you believe that, you’ll believe anything.”

  “Okay, we’re nuts.” Owen pushed Adam up the corridor by the small of his back. “Go and talk to Chantel. You’re her brother.”

  Adam twisted away. “No way. You believe that rubbish, you talk to her.”

  “Oh, shut up, you two. I’ll go.” Holly retraced her steps to Chantel’s room, leaving the two boys glaring at each other.