All the King's Horses (8 page)

We were standing at the bottom of a hill ringed by a line of bonfires, and between the fires, there were shadows dancing to music that made the back of my neck prickle. They weren’t human shadows. Some of them were tall and thin, wearing beautiful long dresses, or hats with long feathers, and capes fastened with clasps that shone in the firelight. Others were short and wiry, and had bells on their toes and ears. But most of them were animal shadows: dogs with horses’ hooves, cats with gleaming eyes and tails that bristled three times their size, pigs that danced gracefully on legs much too long, sheep that pranced like horses, and cows with enormous shoulders and necks.

‘Where on earth are we, do you think?’ I shouted in Colin’s ear.

‘No place on earth,’ he shouted back. ‘This has got to be Faerie – and not just the Outskirts, either. You
did
it! You got them to bring us! That bit about the Rules was brilliant!’

‘It was luck,’ I said modestly.

‘Yeah, but it worked!’ he said. ‘And now all we have to do is find Grandpa.’

I looked at the dancing shadows, wondering
where
the elves had gone. ‘How are we going to do that?’

‘Just start hunting, I guess. You go that way, I’ll go—’

‘If we do that, when one of us finds Grandpa, the other one will …’

‘OK, together, then,’ he said. ‘Which way do you want to go?’

I wasn’t sure what difference it was going to make, but I pointed towards the top of the hill, and we started towards the fires. I had thought Faerie fires might not be hot, but as we got closer, I began to wish I hadn’t put on my sweatshirt, and by the time we got to the outer circle, I wriggled out of its sleeves and pulled it over my head. As I came out from under it, a golden-cloaked shadow danced up to us. Suddenly, it stood still to look at us, and I saw it was Mongan.

‘I’ll be blessed – it’s the Children of Lugh!’ he said, and he didn’t sound pleased. ‘How did you get here?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Cathbad told Hob and Lob to take us to the land of visions, but I heard them say they were missing something because of us, so we …’ I looked at Colin for help, but fortunately, Mongan spoke before we had to say any more.

‘Night-elves, eh?’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I
might
have known. Totally unreliable, they are. Cathbad should have known better than to—’

‘—Holy tomato!’ interrupted Colin. ‘Look at that!’

I looked – well, stared is more like it. Because even at the Smithes’ farm, I’d never seen anything so magnificent. A huge grey horse was cantering towards the bonfires with a stride that made the ground tremble. As he came nearer, he snorted at the flames and began to change leads every few strides, slower and slower – until he broke into a high, springing trot, his mane rippling like sea foam over his crest and his tail held high behind him. I had only seen a horse trot like that without a rider, but he had one: a faery with long red hair that flowed from under a circlet of silver and over the shoulders of his sea-green cloak. He was the only person I’d ever seen who rode the way Grandpa did, as if he were part horse himself. As we watched, a pig blundered almost under the horse’s feet, and he reared high, scattering animals and lesser faeries right and left. The faery rider brought him down, steadied him – and he trotted on up the hill, hesitating so long between each stride that it seemed he was floating.

‘Wow!’ I breathed. ‘That’s really something!’

Mongan grinned. ‘Always puts on a show, my old man.’

‘Your old man!’ said Colin, staring. ‘But you said your father was Manannan mac Lir!’

‘And why would I lie?’ said Mongan. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of, surely.’

‘No, no,’ said Colin, blushing. ‘I meant that if that’s really Manannan mac Lir, then the horse must be
his
horse … Enbharr
¹
.’

‘Yes, more’s the pity,’ said Mongan. ‘They’ve spoken to Dad about it, to be sure – schooled as he is, he’s half wild still, and They’re afraid he’ll run amok one fine evening. But Dad’s only part tame himself, having powers no other faery has; that makes it hard to reason with him.’

We nodded, but neither of us was really listening. All our lives, we’d known Enbharr – not the real one, of course, but the magical sea stallion in Grandpa’s stories. Grandpa said he was what every horseman spent his life looking for but never found: the perfect horse, with the power, spirit and speed of a thousand horses combined. Sometimes, when he saw a really spectacular performance in the ring, he’d say, ‘
Sure and that’ll be one of Enbharr’s mortal children
.’ I felt my eyes mist up as we watched Enbharr halt by the topmost fire, his muscles tensed to bolt, but standing absolutely still as the faery vaulted off.
Wherever
Grandpa was in Faerie, I hoped he’d seen that horse … I blinked, then stared. The spot where Enbharr had been standing was empty.

‘Hey!’ said Colin. ‘Where’d he go?’

‘To the Fields,’ said Mongan matter-of-factly. ‘He’d never stand still for the whole ceremony, so Dad sends him there and calls him up when it’s over. Hard on the horse,
I
say, being magicked about like that; but it does keep him from causing mischief.’

I was about to ask where the Fields were, when a trumpet sounded from the top of the hill. Mongan frowned; then taking each of us by the hand, he strode up the hill between the fires, so fast that we had to run to keep up.

‘Where are we going?’ puffed Colin.

‘To the event the night-elves deserted you to watch,’ said Mongan. ‘I suppose they think of it as part of their specialty, since it’s the ceremony in which the great Seer dreams of our next king, but of course, they are allowed no nearer than the fires; it’s a matter only for the Sidhe.’ He looked down at us sternly. ‘That means that you have no right to be there; I’m bringing you only because I let you look at that foolish horse instead of sending you back to your world. So you must be absolutely quiet. If the Sidhe realize you are present, They will be very angry.’

I looked up the hill – and I’d have given up everything, even seeing Enbharr, to be back home. In front of us gaped the entrance to a cave, held up by huge stones that made it look as if the hill had been opened. On either side of the entrance stood the tall shadows we’d seen dancing by the fire. They weren’t shadows, now, though: their clothes were made of gold and silver cloth, and they wore circlets in their hair. All of them had long, thin faces, and eyes that made me shiver, though they looked solemn, not cruel. Even if Mongan hadn’t said they were in charge of the ceremony, I would have known who they were: the Sidhe – the most powerful and mysterious of the faeries. Mongan stepped among them, holding my hand so tightly that it hurt; but I didn’t even think of pulling away.

The music stopped, and the dancing shadows stood still next to the fires below us. In the silence, Manannan and three other tall faeries came out of the cave and walked between the two lines of the Sidhe, carrying a wooden bed that was attached to two long poles. On the bed, leaning back against piles of furs, was the Seer, dressed in long robes that shone in the firelight. Behind him, so dark that all I could see was his white beard, came Cathbad, carrying a bowl of something that steamed. The four faeries put the
bed
down on four huge stones; Cathbad stepped to its side, raising the bowl high above his head and chanting in the language I couldn’t understand. At the end of the chant, he lowered the bowl and gave it to the Seer. Slowly, slowly, the Seer lifted the bowl to his lips.

For what seemed a long time, everything was absolutely still; then the Seer lowered the bowl and gave it back to Cathbad. Somewhere, a harp started to play, and the four faeries picked up the bed and carried it into the hill. The Sidhe followed them, two by two. When the last pair disappeared, Mongan bent over us. ‘Very quiet,’ he whispered. ‘And don’t let go.’

We nodded, scared to death, and followed him through the cave entrance into a hall whose ceiling arched all the way to the top of the hill. It smelled like a garden after it rains, and everything was lit by torches. The faeries put the bed on four other stones, and the Sidhe stood around it in a circle. We stood on each side of Mongan, still clutching his hands. And although we didn’t move, I felt us getting closer and closer to the Seer. Suddenly, though we were touching only Mongan, not the Seer, we saw – or maybe we had – the dream.

We were standing in a circle of tall thin stones at the top of a hill, looking down across a valley
to
the sea. There was an oak grove in the valley, and out of it came a procession of people in brightly coloured cloaks. Some of them were leading enormous white dogs with red ears, some were carrying birds on their wrists, and some were riding beautiful silver horses, and they must have had bells on their toes, because there were ringing sounds at every step. In the midst of the crowd was a chariot like the ones Grandpa had described in his stories. It was pulled by two prancing horses with silver manes, and it was decorated with gold and jewels that flashed in the sunlight. Driving the chariot was a longhaired man in a tunic, holding the reins and a pointed stick. Behind him, taller than he was, and much grander, stood a man in a red cloak, holding a huge spear in one hand and a golden shield in the other.

He looked up to the circle of stones where we were standing, and for a minute, he looked familiar, though I didn’t know anybody who looked exactly like that. He spoke to the driver, and the driver steered the horses through the crowd. When they passed the last person, he touched the horses with a stick, and they came towards us at a gallop. The tall man laughed and looked up at us; then he put down his shield and waved. His hand glinted in the sun – not
because
he was wearing rings, but because his arm was made of silver. Suddenly I knew who he was.

‘Grandpa,’ I whispered – then I trembled all over for fear the Sidhe had heard me.

But there were no Sidhe, and there was no cave. I was sitting up in bed, blinking because someone had just switched on my bedroom light.

‘Grandpa,’ I said, frowning. ‘Why did you turn my light on? It’s the middle of the night.’

Grandpa gave me his lovely, empty smile. ‘Breakfast?’ he said hopefully.

I looked at my clock; it was a little past twelve. ‘Grandpa, it’s not time for breakfast yet. Would you like me to take you back to bed?’

‘Breakfast,’ he said stubbornly.

I got up and started to take him downstairs. Halfway down the hall, Colin slipped out his door, all lit up. ‘Boy oh boy! You
got
him! Grandpa, we’ve been looking and looking … !’

‘Breakfast time,’ said Grandpa.

Colin stared … then he took Grandpa’s hook gently and went downstairs with us. As we passed the living room, we saw Mom sitting at our father’s old roll-top desk. She wasn’t writing letters; she was asleep with her head pillowed on her arms. Grandpa started towards her, but we coaxed him into the kitchen and got him cold cereal and milk. Neither of us ate. Or talked.

When he was done, we led him up the back stairs. I was afraid he’d fuss about going to his room, but he went just fine; he even lay down on his bed when I asked him to. I covered him up, and we both kissed his forehead. ‘Good night, Grandpa. Stay there until morning, OK?’

‘OK,’ he said. And he closed his eyes.

We waited to make sure he wouldn’t go and wake Mom, then we tiptoed out into the hall.

‘You saw him, right?’ said Colin. ‘In that chariot? That means he’s really in Faerie.’

‘You can’t say “really” when it was a dream.’

‘But it wasn’t! We couldn’t both dream the same thing!’

‘Not
our
dream – when he was in the chariot, he was in someone
else’s
dream.’

‘Which means . . ?’ His face fell. ‘Oh, I see.’ He turned to his door without a word.

I just
couldn’t
let him go like that. So I said, ‘They’re faeries, remember? And They think if they keep confusing and scaring us, we won’t go back to the Otherworld. But if we don’t let being mixed up or scared stop us …’

‘Right,’ he said, setting his chin. ‘We’ll get to him. Next time, we’ll bring him home.’

I gave him a thumbs-up and went to bed. And lay awake, wishing I believed he was right.

Notes

¹
Pronounced
En
-var
.

I FELT FUNNY
when I sat next to Tiffany on the bus the next morning. I mean, if I’d had a family like hers, I sure wouldn’t have wanted anybody to know it – and there I’d been last night, spying on her.
If
, of course, I really had been at her house, or any of the other places we’d gone. But I didn’t dare think about that, because next thing I knew, I’d start thinking I couldn’t tell the difference between what was real and what I thought was real because I saw it in my mind, which was scary. So instead of thinking, I said, ‘Tiffany, do you like horses?’

All of a sudden, she looked like a different person. ‘Oh, yes! Do you?’

I nodded, feeling even funnier than I had before. ‘I used to ride all summer; my grandfather trained showjumpers.’