The Black Stallion and Flame (14 page)

Alec swung out of his bed and dressed quickly. He leaned across the passageway, shaking Henry. “Breakfast,” he prodded. “C’mon, get up.” His old friend stirred, grunted, opened his eyes and closed them again. “Come and get it,” Alec prodded again.

Henry turned over. He didn’t seem to have heard.

“Coffee’s ready,” Alec said more cheerily.

Henry’s eyes opened. “Coffee? Did I hear you say coffee?” He wrinkled his large nose, sniffing appreciatively, then turned over on his back. “I’m up,” he said.

Alec went down the passageway but stopped outside the galley. It was small, furnished with a small stove, a small sink, a small icebox, and at the moment was occupied by their very large skipper.

“How about some breakfast?” the man asked.

“Sounds good.”

“Eggs fried?”

Alec said, “Fine.” The boat lurched and he spread his feet farther apart to keep his balance.

“Your friend?” the skipper inquired, busy at the stove.

“Up,” Alec answered. “The coffee got to him.”

A few moments later Henry joined them. Through the small porthole above the stove they could see the mounting grayness. The ocean swells struck a little harder against their prow.

“What’s it like upstairs?” Henry asked, finishing his coffee.

“Looks good, boss,” the fisherman answered.

Later they left the pans and dishes piled high in the sink and climbed the ladder to the deck. The boat was pitching a little more and the stern was low in the water. They stood with legs wide apart, balancing themselves and watching the sun pierce a hole in the dawn’s gray curtain. An equally impressive sight was the towering dome of Azul Island, already gleaming in the pale, early light.

“There she stands,” Henry said jovially, but there was an undercurrent of awe, too, in his voice.

The fisherman started the engine, bringing life to the
Night Owl
with a rhythmic throbbing. But he didn’t put the boat in gear. Instead he turned with the others to look at the rugged shoreline three miles away across the even, untroubled sea. The black cliffs of Azul Island looked ominous, contrasting sharply with the glowing dome.

“In this light it looks more like a medieval castle than ever,” Alec said.

“A fortress, you mean,” Henry said.

“Except for the swell beach,” Alec agreed.

Their eyes turned to the clean strip of sand, so bright in the sun. They watched the surf roll high upon it, then ebb back into the sea.

“It’s only a small part of this island,” Henry mused. He turned to the skipper, his eyes disbelieving. “You’re sure …”

The big man at the wheel smiled. “We’re very sure, boss. There’s nothing inhabitable on Azul Island except the spit. Others before you have been curious. The rest of it is nothing but rock, solid rock.” The smile left his face. “Perhaps it is best to leave it alone and go on to one of the other islands.”

“No,” Alec said quickly. “We’d decided to land.”

“But you can see ’most all of the spit from the boat,” the fisherman answered, concern creeping into his voice.

Alec studied the big man’s face. Why didn’t the skipper want them to land there?

“The vampire is there,” the fisherman said as if reading Alec’s thoughts.

“But he’ll be asleep,” Alec pointed out. “We decided it would be safe to land during the day.”

The fisherman nodded his head. “Yes, we agreed to that. But during the night I was thinking about the way he attacked us. I know from what I have seen of the vampire in Trinidad that this one does more than carry disease. He is suffering from it himself and is soon to die, otherwise he would not have fought us like he did.”

“Then perhaps he is already dead,” Henry said hopefully.

“Perhaps, but perhaps not. If he isn’t, his sickness will drive him to attack in full daylight as well as at night. No, boss, I do not think it wise to set foot on Azul Island. Maybe in a few days’ time, yes, but today, no.” He turned away as if as captain he had settled the matter once and for all.

Henry said to Alec, “He’s right of course, and if the Black was there”—his gaze turned again to the bright beach—“he would have shown himself long ago. You know that as well as I do.”

“Yes,” Alec said, “but there’s the place where the cliffs begin. We can’t see that part of the spit from here.”

“If he was there he’d be out by now,” Henry persisted. “He’d have heard us or picked up our scent. He just wouldn’t stay there.”

“I know.”

“Then let’s go,” Henry said. “We’ve got plenty of other islands left to search. And we don’t want to get tangled up with any more vampires, sick ones or not.”

“Okay,” Alec said. “I guess I just felt something extra special about this island.”

“Then it’s full speed ahead?”

“Yes,” Alec said, still looking at the island. “Sure.” His gaze left the sandspit for the towering cliffs. Against their darkness he saw a sudden, flashing movement. Then a large black bird rose above the island, its crooked wings and forked tail silhouetted majestically against the clear sky.

The others, too, saw the bird and the fisherman said, “That’s strange, a man-o’-war bird nesting here.”

“What’s so strange about it?” Henry asked, watching the gigantic wings carry the bird toward them.

“He nests only in heavy sea-grape thickets or bushes usually surrounded by cactus. There’s none of that here. Azul Island is much too bare for him and his family.”

The bird soared overhead, then dropped lower and lower, circling around the vessel time and time again, its bony beak swinging from side to side as it looked down.

Henry grunted and shivered a little as if from cold. “He oughta get along well with the vampire,” he said. “Both of ’em are the most devilish-lookin’ things I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t think so,” Alec said. “He must be the most graceful flyer in the world.”

“You’re not lookin’ at his head if you think he’s pretty,” Henry said, his own head crooked skyward, his Adam’s apple bulging from his thick neck. He couldn’t take his eyes off the long, narrow bill with the horny hook at the end.

“He needs such a bill,” the fisherman said. “Like me he depends upon the sea to live. No, I agree with the boy, he is very beautiful, boss.”

“He’s yours then,” Henry said distastefully. “Anyway, let’s get going.”

The fisherman threw the boat into gear and started to move ahead. The big bird dropped still lower until they could see the small ballooning patch of red skin beneath its neck.

“Wait,” Alec said.

“Wait nothing,” Henry said. “We’re not afraid of him.”

“It’s not that. I want to watch him. You know, he looks kind of familiar.”

“There must be hundreds like him—” Henry stopped, his eyes on the bird again. “Okay,” he said impatiently. “Okay, we’ll wait.”

The
Night Owl
sat on the surface of the water, its motor idling. Over it hung the man-o’-war bird, its marlin-spiked tail trailing loosely in the wind. Suddenly with one stroke of its wings the big bird rose higher into the sky.

They followed its flight, listening to the rhythmic beat of the wings that were like slim, black sails. A short while later the bird hovered above the high dome of Azul Island, soaring, circling.

Henry turned to Alec. “Satisfied?” he asked. “We’d better get going.”

But Alec never took his eyes off the man-o’-war bird. Higher and higher it soared until it was nothing but a black speck in the sky. Finally that, too, disappeared.

“I’d like to go around the island before calling it quits.” Alec spoke quietly, his eyes still skyward. “It shouldn’t take long.”

“No, but …” Henry turned to the fisherman, who shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s up to you, boss,” the skipper said. “At sea I go where you like.”

Henry turned back to Alec. “All right,” he said. “But let’s not get too close. I can think of better places to be shipwrecked.”

The faint humming of the idling engines changed to a roar as the
Night Owl
was turned toward Azul Island under a full burst of power. Sharper, too, became the slapping of choppy water against her hull. A wind had come up and the ocean was beginning to roll. Henry growled his disgust as he was thrown against a stanchion. He grabbed hold of it with both hands. The
Night Owl
jumped forward faster still.

Alec braced himself, holding on to the side of the boat while the salty spray washed over his face. Even if the sea got rough, he had no doubt that their skipper could avoid running into the coral rock that lay submerged
all around. A lifetime of fishing would have given him the keenness of eye to spot such dangers.

“I see rocks ahead,” Henry shouted against the mounting wind.

The man at the wheel only nodded, for he’d already turned the
Night Owl
to starboard, clearly avoiding the submerged coral. As the boat plunged closer to shore the wind grew stronger. They could see waves crashing over rocks that jutted above the surface and sending up geysers of salty foam.

“We’re close enough,” Henry said nervously. “Give those rocks plenty of room.”

Again the fisherman only nodded, for he was turning the wheel, taking the
Night Owl
along the rugged shoreline of Azul Island.

Alec’s intent gaze followed the towering cliffs. Exactly what was he looking for? he wondered. It was fantastic to think of his horse being anywhere upon this island of stone. And yet … how did he account for the strong feeling within him that the Black was nearby, that sometime soon they would be together again? Certainly not because a big black bird had hovered above this island as if to say, “Stay and look.” How ridiculous could a guy get?

The wind blew shoreward, attempting to carry the
Night Owl
with it. Alec braced himself more firmly, his legs straddled as if he were riding the Black at his very wildest. He held on to the rail while the boat pitched and rolled in the surging sea. A strong gust caused the
Night Owl
to lurch upward, the bow coming completely out of the water. He heard Henry shout and turned to see his friend hanging on to the stanchion desperately,
his face a greenish-white. The bow came down hard, slapping against the surface with a loud crack.

The man at the wheel edged the
Night Owl
past half-submerged rocks, steering carefully and maneuvering with skill through the biggest waves. He put on full speed when he saw a stretch of smooth water ahead, then slowed down again when jagged rocks pierced the surface, threading his way with caution.

The walls of Azul Island slipped by without a break in them. And to Alec it became more and more evident that the fisherman had been right when he’d said,
“It’s nothing but sheer rock … and I’ve been as close as anybody, I guess.”

The waves crashed over the coral rock, boiling the water with currents and cross-currents and almost hurling the
Night Owl
against the walls. Alec looked across the angry waters at the ominous cliffs and remembered something else the fisherman had said.
“It is best to stay clear of this island. It is only for the devil.…”

Alec glanced at the man at the wheel, then at Henry. If the two of them had had their way they’d have been out of here by now. The fisherman, seeing a calm stretch between the breakers, gunned the motor and went through. Then he turned and, finding Alec’s gaze upon him, asked, “Had enough?”

“We don’t need to get so close,” Alec answered. “Let’s go farther out. Maybe the wind will shift, too.”

“It won’t shift,” the fisherman answered. “It never does.”

The
Night Owl
was turned into the wind … the wind which swept over its passengers and carried exciting news to the Black Stallion, who stood on guard within the walls of Azul Island.

The two stallions stood near each other, identical in size and conformation, equals in courage. Neither appeared ready to fight for supremacy of the herd. It was as if for the time being each was content to respect the other’s nobility and right to leadership. How much longer the amicable pact would last only they knew. But end it would—some hour, some day—for there could be only one herd stallion. Meanwhile, each was king in his own right.

The Black Stallion nudged some straying colts back into the herd. He disciplined them and reprimanded their mothers for not watching them more closely. He meant to keep the ring intact until he was certain the air was free of all enemies.

The red stallion also remained on guard but unlike his counterpart he had only to utter sharp whistles to maintain discipline. Most members of the herd were well trained to his methods.

There came a moment when the Black Stallion stopped running about in all directions. Wheeling he stood still, watching, listening, smelling. Finally he moved away from the herd, very definitely off guard. Farther and farther down the valley he strayed, his eyes bright, his nostrils quivering. He scented the wind and gloried in the news it carried. He raised his head higher as if seeking to peer over the walls which separated him from the sea. His ears were cocked as he listened intently for some faint, far-off sound. The scent in his dilated nostrils became stronger still as its source drew closer and closer.

The Black trumpeted his shrill call and many of the mares stopped their grazing to look at him. Some stomped their hoofs and neighed in reply but none attempted to break loose from the herd and follow him.

He reared skyward, his excitement mounting and knowing no bounds. No longer did he care to play sentinel to the herd. He dashed this way and that in front of the high walls, his snorts resounding through the valley. Then he turned swiftly away from the herd and headed for the marshlands, his mane and tail streaming gloriously in the wind he created.

He knew perfectly well where he was going and how to get there. His old tracks were not visible on the grassy floor of the valley until he entered the soft marsh. There he slowed down and carefully stepped in the hoofprints he had made before. He wound in and out of the slimy wilderness of tall weeds and swamp ferns, careful to avoid the pits filled with inky water. Only the soft sucking sounds made by his feet in the mud broke the stillness.