by Unicorn
(Gauteng, South Africa)
The old ones said that a unicorn haunted the marshes. They called him Chimere, the dream. They said that the swiftest and strongest Camargue ponies were his sons and daughters. Sometimes, they said, he ran with the semi-wild herds. The old French cowboys – guardians, they were called – said all these things when their joints were too stiff to sit a horse for the hours of riding in the roundup.
They stood by the pens smoking their pipes and watching the young guardians chase the wild ponies in, and when a particularly wild, swift and beautiful pony came in all ablaze in its spirit, the old guardians would nod at one another and say, “Chimere has been with the herds again,” and the young guardians would laugh. But they too would go over and slap the owner of the beautiful wild pony on the back and congratulate him and break the ice on the lake in winter for Chimere to drink. They too would pull white hairs off rough tree bark and tuck them into their shirts or under their saddles, for luck.
And maybe Chimere did run the marshes for the old guardians to dream about. Some claimed to have seen him when they were young and could still ride out. They described him all in the same way. A creature as if made of mist, with his surreal white coat, his dainty silver hooves, his diamond horn, and the way he could trot on the surface of the marsh water as if it were solid ground.
His eyes, blue and purple and black and dark and bright all at once, like twilight. And yet, they said, when he came near, his breath steamed, there was sweat on his neck, and he was as real as the pony between their knees.
Maybe Chimere, the unicorn, really did take care of abandoned foals; maybe he broke up savage fights between herd stallions. Perhaps it was really Chimere who showed the three-year-old girl a warm hollow in which to shelter when she got lost. Perhaps it was really him who left those tidy round hoofprints in the mud by the hollow…
Perhaps Chimere had been watching with his twilight eyes that day. The day that the dogcart came through the little village, drawn by an old white mare whose little white foal frisked alongside with her rare albino coat shining despite the leaden clouds.
They had been carefree as the wind, the young couple – the man driving the mare with loose reins and a gentle voice, the woman sitting beside him, her tiny baby boy cradled in her arms. They had laughed and joked and seemed merry as their white foal. They’d only stopped for a load of hay and a few loaves of bread.
And the blizzard had come roaring out of nowhere and swallowed up the dogcart like a great angry beast. The gardians stared at the wall of snow and shook their heads gravely. They rode out when the storm had calmed, their ponies wading through the whiteness, knowing and dreading what they would find. They were sad, but not surprised, to find that the dogcart had gone off the road in the blizzard and crashed into the lake near the village.
Somehow, the mare had kicked herself free of the harness and swum ashore with her foal. The man and his wife and the cart had all been dragged to the bottom. But on the lake’s shore was a cradle, frozen to the stilled waves, and in the cradle, bawling his little lungs out, the baby.
Who could guess whom the boy’s parents had been, or where they had come from? The boy was an orphan before he could even be fully aware of the parents he’d never know. A pair of villagers who would never have a child, Ivette and Laurent Jocelin, took the boy, the mare and the foal into their household. The boy was so small that he became known as Demi. The filly foal was named Faustine – lucky – for she had survived.
Side by side, Demi and Faustine grew up. When they were both three years old, Laurent, Demi’s foster father, trained Faustine to carry a rider and put Demi on her back. When they were both four Demi was riding by himself and when they were six he was cantering out alongside Laurent and the mare – whose name was Blanc – to round up the semi-wild ponies.
Demi was seven and still had a child’s open heart when one day as he and Faustine rode out, the mist closed in and Demi lost his way. He was unafraid; one of the first things that Laurent had taught him was should he get lost, to give Faustine her head. Mist cannot confuse a horse’s homing instinct. Sure enough Faustine turned and trotted confidently into the mist, Demi sitting easy on her bare back – there was no saddle in the village that was small enough for him – and then suddenly the creature was there, trotting alongside, hooves dancing on the water as if it were earth, twilight eyes watching, diamond horn glowing.
Click here to read or post comments
Return to Horse Training Stories.
by Unicorn
(Gauteng, South Africa)
It was seven years later and Demi was seeing unicorns again.
This time they were just the little wooden unicorns that Laurent had carved for him when he was much smaller, marching along the single shelf on his bedroom wall. He was fourteen and most boys his age would scoff at the idea that he still kept the wooden figures, but no one came up to Demi's room except for Ivette when she was spring cleaning.
No one apart from Ivette and Laurent spoke to Demi much anyway. He turned away from the wooden horses and made his way into the kitchen and the grey sunlight of an autumn that was slipping into winter. For some reason, other children shunned him. Perhaps it was the silver-blond hair that he liked to wear at shoulder length; or his skin, which was so fair that it matched Faustine?s albino coat. Maybe it was the way he rode Faustine without a saddle or bridle, or the ice blue of his eyes.
"Why is it then, that people fear that which is different?" He said as he strode into the stable.
Faustine turned her head. "Jealousy?" She suggested.
"Talking to horses is not always the joy it can be," said Demi, forking hay into Faustine's manger.
At first he'd thought everyone could talk to horses, that Laurent could understand Faustine's language as well as Demi could. It was, after all, so simple. There was nothing psychic or mystical about it. The language of horses was just a matter of interpreting the different gestures. The subtlest language of all, where the movement of an eye, the turn of an ear could speak a sentence. Some old horsemen, Demi learned later, could understand some of it. No one seemed able to converse in the same silent way as Demi and Faustine.
"Why are you being so grumpy today?" Demanded Faustine. "I want to go ride."
"You are hungry." Demi answered.
"I'd rather ride," said Faustine.
"Very well," said Demi, feeling a smile warm his face. He opened the stable door and as Faustine trotted past, vaulted easily onto her back. "Where shall we go?"
"Whichever way the wind is blowing." Faustine lifted her face to the sky.
A gathering of unicorns... and in the center, a snow-white stallion, the luminescence of his coat illuminating every unicorn around him. His eyes are blacker than the deepest sea and brighter than the morning star, but tonight they are worried. His golden horn slices the air in slowly falling pieces as he shakes his shoulder-length mane. Beside him, Chimere looks as small and delicate as a deer.
"The danger approaches," says the white stallion.
"I know, Modena," Chimere replies. "But I am still tracking the Silver One."
"How sure can you be?"
Chimere's twilight eyes are liquid. "Sure enough, sir."
Faustine's hooves slapped on the marsh water as she trotted, breaking a wet path through the reeds and grasses. A heron gave its hoarse squawk and beat its long wings. So graceful on the ground, the bird was strangely ungainly when it reached the sky, its skinny legs dangling and neck looking painfully bent.
"Ponies," said Faustine, slowing to a walk. Demi squinted, looking for them. A moment later the stallion flung up his head and gave a ripping snort. Demi lowered his eyes in an expression of submission and harmlessness, but the stallion was staring at something behind Demi and Faustine.
Suddenly, the albino flattened her ears and went as stiff as a board between Demi's knees. The stallion swung around to his herd and trumpeted a whinny. "Danger! Flee!"
Water shot up in sheets as the Camargue ponies bolted. They were gone in just seconds, long enough for Faustine to rear so fast that her crest smashed into Demi's nose. He lost his balance and landed with a loud splash in ankle-deep water. Dripping, he scrambled to his feet.
"Faustine! Whoa, my beauty, whoa!" Thoughtlessly Demi shouted in French instead of horse talk. He tried to control his body language; it was automatically shouting! Panic! Fear!? Faustine ignored him, bolted a few steps, then wheeled back with a despairing neigh, plunging past him, her white shoulder knocking into him so that he fell to his hands and knees in the water. Demi stood up to see Faustine whirl and smash her hind hooves into a huge, scarlet boar.
It was half as tall as Faustine and much longer; wicked yellow tusks curled out of its snout. It slashed at her with its tusks, Faustine just leaping clear. Squealing its anger, the boar lunged at her belly. She shied, a hoof smacking its face. The boar flinched, but just for a moment. Faustine had slipped to her knees and the creature charged her, its red hair blazing like flames. There was a neigh like a church bell. The boar turned to face the sound. Chimere's front feet hammered into his chest with a strength that should have killed it. It staggered to its feet and squealed as if to rush the unicorn. Chimere brandished his diamond horn. The boar stopped dead, stared at Chimere with little amber eyes for just a moment. Then it spun around and bolted.
Click here to read or post comments
Return to Horse Training Stories.
by Unicorn
(South Africa)
Chimere stood panting for a moment, steam rising from his sweaty white back, his diamond horn glowing with anger and exertion. His nostrils flared wide, the skin delicate as paper.
"Thank you," said Faustine, rising from the marsh, her white coat marred with mud.
Chimere turned his head towards her and Demi, for some reason, expected him to talk in a human language, but when he answered, "My pleasure, Faustine," it was in the language of horses.
"What was that boar, sir?" asked Demi. He'd seen Chimere many times before, it seemed natural to talk to him.
"Ah, Demi, Demi," Chimere shook his head, "you are so bitterly young." He sighed. "But of course you are not - fourteen already - how time flies, and drags at once. How much do you know of your parents?"
Demi shrugged.. "I can remember nothing. All I know is what the Jocelins have told me; they got lost in a blizzard and drowned in the lake."
Chimere sighed again. "Step just a world away and the smallest child knows more of your parents than you do."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"Demi, you've never been normal. You can talk to horses. Your hair is not blond, it's silver. What is more, you can see me. That's why I've been tracking you."
"What? Well, I know that I am the only one who can talk to the horses around here, and my hair looks different, but I thought everybody could see you, Chimere. I thought you were just shy."
"Listen to you, boy! Does anyone ever tell you that I trotted behind the cart that became your parents' grave, the day we passed through the village?" Chimere's eyes flashed dark. "Does anyone know of my attempts to save them, having cut the mare Blanc loose from the harness with my horn? Did anyone find me, half-dead beside the lake, exiled from my world because I could not do the impossible? Does anyone ever tell you that you speak like a king, not a rough farmer's boy?" He chopped viciously at the ground with a hoof, sending a clod of earth spinning over his back.
"And that is what you are! That is why your parents had a unicorn for an escort, why their little filly foal was half horse, half unicorn! But I failed to guard them, only thinking of my wife and daughter, only freeing Blanc and Faustine, only able to rescue you, little prince!"
Demi stared open-mouthed as the unicorn completed his tirade. Chimere was terrible and glorious in his anger; sweat sprang out on his glowing white neck, his eyes smouldered like old stars, and small thunderbolts crackled around his horn.
"Ever since, I was exiled from the Lake Kingdom, for I failed to save their king and queen. I was left to guard you, little prince, to show myself to you so that you'd never lose your Second Sight. I was told that when you were of age, I had to bring you back to reign over the Kingdom. If I failed in that, my exile would be for eternity." The unicorn?s eyes turned suddenly deep and sad. "And I can truly know what eternity means, for unicorns can live forever."
"I understand nothing, sir."
Chimere seemed calmer now. "Beneath the lake lies a kingdom greater than could be guessed."
"You mean there are mermaids?"
"Yes, in abundance, and they are such an irritation, all they can think about is their hair. There are other creatures too, and your parents were some of them. They were water fey, deeply magical, able to breathe both water and air. It was not drowning that killed them. It was the Red Boar, ramming their cart from the road, going after them with his tusks. Your father fought like the king he was. It wasn't enough. Ever since the king and queen died, the Boar has terrorized the Lake Kingdom. The only hope of the people is what they call the Silver One, for the color of the royal family's hair."
Chimere's eyes looked into Demi's soul. "They're waiting for you, little prince. You're the only one who can drive away the Red Boar."
Demi pressed the heels of his hands to his temples, bewildered beyond words. "Sir, I could never stand up to that Boar, only you could chase him away!"
"Hah! No knight can fight well without training or armor, Demi," said Chimere gently. "Ahh, I meant to wait until you were of age - seventeen or eighteen. But the Boar has found you, and now I have no choice. We have to go back to the Lake Kingdom. Get on Faustine."
"We are going to the lake? I cannot swim!"
"You won't need to," said Chimere. "You can breathe water."
"I don't know how!"
"No one needs to teach a fish to breathe underwater, do they? Hold on tightly to her mane. Faustine, be sure to touch me, and turn with me now in a circle - one, two, three - "
The world went white and spun madly. Demi threw his arms around Faustine's neck and hung on for dear life.
Click here to read or post comments
Return to Horse Training Stories.
by Unicorn
(South Africa)
When the world stopped spinning, Demi sat up and took a deep breath. Of water. It rushed into his lungs, sweet as sunlight. It tasted like coming home.
When he breathed out, a tiny current swirled in the water in front of him. Faustine's mane floated white and ghostlike before him. The water was motionless, except for the little eddies around their nostrils as they breathed.
"I can breathe water!" Demi's gestures were sharp and jerky with shock.
"I told you so," said Chimere. His horn had taken on a strange luminescence. "Look in front of you, little prince."
Demi looked. They were standing on a lane of blue stones that wandered through the sandy, rocky bed of the lake. On either side, great towers of seaweed, their branches moving like sluggish thoughts, stood in the place of trees. And at the very end was the castle, a sculpture of emerald green, all towers and turrets, bars and battlements.
The sunlight that had cloven the waves now glanced off the jewel-like substance of which it was built. It glowed like a dream, the most splendid thing that Demi had ever seen.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Caer Speranza," said Chimere, saying it aloud in human language, easily pronouncing the strange syllables. "Castle of Hope. It's yours, little prince. It's waiting for you."
They advanced slowly towards the green castle. A mighty wrought-iron gate barred the way, twice as high as Faustine was tall. A soft whinny sounded and Demi nearly jumped out of his skin as two... creatures swam into view. They were not quite horses, but not quite dolphins, either.
Each had a long, supple, silver dolphin tail, clad in chain mail; but from the tail grew the belly, back, shoulders, neck and head of a horse. A dorsal fin jutted out from the back, and they breathed water as easily as Chimere did. Their bodies were covered in armour and a long iron spike protruded from the armour over their foreheads. These were guards.
"Hippocampi," said Chimere aloud. "Singular: hippocampus." In horse language, he added, "The most faithful of your followers."
"I don't have any followers," Demi began, when one hippocampus said, "Chimere, we have orders to drive you from the lake."
"It will not be necessary. I have brought you the Silver One."
In a swirl of bubbles, the hippocampi swung the gates open and lowered their heads in what might have been a salute. Faustine and Chimere trotted through into a great courtyard, illuminated by strange torches that burned with a green fire even in the water.
Creatures too strange and wonderful for Demi to imagine came charging up to them, all talking at once in a medley of languages, both silent and loud. Chimere reared, tossing his mane, which rippled like a ghost.
"Make way for the Silver One!" His horn flashed, sending beams of light through the water. When his hooves touched the ground, it shivered. Silence fell and the creatures parted for Chimere to trot down a long straight passage with tall, luminous walls to a portcullis.
Once it was raised, Chimere led Faustine down yet another passage lit with the green fire. Old swords, scratched shields, bits of armour and tapestries of marvellous beasts lined the walls. Chimere pushed a great double door open with one forefoot and they stepped into a room bigger than Demi's whole house.
Above, a domed glass roof let in shards of sunlight. The room was round and everything happened in sevens. Twenty-eight pillars held up the roof; in seven round hearths burned seven smokeless fires; in the middle of the circle the hearths made were seven thick mats, each embroidered with a name, arranged in a half-moon around a single throne.
The throne was a thing of beauty, all aglitter in silver, decorated with carvings of fourteen fishes and fourteen horses. It was very big and it looked very cold. On it lay a crown; a lovely golden bejewelled thing, but two of its sapphires were missing, and some of the spikes were bent. Beside the crown was a scabbard at least four feet long with a solid, undecorated hilt sticking out of it. On the throne also hung a bridle; its bit was made out of bronze, and the supple leather was gilded.
"Those are yours, Demarcus," said Chimere.
"My name is Demi," said Demi.
"What a name, for a prince," snorted Chimere.
"Demi. It means 'small'. But Demarcus is a prince's name. It means 'warlike'."
"Do I want to be warlike?" Demi's gestures were small, a whisper. Chimere read them anyway.
"Little prince," the unicorn said with a sigh.
"There are thousands of people living in this lake who depend on your being warlike."
The water moved like a wind, rushing against Demi's face. The current was gone in a moment. When Demi could force his eyes open, seven horses stood before the seven chairs, each one different, each one clearly magical.
"In other words," said the little jet-black one, "what you want isn't important. It's what people need that's important."