SciFi and Fantasy Stories: Black Horses

Angharad straightened from the river and rubbed her aching back, before she gathered the washing in her arms. It was still dripping from the wash, but the day was warm and she welcomed the cool water as it soaked through her wool dress. The walk from the river to the house wasn’t long, yet she was highly relieved when she reached the kitchen table, depositing her heavy, sopping bundle and brushing her hair away from her face with the back of her wrist.

It was cold inside and, with a shiver, she returned outside to set up the line where the sun was shining brightest. Once the clothes were all hung up to dry in the warm breeze, she went in search of the children. It wasn’t hard - all she had to do was follow the shrieking.

Drawing close to the edge of the forest, she winced. They were arguing again. Honestly, couldn’t a single day go by in which her wayward children didn’t end up shouting at each other? Trotting along the path, Angharad could distinctly make out Idris’ high voice. It didn’t surprise her that her young son was in the thick of things again. Honestly, she didn’t know where he got this streak from - it certainly wasn’t from her.

A lower, more moderate tone broke through Idris’ fierce rant and she smiled to hear Neirin, her oldest, trying to control his fiery sibling.

Then a scream shattered all calm and Angharad picked up her skirts to run. “What is going on here?” she demanded, bursting into the clearing where her children had decided to spend their day.

Neirin had his arms around Rhonwen, the baby of the group, and she was clinging to her brother, sobbing, while Idris stood on the other side of the clearing, looking defiant.

“Idris?” she demanded, turning to what she presumed was the source of discord. “What have you been doing to your sister?”

He whirled to confront his mother, fierce in the face of adversity, blue eyes lit with a fire to match his hair. “I didn’t do anything.”

Angharad raised her eyebrows and planted her fists on her hips. “You best not be lying to me, Idris Ryder, because if I find out you have been, your father will be hearing of this.” With a last warning glare, she stalked across to her other children. “Now, Rhonwen, what are all these tears about, eh? What has your brother done this time?”

“Nothing!” Idris cried from behind. “Why don’t you ask her about Anwen before you go blaming me for every little thing?”

Angharad ran a soothing finger beneath her youngest child’s eyes, collecting tears, and smiled. “See, now everything’s all right, little one. Where is your sister?” This question she aimed at Neirin.

“She went into the woods,” he said softly. “She was arguing with Idris, and at the end she stormed off. When Idris stopped Rhonwen from following, she burst into tears.”

“Hmm.” Pursing her lips, Angharad stood up and caught hold of her younger son by the wrist. “All right, Idris, so this wasn’t your fault, perhaps, but what did you and your sister argue over, hmm? Can you tell me that?”

For a moment he looked truculent, as if he was about to refuse, and then he relented with a sigh. “She didn’t believe me when I said I saw a black pony on the forest edge this morning.”

“A black pony?” Angharad repeated, feeling a trickle of dread run down the back of her neck.

Idris nodded. “He was right over there.” He pointed to a spot in the sunshine, close to the edge of the lake. “I went closer to have a look at him, wondering if I might recognise him, but I didn’t. Well, and when I got close, he looked at me, and mamma, did you know, this pony had green eyes!”

“Green?” she echoed, and suddenly clasped her son tight against her. “Idris, you silly boy, what were you doing going near any horse with those colour eyes? What did you tell your sister?”

“I told her what I told you,” he squeaked, squirming to get out of her hold - he was eight years old, and long past wanting to be treated like a baby. “She didn’t believe me. She said I’d been making things up again. But I’m not a liar!”

“No, little one,” Angharad soothed absently, wondering how she could get her children home without them seeing how panicked she was. “I know you’re not. Neirin, take your sister home.”

It was such a comfort to be able to look at her older son and know that he understood. He might have missed the signs earlier on, but at a glance from her, he nodded gravely. “Come, cariad,” he murmured to Rhonwen and swung her onto his shoulders. “Perhaps I can be your pony.”

She giggled, gripping hold of his golden hair in her hands and drumming her heels against his chest. “Gee up, Neirin!”

“Idris?” Neirin called, but Angharad shook her head and wrapped her arms more tightly around her youngest son’s shoulders.

“No, you’re staying with me, Idi. If you see your da, Neirin, please let him know where I am.” She made each word clear, struggling to keep her voice calm. To her relief, he nodded, reading her hidden message to fetch his father as soon as possible.

“Come, Rhonwen.” Trotting like a horse, he headed out of the clearing and back towards the house, instinctively making a play out of it to keep his little sister from understanding what was going on.

Angharad watched until they were out of sight, and then took a firm hold of Idris’ shoulders, turning him about to face her. “Which way did your sister go?”

Without saying a word, he pointed deeper into the trees, where the shadows lengthened and everything grew dark.

“Right.” She captured one of his hands with hers and, ignoring his protests, dragged him along the pathway towards the evergreen trees.

“I can walk by myself,” he complained, but after struggling fruitlessly for a while, he gave up and trotted alongside her instead. “Do you think it’s one of the Síe, mamma?”

Angharad glanced down at the redhead of her little son and tried to read the source of his curiosity. Did he sound nervous? Would it be better to lie to him? “Can you not remember your tales, little one?” she asked softly, pushing more carefully through the shadows, afraid of what might appear before them at any moment. “Or are you too old for such things these days?”

“But it didn’t try to catch me,” he told her with a frown. “All the tales have them trying to catch you for their mischief. Do you think it was the Púka?”

She tightened her lips, not wanting to agree but wishing with all her heart that it was. Green eyes couldn’t mean anything other than Síe, and if it wasn’t the Púka… Well, the alternative didn’t bear thinking about. “Come on, Idris.”

Apparently her youngest son wasn’t as insensitive as she had always accused him of being, for he clutched her arm tighter and stuck firmly to her side. Smiling down at him, she wound her arm about his shoulders instead, trying to comfort him.

“Anwen would never ride it though,” he murmured as the shadows of the trees seemed to close in around them; the evergreens that had crept down from the mountains, pressing out the light with their pine needles. “She doesn’t like horses. They’re too big, she says.”

“Hush now,” she murmured, stroking a hand over his hair. She was trying to listen. Up ahead someone was singing.

Clutching Idris for comfort and strength, Angharad edged along the path, knowing that they were close to the lake shore now. The nearer they crept, the more certain she became of the identity of the singer. Anwen had a beautiful voice, though a terrible memory for words. As they rounded a bend in the path, her daughter came into view, slender and glowing in a patch of sunlight, her hair a shining mass of gold, with the barest hint of red. One hand was held outwards, while she sang a wordless lullaby, having no need of the words to lull the creature before her.

“That’s not the one I saw, mumma,” Idris whispered, and Angharad swallowed back a reply, pressing her son even closer. He was trembling, and at last, she realised, he understood.

“Stay here,” she commanded, edging him against a nearby oak tree, still clinging to life amongst the invading evergreens. He looked up at her with wide, pleading eyes, but she gave him a firm stare and, for once in his life, he didn’t protest. Instead he clambered upwards, into the relative safety of the branches.

Confident that he would be all right, Angharad turned back to her singing daughter and the creature that loomed before her. This was no pony. The horse was as black as midnight, with a long, flowing mane and tail woven with strands of weed and water lilies. It was tall, slender and strong.

Nostrils flared and neck arched, it towered over her little girl, stepping steadily closer while Anwen sung to it. A siren song, like that of the fabled nereids far away at sea. Except that Anwen was the one being enchanted.

Angharad twisted her hands together, unsure of what to do. The horse was almost close enough to touch Anwen now, so if she shouted it could easily grab her and run to the water. She would never be able to creep across the open bank to rescue her daughter either, for it was said that the Síe were ever aware of their surroundings.

Even now the kelpie must know she was there, for that was what it was. Cíar Eichúalla, the black water horse, the first born of the kelpies. One of the oldest of the Síe. And it was luring her daughter beneath its spell.

Not if she had anything to do with it.

Aware or not, the kelpie didn’t seem to be paying her any attention, so she decided to use that to her advantage and looked around for some kind of weapon. In the belt at her waist she could feel the small dagger that Dai, her husband, always made her wear, but that would only help if she was close to the beast. Using the toes of her boots, she dug up a couple of fist-sized rocks, putting one in her pocket, while keeping the other in hand. Then she drew her dagger, clutching it for comfort, and crept amongst the trees, deciding to try and come at them from an angle.

Anwen kept singing, oblivious of the presence of anyone but the creature before her. Every so often she wove words into her rippling song, praising the beauty of the horse she saw. Angharad tried not to listen, didn’t want to agree with her daughter that the horse was the most impressive specimen that she had ever looked upon. It wouldn’t matter if he was beautiful enough to break her heart, he had green eyes and that was the end of the argument.

The kelpie snorted, nodding his head as Anwen lifted her hand to stroke his forelock. A twig snapped beneath Angharad’s boot. In the same moment Anwen stopped singing and the kelpie swung about to stare at her. Angharad pulled back her arm, ready to throw her stone.

But someone beat her to it. “Go on! Get!” a thin voice piped up, before two large rocks struck the horse on the rump. “Leave her alone!”

While the beast turned, searching for its unforeseen attacker, Angharad leapt forward and pulled her daughter to safety, shoving her behind her back and holding the dagger out before her.

“What -?” Anwen began to protest, but Angharad forced her back into the trees.

“Do not say a word,” she growled, and the kelpie’s head snapped back to stare at her. “Keep away!” She waved her weapon with the same amount of menace as a mouse.

Green eyes glowed, white teeth were bared and the kelpie growled, water trickling down its long nose from its forelock and ears.

“Keep back, Síe!” she commanded, hearing her daughter gasp behind her and feeling Anwen’s fist balled in the back of Angharad’s gown. Part of her relaxed, confident that the beast’s spell had been broken. “I know who you are, kelpie, and this child is not for you. Back, I say!”

For a moment the Cíar Eichúalla hesitated, then advanced again, lowering his head and snorting his intent.

Anwen squeaked behind her and in the next instant Angharad stepped on her daughter’s foot, realising too late that she had backed them against a tree.

The kelpie tossed its head, snorting, clearly sensing triumph, its tail lashing the low fir branches around it.

“You will not take her,” Angharad told him in a fierce whisper, stepping forward with her knife held out. It trembled, but she fixed her eyes on the enemy before her.

It lunged, solid muscle thumping her in the chest and forcing her back, but not before she lashed out with her dagger, driving it into the kelpie’s neck and dragging the blade down with her.

“Anwen, go!” she commanded, stifling a scream as she slammed into the ground, feeling something in her shoulder crack. Beyond the dazed spots that sprang into life before her eyes, she saw the glowing figure of her daughter running down the pathway, and heard Idris calling to her, telling her to climb a tree. Hoof beats thundered in her head, but she couldn’t see the beast.

Gathering her strength, she forced herself to sit up, biting back the waves of pain that threatened to knock her unconscious. Pressing against the nearest tree, she staggered to her feet and found herself face-to-face with her adversary.

“They are my children,” she growled. “Mine. You will not have them.”

Green eyes blazed at her, the midnight gloss of its coat not dimmed by the ragged gash along the base of its neck.

“I’ll do it again,” she promised, realising she still had the dagger in hand, stained with Síe blood. “And again, until you leave us alone.” Or kill me, she added silently, but didn’t really wish to make that an option.

The kelpie swung its head, clearly about to strike her again, when another black shape burst from the trees. It was a dog, as big as a small pony, but shaggy and ragged looking. It barked at the kelpie, startling it, and Angharad shrank back against her tree. One fierce creature she could fight, but two was beyond her.

The Cíar Eichúalla snorted at the dog and stamped a hoof, but it continued to bark, before turning tail and running straight into the water.

For a moment there was silence and Angharad felt her grip on the pain slipping. Her eyes darkened and she swayed, but then the kelpie looked at her again and she knew she had to stand firm. She raised her knife, but too slowly. With a thump, its head hit her injured side and she shrieked, crashing to her knees and onto her face in the dirt.

This was it, she realised, and sent up a prayer to whatever might be listening, begging them to save her children, to see them safe. To drive the kelpie away unsatisfied.

Thunder filled her ears and voices, lots of voices. Someone touched her good shoulder, rolling her gently and lifting her up. Warmth cradled her close, and she opened her eyes to see her husband looking down at her. More voices called through the trees; the woodsmen had come. The Cíar Eichúalla was gone.

“Playing with the black horses again, my fierce, little vixen?” Dai chuckled, kissing her forehead sweetly, and she let the pain engulf her, knowing she was safe in his arms. They were all safe now.