The Black Stallion and the Lost City (15 page)

The road switched back and forth but remained fairly easy going for them at this pace. He saw no road signs, and if there had ever been any wagon tracks here, they had been washed away by the rain.

Alec wondered what time it was. Half the day was probably already gone, and the sun seemed to be getting lower in the sky. The Black raised his head and sniffed the wet air, then pawed the ground. “Easy, boy,” Alec said, leaning forward and pressing his chest close to his horse’s neck. “We’ll get ourselves out of this place soon.”

Around the next bend, the road ahead dipped and
entered a lush meadow with unfenced fields on either side of the road. These must be the sacred pastures, Alec thought, the place Spiro told him was off-limits. Alec had no intention of trespassing there whatsoever, though the pastures certainly did look inviting, with acres of green grass that ran all the way to the edge of the forest.

On the uphill side of the pasture, about fifty yards off the road to the right, Alec saw a small stream winding down from the mountain peaks. Beneath a towering oak on the other side of the stream were three horses. They looked to be the same mares he had seen the day before. They raised their heads and turned to watch Alec and the Black. One of them half reared and broke away from the others. She splashed through the stream and cantered across the field toward the road.

The Black stamped his forehooves suddenly. Alec pulled him to a stop. “Hold on, now,” he spoke softly to his horse.

The mare ran up onto the road and careened to a stop in front of them, then stood there boldly, as if to block their path. Alec did his best to keep the stallion still. He could feel the Black tensing up, but only slightly, almost as if the sudden appearance of the mare was expected.

Alec spoke to the mare so she could hear his voice and know that there was no threat or fear in it. The
mare whinnied and pawed the ground. The Black tossed his head in reply.

All at once, the mare began to move, stepping in place, then bobbing and weaving like a boxer, then prancing in a little circle, then backing up to pivot side to side in dressage-like movements. It was a display of true grace and beauty, a version of the same courtship dance Alec had seen at the banquet last night.

The Black seemed curious about the mare but also unmoved, or perhaps he was wary of her. She stopped dancing, then turned away and lowered her head submissively, now playing the shy coquette.

This was a distraction they didn’t need right now. “Better get back where you belong, girl,” he called to her. “Go on. Get.”

The mare swished her high-set tail but otherwise did not move. Alec touched the stallion with his heels and turned him to the edge of road so they could step around her and get on with their business. The stallion resisted a moment but answered Alec’s signals, perhaps as suspicious of the mare as Alec was. She waited for them to pass. Pretending to sulk, her head hanging low, she began following a few lengths behind them, almost like a lonely dog. In the field across the stream, the other two mares watched silently.

“Go home,” Alec called to the mare on their tail. She raised her head, her soulful eyes fixed on the Black.
Alec kept his horse pointed ahead. “Come on, fella,” he said. “We are in enough trouble already. We don’t have time for this.”

Alec pushed the Black into a trot, but still the mare followed. She began to canter and moved up alongside them, pushing her head close to the Black. “Hey,” Alec shouted at her. “Back! Get back!”

The mare pressed closer, almost touching the Black’s neck with her soft gray muzzle, then nipping the air next to him playfully. Alec kicked out his right foot to push her away. The mare swung her head and deftly avoided Alec’s foot. Then with a flash of teeth, she lunged.

Alec threw out his foot once more, and this time the mare caught hold of it with her mouth. He felt her teeth through the shoe leather and jerked his foot back, losing his shoe. The mare shook her head and dashed up the road ahead, triumphantly gripping Alec’s old running shoe in her mouth.

“Hey,” Alec cried.
“Give me that back!” He couldn’t believe the mare’s behavior. She was acting more like mischievous dog that had just snatched a bone from the kitchen table than a horse. It was all very peculiar, Alec thought, but more importantly the mare had his shoe, and he needed it. He wasn’t about to walk out of this place barefoot. Alec put the Black into a gallop and chased after her.

“Give me that back, you nut,” Alec cried.

The mare bounced up the road in front of them. It didn’t appear that she was really trying to escape; it was more as if she was simply teasing and wanting them to chase her. The Black carried Alec close enough so he could lean down, reach over and get a hand on a part of the shoe that was sticking out of her mouth. The mare tugged back playfully as he yanked on the shoe, trying to free it from her clenched teeth. Finally she let go.

Alec pulled the stallion to a stop and couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. The Black snorted and drummed his hooves in the dirt. The mare squealed triumphantly and then dashed away. She veered off the road and across the open field to return to where her sisters were waiting by the side of the stream. A moment later, all three vanished into the trees bordering the far side of the pasture.

Alec jumped off the Black, mashed his shoe back into shape and then put it on again. He gave the horse a pat on the neck. “Shoe-stealing mares,” Alec said. “You don’t want to get mixed up with them.”

He took a step back and remounted. Pointing the Black up the road, he touched the stallion with his heels and they were off. The road twisted around a sharp bend, and a short distance away Alec could see several small cottages among stands of tall trees.
Larger, gable-roofed houses were clustered around a central courtyard farther on. Alec heard a baying sound and saw sheep pastured in a field to one side of the settlement. Animals at last, he thought. What a relief. It was the first time he’d seen any animals, aside from horses, since he’d been here.

They passed through an open, unmanned gate. Outside one of the cottages, a young woman was raking leaves in the yard. As she stared at the passing stranger, Alec noticed something odd about her. Somehow her pale, pinkish skin seemed to be pulled too tight over her face, like a person who’d had bad plastic surgery. She stepped back as Alec passed, retreating all the way to the shadow of her doorway.

Alec looked around for more signs of life. Two ordinary-looking draft horses were yoked to a wooden wagon loaded with straw in a field beside the road. It was odd he hadn’t seen any machines, not even a bicycle, since he’d been here, Alec thought. It really did seem as if he’d stepped back in time a couple hundred years.

They came to a village square. At the center was a marble fountain and statuary in a small garden. If this was Tarta, Alec thought, the village didn’t look to be nearly as fancy a place as the city of Acracia. This neighborhood appeared a bit run-down; the gardens were smaller and not so carefully tended, and the
statuary was less elaborate and buildings less imposing. A flock of geese and a herd of pigs roamed loose around a small amphitheater.

Alec slid off the Black’s back, and the stallion immediately turned his attention to munching on the garden grass. A half dozen villagers who had gathered on a nearby porch now cautiously made their way toward Alec, plainly wary of the visitor and his black stallion. As in the city below, the men and women here were all attired in sleeveless gowns with cloaks draped over the shoulder. They appeared to be about the same age, perhaps in their early thirties, and all slightly older than the dwellers in the acropolis. One of them raised his hand in a salute, then stepped forward and bowed almost to the ground. Alec wasn’t sure what to do, so he bowed in response.

He was a big guy, with bulked-up muscles and long, flowing blond hair; yet his eyes were old-looking, his face crinkled with age around the edges. “English?” the man said.

“American,” Alec said. “Speak English?”

The man smiled but shook his head no. He bowed again, then called out in the direction of the cottages on the other side of the square. After a minute, Alec saw Xeena hurrying his way. Karst was with her.

“Alec,” she called, beckoning to him.

“Xeena! Karst!” he answered. “There you are.”

Alec shook Karst’s hand. Xeena’s dad smiled but did not speak. He was looking at the Black as if he’d never seen the stallion before. Xeena took Alec by the arm, then turned and pulled him back in the direction of the cottages. “We need to talk,” she said softly.

Xeena cast a
look over her shoulder. She smiled and waved to the group who had met Alec and the Black inside the village square. Then she turned to Alec and lowered her voice. “Just keep walking,” she said mysteriously. “I’ll explain in a minute.”

“How did you find us, Karst?” Alec asked. Alec waited for his friend to answer, but Karst only kept marching forward. Xeena’s dad still barely seemed to recognize Alec or the Black. He kept his eyes on the stallion, his gaze wide with wonder. Alec asked again, and when Karst finally spoke, the tone of his voice sounded odd, nothing like the man Alec remembered.

“This is my home,” Karst said, his English almost without accent and completely unlike Karst’s normal voice. Then he bowed his head in that way everyone seemed to do around here and that usually translated into “that’s all I have to say.”

They came to a white cottage surrounded by big,
old trees and a lawn and garden run to seed. Xeena waved them through the open front door. Karst paused and turned to face Alec and the Black. “My home is humble but clean. Please do me the honor of allowing me to pay my respects.” He showed them to a corner bedroom, and Alec held the Black steady as Karst pushed the narrow bed against the wall. Xeena covered the floor with straw. A minute later the bedroom had been transformed into a makeshift stall for the Black.

Inside the cottage, as everywhere in Acracia, the dominating theme was horses. Everything in sight was decorated with them—horse heads, rearing horses, running horses. Renderings of horses were embroidered on the pillows, carved on the posts of the banisters leading to the attic and adorned either end of the mantelpiece.

Xeena brought in a towel for Alec to dry off with and a blanket for the Black. Then she spread out a bucket of oats over a table for the stallion to eat. The Black sniffed the oats a moment and then set upon his feed.

“Welcome to my home,” Karst said, his English perfect with barely a trace of accent. “All Acracia has been expecting you.” Again the voice sounded unfamiliar to Alec and not at all like Karst. Could this be the same man he’d known on the film set, the one who always seemed jovial and ready for a laugh?

“Expecting me?” Alec said in exasperation. “Karst. Wake up. What’s wrong with you? It’s me. Alec. Xeena must have told you what happened to us.”

“Yes, she told me. You are both lucky to be alive.”

Alec glanced around him. “Who lives in this house? What are you doing here?”

“I told you,” Karst said. “This is my home.”

“Your home?” Alec said. “I don’t understand.”

Karst smiled again.

“You better sit down,” Xeena said, pointing Alec to a chair.

Alec took a seat, and Xeena explained what had happened since he left her in the megaron. Her words came quickly as she told him how she had been on the balcony when she thought she saw her father passing by in a wagon. She’d followed him up here and then—

Alec held up his hand. “Wait a minute, Xeena. What do you mean thought you saw … Isn’t this your dad?”

Xeena blinked and shook her head. “This is my grandfather, Popi.”

Alec gazed at the man sitting in the chair opposite him, someone who could not have been much more than thirty-five years old.

“At first I thought he was my dad too,” Xeena said, “just as you did. I don’t understand it myself.
Popi has been trying to explain it to me ever since I got here. Popi, you tell him.”

“My name is Nicholas Balastritis,” the man said. “Karst Balastritis is my son. This is my granddaughter.”

Alec glanced at Xeena. “It’s true, Alec,” she said. “He knows things that only Popi could know.”

“It is going to be difficult for you to believe this,” the man said, “but you must try.”

“You can’t be Xeena’s grandfather,” Alec said. “What are you, thirty-five? Thirty-six?”

“I am seventy-two years old,” the man said without blinking an eye.

“I tell you it’s true,” Xeena said. “This is Popi. I asked him about some things that happened when I was little, and he knew all about them.”

Alec held up his hand. “Please, Xeena,” he said patiently. “Lots of professional fortune-tellers and phony psychics can do that, and usually it is part of some sort of scam. This place looks like a big-budget health club selling salvation and magic cures to vulnerable people. Someone is making money out of all this, believe me.”

“This is no health club,” the man who called himself Nicholas Balastritis said. “Acracia is a Garden of Eden. The waters here are truly blessed. Drink deeply.”