The Black Stallion and the Lost City (19 page)

To die as he would die, Alec thought. What did that mean?

Spiro bowed his head and backed away. The crowd pressed back and turned their masked faces to avert their eyes as the mare looked out upon them. Only Medio and Cyrene dared hold their ground in her presence now. The mare fixed her attention on Alec. Again she locked him in her fiery gaze, and at that moment he knew he was looking at an animal unlike any other. Despite her beauty, there was an aspect of deadly violence about her, a quiet threat that he
never sensed in any horse before, even in the most warlike of stallions.

Medio’s voice rang out in the silence to break the spell that the Oracle’s words had cast over the gathering. Then the governor turned and led the way to the far end of the temple and down the stairs on the other side. Alec and the rest of the crowd followed him.

A natural basin was tucked into the mountain on this side of the temple, a large amphitheater with a hundred-yard-wide, crater-like pit in the center. Some of the masked revelers hurried to take up positions on the slope of the mountain above the steep walls of the pit. Medio, Celera, Cyrene and the rest of the governor’s entourage strode ceremoniously through the amphitheater to the rim of the pit, stopping at a stone-pillared gate with a flat roof built at its edge. The gate loomed large in the moonlight, more than twelve feet wide, the carved stone covered with inscriptions and astrological signs.

Alec watched and waited, knowing he must play along and stay ready for the appropriate time to make his move. He was determined to find the Black, get back to Xeena and make their escape. But if there was another way out of this place, a road or some passageway through the mountain, he knew he must find it.

From out of the crowd behind Medio came two
people shrouded in white robes, a skinny, frail-looking old man and woman. They stepped forward and stood before the governor. They were by far the oldest people Alec had seen since he came here. Alec wasn’t sure but the man could have been the same one he had seen sleeping in the streets of the village he had passed through earlier.

The couple bowed their heads as Medio spoke. Cyrene moved to stand before the couple and drew back the veil hiding her face. It was the first time Alec had really seen what the priestess looked like, as she had remained veiled throughout the banquet in the megaron. As with the mare, Alec felt almost helpless before her, unable to look away from her. A chill ran down his spine as he realized he was looking at the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, a goddess as impersonal as a force of nature. It was as if Cyrene
were
Nature herself. What was the woman’s connection to Celera? he wondered. Master? Servant? Equal? Twin?

In the young woman’s hands was a simple wicker basket full of flowers. The blossoms were strung together into necklaces, like Hawaiian leis. Medio reached down into the basket, took out two of the necklaces and draped one each around the necks of the old couple. They bowed again and backed away humbly.

A moment later, the old couple was escorted by a
pair of guards to the gate. The guards stood back as the couple held hands and hobbled silently through the stone pillars like sleepwalkers. Then they disappeared within the dark, yawning shadows falling from the slab of carved stone roofing the gate.

There was a noise Alec couldn’t identify that was quickly drowned out by a cheer from the crowd rimming the arena. A chorus of voices broke into song. Drums and pipes sprang to life, stirring the air with frenzied rhythm.

Alec didn’t understand. “Where did they go?” he asked Spiro.

“See for yourself,” the chamberlain said.

Alec walked to the edge of the pit and looked inside it. The drums hammered louder, joined by more singing. Now he could see inside the gate where a path led out to the precipice and to a steep chute made of weathered stone. The slide ended at the floor of the pit, which was like a bowl-shaped arena about the size of the banquet hall of the megaron.

Something was moving over the floor of the pit. It looked like a small herd of horses, some of the same ones Alec had seen at the banquet in the megaron, including Shoe Thief and her two sisters. The young gray stallion was there as well.

What had happened to the old couple after their big send-off by Medio and Cyrene? Had they fallen
down the slide? Where were they now? He finally noticed them in the shadows near the bottom of the slide.

The spectators raised their voices, calling out the horses’ names, encouraging them on like racetrack fans at the finish of a big race. A sick feeling rose inside Alec as he suddenly realized the true nature of the drama being played out here before him.

The horses had spotted the man and woman now, and Alec watched in disbelief as they ran down the old couple. In seconds, the horses began tearing into their victims’ flesh with their teeth, shaking their prey as a pack of hungry wolves or pride of lions might. It was a scene out of hell. This was the red road that Spiro had been talking about, Alec realized, the road to sacrifice and violent death. The red road was the road of blood.

After a moment, one of the mares looked up from her ghastly meal, her muzzle smeared with gore. Throwing back her head, she screamed wildly in her triumph, her savage cry ringing out into the night.

Alec reeled away from the horrific sight, but he didn’t get far. Medio’s authoritative voice boomed a command, and Alec was taken in hand by two strong-armed Acracian guards and ushered to where the mad governor was standing at the foot of his throne.

Alec fought against his captors, but the guards held him still and he could not break free. Medio
stepped closer, close enough that Alec could smell his foul breath. In his hands was another necklace made of flowers. Medio raised the necklace ceremoniously above him and gestured to the moon. He said a few words to the gathered throng and lowered the ring of flowers over Alec’s head, pressing it down onto his shoulders. Then Medio signaled to the guards, who instantly began dragging Alec toward the gate, the sacrificial pit, the road that Alec now understood led to imminent death, a horrific death unlike any he ever could have imagined. To be torn limb from limb and eaten alive …

Alec searched for an ally in the crowd of masked faces edging closer to the rim of the arena. The demon revelers stamped their feet. They elbowed each other out of the way, coming as close to the precipice as they dared, swaying to the music and nodding their horned heads. The scent of blood filled the air.

In a desperate effort to survive, Alec cried out and struggled against the arms forcing him forward. Outnumbered and alone, he was lifted off the ground and carried over to the ceremonial stone gate and the top of the slide leading down into the pit.

He jerked his body against the tight grips on his arms and legs, determined to fight until the end. Slipping one leg free, he brought his heel down as hard as he could on one of the men carrying him. It struck
something that felt like a man’s leg. The man stumbled and lost his hold. The others became unsteady. Alec wrenched an elbow free and kicked his foot again, then brought his elbow down as hard as he could on whatever was in reach. The fury of Alec’s resistance startled his bearers, and they collapsed in a pile.

Alec landed on his back, but at least he was on top of the others. He rolled off, crawled back through the gate and looked for a place to run.…

After his escape
from the man-beasts, the Black had resolved to stay hidden. He did not fear the two-legged ones or their rope snakes or pointed sticks, but he had no intention of seeking revenge for his treatment at their hands. He had found his way to this rocky peak where he could see all that passed beneath him. Here he would wait and watch. The pain in his shoulder was minor. The stick had only grazed him, and the bleeding had already ceased to flow from it.

The stallion gazed out into the starry night beyond the mountain peaks and then down at the dark world of rocks and trees below. It seemed the man-beasts had given up the chase. And if they came again, he knew he could evade them. The Black tossed his head and gave a fierce snort. The time had come to move on, even if he remained unsure which way to go. Somehow, he would find his way out of this place.

He started down a path, knowing he could circle
around the herd of man-beasts. As he moved along, a fresh wind brought with it a familiar smell that stopped him in his tracks. It was the boy. There was fear there, he scented, as well as the smell of fresh blood. The stallion turned his head into the wind and let the telltale signs lead him to where his heart told him he must go—to the boy.

Soon the stallion was close enough to see the fires burning and the gathering of horses and men. His flight instinct warned him to avoid these men who were ruled by creatures that looked like horses but acted like hungry wolves. Still the stallion continued along the path, following the scent in the breeze.

The Black moved down the path, unafraid. He was a stallion, desert-born. What he could not outrun he would fight, and he could stand his own with any. If his enemy could stalk him, he could stalk them, these predators who lived for blood. And if he had to, he would match them in their violence. He had killed horses. He had killed men. If necessary, he would kill again. Let
them
fear
him
.

The sounds of the pounding drums filled the air as he descended the trail. The scent of the burning fire became stronger in his nostrils, but so did the scent of his boy.

Preoccupied with each other, those gathered by the pit did not see the stallion as he crept closer, hiding
in the shadows of the trees and rocks. He was a predator now, like his enemy, waiting and watching for the time to move.

The mare was here, too, the Black knew. He could smell her close by. He wondered if she could sense him as well. Then, among the crowd, he could see the boy struggling with a pack of man-beasts.

The stallion did not hesitate. With two quick steps, he bounded into a gallop, trampling the ground and rushing ahead, bearing down on the man-beasts. A cry went up from those in his way as the stallion burst in upon the throng. The boy was there on the ground, alone, just as the stallion had been alone, cornered as he had been cornered. But now they were together, and together they would fight. And together they would win. And together they would escape.

Alec scrambled to his feet among the shouts of men, cries of anger and pain. Then there was a shrill whistle, a drumming of hooves, and like an avenging angel, the Black crashed in upon their enemies. The stallion reared up, higher and higher still, until his raven mane unfurled like a flag in the moonlight, his hooves beating the air, his eyes like lanterns of hate.

Does he even recognize me? Alec thought. “Black,” he called. “It’s me!” If the stallion heard him, he made no sign of it. Alec was knocked back to the
ground as the Black careened past him and burst upon the others, charging back and forth and flailing his hooves.

To get clear, Alec crawled backward until he felt someone taking his arm and lifting him to his feet. It seemed like a gentle gesture, and for an instant Alec thought perhaps help had arrived at last. He turned his head to look over his shoulder, and his hopes collapsed.

It was Medio behind him. The mask had fallen from the mad governor’s face, and his sharp eyes glared at Alec. He tried to pull free, but the baby-faced giant easily managed to keep Alec’s arms pinned to his sides. He whispered some words Alec did not understand, his tone soft and menacing, his breath foul on Alec’s neck.

Alec threw back his head with a grunt but wasn’t close enough to connect. Crushed in the man’s embrace, Alec felt his feet lift inches off the ground. As Medio carried him to the gate, Alec threw his weight from side to side and kicked his legs. Nothing seemed to help. He was trapped as surely as a fly in a spiderweb.

Just as they reached the entrance to the gate, there was an explosion of hooves. It was the Black. Behind him, two guards lay unconscious on the ground; the rest had scattered. Medio called to the stallion and pushed Alec forward, holding him as a shield between
him and the black demon. Alec looked into the Black’s eyes, trying to read what he could but seeing only black rage.

Medio shouted fearlessly as the enraged stallion moved upon them, pushing them both back against a pillar and then through the gate, closer to the precipice.

The Black coiled back on his haunches and charged again. Medio spun around. He raised an arm, trying to avoid the blows from the stallion’s hooves, and Alec pulled himself free. Medio snarled as Alec escaped but did not try to pursue him. All the man’s attention was focused on the Black.

The stallion struck on one side of his cornered prey and then the other, pushing him closer to the edge of the cliff. Medio moved backward, waving his arms and cowering from the blows. In desperation, he tried to break to the side. Tangling his feet, he lost his balance as he came too close to the edge. He seemed to hang in midair for an instant, a look of surprise on his face. Then, with a cry of disbelief, the Lord of Acracia tumbled over the precipice and down into the pit.