The Black Stallion and the Lost City (9 page)

The albino sensed him well before the other mares. She suddenly became alert and raised her head
a notch. Then she froze, blades of grass still stuck between her lips, her thick forelock falling down to her eyebrows. In the pool, the other mares were still unaware of the stallion’s presence downwind. The albino stared straight at the Black, but she did not cry out or make any effort to warn her sisters of the stallion’s arrival.

The Black announced himself with a loud snort. The mares in the pool stopped their playing and turned to him. He remained still and watched them, dazzled by their extreme loveliness. The band of mares looked back at him, then at each other in amazement at the sudden appearance of the stranger. With frightened cries, the three ran from the pool into the woods, but the albino remained.

The stallion waited, but she did not make a move to follow the others. She was plainly unafraid of the Black. Her tail swished angrily as she stared back at this unwelcome intruder who had spoiled her afternoon.

The Black stayed where he was. He knew that in the wild, where there was a band of mares, there would also be a stallion nearby. Moments later, the band returned, but this time they were led by a young stallion with a pale gray coat.

The Black whistled a warning and waited for the inevitable. He felt no fear. His body began to tremble
in anticipation of the battle that was to come. It was not his first, and he knew what to expect. His courage and cunning would see him through this fight as they had many times before.

The young gray stallion screamed his challenge, throwing his head and tossing his mane. Then he broke into a run and charged to the pool, making a show of his speed and strength. The Black watched him, content to let the other stallion make the first move. The gray shrilled again, yet there was something uncertain in the sound of his cries. His long-limbed stride fell unsteady. The anxious gray broke his charge, slamming to a stop beside the mare on the far side of the stream leading to the pool. His red-rimmed eyes flashed and bulged in their sockets as he glared at the black stranger silently waiting for him.

All at once, the gray turned his attention to the albino mare, warning her of their danger with squeals and snorts. When she did not heed his commands, he swung his hindquarters around, lashing the air with his hooves. She sidestepped the blow, then with a savage cry, lifted her forefeet to trample the ground between them.

The enraged gray stallion whirled toward the Black and stood battle ready, his nostrils flared, his ears pinned against his head. There was no turning back for him now. Behind him, the band of mares
clustered together for protection, watching and waiting for the fight to come.

The gray rocked back on his haunches and sprang forward. This time he leaped over the stream and made a headlong charge at the invader to his realm. The Black stepped forward to meet him, his fury mounting as he rose up on his hind legs, lashing the air with his hooves, then bringing them crashing to the ground. The lead shank dangling from his halter whipped snakelike around his head.

The two horses faced off for a brief moment, and the mountain air rang with their war cries. Then the young gray bravely reared and lunged at the larger, older stallion, his teeth seeking the Black’s neck. But the gray was not quick enough, and one of the Black’s forehooves caught him squarely in the shoulder. The blow staggered the young stallion. Moving steadily closer, the giant black horse took the offensive and rose up again, his ears pinned, his mane waving about his fine, small head like a black flag.

There were more squeals and the sounds of hooves battering flesh. Overpowering his attacker with cunning and experience, the black stallion landed blow after blow. And then the fight was decided, over almost as quickly as it started. The gray cried out in defeat and wheeled to get away. The Black chased him, but his intention was not to kill but only to frighten.
To kill one so young and inexperienced would prove nothing.

The gray scampered off across the pasture on the far side of the pool, calling for the mares to follow him as he fled. Frightened by the battle, the band had scattered but now regrouped to follow after their defeated leader. All but one.

The black stallion watched the mares run off and knew he could have taken them, but he let them go. He turned his attention to the one who remained. The one who had so captivated his imagination since he first saw her. The whitest of the white would now reckon with the blackest of the black. Surely she would accept him, even praise him in his triumph.

The mare stood in the streambed watching him approach, still unafraid, her ruby-tinted eyes holding him in their powerful gaze. Never had the stallion beheld such a horse. She was beautiful but somehow repulsive at the same time, unimaginably different from the rest of his kind. Almost imperceptible in the scent around her was something frightening, something that spoke of wolf or some other predator.

The Black slowed to stop and then stepped forward to meet her. She whinnied and tossed her head, as if to welcome him. Then, like a great white bird that had been driven from its perch, the mare spun around and bounded away. For a moment it looked as if she
might turn back, but then she kept going. The stallion broke after her, but his hesitation had cost him. It would have been easy to catch her in the open, but the stallion knew that once she reached the trees, it would be different. This was her turf, not his. There among the unknown trails of this strange mountain forest, he would be at a disadvantage.

The mare reached the trees and slipped into the shadows. The Black raced in behind her. He had to slow almost to a stop to let his eyes adjust to the dark forest again. Even as he waited, the sound of the mare’s hooves ahead told him where to go. Soon he was plunging through the mottled tunnel as fast as he dared.

He broke into a clearing again and searched for some sign of the mare. It was as if she had vanished completely. He frantically scented the wind for some hint as to where she had gone. Her scent was there, but his nostrils caught fresh smells, too, and his pricked ears could hear the sounds of voices, the sounds of people. The wind filled his nostrils again, and then, very clearly, he scented one person in particular, his partner, the boy who was his friend. With a fierce snort, he wheeled around to follow the trail upwind.

It was the
sound of his horse’s cry that brought Alec Ramsay back to consciousness. He lay on the muddy ground, trying to remember where he was and how he got there. Then came the whistle again, loud and clear, a sound unlike any other—the war cry of a stallion. It was the Black. Pulling himself to his feet, Alec followed the sound. The stallion was no more than fifty yards away, not in the water but already up on the riverbank. And he was not alone. A group of men were there, calling back and forth in excited cries and whoops. They wore white robed uniforms and carried pitchforks and spears. They were trying to surround the Black. The men closed in on the stallion like a pack of hungry wolves, threatening him with their weapons.

Who are these men? Alec thought. A hunting party from some mountain tribe? What were they trying to do to his horse?

Alec cried out but could produce only a strangled
gag from his water-tortured lungs. And, even though he was only a short distance away, the hooting men did not see him. All their attention was focused on the Black. Desperate to reach his horse, Alec took a step, only to fall as his injured left leg collapsed beneath him. He got up again and hopped ahead on his good leg. Each painful bounce shot an arrow of pain through his injured left ankle.

Calling out in words of some language Alec did not recognize, the robed men were attempting to maneuver the Black back against the stream. They formed a semicircle in front of the stallion, waving their spears and closing in tighter around him, blocking his escape.

The Black was standing his ground before his tormentors, rearing high, his forelegs striking out into the air. White lather ran in streaks across the glistening black satin of his shoulders. His mouth was open, his teeth bared. Lightning flashed from his eyes.

The men scattered out of the way as the stallion plunged his forelegs to the ground again and again, his body contorted, his eyes filled with hate. Thunder rolled from his hooves with each crash of his pounding legs. Then, with another wild, high-pitched whistle, he reared again.

One man strode forward, braver than the rest. He held a club like a baseball bat. When the stallion’s
hooves met the ground, the man lunged closer, fiercely swinging his bat.

With a quick side step, the Black avoided the blow. Reversing direction, he turned on his attacker. The man cried out as the stallion stuck him on the shoulder, butting him to the ground. The other men recoiled and then quickly regrouped. Brave in their anger now, they moved in to protect their fallen comrade, pushing the Black back against the stream. The stallion was trapped, magnificent in his savage fury, but also alone and frustrated.

Alec found his voice at last and called out, but the hunters were so caught up in the frenzy of their battle with the Black that they still didn’t hear him. Or perhaps they did hear him but were simply ignoring him. Clearly the Black was giving them plenty to think about. Alec hobbled closer as one of the hunters pulled his wounded friend back.

Another hunter raised his spear, and at the same instant that Alec shouted “No,” a cry cut through the air, an urgent voice calling out one of the few Greek words Alec actually understood.

“
Oh-hee!
No!”

It was a young woman’s voice, and it startled all of them. The men turned in the direction of the shouts, and Alec saw the water-soaked figure of Xeena rush in to step between them and the Black.

More shouts filled the air as the Black noticed his friend. The men could not stop the Black as he broke away and ran to Alec.

Alec raised his arms to the stallion as his horse came to him. With the touch of his horse, Alec felt new strength pulse through his body. He rubbed his face against the wet warmth of the dark coat. The shaking and trembling of his body stopped.

They may not be safe, Alec thought, but they were together and alive.

Between the stallion and the sudden presence of the two waterlogged strangers, the men in the hunting party seemed unsure of what to do. One roared madly, another laughed, and yet another raised his spear and jabbed at the sky. Then, as one, they regrouped and turned their attention to the Black and the young man.

Xeena’s voice rose louder. She was not pleading now. Alec did not understand the words, but the meaning was clear: stay away!

The men stopped. But then one stepped forward to confront the girl. Another shouted angrily to Alec in Greek, then in German and finally in English. “Papers!” he demanded.

The Black snorted and pulled back as the men gathered in front of them. Alec held on to the stallion’s halter, feeling better for the first time in hours. After
what had happened inside the mountain, this was nothing. Certainly the men would help them once they knew what he, Xeena and the Black had just been through. Up close, Alec saw that they all looked to be no more than teenagers. Their spears and white togas made him think of boys dressing up for a school play. But they weren’t acting like boys. They were acting like police, and quite unfriendly police at that.

“American,” Alec said, raising his hands. “Everything okay. No problemo.”

The closest young man’s face contorted with disdain at the sound of Alec’s casual American voice. “Papers!” he repeated. It was an absurd request, considering the circumstances, like pulling a shipwrecked sailor from the sea and asking him for ID before giving him a cup of water to drink.

Alec patted the pockets of his soggy jeans and shrugged. “Sorry,” he said coolly. “I must have left them in my other bathing suit.” He wasn’t used to being ordered about by a guy wearing a toga. He ignored the man and turned to Xeena. “Are you okay?”

She nodded.

“Tell these psychos that we need help, would you?”

“Papers!” the man barked again, shaking his spear for effect.

Alec was about to tell the man what he could do
with his papers when Xeena said something, and the man turned to glare at her, then pointed his spear off to the right toward the woods.

“Just do what they say, Alec,” she said. “They must be the security force for the Acracia resort. They want us to come with them.”

Two men walked in front of Xeena, Alec and the Black while the rest took up positions behind. The guards ushered Alec and Xeena to the head of a path leading into the forest. Alec kept a short hold on the Black’s lead shank. The stallion had scratches and scrapes along his right side, but otherwise he seemed to have survived their ordeal in the underground river without serious injury. Of course, Alec would not know for certain until he had a chance to stop and examine his horse, and the guards didn’t seem likely to agree to that. Alec could see they were still frightened of the Black, and they were dangerous in their fear. The one who had been knocked to the ground staggered along at the rear of the procession, his friends now leaving him to fend for himself.