White Horse Talisman (18 page)

“That must be Tysoe.” Chantel pointed to the cluster of roofs and a church steeple huddled in the valley below. “The red mare's on one of these hills.” She gazed around.

Mr. Smythe let out the clutch and they soared downhill to stop in the parking area between the Tysoe churchyard and the Red Nag Pub.

The older cousins jumped out of the Land Rover and helped Chantel with her crutches. They gazed at the hills around the village with dismay.

“This can't be right,” Chantel protested. “There are too many trees and bushes. The red mare was in a big cleared meadow. I saw her!”

“Clearings grow over,” sighed Mr. Smythe. He pulled the silver box out of his bag and placed it on the hood of the Land Rover. With great care he lifted the lid, opened the old book and offered it to Chantel.

She leaned against the Land Rover and tried to read the description of the site of the horses. The words were dif–ficult, so Holly leaned over and helped her.

“Red Horse Hill is east of Tysoe church
with the east axis of the church pointing directly to the figure,” they chanted together.

Chantel looked up. “We need a compass.”

Owen flashed his explorer watch and pressed a couple of buttons. “Okay … north's thataway.”

“Then this is east.” Chantel pointed to the hillside rising directly above one side of the church.

They stared at the slope.

Mr. Smythe grunted. “At least it has fewer trees than some of the other slopes.” His eyes passed over the sparse woodland and glared at the small bushes and patches of open ground, as if willing the red mare to materialize.

Tears filled Chantel's eyes. “We'll never be able to find her.”

Adam gave her hand a squeeze. “What if we say Wayland's rhyme? It might help, like a spell.”

The cousins looked sideways at Mr. Smythe.

To their surprise he nodded briskly. “Wouldn't hurt.”

“Hold hands to make a circle,” suggested Chantel.

Mr. Smythe grinned. “There's five of us. That's a lucky number, like the number seven.”

They linked hands and chanted quietly:

“Those you seek are running still,
Though hidden now, beneath the hill.
What lies below is seen on high.
Seek them where the magpies fly.

Seek them as small shadows, cast
By the sun when noon hath passed.
Red like white in slumber lie,
The talisman within the eye.”

A breeze rippled around them, and the sun suddenly seemed to shine brighter.

Hello, child.

The familiar feeling of friendship washed over Chantel. She glanced around, but obviously no one else could hear. She thought her reply.
Horse! You're here!

I'm always here.

Chantel gave a silent giggle.
No, I mean here at Tysoe.
Can you see the red mare?

No, there is only emptiness.

Feeling confident, Chantel smiled.
She'll come.

At the same moment, Adam heard a whisper in his head. It seemed far away but was dark and compelling.

Adam, listen to me.

Adam looked around the circle. No one else showed signs of hearing anything, though Chantel looked happier.

Go away, Worm,
thought Adam. He tried to block out the voice.

Adam, I'm strong. Come. Share my power.

You're a liar. You wanted to share power with Holly.

Of course,
whispered the dragon.
She was holding the
talisman. But it was you I wanted. We could be such friends,
you and I. Find the missing half of the talisman and call
for me. Then you and your sister will be equal. Imagine …
the girl and the horse and you and the dragon. The magic
would be balanced.

The voice faded, leaving Adam disturbed and uneasy. He glanced around the circle. No one had noticed anything. He looked down again at Chantel's rapt face. Suddenly he un–derstood — she and the horse were talking! A flash of anger swept over him. She was going to do it again, tell everyone what to do and they'd all dance to her whims.

He dropped her hand as though it burned him.

Everyone abandoned the circle and stared back up at the hillside.

“Now what?” asked Holly.

A woman appeared in the doorway of the Red Nag.

“Hello, my dears. Can I help you?” she called.

Chantel turned. “We've heard about the red horse. We were wondering where it used to be.”

The woman leaned back into the pub. “George,” she called. “There be people asking about yon red mare. Bring out the picture, dearie.”

A sturdy farmer appeared, carrying a framed photo. “I'm George Whitfield. This be an aerial photo of my farm. It were taken some years ago by one of them archeologists, but not much has changed.” He placed the photo on the hood of the Land Rover and jabbed his finger on the glass. “Here be the church, and here be yon hillside. See anything?”

Five heads pored over the photo. It took them a while to decode the unusual view of the landscape. Suddenly Chantel gave a yelp.

“The shadows. Look at the shadows! They make lines. There's a horse's head … and ears …” Her fingers traced a line on the surface of the glass. She turned and gazed in–tently at the hillside before her. “Am I dreaming? The lines are still there.”

Several customers, glasses in hand, had followed George out of the pub and into the sunshine. They joined the group staring up at the hillside.

Owen danced from one foot to the other. He quoted softly, “What lies below is seen on high. Seek them where the magpies fly.”

He grinned. “This is an aerial photo, a bird's-eye view, and there are the magpies.”

The children looked up.

“I see one, two … six black birds flying around up there. I can't tell if they're magpies, though … and I can't see any–thing else,” admitted Adam.

“Me neither,” sighed Holly.

“Bet you they are.” Owen squinted at the hill, his head on one side. “It's big,” he said suddenly. “Really big. Chantel's right, there is something there.”

“You see it too? Great.” Chantel pointed, her hand trem–bling with excitement. “The ears start near the bushes on the top. Then the nose runs way, way down, almost to the stone wall on the left.” She beamed.

Owen grinned at her and nodded.

“What are you looking at?” cried Holly.

“Magnificent. You're seeing what archeologists call crop marks.” Mr. Smythe rubbed his hands together. “In a dry summer under hot sun, grass gradually bleaches paler and paler until it goes brown. Where grass grows over an area that has something underneath, like a building foundation, or the densely packed lines of a hill carving like the red mare, the roots don't get much nourishment. Those blades bleach faster than the surrounding grass.

“Look at the slope again and watch for subtle changes in color in a faint line. I'll guide you. Fix your eyes first on the little white cloud in the sky.”

Adam and Holly looked up. So did the customers.

“Immediately below is a clump of bushes.”

“Found them,” chorused Holly and Adam.

Several customers grunted their agreement.

“Now run your eyes across the grass of the clearing be–low,” instructed Mr. Smythe. “Watch for a pale yellow-green line running diagonally towards the left … way down to the large tree by the wall … then curving back …”

“Got it,” said Adam with satisfaction.

“It's a ghostly horse's head,” said Holly in amazement.

“It's there but it's not there.”

“I'll be danged,” commented a customer.

“Could we make the head show up clearer?” Owen asked.

“How?” said Holly.

“Paint the lines?” suggested Chantel.

Adam and Owen burst out laughing, but Mr. Smythe looked thoughtful. He glanced across at George Whitfield and raised his eyebrows.

George Whitfield chuckled. “You be serious? You really want to paint the old horse's head?”

“Please,” said Chantel. “Then we could take a proper photo of her.”

“Yes, please let us!” added the other children.

“I been asked some funny things in my time,” said George, shaking his head, “but this be the strangest.” He looked up at the hillside, scratching his head. “I don't reckon you should use paint. Not good for the land, see. But I have some bags of lime. You could sprinkle that along the lines, if you think it would show. I were goin' to lime yon fields anyway.”

Mr. Smythe clapped George on the back as Holly and

Owen thanked him.

A fluttering movement caught Chantel's eye. Six magpies had settled on the roof of the pub. She nudged Holly and pointed. Holly squeezed her arm.

Chantel leaned against the Land Rover to rest her leg again. She closed her eyes.
Horse, you'll see her soon. I
promise.

Equus blew gently. Chantel's hair lifted.

Only Adam seemed detached from the excitement. He stood in the middle of the parking lot, caught in a whirl of emotions.

CCC

“Something's happening. The dragon is stirring.” Ava cir
–
cled around Myrddin. “He is growing in power. The rising
magic feeds him.”

Myrddin shrugged helplessly. “We have no tools. Our
power is limited. Only Equus or the boy child can stop
him.”

Ava flew away to observe the dragon again.

The dragon ignored her. Once more he focused his
strengthening power against the bonds of starlight surround
–
ing him.

They held firm.

He retrieved his power and refocused. With a toothy
grin, he bombarded the human boy child with anger and
resentment.

CCC

Adam watched as George Whitfield backed out his farm truck and leaned out of the window to confer with Mr. Smythe. He felt strange, suddenly angry, resentful, and irritated by the excitement and activity around him.

He watched as Mr. Smythe fetched the folding chair from the back of the Land Rover and helped Chantel to sit facing the hillside. She clutched binoculars and held a cell phone in her lap.

Holly and Owen climbed into the back of George Whit–field's truck, their faces alight.

“Come on, Adam, we're picking up bags of lime. Then Mr. Whitfield will drop us off at the top of the hill,” shouted Owen.

“Are you staying here or what?” called Holly.

Chantel grinned at him. She waved her phone. “Go on, Adam. I'll be fine. Mr. Smythe's got a cell phone and so have I. I'll tell you all what to do from down here.”

Adam's frustration grew. There she was again! His little sister ordering everyone around.
The talisman is the key to
power.
The thought appeared unbidden in his head.

Adam straightened his shoulders. That's right. If he found the other half of the talisman, then things would change. He could bargain with everyone — his parents, Chantel, the White Horse. He wouldn't need the pesky dragon! For once he would be in charge.

“Hold on. I'm coming.” Adam ran and leapt up over the back of the truck. He hung over the side and called urgently to Mr. Smythe. “Please
Can I have the other phone to coordinate with Chantel?”

“I don't see why not.” Mr. Smythe handed over his cell phone and climbed into the cab.

With a scrape of gears they were off. Chantel and the customers waved and shouted encouragement.

Chantel watched the hill through her binoculars. The phone rang. She tucked it against her ear.

CCC

“Can you see us?” Adam's voice was clear.

The pub customers and some passersby hung around and listened. They watched the small figures silhouetted on the skyline.

“I see you,” Chantel said. She waved and giggled. She couldn't help it. Several patrons were dragging chairs out of the bar. They sat down and stared at the hill.