The Arena

There was everywhere and nowhere to run. People scattered before the galloping horses and their bristling chariots of bronze. Meagan leapt out of the path of an oncoming team. Hooves pounded across her footprints. – Eclipsed by Shadow (excerpt)

ECLIPSED BY SHADOW | 'The Legend of the Great Horse' trilogy book cover (90x135px)

This excerpt is from Eclipsed by Shadow, Book #1 of The Legend of the Great Horse trilogy, an adventure through history―on horseback.

The scene is set in ancient Rome (100 AD): Meagan is trapped with prisoners in the Coliseum…

The peculiar vices of this city, it seems to me, are conceived almost in the mother’s womb … a passion for gladiators and horses.

—Cornelius Tacitus (c. 55 – 120) Roman historian

THE WOODEN DOORS groaned back together behind them. Points of spears filled the narrowing gap as it closed.

Parthenon Horse

New gates opened, tall iron-banded doors that swept outward. The cheering was too loud for any other sound to be heard, but Meagan felt a familiar rumbling. Her stomach chilled to icy jelly as horses thundered from the gates in teamed pairs.

The dazed woman looked up to the sky, thin arms outstretched. Meagan saw a chariot bearing down on her, and she screamed into the crowd’s roar as the woman went under hooves and iron-sheathed wheels.

There was everywhere and nowhere to run. People scattered before the galloping horses and their bristling chariots of bronze. Meagan leapt out of the path of an oncoming team. Hooves pounded across her footprints.

Others tried to climb the smooth mortar walls, but spectators beat them back. A chariot rode along the inside wall, sparks and masonry flying where its spiked wheel made contact. One man climbed high enough to clutch the arm of a spectator—the crowd tossed both over the wall. A woman from the stands threw herself onto the netting, writhing in the passion of bloodlust.

Meagan saw a chariot fishtail, throwing plumes of sand as it straightened towards her. She turned and ran blindly, hearing the thundering gallop grow distinct from the crowd’s noise as the chariot gained.

Eclipsed by Shadow (Book #1 of the trilogy) won national awards including the Eric Hoffer Award for best Young Adult Fiction, and the Mom’s Choice Award for best family-friendly Young Adult Fantasy.

The Legend of the Great Horse trilogy is an adventure through history … each section is about a different time period. The above excerpt is from “Home,” the 1st section of Eclipsed by Shadow, set in modern-day California.

Eclipsed by Shadow (Book #1 of the trilogy) won national awards including the Eric Hoffer Award for best Young Adult Fiction, and the Mom’s Choice Award for best family-friendly Young Adult Fantasy.

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Time travel can be tricky

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The Legend of the Great Horse trilogy is an adventure through history. The Golden Spark (Book #2) won the 2011 Written Arts Awards for best Science Fiction/Fantasy.

Meagan was enjoying the formal 17th century social outing when she was abruptly whisked to an English farm of 1820. Time travel can be tricky.

Image of Meagan & “Beecher” by Marti Adrian Gregory © 2014 Micron Press

The young man dealt the draft horse a couple of affectionate whacks that echoed off the nearby barns. The horse swung his mighty head around, gently lipping the man’s sleeve. “Say, Martin, could one of your hands bring him around? I’ll pay a half-day’s wages.”

“I don’t have any hands available, Chadwick.”

“What about the young lady there?”

Both men turned to look at Meagan. She smiled and gave an embarrassed wave. Pink satin was hardly farm apparel.

“Never seen her. Must have strayed by.”

“She’s slicked up for something.” The younger man called to Meagan: “You, there! Not lost, are you?”

“No, just made a wrong turn.” Meagan was mortified to be standing in a field in such a dress. “Could you point me to town?”

“Town?” The men looked at each other. “There’s a mill up that road a ways. Did you walk here?”

“I-I was dropped off.” She looked down the long, tidy driveway.

The men exchanged another glance. The younger, Chadwick, shrugged and strode over. “I have my business, I suppose you have yours. Say though, if you would follow my carriage with this horse there’s two pence and a meal waiting. No need to get dirty, and it would be a real favor. I can give you a ride somewhere once we get the horse home.”

Meagan hesitated. Her real wish was to hide.

“Come on, now, don’t be afraid of him. He’s big, but he won’t hurt anything bigger than a fly. Then take a meal with the family and I will get you where you want to go.”

I doubt it, she thought, but smiled and agreed.

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A Gypsy’s Warning

Gypsy gold does not chink and glitter.
It gleams in the sun and neighs in the dark.

—Gypsy proverb


"Capriole" gold coin from The Golden Spark - Book #2 of The Legend of the Great Horse trilogyThe meal was
of well-roasted bird and acorns, garnished with greens. For a long time afterward Meagan stared into the dancing flames that brought warmth, food and security. Early dusk had fallen, and light raindrops were still tapping softly on the tent.

One of the dark women came to sit with Meagan. She leaned over, peering into the fire. Her jewelry jingled slightly with the motion, and a tendril of her long hair trailed across Meagan’s arm. “What do you see?”

“Oh, I … nothing.” Meagan shrugged. “I was just watching.”

“It is wise to be careful of looking into fires, young one.” The woman’s voice was soft and low. “You do not know what might be looking back.”

Well that’s creepy enough, Meagan thought as the woman seated herself, crossing her legs and making herself comfortable. Meagan pulled her blanket tighter and shifted to make room.

The woman’s perfumed scent soaked into the cold air of the tent. Shadows from the fire played over the olive face. The woman was nearing middle age, but in the flickering light she could have been a mere youth—or ancient. “Who would you hope to be looking back, if it was someone?” The woman said this seriously, and leaned forward to hear the answer.

“I … don’t know.”

“Think. Look back to the fire. Look until you see black flame.”

The fire danced invitingly. It struck Meagan how the flames shifted between infinite shades of red, white, yellow and orange. She had never thought of fire as having different colors. She looked longer, until another color stood out: black shadows danced among the flames as lively and real as the others.

“The fire itself may be a shadow of darkness. If something is watching you, they will be in the black flames. Who is it you wish to see?”

Meagan swallowed. “My parents.”

The woman stretched her arm towards Meagan. “Here, give me your hand.” Turning Meagan’s hand over and gently opening her palm, the woman traced over it as if to wipe it clean.

“Do you read palms?” Meagan asked.

“No, child, I read lives. Let me see the other.”

Obediently, Meagan held out her other hand. The woman knitted her brow and peered closely. “Your life line…” The woman’s eyes grew large and she gripped Meagan’s hand more tightly. “Who are you, girl?”

Meagan tried to pull away. “Please, let go.”

“Where are you from? I want to know the place.”

Meagan wrenched her hand away.

The woman rose. “Your line has no roots. Where is your home?” She knelt and put her face close. Spice perfume washed over Meagan. They looked at each other a long moment. “Child,” the woman said finally, her voice gentle. “Tell me. I can be trusted. Where is your home?”

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The above excerpt is set in 1666 Europe, where Meagan receives a meal from a camp of gypsies, and a warning …

The Legend of the Great Horse trilogy is an exciting and well-researched adventure through history. The Golden Spark (Book #2) won the 2011 Written Arts Awards for best Science Fiction/Fantasy.

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“We are not leaping…”

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This excerpt is from The Golden Spark, Book #2 of The Legend of the Great Horse trilogy, an adventure through history―on horseback.

The year is 1666 and Meagan is watching a riding demonstration of her rescued horse, Nero, at the Court of Versailles.

“They say princes learn no art truly,
but the art of horsemanship.
The reason is, the brave beast is no flatterer.
He will throw a prince as soon as his groom.”

—Lord Byron (1788-1824)

Meagan was dismayed to see a thin male form hurrying through the entrance. It was Robert Cheveley, pulling on gloves as he strode across the arena. “Your Majesty!” he called out boisterously, “I apologize for my tardiness. I was in the process of losing a tournament of cards.” He went quickly to Nero and lifted his leg to mount. No one moved to assist. Meagan wished it were acceptable to boo.

"Capriole" by Marti Adrian Gregory, illustrating a horse character performing a Capriole in The Golden Spark, book 2 of The Legend of the Great Horse trilogy.Pardon, monsieur,” Pierre said diplomatically, “but the demonstration is today given by riders of the Court.”

“Oh, that. No need. I shall ride my own horse, and no one else need bother. This dressage riding is in fashion and I am ready to restart my tuition.”

“But not today, Monsieur, I beg.”

“Yes, today. I am here, am I not?”

The King cleared his throat. “Perhaps, Instructor, this could be a test of the manège art. Surely our English guest’s skills are not less than the average cavalryman’s … ?”

Oui, Majesté,” Pierre said in surrender, giving a signal to his assistants. They busied themselves adjusting the tack and helping Robert to mount. Swinging his leg high, Robert sat upon Nero with a hard thump—the horse jerked his head up as if awaking to a bad dream. Robert tugged on the reins and Nero swished his tail, tucking his head behind the bit and chewing voraciously.

“He seems a bit sluggish,” Robert commented loudly. “Why? He used to be so spirited.”

“Please, monsieur.” Pierre wrung his hands. “Petit à petit the horse is become relaxed and calm.”

“Calm? But I want the horse to leap and kick. I do not want him calm.”

“The horse needs this calm to perform the leaps with élan.”

“Come now, let us not argue. You are the instructor. Instruct.”

Pierre looked at the chandeliers of the Court manège for a moment, and then spread his arms. Music commenced. “Yes, monsieur … please lower the heel. Maintain the soft contact. The heel is lower, please. Tighten your thigh, shoulders back, do not lean! Heels lower, if you please, monsieur. Head up, elbows not press, wrists out, fingers closed, hands off neck. Look up from the ground, monsieur, heels lower! Lower, if you please, monsieur, we are not dancing the ballet. Wrist strong, head up, knees back, chest open … heels, monsieur! Heels!

Robert’s face was getting redder and Nero was champing on the bit, ears pinned back. Nervous sweat was beginning to show on the gelding’s neck. Finally Robert shouted and jerked the reins. “This may be well and good, but I want to do one of those Airs!”
Pierre glanced unhappily at the King. Meagan almost stood to give her own comment, but realized her place and remained silently stewing.

“Proceed, Instructor,” the King said mildly.

“Very well, Majesté. Very well, Monsieur Cheveley. The first principle is calm, the second is balance.”

“Bother calm. We have talked of nothing else since we began. I want to leap!”

Pierre looked a final time to the King and, defeated, indicated to the attendants to stand close. Men took Nero’s bridle and Pierre took up a position near the horse’s side. Nero shook his head and yawed his mouth, prancing tensely. “Monsieur Cheveley, please attend. The leap is resulting from the horse’s obedience to the driving aids, made con brio with the aids of holding. The horse releases himself when the point of tension must become equilibrium.”

“We are not leaping…”

“In the Capriole, monsieur, the height of the leap is of second importance to the forward spring and the kick. If the kick is well finished, the landing will be light.”

Robert shrugged irritably. “This is quite tedious. Just tell me what to do!”

“Yes, monsieur, of course. Commence the Piaffe.”

Robert lifted his reins higher and spurred. Nero nearly escaped from his handlers, but they hung on grimly and the horse threw himself into an uneven fidgeting-in-place.

“Now what?” shouted Robert.

“It is not … raise the hand slightly, monsieur, slightly. Remember to be the velvet glove over the iron fist! Now, softly apply the leg.”

Robert hauled the reins high and clapped his legs on Nero with all his strength. The horse did, in fact, abandon his calm: he struck out a hind leg, tore his bridle from the attendants’ grip, planted both feet in the finely raked dirt and flung Robert off with the first hitch. The incensed gelding continued plunging across the manège … scraps of Royal tack scattered in a colorful stream behind him.

The King rose and Pierre, shaking, took the Royal chair. Meagan sat stunned in the gallery as the orchestra fell silent, though one flutist tried for a time to accompany Nero in his circuits around the arena.

Robert waved away assistance and stood, brushing himself. “I say, the horse was much better before all this training.”

“We must thank Monsieur Cheveley,” said the King gravely. “He has made our own riding seem beaucoup plus expert.

Robert picked up his hat from the dirt and shook it before bowing low to the King. “It is my pleasure, Majesté.”

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