Middle Ages – Page 3 – THE LEGEND OF THE GREAT HORSE trilogy

Sometime, somewhere on the plains…

It fascinated Meagan to watch the horses being summoned each morning. It was usually the same old man who called, and when he cupped his hands and blew his whistle, heads popped up throughout the ranging herd. Some horses came immediately; others took longer, snatching last mouthfuls of grass as they came.

Each band had its own call, and each foal was trained at its mother’s side as to which call was its own. Meagan practiced her camp’s whistle, imitating the low-to-high pitch. Targa was always one of the first to answer, coming with head high and nostrils flared, snapping impatiently at loafers moving too slowly.

Two things were always in demand: firewood and water. Meagan enjoyed the daily expeditions to hunt for supplies, conducted in slow gallops across vast stretches of plain. She soon found the landscape was not featureless as she had first thought, but rather too subtle for eyes accustomed to manmade structures. She began to notice undulations and colors in the emptiness, and to see the variety and richness of the plains.

Occasional puffs of dust appeared in the landscape, puffs that grew into riders wrapped up like mummies. These were messengers that galloped into and out of the horde, running from horizon to horizon, providing a lifeline of communication to the world. With growing respect, Meagan realized these were not mere wanderers but true nomads. This was a nation on horseback, a laughing, squabbling realm.

Whether hitting a goat skin in a game played like polo or running a spontaneous race, a serious edge underlay the fun. The nomads had given up their lives to the horse and in return had become superhuman. The people could survive for a time without food, but they could not survive without horses. Every rider groomed and fed his mount before taking his own meal, which include dried meat and barbeque, as well as fermented mare’s milk, something Meagan tasted only once.

Excerpted from Eclipsed by Shadow, the award-winning first volume of “The Legend of the Great Horse” trilogy. (Hrdbk pg. 188)

Book II: The Golden Spark is available! Book III announcements coming soon…

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NOTHING HARMLESS FEELS so much like dying as having one’s breath well and truly knocked out. Heaving for air without result, Meagan fought panic as she waited for a breath. When it finally came, she leaned onto her hands and panted in great gulps.

Sounds of men came through the darkness, their speech fast and urgent. Meagan steadied her breathing and listened as words rose and fell around her, foreign words spoken in crisp, rapid strokes. The voices approached and hands gripped the fabric of her tunic, inspecting, pulling at the folds and letting them go.

A light colored horse was led forward, a faint apparition glowing in the darkness. Meagan reached out a hand and ran it along familiar contours. It was a pony, a short but fully grown equine. She was lifted and pushed onto the pony’s back, where she instinctively reached for the reins lying low on the animal’s neck. The stadium and chariots had evaporated into the night air. The last Meagan remembered was the rush of white wings, and the world seemed to melt and reassemble into new solid forms. Now Rome was a memory.

A knot of horsemen rode past Meagan. She could see faces in the light of the torches they carried, Asian faces, parched and grim in the flickering redness. Her pony mount swished its tail impatiently, and Meagan automatically reached to pat the animal’s shoulder. Her hand felt an irregular patch in the hair, and she leaned over to see. Branded on the shoulder, barely visible in the torchlight, was a crescent symbol over a circle.

Voices were receding into the night. Meagan allowed the pony to join the sound of hoof beats flowing through the warm darkness. All she cared to know was that she had moved closer to her own time—so far, there was no evidence. One thing was certain: she was not yet back home.