A Short View Into …
[image error]Equine Neophyte of the Blood Desert
(copyright Shannon Hunter & Cage Dunn 2017)
The view from high above the hot shimmer of scorched sand and sweaty salt-bush showed the desert formation: round-topped hills zig-zagged in red sand and white; dark valleys divided the two colours like a drawn-map picture. Neesa’s squinted as her day-dream zoomed from cloud height to the tops of the wind-whipped dunes and wisps of sand turned golden by the slanted sun. She tried something new, imagined wings spread to slow her descent. The deep concentration forced her breath to quicken into pants, hot, her chest muscles as hard as bricks, but she didn’t move her physical body, except for the sweat as it dribbled over her lips and dripped from her chin to discolour her grogram vest.
Can’t move. No one must know. It was a secret. Her secret. Her only escape. A rare moment of freedom.
Her view descended, now lower to the ground. She felt the lifting sensation of outspread wings and the skirr and snap of feathers as they tipped and dipped, heard the screech of a territorial hawk. As she flew over another small rise, she saw the deep depressions where the sand-grasses grew. Not that she’d ever seen real grass – she’d never been allowed to leave the confines of the City.
If only this were real.
Wind whistled through the waves of grain-topped fodder hidden by the rift-valleys. Would she find them here, grazing? She turned her imagined raptor head left and right, north and south, sought the dark smudges against the bright stalks.
There. The herd of red horses. The soul magic of the desert. The red Stallion, leader of his herd, arched neck that rippled with the strongest spectrum of magic – the dark red of life-blood.
The breeze ruffled his dark mane, showed the salt of his sweat, the tickle in her nose at the swirls of dust and sand from the desert floor as it floated around his lissom movements. He turned his dark brown eyes towards her, lowered his heavily lashed lids in a show of welcome – would his eyes be brown? Or would they have a colour of the magic of the horses of the desert?
No. Don’t disturb the dream magic with questions. Just be.
She breathed in his salty sweat, felt a questing nudge –
“Please pay attention, servant-designate Neesa – this is not a class of free-thought!”
Neesa’s eyes snapped open. The voice of the Master of Training sounded like she was rolling her eyes, as if this type of thing happened all the time.
It didn’t. Neesa made a mistake doing her day-dream in class. Big mistake.
She stared hard toward the front of the class through the struts of the tiered seating above her; saw the faces of the non-assigned neophytes as they turned back and looked down on her. She noted who moved to positions above her, prepared herself for the rain of urine that would follow the denigrating words relegated to those of her type. She kept her vision ahead, but listened – Grundiz and two of her cronies began.
“Slave-girl – please take my pee as a most precious gift, to be honoured by you drinking of it. Now.”
Neesa’s hands gripped the rough-sawn timber and pulled herself away as the first drops of wetness fell. They missed.
“Next time, creature – and don’t dare move again, or –” Grundiz sneered and spat. Missed.
“We will commence this lesson with two volunteers to undertake to move a heavy item with Magic. Who?” She peered up at the pasty-yellow faces glistened with sweat and glittery flecks of powder. The dismal yellow of light magic set a sparkle on the gold dust in their hair. “You,” she pointed at someone on the far right upper level. “And you.” That was Grundiz. Maybe there would be some fun in this after all.
Two chairs and a table appeared in the pit at the front of the tiered seats. Heavy, rough cut timber; the only type of timber in the City. Neesa didn’t look at the girls who stepped down from the heights and into the lower levels.
“I’ll set the net for magic – keep clear.” The Master moved her body in a rhythm that rustled her silk over-tunic and cape. Her long dark hair scissored across her back. Her tiny red cap tilted, ready to fall if the single clip holding it in slipped its mooring.
Neesa kept her grogram-covered butt as still as stone and watched as the flickers of magic came to the call. The outer net was flimsy; holes as big as sheep littered the protective circle that was supposed to surround and protect the users in the pit.
Did any of the other students see the magic? She looked, carefully, judiciously, at the faces now concentrated, wide-eyed on the spectacle below. Not even one face turned to the dance of light left in the wake of the wild Magic.
“Each of you is required to lift one chair – you, this one – and place it on the table. No, no – gently, no damage!” The Master screeched as she tried to position each student in the right place to make the right moves. “You REQUEST the magic, you OFFER it something, then …”
A huge gush of sound as the magic tried to escape the cruel hold, another screech – of pain. Grundiz was lying prone on the floor of the pit, magic dribbling away from her like blood from an open wound.
“Take her out to the spine-hall – come back when she’s stable – keep going, girl – what’s your name?” A mutter. “Esena – the lesson isn’t over yet!”
The demonstration continued, but Neesa watched the blank, man-shaped hole in the middle of the magic. Someone watched, thinking he was unseen, unsee-able. Neesa knew him. His shape was unique. He was the only man in the City of the Wall taller than the doorways. The Master of Gold. The man she feared more than death. If she knew why she feared him, would the fear go? No, because she could also sense the fear in the magic, how it moved away from him, how it slunk lower to the ground, out of his way, like a beaten child expecting another beating. Magic feared the Master of Gold, and Neesa understood that if something as powerful as Magic was afraid, there was reason.
… That was the first page; the novel will be complete and available end March 2017.
