Cheval Bayard

By Artemis Greenleaf

Sarah wants to ride Cheval Bayard in a big show; to be on a Mundane Intervention Team; for Brendan to like her. Suddenly, those things look impossible. Should she just return to the Mundane world? She might feel like less of a freak - she is an ordinary human where everyone is magic. But when she and her friends stumble on a conspiracy, her humanity may be the only thing that can save both worlds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black Mare Books
• Release date: Oct 26, 2010
• ISBN: 9780982765159

Artemis Greenleaf

Artemis Greenleaf has devoured fairy tales, folk tales and ghost stories since before she could read. After watching many ghost hunting television shows, she wondered what the ghosts’ point of view toward ghost hunters might be. Artemis did, in fact, marry an alien and she lives in the suburban wilds of Houston, Texas with her husband, two children and assorted pets. She writes both fiction and non-fiction and her work has appeared in magazines, including Nature Friend and Stories for Children. For more information, please visit artemisgreenleaf.com.

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CHEVAL BAYARD

By

Artemis Greenleaf

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Black Mare Books on Smashwords

ISBN: 9780982765159

Cheval Bayard

Copyright © 2010 by Artemis Greenleaf

Discover other titles by Authorname at Smashwords.com:

Earthbound

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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Acknowledgements

Cheval Bayard would not be possible without the help and support of my wonderful spouse. As always, my critique group has been there to ask questions that needed asking, inspire and encourage me. I’d like to send a special shout out to Ruth C. for being such a great beta reader.

Nor would the book have happened without all of the fantastic trainers, coaches and horses I’ve had the good fortune to know throughout my life. This book is dedicated to them.

Blue Ribbon Equine Rescue works extensively with the Houston SPCA to save abused and neglected horses. For more information, visit their website at http://blueribbonmeadows.com.

Jim Stoner is the fabulous photographer who took the photo of the horse on the front cover. His website is http://www.jstonerphoto.photoreflect.com.

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Chapter 1

Things would be so much easier if I wasn’t human.

As I step into the pool of light in the barn aisle, I hear Regan whining, But I want to ride Val today!

I understand that. But it's a bad idea. He dinnae like you, Ms. Simone says. She’s the riding instructor/barn boss lady and she has the oldest living pony in the universe, which she brought with her all the way from the Shetland Islands, back in the Mundane world.

Regan is just inside the tack room door, back to me, ranting at Ms. Simone, who’s calmly sorting clean saddle pads.

That's not true, half-caste! You just want to coddle that human. Regan stamps her foot. I'm going to tell my father! She doesn’t notice me peeking in through the doorway. I like it when Regan has tantrums. It means she’s losing.

Miss Simone doesn't say anything, but her lips curl into a dangerous smile. She looks over Regan's head and our eyes meet, just for an instant. Very well then, Regan. Have it your own way. Go and tack up Val.

I shiver and my stomach turns cold. Regan disappears into the tack room to retrieve Val's bridle and her own saddle. She wears her usual self-satisfied smirk as she barges past me in the aisle.

Ms. Simone puts a traitorous hand on my shoulder. Dinnae you worry, Sarah, she says. This willna last long. Come out to the arena with me. And bring your saddle.

There is nothing to be said or done about it, so I follow her outside and sit next to her on a stone wall jump. I brush the crumbs from my granola bar breakfast off of my shirt, certain that Regan has noticed them. Yet more evidence that I am a hopeless slob with no business being on the Faery Interregional League Equestrian Team. Just because some of us don’t have our own personal seamstresses to tailor our clothes doesn’t mean we can’t ride.

Early morning fog drifts aimlessly among the trees at the forest edge and the borders of the riding arena. Titania’s castle looms over the stables, glowing pink in the early sun. It’s a welcome sight. It's been raining for the past two days, and puddles dot the arena.

It isn't long before Regan parades out of the barn with Val. She leads him to the mounting block, but as soon as she climbs up on it, he moves. Just one step, but it's enough. She gets down and moves him back. He gets into place obediently and stands quietly while she climbs to the top of the block. Then he steps away again. She finally clambers up on his back on the fifth try. She gives him a hard kick in the ribs and he trots down the rail. She isn't ready and almost slides off. After struggling to bring him down to a walk, she catches her stirrups. My blood boils to see rotten Regan being so rough with him.

Cheval Bayard -Val for short - has only been at Titania’s stables for two weeks. He’s fab-u-lous. He was retrieved from the Mundane world a long time ago, and there’s even a place in France named after him – La Roche Bayard. One of Val’s abilities is to stretch his back to fit any number of riders. At the time of the Roche Bayard incident, these four brothers were riding him, being chased by the army of the Emperor Charlemagne. They rode up into the mountains and out onto of this huge rock. Val jumped so hard that he split off part of the ridge. He landed all the way on the other side of the river and the brothers escaped. There is nothing he can’t jump. At least that’s what Ms. Simone says, anyway.

This stable, filled with crazy magic horses, is the one place I feel free and alive. There is something about horses that is just good and healing and true. I have been riding with Ms. Simone for four years, now. If I were back home in the Mundane world, I’d be on summer break between seventh and eighth grade.

Ms. Simone and I talk about the weather while Regan trots Val around the arena to warm up.

Okay, Regan. Let's start with a few hopovers. Trot this x. Ms. Simone points to a jump made of two crossed rails about two feet tall. Regan heads toward it.

Val trots up to the jump, then slams on the brakes at the last possible second. Regan flies over his lowered head and somersaults into the muddy red sand. Regan stands up and tries to sling the mud off of her hands. A dark, wet smear stretches from the lavender shoulder of her monogrammed shirt to the bleached white hip of her breeches.

That was dirty, but I like it. Poor, poor Regan. That stain’ll never come out. I try not to laugh too loudly. She is too furious to notice her ruined clothes. She raises her whip and starts toward Val. He raises his head, shaking his mane, and snorts at her, standing his ground.

Stop right there, young lady! Ms. Simone commands. "You so much as touch that horse with your bloody whip, I will banish you from the stables, I will, and I don't half care who your father is."

Regan stands there fuming. She grunts and throws her whip to the ground. Val pulls his lips back and stretches out his neck. Regan and I both know he is laughing at her. Ms. Simone moves quickly to his side to take off Regan’s saddle.

Here. Why don’t you ride Sleipner when you’ve got yourself cleaned up, then? Ms. Simone smiles far too sweetly and bats her eyelashes at Regan.

She snatches the saddle away and glares at Ms. Simone. Then she turns on me. What are you looking at, lastborn? she snarls before tramping into the stable.

The best I can come up with on short notice is to hrumph. That’s showing her.

I have only been called that once or twice since I arrived in Faery. Sticks and stones and all, but I don’t like the way it makes me feel.

I saddle up Val.

That insult innae worth fretting yourself over, you know she’s just a bletherskite. It’s only weak minds that must tear others down to build themselves up, says Ms. Simone.

A blether what? I ask. I thought she was a trooping faery.

Ms. Simone chuckles. She’s both, I reckon, A bletherskite is someone who talks a load of rubbish. As I was saying, there’s nothing wrong with humans. I’m halfway between firstborn and lastborn, myself, you know. My mother, she was a selkie, a seal maiden, and my father, he was a fisherman.

Seal maiden? I ask as I run through my mental inventory of faeries and come up blank.

"When selkies are swimming in the sea, they can’t be told from seals. When they come on the beach, they take off their seal skins and seem as beautiful women. If a human should steal a selkie’s skin, the selkie is obliged to do as do as she is bidden, at least until she can steal the skin back.

So believe me, I know it isn’t easy being different—

Ms. Simone’s speech is cut short by a howl. Val snorts and whirls, facing the barn.

~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter 2

Pay that no mind, Sarah. I’ll wager our Miss Darkwing has found the looking glass.

But what if—

Have no worry, child. Qusay is about. Should there be an actual problem, he’ll get it sorted. Ms, Simone starts setting up some jumps.

Okay. I wouldn’t wish Regan Darkwing on anyone, even Qusay. He’s great with the horses, but he’s kind of weird. I’ve heard that he’s part human and part Djinn. But not from him - he doesn’t speak. Ms. Simone says he uses telepathy, but I’ve never heard him. Just another of the many abilities I don’t have. I see him around a lot, but I don’t’ know much about him, although one of my roomies, Caroline, who always seems to know something about everybody, says he was rescued a couple of years ago by an MIT in Iraq. He and I are the same age, but he’s inches shorter than me and looks way younger than he is.

Alright, then Sarah, Ms. Simone says. I’ve got this gymnastic set up for you. It’s a bounce to a one stride to a bounce. Compress the energy coming in, then stay up off his back. Once he lands, he has to jump again straight away. Try it with hands the first time, then I’d like you to knot your reins and hold your arms straight out to the side on the next go.

Like I’ve never done a bounce before. I shorten my reins and Val trots to the edge of the arena. As soon as I think the word canter, he’s off. I rise slightly in my stirrups, feeling the rhythm of his hooves in the sand, bah-da-bum, bah-da-bum, a heartbeat in three quarter time.

Too much pace! Whoa! Ms. Simone shouts at me.

Too late, I sit back in the saddle and tug at Val’s mouth. From a stride out, he springs like a deer and clears both elements of the bounce as a single jump. My left foot slips out of the stirrup and I curl my fingers in his mane, bracing for the next two jumps. It seems like minutes before we touch the ground again.

Val stops. Not a dirty, sliding stop, but a gentle halt, a butterfly landing on an orchid.

That was an interesting gymnastic method, Sarah. Dead lucky you’re riding Val.

What is that supposed to mean? The adrenalin is still pumping through my body, twisting my innards. I shiver and puff short, ragged breaths. I’ve only just remembered to breathe.

If he likes a rider, Val will ne’er allow her to fall, not if he can help it, anyways. If he dinnae, well, you saw what happened to Miss Darkwing. It’s all on you, Sarah. He won’t jump if you cannae hang on. Let’s try it again, with reins, please.

It takes three tries for me to finally get it right. After that, I walk Val out and put him away. I still have three other horses to ride and some saddles to clean before lunch.

As I am walking out my last horse, Gringolet, I twist in the saddle and stretch from side to side. He’s so used to jousting with Sir Gawain that he’ll go in a straight line no matter what I do. I throw my head back and look at the pale grey tower rising out of the trees and keeping watch over the arena.

Titania’s castle houses both the regional offices of the Mundane Activity Monitoring and Intervention Center (MAMIC for short) and the Benevolent Society of the Green Star. MAMIC is in charge of the Mundane Intervention Teams. Green Star runs the orphanage, where I live. Sometimes, as many as fifty kids live at the orphanage. Right now, it’s about two dozen. Some have human blood, but I am the only one who is entirely human. Entirely ordinary. Entirely alien.

Green Star orphans are not required to try out for Mundane Intervention Teams, but they are strongly encouraged to. Non-orphans are allowed, if their parents insist. Maybe a third of the MIT trainees are non-orphans. But I think MAMIC prefers orphans. There’s a never-ending supply and we’re more expendable.

I put Gringolet away and start cleaning tack. As I finish my last saddle, I see one of the latest arrivals. She’s small and slender, even by fay standards. I don’t know why she’s here. We don’t come with tags, like pound puppies.

She’s semi-transparent and flickering, like bad reception on a TV. Are you okay? I ask.

Her eyes get wide and she pulls away from me, tripping over the pan of water she was using for her saddle soap and spilling it. She becomes nearly invisible.

It’s alright, I say, smiling at her. I just wondered if you needed any help.

Th-thank you, she whispers. Her color starts to come back. I usually…am much faster at such tasks.

I shrug, still smiling. I hope I seem friendly, instead of demented. We all have those kinds of days.

Still shivering, she looks at the saddle in front of her and then at the rack high above her head.

I’ll get that for you. I pick up the saddle and slide it onto the rack, covering it with a towel to keep off the dust. "I’m