Where Wild Ponies Ran (Twilight of Magic 4)

By Erin O'Quinn

Who will win the untamed redhead Caylith, trembling on the cusp of her 18th year, now in the fierce pagan country called Ireland?

~Andreas...the smoke-eyed scribe dedicated to her, and only secondly to her mission?
~Kevan...the gruff-talking, handsome commander who makes sparks fly in her heart?
~Wynn...the boyish pony trainer with brindled eyes and unbridled passion?
~Fergus MacCool...the devil-may-care bad boy who seizes what he wants?
~Liam O’Neill...the leader of a wild group of clansmen, mysterious as this new land?

Or will she turn from all these men to settle her band of immigrants, and to keep a pledge to her friend Father Patrick?

A tale of adventure, magic, love, and betrayal...the fourth and final Twilight of Magic novel leading to the romance trilogy The Dawn of Ireland

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erin O'Quinn
• Release date: Apr 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370985005

Erin O'Quinn

Erin O’Quinn sprang from the high desert hills of Nevada, from a tiny town which no longer exists. A truant officer dragged her kicking and screaming to grade school, too late to attend kindergarten; and since that time her best education has come from the ground she’s walked and the people she's met.Erin has her own publishing venue, New Dawn Press. Her works cover the genres of M/M and M/F romance and also historical fantasy for all ages.

Book preview

Part One

The Awakening

Chapter One

Golden Boy

Andreas the scribe waited for me on the beach, his tall, angular frame silhouetted against the Hibernian Sea and the gray sky beyond. His ash-blond hair, almost golden in the pale morning sun, stood out from his head like a crown. His eyes were half-lidded, as if he needed to conceal their expression. His mouth, usually so warm and full, was drawn into a thin line.

Somehow we went from that tense, guarded moment to my first kiss. It left me gasping in confusion, embarrassed even to lift my head and bid him farewell. I tried to piece together what had happened.

Earlier, I had walked along the shipyards toward the currach that was to take Andreas and the scrolls to Eire-Land. The deliverance is at hand. The folks from Faerie were to start leaving in one week, along with any people in Britannia who wanted to escape now, before the barbarians could seize our homes. The pilgrims were starting to arrive at the Newport shipyards, determined to leave their old homes behind for the unknown shores of Eire-Land. They were following me. And I was following Patrick.

What if we get there and find that it is worse than the land we just left? I asked myself in some panic. In the past, I thought the Hibernian Isle was a place of darkness where the sun could not penetrate the falling mist. But Father Patrick had been sent there, so I knew he had restored the sun.

I looked around at the ten smallish boats waiting to take their passengers to a promised land. The currachs were formed of limber, interwoven boughs with animal skins stretched over the frames. They had been constructed under the tutelage of Michael, a master shipbuilder emigrated from Eire-Land, to be twins of the currachs the natives themselves sailed on. Each of ours could hold perhaps thirty-two passengers, no more, for they would all bring their most dear possessions.

Jay Feather’s family and the entire dwarf network had worked countless hours stitching together the tanned pelts that covered the framework of the ingenious craft. They labored with a deep sense of purpose, for their soothtellers had prophesied I was to lead them from Faerie to a new home.

I thought about Jay and his dear family. It was going to be hard for them to build new enclaves. It had taken countless generations for the dwarves to burrow their intricate underground homes, leaving tree roots intact to plunge into the cavern floors below. Their enclaves were permeated with dwarf dust, a magical gem-like material that had recently lit our way through the ancient tunnels in Britannia. Would there be dwarf dust in Eire-Land? Would magic even work there?

The last time I was in Jay’s home, I was recovering from a narcotic potion that had put me into a three-day sleep. I awakened to a thousand-thousand glittering motes of diamond-like gems. I found that Grandfather was still alive, though locked in final combat with his twin Lupus. I also found my dear friend Andreas lived, too. He had been close to death before I pulled him from the ghastly fog that had begun to fall on Faerie.

Andreas and I had come close to being torn apart—first by misunderstanding, and then by almost certain death—but at last we reunited in the dwarf enclaves, where Jay and his family were nursing me back to health.

In Jay’s glittering home, both of us clung to each other’s hand as though the future were a bit frightening. Only after Jay’s guests began to drift back into the comfort-room did Andreas reluctantly release my hand. I had looked away, for I was afraid my eyes would somehow let him hear the clamor of my heart. I did not altogether welcome those new, confused feelings pounding in my throat.

And when we parted that evening, he raised my hand to his lips. But instead of pressing his mouth to the back of my hand, he turned my palm over and kissed it very slowly. He let his mouth, and even his moving tongue, linger so long that I pulled it away, bewildered by my own quickening pulse.

Ever since that night, we were both caught up in the excitement of planning our trip to Eire-Land—Andreas with the transport of the scrolls, and I with a hundred details of making sure the pilgrims would be leaving soon. So almost a month passed without our speaking more than a pleasant word in passing.

Now, this morning, it was time for Andreas to leave with his precious cargo. The Saxon mercenary, Glaedwine—now my sworn vassal—had agreed to part with ten of his bravest men as guards on the scroll-bearing currach. I stood a small distance away, watching the last sealed clay vessels being loaded on board.

The Glaed Keepers sat by their paddles, heads raised to the wind, as though they were sea eagles ready for flight. There was no time to delay, for the winds were favorable. Andreas, too, stood apart near the water’s edge, as if eager to meet the sea.

I could tell he was ready to go, just waiting for me to say farewell. I walked up to him. Recognizing his reserve, I kept my own words guarded. I will follow you by about one week, my friend. Be sure to tell Father Patrick for me how joyed I will be to see him again. I kept my eyes somewhat averted, not inviting familiarity.

He stood silent and motionless. I looked at him fully then, even though I knew I should not. His eyes, almost slits, were so intense that I could hardly speak.

Andreas, what—

And will you be joyed to see me again? His voice held that knife-edged tone I dreaded to hear.

You are confusing me. Have I said something wrong? How can you think—

Never mind, Caylith. I need to get back to cleansing myself again, as I did once before. But it is not your fault. I think distance is the only answer. He turned and walked toward the currach.

Not again! Andreas had left me this way once before, and it had taken too long to heal the wounds.

Andreas! I called, and I ran after him clumsily through the yielding sand.

He stopped but did not turn around.

I was close to him now, and this time, I was impatient. Andreas. Wait. I will not lose you again.

Still he did not face me.

Will you tell me what is wrong? Seeing his shoulders hunched and his head bowed, I walked in front of him so that he would at last look at me.

When he finally raised his head, his wide gray eyes picked up a hint of blue from the ocean, and they seemed as wild as the tossing waves. I want what I can never have.

Tell me, Andreas.

I want…you. I want your love.

Relief washed over me. But dear friend, you have me. You have my love.

As you love Brindl, or Jay, or Father Patrick. Is that it?

Well, yes. They are my dear friends too. I-I am confused.

He reached out and tucked back a strand of my hair that had escaped in the salt breeze. I first fell in love with your eyes. Do you remember that first night at your grandfather’s table, the night he told the story of the emerald butterfly?

Yes, I said, remembering that night more than a year ago with delight and sorrow. Grandfather had been so very fond of me. To him, my eyes were like a lovely green butterfly, like a creature born to fly free. I was sixteen then, just awakening from being a self-styled fairy princess to becoming a real person. I remembered Andreas being interested in his trencher of food, not my eyes. Perhaps being from Athens, he was now enjoying a bit of Greek tragedy he had learned from his scrolls.

Caylith, I need to leave. I would like to take a part of you back with me. Will you let me?

What…what is it you want?

Let me school you in the way of a kiss. Just the first part, not the whole lesson.

Is a kiss so complicated? I smiled at him, sure that Andreas the scholar was teasing me. At that moment, I felt as captivated as the butterfly in Grandfather’s tale.

He cupped my face in his hands and leaned down. His full lips lightly touched my own, then grazed my cheek, and then pressed against my ear. Open your mouth a little bit, he murmured.

What— I started to say, and he seized my open lips with his. He bit down ever so slightly on my lower lip; then, moving inside, he began to gently suckle, as a kitten would seize its mother’s teat. His mouth was wet, and his tongue was hot.

A surge of fire enveloped me. It was like being swallowed by the fog that had almost consumed Andreas and me back in Faerie. I pulled away forcefully.

Stop! I am more…more confused than ever. I was sure I was mumbling. I knew my legs were shaking. My head was lowered to hide the tumult in my eyes.

I heard him sigh. The acid was gone when he spoke. Yes, I was afraid of that, little friend. I must say farewell. I will see you on the other side of this ocean.

This time I did not stop him.

I watched the currach, its giant sail grasping the wind, until it was a speck on the horizon. In just a week, I, too, will ride these same waves. I will see Father Patrick, and I will rejoin Andreas.

My legs still felt unsteady, and I was breathing with some difficulty. These feelings were altogether new to me, and I was not sure whether I liked them. If that was lesson one—all of five or so seconds—what can the second lesson be like? I decided it was best not to think about it at all.

I want what I can never have, the scribe had said. What did he mean? In a way, he was schooling me in more than a kiss. I hated to be forced to look beyond my own vistas at a time when I was so sure of my purpose.

In my view, everyone wanted something unattainable. I wanted to be five-foot-six, more than just about anything else. I wanted my red hair to be silky and straight. But I did not brood about it and carry on like a sulky child. And yes, I wanted love. But it seemed that everyone loved me, so I never felt a pang of regret except for the overwhelming loss of my parents and my grandfather, and the despair I felt at leaving Aunt Marrie.

Andreas was all grown up. By now, he was at least twenty-one or twenty-two. So why was he acting so like a child? Why was he willing to give up our friendship over some complex emotion?

I tucked away his words—and his kiss—for a time when I had more freedom to think about them.

I set my sandals for the army command center. It was time to greet Wynn and reunite with NimbleFoot. Thinking about the little golden pony put air in my footsteps, and I almost ran back up the beach front, the damp sand clotting between my toes.

I had met Wynn over a month ago, when my traveling companions and I were visiting Lindum, the ancestral home of my great-aunt Marrie. A native Welshman, he was employed as a horse trainer—or, to be more accurate, a trainer of mountain ponies owned by my aunt. He had taught me to ride NimbleFoot, a spirited gold pony with a white tail and mane.

I was not sure who I liked better—Wynn or NimbleFoot. In a way, they were mixed in my mind. Remembering back, I thought the laughing, carefree trainer was one with Godwin, the pony he had trained—a chestnut stallion with fire in his eyes. My own pony was much younger, little more than a colt. I was the first to ride him. Even though I had never been on his back before, NimbleFoot let me cling there as though I were light as any fairy.

My ill-tempered Auntie Marrie allowed Wynn to bring forty ponies back to Newport in order to save them from the fate of many others, for they were hunted down and killed to keep the strain of full-sized horses pure. And, in an altogether astonishing gesture of love and understanding, she gave me NimbleFoot as a parting gift.

By now, I was almost at the command post, and I slowed my gait so as to look a bit more dignified. After all, I was the titular commander of this post and its three centuries of soldiers. That was an old story—a year and a half old—and I was secretly glad to give up the responsibility.

The command center had been hastily constructed only a year ago, after the former duke’s armies had been captured by my own Faerie marines and sent for retraining. Really just a series of tents, the post was only now starting to boast a few half-constructed buildings.

I saluted the guard at the entrance to the main pavilion. Soldier, I am looking for the contingent newly arrived from the Saxon Shore. To be specific, the ponies and their trainer.

Clearly, he did not recognize me. But his fellow leaned over and said a quick word in his ear. At once, the guard’s eyes fastened on a distant object, and he barked, Yes, ma’am! They are, er, housed behind the command pavilion, just off the training field.

I thanked him gravely and walked quickly to the back of the center, to the training field and beyond. Yes, there they were—a herd of gleaming ponies browsing the early summer grasses. I stood about fifty feet from them and scanned the herd, looking for my colt.

Just as I remembered him, standing a bit apart from the rest, stood a young palomino, his head raised as though testing the wind.

NimbleFoot!

The pony reared his head twice, as if in response, and I ran toward him as he cantered easily toward me. I felt as much joy in that moment as I had ever felt in my life. I did not even wonder then, as I did later, why meeting this pony was as important as greeting a friend.

NimbleFoot stopped in front of me and offered his handsome head for petting. As I always did, I started with his muscular neck, rubbing and murmuring, Hello, boy! I stroked his silken mane, and then ran my hand down his nose, petting and scratching. NimbleFoot. My special boy. I dug in a pouch hanging from the belt of my leather tunic and offered a good-sized piece of dried apple to the pony.

He took it at once and seemed to make a great show of savoring every bite. Whffle, my pony said by way of thanks.

He has missed ye… said a voice behind me.

I turned, excited, to see Wynn. He stood tall and muscular, holding a training stick. His red-gold hair fell around his face almost like the mane of one of his ponies. His lustrous eyes, brown speckled with gold, were bright with laughter.

Hello, my friend, I said warmly. I gave him a quick hug.

…and so have I, he finished with a smile.

How was your journey from Lindum? Was it hard to feed and shelter the ponies? Have you decided on how to ship them? What—

Hold, hold! He threw his head back and laughed. I had almost forgotten how much this young man with his sun-gold skin and his ready laughter made me feel happy and brimming with life.

To answer your questions, Caylith, our trip was good. Uneventful. At this time of year, the fodder grass is plentiful, and the streams run everywhere from the melted snow. So it was easy to feed them.

He stopped and regarded me with now-serious eyes. As to shipping them, I know not how to do it. They cannot be put on currachs, that much is clear. I think the merchant ships are also too small, and not built for livestock. I have needed to consult with ye, for I think we will have to make special, um, stalls for them on some other kind of vessel.

I never even thought of that, Wynn. You are right. Let us go and visit with Michael, the shipbuilder. I am sure he will be able to help us.

Ie. We can walk there now, together. No ponies today, though. They are sure of foot, but the sand is no friend to them.

And so we did. We walked together easily, trading stories of our separate journeys back to Newport. I noticed how he kept his pace just narrow enough so that I could keep up with him, and how he listened to every word I said as though I were a master storyteller. I could not help but think of how, in less than one hour, I had left one friend in turmoil and joined another, not in confusion but in easy laughter.

I would have much to think about later, alone. For now, I was lost in the joy of the moment.

Chapter Two

A Secret Walk

With less than a week before I was to leave for Eire-Land, I realized there were a few important tasks I still needed to take care of.

I must travel back to Faerie one last time. Most important, I felt I should look in on the elf king and queen. They seemed more and more overcome by the end of their Faerie magic and incapable of taking care of themselves. I wanted to say farewell to Grandfather’s enchanted garden. I needed to ensure the dwarves, Raven and Magpie, were taking care of the trefoils—the delicate green clover—from Raven’s garden to transplant in Eire-Land. I should check on any friends who were still back in Faerie and make sure they were making plans to leave before the dread fog started to consume more and more of our old magic realm.

Wynn and I tracked down Michael the ship-builder, and I left the two men discussing special boats and dimensions for pony stalls. I returned to the command post, where my best friend Brindl was staying, along with my armsman Gristle and our friends Thom, Luke, and James. It was too dangerous to stay in Grandfather’s long house, where the evil mist might penetrate even that magical place.

I found Brindl on the training field, as I knew I would. Although not an inch taller than I, Brindie was a formidable soldier, all the more dangerous because she looked like a sweet little girl. Her sun-flecked brown hair seemed to move in graceful accompaniment to her sword thrusts. By contrast, my own wild red curls flew in every direction even when I stood still.

I lingered about ten feet away while she and Thom practiced with their spathas, three-foot Roman swords. Thom was every bit Brindl’s equal. Dark and intense, the gnome was the same height as Brindl and I, but few soldiers cared to challenge him on the training field.

As usual, Thom watched every move Brindl made and countered with a defense now novel, now traditional; now slow, now lightning-fast. It was not unusual for him to watch her, for he seemed never to take his eyes from her beautiful face whether on the field or off.

When at last they paused for a few minutes, Brindl saw me waiting. Cay! I saw the ponies over there in the field. Did you find NimbleFoot? And did you see Wynn?

Yes…and yes. I laughed. When you two are finished, come join me. I will wait over there on the side and watch you.

We are ready to stop for a bit, said Thom. Let us find a table in the army dining tent where we can sit and talk.

…So the short of it is, Thom, I need you to Walk me back to Faerie one last time, I told him after we had found a table and a cup of ale. All gnomes were able to perform the magical Walk between Worlds, and they could take along one person on each hand.

Yes, I can see why you want to go, he said slowly. But is it safe for us to be there? I am thinking about Andreas—how he was almost consumed by the flesh-eating mist that is creeping all over the land.

I discovered the mist shrinks away from dwarf dust, I reassured him. We just need to be sure we carry enough to keep us safe.

Cay, you are fearless, said Brindl warmly. If all three of us go, we can be three sets of eyes watching for trouble.

And why not four sets of eyes? The voice belonged to Gristle, my grim-jawed armsman. Fancy wanting to be away from my guard dog for even a day!

I looked up to see him standing at our table, one hand resting lightly on his eight-inch dagger.. Um, Gristle. Join us, won’t you?

If you mean for a cup of ale, the answer is yes. If you mean on a reckless journey to a land overridden with evil mist, I must agree by my troth to you as armsman. But I counsel against the trip.

I eyed Gristle as he sat stiffly at our table, marveling as always how a man so young-seeming, so outright handsome, could really be more than two hundred years old—once a grizzled Roman tactician and chief armsman to my long-dead grandmother. Sandalwood the elf queen, granting his long ago boon, had changed him into an elf. Immortal and immutable. The magic of Faerie could do anything. Or perhaps could have done anything. The magic realm itself was disappearing more every day. Would even Gristle begin to grow old once he set his boots on the soil of Eire-land?

Sir, I reasoned with him, if anything is wrong back in Faerie—let us say the elf queen is ill, or the Hel-sôtten have ventured close to Harborton—I would never forgive myself if I turned my back on my old friends.

Comes a point, growled the armsman, when there is no turning back. Surely that time has come.

I must disagree, O trainer. I was trying to keep my tone pleasant. It was best to tread lightly here, for Gristle always had my best interests at heart. Saving even one life is worth my own short life. If I can, I will. I knew that my chin was set at that characteristic angle, the attitude of implacable stubbornness, but I could not—or would not—control it.

Very well,Lady Caylith, he grunted, and drained his ale cup. I would know when you plan to leave. He rose and stalked away.

Ow, said Brindl, as though recovering from a knife-thrust. You dare put him to the test, Cay. I could never be so bold.

Whatever do you mean, Brindie? At any rate, we must go to Faerie one last time. Will you Walk us, Thom? I gazed intently into his brooding eyes. Asking him to Walk us meant that he would have to exert his special training yet again, for the Walk between Worlds was intense and exhausting for both Thom and those who Walked with him.

If four of us go, he said, we need one other companion versed in the technique. A gnome or a dwarf. One who sets no high value on safety. He leveled a look at me that made a lump rise in my throat. Was I putting others at risk just to satisfy my own private whims?

Then, Brindl, you need to stay back. I cannot endanger my best friend.

Absolutely not! She looked hurt that I should even suggest leaving her out.

Let me put some thought to it, my friends. I stood. I will talk with you both later.

I walked slowly to the grazing field. If I could go alone, I would. But only magic can transport me to Faerie and back again. I must find a way to Walk with one person only, someone who can fend for himself in case of an emergency.

Head down, I hardly realized I had walked some three or four hundred feet and was already sauntering into shifting clouds of mountain ponies. I heard a soft whffle and looked up to see NimbleFoot at my side, somehow matching his gait to my own aimless stroll.

I stopped and reached for my pony. Oh, pretty one, I murmured, and stroked his silky nose. What should I do? How can I get to Faerie without hurting my friends?

You could ask an old, old dwarf who has been through it all before.

I whirled around. Jay Feather! How did you get here? How did you hear my very thoughts?

The dwarf’s luminous blue eyes gazed into mine, and he smiled at me fondly. Ah, ’tis never wise to ask a dwarf how he got anywhere, for he would tell you he got there on his own two feet. As for reading your thoughts—pah! You were muttering rather loudly.

I hugged him. Jay, I have not seen you for almost a month. How is your family? What is happening back in Faerie?

We, at least, are safe. The deadly mist cannot penetrate our tunnels, filled with magic dust. Most of us are waiting until the last moment so we can keep tanning and stitching more pelts for the currachs.

And what of the elfish pavilions? And Hinterland?

I know not, Caylith. We have heard no bad news. That is the best I can say.

Jay, I want to go back and make sure everyone is safe. I worry about the elves especially. The deadly mist seems to have slowed down their magic so much… They seem to be in a state of listlessness, as though they care not about the future.

Do you really think you can motivate them?

Their king and queen can set a fire beneath their bums, I think. And the royals themselves? I think a call for help from their sons Shawn and Kevan may motivate them. If I could travel quickly to Deva, perhaps the boys would give me a message to bring back to their parents.

It was natural to call Kevan and Shawn boys, although they, too, were hundreds of years old. But such was the convoluted logic of Faerie magic that centuries-old elves may be young marines at one and the same time. And not just eighteen or twenty years old. I let my mind drift back to Shawn’s veiled looks of infatuation. So old, yet so full of youthful passion. How odd that I could understand the mind of immortals, and yet miss the mark so widely on my human friend Andreas.

Caylith, I will take you. To Deva, and back to Faerie.

And what of the danger, Jay? What of your thirty-some grandchildren perhaps left without someone to spoil them?

You talk as though I cannot take care of myself. And as though you yourself were not a formidable warrior who could come to my rescue if I needed it.

He stood, arms akimbo on his hips, his head cocked so like the jaybird of his name that I could not help smiling. Done, Jay. Let us leave first thing in the morning.

I will meet you right here. Daybreak may be not early enough. Let us say, one hour before dawn.

I looked again at his finely chiseled face and his trusting eyes. Why would I need complicated love when I had friends like Jay and Brindl? Fare well until then, my friend.

He turned and walked toward the command pavilion, the bright blue jay feather in his cap matching his jaunty step.

~o~

Brindl and I were bunk-mates in the ladies’ section of the tent barracks. She had agreed to braid my hair before we slept.

Brindie, I asked as she drew my hair back from my forehead, have you had your first kiss?

She seemed to pull a bit too tightly just then. What?

"Ow! Stop it! I do not mean to