Mines of the Minotaur

Connie paused at the classroom door and turned to him in surprise.

  “Why not? You always fly on the weekend, don’t you?”

  “He’s been grounded,” Rat chipped in. “Are you going to open this door, Connie, or do I have to climb over you?”

  Connie ignored him. “Grounded?”

  “Yeah, my punishment,” said Col.

  “For what?”

  “For going out…sorry, for hanging out with you,” Rat said.

  Connie dropped her hand from the door.

  “Oh, Col, I’m so sorry.”

  “Forget it,” Col muttered.

  “You’ll land us in more trouble if you don’t move,” Rat said, pushing her aside to open the door. As the three of them entered, Connie distinctly heard Rat mutter to Col, “I never understood what you saw in her, anyway.” Col gave him a shove in the back so that Rat half-stumbled into the class.

  Gard had a grim report to make at supper that evening.

  “I have examined the cliff,” he told Evelyn. “And I’m afraid that the council’s worries are not entirely unfounded. There has been serious erosion of the coast over the years. Hescombe itself is usually sheltered from the worst by the headland. But the particular stretch near your house tells a strange story. It has been quiet for some twenty years or so, according to the rock. There is a memory of frequent poundings before that time, then nothing until a few months ago. Very strange.”

  “It’s not strange,” said Evelyn, stirring her lentil soup slowly. “I remember the storms when I was young. My aunt Sybil always used to love rough weather because it brought her white horses out of their stables. She’d stand on the beach and call to them. I used to watch from the attic bedroom as they threw themselves at her. Many of them used to overshoot and dash themselves against the cliff in their game. It was amazing to watch.”

  “And she died twenty years ago, I suppose?” said Gard.

  “Yes—twenty years ago this January, when I was only sixteen. I wish I’d had her with me for many more years—it was incredibly difficult for us both. She discharged herself from the hospital at the end—told the doctors she wanted to die with the sound of waves in her ears.” Evelyn smiled sadly.

  “I released the white horses from their stables in November,” Connie admitted in a subdued voice. “So it’s my fault, isn’t it?”

  Gard sighed. “Erosion happens all the time, Connie. It is the way of the sea and the rock to mingle and part in an eternal shifting of the sands. Though, I must admit,” he said with a shake of his head, “humankind has made it happen much faster of late.”

  “But not here. You said it was sheltered here,” said Connie.

  “I did. And yes, you have unwittingly caused some damage,” he acknowledged reluctantly.

  “But can it be repaired?”

  “It will be difficult. I will have to talk to the stone sprites.”

  Connie gave an involuntary shudder, remembering the cold touch of some of her least favorite mythical creatures encountered in Mallins Wood.

  “What, those things!” Mack spluttered in his soup. He, too, remembered the stone sprites. It was hard to forget creatures that had tried to freeze you to death. “Well, we’d better pack our bags then.”

  “No,” said Gard firmly. “You do not understand them as I do. They do not usually like to help, but they have the power to firm the rock and fill the cracks. If they see that it will be to their advantage, they might assist us.”

  “Advantage?” asked Evelyn. “What possible advantage could they see in keeping my house safe?”

  “They would earn the gratitude of the universal. Even they, cold and heartless as they are, hunger for the universal. With Connie’s help, I will be able to talk to them. As long as the cliffs are free from any attack until we have time to shore them up, then I don’t think we need to pack our bags.”

  “Okay,” said Connie. “When shall we do it?”

  “The sooner the better. I suggest tomorrow morning,” said Gard.

  Connie nodded. “Can’t say I’m looking forward to it.”

  Gard gave a hoarse laugh. “Come, come, Universal, there is more to the life of a stone than you yet know. You need your horizons broadened.”

  “So it seems,” she muttered glumly.

  The wind whistled around the eaves, disturbing Connie from her sleep. Argand shifted uneasily, snout twitching as she felt the sudden drop in air pressure. Awake now, Connie lay looking at the ceiling, comforted by the glow of warmth from her slumbering companion. She listened to the rain pattering on the slates. The drumming sound faded but the wind still moaned. Connie sat up, wondering if the rain had passed. Her temples were aching. Taking a sip of water, she got out of bed, thinking to go down and find an aspirin. She pulled on a robe and wandered over to the window, shivering in the cold as she drew back the curtain. The rain had stopped, but only because it was now falling as soundless snow. The wind was blowing the flakes in flurries this way and that, like a sheepdog worrying his flock. A full moon shone out, then disappeared quickly behind clouds. Its glow revealed a sea whipped to a frenzy, white crests racing for the shore and crashing onto the beach.

  Connie stood frozen to the spot, her mission to fetch an aspirin forgotten. The crests were curling over and taking the shape of horses galloping toward the shore. Who had called them? It could not have been her this time as she was wide awake! What was more, if the white horses reached the cliff, who knew what damage they might cause? They might even bring the whole thing crashing down on the house.

  Connie clattered down the stairs.

  “They’re here!” she shouted at the top of her voice to rouse her aunt and Mack. “Get out of the house!”

  Flinging open the front door, Connie slid down the path in her slippers. She jumped onto the shingle and dashed to the water’s edge. As waves collided with stones, foam flew into the air, mixing with the swarming snow. Connie’s skin was soon red-raw with cold. She was just in time to see a white stallion charge up the beach on course to throw itself at the crumbling foundations of the cliff. Digging deep into her mind for the memory of her last encounter, she sought out the wild rushing presence of the white horse. Her lips formed themselves instinctively into a whistle, summoning it from its suicidal path. Hearing the trilling note, the horse turned from its course and galloped along the beach, heading now for the companion that had called it. Spray flicked into the air from its long mane, dark eyes wide with exhilaration and storm-madness. Bracing herself for the impact, Connie covered her head with her arms. A wall of water crashed on top of her, knocking her to the ground. The horse dissolved back into the element from which it came, departing with the next ebb of the waves. In the moment of contact, Connie caught a glimpse of the true nature of the white horse—a brief tempestuous career through life culminating in frenzied destruction, repeated endlessly in a cycle of death and rebirth.

  Staggering to her feet, Connie now saw that a herd of white horses was charging in from the sea, scores of them all heading in her direction. How could she stop them from throwing themselves at her? She would be swept away in the impact; some were bound to overshoot and crash into the cliffs. Desperate to save her aunt and Mack at least, she broke into a run, dashing along the beach away from the house. Like an athlete taking first place in a sprint, she burst through the red and white tape that was meant to keep people away from the cliff. It streamed behind her, fluttering in the gale. The lead horses were now only feet from where the waves were breaking on the shore, their whinnies screaming above the howl of the wind. She could not hope to outpace them.

  There was a flash of lightning overhead and Connie saw one of the horses illuminated in silver splendor, its nostrils flaring as it scented the end of the race. A dark shadow passed swiftly behind it, edged with white light, and then the horse crashed down upon Connie, burying her in foam and spray. Then another—and another—hit her. She was struck from all sides: no sooner had she regained her feet than the next horse threw itself ecstaticall
y upon her, perishing in the delight of encountering a universal. She was sucked farther down the beach toward the sea along with the scrabbling pebbles. Trying to crawl back up the strand, she saw through stinging eyes many of the horses colliding with the cliff in front of her, then joining the backwash that undermined her attempt to reach safety. Coughing and retching, she lost her grip and slid into the waves. A rumble gave a split-second’s warning of the landslide. Then a section of the cliff above the beach crumbled onto the pebbles, throwing up lighter grit and sand that spattered around her in the foaming water.

  She had no time to consider her narrow escape. The waves had saved her from being buried in the landslide, but she was now in danger of being drowned in the mad enthusiasm of the white horses. Their hooves splashed around her head as each took a turn to collapse onto the companion, drenching her in freezing water. She was kicked and buffeted, stunned by blow after blow, like a fallen jockey tossed under hooves in a steeplechase.

  “Stop it!” Connie cried, gasping for air, her nails tearing at the pebbles as they tumbled back with her into the breaking waves. “Help!”

  A hand grasped the neck of her robe and hauled her up. Another hand pulled her arm. Two men dragged her up the beach.

  “Call them off, Connie!” she heard Mack gasp as another white horse collided with them, pushing them back into the suck of the ebb.

  “Can’t!” she choked. “I don’t know how.”

  “Brace!” shouted the other man.

  A white mare charged them, hitting Connie squarely in the back and throwing her forward out of their grasp. Mack quickly grabbed her belt to stop her from rolling down the shelving pebbles.

  “You’d better learn fast!” he shouted at her, his face dripping with spray. “Because we won’t get back otherwise.”

  Another horse crashed down upon her, kicking Mack’s hand from her waist. Connie tumbled into the water. She gasped for breath, reaching out with her flailing hands and mind to the horses of the storm. She was swept along by their powerful, fatal desire to throw themselves at her and end their short life in a shout of joy: it would take a stronger will to curb this urge.

  She would need a tool to tame them.

  A bridle.

  The silver outline of a harness appeared in her mind, hovering like a will-o’-the wisp.

  Connie crawled to her knees in the ebb and cast the bridle over the next horse to race toward her. The bridle-bond fell in place, bit between teeth. Reluctantly, the mare slowed, bucking and rearing under the unaccustomed restraint. Connie, knee-deep in the undertow, struggled to retain her balance as she whispered calming words to the creature, pulling on the bond between them. Its canter slowed to a trot. As Connie held out her palm, the horse gingerly approached and inclined its head to her hand. The moment its nose touched her skin, the horse dissolved, disappearing back into the sea, leaving Connie with an imprint of its quiet thrill of pleasure. Now the rest of the herd followed the path of the mare, rolling calmly toward her, touching her, then fading back into the ocean.

  Connie had begun to think that she had succeeded in subduing them, but not all the wild white horses of the sea were to be tamed so easily. One horse stood aloof—a magnificent stallion and king of the herd. She reached out to him, but he bucked. Front hooves raking the air, he threw off the bit and bridal and leapt on her, knocking her back into the water. Only the swift reactions of her rescuers saved her. They plucked her out of the backwash before she was swept away, and this time they were able to haul her up the beach to safety.

  Someone threw a blanket over her shoulders. Shivering violently, Connie looked up and saw that her second savior was a dark-haired man in a fringed jacket, now soaked to the skin: the Trustee, Eagle-Child. He was glaring down at her, his normally mild eyes bitter with disappointment. By his side, a huge black-feathered bird flickered with angry white light: Storm-Bird. Hooves clopped on the road behind her, and Connie spun around to see Kira Okona dismounting from the back of the unicorn Windfoal. Already landed and waiting under the street lamp outside Number Five crouched the old green dragon, Morjik, and his companion, Kinga Potowska. Then, out of the shadows, stepped the final Trustee, Ivor Coddrington.

  “You’ve seen with your own eyes,” he said triumphantly, “seen that everything I told you was true. This is why I expelled her; this is why she is a danger to herself and to us all. She must be stopped!”

  13

  Appeal

  “It w-wasn’t me,” Connie stuttered through chattering teeth. “I d-didn’t summon this storm.” She remembered her aching temples. “There was a weather giant out there.”

  Mr. Coddrington folded his arms and looked down at her, his scorn all too evident. “Nonsense. There’s no weather giant in the vicinity—except Hoo, of course, who has come to meet his fellow Trustees. You’re not seriously suggesting that a Trustee caused all this mayhem?”

  Connie’s toes were freezing. She had lost her slippers at some point during the struggle on the beach.

  “It wasn’t like the other times,” she said fervently, rubbing her feet. “I’ve been awake the whole time. I know that I didn’t summon this storm.”

  Evelyn, who had been standing at Connie’s shoulder all this while, moved uneasily. “With all respect, this isn’t the time to discuss this.” Evelyn looked at Kinga and Kira to back her. “They’re soaked. Let’s go inside before they all freeze to death.”

  Mr. Coddrington unfolded his arms and stepped into the center of the circle that had formed around Connie. “You’re right,” he said with a nod at Evelyn. “We’ll have a chance to hear her excuses at the appeal: tomorrow night at the Mastersons’—a full hearing before her Chapter and the Trustees. Make sure she is there.”

  Evelyn helped Connie up. “Would you like to dry off by our fire, Eagle-Child?” she asked, extending a hand to him.

  Eagle-Child’s piercing look made Connie feel terrible. “No, thank you, Evelyn. I will return to the Mastersons’.” His rejection of her aunt’s offer seemed to Connie to be the worst thing that had happened that night: Eagle-Child had always been her friend, and she had rested her hopes in him being one of her staunchest allies at her appeal.

  “Fine,” said Evelyn in a disappointed tone. “Then we’ll see you all tomorrow.”

  Connie sat in the kitchen in dry clothes with her hands cupped around a steaming mug of milk and honey. Mack was in the armchair by the fireplace, indulging in something stronger from a hip flask. Evelyn was on her knees attempting to get a blaze started in the grate. Argand hopped into the kitchen and relieved her of the task with one quick blast of flames. Evelyn jumped back as the fire leapt into life in a billow of golden sparks. The room was silent, except for the crackle of the flames and the rasp of Argand’s claws on the tiles as she skittered over to sit on Connie’s toes.

  “It really wasn’t me,” Connie said miserably, her feet smarting as they defrosted under the warmth of the dragonet’s body. “I saw the horses from my window, and I knew I had to do something about them.”

  Evelyn sighed and sat down on Mack’s knee. He put his arms consolingly around her. “Are you absolutely sure of that, Connie?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Connie said quickly. “The storm started long before I went out. Ask Argand. She was asleep on my bed until the moment I got up and called out to you.” Argand’s liquid gold eyes blinked trustingly up at her.

  “But she was asleep,” said Mack, “she won’t make a very good witness.”

  “And she’ll get into trouble for being here if you do call on her,” said Evelyn with a shake of her head. “I don’t mind about us—but she’s only a baby, really.” Argand glared at Connie’s aunt and shot out a contemptuous cloud of red sparks. “Don’t do that, Argand!” Evelyn snapped. “As if things aren’t bad enough already. The last thing we want is for the house to burn down now.”

  Connie sipped her drink but put it down abruptly as it scalded her tongue. She was tired; she was cold; she wished she had never woken up. Sh
e felt buried in a landslide where everything she did made things worse

  “So no one will believe me?” Connie looked up at Evelyn. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  “I’m trying to, Connie,” Evelyn said wearily. “But it did cross my mind that maybe my story about my aunt might’ve made you wonder what it would be like to summon the white horses….”

  “I wouldn’t be so stupid as to call them now, not when I know that the cliff is so dangerous!” exclaimed Connie indignantly.

  “I suppose not,” said Evelyn, biting her lip. She took the hip flask from Mack and took a big swig.

  “Come on, Evie,” Mack said, hugging her tight, “give the girl a break. It was a brave thing she did drawing the horses away. It was no fun under their hooves, believe me.”

  “You’re right,” said Evelyn, wiping her mouth. “Sorry, Connie. It’s just all getting to me. It’s like someone’s after us—making everything possible go wrong.”

  The back door slammed open and Gard stamped in, shaking the wreath of snow from his head. The flakes did not melt on him but stayed in every crack and crevice.

  “The good news is that the cliff behind the house is stable,” he said, brushing more snow off his shoulders, “but you’ve lost a fair chunk further down the beach.”

  Evelyn got up to take Gard’s cloak from him. “There’s a hearing tomorrow,” she said.

  “That is to be expected. I know that it was no fault of Connie’s that we had that storm. Her feet did not hit the ground until well after the storm had begun.”

  At last, thought Connie, here was someone who did not doubt her. The relief in the room was palpable.

  “Will you tell them this tomorrow?” asked Evelyn.

  “Certainly.”

  “But they won’t believe you, will they?” said Connie pessimistically as she recalled the grim expressions of the Trustees.

  “They will believe me, Universal, but they will not believe you, I fear, until the creature that created the storm is identified. Do you know?”