Vampyres: Fluff: Horsing Around

["A. Fraser" <redoak@interlog.com>]

Horsing Around
by Anne Fraser
copyright 2000
_______________

As some of you may remember, the Baron and Joshua received two wedding
gifts from Blaise of Khemet.  One was a golden dragon's egg, carved into
the shape of a rose.  The other was a horse.  This is a story of what
happens when Gideon decides to go for a ride on that horse.
________________

Calvin's glossy black head peered benignly over his stall door.  The
stallion's placid expression didn't fool the horse's owner.  If anyone
could be said to own such a beast--either a fairy horse or a demon,
depending on who you asked.

To the man standing by the loose box, the horse was a large animal of
uncertain disposition and a known appetite for stock portfolios, acacia
trees and argyle socks.  Calvin had been a wedding gift from a Lord of
Chaos.  Getting a 17 hand high stallion that closely resembled an
Andalusion down from a second floor study had been quite a feat.
Especially since this horse would not tolerate any iron, including a bit or
stirrups.  Calvin had never been shod or saddled, but did permit the use of
a showjumping hackamore... a bridle with reins but without a bit, only
rings that put gentle pressure on the sides of the horse's mouth.

Despite the lack of a saddle, Calvin never permitted his rider to fall off
and was as tame as milk when ridden.  By Joshua.  Ridden by anyone else,
including his putative owner, was another matter.  

Gideon Redoak held out the bridle.  "Care for some exercise tonight?" he
asked. If he felt foolish speaking to an animal, he did not show it.
Calvin was not an ordinary horse.

The stallion bobbed his head in agreement and nudged open its stall door.
No iron bolts or hinges impeded him... Evan had had to get strong brass
hinges and nails for the stall, and no bolt in the world would keep Calvin
where he didn't want to be.  Calvin flowed out, muscles moving smoothly
under the glossy black coat, allowed the hackamore to be put in place, and
knelt at Gideon's feet.

It wasn't subservience.  It was so that the Baron, who was only five foot
six, could mount the tall horse.  Gideon swung a jodphurred leg over the
stallion's back and took the reins.

"Giddyap," he said.

Calvin trotted, tail swishing, out of the stable where he was the lone
occupant.  The unexpected advent of a horse had caused a great deal of
renovating of the outbuildings at Oakwoods, and a long-disused stable had
had to be refurbished.  Once free of the building, the horse stretched his
legs... and ran.

Down the Cliff Road they flew, man and horse; the man leaning low over the
horse's neck, riding jacket flapping in the breeze.  Although it was night
and the road was not artifically lit, Calvin never once misplaced a hoof
and no hole threatened to break his fragile legs.  His hooves were
striking... air.  In his excitement to be free and under an experienced
rider, Calvin had lifted himself up and was running on the ether.  His red
eyes glowed.

Past Ray Griffin's small house, which showed no lights... the mage must
have gone to bed or else was down in his workshop cut out of the cliff
itself.   Past Francis's shack, littered with motorcycles.  Down the
winding, unpopulated part of the Cliff Road.  Past empty Meadowsweet Ridge,
the residents gone off to Wales for the Eistefodd or something equally
unpronounceable.  Past the cottage where Sofi and Percy Redoak lived...
Calvin slowed to nicker a greeting, but the other branch of the Redoak
family was likewise not at home.  They were in England this month,
maintaining the historically crumbling Redoak Hall.  

Gideon exerted no pressure on the reins, letting Calvin choose his own
course.  The wind ruffled his dark hair and he found himself grinning with
the illusion of complete freedom.  He seldom allowed himself such
indulgence.  There were too many pressing responsibilities on his head.
But for an hour or two, on Calvin's back, he was just a wild boy on a wild
horse... a liberty he had never had as a boy.

Right down into the quiet streets of Fletcherville went Calvin.  A red-eyed
demon horse with a vampire on board gallopping through a small fishing
village in Maine.  Perfectly normal.  A few cautious heads peeked out of
windows or doorways, saw the glossy black hide of Calvin go blurring past,
and withdrew.

Just one of those damned Cliff Road Crowd people.  They paid their taxes
and kept themselves to themselves, but occasionally you had to put up with
a damned silly stunt from one of them.

If the Baron broke his neck, there'd be hell to pay.  But nobody made a
move to try and stop the horse.

Calvin, heedless of the thoughts hurled his way, veered towards the
decorative park tucked into the center of town.  Without visible effort, he
cleared the low fence around the perimeters of the park and took Widow's
Green in four strides, sailing over the fence on the other side with an
ease that would have made Hap Hansen's eyes water.

Only when they ran out of town did man and horse slow.  A few short blocks
out of the Green and Fletcherville ceased to exist... there was only ocean,
cliff and bog.  Calvin pranced in a piaffe that would have won him major
dressage medals if he'd only allowed himself to be saddled and then stood
still, bending his head to nibble at the beach grass.

It was a calm summer night, Gideon saw now that the scenery was no longer
a blur.  A few high dark clouds obscured the stars and the quarter-moon
but the wind was gentle and barely ruffled the Atlantic.  He patted
Calvin's neck and requested to be allowed to dismount.  He could see
Calvin actually thinking about it before the black stallion obligingly
knelt.

Gideon swung off the sleek back and stroked Calvin's neck again, as far as
he could reach.  He watched the ocean for awhile, wondering why he felt so
restless tonight.  He should be perfectly happy.  All was right with his
world, after all.  Joshua was adjusting to being a vampire.  There was
nothing too overwhelming or alarming with any of Gideon's various
financial ventures.  Oakwoods ran like a fine watch.  The Brotherhood
wasn't threatened by anything or anyone.  Nobody was ill or injured or in
danger.

"Calvin," he murmured to the red-eyed demon horse, "I'm _bored_."

The stallion's ears pricked up and he whinnied.  It sounded quite
incredibly like laughter.

The light changed.  The full moon beamed down through dark, stormy clouds.
The waves crashed onto the shore, sending salt spray over Gideon's riding
boots.  He grabbed Calvin's reins and drew back, not frightened but aware
that something had happened.  His foolish words had started something, and
he was no longer on the same beach.

Calvin's ears went back, flattened against the skull.  The sound of the
waves was louder, more insistent.  Looking around cautiously, Gideon wasn't
terribly surprised to see that the landscape had changed.  No lights from
Fletcherville could be seen at all.  This was a far wilder beach; stonier
and somehow older than New England.

"I said I was bored, Calvin," Gideon sighed out loud to his horse.  "I
didn't mean that I wanted an abrupt change of time and location."

The storm clouds obscured the moon and lightning forked towards the beach.
There was nowhere to hide, so the Baron stood his ground though Calvin
jerked at the reins.  Gideon didn't let go, and vampire strength won out
over demonic horse strength.  He reached over and stroked Calvin's neck.

"Easy," he soothed.  "Easy, easy.  We shall meet whatever adventure awaits
us.  And this is your fault, anyway."

The mad red eyes stared at him, plainly retorting 'Oh, yeah?'.

The clouds roiled, turning darker and seeming to boil over.  Shapes began
to form in those grey, smoky depths.  Sharp hooves, tossing manes, flicking
tails, long, fragile legs.  Horses.  And riders.  Gleaming eyes, spears,
ragged clothes, a helmet with antlers.

No.  Not a helmet.  The antlers sprang from the head of a rider, who
plunged his cloud steed towards the earth and the now wide-eyed Baron.

Gideon bowed low.  He knew this rider.  "King Herla," he said.  The leader
of the Wild Hunt had many names, many aspects, but the dwarf king was the
one Gideon knew.

The antlered spectre laughed.  "Well met, good Baron!" he said in a voice
of thunder.  "But you are far from home."  The undead eyes of the leader of
the Wild Hunt fastened on Calvin.  "Ah.  Your steed brought here."

"I suspect so, yes," Gideon replied.

"How came you by a Sidhe horse?"

"It was a wedding gift from Blaise of Khemet, King Herla."

The spectral king threw back his head and his laughter split the sky.  "I
wonder," said Herla, rubbing his chin, "if the Sidhe have noticed the loss
of one of their horses.  Still, he is yours now.  And since he has brought
you here, you must join the Hunt."

It was not a request.  And since Gideon was lost, with no idea of where or
when Calvin had brought him, he had few alternatives.  He bowed his head
and motioned Calvin to kneel.  He mounted, and Calvin surged to standing
position.

"Ride at my side," Herla instructed.  "As my guest.  You need not Hunt."

Gideon chucked the reins and Calvin trod up an invisible path to stand
beside Herla's spectral mount.  

"Away!" cried the Hunter.

The landscape beneath the Hunt roiled.  It made Gideon a bit queasy to look
down at the hooves churning in thin air, so he concentrated on watching
Herla.  The antlered leader of the Hunt was laughing, enjoying the ride and
the unexpected company of an old acquaintance.

"And how is Joshua?" Herla asked.  He and the Hunt had once more or less
kidnapped the Baron's husband, but Joshua had taken his abduction in stride
and ended up teaching the Hunters how to play poker.

"He's fine," Gideon replied, inadvertently glancing down and recognizing
the landscape.  They were over Shrewsbury, not far from Redoak Hall.
"No..." he whispered, fear tightening in his throat.  Not Percy and Sofi,
or little Daniella...

Then he realized that the countryside was far too dark, and less populated
than in the present day.  Time meant nothing to the Wild Hunt, after all.
No electric lights, no automobiles, no television antennas.  In this night,
almost nothing stirred.

"But he is one of you now," Herla said.  As Gideon turned his head,
startled, the king laughed again.  Everything amused Herla.  "Do you think
that we of the Other World do not know when a mortal turns?" he asked.
"Especially a cherished mortal, one who has the favour of the Oak King?
Joshua has friends in high places, and they are watching him anxiously."
He shook a skeletal finger at Gideon, coursing beside him on red-eyed
Calvin.  "You are advised to treat Joshua well," the Hunter said.

Gideon bowed as best he was able.  Although it was giving him vertigo, he
watched the landscape, unable to turn away.  The Hunt was riding above
Redoak Hall, but an earlier Hall than he'd last seen.  Nothing stirred on
the estate.
The tenant farms were still intact, he saw; the land appeared to be
cultivated but not with modern farming methods.  All was, in fact, the way
it had been in his breathing days.

A terrible suspicion formed, and Gideon looked over at Herla.  "Please no,"
he said softly.  "I could not bear it."

Herla shook his antlered head.  "It would break several rules for me to
show you yourself," he said.  "Fear not.  Even I do not wish to invoke the
spirit of the one you turned you.  That is not what we have come to witness."

The cavalcade in the air rode on past the quiet Hall, moving along the road
towards London.  It was a long ride from Shrewsbury to the capital as
mortals rode, but the Hunt could cover the span in the blink of an eye and
Calvin kept pace.  Yet they did not travel right to London.  Several miles
outside of the capital, the road was lonely and wild. Urban sprawl had not
yet spread; here it was pitch dark, not a habitation in sight, and dark
trees by the roadside could have hidden an army.

A carriage, lanterns at its doors, horses pulling uneasily in the darkness,
travelled the road.

Gideon's face tightened.  He knew that carriage and team.  Knew the
driver's voice as he urged the nervous pair onwards in the dark, trying to
reach an inn a mile or so further on, softly cursing his stubborn master
who had refused to stop for the night earlier.

The Baron glanced at Herla, but the King's face was implacable,
comfortless.  This was something Gideon was meant to witness.  Out of the
darkness of the trees, there came a small band of men.  Despite their
ragtag appearance, they were well-organized.  They had pistols and dark
lanterns.  The horses stamped as the driver of the carriage pulled them to
a stop to avoid running down armed men in the road.

"Stand and deliver!" cried out one of the highwaymen.  Likely he could not
believe his luck--a rich lord travelling almost alone at night.

The driver raised his hands to show he was unarmed.  Foolish to be so, and
driving after dark, but he obeyed his master.  One of the thieves moved to
the door of the carriage, studying the arms by lantern light.  He shrugged,
obviously unfamiliar with the device.

Even without his vampire vision, Gideon could have told him what those arms
were.  Argent, an oak tree gules, fructed or.  A red oak tree with golden
acorns.

"M'lud," said the thieve at the carriage door, "I suggest you step out of
the carriage slowly, and give over your purse and any valueables you happen
to have."

"I shall do no such thing," replied a voice that Gideon recognized only too
well.

"M'lud," the highwayman smiled unpleasantly, "you shall."  He wrenched open
the carriage door as two of his fellows came up to help him.  Together they
dragged out the carriage's lone occupant and threw him down on the road.

"You shall rue this," said the figure on the road, shivering in righteous
anger.  "The wrath of the Lord shall descend upon you and you shall suffer
in eternal damnation."

"We have robbed a preacher!" snorted one of the thieves.  He gave the
victim a kick that sent the man sprawling head-first in the dirt of the
road.  Two others surged forward and thoroughly searched the prone figure,
coming away with only a small purse.  

"So fine a carriage to hide such a poor booty," said the leader of the
thieves when the purse was presented to him.  "No gold, no jewellery, no
finery?  Pah." He spat on the struggling lord.  "Puritan."

"Aye," said the robbery victim.  "And God shall avenge me."

"Tell me, Puritan, have you wife and child?" asked the thief in silken
tones. "Dost care for them, if so?"

Gideon tensed for the answer.

"I have," spat the Puritan.  "They are my right, my chattels.  That is all
I care for them."

"Then they will not mourn you," said the thief, and shot his victim
cold-bloodedly in the heart.  

The carriage driver jumped at this murder of his master, and started to
run.  One of the other highwaymen shot him in the back, and down he fell.

They took the carriage and pair as recompense for their night's work, and
left the carrion laying in the road.

The Wild Hunt descended upon the cooling corpses, a pale-faced Gideon
beside their leader, and whooped and hollered after the departing souls of
the foolish Puritan lord and his driver.

"Why have you shown me this?" Gideon asked Herla when the Hunt tired of the
chase and let the souls depart to their ultimate destination.

"You have always wondered, have you not?" Herla replied.

Gideon acknowledged the truth with a bow of his head.  He had.

"Hah!" Herla laughed, though Gideon saw no humour in it.  "Your father was
an unhappy man, Gideon Redoak.  A ball in his heart was a swifter end than
many."

"In cold blood," Gideon objected.

"Had he acknowledged that he felt some fondness for his wife and children,
who knows how that scene might have ended?  Let the past go, Gideon.  You
can never been the son he wanted, and that is no shame to you.  What he
wanted was another like himself, a cold preacher with no love in his heart."

"Retribution," Gideon murmured, having met the son his father wanted.

The Wild Hunt rode on, now crossing the wide Atlantic.  They approached the
rugged coast of Maine.  Now lights could be seen, the cheery yellow lights
of electricity in houses, the long-reaching white light of the lighthouses,
the flickering blue of television sets, the white headlights and red
tailights of passing cars.  The night was humming with activity as they
followed the coastal highway.  Soon they were nearing the outskirts of
Fletcherville.

"We leave you here," Herla said as the Hunt came down upon a beach Gideon
recognized.  "I hope you have learned something tonight."

Gideon bowed again.  "Thank you for the lesson, King Herla.  I have learned."

Herla threw bony arms around him in a hug from horseback.  "Good.  See that
you remember.  ALL that I have shown and told you.  Give my regards to
Joshua, and tell him that he owes me a poker game."  

"I will."  Gideon almost smiled at the thought of imparting that news.

Herla lifted a hand, and the Hunt rose again into the air.  Calvin whinnied
a farewell, and the host was gone into the clouds.

Gideon looked down at the horse he was mounted on.

"Calvin," he said quietly, "if you ever do anything like that to me again,
I will make you into fairy horseburgers."

The stallion laid his ears back and rolled his red eyes.  He whickered.  It
sounded like a laugh.

"Let's go home," Gideon said.

______
Further information on Calvin can be found here:

http://www.crosswinds.net/~redoak/calvin.txt

Comments?


Baron Gideon Redoak,  redoak@interlog.com
"Tell me you do not want to become a vampire because it is... what is that
expression?... cool." (From "Reprise" by A. Fraser)
Oakwoods Home Page: http://www.crosswinds.net/~redoak/ 
Centre Stage: http://www.redrival.com/thatactor/
My Other Home Page:  http://members.tripod.com/~Anne_F/index.html
The Site Formerly Known as Oakwoods: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Lofts/3743/