More Sacred Promise

Here is another scene from Sacred Promise. As a heads up, CAD is chronic amnesia disorder. As far as I know the disorder is a figment of my imagination. What it means is that if Angel hits her head, she gets amnesia. She doesn’t even have to hit her head that hard. Also, Shelly is Angel’s Dad’s work partner. Kevin is a boy she’s known since she was a baby. Sasha is her best friend – Majjannan is a song.

*

I put on some socks and a sweater and was reaching for the doorknob when a scream split the air.

A tingle shot up my spine and I stood there, frozen.

Then, it came again.

It was high-pitched and haunting; resonating in my ears long after the original sound had died away.

“Angel?” Dad called.

Still, I didn’t move. I closed my eyes, listening, and the final scream made me shudder. Triste.

I took the stairs down three at a time. Dad and Shelly were standing at the bottom.

“It’s Triste,” I said. Before they could ask how I knew I’d darted past them to the front door. I think Dad might have told me not to open it but by then it was already open. The second I stepped outside I was soaked to the skin. Dad came out behind me and I could hear Shelly shuffling after us.

“How do you know?” Dad said, shouting to be heard over the rain.

I’d heard horses scream before. I’d heard almost every sound horses made. “I’ve heard it before,” I whispered. He must have heard me because he said nothing.

The air was charged with energy. Lightening split the sky in half and suddenly I wasn’t looking at the Noir Cheval. I saw two stallions, Madeira was one, fighting. The other stallion was small and there was blood on his coat. Madeira was fighting him into a corner of the paddock, his hooves pounding furiously against the smaller horse. The horse was screaming, trying to get away.

Triste screamed again and the picture was gone.

“He’s in trouble,” I said numbly.

“What?” Dad and Shelly, together.

“He’s hurt,” I said again.

At that moment I forgot everything. I forgot he’d hurt my mom, I forgot he’d hurt me. I forgot he’d hurt Sasha.

I tore off the porch and ran towards the woods.

“Angel! Get back here!”

Two steps off the porch and all sound was lost to the rain. Dad probably tried to follow me. Being my dad, that’s what he’d do. But it was too dark and too wet, and in seconds I was under the trees, running.

Once, I’d experienced blind terror. I was only a year old but I remembered it very vividly. Mom, Grandma, and Granddad had gone to the stables to help the foaling mares – three in one night.

They thought I was sleeping but only a few minutes after they left I woke up. The house was dark and it was storming. I’d gone down the stairs, crying, and out the front door. And then I was in the storm. I thought I was going to die. I stood there, screaming at the top of my lungs, until Mom came and got me.

That was what it was like now.

Only the terror wasn’t mine, it was Triste’s. I could feel it as easily as I could feel the rain soaking through my clothes. He was experiencing the same terror I’d felt that night.

The rain was so heavy I could barely see through it. In Écouter there were no raindrops, there were rain sheets. If you tipped your head back and opened your mouth you’d probably drown yourself.

I was already so wet it was several minutes before I realized dark, murky water was swirling around my ankles.

Out of nowhere a tree branch seemed to materialize. I was still running and before I could stop myself, my forehead slammed into the branch.

When I opened my eyes I was on my side.

Now I was wet and my forehead was burning like crazy. I eased myself up and my head swam. The rain-distorted setting now looked like mountains.

What was I doing out in a storm? Where was I? I tried to see through the rain. I’d hit my head. It must be my CAD. I couldn’t remember a thing.

Triste screamed.

Triste. I was supposed to be doing something about him. I tried to clear my thoughts but I was so confused.

Now I could hear another sound: shouts.

I struggled to my feet. Where was he? And what was I supposed to do when I found him? If I even could?

The sound had been so close. I could barely think straight.

And then I saw white.

The rain seemed to abate and I saw everything as clearly as if it were one of Dad’s photographs.

Triste was thrashing wildly, his massive hooves flattening the vegetation around him. There were ropes around his neck, three, tangled in the briars. He was pulling against them with everything he had in him but he was drooping with exhaustion. His mane and tail were flattened against him with rain and there was a wild, terrified look in his eyes. They glowed, even in the dark.

I heard the shouts again and this time I recognized the voice. Kevin.

“Triste,” I whispered.

The stallion went still, as if he’d been struck by lightening.

“I’m going to help you.” I approached to his left, making sure he could clearly see me. He flattened his ears and bared his teeth.

“Don’t be scared…”

He went crazy. He flung himself around, nearly going over backwards. He bucked, twisted, reared. And then he went still, shuddering.

“Majjannan,” I said.

Triste’s ears came forward and some of the fear left his eyes.

“Do you remember the flying horse?” I held out my hand. Kevin was getting closer. I could hear him. I didn’t have much time.

“And Mom? Do you remember her? Majjannan?” I was next to him, his bulk blocking the rain.

He was huge. Twenty hands – I did some quick math. That was six feet, eight inches at the shoulder. There was no telling how tall he was altogether. And if he decided to go crazy again when I touched him, he’d probably kill me.

“Majjannan,” I said again. “Do you remember Majjannan?”

I put my hand on one of the ropes, now hanging limply. They were hopelessly entangled in the bushes and there was no way I could get them off his neck. As I slid my hands up the length of it, towards his neck, I had to smile. Kevin was smarter than he looked. There were safety catches on all of them. I snapped open the first one. Triste’s ears went flat but he didn’t move.

The second one snapped open and fell to the ground.

Triste pulled away, pulling the last rope taut. He was soaked, though not so much from rain as sweat.

“Kevin’s been chasing you for a long time, hasn’t he?” I tried to get the last one open but he was pulling the rope too tight.

“There he is!”

I could see a powerful flashlight beam cutting through the dark. “Please, Triste. Hold still.” I pulled on it. My fingers hurt.

“Who is that?”

Spotted.

Triste was tensing for another pull. I shoved all my weight against his shoulder. He shifted to his left and the catch popped open.

“Run, Triste!” I slapped his rump and the stallion took off running.

I did, too.

I heard Kevin yelling but he didn’t say my name, so I guessed he didn’t know it was me. I ran all the faster.

There was another scream.

It was empty of the terror and pain I had heard earlier. Its cadence was almost like music, spiraling skyward, resounding and resounding like waves on a beach. It was the most beautiful sound I’d heard in my life.

I liked to think Triste was saying thank you.