Jon, Kestrel, and I hurried back to the horses, and laughed and talked as we brushed them. The horses became excited as they caught our eagerness – except for Jon’s potential new horse, that is. Her eyes were half closed and her ears flopped sideways. She seemed like she’d be a good horse to ride during an earthquake. She did stamp a hoof now and then though, and when Jon tightened the cinch on her saddle, she raised her head a fraction. If the man was selling her to get rid of her, maybe her flaw was being too relaxed. Or in another word, lazy.
Jon mounted in one smooth movement. The horse stood like a rock. He signaled her lightly to go and she sighed. He asked her again, firmly, and she turned obediently toward the arena.
“She seems level headed,” Kestrel said as we followed them.
Jon looked back. “Maybe a bit too relaxed.”
“How old is she supposed to be?” I asked.
“Only six. She should liven up in a few minutes. She was tied there quite a while.”
I didn’t mention that Rusty and Twitchy had been tied just as long, yet seemed to have plenty of energy. Instead, I held Rusty back as we followed Jon and his horse through the arena gate. The horse games weren’t set up yet, and other kids were using the arena to warm up their mounts.
Rusty and I did a couple of walk-trot-lope circuits of the arena and then we exited the arena. Kestrel and Twitchy stood just outside the gate, so we joined them, and together we watched Jon and his mare. He stopped her, backed her, walked and trotted her in circles both ways, and finally broke into a lope. The mare moved sluggishly but perfectly. She didn’t miss a beat when Jon asked her to make a flying lead change. She did a slow motion sliding stop, then surged into an obedient, if unenergetic lope. A couple minutes later, Jon rode back to us, smiling.
“You’re looking nervous, Kestrel,” he said, laughing. “You know I’m going to beat you today in the Barrel Race.”
“Don’t be so sure. Twitchy’s got lots of speed left in her still.”
“Yeah, when she’s heading toward her oats.”
“Well, your new horse isn’t any speed demon. She looks like she’s asleep again.”
And she did, except for one ear that now kept up a regular flicking. But Jon was unphased. “She’ll run Twitchy into the ground. Wait and see.”
As I listened to this exchange, I couldn’t help but notice they were both overlooking Rusty. What was he? Pickled herring? Apparently not a threat, in their minds anyway. Well, we’d see who was the best – of all of us.
“All those interested in watching our talented young folks, please return to the arena,” drawled the announcer over the loudspeaker. He didn’t sound nearly as thrilled to be announcing the kid’s games as he did for the rodeo. “Their events are about to begin.”
The very first event was the Pole Bending race. You race to the last of six poles, all set in a straight line, turn around the sixth pole and then weave your horse back through them all. You turn again at the first pole and weave back through all six, and then turn around the sixth pole once more and race straight for the finish line. The fastest wins, and if you tip over a pole you get a five second penalty.
Rusty and I were the second to run. We did okay, but then Twitchy totally blew us out of the competition. She didn’t run too fast, but wow, could she move around those poles! Jon said something confident to us before riding the chestnut mare into the arena, but returned from his run looking sheepish. The horse did okay, but she’d fought him when he asked her to turn at the sixth pole. At least she’d run fast on the way to the finish line – surprisingly fast actually – but then she didn’t want to stop. If there hadn’t been a fence there, I wondered if she would’ve kept going.
“Good thing you’re trying her out now,” I said to Jon when he reined the mare to stand beside us. “She might be a runaway.”
He leaned down and patted the mare on her hot shoulder. “She did okay.” The mare snorted. “And besides, she’s a cow horse. The guy said she’s never done anything like this before.”
“She probably isn’t used to the crowds and noise either,” I added, because Jon was right. The mare had done okay – okay enough to have beaten Rusty. He’d done the turns without fighting, but the mare’s sprint to the finish line had given her the faster time.
Kestrel and Twitchy won the Pole Bending and then Jon and the chestnut came second in the Stakes – which was a miracle, by the way. They walloped the end pole, hard, on their last turn. I’m not sure what made it stay up, but stay up it did, so no penalty. Add to that the mare’s now obvious love of running and they squeaked out a time just one tenth of a second faster than Twitchy and Kestrel.
Rusty and I weren’t much competition to the leaders, but we didn’t do too badly in the Scurry event, which was jumping your horse over three eighteen-inch jumps, turning around a pole, and then jumping back over the jumps. Kestrel did well too, but Jon and his new horse were terrible. The chestnut couldn’t jump to save her life – not that she actually tried. She looked like she was getting exasperated with all this gaming as she ran through the three jumps. Jon struggled to make her turn around the pole and then she raced back over the fallen jumps, going about a hundred miles an hour. When Jon asked her to slow down, she started shaking her head in protest.
No!
Was she the third horse that I’d heard? The groggy one?
Do not want to!
She was! And her confusion was falling away. Her mind was growing clearer – and in it I could see a singular purpose: to get away. Not just from the events, not just from all the shouting and excitement of the rodeo, but away from everything. Away from civilization. Away from anything human. More than anything, this formerly calm and unflappable mare wanted to escape her life.
Jon and the mare burst from the arena and swept toward Kestrel and me. The other horses and riders scattered in front of them like mice before a cat.
“Control your horse, please,” the announcer droned, as if Jon wasn’t already trying.
Finally, the mare reached us and stopped, wild-eyed, then pushed up next to Rusty. For some reason, she felt safer beside him. I didn’t mind, at least until she squished Jon’s and my knees together. Hard. “Ouch!”
Jon’s face turned red. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.” He pulled on the left rein, and the mare jumped over a foot, then did a little hop and stood still.
“She seems to like Rusty anyway,” I said over the announcer’s voice. “Maybe he can help her calm down.”
“I don’t think she likes rodeos.”
I was about to suggest that maybe it was more than that, when Kestrel said, “Evy, you came in third!”
A flush of pleasure ran through my body. “Oh wow, I don’t believe it! What did you get, Kestrel?”
She looked a little embarrassed as she replied. “Second. Sorry.”
“Hey, don’t be. I’m happy with third. I didn’t think I’d get anything.” How cool! My first win and after only three races. Rusty and I would get a ribbon, and maybe even five bucks in prize money. I couldn’t stop smiling.
“Egg and Spoon Racers, enter the arena,” said the announcer.
“Let’s go,” Kestrel said to me, grinning back.
“Are you doing this one?” I asked Jon, hoping the answer was no. The mare had calmed a bit, thanks to Rusty’s steady presence, but who knew how long it would last? Her agitation was still there; I could feel it like a hornet buzzing in my brain.
“I’m going to see if Jake has a partner yet,” he said, looking back at a dark haired boy on a skinny bay. He’d done well in all the games so far. Unless Jon’s horse messed things up for them by jumping the fence and disappearing over the horizon, they’d probably be our biggest competitors.
“Good luck.”
“You too.”
Rusty and I followed Kestrel into the arena and we positioned ourselves with one of us at each end. Jon and Jake were the last two to line up. It was a competitive looking field. Nine teams.
The starting pistol fired. Cheering started in the stands. A shudder of alarm rushed through me and I realized it was coming from Jon’s mare. I had to shut her out if I was going to concentrate on this race, though I hated to do it. I wouldn’t be able to hear Rusty then either.
Sorry, Rusty, I thought to him. Must shut off listening.
I understand.
You are awesome.
Yes.
I smiled and patted his neck, then shut my mind completely to the horses. Thank goodness I’d learned how to do that last winter. I’d be a total wreck now if not for what I had learned back then. No matter how harrowing that experience had been, it was totally worth it. Not to mention that I got Twilight out of it.
Kestrel and Twitchy, along with all the other half teams, were still walking toward us, their spoons held in front of them, their eggs wobbling in each shallow hollow. This race was perfect for Twitchy – steady and slow. If Rusty and I did as well, we’d win it.
Then Kestrel noticed that Jake’s skinny bay was drawing ahead of her. She signaled to Twitchy and the old mare moved, slow and lethargic, into a rocking horse lope. The egg didn’t even shudder on Kestrel’s spoon. The girl to their left tried to copy Kestrel’s slick move, but her horse lurched into a trot, bouncing the egg out of its cradle and splatting it on her saddle horn. Another team’s egg hit the ground.
Then Jake asked his horse to go faster too. But instead of loping, the bay moved into a smooth trot, with long supple strides. Their egg was wiggling, but not falling. And the pair was gaining on Kestrel and Twitchy!
“Faster, faster,” I shrieked, but my voice was lost in the crowd. Apparently, the spectators loved this race. I’d never heard such a racket. I guess raw eggs spraying hapless contestants brings out the noise in people – me included.
By the time the first riders drew near, there were only five teams left in the race and the eliminated players, covered in varying degrees of yolk, had already withdrawn to the sidelines. Jake had a thin lead over Kestrel and two riders were about ten yards behind them. Only one was way back – a little girl, who looked about four years old, riding the slowest, widest, cutest pony I’d ever seen. If the egg had fallen on him, I’m sure it would have been safely sheltered on his soft, cuddly self.
And then Jake reached Jon. I was still screaming at Kestrel to hurry, thinking they were going to quickly transfer the egg and then Jon’s horse would hustle off, smoothly and miraculously, to victory. Unrealistic, yes, but not completely impossible.
Then Kestrel was there. I hardly breathed as I took the spoon handle.
Kestrel didn’t immediately release her hold. “Remember, slower is better,” she advised, loudly, so I could hear her above the crowd. “It’s better than not getting there at all.”
I nodded.
“And look only at the egg.” She released her hold and I asked Rusty to walk. Slower is better. Slower is better. Watch the egg. Only the egg. But what if Jon was passing me? I passed the two riders in third and fourth place coming toward me, and there was still no sign of Jon drawing alongside. In my peripheral vision, I could see only the crowd and the supremely cute pony with his equally endearing rider. Maybe Jon and Jake hadn’t transferred their egg yet. Maybe no one had. Maybe we were going to win!
Visions of the twenty-five dollar prize danced through my head. What would I spend it on? Kestrel and I could go shopping today at the General Store before we headed home. Surely Mom wouldn’t confiscate any candy I bought with hard earned winnings.
Yelling erupted behind me. Not the happy, cheering kind. The scared kind.
Watch the egg. Only the egg.
Kestrel screamed.
Automatically, I tried to sense Twitchy and…
Escape! Run from this madness. Can take no more!
Jon’s mare’s rage and terror was followed instantly by a hundred other horse emotions, Twitchy’s fear included. I almost tumbled from Rusty’s back with the force of the thoughts and sensation. To stop my eyes from rolling back in my head, I squeezed my eyelids shut, then struggled to stop the flood ripping through my mind. Bit by bit, I fought it back. Bit by bit, I stemmed the deluge. Bit by bit, I became myself again.
I opened my eyes to find myself clutching Rusty’s mane. I tasted blood, so bent over the ground and spit. It was red. I must have bitten my lip.
Rusty nickered with concern and I patted him shakily on his shoulder. He was probably asking me questions, but I couldn’t open up my horse-mind to hear him. Not with the mare right there, being overwhelmed. Still dazed, I raised my hand to wipe my mouth, to discover the spoon still clutched in my white-knuckled fist. No more blood when I wiped, thank goodness. However, the egg was now a spray of white and yolk and shattered eggshell on the ground. And on my knee. Great.
“Oh my god!” Caroline’s shriek came from the stands. Caroline is Jon’s mom. “Somebody do something!”
Finally in command of myself again, I spun Rusty around to see the third and fourth placed competitors, eggless and staring at Jon’s horse as it continued to act completely and totally berserk: rearing, bucking, neighing, plunging, leaping. Twitchy and Kestrel were halfway across the arena, so I guessed the mare had run or kicked or stampeded near them, scaring them.
Rusty leapt forward into a gallop the second I asked him, but Jake acted before I could get there. He pushed his tough little bay up next to the freaking mare. Jon grabbed him around the waist, just like the bronc riders did when they wanted to dismount, and when Jake reined his horse away, Jon was pulled from the mare’s back. He hung at the bay’s side for a moment, then landed lightly on the ground.
By the time I got there, it was over. But the mare didn’t understand that she’d won. She was still going totally nuts. Bucking. Pitching. Striking. She leapt so hard to one side that her hooves flew from under her and she came thudding down onto her side. Moments later, she was up and high-tailing it past Kestrel to the far side of the arena. She crashed into the fence, but not through it, and fell again, then she scrambled to her hooves, slower this time, and stood stunned as we all stared at her in shock.
“Jon! Jon! Are you okay?” Caroline was running toward us.
“I’m fine, Mom,” said Jon. “Really.”
“You’re not fine. I saw what happened. How can you say you’re fine?”
Caroline wasn’t fine, that’s for sure. I looked sympathetically at Jon. He was totally embarrassed. First, publicly thrown, and then fussed over by his mother. Things couldn’t get much worse for him. He didn’t need me hanging around witnessing his shame.
Besides, the mare needed me. She might be injured. And I wanted to find out what had happened to make her freak out so badly. I opened the door to my horse senses just a crack.
Must escape. Don’t belong. Flee from monsters. Flee!
Monsters? Now we humans were monsters? I had to help her.
“Evy?”
On one level, I heard Kestrel’s bemused voice as we passed her, but I didn’t have enough human sense to form words to answer her. Rusty continued to the far end of the arena where the mare stood, still too dazed to move. Yet.
Stay away! Stay away! This is only a meager interpretation of the revulsion she felt for me as I approached. Me, the horrendous human.
I stopped Rusty. I was going to have to talk to her. This may not seem like a big thing since I talk to horses every day, but it was. Huge, in fact. I’ve only ever talked to Rusty and Twilight, with few exceptions – one being a wild mare that almost died after my brief greeting blasted through her brain, scaring her into hurting herself. But this mare was already frightened beyond reason. We had nothing to lose.
Name is Evy. Horse is Rusty. Your name? I asked, speaking as simply as possible.
Sheer terror lanced through her heart and I felt like my own was going to seize up. For a few seconds, all I could do was concentrate on breathing.
Do not be afraid, I eventually managed to add through the reflection of her terror. Then, Why are you scared? Tell me. I will try to help. Okay, so horses don’t understand “try.” I will help, I slowly amended, hoping she’d understand. Hoping that I could help her.
Help? A spark of hope, just a tiny, tiny spark, next to her raging bonfire of panic.
Yes. I will help.
Must escape. Help escape?
Where must you go?
Visions crowded my mind, visions of wandering wild lands, grazing untamed meadows, running at will, splashing through creeks, playing in snow, and most powerful than them all, having foals that would never be taken from her.
“Evy, what are you doing?” Kestrel said beside me.
“Just a sec.”
“Are you crying?”
I raised my hand to my cheek. I was. I was crying the tears the mare couldn’t cry herself. The man who was selling her had controlled every aspect of her life since she was four years old, when he brought her in from the range. She’d been strong during the cruel breaking in. She’d withstood the unkind voice, the meager rations, his roughness. But when he’d taken her foal from her side – as her baby screamed to her to save him – and she’d been unable to do anything to stop the man, the fire of desperation and hatred had flared inside her.
I will do my best to help you. But you must trust me. You must do as I ask first. Will you?
I dismounted Rusty and waited. Slowly, the horse turned her head and for the first time, really looked at me. Her eyes drank in the details of my body, her nose investigated my smell, her ears zeroed in on my breathing. She tried to sense the beating of my heart. Her mind probed mine and I tried opening myself a bit more to her – without letting in all the other horse voices – so she could know I was trustworthy.
And then she said, yes. A quiet singular agreement, but packed with power.
Thank you, I replied, and sighed. Thank goodness this was going to be resolved. I didn’t want her to be hurt anymore. I didn’t want her to hurt Jon. I only wanted everyone to be happy, and thank goodness, she recognized that.
“Be careful, Evy,” Kestrel said behind me when I stepped toward the mare.
“She’s okay now,” I said. “See how relaxed she looks?” Even though she really didn’t, I needed to say something. When I reached the mare’s side, I stroked her cheek.
No touching.
Sorry.
I took her reins. She followed me – nervous and on edge, but still followed me – back to Rusty. Kestrel looked on in amazement as I mounted my horse.
“What did you do to her?”
“I just waited for her to calm down, that’s all,” I said to Kestrel, and smiled. “Really, most of it is Rusty. She trusts him.”
“Well, he’s a trustworthy guy.”
As we rode back toward the gate, I felt overwhelmed by my promise to the mare. She believed she’d finally found someone who had the power to help her – and I still had no idea what to do. All I knew was that I had a lot less power and influence than she thought I did.
We made a detour around the group still arguing in the middle of the arena, and when we passed them, they didn’t look over. I was infinitely glad. Jon was trying to convince his mom that the horse just didn’t like games, that she’d still be an awesome cowhorse. Caroline was still yelling that there was no way he’d ever, ever, ever own that horse. Everyone else looked on with serious faces, injecting their opinions whenever they could. It was kind of bizarre actually.
And then, beyond them, I noticed something hilarious. Slowly but surely, a second fat pony, looking just as squishy and soft and adorable as the first, was crossing the finish line. His tiny rider sat straight and proud on his back, one hand held high in victory and the spoon clutched firmly in her other. And glowing like a white beacon was the egg, nestled as snug in the spoon as if it were in a nest. The four year olds had won the race.