Ichabod caught his breath as the
Stallion gathered himself and hurtled
over a fallen oak. A strong arm tightened around his waist reassuringly. He drew
a shaky breath as they thumped
down on the other side and pounded on without pausing. The icy wind pushed him
back against the Hessian's
chest, and the long mane of the war horse whipped back into his face. The world
was filled with the thunder of
hooves and the wing-like flapping of the long cape. The Hessian sat his horse
with enviable ease holding the reins
loosely in one hand. In contrast, Ichabod was gripping the edge of the saddle
with white knuckles.
Ichabod had no idea how far they had traveled into the woods when the
horse came to a stop rearing unexpectedly. The Horseman chuckled low in his
chest and pulled the animal around in
a tight circle. When the world stopped moving, Ichabod opened his eyes and
caught his breath.
The Horse had stopped at the edge of a steep cliff that fell steeply to
the river that wound its way through the valley. From their vantage point, the
water looked like a silver ribbon cast
aside by some careless giant. Tendrils of mist rose like smoke from the surface.
A small stream flowed beside them through
a narrow strip of meadowland dropping in a fine spray over the edge of the
cliff.
The Hessian dismounted and helped his lover down. A good sized fire roared into
existence. Ichabod shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the cold night
air. The weight of the
heavy, brocaded silk cloak descended on his thin shoulders. Strong arms reached
around him to fasten a heavy cloak pin
at his neck. Then he was alone in the darkness with the towering horse.
He moved closer to the fire letting the warmth and light block out the eerie
silence of the forest. He fingered the heavy pin. It was family crest of some
kind carved in silver, a
beautifully wrought peice of jewelry if he was any judge. He turned it toward
the fire and noticed a vaguely familiar symbol
carved into the back and below it a tiny line carving of a bird, a cardinal. A
numbness seemed to wash over the mortal,
something hovered at the edge of his mind, something important, but he could not
quite grasp it.
A sharp pain drew his attention. He was gripping the pin so tightly
that its ornate edges were biting into his palms opening the series of scars
there. He let go of the pin and stared at
his hands. He remembered, puncture marks in perfectly straight rows, his
mother's eyes peering blindly from the
iron maiden. Then his feverish mind conjured images of an earlier time. He could
see for a moment her smile as she laughed
over some silly joke he had made up for her, the flower petals falling around
her as she danced for the joy of
spring, the candelight soft image of her long, dark hair brushing the hearth as
she drew in the ashes with her finger. He
circled around to look at what she had drawn.
The stallion screaming brought him back to the present. There was a brief moment
of panic as he realized he had nearly walked into the blazing bonfire. The horse
was screaming at him,
glaring with a baleful red eye.
"I didn't know you cared."
The animal danced away snorting and pawing.
Ichabod turned slowly staring into the shadows searching for something he
couldn't quite name. He felt disoriented. Everything seemed so familiar, the
night, the fire, the Hessian. He realized dimly that he should be afraid, but
the emotions were distant, disconnected from himself. Vaguely, he wondered if
Katrina had missed him yet. He had not told her where he was going, just left in
the early dawn while she
slept. He knew that he should tell her, explain somehow. He owed her that much,
but how could he explain what he did not understand himself.
He could not remember a time when he had felt any sort of desire for a man. Of
course, he also could not recall desiring a woman until he had met Katrina. The
feelings for her had come over him so quickly. He frowned as a thought rose
unbidden from the shadows of his mind. She was a witch, skilled in potions and
spells. They never spoke of it, but he had seen her books and the trappings of
her trade. He felt of the volume, still in the breast pocket of his overcoat.
What if the emotions he felt were not of his own creation. The thought was
terrifying. The Horseman was a creature of the spirit world as well and
possessed of powers beyond mortal comprehension.
Doubt tightened like tendrils of mist around his heart. He needed to get away a
little while, to sort out which thoughts were his own. Gathering the cloak
around him, he headed into the woods opposite where the Hessian had entered.
Daredevil moved to block his path.
"Tell him that I'll be back. You can do that can't you?" The big
stallion tossed his bead back and stared balefully at Ichabod, but moved aside
reluctantly. The ghost-horse watched the living boy until he disappeared amongst
the trees then moved closer to the fire to await his beloved master's return.