Maze Running and other Magical Missions (3 page)

Helen pushed Rona away and stared at her pale face. “How is he?”

Rona shook her head, then slumped back down on the bed.

Helen couldn’t ask again. She looked at Catesby, who squawked. Which, as usual, meant nothing to Helen.

So she looked at Lavender.

The fairy whispered, “He’s alive, Helen. But only just. The centaurs stopped the bleeding. But his horse heart hasn’t started beating again and he hasn’t woken up. His human heart is too small to keep him alive. It’s not strong enough to pump blood round a body the size of a horse. It’s weakening already. If his horse heart doesn’t restart, he only has a day or two left.”

Helen said, “Right, let’s go and help.” She grabbed clean jeans and a t-shirt, and gestured at Catesby to fly out of the window while she got changed. “Can Sapphire take us there?”

“No, Helen,” said Rona. “You can’t go to Cauldhame Moor.”

“I know it’s not
easy
to get there, but if you help me, I’m sure…”

“No, I don’t mean you can’t. I mean you mustn’t.
You must not go there, because the centaurs are still angry. They blame you for Yann going on that rescue mission, which is unfair, because we all know the hard thing is
stopping
Yann going on an adventure. But they think he’d have asked other centaurs to help when that unicorn came crying that she’d lost her sister, if we hadn’t been willing to join him. They’re blaming all of us, but mostly you, because you’re human. So it’s dangerous for you to go to the moor, and you can’t get in anyway, can you?”

Helen shook her head. She’d never been to Yann’s home. She’d stayed with Rona’s family in Sutherland. She’d had sleepovers at Lavender’s, though she always took her own tent because she couldn’t fit into the flower fairy’s bedroom. They’d all been to parties in Sapphire’s cave. She’d even had a picnic below Catesby’s nest. But she’d never visited Yann’s home. Partly because she knew she wouldn’t be welcome, but also because it was almost impossible for humans to get there.

There weren’t walls or fences round Cauldhame Moor. Just what Yann had called an “unwelcome field” or a “general desire to turn around and go another way”. Entire armies had changed their marching plans and at least two road-building schemes had taken a longer route, because human scouts or surveyors who tried to walk across the moor always found a better, easier, more attractive path. “It’s the opposite of the grass being greener on the other side of the fence,” Yann had joked. Helen could hear his voice in her memory.

She shrugged. “So what if his family shout at me? I can handle that.”

“Angry centaurs don’t just shout,” said Rona. “They attack.”

“But surely they know I only want to help.”

“They don’t want your help, Helen. They don’t want
our
help. They won’t even let the unicorns help. You know what centaurs are like.”

“Stiff-necked, arrogant and rude,” Helen said. “Just like Yann. I can cope with him, so I can cope with his family. I just want to see if I can help or if my mum can help. Please show me how to get in.”

Catesby was back on the window sill, Rona was on the bed, Lavender was fluttering in the air. They were all shaking their heads.

Helen had lied to almost everyone she cared about today. She might as well lie to them all. She sighed. “I’ll take your advice and stay away from the moor, but if I write a note offering help to Yann’s mum, rather than his dad, will you
all
take it to her? Right now?”

Her friends nodded, so Helen scribbled a note. She gave it to Catesby, and watched as he and Lavender swooped out of the window.

Rona tried to smile at her. “Do you want me to stay here? We could work on our spring dance tunes.”

Helen smiled back. “No. You’d better all go together, to keep each others’ courage up against the nasty scary centaurs. I’ll distract my mum while you go out the back.”

She ran downstairs and opened the surgery door. Her mum was inside, with a sleeping spaniel on
the black operating table, using tweezers to tug at something in its coat.

“What’s wrong with the spaniel?” Helen asked.

“Thorns,” her mum said. “She’s not the brightest dog. She forgot how to reverse and kept running deeper into the bushes. Her owner is coming back soon and there are dozens to take out. Do you want to help?”

Helen washed her hands, then found the right size of tweezers.

There were thorns in the dog’s nose. She gripped one and started to ease it out.

“So, Mum… I did panic this morning, but if I had been right, and that branch
had
pierced the horse’s heart, what could I have done?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. If the branch had pierced the heart, it would bleed out internally and the horse would die.”

“Is there any way a horse’s heart can ever be restarted?”

“A vet could restart a heart with injections of atropine or adrenaline, or even with a few sharp blows with their knee. But that wouldn’t work with a heart which was still bleeding.”

“So with an injured heart, could you operate to repair it or transplant a new one?”

“No. Horses’ hearts are too deep inside their chest cavity; vets can’t open them up to operate. If a horse’s heart stops for more than a few minutes, then the horse is dead.”

“But, just say it
isn’t
dead after a few minutes, what could you do?”

Helen’s mum frowned. “That’s impossible.”

“I’m just asking,” Helen said. “Just for … em … for the story I’m writing for English.” But Helen realised there was no point in arguing about whether a horse could survive with no heartbeat, unless she was going to tell her mum that this horse had two hearts and one of them was in a boy’s chest. She had to find out what else was possible.

“So what treatments
can
you give for problems with horses’ hearts? Just so I can think of a realistic heart problem for my story.”

Helen’s mum smiled. She enjoyed answering this sort of question. “Well, if the horse’s heart is beating irregularly, you can give a drug like quinidine, to get all four chambers beating in time again. But for a real kick-start for a horse with an uneven heartbeat, there are a few new techniques. You can use electric shock pads, or even put tiny electrodes in through the veins, to get the heart back to normal. That’s called transvenous electrical cardioversion, which I can spell for you if you want.

“But you couldn’t do that in the field, Helen, nor in my large animal surgery. You’d need to be at a specialist equine centre, like the one up at the university. You’d need an anaesthetist on the team…”

“Even if the horse is unconscious?” Helen asked.

“Yes. You don’t want the patient feeling any pain. And you don’t want the patient waking up in the middle of an operation either. Not with all those hooves. I even had to knock this wee thing out to remove the thorns without being bitten. So you need
an anaesthetist as well as a surgeon, and all the right hygiene and recovery conditions. If you want to save a horse with a serious heart problem, in real life or a story, then you have to take it to a hospital.

“Anyway, that sort of heart problem doesn’t usually occur in ponies; it’s more likely to happen to racehorses. Horses with big hearts, very fit, under lots of stress.”

Helen grinned. “A big heart, very fit and under stress. That sounds about right! Thanks, Mum.”

“I’m just glad you’re writing about real animals, not those imaginary ones you used to believe in. Now, how many thorns have you removed?”

“One. Sorry. I was thinking about the horse.”

Her mum shook her head. “Go and write your story. I’ll deal with Rosie here.”

“Rosie?” Helen laughed. “Rosie and the thorns!”

Her mum smiled. “That could be the title for your story…”

Helen ran back upstairs. Her room was empty, so she pulled on hiking boots, and picked up her first aid kit and a warm fleece. It was nearly the end of March, but the weather was as cold as it had been in February.

She yelled to her mum, “I’m taking the bike out!”

Her mum replied, “I’m picking Nicola up from her play-date at six, so be home for tea at six thirty.”

Helen cycled towards the hill where Yann had once pointed out his herd’s lands from a distance, and told her that centuries ago a wise woman had gifted them a barrier to keep humans out. “You can’t see the
unwelcome field,” he’d explained, “so people never know why they don’t cross our moor.”

“How do
you
get in?” Helen had asked.

“It doesn’t stop us. It only works on our enemies.”

Helen had said that not all humans were their enemies, but he’d just laughed and changed the subject.

When she got to the top of Bleakcairn Law, she saw the moor stretch out ahead of her. Already she could feel a desire to be somewhere else. She had lots of homework for Monday. Perhaps she should head home now…

Helen shook her head. She wasn’t going home until she saw Yann. She leant the bike against a rock and headed downhill.

The desire to go back got stronger.

What if someone steals your bike?
a familiar voice murmured in her head.

“There’s no one else here,” she said loudly.

What about practising that new violin melody?

“I know it already.”

What about popping round to Kirsty’s for a chat?

“She’s playing football in East Kilbride this evening.”

But it didn’t matter how many answers Helen had, her head kept filling up with more reasons to go the other way. It was hard to keep her feet moving towards the moor.

It’s muddy. Those boots will get manky.

“I can clean them.”

It’s dangerous. You could fall and hurt yourself.

“I have a first aid kit.”

Soon she was at the bottom of the hill, right on the edge of the moor. But she couldn’t walk forward any more. It took all her determination not to turn and run back.

It wasn’t fear. People would remember being scared on the edge of a moor. You’d talk about running from something scary, but you wouldn’t mention changing your mind about going for a walk and heading home for a cup of tea instead. You probably wouldn’t even remember that.

Helen’s desire to go home was so strong she was struggling simply to stand still. She was straining against thin air, pushing against her desire to leave and do something, anything, else.

Then she heard Yann’s voice again, cheerful and confident in her memory. “It only works on our enemies.”

She had to prove to the unwelcome field that she wasn’t the enemy. So Helen started to talk, to herself, to the field, to the moor.

“I’ve healed a centaur’s leg. I’ve ridden on a centaur’s back.”

She raised her right hand and pushed it forward. She felt something shove back, but then her right hand pushed further and slid through.

“I’ve answered riddles with a centaur. I’ve cheered a centaur in a race.”

She raised her left hand and it met less resistance.

“I’ve made salad sandwiches for a centaur. I’ve cooled a centaur’s poisoned hand.”

She tried to step straight onto the moor with her
right foot, but that met too many hidden worries about homework, family and friends. So she twisted and tried to move through sideways.

“A centaur kicked down my attacker in a cave. A centaur held a beam steady for me to escape our enemies.”

She pushed again, with her shoulder.
Go home!
her head shouted.
Wrong way, turn back! Go home now!

But she kept talking calmly and pushing gently.

“I’ve held a sword to stand with a centaur against a pack of wolves. I’ve fought beside him. I’m a centaur’s friend. He’s my friend.”

She stepped onto the moor.

Helen wondered how she was going to find the centaurs in such a wide moor.

Then she heard the heavy beat of hooves, and realised the unwelcome field must be an alarm as well as a barrier. She didn’t have to search for the centaurs; they would hunt for her.

She almost turned and ran back to her bike. But she tried to reassure herself. She wasn’t their enemy, she was just there to see Yann and to tell the centaurs what her mum had said about treatment.

Twenty centaurs came into view over a low rise, galloping in a long line. Helen could see the glowing white of Petros in the middle, with pale grey centaurs to his left, shading darker grey through to black centaurs at the left wing; palominos to his right, shading through bays and chestnuts to darker brown at the right wing.

As they reached her, Helen stepped forward, away from the invisible barrier. She didn’t want to be pushed back through before she had time to talk.

“Why are you here, human girl?” boomed Petros. “Haven’t you done enough harm to my son?”

“I came to see Yann and to offer my help.”

“We received your impertinent note. We require no help from you. Your presence here is an insult. Leave now, before we force you out.”

“I also have information…”

Helen was interrupted by the centaur nearest to Petros. A young female centaur, a pale dappled grey, with plaited ash-blonde hair and a grey leather waistcoat. She called out, “Petros, you know the rules. Any humans who break through the unwelcome field must never be allowed back out. We can’t let her leave. We must silence her. Permanently.”

“Calm down, Epona. This human child has known our secret for over a year and has not given it away. We can safely let her leave. She has taken three steps onto our moor, so she can take three steps off again.” He looked at Helen. “Do as I say, girl. Turn and leave. Or we will throw you out.”

Helen looked at Petros, surprised to discover he wasn’t the most anti-human centaur in the herd. She took another step forward.

Petros shook his head. “Misplaced courage will not impress us, child. Leave here now.”

The grey centaur stamped her hooves. “This girl has been a risk for months. She’s a risk to Yann, encouraging him to gallivant all over Scotland when he should be here guarding our lands. She’s a risk to the whole tribe, knowing our secrets. Now that she is actually on our lands, and Yann can’t defend her, we should get rid of her.”

Helen could see that Petros was ignoring the girl centaur, so she ignored her too and spoke directly to
him. “I want to offer my help and my mother’s help to heal Yann. There are techniques which could…”

“Human techniques? You offer human healing to my son?” Petros laughed. “You think we’re so primitive that we can’t look after ourselves, that we need human help to heal our warriors?”

“Do you have a hospital,” she asked, “with surgeons and anaesthetists, with drugs, electric shock paddles and tiny electrodes to kick-start hearts?”

“No.”

“Then I think you do need help.”

“We do not need human help.”

Helen was finding it hard to stay calm. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want anyone to know about you. You’re denying Yann life-saving treatment to protect your secret! That’s so
selfish
!”

“Human girl, do you know my son so little? Do you think Yann would choose to be saved if the price of his life was our freedom?”

Helen bit her lip. She knew the answer to that. “But the price doesn’t have to be your freedom. Humans can keep secrets. Yann trusts me. Don’t you trust his judgement?”

“No, I don’t. He is reckless and foolish, and risks far too much every time he meets you.”

“Yann? Reckless? Taking risks?” Helen grinned. “Would you want him any other way?”

Yann’s father almost smiled. Then he sighed. “I do not have time to debate with you. In memory of my son and his friendship with you, I will let you leave safely if you go now, but I will not let you take one
more step onto our lands.”

“In
memory
of your son!” Helen yelled. “Have you given up on him already? How dare you give up!”

Helen took three more steps onto the centaurs’ precious moor.

Petros reared up, right above her. “I warned you! Are you as reckless as my son?”

“Not usually, but he’s asleep, so someone has to be. Let me tell you what I’ve come to offer and then, if you still want me to, I will leave.”

Petros snorted. “I begin to see why my son allows you to accompany him. Tell me what you offer.”

“First let me check the symptoms and diagnosis. My friends say Yann’s human heart is too small to keep him alive, so if his horse heart doesn’t restart soon he will die. Is that right?”

His father nodded.

“My mother knows healers at the university in Edinburgh, who have equipment to kick-start horse’s hearts. I give you my word they will do their best to save him and I will make sure they never tell anyone.”

The dappled centaur muttered, “I know a way to ensure their silence…”

Helen said, “Lavender does memory spells. We could try that.”

Petros shook his head. “The arrogance of humans, to imagine we do not have healers as experienced as yours. Our healers use cleansing herbs to prevent infection and mend wounds, and stimulating herbs and massage to restart hearts.”

“Then why don’t they restart Yann’s heart?”

“Because my son’s injury is not just physical. Your human healers would be as powerless as ours. The injury is not just to the flesh. It is a magical injury. It was inflicted by an object controlled by magic, and it resists ordinary healing.”

“So heal it magically!” Helen shouted.

“
We are trying!
We have summoned the best magical healers in the land, and I should be at home waiting to greet them, not here arguing with you. You’ve given me your ignorant and insulting offer of help, now get out. And don’t ever come back.”

He folded his arms and stared at her.

She said softly, “But you don’t think those magical healers can help, do you?”

He didn’t answer.

“You’re already mourning Yann and doing things in his
memory
, Petros. Why don’t you think they can help?” Helen considered what she knew about the magic her friends used, or resisted using. “Or are you not sure about the kind of help they offer? Are they dark magic users, because the magic which injured him was dark?”

He shrugged. “The Three are neither dark nor light. They are something else entirely. But you are right: I don’t want them or their magic to spend much time in my house.”

“I don’t use any magic,” Helen said. “You don’t need to be afraid of what I’ll bring into your house. And even though I’m a small, weak, non-magical human, Yann isn’t too proud to ask for my help. I know a little of your world and a little of mine, and
that combination has worked so far. Please let me search for something, anything, which will undo the magic that’s killing Yann.”

Petros frowned. “What can you do?”

Helen had no idea, but she had to try. “Yann values my help, and you know the old legends say magical quests are more successful with a human involved. Rather than letting me leave safely to respect his memory, let me come through in respect for our friendship.”

“Petros,” hissed the young centaur, “she wants to find out our secrets. She may even have led Yann into that trap so she could get through our defences.”

Helen laughed. “No one can lead Yann anywhere! He got himself into this, so why not use his methods to get him out? Let his friends try to solve this.”

Petros scowled and looked at the low sun. “You are persistent. I have no more time to argue. I will let you see Yann, so you’ll realise there is nothing you can do for him, then perhaps you will stop pestering us. But you will walk to my home. No human rides on my back.”

“That’s fine,” Helen agreed. She didn’t want to get any closer to him.

“We should blindfold her,” said the dappled centaur.

“Why? To hide our secret grass and our confidential heather? Don’t be daft, Epona. She is here as my guest, so stay out of her way if you can’t be polite to her. Xanthos and Tolemy, escort this human to my house at her own pace.” Petros looked straight at Helen. “I do this for my son. If you betray him, I will
not stop Epona silencing you in her own way.”

He galloped off, Epona still arguing at his side. Helen followed, flanked by two bay centaurs, neither of whom were as tall as Petros, but both bigger than Yann.

After five minutes trudging, the centaur on her right spoke. “Is it true Yann lets you ride on his back?”

“Em. Yes. But only in emergencies,” she said. Though nowadays, an emergency was any time Yann couldn’t be bothered waiting for her to walk.

“That’s disgusting,” said the other centaur. “I hope he washes afterwards.”

“Why do you all hate humans so much?” Helen asked.

“Why not? You cut down trees, and plant factories and shopping centres. You scar the land with roads and railways, and you poison rivers and seas.”

Helen shrugged. “We don’t all do that.”

“What do you do to stop it then?”

“What do
you
do to stop it?” she snapped back. “Apart from hide behind that invisible barrier?”

After that, no one spoke as they walked across the moor.

Helen had always imagined Yann’s home as a mix between a stable and a barracks, so she was surprised when they came over a ridge to see his father’s house ahead of her.

It looked like a model out of an ancient history project. White stone, tall columns, flights of wide steps, and statues of centaurs and other fabled beasts round a fountain at the front.

Helen ran through the garden, up the stairs and into the villa. Then she followed the sound of subdued voices towards a bright warm room opening off the back corner of a large hall.

There was a gathering of fabled beasts beside the fireplace. Helen moved closer to see what they were all looking at.

It was Yann, on a low couch, with a dressing on his chest, and a face so white and still he could be another statue.

Gathered round the centaur were his friends. The friends Helen had hoped she might see: Rona, Lavender, Catesby and Sapphire, whose scaly head was poking through a window.

And others she hadn’t expected:

Tangaroa, his black hair and blue tattoos gleaming;

Sylvie, crouched in her wolf form at Yann’s head;

Lee, already holding his hand out to Helen.

Everyone was here. To say goodbye.