The Island Stallion Races (9 page)

“Jay!”
Flick said, horrified. “You wouldn’t make a trip, even a short one! You
couldn’t
. Why, Julian would be furious!”

“Julian needn’t know,” Jay answered quietly. He turned back to Steve. “Where was it?”

Steve said finally, “Cuba … Havana, Cuba.”

“Oh, yes,” Jay said. “See, Flick, it wouldn’t take any time at all. Julian wouldn’t know, would he, Flick? After
all, there are some things that don’t need to be reported to him. Your side excursion on Mao, for example.”

Flick’s face was as taut as stretched wire; he said nothing.

They walked a few strides more, and then Jay grabbed Steve by the arm excitedly. “Why don’t you and Flame come too, Steve?
You can race him!
That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? We’d have plenty of room in the ship.”

Steve could not have told how long he stood there in astonished, numbed silence. His only recollection of time afterward was hearing the sudden rush of Flame’s hoofs. The stallion was coming up from behind them, his ears flat against his head, his eyes bright with anger at sight of Jay and Flick.

Steve ran toward Flame.

The red stallion slowed when Steve appeared between him and the men, but he did not stop. He swerved to one side and went on, his nostrils flared, lips pulled back.

Steve tried to swerve with his horse but tripped in his hurried, frantic plunge and went down hard upon his hands and knees. Picking himself up, he turned around. He was about to call to Flame when the sound died quickly on his lips.
Jay and Flick were nowhere to be seen!

Meanwhile Flame had swept into the wild cane, seeking the men who had escaped him once before! His loud snorts shattered the stillness and his tall body cut great swaths in the waving field of green. He refused to give up his search, galloping in winding paths that took him back and forth through the cane.

Steve watched in silence, knowing that Flame’s search was futile. His stallion was no match for Jay and Flick, any more than he was. Where had they gone, and how? Were they even now somewhere within that field of cane and, if so, in what form? Hadn’t Jay said,
“We learned long ago to change from one shape to another. It’s simply a matter of taste and convenience at the time.”

Turning his gaze skyward, Steve saw the two birds circling above the dome of Azul Island. He thought of the blue feathers of one, of the high-crested head and the splash of white. He thought of the other’s brown mottled back, the long beaked bill, the bit of red on the head and the black mark beneath the bill. And then he sat down on the grass and successfully pictured Jay and Flick.

While Steve sat there, occupied with his thoughts, Flame came up and stood beside him. He was alert and ready to fight in the boy’s defense. But he saw and heard nothing, even though he remained with Steve for some time.

Steve felt a tongue licking his forehead. He could tell it was not Flame’s for there was no affection in the motion, only an eagerness to lick the salty beads of perspiration that covered his face and matted his hair.

He rolled over on the grass and at once the suckling foal ran to its mother and stood behind her large, protective body. “Come, Princess,” Steve called softly to the mare.

The mare had been gray but was now white with age. Her body was heavy and sagging but there was nothing aged about her head. It was still small and fine and beautiful.

She was the oldest of all the mares, and for this reason Steve regretted having named her “Princess.” She was more a queen, a proud dowager queen, and the filly by her side would probably be her last. But it was too late to change her name now for she knew it so well. Unlike the other mares, she would come at once in answer to his call, just as she was doing now.

When the white mare reached him she lowered her head so he might rub it. After a minute or two of this Steve rose to his knees, fondling the soft muzzle with the bristling hairs. “Good girl,” he said. “Good old girl.”

Flame stopped his grazing to watch them but stayed away.

Softly Steve stroked the mare, his fingers finding spots that gave her much pleasure and contentment to have scratched because she could not reach them herself. She lowered her head still more so he might rub behind her small ears. He held her close. It was good to be wanted, to be needed.…

He looked beyond the mare to the suckling filly, who stood quietly in the shadow of her mother’s big body. Cautiously the filly peered at him from beneath the mare’s tail, her eyes big and fuzzy in her curiosity and shyness. He called to her, “Come, little Princess.”

The foal pricked up her small, furry ears at the sound of his voice, and remained so as he continued talking to her. The white mare nickered for more attention and shoved her head against his chest. Steve continued rubbing the mare but he spoke only to the filly. Finally she moved to her mother’s side, her slender neck and head stretched out, trying to reach him without coming any closer. Her soft, large eyes gazed intently into his own; there was no wavering, no fear … just a girlish shyness. Her mother was accepting him, loving him, but the filly was still uncertain and very, very cautious.

Finally the filly took another step closer, her thin muzzle stretched out and trembling. Steve made no attempt to touch her. He waited for her to come to him.
And at last the mole-soft nose was on his cheek, the lips moving, searching and finally nipping. He drew back a little, for her milk teeth were strong, and continued stroking the white mare. Now the filly moved eagerly forward to pull at his shirt. She did not want to be left out of things. When Steve scolded her for tearing his shirt she drew back but did not run off in alarm. Instead her eyes glittered naughtily and she renewed her nuzzling.

Steve patted them both for a long while, and then found his eyes turning often to Flame.

“Why don’t you and Flame come too, Steve? You can race him! That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? We’d have plenty of room in the ship.”

Jay’s words couldn’t be shrugged off as sheer folly! For how often had he dreamed of racing Flame? How many times had he taken him about the valley, pretending they were in a great race? Only yesterday morning he had pretended he was riding Flame at Havana. And Jay had known. How had he known? Where had he been? It was one thing to have Jay and Flick standing beside you, looking at you, knowing they were able to read every one of your thoughts. But it was something else to have them know so much when you were not even aware of their presence.

Steve remembered Flame’s winged tormentor, who had flown about him during the fast ride and then had narrowly escaped being trampled by the stallion’s powerful hoofs. Yes, Jay had been in the valley yesterday morning, and Flame had come close to destroying him.

Steve fondled the two heads in front of him, one so mature and wise, the other so young and eager. A cold
wind was blowing and yet he was perspiring freely. He thought of everything Jay and Flick had told him, and then he said aloud, “It can’t be true!” But inside, where Jay had said it counted most, he knew it was all very true and that he had accepted Jay and Flick and the world from which they had come.

“I know they’re from a distant planet,” he thought. “Is that so fantastic, when we’ve been told of the possibility of there being other peoples, other worlds in a universe so great it defies description? Therefore, I accept what they’ve told me of their world of Alula. I accept their world as being far older, far more advanced than my own. I accept Jay and Flick from that world, not as deadly, threatening enemies to our very existence, but as good and kind friends touring other worlds in much the same manner as we visit other states and countries. I accept all this, and having accepted it I have nothing to fear except what I’ve learned to fear in my own world.”

Later that afternoon Steve got pencil and paper and sat down to write. Quickly he made notes of Jay and Flick and the ship, of everything he had been told, everything he had felt. He tried to believe that this was but another account of his life in Blue Valley … one that would follow in sequence the records he had hidden away. Only the others were nothing like this, nothing in this world could … He stopped writing, looked at the sky and repeated aloud,
“Nothing in this world.”

He had no chance to turn back to his notes just then, for a voice suddenly asked, “What are you writing, Steve?”

Jay was standing on the trail.

“You know what I’m writing, Jay,” Steve said. “Why do you ask?”

The man chuckled. He came within the cave to join Steve, but he did not look at the papers. “It’s more polite and sociable to ask, Steve,” he answered. “After all, if we can’t
talk
to each other …” He stopped, paused a moment and then went on, “You’re becoming quite the historian, aren’t you?”

Steve turned back to his notes. “Do you mind my writing about you?” His voice was steady. He wanted to know.

“Of course not,” Jay answered. “Flick might raise the very roof if he knew, but not I. It’s nice to keep records, Steve, and to write a little every day. I know because I do some writing myself. Straight fiction, though, nothing historical. History bores me. Much too factual.”

“Then you’re not afraid that people might read this someday?”

Jay laughed loudly, his voice reverberating within the close confines of the cave. “Why no, Steve,” he finally said. “Who’d believe it? Take this from an old hand, Steve, it’s difficult to get people to stretch their imaginations very far. They say ‘it just isn’t so,’ and it ends there. It would be that way with this.”

Jay walked to the ledge and stood there for a moment, his eyes roaming over the valley. “If I know Flick, he’ll have missed me by now. Should be on his way. He’s such an old fuss-budget, afraid to leave me alone a minute.… My, your Flame is a beauty, Steve!” he went on excitedly. “Just look at him go out there! I’ve never seen better action … as slick as light, I’d say! I do hope you’ve given more thought to that little trip I suggested
this morning. We’d have a time, all right!” He re-entered the cave, his eyes searching Steve’s.

“I won’t take Flame away from the valley,” Steve said, afraid for his horse. “Nothing you can do will make me.”

“Oh, I know that, all right, Steve. Even if I could, I wouldn’t make you do anything you didn’t
want
to do. I was only suggesting that since you’ve had it in mind to race Flame for so long you just might take advantage of my being here and go to it.”

“I was only pretending, dreaming,” Steve said.

“Dreams are fine.” Jay smiled. “Nothing wrong with them at all. They very often lead to the real thing.”

Steve felt the heavy throbbing of his temples. He tried to look at Jay and couldn’t. His notes fell to the floor and he didn’t bother to pick them up.

“Oh, you
want
to race Flame, all right,” Jay said. “No doubt about that. I believe what’s troubling you is that you’re afraid people will find out where Flame is from. That’s silly, Steve. I promise you no one will learn your secret. After all, I have had a great deal of experience in that sort of thing.”

Steve glanced up at Jay. He was no match for this man. It was like arguing with oneself. And he’d give so much to race Flame. If only …

“That’s the boy, Steve,” Jay said. “Just leave all the details to me. Just relax. Now what bothers me most is that Flame may not be as fast as I think he is. After all, I’ve been away from the races a long time, as you pointed out to me only yesterday. The horses must be very speedy these days, especially with their riders using the crouch seat.”

As Steve said nothing Jay went on, “I realize you’re no professional jockey but certainly you’ve seen them go?”

It was a question, not a statement. So there
were
some things Jay still didn’t know about him! “I’ve watched them race a few times,” he admitted.

“And Flame is faster?” Jay prodded eagerly. “After all, we wouldn’t want to go to the work of getting him there and then have him
lose
the race. It would be a terrible disappointment for both of us.”

Steve had no time to answer for at that moment Flick, puffing hard from his climb up the trail, entered the cave.

“What’s ailing you, Jay?” Flick asked angrily. “I’ve never known your conduct to be worse than it’s been today! I turn my back a few minutes and you’re …”

“Now, Flick,” Jay interrupted, “I just wanted to have another
private
little chat with Steve.”

Flick’s gaze shifted quickly to the boy and there was no lessening of the fury in his eyes. He wouldn’t be having all this trouble with Jay if it hadn’t been for Steve and that horse of his! He saw the notes on the floor and picked them up, his bright eyes running quickly down one page after another. Finally he put a match to them, and when the papers were afire he dropped them on the ground, stepping on the charred fragments with his small, brilliantly polished shoes.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Flick,” Jay admonished softly.

“Were you …?” Flick sputtered and began again, “You weren’t going to stand idly by and let him make use of those notes!” he shouted.

“What harm would come of it, Flick? No one would ever believe what he’s written.” Jay paused, and his face and voice contained only a disturbing sadness. “But the point I’m trying to make, Flick, is that you have just destroyed something which belonged to Steve and that he prized very highly. What are you going to do about it? How are you going to make amends?”

Again Flick had trouble finding his voice. “What … What am
I
going to do about it? You have the colossal nerve …”

“Ah, Flick. Be careful what you say now,” Jay cautioned even more quietly. “You must remember our ironclad policy,
never to show anything but sympathy and understanding toward the people we visit
. And most important, as you very well know, is never to hurt them one bit by word or action. You’ve hurt Steve dreadfully. Hasn’t he, Steve?”

Steve straightened in his chair. He didn’t even look at the charred remains that had been his notes. It didn’t matter. Neither Flick nor Jay could destroy his memory, and he would always remember. Or would they see to that too?