Michael Manning - Mageborn - The Blacksmith’s Son

The day had dawned bright and full of promise, as spring days are wont to do. The rains had been especially heavy that year, my sixteenth year, but they had ended a few days ago and the whole world seemed alive and shining. The sun was warm while the air still held a crisp chill left over from winter. All in all it seemed a terrible waste to be cooped up in the smithy with my father. I suspect that is why my mother sent me out to look for herbs. She had always been kind and I think even then she knew my youthful spirit was too large to be bounded by the orderly confines of the smithy. So it was with a spring in my step and a wicker basket in my hands that I went out to explore the fields and woods near our home. I knew the area well of course, but I enjoyed every chance I got to roam about, and I knew my mother wouldn’t expect me back very soon.

I spent the morning roaming about the fields, picking a variety of greens and dandelions that I knew my mother liked to use in her cooking, but as noon neared I decided to venture down to the river in search of angelica, a medicinal herb. I had no notion of what I would find there that day. I passed through a heavily wooded area that was close to the Glenmae River. The land rose up before reaching the river, so I was still unable to see the banks when I heard the sound of a horse in distress. The horse was blowing and nickering loudly, with a pitch that indicated it was full in the throes of panic. If you have spent much time around horses you probably have an idea what I mean. I immediately broke into a run, youthful daydreams forgotten. I still don’t regret what I did that day, but looking back I wonder how things might have turned out if I had taken a different path and avoided the river.

Coming over the rise I saw a young man about my own age standing at the bank of the river, swearing loudly at the surging waters. I suppose it might be more correct to say he stood at the ‘new’ bank of the river, for it appeared that a large portion of what had been the bank had been swept away, undercut by the rushing water. I still could not see the horse, but the boy I knew, for he was my best friend, Marcus. Even at this distance I could see his face was white with fear. Within half a minute I had reached him, and though I shook his shoulder he looked at me blankly, as if he didn’t know me. It took him a moment to recognize me and collect his wits enough to speak coherently, “Mort!” I should probably mention at this point that my name is Mordecai, but most of my friends at this age had taken to calling me ‘Mort’. “I’ll never get her out of there Mort! She’s going to die and it’s my fault!”

The ‘she’ he was referring to was his father’s prized mare, Dawnstar, although we just called her Star. She was a beautiful roan, with a star-like blaze on her forehead. She was also one of the most expensive acquisitions in his father’s large stable of horses. His father, the Duke of Lancaster had bought her expressly for her bloodline, to improve his own stock, for she came from a famous line of racehorses. I was sure that Marcus wasn’t supposed to be riding her, but little things like rules rarely stopped my friend when he had a notion to do something.

It was easy to guess at the rough details of what had happened. He had ridden her close, to watch the river as it raced along. He had gotten off and led her close to the bank, as the mare had enough sense to balk at being ridden so close to the roaring water. That was when disaster struck. The weakened river bank had collapsed under the weight of the horse, and while Marcus had managed to scramble back out of the way, the mare had not been so lucky. She was trapped in the river, struggling to keep her head above the water. The torrent had swept her up against a fallen tree where she was trapped, unable to climb up the steep muddy bank. Star’s panicked cries wrenched at my heart as she desperately strove to keep her head above water.

Without thinking I began scrambling down the slippery embankment, trying to get close. It should be readily apparent that my thinking at this point was not clear as there was no possible way I could free the trapped horse. The crumbling bank was steep and narrow at the water’s edge, which would make it impossible to get the horse out of the water, even if I were strong enough to accomplish such a thing. At the moment she was near to being swept under the lower edge of the fallen oak, which would lead to a swift drowning as she would most likely be caught in the large limbs dipping into the water. Still I approached her without a clear plan, drawn by her plight.

“Mort! You’re gonna get yourself killed!” Marcus was usually the more reckless of the two of us, but today he was showing a lot more intelligence than I seemed to possess. “Get back up here before I have to explain your death as well!” For a moment I considered his words, and I realized he was right. I started to turn, to make my way back, common sense finally overcoming my foolishness, but then I met Star’s eyes. That was when my life changed. That was the moment that swept everything before it aside and set me, and my friends on a course that we could never turn back from. The historians would have much less to write about if I had not looked into that frightened mare’s eyes.

At this point I’m not sure how to describe what I experienced. Probably some of you who read this have been through moments of crisis and felt the surge of emotions that sweep over you in an instant, the timeless moment of clarity in which you can think a thousand things in the blink of an eye. This was one of those moments, and as I looked into that noble creature’s eyes I felt as if a window into my own soul had opened. My world shrank, until it contained nothing, nothing at all but Star and myself. Her eyes were wild with fear and her breathing was loud as her lungs heaved, despite the rushing water. My own body seemed light and insubstantial, and soon I lost all sensation of it, falling into her gaze. Now there was only Star, and Mordecai was gone, as if he had never existed. My body and indeed my very ‘self’ were no more, everything had been replaced. I should rephrase that, my body still existed, but it was different now, much heavier and it was cold. I could feel my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst from my chest. I was mostly submerged in the cold river, and I could feel it chilling me, sapping my strength as it pushed me against the tree, drawing me downward with an inexorable pull.

I could see a young man on the river bank, slowly sinking down, like a puppet with its strings cut. He was slipping into the water as well, and I wondered who he was. I fought to stay above the water and in my desperation I had one clear thought. If I just had something firm to stand upon, I might be able to get myself up and out of that freezing water. My hands hit something hard, next my feet found it as well and I began to rise. Stepping up I found something else solid to stand on and I began to walk out of the river. As I emerged my hands felt strange and looking down I realized they were now hooves. That seemed rather silly, since I was quite sure I wouldn’t be able to climb up the embankment without hands, so instead I walked up the river until I came to a place where the bank rose at a gentler slope and I chose that spot to walk out.

Looking back I saw a second man, and I recognized him. It was Marcus, and he was dragging the other boy out of the river and back up the embankment, although he wasn’t having much success. The mud was steep and crumbling; it would be impossible for him to carry the other person back up it. Instead he was trying to get under the stranger and push him up and over the edge where it had crumbled away. It was obvious that he would never be able to get him up high enough so I decided to help him. Walking up the rise I got close to the edge and looked over at him struggling with the young man’s limp body. He pushed him up again and since my hands seemed to be useless, I stretched my head down and grabbed the teen by the collar, using my teeth. Had my neck always been this long? Pulling back I got him awkwardly onto the grass and dragged him until I was sure the ground was firm.