The Conquering King

I and the brook horse eyed each other as we danced the slow dance of seduction to see who would conquer who. Neither took our eyes off the other. I saw laughter in the beast’s eyes. I knew it was a brook horse and knew what it will do if I get on it’s back. I had no intentions of getting on it’s back. I noticed the slightly faded spots on each side.

It’s said the spots to be portals to another world. I didn’t care about another world. All I care about was finishing this field so I could meet with my clan, my friends. My friend Cearbhall was waiting so that we may practice our swording.

The river horse tossed its beautiful white mane which fluttered in the wind like a mast made of hair. It slowly but gracefully flicked a white tail that trailed on the ground. The noble horse pranced for the boy to show him how beautiful he is. The boy, however, knew that it was the brook horse and pretended ignored that fact.

The well-tone, teakwood complexioned young man of seventeen winters knew he was courting trouble. In response, he tossed his own long thick versicolored hair to show the horse he is equally as beautiful of his own species. Humans. He trained his mischievous, slightly luminous sapphire and earth tone speckled eyes on the beautiful beast, delivering a devilish grin, daring the brook horse to come closer if it had the courage. The horse neighed in agreement.

The brook horse came closer and closer and finally he was so close that he could nudge the boy’s flowing mane. The boy quickly grabbed the brook horse’s mane and harnessed it with the bridle he removed from his own shoulders and cried, “I got you! You’ll have to plow for me. I’m tired of pulling this damn plow.”

As soon as he said this, the brook horse started ploughing the field with such speed that sent soil and stones whirled in its wake, the boy hung on like a unripe cherry to a blossoming tree. He refused to let go of the plough. He couldn’t let go. The horse pulled the plow faster and faster. Faster than times he ran races for his village of Norshires. He saw his mother and the man who knew as his father, his entire family headed toward them. They were all running down to the riverside screaming at him to let go.To turn the handle aloose.

“Leig Ailil air falbh! Is e each sruth a tha sin!” his mother frantically screamed. His younger siblings were screaming and crying. His stepfather, Buach tried to grab the rein but the horse flew pass him knocking him to the soft plowed ground.

He couldn’t let go. He tried prying his hands loose for the damn horse was dragging him like a beggar’s rag. Broken sticks and rocks flew backward-beating him in the face and head. One rock landed a serious blow to his face, blackening his eye.

When the ploughing was finished, the brook horse broke in full gallop, headed for the river, dragging both the plough and the boy behind. His mother, tried to grab it’s tail but it tossed her aside with a mere flick of it long white tail. His younger siblings stood afar crying for they had no idea what to to. By now, his prank has alarmed the entire village of Norshires who was outside watching. Many who had watched the dance were saying had the boy done as his parents instructed him this calamity wouldn’t be befalling my family.

At the edge of the river, the horse made a mighty skyward, soaring leap, splashing hard into the waters dragging me with it.

I and the wooden plow was adhered to it. The brook horse hit the chilly waters so hard it nearly knocked me unconscious. I tried holding my breath as the fiendish beast walked the river bottom toward a herd of nixies awaiting it.

His eyes adjust to the new surrounding. A place he has swum since he was a tyke but never this deep into the forge of the river dug by nature long ago. The river horse hooves kicks up the loose sandy bottom as it now walked with ease as it towed him and his plough behind. They both floated like phantoms of the nights.

Floating pass him in the murky greenish water is life. Small life of greenery and animals moved slowly before his face while others dart and skirmish. Here he’s weightless, quietly moving just above the river’s floor with only the smallest amount of physical exertion. Small fish, worms, and oysters come out of their holes to look at him. They are the curiosity as to why is he here? He’s the one thing that does not belong at the bottom of the river.

His lungs were burning, feeling as thus bursting. He struggled harder to escape the plows. His hands were attach leading him to a watery grave beneath the river. He’d reach his lung’s capacity, un-exhaled gas bubbles are sending him into the early stage of strangulation. His lungs forced him exhaled, frantically he did. His young life flashed before his eyes. He saw his sister’s laughing freckled face, his little brother’s teasing smile, his mother’s kind, loving eye, and his stepfather’s serious face all floated by as the demon horse pulled him to his watery grave. He sadly resigned, prepared to die. His heart ached that he will never get to say good-bye to those he loved. But he didn’t die. He exhaled and inhaled, looked around astonished that he could breathe underwater. Were his father a Merman or Mermen? Is that’s the secret of his origin his mother refuse to reveal?