__The Bird Bone Flute__part 8
By Blackmare



The wolf had not returned when Giles woke the next morning. He stood drinking his tea at the front door he'd left open overnight and cautiously reached inward. The quiet presence was still with him, as it had been each time he had checked yesterday afternoon, through the evening, and before drifting into sleep. He'd discovered that this connection paradoxically made him miss her physical presence more even as it reassured him that she would certainly return. It had been so many years since he'd actually longed to seen any particular person that he found the sensation difficult to manage. It made him restless, resentful of the time that stretched between the present moment and the moment he would be with her again.

Giles found it ironic that, the first time in his life he'd had such a delectable bibliographic task in so exquisite and private a setting, he should find himself longing for her company even if it took him away from the work he loved. He also knew that she actually was the most significant part of what he'd come here to accomplish, so time spent with her entirely legitimate. If she'd been here. Which she wasn't. So he really ought to get on with the day.

Years of subjecting himself to the Council's agenda and to the demands of academic research gave him all the self discipline he needed to maintain his focus. But, in the second paradox of the day - that made two before breakfast, a personal best - those same years on such a tight lead had distilled a very volatile resentment that needed just a small spark from his fiercely independent spirit to detonate.

The breeze shifted, coming up the valley from a field where someone was cutting late season hay. He heard a lark, and another lark answered. Fine. Get out into the day for a while, burn off some of the restlessness, and settle down later. Giles grabbed his wallet and the letters he'd written last night, and set off down the track toward the village. Thank goodness there was no one around to see him grinning or to remark on the spring in his stride as he turned down the long slope and took in the splendid sweep of green hills and stone walls. He started humming.

By the time he arrived at the bakery for baps and a bottle of milk he was in an excellent mood. The walk had shaken out the last of the kinks he'd grown while sitting at the table working and he was pleased to discover that he wasn't sore after the hills in yesterday's run. He had just dropped his letters into the slot when James came into the post office.

"Good morning, Rupert, you're looking well," the tall man said, extending his hand. Giles took it, glad to see him.

"Thanks, I'm settling in." James tilted his head to ask if they could step outside for a moment, and Giles followed him.

"So, I gather you two are getting on, then?" he asked quietly, smiling.

"Yes," and Giles was astonished to find himself blushing slightly, "yes, we certainly are. We, uh, went for a run together yesterday. Really marvelous."

"The best way to see the local wildlife, to be sure."

"Indeed. It's like she's got deputies reporting in."

"That's exactly what it is. You'll see the ravens often, and the foxes. She has to go find the badgers to collect their news. When you're out with her like that you really see that she's here for them, for the whole of the land. We benefit from her being here, but we're just one part of what she was given to guard."

"I got to see her in action," Giles grinned.

"Really?" James looked suddenly serious.

"Yeah, she brought down this thing that looked birdlike but sure wasn't native to this world. About this big," he indicated the wingspan with his hands, "with spines in its feathers, and a toothy snout. What was it?"

James' eyebrows shot up.

"I have no idea. I've never seen her kill anything. There hasn't, as far as we've been able to tell, been anything for her to kill for over a hundred years." He paused, raking his hand through his thin hair. "Obviously we don't know how she spends her time, and I haven't been able to ramble around with her for several years, but I do keep a pretty close eye on things. I think she'd have brought it to my attention if the gate was active again."

"I see. Well, this thing came from somewhere. The rooks drove it to her and she ambushed it."

"Wish I'd seen that," James said wistfully.

"It was bloody marvelous. The thing just melted away in a few minutes, though, or I'd have it to show you."

"The diaries all mention that. I think it must be hard for creatures from elsewhere to maintain bodies here. When the spirit dies, the physical remains just can't hold together."

"Do you recall any mention of this kind of bird thing?"

"No, not offhand. There are whole ecologies on the other side of the gate, I think. There are small lives, animals, if you will, that probably drift through by accident and don't know how to get home. Then there are the sentient ones who come through deliberately. The scribes at the abbey tried to record everything they could, so you might find something, but I've been through the lot pretty carefully and your description doesn't ring any bells."

"I can send a note off to a friend whose got quite a library. I'll phrase it as a generic inquiry and see what she comes up with."

"That would be a very good idea," James met his eyes and Giles could see worry there. "It would be a very serious thing if the gate gets active just now."

"Couldn't she just stay? And what about the changes in the river valley and so forth?" Giles asked.

"We really have no idea if the lake and the dam will have much effect. And no, I don't think she can stay. When she came to me to ask for help I got the distinct impression that she was being sent further west for a reason by someone she could not refuse. She has to leave. I think she's needed elsewhere."

"I see. That does complicate matters."

"Could you look into this for us?" James asked. "If the traffic resumes we're going to need to develop some kind of local protection before we leave."

"Indeed. Yes, I will. I'll keep you informed." They were both quiet for several moments.

"On a lighter subject," Giles began, "does she, you know, eat? Do you have to feed her or anything when she's around?"

"No, not really. I don't entirely know how it works, but I've never known her to hunt for herself, and she only seems interested in little tidbits here and there, clearly for pleasure and not for sustenance. In fact, her physical presence has been a bit of a mystery to everyone, regardless of the form she's in."

"How so?"

"Well, as a wolf she's solid and warm and breathes and so forth, but doesn't seem to have much in the way of corporeal needs. And those who have seen her as a woman - as least those who wrote about it - didn't touch her. Several describe her as being translucent. She was when I saw her."

"But I had this dream where she was in human form, and wounded -"

"And lived in a village, and had a daughter."

"Yes."

"A green-eyed daughter."

"I didn't get such a close look, there was a lot happening."

"That green-eyed daughter had three daughters and a son," James said softly. He cocked his head at Giles, his expression very intent. "Two of those daughters and the son grew up and had children of their own. Several of them, though not all, had green eyes, living among blue-eyed people."

"I don't understand. How do you know this?"

"She's watched over them for generations. She shared a few of them with me in dreams."

"She has descendents?"

"Yes."

"Still?"

"Yes."

"But it's been how long?"

"Well, if you take the standard demographic definition of a generation as twenty years, then about a hundred generations, I think, although I don't know very precisely the years she lived in the village."

"Genealogies get pretty diffuse over that kind of time scale."

"They do."

"So it seems rather far-fetched to say that she still has any direct descendents."

"In any other case, I'd agree with you."

"But not this one. Why?"

"Something she brought to that line has endured. She can tell, and the locals, especially the ones with deep roots of their own, they can usually tell."

"Do you know any of these people?" Giles asked.

"Yes, I do."

"I would sure like to meet them."

"I expect something can be arranged," James said, giving him a peculiar smile.

"I'd be really grateful. You've got my curiosity all fired up - which it was already, of course. But this is quite a remarkable thing. Celestial genetics." Giles grinned, "Who knew?"

"I'm not sure the genetics are exactly celestial, since she did bear that child while in human form. But yes, I get your point, and given the way the characteristics of that line have persisted, I would suspect you might have something worth investigating." James shifted slightly and Giles realized they'd been there quite some time.

"Thanks for that. I know you're busy, but I'm at your disposal, whenever you can set something up." He reflected for a moment, then added, "Would Joseph be up for a conversation in the next day or so?"

"He's expecting you. Any morning this week would be fine, just stop by."

"Some of the, um, spiritual work that he predicted seems to have come up."

"That's good. Please, Rupert," James laid a hand on his arm, "let it happen. You will never have this kind of opportunity again. Believe me, I know."

"I do believe you. I just have to screw the ol' courage to the sticking point."

"Whenever you're ready, then." James stepped back, then stopped himself. "One more thing. Amos says that Sam Saxford has invited you 'round to see the horses. You should go. Sam's a man worth meeting."

"Is he --?" Giles started.

"No, he's not. A fairly recent addition to the neighborhood. He's only been here twenty-two years."

"Ah. But good horses, you say?"

"Amazing horses. Go. Enjoy. No one belongs indoors on a day like today."

"Then I shall go. Thanks, James, for everything."

"See you soon, Rupert." And the monk spun gracefully away and strode off to complete his own errands.

Giles headed back up to the cottage to get his riding gear, delight rising in him at the prospect of being around horses again.

"You'd be Rupert Giles, then," the slender man wiped his grimy hands on a large handkerchief before extending his right one. "I'm Sam Saxford. Brother Amos said you were giving them a spot of help with their move. He thought you ought to take in a bit of clean air while you're up here."

"Yes, thank you," Giles said, suitably impressed by the man's firm handshake. Saxford was middling height, standing poised but calm in worn doeskin breeches and working boots. "I had hoped to do a spot of hacking if that's possible." Saxford looked him over, getting a sense of his height and bearing.

"How much riding have y'done, then?"

"My parents started me Pony Club at six. My mother was very keen on eventing, but wasn't able to pursue it much once I was born. Back problems. But she and I did quite a bit of hacking out and I did compete in junior hunter divisions."

"And recently?"

"Well, I did get in some riding after university. But I can't honestly say that I'm in good form just now. My, uh, sporting activities have taken other directions for several years."

"Such as?"

"Well, there's fencing, several different martial arts forms, running, a bit of rugby when we can throw together a team, that sort of thing."

"That's quite a mix," Saxford raised an eyebrow.

"I'm in an odd line of work," Giles replied courteously, though in a tone that did not invite additional inquiry. Saxford smiled.

"Retired special ops, myself," he said, gesturing toward the stables with his chin. "Let's just get a sense of where you are then we'll consider some kind of arrangement. My niece and her husband are usually here to help me, but they're off buying youngsters for the next several weeks and there are several animals that aren't getting as much exercise as they need."

Giles followed Saxford across the groomed gravel yard and around behind the barns that overlooked several large grass paddocks.

"Go fetch in that fellow down there," he said, pointing down the hill to a stocky white horse dozing in the morning sun, his head drooping and one hind hoof cocked delicately on the turf. "There are cross ties in the aisle at this end of the barn, and a cupboard with the grooming gear. His bridle and saddle are in the tack room under the label 'Regalo'. I've got some chores to finish, but I'll look in on you."

"Right," Giles nodded and started down the hill toward his charge. He noted that, in keeping with the solemn precepts of all white horses, this one had located the boggiest corner of his pasture and availed himself of it, transforming himself into a rather peaty piebald, liberally decorated with small twigs and bits of dry grass. Giles stopped at the gate, picked up the lead rope, and stood quietly studying the horse who ears had casually noted his approach although the animal did not bother to look up at him. The horse was sturdily built, with a long, straight face, tremendous cannon bones and large feet. His neck, even at rest, had a muscular arch; his shoulders and haunches were beautifully rounded by fitness. Just like the horses in Leonardo's sketchbooks, Giles thought, wondering what breed could combine this antique elegance with such obvious power.

"Good morning, handsome," he said softly as he stepped through the gate and latched it behind him. The horse's head came up and the two regarded each other from a polite distance. The horse nodded at him and took a step forward. Giles accepted the invitation and walked slowly up to the animal's left side. He held out a hand, palm upward, and waiting a few feet away for the horse to reach out and sniff him delicately. Then he stepped up beside to the horse's shoulder, reached over, and slid his hand gently along that strong neck. The horse bent his head down and around toward Giles and exhaled softly. Giles breathed back at him, then slowly reached forward and clipped the lead onto the head collar.

"Shall we go on, then," he asked softly and the horse moved right up beside him as they headed for the gate. He secured the horse in the cross ties and set to work with the currycomb, gently at first in case the fellow was ticklish. But he quickly put his back and shoulder into it as the horse stretched out his neck and twitched his upper lip back and forth in delight. Giles hummed happily to himself as he swept circles along the neck, down the length of the broad back and over the firm rump, stopping for a few moments to work on areas that the animal particularly enjoyed. Being this close to a horse again after so many years felt marvelous. Giles remembered how the calm presence of a horse could soothe him, gently drawing him away from the noisy traffic of his intellect and into the steady, cleansing current of wordlessness. He was working his way along the barrel and belly when he realized this was a stallion, not a gelding.

"Well, aren't you the perfect gentleman," he said, working down the right side of the horse's hindquarters. In response, the horse swung his head around to fix Giles with one liquid brown eye and a knowing ear. There was no mistaking the humor and intelligence in that gaze.

After currying off the worst of the caked mud and stains, Giles went over the horse carefully with the stiffest brush, then two soft brushes, flicking away the vestiges of dirt with brisk strokes. He carefully picked out the hooves, admiring their health and shape and noting that this fellow hadn't worn shoes any time recently. He worked gently down the long face with a brush and the horse closed his eyes as Giles stroked the long, level nasal bones that swept down to the silken nostrils. Finally, Giles took out a large-toothed comb and carefully restored order to the heavy forelock, the curtain of mane, and the abundant tail, teasing out the cargo of leaf fragments, bits of bracken, and seed pods.

Stepping back to survey his work, Giles enjoyed the calm satisfaction of a job well done for appreciative audience. His own clothes were completely covered with dust and hair, but the stallion looked quite magnificent. On a whim, Giles stroked down the horse's face and slid his thumb into the horse's mouth. To his astonishment, the length of the front teeth told him that this animal was at least twenty years old. Giles made a grunt of surprise.

"Doesn't look a day over fifteen, does he?" Saxford said quietly behind him.

"How old is he?"

"You give me a guess after you've come to know him a bit better. Nice work, by the way. You do seem to know where reverence is due."

Giles grinned and stroked the stallion's withers.

"I'll just get him tacked up then." Saxford leaned up against the stable wall and silently watched Giles smooth the pad, position the dressage saddle, and secure the girth. When Giles hung the bridle in front of the long face the horse dropped his head and actually picked up the snaffle, holding it as Giles slipped the headstall over the shapely ears.

"He really enjoys his work, doesn't he?" Giles remarked.

"Yes, he does, though he doesn't get as much as he'd like these days. I'm too busy with the young stock this time of year."

Saxford turned and motioned him to follow, leading the stallion down the aisle and out of the barn to a well groomed sand arena. There was a mounting block at one end near a long bench for spectators. Sam settled himself on the bench while Giles led the horse in a short circuit of the ring, getting a sense of the footing. He stopped twice to take the girth up a few more notches, letting the stallion stretch and relax. Back at the mounting block, he adjusted the stirrup leathers, checked the bridle and girth once more, then turned to Saxford.

"Is there anything in particular I should to know about him?"

"Yes, but I'd rather see how you learn it from him. Stay open to suggestions, err on the side of subtlety, and you'll get along alright."

"Fair enough." Giles stepped up on the block, took up the reins, spoke gently to the horse, stepped aboard and settled himself. He stretched his long legs down, then drew his torso upward, freeing his spine and pelvis to follow the horse's motion. He closed his hands on the reins, reaching tactfully for the delicate answering pressure from the stallion's mouth.

There it was: exquisitely light, utterly attentive, perfectly steady. Giles relaxed into the saddle and gently squeezed his legs, asking the horse to move out. The stallion's back lifted beneath him and he set off at a very brisk walk, much faster than Giles wanted. The power in that compact white frame amazed him. No horse had ever carried him so effortlessly with so much additional energy evidently in reserve. He grinned in delight, then took a deep breath to center himself and felt the horse respond, shortening his stride and slowing to a more moderate pace. Halfway down the long side of the ring, Giles started to ask for a large circle into the center. The horse delivered it while it was still only an idea - Giles had not actually felt himself close the inside leg or tighten the rein, yet the horse somehow knew exactly what he wanted. He was so startled by this that he stiffened, and obligingly, the stallion stopped perfectly square and waited.

Oh my god, Giles thought. What in the world am I riding? I have no business being on this horse. Wow. He closed his eyes and sat as quietly as he could, breathing deeply, trying to drain the ever-present low level tension out of mind and let it flow down through his body, out of his heels and into the ground. Breathe in, breathe out. Stillness. Respect. Let him carry you, Giles thought, let him lead this dance. They stood this way for several minutes. Then Giles opened his eyes, laid one hand on the stallion's neck and said very softly. "Show me, beautiful, show me what to do."

One of the horse's ears flicked back and he nodded very slightly into the bit. Giles felt the horse shift his weight slightly back, ready to move the instant he had permission. Giles exhaled and thought about walking straight forward, and that is exactly what happened. As they approached the far side of the ring Giles imagined them bearing left, and the horse's body arched elegantly in that direction, straightening onto the track and moving confidently, alert for the next suggestion. Giles thought of a slow rising trot, and in the next stride found himself lifted neatly upward by the perfect rhythm of the horse's gait. The stallion's trot, like his walk, contained tremendous reserves of untapped power, a sense of being entirely ready, willing, and able to do anything. This horse had more balance and chi than the finest fighting master Giles had ever met, and the animal offered confidently to share that energy with his rider. The magnitude of that generosity, the rarity of it, kept taking Giles' breath away and he had to concentrate to keep himself supple, quiet, and responsive to his equine host. They moved into a sitting trot and did another circle, then a change of rein across the diagonal before stepping back down to a walk. As they came around the turn onto the long side again, Giles thought about how the horse would lift himself into a canter, and instantly the horse matched his thought, carrying them lightly along with the effortless joy of play. At the far end, Giles stilled himself and the horse curled inward like a gull stepping down out of the wind onto the sand, balance meeting stillness exactly. The horse exhaled sharply, obedient to his rider's request but clearly disappointed that they were stopping so soon. Giles released the reins and stroked the white shoulder.

"I cannot begin to do you justice, my dear. I am too far out of practice and you deserve better." Giles dismounted carefully, ran up the stirrups, and then led the stallion down the center of the ring to where Saxford sat waiting and watching on the bench. The older man stood when they arrived.

"I have never, ever, known such a horse," Giles said quietly, "my skills cannot begin to equal what he deserves."

"Ah, but you recognize that fact," Saxford smiled at him, "so we have a place to start." He moved up to the horse, who bent his head and laid his long face on the man's chest. Saxford reached up and gently took the stallion's ears in his hands, stroking them rhythmically. The horse sighed, closed his eyes, and leaned into the caress.

"I discovered these horses when I was stationed in Andalusia," he said. "Every chance I could I returned there to learn, and finally, to find such a horse and bring him home with me. We've been together for twenty years. He taught me more than I can ever say."

"How old is he, then?" Giles asked.

"Twenty-eight."

"How is that possible?"

"His confirmation is nearly perfect, so he's aged well, and the exercises of classical dressage keep him strong and supple. The idea is to allow the horse to develop to his own best potential. Beauty from fitness, a very simple idea."

"But not easy."

"Never easy for me anyway. But I am obligated to keep it easy for the horse. Little steps, ample kindness, and no fear or coercion, ever."

"I have never imagined that kind of relationship with a horse."

"You and lots of other people. Very few riders are willing to pay such a high price in patience and humility."

"So they don't get to see what's possible."

"Well, seldom, anyway. Especially in the UK. But I keep hoping folks'll get it." He was hugging the horse's head to his chest now, running his hands down the soft jaws. The stallion had one hind foot cocked, completely content.

"We're pretty fixated on the height of the jump, speed on the course, and bringing home those medals for Queen and country."

"Pretty small goals compared to the relationship of a lifetime," Saxford said, "but to each their own. And I am his. His very own."

"That's quite clear. Why on earth did you let me ride him?"

"Because I trust him completely. And he will show me everything I need to know about you, including important things I would miss myself."

"Such as?"

"Well, general things like how attentive you are; how much tact, patience, and kindness you have in you. Whether or not you can recognize a teacher when you find one, and accept what they offer. And specific things, unique to you, like how you carry yourself as if there was something dangerous inside that demands your constant attention or it'll escape."

"Excuse me?" Giles said sharply.

"It makes you very tense, although you do seem to be able to set that aside for a little while. You could calm yourself when he needed you to."

Giles just stared at him, not sure whether to be angry or afraid. Finally he said: "I've never heard it put quite that way."

"Horses see us exactly as we are. You cannot mask yourself and expect to keep their company."

"If they know us so well, why do they ever let us anywhere near them?"

"Now that's an abiding mystery of the universe, Mr. Giles," Saxford laughed, releasing the stallion's head. "Yet for some reason they do, and I am forever grateful."

"Indeed." Giles reached out to stroke the satin shoulder.

"So, would you like to see what he can do?" Saxford grinned at him.

"Would I ever!"

"Then you shall." Saxford adjusted the stirrups to fit his shorter legs, then stepped to the horse's head. Nonchalantly, he unbuckled the throatlach and cavasson, slid the bridle off the horse's head and handed it to Giles. The stallion shook out his forelock, bumped Saxford's belly with his nose, and looked entirely ready for whatever came next. The man vaulted lightly up and settled himself with his hands resting quietly on his upper thighs.

"Off we go then," and they pirouetted away from their astonished guest to canter down the center line, the man exquisitely at ease and flexible on the broad white back, the stallion clearly delighted to have his beloved's undivided attention.

At the far end of the ring they stepped down into a lovely passage, the round, floating trot that demands maximum collection and flexibility from the horse. Between each diagonal stride the horse inserted a moment of floating suspension so that their progress down the arena became a stately dance accompanied by the bright, jaunty banners of Regalo's mane and tail. As they turned to cross the ring in front of Giles, the horse maintained the same rhythm and pace but simply stopped moving forward, compacting the passage into a piaffe, the rare and elegant trot in place. Giles did not breathe for those precious strides, completely mesmerized by the play of muscles in the stallion's huge haunches and arched neck.

The horse met his eye with such joy and confidence that Giles felt tears coming to see an animal so deeply aware of himself and his partner. Sam's deep seat appeared at first to be utterly still, but Giles knew that to be an illusion created by the perfection of the man's balance and its exact placement in relation to the horse's own center.

From the piaffe they stretched forward into an extended trot, the stallion's forelegs reaching mightily forward as his hocks flexed deeply under his belly and propelled him along with great pistoning strides. Now, the period of suspension between hoofbeats had a completely different quality, more like the huge, sweeping wingbeats of some tremendous bird gliding low over the surface of the earth. They crossed the diagonal of the ring in a matter of eight or nine long strides, then Sam touched Regalo's neck and the horse gathered himself and lifted into a rocking canter.

They made a large circle at the far end of the arena and then set off across the diagonal, travelling at a forty-five degree angle to the left although the horse's body stayed parallel to the sides of the ring. At the centerline, the horse took a bounding stride, switched his leading legs, and came down travelling at the equivalent angle to the right for several strides, then he switched again, zig-zagging his way down the arena, always perpendicular to the side where Giles stood. They circled and started back down the center, and this time the horse changed leading legs every other stride so it looked as though he were skipping in time to music that only he and Sam could hear. Sam touched Regalo's neck lightly again, and the horse glided down to a perfect flat walk, stretched out his neck and shook his mane. They came down the far side toward Giles this way, simply at ease, the stallion's ears flickering to catch his rider's soft words.

Giles had never seen two beings of any species -- much less two such different species -- weave their wills so completely together. That this level of trust and communication could happen between a prey animal and a predator seemed almost surreal: the common ground where their minds met could only exist in the realm of profound mutual respect and love. Fear had never, ever been allowed to enter there, and all the power they had individually they shared with one another.

Regalo coasted right up to Giles, lifted his muzzle up to Giles' face and exhaled, his warm, sweet breath washing over the tear tracks there. Sam leaned forward and hugged the stallion's great neck, closing his eyes and looking for a moment like a man who knew perfect peace. Then the horse snorted a sticky spray down Giles' shirt and leaned down to scratch his nose on his knee. Sam grinned, slapped the white neck affectionately, and slipped lightly down.

"Regalo means 'gift'," Giles said quietly.

"Yes, it does," Sam answered, glancing over at his guest. He smiled to see the other man so moved.

"I have nothing to offer in return for what he - and you - have given me."

"Regalo thinks you do," Sam said while running up the stirrups and loosening the girth. "Why not come by tomorrow morning. I've got a filly who needs a bit of help, and you just might be the person to do it."

"I'd be honored. But I can't ride to the standard you do."

"This standard of riding is not what she needs just yet, so I don't think that will be a problem. About nine, then?"

"Yes. Absolutely. Shall I take care of His Grace, here?"

"No, thanks, I'd like some time with him myself."

"Right. Tomorrow it is, then," Giles extended his hand and Sam shook it. "Thank you again. Both of you -," he stroked Regalo's cheek "I won't ever think about riding the same way again. Or horses, for that matter."

"Be careful, Mr. Giles," Sam chuckled softly as he and the horse started walking toward the barn, "or you might find that insight spilling into all sorts of unexpected places."

"I shall exercise appropriate caution, then." Giles could not surpress a grin, "see you soon." He turned and made his way across the yard and down the drive, basking in the scent of sunlight on horses.

* * *