Birth of the Firebringer by Meredith Ann Pierce

Author:Meredith Ann Pierce
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fantasy, Young Adult, Childrens, Science Fiction
ISBN: 9780142500538
Publisher: Firebird
Published: 1984-12-31T05:00:00+00:00

The Renegade was not difficult to find. Spotted kites had begun to circle now. At home, in the Vale, Jan had seen the rites for the dead, how the fallen were laid upon the outer cliffs with forelegs extended, their heads thrown back, manes streaming and their hind legs kicked out behind. Nearing the spot where the dark birds circled, he told himself he would lay out the fallen mare and be back to noon camp before he could be missed.

Jan topped the gentle rise before the slope on which the Renegade and the pard that had felled her lay—then pitched to a halt, snorting, staring. Someone had been there before him, and whoever it was had been laying out the grasscat as well. The pard lay stretched now, paws folded, a Circle trampled in the grass all around—just as for a warrior.

Jan glanced about him, puzzled, and suddenly uneasy, wondering whom he had interrupted at the rites. He gave a whinny, then another, and listened. No answer came. The legs of the mare had been laid, but her head was not yet lifted. The Circle about her was only half complete. The shadows of the dark birds wheeled and floated over the grass.

He had no time to waste on wondering. Jan descended the slope. He took the young mare’s horn in his teeth—carefully, lest it prove brittle. To his surprise, it was strong and hard. Horn in teeth, he lifted her head and laid it so her silvery mane streamed long and knotted on the grass. He had to work quickly. The kites were dropping lower in the sky.

He had just finished the stamping of the Circle about her when he caught the sound of hoofbeats. He whirled, fearing for a moment that it was members of his own band, before realizing that the sound came from the wrong quarter, from the west.

A unicorn topped the rise. He was young, no older than Dagg’s young mother, Leerah, and color-of-evening-sky. His mane was long, with feathers tangled in it. He bore a horn upon his brow. A pale orange mare joined him in a moment, then a crimson filly almost half-grown. They stared at Jan. Jan stared at them. They all had horns. The evening blue came a few steps down the slope.

“What do you here?” His words were quiet, odd. A moment passed before Jan understood him.

“I was burying them,” he answered. “Weren’t you here before?”

The other shook his head.

“We saw the kites,” the pale mare said.

The blue was eyeing him more closely now. “You have not the look of one from the Plain,” he said. “Nor the speech of one, either. Whence come you?”

Jan gazed at them, startled. “I come from the Vale of the Unicorns. On Pilgrimage.”

All three of the strangers started.

“He’s a Moondancer,” the pale mare muttered. “One of those who drink of the wyvern pool.”

Jan glanced at the dead mare, then turned to the one who stood before him. “I didn’t start to bury her,” he said.

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