Chapter Three
The Journey Begins
The countryside through which Brock and the wizard passed was different from any Brock had seen before. Brock had never been further from home than Forest Glen. At any other time he may have been excited, but instead he felt cheated, compelled to do something he didn't want. He trotted glumly on, quickening his pace only when he felt the reminding pressure from Zebulon's knees.
It's not fair, he thought. I don't want to do this. He's turned me into a horse and is riding me. Brock's thoughts moved quickly from one subject to another and he once more began to think of a way to escape. Maybe now that he was a big strong horse he could break free of the collar. He couldn't feel it with his hands, but he could still feel it around his neck. When the wizard slept he could try to break free.
Suddenly the wizard's voice interrupted Brock's thoughts. "Stop your whining. Even if you escaped you wouldn't know where to go because you aren't looking where you are. You are so full of self-pity you are missing all the interesting things along the way."
Zebulon's words gave Brock such a shock that his mind went blank and he trotted mindlessly on for some time. The sudden quiet within his mind gave Brock the opportunity to begin to feel and see things he failed to before. He quickened his pace and he began to enjoy the feel of the wind on his face and the sensation of it playing through his mane. He could run fast without much effort. He felt free. He felt strong. It was a great feeling! He looked around. The sky was clear and the sun shone brightly. The country through which they were passing was changing yet again. The hills were less green and there were rocky outcrops here and there. There were fewer trees now, and what trees there were, had hardly any leaves. Brock found himself liking it. The different landscapes all had their own special attraction for him.
Zebulon smiled to himself as he felt Brock's change of mood. As he sensed the willing mount beneath him he allowed himself time for his own thoughts. In his mind he could see the radiant beautiful face of Saniyah. He saw her face turn angry, no doubt mirroring his own anger. Then he saw her lovely face crumble with sadness. He could hardly bear it. She had been his life. He thought of the brilliant pendant he had given to her and how in his rage, he had destroyed it. Even now he could feel the great power he had exerted as he flung it from his neck. What was he without her? He had lost many of his powers. He was known as a powerful wizard! If only others knew, he could do little better than a young skilled apprentice.
After several hours man and horse stopped to rest under a tree. Zebulon took out a small package of food but didn't offer any to Brock. Brock was so hungry. Zebulon ignored him even though Brock was thinking very hard about food. It was thoughtless of Zebulon not to share some food. In frustration he began to look around him. For some funny reason the grass looked very inviting. Brock rejected that idea, it was just too silly. Finally he couldn't resist any longer. A particular tuft of grass looked really good. Brock decided it wouldn't hurt to have a little taste. It was not long before he found himself contentedly grazing on the juicy grass and for a time he forgot his troubles.
Once Brock had satisfied his hunger he wanted to lie down and sleep. The wizard lay on a small rug and seemed to be sleeping. Brock tried lying down but didn't feel comfortable so he got up and went and stood under a tree. As he drifted off to sleep his thoughts went to the strangeness of sleeping standing up.
It didn't seem long before the wizard was patting Brock's neck and telling him it was time to be on their way. They trotted for hours before they came to a village. It was a strange little place. The houses were small but neat. There was a feeling of much activity. Children played in the streets while men and women were busy at their chores. They stopped beside a group of children and Zebulon asked if they knew the way to the Brookfield Farm. They didn't know but they were fascinated with the horse.
"He's a beauty!" one little boy said. "Can I have a ride?"
"No," said the wizard as he kicked his boots hard into Brock's sides. The sharpness of the jab sent Brock bounding forward, almost knocking the boy over. Brock whinnied by way of apology and the boy thought he was being fierce.
"Wow," he cried in admiration.
After many enquiries the wizard finally had directions to the Brookfield Farm. They still had to pass through two more villages. When they arrived at the next village it was late and the wizard pulled up at an inn. Leaving Brock tied up to a rail outside the inn, Zebulon disappeared inside.
Brock wasn't happy being tied to a rail. He was hungry and lonely. Some people came by and looked at him. Brock thought it was rude that they would stare at him so openly. Some even patted his side. A young girl came up and rubbed his nose and called him cute. The villagers were poor and so most of the horses they saw were big heavy work horses. By comparison Brock looked beautifully sleek and would be the envy of those who desired a horse for themselves. Brock thought humans were strange to be so friendly with a horse they didn't know. Another girl gave him a lump of sugar. As he gently nibbled it from her hand, she giggled and commented to her friends how soft his lips were. Brock began to think this attention wasn't so bad after all.
When the wizard returned he arranged with a lanky, freckled youth to house Brock in a stable for the night. He was given fresh water and sweet hay. Once again Brock was surprised that the hay tasted so good. When he had finished, he began thinking of Zebulon and how he would sleep in a cosy bed for the night while Brock was out in a stable. He began to feel jealous. He hoped Zebulon was reading his thoughts because then the wizard may see how mean and unfair he was. He hoped the wizard would have a bad night so he would choose to listen to him.
Brock's thoughts were concentrating on his hard life when he noticed the only other horse in the stable. A pretty filly was in the next stall. She was looking at him and he fancied she was battering her eyes at him. He felt flattered and began to move over to her, but stopped short. What was he doing trying to make friends with another horse? He turned and hid his head in the corner and stayed there all night.
Next morning Brock and the wizard continued their journey. Brock felt grumpy because of the treatment the wizard had given him. Zebulon also seemed to be in a bad mood. They travelled all day in silence, each entertained by his own dark thoughts.
Brock hoped some of his thoughts would reach Zebulon and trouble him, but if he did read any of Brock's thoughts, he gave no indication that he had. He forced Brock to a gallop for much of the way because he wanted to arrive at the next village before nightfall. Brock believed it was because he wanted to make sure he had a good meal and a warm comfortable bed for the night.
The day was coming to a close and the village was still not in sight. Brock was so tired. He felt so angry with Zebulon. Brock was doing all the work while Zebulon didn't have to walk but sit back and do nothing. Brock had a quick thought. He was bigger and stronger than the wizard, he didn't have to put up with this. As quick as the thought flashed into his mind, he bucked and threw the surprised Zebulon off his back.
Brock turned and looked at the wizard sitting on the ground. If horses could laugh, Brock would have done so now. But then one look at the indignant wizard's face robbed Brock of any mirth or satisfaction. As Zebulon rose from the ground, Brock saw his eyes. They had turned from grey to almost black. He was in a towering rage. Brock felt more frightened than he had ever felt before and could understand why the wizard had such a fearsome reputation.
Zebulon began saying some strange words in his deep powerful voice and Brock found himself raised off the ground, his four legs hanging uselessly. Next, Zebulon gave a flick of his hand, creating a whirl wind. Brock was swung around and around. He felt giddy and strange and just wanted the whirling to stop. In his head he was crying out stop, stop. Then he heard his own voice yell stop and he landed hard on the ground. It hurt but he didn't think of the pain straight away because his head was still spinning, making him feel sick.
"Just because you are bigger and stronger than ano
ther doesn't mean you are wiser or smarter. You think you have it so hard. See how you like walking the rest of the way on your two puny pixie legs!" bellowed Zebulon. He turned and strode away towards the village, not even bothering to glance back at Brock.
When his head stopped spinning, Brock was about to pick himself up from the ground but decided he couldn't be bothered. Zebulon could leave him behind. The wizard had not gone far before Brock felt the all too familiar pull at his neck and realised he would have to follow. Reluctantly he got to his feet and walked after the wizard, who, judging by the set and stillness of his broad shoulders, was still very angry.
It was strange to be a boy again. He had never been sure whether Zebulon would ever change him back. He was glad to be himself once more, but the rest of the trip would have been easier and faster had he still been a horse.
He examined the clothes he wore and he was dressed like the boys from the other village. He looked like a human boy rather than the clothes more commonly worn by the elves. He hadn't paid any attention to Zebulon earlier but now he noticed that he was dressed like the farmers they had seen on their travels.
It was dark by the time they reached the village and found an inn. As they entered, all heads turned to look at the newcomers. The innkeeper was friendly enough and served them a simple but hearty meal. Brock would rather have slept than eaten and he found it difficult to keep his head from falling in his food. When Zebulon enquired about a room for the night the innkeeper said there were none available.
"Look at my son, he has travelled far and is almost asleep while he sits here. We need some place to stay," said Zebulon in a voice meant to persuade.
"Sorry," said the innkeeper. He was about to go into a lengthy explanation of why he had no rooms available when a rustic but pleasant fellow stepped forward.
Addressing the wizard, he said, "The boy looks ill. Bring him to my house and you can both rest there for the night. I live with my wife and children not so far down the road."
Zebulon thanked him and then turned to regard Brock. Brock was very pale, his head and body hurt. He tried to rise but his legs would not support him. Quickly Zebulon gathered him up in his arms as if he was a small child.
Their new friend downed the ale he had been enjoying in the company of his friends, put on his hat and led the way from the inn out to the road.
Brock had little memory of the walk, or of the sweet lady who assured her husband that he did the right thing to help the strangers. Zebulon was shown to the children's room which contained two small beds and little else.
Using his boot to push a few crude wooden toys from his path, Zebulon made his way to one of the beds and placed Brock gently on it. Brock gave a moan from pain as he was lowered to the bed. Zebulon took a small green bottle from his bag and held it in front of Brock.
Brock turned his face away. He didn't want to be turned into something else.
"Come drink up," said Zebulon, "it will make you feel better."
Realising that Brock thought it was a potion, Zebulon gave a soft chuckle. "Karman insisted I bring this. She knew the trip would be hard for you and that you might need some help. It really will help you young lad. She is a master of her art."
Though his mind was cloudy, Brock recognised the bottle and the label with Karman’s strong neat writing on it as being similar to the many he had seen in her home. He accepted the drink. It tasted terrible but it was not long before its beneficial effects eased the pain and sickness. Brock didn't remember much after that. He didn't know that Zebulon sat by him until he fell into a deep untroubled sleep.
Early morning sunlight filtered through the faded curtains and woke Brock. He sat up and stretched. All the aches and pains had left him and he felt energised, He thought of Karman's kindness in supplying the medicine for what ailed him. He had felt disappointed when she had refused to help him on that night in her house but he still respected her. Maybe she knew what was best for him after all.
Zebulon lay stretched out to his full length on the floor. The little bed was too small for him. Even Brock filled the full length of the bed he was in. As he gazed at the wizard, Zebulon opened his eyes and stared straight at the boy. Brock gave an involuntary jump. Zebulon gave an amused smile.
With something of a twinkle in his eye, Zebulon said, "What, do I frighten you even when I'm asleep?"
"No," replied Brock with unaccustomed frankness, "only when you wake up!"
"Get ready," instructed Zebulon as he tugged on his boots, "We need to be on our way."
When the travellers entered the humble kitchen they were greeted cheerfully by the man and his wife. The little girl sat on her father's lap twirling his hair as she openly stared up at the tall wizard. The little boy was shy and clung tightly to his mother's skirt. As she moved around the room he followed her like an extension of her dress.
Two places were hurriedly cleared at the small bare table and a bowl of porridge set in front of Zebulon and Brock. The wife made no apology for the simplicity of the meal, nor was one necessary as it was gratefully accepted by her guests.
Once they had eaten Zebulon rose from the table. Taking a brown purse from his pocket he asked his hosts how much he owed for the night's board. The wife and her husband exchanged quick glances.
"Nothing," replied the man. "We did not offer our home for profit...simply a friend giving help to a friend in need."
Zebulon inclined his head to express his gratitude for their generosity as he placed the purse back in his pocket. From another pocket he withdrew a small leather bag which was closed by a drawstring.
Placing it in the man's hand he said. "Then let this be a gift from one friend to another." The man and his wife both peeped inside the bag. The looks they exchanged with each other and the look they gave Zebulon as they gazed up at him in silent thanks, left no doubt that they had been more richly rewarded than had they accepted a fee. Though most humans are only vaguely aware of the magic world, and most never expect to have any part of it, the couple now knew that they had entertained a great wizard. And they were glad. As Zebulon bade them farewell he cautioned them: "Tell no one."