been reading books of old - the legends and the myths
the testaments they told:
Two figures approached the Peak just as the sun sank below the horizon. In the fading shadow of the mountain, they stood side by side. The smaller of the two – still growing, yet already boasting an elegance and grace to his frame, was a near-spitting image of the older stallion, save for some marked differences. The boy’s eyes were both dark, dark as the night. The stallion, half-blind, was also missing an ear, and seemed skinny where the boy was slender. Scars marred his dark hide here and there. The boy’s coat was unblemished, though if one drew close enough, they would see that here and there were grey hairs, scattered across his body like the sparks of stars in the night sky.
“I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner,” the younger male spoke to his companion, even though they both knew he had little to apologise for. After all, they had travelled at a pace set by the one who had longed to come here. “I imagine the sunsets would be breathtaking,” he continued, eyes roaming over the dark shape of the mount.
“Yes, they are. But that’s not what we are here for, Crane,” Balthazar spoke, and though his voice was tired, the colt heard a deep happiness in the stallion’s voice that he had never heard before, and he allowed himself a moment to marvel at the beauty of this joy. He continued his examination of the towering rock-face, wondering a great many things. Much had been said about this mountain, and whenever Balthazar spoke of it, there had always been an ache in his tone, so profound and all-consuming that it had frightened the colt to begin with. Once, Crane had asked his mother about it, and she had been silent for the longest time, her eyes watching the figure of Balthazar some way off. ‘That, my son, is his longing.’ And what was his longing? ‘A love that will never die.’
Crane hadn’t understood then, and he still didn’t understand now, but he was trying to. Balthazar had told him many stories, and some of them had been about a brave stallion who burned like fire and glistened like ice all at once, and how he had taken to travelling the world in search of his reason for living. When asked if he had a reason, all Balthazar would say was “my mountain, my mountain,” and when he had asked Crane in return, the boy had answered with silence. He hadn’t found his reason yet, but it felt close. Maybe standing here at the foot of the mountain they’d come all this way for, breathing in the warm evening air…
There was a sound beside him, and Crane turned, only to find Balthazar struggling with a mouthful of words. He managed to get them out, but they were uttered so quietly, so quickly that Crane hardly caught them. Sounded like hound and wood. Didn’t mean anything to the colt. Nor did many of the following words, (names, rather, the boy realised after a minute or two), but they evidently meant much to Balthazar. The older stallion’s voice rose and fell, and silence stretched between mumblings. Crane waited, ever-patient, and with each disclosure he marvelled anew.
“Loup… Loup-Garou.” Balthazar flicked his lone ear, shifted his weight. He gazed at the darkening sky above them, and Crane watched too, as tiny lights twinkled back at them. “My stars, Asta, Izarra…” Crane wondered silently which stars he was referring to. There were two that glinted not far from the mountain peak, and the colt decided that perhaps, even if the names Balthazar had whispered did not belong to actual stars, maybe those two bright sparks in the night would do well bearing such names. “And Soleil, shining like the very sun.” Memories of the warmth of it on his skin suddenly filled Crane with a sense of homesickness for his desert birth-place.
Silence settled upon the pair, and not long after that, Balthazar drifted into a light sleep. Crane kept watch, but soon, he too found his eyes drifting closed. This place that Balthazar had led them to was quiet, and there was no scent of danger, no sound on the wind that was a cause for alarm. Sometime later, the colt stirred and nudged Balthazar sleepily. “Can you tell me the story again? The one of the fire horse. From the beginning?”
Balthazar stirred beside Crane, shaking off sleep, and he stretched his stiff muscles, only catching the last two words spoken to him. The beginning? “I like to think it all started here,” he mumbled drowsily. For a moment it seemed as if he were about to doze off again, but then he shook his head and lifted his chin, suddenly alert. “Corinth. Corinth was here, she found me. Saved me. And there was Black Heart Machine. Heart. That was who she was to Corinth.” His lone, deaf ear was turned back for a brief moment, and the next name that was uttered was so quietly that Crane wondered if he had imagined it, before a sudden gust of sharp wind pulled at their silver manes. “Slenderman.” Had that been a steely edge to Balthazar’s voice?
This time, it was Crane who succumbed to sleep, and what felt like mere minutes later, Balthazar was nosing his cheek, breath warm on his skin. “Open your eyes, Crane. This is why we are here.” And not a word more was spoken between them – they gazed at the mountain, at the ledges revealed by the moonlight that shone down upon it. Until now, Crane had been of the opinion that there was no better way to see something than in the full light of day, but the way the soft, silver light of the full moon in the cloudless sky illuminated the rough edges of the rock face and fell over the sloping foothills… It was as though even the mountain’s imperfections had been made perfect and beautiful for just these precious few moments.
“How does the story end, Balthazar? I can't quite remember.” The colt mumbled the words, still shaking off sleep – an endeavour made all the more difficult for the peaceful silence that descended upon him. It went on and on, and Crane jerked his head about, realising that Balthazar had vanished, and left him with a sick feeling of unease. “Balthazar!” He was certainly no coward, but this was a strange land, and Crane was still young. If what Balthazar had said about this mountain was true, Crane shouldn’t even be here. “Balthazar, where are you?” How was he supposed to navigate his way in the dark, not knowing who or what he may come across? “Papa!” Why, why had Balthazar brought him all this way just to abandon him. “I – I don’t understand. What did I do wrong?” These last words were whispered and dripping with sorry.
In that moment, Crane wished with all his heart that he had never left his mother’s side. His mother’s people were noble of heart, born warriors, and despite his mixed blood, they would not have abandoned him like this. Would they?
BALTHAZAR&CRANE
the moon and its eclipse
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