The Tower of Ravens Read Online Free PDF Page B

and after a while she dared to open her eyes. They seemed suspended in black fathomless space, stars all around and nothing below them. She shut her eyes again with a gasp, and rested her cheek against the horse’s withers. Don’t let me fall , she thought.
    The mare’s wings straightened and held steady. They hung there in the starry sky for an inestimably long moment, hovering. The girl took a deep painful breath and tightened her grip. Without warning the mare folded back her wings. They began to fall, hurtling towards the ground. Suddenly her wings snapped open again and the girl was flung backwards, crying aloud as the bonds jerked at her wrists and ankles. The mare neighed in distress as the jerk on the reins bruised her tender mouth. The girl fell back into the saddle with a painful thump, catching her breath with tears, and the mare neighed again and tried to buck. Again and again the mare sought to dislodge her, but the girl’s knots held and she did not fall. So the mare flew on again, shaking her mane and neighing in distress, occasionally trying to buck off the heavy weight or shake away the hard, foul-tasting metal bit in her mouth.
    They flew for an eternity. Then the sun was rising ahead of them, striking the girl’s tired eyes like a silver-tipped whip. She shrank back, hiding her face in the flowing black mane. There was no sound but the steady beat of wings and the whistling of the wind. She guessed they were too high to hear birdsong. Without lifting her head she opened her eyes again and looked down past the sleek black shoulder. Below were wisps of rose-tinted clouds. They drifted apart and she could see a thin, shining curve of water winding through green forest. She could not believe how high they were. It hurt her lungs to breathe.
    As the day wore on, the black mare grew weary and her attempts to throw the girl off grew feebler. The girl herself was near-fainting with exhaustion and pain. When at last the horse flew down to drink at the river and rest a while, she found she could not free herself. Her skin was so chafed and swollen that the leather reins had sunk deep into her flesh and she could not reach the knife strapped inside her boot, or unbuckle the dagger at her waist. They rested together, the mare lipping at the water, occasionally shuddering as she tried to shake the weight off, and the girl lying with her head resting on her bound arms, her arms and shoulders and knees and ankles throbbing unbearably. The sight of the water tortured her, for she was very thirsty. She tried again to reach the little black knife, but her movement spooked the horse and it shied and bucked. Helplessly she jerked and flopped around, and the horse neighed in terror and took off again, galloping through the forest, using its wings to leap through the underbrush or turn a sharp corner, bashing the girl against trees and rock-faces. One-Horn’s daughter cracked her head hard against a stone cliff and felt pain lance down her neck and spine, then away she spun into a deep red, roaring unconsciousness. Time unravelled.
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A THING OF BEAUTY
      
    “Such are the horses on which gods
    and heroes ride, as represented by
    the artist. The majesty of men
    themselves is best discovered in the
    graceful handling of such animals.
    A horse so prancing is indeed a
    thing of beauty, a wonder and a
    marvel; riveting the gaze of all who
    see him.”
 
    Xenophon
    On Horsemanship , 431-354 B.C.
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Kingarth
      
    Lewen straightened his aching back, pushing the hair out of his eyes with a filthy, sweaty hand, and looked with some satisfaction on the large plot of rich dark earth before him. Although digging over the vegetable patch in preparation for the spring sowing was always hard work, he enjoyed working muscles stiff after the enforced inactivity of the winter, and he loved the smell of the sun-warmed earth.
    He looked with keen pleasure across the lawns, through the grey filigree of branches just