At Last

In the cool dark of night, Fomalhaut paced the length and breadth of her box stall. Damn Haldus, she thought scathingly. Why had she fallen for his coltish charms in the first place? Now here she was, nine months along and miserable.

“Don’t run,” Becrux had advised her. Oh, how that chaffed! She had been born to run—everyone knew that. Well, she couldn’t run very well now, could she? Not with a massive belly that made every movement ponderous and slow.

Foma snorted in agitation and abruptly left the open stall. Across the hall, her adoptive mother Becrux stirred in her sleep. The grey mare’s ear pricked at the sound of hooves on concrete. “Foma?” She rose from the floor, shedding bedding like snow.

“I’m going for a walk, Mother,” the younger mare replied. Alone, she added silently. Although she loved Becrux, she hated how everyone seemed to hover over her these days. It was so damned irritating.

Becrux smiled in sympathy. “I remember those restless days very well. Would you like some company?”

Foma swallowed a sigh and fought to keep her ears from skewing sideways. “No, thank you,” she told the grey mare. “I’m going down to the lake.” At least Izar wouldn’t pepper her with questions—or follow her, for that matter. Two legs and a fluked tail didn’t translate well to land.

“Oh.” Becrux sounded disappointed. Foma grimaced and squashed the impulse to tell the older mare that she would welcome her company after all. She pressed on and walked out of the barn without a second look.

It was a long walk to the paddock from the mare’s barn. Foma glanced over her left shoulder at the smaller structure where her father, Aldebaran, and the other males lived. She waited a few beats of her heart, just in case Baron or Corsicus happened to look out their windows. When neither appeared at the door, she continued on. Moonlight illuminated the gravel path; a sweet, late summer breeze tugged at her short-cropped mane. Strands of hair from her tail twined around her hind legs.

Foma sighed and allowed herself a smile. She was alone—blessedly unmolested by stallion or mare, human or canine.

The entrance to the paddock was open, as usual. The painted palomino ambled through the gap in the white-washed wooden fence and made straight for the large lake in its center. The waters were still, broken only by occasional ripples from the wind—and slow, lazy bubbles from Izar exhaling. Foma walked to the edge and nibbled at some tender shoots growing there. She didn’t drink, however. No one really did, since Izar had taken up residence. Despite the system set up to filter out Izar’s natural contributions to the lake water, most of them preferred the troughs. (Jakar, for some reason, didn’t mind. But he was strange.)

As she browsed, the lake bubbled and a pair of reddish-brown ears broke the surface. Strands of purple-blue-and-orange hair danced like summer grass around a well-formed head. Izar glanced up at the moon, then flicked his cautious gaze over Foma.

“Hello, Foma,” he whispered. Izar rarely raised his voice; Foma couldn’t quite recall if she’d ever heard him bellow, yell or neigh.

She inclined her head, blades of grass dangling from her lips. “Evening, Zair.”

“Lovely moon,” the red dun continued. “Warm night.”

“Indeed.” The trick to getting Izar to stay above water for more than a minute was to keep conversation to a minimum. If he felt like speaking, he would. Otherwise, the painfully shy colt would sink beneath the surface and not come up for hours—sometime days—later. He was getting better, Foma observed. Sometimes he actually crawled out to sun himself on the lake’s sandy southern bank. Whether he could actually contribute to the success of this farm … well, that was yet to be seen.

To her surprise, Izar remained bobbing in one place, watching her with sad, liquid eyes. She went back to grazing, enjoying the play of wind upon her swollen belly. As she shifted, her innards suddenly cramped.

Taken aback, Foma gasped. Water splashed as Izar whipped his head around. Just as she was about to pass it off as a pulled muscle, a stronger cramp seized control.

“No,” Foma hissed. “No!” It couldn’t be—it was too early!

In the lake, Izar splashed around, flukes slapping the water. “Foma?” he cried out in panic, eyes wide.

Foma glanced around wildly. She had to get back to the barn. Becrux would know what to do.

She took one step up the bank and stopped dead as her innards convulsed. Something warm and wet trickled down her leg. No, she pleaded with tears in her eyes. Dear gods, no. I take it back—I take it all back! She wanted this foal—hers and Hal’s child. But had the gods decided that she didn’t deserve it, after all her whining?

Slowly, she sunk to her knees in the grass, her belly rippling like the waters of Izar’s lake. Teeth clenched, she arched her neck and looked for the sea-colt. “Zair,” she moaned. “Zair, I need Papa.”

Izar flinched, ears sliding back. “I can’t,” he whispered, his head lowering in the water until only the tips of his ears, some hair and his eyes remained.

Ah, Epona! Foma cried out. “You must,” she insisted. A fresh wave of contractions rolled over her and she spasmed in the grass.

Zair shuddered as he watched Foma writhe in pain. He couldn’t leave the safety of the waters. He couldn’t. So he simply hung back, eyes focused on the blood and strange water that ran from under her tail. It flowed in a sluggish river, trickling into the lake. The sight of it polluting his waters startled him so much that he pushed backwards with a thrust of his flukes. Foma’s pregnant form receded as he slid further from the bank.

The depths called to him, promising safety. Then Foma mewled. “Zair.”

She needs you, some strange voice whispered in the back of his mind. Get up and call the pied flower and the wind feather. Bring the grey and the furred one, the horse-stag and the pearled blade of grass. Call the winged folk from their aeries.

“I’m a coward,” Izar whispered to the wind.

Rise.

Waves slammed against the sides of the lake as Izar thrashed in indecision. As he moved, something brushed against his neck. The colt shuddered and did a barrel roll, eeling about in the waters in order to remove the offending object. Whatever it was rolled over his head and splayed out on the surface, only to quickly sink. Too late he realized what it was—the multi-colored pearl necklace Corsicus had given him as a token of friendship. Each one of the pearls represented a horse on the estate.

In a panic, he dove down with a mighty splash of his flukes. His eyes adjusted to the depths, just in time to see where the necklace settled on the lakebed. Baring strong teeth, Izar snatched the necklace and pushed towards the surface. He broke in a fountain of water, tossing his head and the necklace at the same time. It turned several times over in the air before landing around his neck.

Quickly, he swam towards the shore, where Foma writhed in pain. His mind made up, he heaved himself onto the bank. It had been so long since he’d walked the world on four legs, he wasn’t quite sure how he was going to make it to the stallion barn.

“Zair …”

“I’ll be right back,” he told the mare, although “right back” would probably equate to a half an hour or more.

Foma’s eyelids fluttered and she lay back down on the grass, sides heaving.

So began Izar’s slow, ponderous trek towards the stallion barn. He inched along on his belly, pulling himself with his forelegs and pushing with his powerful tail. The gravel path was harsh on his tender belly; each time he slid forward, it was like a hundred tiny knives digging into his flesh. Quickly, he changed course, pulling himself onto the cool grass.

Slowly, but surely, he reached the stallion barn. A dark head hung suspended in the doorway, the body cloaked in shadow.

“Zair?” Aldebaran called out. “What are you … you’re out of the lake!”

Izar dragged himself the last couple of feet and sank to the ground. “Foma …” he panted, jerking his flukes in the direction of the lake.

Aldebaran’s blue eyes widened in shock. He turned and ran into the barn, calling to the stallions therein: “Corky! Jakar! Hal!”

Hooves clattered on concrete as four stallions raced out of the barn. Corsicus, the largest of the four stallions, dug his hooves into the ground and spun about. “Hold on, Zair!” he trumpeted. Before Izar could speak, a massive bubble surrounded him and he was slowly lifted off the ground.

No-no-no! Izar thought in horror. His forelegs splayed against the rounded, elastic surface of the bubble; his flukes curled up and around, almost touching the back of his head. Each frantic movement produced a squeaking sound, like a human finger on glass.

Izar tried turning, tried pawing his way to freedom, but it was useless. Corsicus dragged him back to the lake, like a dog on a leash. Except this was a bubble and he was a hippocampus. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the mares spilling from their barn: Becrux and Gianfar.

They thundered through the gap in the paddock fence, manes and tails streaming in the moon-lit darkness. Down the ridge towards the lake. Corsicus stopped so abruptly, Izar’s bubble spun free, sending him sailing across the lake.

“Iiii-eee!” he cried, whirling around in his elastic prison. Just when he thought he was going to be sick, a massive “hand” grabbed the bubble and stopped the mad rotations. Izar slid up and down until he came to rest, splayed out in the center. Head spinning, he closed his eyes until the world slowed down and stopped its craziness.

“Sorry about that,” Corsicus murmured and set the bubble gently upon the lake’s surface. There was a tiny pop! and Izar was back in his element. He ducked below for a quick refresher before swimming over to the water’s edge.

It hurt. Dear Epona, why did it have to hurt so much?

“It’s coming, isn’t it, Mother?” she heard Haldus whisper.

“Yes,” the grey mare replied. “Don’t try to hold the foal in, Foma. You’ll do more damage to yourself and to your child. Push, dearheart.”

So she heeded the grey mare’s words and pushed. Pushed for what seemed like hours on end—and yet, no foal appeared. Exhausted, Foma lay her head down on the grass, tongue lolling. Through the haze of pain, she saw legs weaving back and forth, heard them talking about her like she wasn’t there.

But was she? She didn’t feel very much a part of this world right now.

Someone shuffled near her head. She tilted her chin up to see Hal lowering himself to the ground. “Hey,” he murmured, nuzzling her sweaty cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” she replied. Wow, her voice sounded strange, like it was coming from far and away.

Hal shifted, his bright blue eyes sad. “The foal is stuck, Foma,” he told her. “They’re going to have to pull it out.”

“Oh.” It sounded simple enough.

Hal glanced away briefly. “Mother says … our child might not make it.”

Foma nodded weakly. What she really wanted was to sleep. She closed her eyes, only to be jolted with a shove to her cheek. Surprised, her eyes flew open. Tiny, dancing air sprites hovered around her face; one of them had its arm cocked back for another slap. The others glared at her disapprovingly.

“How dare …” she began, anger rising. But it was enough to rouse her spirits. The sprites nodded satisfactorily; the one who had slapped her simply patted her cheek and moved along her body. Foma felt its passage stir the tiny hairs on her back. With what little strength remained, she lifted her head and stared down the length of her body. Her father, Aldebaran, stood near her hindquarters, long vines extended forth. The thick chords wrapped around something at her rear and pulled.

Pressure built and spilled over into relief as the foal slid free from her body. Gianfar pressed her cheek against Foma’s as Becrux hurried over. Distantly, she heard the grey mare call for Corky. Why Corky?

“Can you breath for her?” Becrux was saying.

The huge buckskin Favarikund stared down at whatever it was behind Foma’s tail and took a step back. “I might break her lungs.”

Hal’s antlered head rose. “Please, Corky. You must try.”

“Corky …” Foma said.

Huge, liquid brown eyes met Foma’s own blue ones. “I will try,” the feathered stallion promised. He took a deep breath and lowered his head. Foma felt magic swell and swirl around her like so many wind sprites.

Seconds passed, then minutes. Foma sighed. Her family shifted, no longer humming with energy, but resigned. She looked at Hal; her mate closed his eyes and touched her nose. They could always try again, she reasoned, when she didn’t feel so tired.

There was a sudden, high-pitched cough, then a snuffling whine. Foma lifted herself up so swiftly, she almost impaled herself on Hal’s tines. Rolling onto her belly, she winced as the afterbirth flowed from under her tail. But she had to see. Could the gods be so kind?

There, on the grass, being licked by Gianfar and Becrux was her foal. Aldebaran hovered protectively over them, flowers blooming the length and breadth of his body. Corky stepped back and smiled when he caught Foma staring.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Gently, Becrux nudged the tiny slip of a foal towards her mother. Foma licked the little, well-formed head, and the small ears.

“At last,” she breathed. “Kuma.”