Son of the Stars

Rose G

Disclaimer - These characters all belong to Walter and Steven Farley, apart from the little black colt.

Dedicated to Goldie, for sunny days at shows, Sugar for double clears in Foxhunters, Queenie for hours spent roping fence posts, Jet for gymkhana games in the field, Andy for stallion parades in spring, Cherokee for bareback trotting races against gypsy cobs and Holly. The hardest decisions I've ever had to make.

Alec looked at Henry, the old trainer at Hopeful Farm who was leaning on the stable door. Inside the stable, the cause of their concern stared back at them.

'Come away, Alec. I want to talk with you, in the house.'

Alec reached one hand up to the Black's muzzle, trailing his fingers over the soft skin. The giant stallion shook his head weakly, shifting his weight on sore hooves. Then he followed Henry into the house, the little bow-legged trainer walking slowly now, weighted down with age.

'Alec, I want you to listen to what I've got to say, and I want to listen to it without flying off the handle. Black's getting on now - how old was you when you went to India and found him? Fifteen?' Alec nodded. 'That was how many years ago now?'

'Twenty five or so, Henry. I'm forty now; you're nearly eighty. Black was thirty a couple of days ago.'

'You're lucky, Alec. You've owned him for a long while now - a quarter of a century. I had three years with Chang, exactly seventeen months, three days with Prince Pat. Sun Raider, Cyclone, Casey, Eclipse, Miz Liz, Wintertime, Napoleon, all the other horses of his generation have gone. You won't have Black much longer. And Satan's getting on, remember we only had Baby for twenty years.'

Alec nodded, remembering the speed of some of those great horses, the dirt flying from beneath those slashing hooves as they rounded the bend, the pounding of heavy bodies against starting stalls, the sun glinted off of sweat darkened coats as ten thousand years of breeding was put to the test inside two minutes. 'I know, Henry. Black is getting old, but what can I do about it?'

'I want you to have him put down.' He put a hand on Alec's shoulder as the red haired man cried out. 'I saw him in the paddock a few days ago. He isn't the horse that Abu wanted anymore, Alec. He isn't the colt sired by the stars, he isn't the stallion that won the match race in Chicago, he isn't your Black anymore.'

'There's nothing wrong with him, Henry. Is there?'

'He's old. Go and look at him - his back sways, his muzzle's grey, his legs are damaged. You can't ride him anymore, and he can't gallop without you on his back, your hands on his head. What are you keeping him for?'

'Because I love him, Henry. I don't want him put down. And Satan's old, he's aged worse than the Black because of his tendon. Why keep him alive?'

'Satan wasn't bred to rule the desert, Alec. Satan doesn't love you - or anyone except Satan - the way the Black does. It's cruel, keeping your Black like this. He was born to race with the wind, not trot round a paddock. Think about it - you know that it's for the best.'

Alec walked out the house and over to the Black's box. The stallion, grey muzzled now with dull eyes, sniffed at his shirt, catching Alec's shirt in his long teeth. The man looked at his horse, seeing the sway back, the lumps and bumps on the once clean tendons, the signs of age that he had denied until now because he did not want to admit it. The Black belonged to his youth, and to lose the giant stallion would be to lose his childhood forever. 'Imagine Henry thinking you're suffering, boy. Coming for a ride?' And with those words, Alec knew he had sealed his horse's fate. 'Wait until tonight, boy. Then just once more, once more - we'll go to the races. One last time, Shetan.'

Alec worked quietly for the rest of the day, assisting in the birth of Satan's first great-grandson, a small black colt that reminded him of Black Minx as a foal. Then as darkness fell, he went over to the Black.

He led the stallion out onto the training track, considered briefly, then led him across to the yearling field. Beneath the moonshine, he rubbed the stallion's forehead, as he had done so many times before. He removed the headcollar and stood beside the Black. The stallion looked at him, as though he was aware this night was important. Alec tangled his hands in the flowing, grey streaked mane and vaulted, his body striving for seventeen hands of horse.

For the first time in three years, he sat the Black, was back where he was born to be. Black moved restlessly while Alec moved on his back, getting used again to the feel of his giant stallion after working the yearlings for the past years. 'Okay, Black.'

He leant forward, as the Black slipped into a canter, holding his head high; ears pitched forward, strong legs eating up the ground with the strength of a much younger horse. He gave the stallion free rein, savouring the wind blowing into his face, the thrust of the great muscles, the tremendous speed that belonged only to the Black because this was the last time. He opened the horse up, coming down the field towards the barns and later, Alec would have sworn that he had not matched this speed since the match race.

And as the pair slowed down, he glanced up the stars and saw them blazing brightly, more so than ever before. He looked towards where the Horsehead nebulae was, and understood. Abu had claimed Shetan was the son of the stars themselves and on this night that was so different to other nights, the stars were holding their son, calling to him because it was time.

Alec rubbed his horse down, and left him in the yearling's field, which was empty because of the forthcoming yearling sales at Kentucky. He walked slowly down to the barn, glancing back to see the Black standing with arched neck and raised head, tail streaming in the wind, watching him. 'See you, Black.'

The Black whistled once and the sound carried to Alec, remained in his head as he fell asleep - the sound of his stallions call.

The next morning, Alec rose late and wandered down to the Black's box to see Henry. He had not seen the trainer since the night before and there was something to say. Henry turned to greet him, and if Alec had been more alert, he would have seen the curious blankness in his face,

'Henry, I've decided - I want Black put down. It's his time, he's getting old.'

'Alec...' He put his arm round Alec's shoulders. 'Alec - it's too late. You lost him in the night. He's up in the yearling field. He's been gone a while.'

'I was riding him in there last night. We galloped - he wanted to run with his desert wind again. What happened to him?' Alec's voice wavered, but he had known in his heart that last night had been Shetan's last on earth.

'His heart gave out on him, Alec. He had a big heart, but not big enough. It happened to Black Minx, didn't it? She played with her foal, then died. Prince Pat broke the track record before he died, and Chang won the Triple Crown. It happens. D you want to see him?'

'N-No. I saw him last night, like he was meant to be. He's young again, now Henry. He's racing again now. It was meant to be like this. Last night was his gift to me.'

'I know. I rode Chang that day, and when he fell, I just walked away. Something told me he was dying, and I only wanted to remember him galloping, winning the race. What do you want done with his body?'

'Put him with the others, Henry. I know he was special but they're all special, he shouldn't be on his own. I'll dig his grave if you bury him.'

A few days later, Henry paused from halter-breaking the most recent arrival - the little black colt and looked across at Alec. He was sitting at the Black's grave, reading the simple inscription. 'The Black - Shetan. Foundation stallion of Hopeful Farm.'

Hopeful Farm, Alec thought. Maybe that little colt of Henry's is the one, is the one with the Black Stallion's spirit and speed. Maybe he's a son of the stars as well. Maybe.