Chapter Twenty-Two: Rhye
For the first time in a long time the terrain changed from high mountains, deep valleys and rolling river to a wide, flat plain. It stretched for miles and miles, a sea of greenish-yellow grass dotted with small braces of trees with the Great River winding through in a wide and smooth and lazy serpentine trail. To the north rose a steep cliff hundreds of feet high. It formed a barrier for the plain, holding the mountains beyond at bay. I stared at it with weary resignation, wondering exactly how wide this world was and how long it would be before Phillip and I simply rode off the edge of it.
Phillip paused for a moment, then let out a Horse's huffy sigh. We neither of us were moved by the change in the beauty of the land, though we could make good time across such a prairie, perhaps even make up for time lost due to princesses in lakes and pulled muscles. Lately my feet and back were aching so badly I was having trouble walking my normal half a day. I tried switching from boots to the soft shoes for walking, but it made no difference. More than two months of heavy traveling in the cold and wet of autumn were taking their toll and I was reaching a state of total exhaustion no matter how hard I tried to deny and hide it. Phillip, older (in equine terms, anyway, he was actually nine years old), wiser, designed for walking and able to survive on grass was in far better shape. The enforced days of rest a week ago had helped a great deal, and while I can't say I gained any weight, at least I hadn't lost any more. I had gotten into the habit of wearing all the clothes I had brought in order to stay if not warm, at least not freezing. I couldn't remember the last time I had been genuinely warm. Not since leaving Narnia, really.
I nudged Phillip on and he set off at a steady, easy pace. He was trying to teach me another song and for some reason my tongue kept tripping over the chorus because it sounded like a series of neighs and whinnies. I suspected I'd never get it right, but it was something to do and my efforts made us both laugh.
Noon was approaching and we paused for a drink at the river. As Phillip wandered deeper into the cold water to sooth his leg, which I suspected wasn't quite as healed as he claimed, I took the time to wash my face, grimacing at the hair in my eyes. It felt as if my head was covered with thatch. I was tempted to take Edmund's knife and hack the lot of it off, but then I would well and truly look ridiculous. I studied my hands, chapped and red, and I noticed how thin they appeared. Catching sight of my reflection in a still patch of water, I thought how poorly long hair suited me, especially with so thin and sallow a face. I hadn't had a bath in ages, but I suspected that if I stripped down to my skin I'd be able to count my ribs. Wonderful. I was turning into a short, blond Marsh-Wiggle.
An echoing sound caught my attention and I looked up and around. There were no raptors or birds to be seen, though the noise seemed to come from on high. I scanned the cloudy sky, trying to locate the source of the noise when I heard it again. It came from the north, from the cliffs.
Phillip, now doubly paranoid when I was within a bowshot of water, moving or otherwise, stepped over and I mounted up. We continued westwards and I watched the towering cliffs. They were pale stone, pitted and gouged with what looked like natural caves and deep caverns. They were a striking contrast against the smooth, grassy plain, so barren and jagged and colorless.
The noise came again, louder this time. I looked up. To my utter surprise and awe I saw twenty or more horses high above us on the cliffs. I was wondering how on earth they got up so high and why, when one horse, a dapple gray, reared and leaped from the mountainside, plunging downwards towards the rocks below. I gasped, horrified, instinctively dragging on poor Phillip's reins, when suddenly the dapple unfurled huge silver wings on its back and skimmed over the river, riding the wind drafts as I has seen Birds and Gryphons do countless times. Another horse followed, then another and another until the air was filled with them and their shrill neighs. I sat atop Phillip in speechless amazement, dazzled at the sheer beauty of these creatures as they circled above us.
"By the Lion," breathed Phillip.
They were a sight no Narnian had witnessed in over seven hundred years.
"Phillip," I whispered, "they're..."
"Legends come alive," he finished far more poetically than I could have managed just then.
I had only ever seen images of Winged Horses in illuminated books and tapestries and a few of the older stained glass windows in Cair Paravel. No representation I had ever seen did them justice. They swooped overhead, their faint shadows falling across us and the grassy plain. Within moments they had spotted us from above. They called to each other and circled overhead. I finally stopped Phillip and dismounted to wait for them.
"Fetch Lord Pennon!" I heard one of them shout, and a few of the Winged Horses wheeled away towards the cliffs. Some of the bolder ones landed nearby, running to a stop before swinging around to face us. They were beautiful creatures and there was a gleam of intelligence and anger in their eyes. They promptly surrounded us, stopping any additional progress across the valley until Pennon arrived.
"What is it?" I heard one of them ask. Phillip rolled his eyes and I hid a smile.
"It's a horse," a mare replied, her voice high-pitched with excitement.
"No, the other thing!"
"Perhaps that's a Human!" another mare exclaimed. "Cloudburst says they used to ride horses! I saw it on the horse's back. Did you see it? I saw it!"
"Revolting," muttered the first speaker.
"Shh," I whispered to Phillip when he bristled. We could not affort to alienate them.
The boldest of the stallions took a few steps towards us, his wings held high and wide to make himself appear larger. He eyed me menacingly, clearly bent on intimidation, but having battled Minotars and Orknies and Ogres and Werewolves, a large, pretty, chestnut Pegasus did not inspire the fear he intended.
'What are you?" he demanded.
"A Son of Adam," I replied evenly, clearly startling him. I'm not sure what he expected, but he plainly anticipated my speech to be as barbaric as he thought I had acted.
"You enslave this horse!" he insisted, recovering his ire.
"No. This steed is my friend, subject, and beloved cousin, " I replied, using the endearment we always used for the Talking Animals and Magical Creatures. "He willingly carries me."
Many were offended at the notion that Phillip bore me on his back, though his saddle, bridle, and horseshoes greatly intrigued them, especially the younger ones, and I could hear their interested whispers. The chestnut stallion looked at Phillip then stretched his neck far out, sniffing at my companion.
"Do you mind?" snapped Phillip, stamping his hoof. "Where are your manners?"
It was almost comical to see the stallion back pedal in shock at hearing the Horse speak. All around us the Winged Horses let out scandalized exclamations.
"He speaks!" squealed one of the mares. "It's riding a Talking Horse! How dare you!" she hissed at me, baring her teeth. All the assembled Winged Horses, joined now by their indignant fellows, turned angry glares on me, rolling their eyes and showing their teeth as well.
Phillip intervened and managed to shame them all. He stamed his hoof.
"You will not speak to my king in such manner!" the good Horse snapped, more furious than I had ever seen him. "And you will not judge my choice to carry him thus! You are ignorant – do not flaunt it!"
The Winged Horses were taken aback even more. One mare, her coat a beautiful yellow dun and her wings, mane and tail silver-gray, let out a long whinny I recognized as a laugh. She had tossed her mane at the others and approached us fearlessly. She had not spoken yet, and her voice was the typically shrill tone of a mare.
"I am Rhye of Pennon. What is your name and what do you wear on your hooves?"
Phillip was startled by her directness, but after I smiled – for Rhye was a lovely thing by equine or, indeed, any standards – Phillip said, "My name is Phillip Bwinny-hra and I'm wearing horseshoes."
This was the first time I had heard Phillip's full name. Talking Horses, I'd learned over the course of the last year, tend to name themselves. They're given a first name by their parents and as they age they keep tacking on more names they acquire or choose. The longest name I've ever heard took almost a full minute to recite and I was amazed to hear the Horse recite it three times flawlessly. Phillip, by comparison to most, had a remarkably short and conservative name for a Horse his age.
He engaged Rhye in conversation then, lifting a hoof so she could study the iron shoe and its function. They talked about everything but me and what we were doing in the valley. Rhye was the only offspring of Pennon, it turned out, and her sire was Lord of the Herd. She seemed to enjoy having an audience that didn't already know everything about her and she spoke long and rapidly. I kept still and quiet, letting Phillip talk and Rhye flirt. It was very sweet to see, but as minutes stretched into an hour and still no sign of the Lord of the Winged Horses, I decided Phillip could do with a rub-down.
"Well," I said to Phillip when Rhye finally stopped quizzing him, "we won't be able to go much further today anyway."
Working quickly and automatically, I unloaded the dwindling supplies from his back and lifted off the bridle and saddle. I dug through the saddlebag and pulled out a comb and brushes and began to groom him as I did almost every evening. The Winged Horses watched with intense interest as I brushed and rubbed Phillip down, taking my time and losing myself in the mindless task as I returned his dusty coat to its usual glossy sheen. I inspected his hooves and shoes carefully and then tackled his mane and tail with the comb. I'll admit I took more time than was necessary simply because our audience was so intrigued. While beautiful, the Winged Horses were wild and unkept and perhaps by seeing the result of a thorough grooming they might not think that having a rider was such a horrible thing after all. Throughout the process Rhye munched grass nearby, casually inching closer to see every detail.
"Would you like your tail queued?" I asked even though I had never seen Phillip wearing anything beyond the plainest trappings available.
Phillip, knowing full well what I was up to, played along. "Please, your majesty."
I combed his tail a bit more, then braided it in a tight queue, doubling the end over and braiding it back in upon itself. It wouldn't hold for long, but that wasn't the point. By now Rhye was overcome with curiosity, standing a mere two yards away.
"What is he doing?" she asked Phillip in her high-pitched voice when she could stand it no longer.
I hid a smile as Phillip snapped, "Why don't you be polite and ask him yourself?"
Her ears stood up sharply and she was taken aback, but only in that she realized she had been behaving rudely all along. With a little cough she stepped closer to me, head lowered to look me in the eye.
"Excuse me, Human-"
"King Peter," corrected Phillip in a hiss.
She blinked, clearly recognizing the title. "Excuse me, King Peter," she echoed, "but what are you doing to Phillip? And what did you do to his tail?"
"I'm grooming him," I replied. I picked up the curry comb. "I bushed him with these. They remove loose hair and dirt. This," I lifted another comb, "takes the tangles out of his mane and tail. I queued it so it wouldn't get tangled again. Would you like me to brush you?"
It was exactly what she wanted, but before her peers she didn't want to seem too eager. "Hmm. Yes, a little. Could you do somewhere I can see?"
"Hold still," I said, and began to brush her shoulder. She was quite dirty and I couldn't imagine the state of her tail, but I pressed on, knowing I needed allies here. Her shoulder gradually became her flanks and back and she lifted her silver wings to make sure I didn't miss an inch of her hide. Beneath the dirt and loose hair and occasional bug she was a beautiful dun color. Throughout the process she made comments of pleasure and peppered me and Phillip with questions and observations so rapidly we didn't always have time to answer before she was on to the next one. It took a long time, but time I had right then. I rubbed her down with a cloth and then smoothed the dust from the long feathers on her wings. She shone in the afternoon sun.
"Shall I check your hooves?" I asked, digging out the small hook I had used on Phillip's hooves.
She hesitated, and Phillip snorted. "Of course you should, King Peter. Rhye knows you will not hurt her."
She couldn't back down now and gingerly allowed me to inspect her front hooves. She had a stone lodged in one, which I carefully worked free. She was far more hesitant about allowing me to lift her back legs, but one contemptuous look from the Talking Horse and she huffed and let me proceed. She could have done with shoes, for her hooves were chipped, but there were no cracks and she seemed healthy enough.
"What of my tail? Can you queue mine?" she asked, all pretense of aloofness evaporated when she saw how lustrous her coat could be.
"It's very tangled," I warned. "It might hurt when I pull."
"I don't mind," she said, vanity overcoming solidarity with her herd. "I promise I won't kick you or even move, King Peter."
"Good," I muttered, not at all reassured. I glanced at Phillip and he gave me a pleased look right back.
Her tail was a mess of knots and matted hair and I was forced to cut out huge tangles. Her tail alone took almost an hour to sort out and braid. Her mane wasn't quite so bad, but Rhye was so excited and eager to see what she looked like it was hard to get her to keep still. She talked all the while, asking questions about the ocean and sugar and horseshoes and Narnia and what the Horses there were like.
When I was finally finished I stepped back, shaking out my sore arms. She was breathtakingly beautiful, all gray and fawn, Pegasus rendered in burnished silver and gold. In her delight she tried so hard to see all of her back and wings she turned a full circle, then gave a whinnying laugh and launched into the wind, tossing her head for the sheer joy and newness of having been groomed. She seemed to dance through the cold mountain air, brilliant against the sky.
"She's very happy," Phillip observed needlessly, stepping up beside me.
I laughed and hooked my arm under his head, pulling his cheek against mine. "So am I," I admitted. It was true. For the first time in almost three months, my heart was light again.
It didn't last very long.
When she returned half an hour later, Rhye had brought dozens more of her kind. Among them was Lord Pennon, and he was not in any way impressed by Narnia's High King.