#tsrf2015characterchallenges

James

He dances under neither me as we walk onto the beach. The crowd is all around us, cheering on their favorites. Cheering for victory. Cheering for blood.

I take a deep breath as the riders line up. This is it. I think searching the masses for familiar faces, but from atop Caddoc everyone looks so small, so insignificant.

"Hey James!" A voice calls. I turn in the saddle and watch as Marcus pushes his way to the front, Butch limping close behind. "We just wanted to wish you good luck." He smiles offering me his hand.

"Thanks." I say taking his hand tentatively and shaking it.

"I think you'll win." Marcus says with an easy grin before moving away from a crowd of raging horseflesh.

I almost laugh, turning my gaze back to the stretch of beach I front of me. I don’t tell him that I'm not racing for the money; I get enough for managing the bar during the week. I'm not doing it for glory. I am doing this to proof to myself I belong here. To prove even though Thisby is not my birthplace, it is my home.

James

I know he’s there even before I close the front door behind me. Ruffian stands by the gate his ears pricked down the road as the familiar shape moves closer, a dark silhouette in the dimming evening light. Caddoc has retreated into his stall, abandoning his post overlooking the sea for the safety of the four walls. I can barley see the outline of his nostrils as he tests the air for the scent of the new comer.

I raise my hand slowly waving; “Just bring it over here Marcus.” I shout, motioning to the front porch. It’s always Marcus. Maybe he volunteers or maybe the other deliver boys just don’t jump at the chance to visit the Rainey Estate on a gloomy evening. Grabbing a bale of hay from the shed next to the house, I move over towards Ruffian’s paddock tossing the old bay’s evening meal over the fence as the boy moves towards the house. Marcus, the Gratton’s deliver boy, smiles a ‘hello” as he lugs a bucket of steaming blood.

“Evening James.” He says, setting the bucket down on the porch and sitting down on the front step, a grey and white hound flopping to the ground at Marcus’s feet.

I don’t respond, grabbing the pail of blood and starting towards Caddoc’s pasture. Marcus hops up and trails after me, his hound close at his side. I silently roll my eyes as Marcus begins to talk, droning on about the races, the festival, and all the aspects of Marcus Blake’s life, that he believes I will find remotely interesting. Marcus, only a few years younger than me, is the illegitimate son of an illegitimate son, and I have known him since we were both children. Our mothers met when we first returned to the island and became fast friends. Marcus and I had never been close; though we were forced to socialize while we were growing up. But after my brother drown last winter; the Blake’s stopped their weekly visit for dinner. Mrs. Blake seeing no point once my mother returned to the mainland.

Marcus fidgets as I empty the bucket of blood into a trough, whistling low and loud to the capaill uisce still hiding in his stall. Caddoc keens back to me, moving out of the stall his ears suddenly pricked on the dog bounding around Marcus’s feet barking. I turn to hang the bucket up on the fence, catching a passing glance as a dark shadow snaked past my shoulder.

“MOVE!” I snarl grabbing Marcus by the shirt collar and shoving him to the ground just seconds before the water horse pounced. The evening stillness is only cut by a scream of pain as Caddoc’s teeth sink into the hound dog’s flank.

 Marcus

           I can’t move. My eyes fixed on the capaill uisce as he drags Butch back towards his den, like a wild beast. Our eyes lock for a moment as Butch whimpers, trying to pull himself forward out of the capaill’s grip. The capaill has him in an iron grip, blood lust glinting in his eyes. James growls something to his horse, voice low. The capaill’s ears swivel slowly towards the sound of his rider’s voice.

           “Caddoc, go eat your own supper.” James says softly, his voice like waves sliding along smooth pebbles. The capaill snorts irritably, tightening his grip on the hound. Butch howls in pain, weakly scratching at the water horse’s muzzle with his paw. I open my mouth to say something, to tell James to do something, but my voice only cracks and drops off.

“Caddoc. Now.” James growls, his voice dangerous as he grabs a metal strip out of his back pocket. The beast makes a sound, halfway between a scream of fear and a hiss of defeat as he sees the dull shine of the iron. Caddoc takes one last look at James before dropping Butch’s broken form and trotting off.

           I run towards my dog, dropping to my knees, and cradling the hound’s head in my lap.

           “It’s okay buddy,” I whisper stroking his forehead, trying not to watch the blood pulsing out of the wound on the dog’s flank.

           “Come on,” James mutters, offering me his hand but his eyes stay focused on the capaill in the distance. I look up at him and bundle Butch up into my arms. James turns finally and looks at me with a furrowed brow, then at the dog. I can almost see something fighting within him as he looks from me to the bleeding hound.

Ultimately, he sighs. “Bring him in the house.”

 James

           The dishes clang to the floor as I sweep my arm across the table clearing it as Marcus gently carries the dog into my house and tentatively lays the dog down onto the tablecloth. I walk into the washroom and grab my mismatched aid kit. As I rummage through the dented metal box, looking for thread and a needle, I watch Marcus with his pet. Tears streak through the grime on his face as he lovingly strokes the dog’s ear.

Idiot, I think to myself. Who would bring a dog while delivering blood to capaill? I grab the needle and thread and bring them over to the table. Marcus doesn’t look up, his attention focused on the dog. I grab a pot of water and dump it on the dog’s flank, blood and dirt flooding onto the floor. There goes the carpet. I step over the puddle and begin to stich close the bite mark. I work in silence; the only sound the ragged breathing of the hound and Marcus’s muffled sobbing as he buries his face in the ruffled fur of Butch’s neck.

           I stand at the sink, washing the blood from my hands. I can see Caddoc from my kitchen window. He stands, as usual, watching the sea. The scene is calm almost serene as Ruffian grazes in his pasture next to the sea singing capaill and the sun begins to set, diving into the tide below.

           “Thank you,” A voice whispers from behind me. I turn around and look at Marcus. He looks young, younger than he is, hair messy and eyes rimmed red from tears. “For saving him…”

I shrug, and begin to boil some coffee. “Sorry Caddoc attacked him.” I say quietly, unsure of what exactly to say. Marcus just looks at me and turns back to the dog, stroking his ear and whispering softly to him. I slide Marcus a mug of coffee and a bowl of sugar.

“It’s bitter.” I mutter before turning and walking towards the door. I want to kick him out, make him leave me to my solitude and routine.  But, something stops me from opening the door and shooing him out. “I… uh have to go feed the horses.” I grumble before letting myself out.

Caddoc keens to me as I drag a pail of meat over to his feed bucket, the drama of this afternoon long forgotten. As I dump the meat into the trough, the capaill dances from hoof to hoof, nudging me playfully with his nose. It’s moments like these that I almost forget he is a monster.

“There you go.” I snort, spitting in my hand and pushing the water horse away so I can move past him and get out of the stall. Caddoc flicks his ears as I move away and goes back to the bucket to feast. I shake my head as Caddoc begins to eat, hissing with a sick joy, the sound of tearing meat and crunching bones deaf overwhelming.

Ruffian whinnies quietly as dump a hand cupful of grain into his feed bucket. I stand in the dying light, gently stroking the old bay’s nose. “Hey old guy.” I smile softly. The island horse is the exact opposite of his pasture mate, steady and calm rather than wild and blood thirsty. I pat his cheek and then turn back to the house.

Marcus’s head is down at the table with one hand resting on Butch’s side, both are sound asleep. I move into the kitchen, clanging the empty mugs of coffee together with the dirty pot. The last thing I want is Marcus Blake sound asleep on my kitchen table with his blood stained mutt where I eat my breakfast. Neither of them stirs as I crash the pot into the sink.

“Great.” I growl and stalk into the living room. It’s been months since I’ve had visitors besides the odd food delivery for the horses, let alone anyone staying the night in my house.

 Marcus

           I wake with a start. The kitchen is pitch black, and silence expect for the steady crash of the ocean coming from outside. As my eyes adjust to the low light, I shrug off the blanket that has been draped around my shoulders, noticing a plate of food left on the chair next to me. It takes a few moments for me to remember where I am and what has happened.  I pat Butch gently on the head, his tail weakly thumping on the wooden table.

           “It’s alright boy.’ I whisper, fondly tugging on the dog’s ear. It has to be around midnight I think as I look around the house. I remember the Rainey house always being tidy when I would visit with my mother during my childhood. But now the house looks like it was hit by a hurricane. Clothes and discarded blankets litter the living room couch and chairs, and the floor is a maze of odd bits of metal and strips of satin cloth. Charms for the races, I realize carefully stepping over a dangerous looking martingale. I take a step towards the bedroom, and freeze as my foot knocks aside a forgotten bell. I wait a moment for the owner of the house to awaken. But only a soft woof from the table breaks the silence. It’s then I realize the house is empty.

James

"I will ride. James Rainey. Caddoc. By my blood." I haven't said the words aloud yet but as I walk down the road towards Skarmouth, I repeat them over and over again in my head. Convinced that if I stop my silent mantra I will forget the words. Ruffian trots along the fence line with me; snorting his displeasure as I show him the content of the bucket I am holding. He bucks slightly as he canters off, nostrils flared at the scent of blood and raw meat. Sometimes, I swear that the old workhorse is worse than any dog begging for scraps. But he is not having any of the meal intend for Caddoc. I set down the bucket and whistle to Ruffian. The old bay reluctantly trots back over and I pat his velvet nose.

"I'll bring you something later." I tease as I walk away, back on my path towards town. In the fading light I can just make out the outline of the capaill uisce’s hindquarters, waiting for his supper.

I never take my eyes off Caddoc as I pour the slop into his feed bucket. Caddoc has never gone after my brother's horse but in the dim light he looks just as wild and dangerous as I know he is. I like to pretend the two have a healthy respect for one another but I think that if the fence delegating them wasn't decorated with metal and charms, Ruffian would be the capaill uisce's next meal. I reach my hand out to stroke the water horse's neck. Caddoc hisses and tosses his head back as my touch startles him. The sound, like a shrieking child, echoes around the lean-to and out across the fields. I slowly back out of the stall wiping blood on to my pants, wary as always. Caddoc turns to regard me as I get to the doorway, his mismatched eyes holding my gaze. He keens to me, pawing the ground softly before turning to his meal. I let out a sigh and turn to go. Caddoc screams, a blood curdling sound, and I spin around, clutching the empty bucket to my chest. Blood drips down from Caddoc's open muzzle just inches from my face. The capaill uisce tilts his head slowly, watching me with each eye like a hunting bird. I slowly press a strip of metal lined with nails into his chest, pushing him back into the stall before hurriedly backing away and over the fence. The iron strip hits the ground with a clang, I hate using it on him but the sea has been singing to Caddoc lately more than usual. The curse of November I guess. I look back over at Caddoc's pasture. I can't see him but the clanging and screaming from the stall is all I need to know that the water horse has forgotten all about the run in with the iron, his meal holding his attention.

Skarmouth is alive. The sounds of men yelling for the crowded bar is only drowned out by the steady beat of the Scorpio Drummers as they march down the main street. I can see the Mare Goddess as she moves with the drummers, a crowd in tow as they wait for the shell to be dropped, everyone vying for the wish. I slide past the group passing by the bonfire and collection of teenagers throwing sea wishes over the cliff. I smile slightly as I watch the papers dance on the wind and then get swallowed by the churning sea below. My mother had outlawed the sea wishes in our household, calling them devil dreams or something like that. But tonight is the first night I have ever considered writing down a name backwards on a slip of paper and launching it over the cliff. With the rhythmic crash and ebb of the waves I can almost picture the scrap floating down to the sea, my mother’s name scrawled on it.

"From the sea to the sea." It was the one of the only phrases I remember my mother muttering as we watched a capaill uisce's head burst from the waves below us. The water horse swam alongside our small boat as it chugged towards the island on the horizon. My mother always said that I was born on the mainland for the island, but as we took our first steps onto the island I couldn't think she was more wrong. We had left in the dead of night from the mainland, my mother dragging Charlie and I from our beds, shrugging off her blackened eye and shoving us onto a boat. Charlie later told me that our mother was our savior. But after I lost Charlie to the sea and my mother to the mainland, I realized the island was my savior. I turn the paper over in my hands; one edge is burned and ripped. Her name would fit perfectly on it, I assure myself as I crumple it up in my hand and toss the scrap in the bonfire. I need to win this race. Not only to prove that I can survive the island on my own, but that I belong on Thisby. I do not need sea wish magic cursing Caddoc and I's ride.

As the night moves on to the beat of the drums I can see a crowd beginning too form around the rock. I move slowly with the flow of onlookers and riders, recognizing a few faces from the beach. The rider of the dapple-grey with a blood spot above his eye stands in front of me, the rider of the sooty bay to my left. We are all waiting for someone to go up and say the words.

"I will ride. James Rainey. Caddoc. By my blood." I mutter under my breath. Riders start to move up, blood dripping onto the rock like a red rain. I take a deep breath and walk up onto the rock. Peg, the butcher’s wife, slices my hand and I pause for a moment watching the blood well up along the cut. I turn my hand over, letting the blood trickle down and splatter onto the rock below. In the crisp evening air the blood seems to smoke as I speak the words, my voice quivering.

"I will ride. James Rainey. Caddoc. By my blood." I look out around the crowd, a slight smile creeping onto m face. I've made it. I'm racing. Stepping off the rock to make way for the next rider, I move back to my place in the crowd. As each steps up onto the rock and says the words, I realize we are battling, fighting to win the race and to stay alive, but the sense of comradely is undeniable.

The festival begins to die down as most of the crowd moves off towards the bars and taverns around town. I begin to head home, leaving behind groups of riders and townsfolk heading off to drink to the health of the racers and to the wild Scorpio Sea. Ruffian is waiting by the fence, as usual, whinnying out as he sees me moving up the road, most likely waiting for some treats. With a wild neigh he flicks his tail and gallops off, clearly startled by something. I furrow my brow and start to jog up towards the paddocks, worried that a ravenous capaill uisce had broken into the yard.

"Ruffian!" I shout reaching the fence. Caddoc stands, his ears pricked to the sound of my voice. He screams softly, making his soft night sounds as he move along the fence line, following me. Ruffian stands a few yards away, his ears flat against his head watching Caddoc intently with fear in his eyes. Caddoc nudges my shoulder with his nose, his dark muzzle still stained with blood. I pat his cheek gently, my own blood smearing the white of his face giving him a ghastly look. He snorts, blue eye fixed on me, a sickening grin on his face. We are partners. Not totally committed to the idea of love and friendship. But nonetheless able to work together. I whisper into the night.

James

The tide is stained red with blood, and the screams of the water horses ring out across the already crowded beach. Hooves thunder down the shore, sending sprays of sand up into air. I stand at the edge of the training grounds, Caddoc shivering in my grip. I rest my hand on the massive roan's quivering neck, whistling softly to distract him from the riot of horseflesh and bodies going on around us.

“It's busy today, eh?" The horse snorted in reply, one of his dark ears focused on me, straining to hear my voice of the roar of the beach goers. Vendors line the edge of the beach selling handfuls of charms and bells and insurance hoping to make some quick money off of wary riders on their way to training. I lead Caddoc past them, holding the reins tightening. The bells may distract some capaill uisce from the sounds of the sea but the ringing only drove Caddoc to seek the calming sound of the waves. And honestly the insurance is just as big as a scam as some of the homemade charms blowing in the sea breeze. Safely past the hustle and bustle of the makeshift market, I look out across the beach. As the first few days of training I expected it to be packed, but the complete chaos in the sands is a bit off putting. Caddoc dances from hoof to hoof in my hands, eager to run with one ear on me and the other focused on the sea in front of us. I know it's too early in the season to start training by the alluring tides. But I need this today. And watching Caddoc nervously shift his weight from side to side I realize we both need to get back on this beach. The sea calls to Caddoc like an old friend, but it screams at me like a familiar demon.

I remember the first time I fell off a horse. (Or well slide off the side of one, anyway.) Charlie lifted me up off of the ground and set me back on my feet, with aside ways smile as I stared down at my scraped knee. Tears swiped down my cheeks as I stared over at where Ruffian stood grazing, his tail to us.

"You’ gotta get back on." Charlie had said simply as he dusted off my jacket and walked over to grab Ruffian's halter. I remember looking up at my brother horrified as he lead back over the gelding. To my five-year-old mind, the good-natured workhorse was as fearsome as the capall uisce that came up from the sea. But nonetheless I braved another ride around the yard, holding on for dear life as my brother lead his horse around the yard.

Now I stand holding my own mount, without my brother's easy smile and confident presence, that same fear coursing through my veins. I'm not afraid of Caddoc. I am afraid of the sea, and the monsters vying to return to it. Caddoc screams softly watching a pair of capall uisce tearing into each other. I run my hand down his neck, whispering softly as I quickly swing my leg over the saddle. Pawing the ground as I slide my foot into the stirrup, Caddoc turns to watch the waves, completely ignoring the other capall charging down the beach. Touching the water horse's sides with my heels we started off down the beach, the battle on the beach forgotten as we glided along the sands. But, the sea is still at our side and Caddoc hears her call now. He canters with his head almost turned towards the ocean, neck curled in as his hooves collect up under him neatly. On Charlie's last trip home from the mainland he brought me a tattered poster of some hot shot show horse from America. The dappled grey horse almost seemed to be floating over the arena, it’s head tucked almost against it’s neck as it canter across the grounds like a ghost.

"Won some national award." Charlie had said in his short word way, like that one sentence explained everything. "But they don't move like capall."