Scorpio Festival Challenge #1: Your Capaill Uisce
@welcometothisby @thescorpioracesfestival
The sun rises over the sea, and all that runs through my mind is how much I will miss it. The high cliffs lining the beach. Of the turbulent waves crashing over the sand before simmering into froth. This is what life is. Finding joy in something and living in its grip. The unease that the ocean was beautiful and dangerous all at once. Picture perfect scenery and then the next second be spitting those horses back at us, their legs finding sand like new born foals. It was still early but people were already on the beach, combing for capall uisce. It’s a group of five guys, with ropes in their gloved hands. Three carry whips and those electric shocking sticks. Others hold cameras, large expensive ones. No photo can capture the wild, dangerous eyes of the Capaill Uisce. Or their hooves that could tear flesh, their scream of a neigh. But I suppose it is the closest and safest way to see them. Closing my eyes I suck in a deep breath of salt and sea. It isn’t my parent’s fault for making me leave. They only want the best for me, the thing that checks off the list of things good parents do. Maybe I’m a bit too harsh on them, but they have this idea that I need to leave in order to live. And that’s not how I want to live. The whole conversation had been unpleasant. My one friend’s dream is to leave. All she wants is to run away and never return. I’m the only one in my class that wants to stay. There are more opportunities over on the mainland. Across in America, and beyond. Jobs, ample land, people. You don’t have to live in homes that have been passed through your family for generations. Nor slap a large smile on your face daily for tourists so maybe they spend money on you so you live through winter. My parents didn’t have a choice in staying here. In a perfect world people would stay where they don’t want to. But I do. That’s why I’m here now, feeling and listening. I don’t have much time left until I must leave. As much as the idea sickens me. That’s when I see him. He flops out of the ocean, landing on his side before heaving himself up on his legs. His wet coat is a blue black with white markings cut into his coat like the jagged Thisby cliffs. His ears flicker back and forth. He’s so still, and my breath catches in my breath. He embodies Thisby, beautiful and deadly. Don’t move is the first thing I was taught about the beach. No sudden movement and they won’t give chase. Hopefully. But even with the waves lapping around his legs, he seems so, wholly horse. That group of five sees him. They move as one, moving over the sand. The ones with ropes start to swing it in their hands. They’re doing it wrong, but they walk in such a way you’d think they’ve written books on the subject of horse catching. And they haven’t. The stallion trembles, not in fear but anticipation. The men are tall and thin with plain ropes. I would have hung belles from it. But I’m here on a large bolder, near the cliffs, watching the action unfold in front of me. It would have been easier for the horse not to have slipped out of the sea in front of me instead of farther up the beach. Some guy is shooting photos, his feet in the water. How stupid of him. It’s one thing to take photos, but to stand in the ocean with your back turned is dangerous. Especially with a stallion half way tethered to the land. A guy slips in next to me and wraps his arm around my shoulders. “So whatcha thinking Lark?” I glance at my best friend. Rune’s cheeks are red and his black hair’s tossled over his head. Rune will leave the island before the Scorpio Races. Won’t see it. Rune’s the smartest person I know and the island really is too small for him. “I like him. He has that look to his eye,” I say. “But look how—“ The stallion screams, whirling around and bolting at the men. His hooves dig into the sand, sending water up in the air. Those men stood so strong a few seconds ago but now are running. Big mistake. I’m on my feet, running. They’re going to get someone killed. Or themselves. Rune’s screaming behind me but I only see the coming disaster. The sand and water filled with red splotches of blood. Everything’d loud. The men are screaming. The horses and the sea. The stallion opens his mouth and grabs the guy’s camera swinging his head side to side. I pump my legs faster, ignoring Rune’s yells. I don’t think he’s ever touched a Capaill Uisce. Or if he did the moment was so brief it might as well not count as a touch. The rope’s dragging behind him as the stallion keeps half rearing up. I grab it, feeling the rough rawhide drag between my fingers. This is life. The stallion jerks, his weight being thrown off. I don’t move as he turns around, the camera dropping from his mouth. He turns to me. He looks more monster than horse, his mouth far too long than an island horse. I don’t take my eyes off of him and I raise my hands and the horse spins on his haunches, launching himself down the beach. A hand touches my shoulder and I sigh. Loudly. “Thank you,” he says. It’s the camera guy. In his hands is the mangled camera and he’s clutching it like it’s his heart. He’s afraid of me and he should be. I have zero issues with tourists. I like them since they keep a house over my head, but I can’t stand ignorance. Learn about the places you visit. Thisby’s beaches aren’t like anything of this world. I nod to him, but his eyes grow large. I’m not that scary. Am I? I glance behind and that Capaill Uisce is standing there. His nostrils are flared, the reds of it showing. There’s curiosity in his eyes and he dips his head down into the water. He makes bubbles, sending a cascade of them around his emerged face. What type of water horse is this? Not a normal one. Before he died my Grandfather told me about such horses. The ones that never lingered near the surface of the water. Untouched by man, unaware of man. The curious and oldest of the type. They’re the closest thing to being completely wild. But the real, real version of it. The type that haven’t watched humans from the sideline. The rope hangs loose from his neck, dangling in his surf. If I must leave my island, I might as well go out with a bang. My heart pounds against my chest as I step to the stallion. Those large large ears swivel to me. We will run in the races together. I know it. He is so beautiful and horrifying. There’s so much intelligence in those blue eyes. I creep towards him, never breaking eye contact as I grab the rope. He takes a large breath, his nostrils flaring. A soft whinny comes from his mouth. He is mine. Mine, mine, mine. A piece of Thisby’s deadliest creation that is staring at me like I too am one of its own.
