Changing the World: All-New Tales of Valdemar

The Wood’s heart was a low hill with a ring of stones on the summit. Whatever or whoever had put them there was long gone, and whatever power the builders had had or meant to raise was gone with them. Grass grew there now, and flowers that the children of Emmerdale plaited into chains and strung from stone to stone.

Why they did it or what purpose it might serve, none of them could have said. It was just what one did if one was in the circle.

No one else was there on this warm, bright afternoon, though there must have been at least one visitor earlier: a string of daisies fluttered in the breeze, wound around and around the tallest stone. The flowers were barely wilted, their yellow centers bright against the pitted grey rock.

Kelyn’s pony snorted, then did the most embarrassing thing she knew how to do: she flipped her tail over her back and squatted. Kelyn slapped her neck hard. “You idiot! There’s no stallion here.”

Kelyn was wrong. As it happened, there was.

He had not been there an instant ago, standing between two of the tall gray stones. He was as white as snow, and his eyes were pure and luminous blue. His long mane rippled in the breeze that played around the hilltop.

His nostrils flared at the sharp scent of the mare’s longing, but he was a great deal more than a stallion. He dipped his head to her, respectfully, yet made no move to claim what she offered. There was a hint of regret and apology that he must disappoint her—all in the glint of an eye and the turn of an ear.

Kelyn loved him for that, suddenly and completely. “Thank you,” she said.

:You are welcome,: he answered.

“Everyone thinks she’s just a pony,” Kelyn said, “but she’s a person. I suppose you get a lot of that, too?”

:Occasionally,: he said. His voice in her head was dryly amused.

“Your Herald must get tired of setting people straight,” she said.

:I can see that you do,: said the Companion.

Kelyn started to answer, but then she stopped. It had dawned on her, belatedly, that there was no one in Whites standing near him. Then she realized what exactly he had said.

She went perfectly still, inside and out. The world around her was supernaturally clear. She could hear every rustle of the wind in the grass, and see every glint of sunlight on the stones, and count each flower that sprang around the Companion’s silver hooves.

She wanted to remember everything, every breath, every fraction of this moment.

:You are Kelyn,: he said, :and I am Coryn, and I’ve come for you. Will you sit on my back?:

The pony offered no objection when Kelyn slid out of the familiar saddle and tied up the reins so that she could graze if she chose. For all the stallion’s attractions, the grass to her mind was sweeter.

Kelyn patted her neck a little sadly, because a woman’s clothes had changed little after all, but this changed everything. The pony tilted an ear, otherwise ignoring her. The grass was delicious, and she was hungry.

Ponies were as unsentimental as living creatures could be. Kelyn turned away from her toward the being she had dreamed of since she was small.

He was waiting for her. For her, and no one else.

She sprang onto his back. It was a long way up, but she was agile and strong. Her only regret was that there was no human there to see it.

Nerys would die of jealousy. That brightened Kelyn’s mood beyond measure.

Coryn carried her from one end of the Wood to the other, striding long and smooth, with power that made her heart sing. He was wide through the back and barrel, too, which she would have to get used to. But she would. She had the rest of her life to do it.

She had expected to gallop into Emmerdale in a blaze of glory, but his circle took him back to the ring of stones and her pony dozing peacefully in the light of the westering sun. There he halted and made it clear that she should dismount. “But,” she said, “I thought—”

:I know,: Coryn said. :And you will, I promise. Go home now; keep this as our secret. In a little while the world will know that I have Chosen you; and then you’ll have your dream.:

“That’s not what any of the stories say,” Kelyn said. She should not have been so stubborn, but she could not help herself.

:Every story is different,: the Companion said. :This is yours, and it is wonderful.:

“Not if I have to go home without you,” she said.

:It’s not for very long,: he said, gentle but firm. :Now hurry. Your mother is looking for you.:

That was a shrewd blow. Kelyn glared, but she gave way. “You’d better come back soon,” she said. “Tomorrow. Promise.”

:Soon,: the Companion said. Her Companion, who had Chosen her.

That would keep her warm inside, even if she could not tell anyone. Except maybe—

:Not even your mother,: said Coryn.

“You’re worse than she is,” Kelyn muttered. “She doesn’t read my mind.”

His laughter filled the circle and melted into sunlight. When the dazzle faded from her eyes, he was gone. She was alone with her pony and her temper and the best secret she had ever had or hoped to have.

The next day was market day in Emmerdale. Kelyn and Nerys had duties there: Kelyn in her father’s shop among the bolts of wool, and Nerys in the livestock market, where she kept the records of the sheep as they were bought and sold. It was pure coincidence that the sheepfolds and the cloth market were at opposite ends of the square, but it had served their families well over the years.

The white horse came trotting down the middle of the market at the stroke of noon. His coat was dazzling in the sun. His mane and tail streamed in the wind of his passage.

More than one young and not so young person reached out to catch hold of his bridle or tried to bar his way. He never seemed to veer from his path, nor did he slow or stop. He simply was not there for those who hoped to make him Choose them.

The center of the market was a fountain that had not run in living memory. The well that fed it was dry.

As the Companion came to a halt in front of it, water bubbled up in the bowl, filled it and spilled over into the basin below. He lowered his chiseled white head and drank, while the market watched in spreading silence.

Two voices at once broke that silence, from opposite ends of the square: “Coryn!”

Nerys and Kelyn ran toward him. Neither saw anything or anyone but the Companion, until they reached to embrace him in front of everyone and found themselves face to face instead.

The shock was as sharp as a slap. It struck the words out of them and left them staring, too shocked even for hate.

That came next, so strong and so perfectly matched that no one who watched could have said who sprang first. There would have been blood or worse if the Companion had not set himself quietly and immovably between them.

They climbed up and over him, yowling like forest cats. His head snaked around and plucked first Nerys and then Kelyn off his back, dropping them to the ground and looming over them until their yowling stopped.

It was Kelyn’s mother, Alis, who spoke for them both, and for the whole town, too. “They can’t both be Chosen.”

“We aren’t!” Nerys cried. “I was Chosen. He came to me in the high pasture, and he told me—”

“He came to me!” Kelyn shouted over her. “I was in the stone circle in the Wood, and he—”

The Companion lifted his head and let out a ringing peal. It sounded like laughter—and from the girls’ expressions, that was exactly what it was. “You can’t do that!” they sang in chorus.

Except, it seemed, he had.

“The trouble with success,” Herald Egil said, “is that everyone expects you to succeed all over again.”

His Companion ignored him. She had found an unusually succulent patch of grass and was savoring each leisurely mouthful.