Blood of the Sea

This is a work of fiction, based on another work of fiction, The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater, and has no relation to the real world. "thisby," and the the basic ideas (eg, capaill uisce) belong to her.

also, this was written for a myth/fable assignment for school, so if it seems differnent...that's why

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There is a very small island called Thisby that is located somewhere near what is now the United Kingdom. It is known for one thing: its horses. Every year, people flock to Thisby in the fall to watch the capaill uisce, or water horses, run in the Scorpio Races. It is a deadly game they play, and it all started with the sea...

The people of Thisby have always loved the sea; how could they not? For the sea surrounds them, and it provides form them their livelihoods. But their love went deeper than that. They longed for it, to be lost among its waves, but humans were made for land, not the sea, and so their yearning was always there, hiding in the backs of their minds.

A very long time ago, the lord of the sea, Scorpio, noticed the people of Thisby’s sorrow. In an attempt to ease their sadness, he asked Epona, the mare goddess and the island's patron, for help. Together they created the capaill uisce, Epona giving them the shape of horses, and since they were born of the sea's waves, and he shared with them his strength and power.

The people of Thisby gladly accepted Scorpio and Epona's gift to them, welcoming the capaill uisce every fall as the horses were washed out of the sea and on to the beaches. Man and horse quickly formed a deep bond with one another, for the Thisbians loved the sea, and the capaill uisce were the sea. The humans took care of the capaill uisce while they were on land, and in return, the capaill uisce let them ride on their backs. No normal horse could run like a capaill uisce, with the power and strength of the sea in their legs, and it gave the Thisbians a taste of what they longed for. And the capaill uisce, being horses, loved to run, and where else could they do so except on land? All were content.

As I said, their bonds ran deep. And it was so, that while many capaill uisce soon returned to the sea after leaving it, some did not. One such capall uisce was Muirin.

Muirin, one of the fastest capall uisce on the island, was very attached to his caretaker, Cian. He loved him so much that he chose to stay on land with him rather than return to the sea. They spent many happy years together on the island, racing across fields and down the beaches. But eventually Cian grew old, as humans do, and could no longer ride. Muirin, though, stayed young and healthy, a norm for his kind; and so he became restless, but he would not leave his friend or bear another rider.

Finally, it became Cian's time to die. As he lay on his bed, he summoned his son to him. With his fading voice, he whispered to his son, “Baoth.”

“Yes, father,” he replied.

“When I die,” Cian croaked, “return Muirin to the sea.” His voice then faded entirely, but he waited patiently for his son to answer.

Baoth nodded his great head and replied meekly, “Yes, father.” And with that, Cian took his last breath and his spirit left him.

But his last request was not to be fulfilled, for Baoth was a prideful and greedy man, and he meant to keep Muirin as his own; he was not willing to let the fastest horse on Thisby escape his grasp.

As he paced in his stall, Muirin knew the moment that his friend died. It sent him into a frenzy, and he began slamming himself against the walls and kicking at them hard enough to splinter the wood. But above all could be heard his lament for his lost friend, an unworldly scream that pierced the ears of men and animals for miles around.

Baoth, along with his other flaws, was not a tolerant man. No sooner had he pulled a sheet over his father's body did he come charging out of the house and into the stable.

“SILENCE, YOU BEAST,” he bellowed in rage. He grabbed a rope draped over an empty stall and proceeded to whip the capall uisce with it, once, twice. It did nothing except make the horse more wild. But when Baoth pulled his arm back to lash Muirin a third time, he reached too far, and the rope became tangled in a belled harness. Instantly, Muirin went quiet. Baoth squinted at him, unsure of the capall's intentions. He gave another tug on the rope, and watched as Muirin snorted and took a step back, watching the rope and harness with wide eyes.

“Ah,” he said, grinning wickedly as the reason came to him, “Afraid of the bells, are you?” Baoth went over to the harness and took it down from the wall, watching with an unsavory glee as Muirin quivered with the ringing of the bells.

Untangling the rope from the harness, Baoth formed a loop at one end and slipped it over Muirin's head with one hand, keeping hold of the bells with the other as the capall uisce nervously backed into a corner of his stall. With a great heave, Baoth hoisted himself on Muirin's bare back.

Bells or no, Muirin would not stand having any rider but Cian on his back. He reared, and when that failed to dislodge his unwelcome passenger, he bolted, out of his stall and through the stable doors that Baoth, distracted by his anger, had forgotten to close.

The capall uisce raced across the island, jumping hedgerows and fences, racing down roads and across streams. But Baoth would not budge from Muirin's back, though it was all he could do to stay seated.

Eventually, Muirin ran out of island and came to the beach. He was tired, sides heaving and foaming at the mouth. Baoth, finally able to do more than hang on for dear life, yanked hard on his rope. Muirin turned and snapped at him. When he drew back, there was blood on his teeth from where he had bitten Baoth's forearm. His anger revived, Baoth drew back the free end of his rope to whip the horse yet again. When the blow struck, Muirin reared. This time, it had the intended result. Baoth, tired from the strain of keeping his seat during the ride, lost his grip on Muirin's bare back and went flying. He landed heavily, his head stricking a rock with a sharp crack. He would never move again.

Muirin, meanwhile, had vanished into the waves. The moment that Baoth had left his back, the capall uisce had darted toward the sea. Neck deep in the water, Muirin spared a moment to look back in the direction of his former home, and gave a mournful whinny for his lost friend before plunging beneath the waves.

Now when Scorpio and Epona learned of what had transpired, they were furious. They wanted to order all of the capaill uisce to never set foot on land again. But they knew, down deep inside, that the capaill uisce loved the land as much as the sea, and would not resist when the urge to run took them. And Scorpio knew that sometimes his waves were too strong, and the capaill uisce would be forced on to Thisby's beaches. And so, Epona gave the horses a taste for flesh and blood and made their features more fiendish, that the humans would fear the capaill uisce and leave them be.

But the Thisbians, being human, did not react the way that Scorpio and Epona had expected. They feared the capaill uisce now, yes, but in the end, they still could not resist them. In the fall, when the waves grew rough and the capaill uisce's hunger and longing to run grew strong, the horses would wash up on the beaches. The humans would then catch the capaill uisce, and, using tricks they discovered (like the bells), attempt to control them. The humans began to pride themselves on their ability to restrain the horses, and they decided that there should be some way to prove who was the best.

And so, on the first of every November, they raced. The humans would capture their horses, train them, and run them down the beach next to the Scorpio Sea, pushing their control over the capaill uisce to the limit. Men were mauled, losing fingers, hands, and chunks of flesh; men were killed, trampled beneath hooves, ripped open by horse teeth, and drowned in the sea by their horses. Yet still they continued.

Thus was born the Scorpio Races.

Pronunciations:

Capaill uisce (plural) = cap-ill oosh-ka

capall uisce (singular) = cap-all oosh-ka