Trafford Publishing: Blue Taboo

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Blue Taboo

by Jacki Edmonds

286 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-2167; ISBN 1-4120-1790-4; US$24.50, C$28.50, EUR20.00, £14.00

A horse-loving young man has his life changed by a wild stallion with strange powers. Death, storms, treachery and romance feature as their lives converge with electrifying results.

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about the book about the author excerpts catalogue info

About the Book

When Jim Brannigan's uncle commits suicide, Jim suddenly finds himself the owner of a failing stud ranch at the age of nineteen. His uncle's old Indian friend, Grey Dog, as well as his loyal ranch hands, help him pull it back from the brink.
Jim's abilities are tested time and time again. The young man with a natural way with horses finds himself having to struggle against horrific storms, treachery and death in his goal to somehow fulfil his uncle's dream of breeding the fastest horse in the land. His life is enriched when he falls in love with the charming young daughter of his new foreman.
Up on the mountain above Jim's ranch stands a beautiful wild stallion. He stares down remembering the torment and brutality he suffered at the hands of humans.
His name is Ghost and he has developed a taste for raiding horse ranches. He steals the mares to enlarge his herd. Ghost is the cause of tragedy at the Brannigan ranch after stealing their prized black filly, Ebony Wind.
The union between them produces Blue Taboo, who was born during a terrifyingly violent storm. The trauma of his birth mysteriously leaves the huge colt with strange electrifying powers.
The lives of the young man on the ranch and the wild blue stallion of the mountain gradually become entwined with amazing results.

About the Author

Jacki was born in Gloucestershire on July 29th, 1956. She was horse mad as a child, eventually working with them from the age of 14 and then owning horses of her own. She had a number of jobs, one of which was running a pub-restaurant. She has two beautiful grown-up daughters who are still resident in Gloucestershire.
In 1999 she left England and lived on a large yacht for the next three years with her partner. They sailed the Mediterranean and visited many beautiful countries.
Eventually they decided to become landlubbers again. The Galician area of Spain is where they chose to settle.
They are slowly renovating an old farmhouse and have many animals gracing their small holding.
Jacki still goes back to England, normally about twice a year to see family and friends but always looks forward to coming back to her adopted land, beautiful Spain.

Excerpts

The pure white stallion stood tall on the cliff overlooking the plain. The light chill breeze lifted his long silky mane off his warm neck. He made no move. Just stood staring down and lightly sniffed the breeze.
His name was Ghost. At least that is what the men called him. He was well into his prime, stood 16 hands, was well muscled but had an elegance about him that you couldn't pinpoint. The soft skin around his eyes and nostrils was black; there was no other mark on him. His mane reached his shoulder and forelock to his nose. His ears were small and very alert. His tail, which reached his fetlocks, stood upright like a flag when he galloped. It was attached to a round highly developed rump. Ghost was a handsome stallion and had been much hunted over the years by the men he now watched down on the plain.
He had stood on the rock that stuck out from the cliff top for over an hour, when he felt the light nuzzle on his shoulder. He had been aware of the approach of the mare for quite a while. The grey mare was old, older than he. She no longer produced young each year but helped keep his herd in order while he was away. He relied on her good sense and also her companionship. Her name was Luna and she had been a very lovely mare in her younger years. She nudged Ghost.
"You have been here for a long while, what is it that you see?" Ghost took a deep breath and sighed. He wasn't sure; some instinct had drawn him up here. It made his heart beat fast, but he didn't know what it was.
He knew the place down on the plain very well; he knew the layout of the land surrounding it. He also knew the men that lived on it and hated them. It was down there that his first memories had been born. He shuddered, remembering. He shook his head to rid himself of those memories and turned to Luna.
"Come," he demanded. "Let us return." He walked a few steps and paused, looking back over his shoulder. Luna nudged him in growing impatience and he moved off to join the herd.
Down below the cliff that Ghost had stood watching from, a man was leaning against a fence smoking a pipe. He was old with a wrinkled face and dark eyes that were yellowed with age. They had seen much in their lifetime. His hair was long and black with silver threads running through it and it was held at the back by a leather thong. Grey Dog was lean and wiry; his deep coloured skin giving away his Indian ancestry. He drew deeply on his pipe letting the acrid smoke drift silently from his mouth before inhaling and blowing out into the cold air. His eyes were lifted up towards the cliff and he nodded gently as if answering a question.
Another man came out of the building behind him. Jim was tall and slim, his blonde hair waving slightly and falling down over his blue eyes causing him to flick his head to the side. He was not yet twenty years old, but had a well-defined muscular chest from the hard work on his uncle's horse ranch. He joined Grey Dog at the fence; leaned on it but said nothing. The old man pointed with the end of his pipe at the cliff top and muttered,
"He's back."
"Who?" asked Jim.
"The White Ghost," said the little Indian. The younger man looked at the older one.
"That's just an old Indian tale," he taunted, "surely you don't believe it?"
The old man nodded and drew on his pipe.
"That old stallion came from this ranch many years ago," said Grey Dog. "I had only been here for a year or two when your uncle brought the first thoroughbreds back from England, 50 horses in all but only 28 survived the journey across, including the stallion that was to be his stud."
Jim knew the story by heart, he had heard it so many times from his uncle but hearing it from the old Indian was like hearing it afresh. He stayed silent as the old man blew more smoke into the evening air.
"Your uncle had a dream about breeding the fastest horse in the land; he would've made it too, but for that there stallion's father." He again pointed with his pipe towards the cliff top. Jim interrupted him and asked,
"Have you ever seen him Grey Dog?"
The old man grunted and rolled up his sleeve to show a scar running the length of his forearm. It was knotted and gnarled and Jim flinched, he had never seen it before. "He did that?"
"Sure did," said Grey Dog, "got hold of my arm in his teeth and damn near stripped the living flesh off it. If it weren't for your uncle I'm damn sure I'd be dead these years since. Fired his gun at the horse, missed, but scared him enough so's he let me go. In the blink of an eye, the horse was gone."
"We got a hunting party up the very next day but could find no trace of him, seems like he just vanished into thin air, hence the name Ghost."
"But how could that stop uncle from breeding the fastest horse in the land?" Jim asked. "T'was an old mustang stallion that roamed these parts long afore your uncle got here, 'spose he thought the land belonged to him and he had a right to take what he wanted, so he did. Got woke up middle of the night by a commotion out here in the yard. The mares were all in the corral over yonder, we didn't keep the stallion in with them, they was special see. Couldn't take the chance of one of them being injured so we put the big boy in the small yard at the back. It was him that woke us up, going crazy, screaming his head off like he was being attacked by a cougar or something. He was trying to protect his mares you see, the old mustang had come down, smashed the rails and had taken the mares right from under his nose. We couldn't do anything that time of night but at first light, we saddled up and took off after them. It was easy to follow the trail, them being domestic mares and we soon caught up with a few stragglers. Some of the men took them back and caught up with us later. In the end we got them all back, but not before the old stallion had had his way with a couple that were in season. Your uncle was tamping mad, Oooee! Was he mad! The one mare was his favourite and as luck would have it, she was the one that caught, the other didn't. When the colt was born, he considered having it shot and put the mare straight to his own stallion but it was such a lovely looking colt that your uncle just couldn't bring himself to do it. Regretted it ever since. The colt grew fast, was a quick learner too, perhaps too quick. It would stand and watch everything that was going on, not natural like. Should've been fooling around with the other youngsters. Not this one though, just stood and watched. When he wasn't watching us, he was staring out to the cliff, creepy, that's what it was, creepy. "
"Anyway, 18 months later, we tried to break him. Killed one chap, crippled another and injured lots more, was like he had the devil in him. We tried starving him till his ribs was poking out and still he fought like a demon. We tried everything we knew for the next 6 months. Your uncle was hoping to get back some of the loss he'd caused by selling him. There were enough people after him. A fine looking animal he was, pure white with black eyes and nostrils, 'cept when he was mad, then you'd see the red in those nostrils. In the end your uncle had to face the fact that he was going to have to shoot the critter, there was no way he could spend any more time on him, as well as men. "
"Well that young colt must have had a premonition or something 'cause the next morning, we went out to find him gone, just sprouted wings, went over the rails and was gone. We thought that was the end of it until we started hearing stories about a horse that was stealing mares from ranches here about, it was him all right. All the locals got together and started hunting him but he just seemed to vanish from under their noses whenever they got close. "
"Over the years he would show up stealing again and we'd get the hunting party together, it was on one of these occasions that your uncle and me came across him, quite by accident. We had been out since dawn and needed to get back to the yard to feed the mares, so we left the others to it and came back through a short cut that I knew from when I was a kid. Suddenly, there he was, right in front of us, I threw my rope and got him round the neck. He didn't move, so I got off my horse and walked towards him, talking quietly. Maybe he recognised me, I thought. I reached up my hand to his nose and that's when he struck, fast as lightning he had my arm in his teeth. I could feel the flesh being pulled downwards, that's when your uncle fired his gun. I passed out and knew no more until I came round in bed with the doc bandaging me up."
"Lucky not to lose your arm," Jim said.
"That was the last time we went hunting the "Ghost," others tried but never got near. That stallion caused a lot of upset round these parts and people stopped wanting your uncle's horses thinking they were all nuts. He's just about kept ahead all these years, maybe he'll still get his dream, who knows!"
" What about the Ghost?" asked Jim.
"Haven't heard from him in years, thought he might be dead, till now," said Grey Dog looking up.
"How do you know that he was near tonight Grey Dog?" asked Jim. Grey Dog pulled deeply on his pipe and said,
"Whenever that old stallion is within spitting distance, my old scar starts to itch, like it's trying to warn me or something." Grey Dog lifted his eyes towards the cliff again and drew deeply on the remaining tobacco in his pipe. Jim shook his head and walked back to the house.
Grey Dog wasn't the only one to be aware of the old stallion on the cliff. The mares in the corral were stood like statues, their neat heads all pointing in the same direction, nostrils flaring gently, sniffing the breeze, trying to breathe in the scent that their instincts were telling them should be there. The air was static, a feeling like the lull before the storm, a waiting, but for what? The only noise was coming from the barn, which held the stud stallion; he knew, his every instinct was bristling. He pawed the ground and snorted through his nostrils, shaking his head furiously. He held his head high, listening, but heard nothing. He spent the night walking tight frantic circles in his stall. Grey Dog heard him and knew, not much sleep was had that night. The old Indian had a feeling of foreboding. He would have to talk to the boss in the morning, and he wouldn't like it.

Catalogue Information