A shape-shifter, a cursed demon, known as Chance’s Steed, appeared most often in the shadowy form of a horse, which from a certain aspect, could almost look feline.  In a blink, this seeming apparition could turn into muscly flesh and bone. It possessed an alien-looking mane of sharp quills that moved with the fluidity of water. Any sighting of the being was difficult for the mind to contain or make sense of.

 Its shape was both ancient and intricate in its supernatural design, beyond our grasp, somehow suggestive of the world as it was yet to become.

The demon appears when the balance of so-called Chance is set to tip against your favour. Some say the demon’s appearance is a sign that one’s fortune has very little to do with Chance and everything to do with Fate. A mere glimpse of the entity was said to leave behind a visceral impression upon the unfortunate beholder, eliciting irrational feelings of anger, or fear and despair. Nothing good or wholesome ever came from the encounter.     

Some say the steed belonged to a wicked master, a demon himself, who lived long before the time of men. He would whip the beast’s back with fire and chains and still, the creature could not be tamed. It is believed the steed strangled his master in his sleep with the length of his great serpent’s tongue before crushing the man’s skull in his many jaws, and that is why the beast would suffer no rider. Though many a foolish man attempted to conquer him. In the same manner, they might choose to dance with the Devil, or dice with Death.  

Other, more recent tales assert that the demon was forged when two clansmen, two brothers, who had once loved each other dear, fought to the death over the right to lead their people. It is not known whether the duel was fought in accordance with custom or because one of them, or both, beset with animosity, had come to love Power more than Kin.

Certain Storytellers have insisted that the brothers intended to throw the fight in some way because neither one of the clansman genuinely wanted the responsibility of being Chief.

Another possibility was that neither one wanted to live with the burden of being the one to succeed in having slayed the other by their own hand, irrespective of the moral immunity afforded them by tradition.

By these accounts, the brothers, it seemed, had no wish to act as puppets in the great cosmic theatre of all that was pre-ordained.

A favoured version of the story that has survived, states that the moment their swords pierced each other’s flesh, their souls and bodies merged as one to become the fearsome, insubstantial Demon of Chance, or, as some maintain, Fate.

One cannot help but question, whether it is to be supposed, the Demon was forged out of great love or fierce hatred. It is certain, however, that whatever man’s Fate, it is his lot, to reckon with Destiny.

Whichever mythology chimes in most with your sensibilities. Wherever the truth lies … Perhaps you now ponder how such a force is ever to be bested or overcome, or perhaps you believe that such a force can never be defeated. You might ask, “Were the apparition to make itself known, what should its quarrel be with me?” This demon does not quarrel, he confronts - every visitation.

We are not so helpless as the stories would have it. You climb the hill the mighty horse stands upon. You walk the same path, behind him, beside him. There are times when he may gallop on ahead. You might choose to leave him at the fork in the crossroads. You will cross the river just to place a hand upon his muzzle or go around the river just to lose sight of him. He gives you the choice, there has always been a choice, that is his gift and his price.    

By Robyn Hunt (c) 2020