To Ride the Gods’ Own Stallion (11 page)

Habasle mumbled something that ended in a giggle. Soulai pressed his lips together and looked up at the ceiling. He waited for Habasle to be silent before continuing.

“But this man was so lazy that he never cooked anything,” he went on, “and so he didn't use the oil. Every day he just dumped the cup of oil that he had been given into a clay jar. And as the jar filled, this man had an idea. ‘I'll sell my oil and buy a cow,' he said.”

“Then he'd have some meat,” came the voice from the other side of the fire. It ended in a loud guffaw.

Infectious laughter started to rise in Soulai's own throat. He choked it down. When Habasle's chortling turned into moaning, he felt a vengeful satisfaction. Habasle rolled onto his side, clutching his bandaged wound and drawing up his knees. “Continue,” he said between short breaths. “Go on, it's a fine story. Truly.”

Soulai waited for complete silence before he spoke. This new sense of power thrilled him. “But this foolish man was full of foolish dreams,” he said quietly. A little tingle ran up his arms and nape. “And he made great plans. ‘The cow will give me calves and they'll grow into cows that will give me more calves and—'”

“And then he'll become a butcher,” Habasle interjected with a smirk, but Soulai didn't stop.

“‘—and then I'll have a herd of cattle larger than anyone. And I won't live in this little village on the side of a mountain any longer, I'll move to a big house in a big city and I'll have hundreds of servants to tend to my every whim. Then all of the wealthy merchants in this city will parade their most beautiful daughters before me and beg me to make one my bride. And when I have chosen the loveliest of them all, I'll host a huge wedding feast. I'll serve oxen—'”

“Aha!”

Soulai glared.

“‘—and camel and mutton and duck. I'll serve beer and olives and cakes and honey. I'll have music and dancers. And I'll even let the poor fools from the village come sit on the walls to watch me get married.'”

Soulai paused.

“That's it?”

“‘And the people in my new city will so admire me that they'll make me their king. Upon my head they'll place a tall crown.' This vain man then picked up the clay jar of oil and balanced it on his head. ‘And when they cheer me, I shall graciously bow to the right and to the left'—And with that the clay jar slipped from the man's head, broke into pieces upon the floor, and the oil was lost.”

There was a long, dead silence. Soulai fidgeted. Habasle's eyes remained closed, but it wasn't clear if he slept. Deciding at last that he did, Soulai laid down.

“You have told me this story for a reason.”

Soulai's sense of power instantly evaporated.

“You believe my plans are as foolish as those of that lazy man, don't you? You rate me an idiot, no saner than he, when, in fact, I am born of the gods.” Even though Soulai's eyes were closed, he knew that it was Habasle who now watched
him
; his cheeks burned. “If you value your life at this moment, you'll pray to me for forgiveness.”

Soulai clenched his jaw, wavering whether to give up his feigned sleep.

“Pray to me!” the voice roared.

Resentfully, he began the litany. “Lord of my life—”

“Louder!” Habasle demanded.

“—judge of days past and present, forgive me. May your generous heart take pity. Grant me life, though it be worthless, that I may live to serve thee.”

“Now,” Habasle said smugly, “tell me another story. And save your messages for the thickheaded.”

Soulai opened his eyes and glared. “An ant once met a goat by a river,” he began. After the harrowing day, his mind was growing cloudy and he struggled to form the story. But before it was finished, Habasle's snoring indicated that he was asleep. “So they cut off the crocodile's tail and they ate the goat,” he finished.

He waited. No response this time. Staring out the doorway at the half moon he wondered anew how much of what Habasle said was true. Was he truly born of the gods, as kings were? Could he make the moon disappear? What about the ashipu's plans to murder him and Ti?

And what about the curse—where was the terrible uridimmu now?

Annakum's Honor

The worm, it crawled out.” Fingers poked Soulai's ribs until Soulai lifted himself onto one elbow and rubbed his eyes. “Look,” Habasle said. He raised his tunic to his chest, free of bandages, and pointed to a wound that resembled thin lips parting to reveal a black mouth. An ooze glistened from the swollen opening. But he rocked back on his heels and made a show of thumping his chest with his fist. “I feel strong. The worm took the fever and left me with a lion's hunger, so we're riding back to the river to hunt. I'm not as frugal as the man in your story,” he added, grinning. “I need meat.”

Soulai didn't miss the pained wince that crossed Habasle's face as he rose, though, and he wondered how well he really felt.

Almost in answer to his question, Habasle suddenly groaned and slapped his forehead. “Damn! My spear.” The image of the weapon sailing out over Nineveh on the night of their escape shot through Soulai's mind. But Habasle was already turning a dagger over and over in his hands. “We'll manage something when we get to the river,” he said resolutely. He picked up the bridle and tossed it at Soulai. “You go find Ti.”

Two nights spent in the cold with little sleep and less food had left Soulai feeling bruised and weakened, and he had to push his body away from the floor. His stomach rumbled loudly.

Although the sky outside the gatehouse was changing from ebony to deep violet, the stars outlining the constellation of the true shepherd still shone overhead. Soulai remembered what Habasle had said about the three stars on the shepherd's belt twinkling, telling that the wings of Ninurta would brush the shoulders of the next king. He gazed at them for a long while, but to his eyes they remained mute.

From nowhere an owl winged directly over his head and just as quickly melted into the predawn gloom. That reminded Soulai that he wasn't the only creature awake in the city, and he hurried on through the vacant marketplace.

In no more than a few steps, a horse's worried nicker reached his ears; his heartbeat quickened. Frantically searching right and left, he strained to pull Ti's silhouette from the darkness. He knew something was wrong.

Finally, as he came around the city's temple, he found him, confined by the hobbles, staring fearfully into the distance. A pair of luminous green eyes at once startled Soulai and mesmerized him, and he froze in place until the shadowy form slipped away noiselessly. He shuddered. His hands were shaking as he reached out to calm Ti. To his dismay, the stallion was quivering as well. They were the same now, he had to admit, cowards both. “I know,” he murmured sadly as he stroked the nervous horse. “I know.”

The eastern sky had lightened to lavender by the time Soulai and Ti returned to the gatehouse. Habasle had his two pouches packed and slung across his shoulders, and he waited, scowling, while Soulai fastened the rug across Ti's back. Between the two of them, they managed to push the one door wide enough to enable them to squeeze through. Its groaning hadn't ceased echoing when, as Soulai led Ti out, the door fell from its post with a horrific crash.

But Habasle seemed deaf to the noise. “Look,” he whispered in awe. He was pointing past the dust-clouded door frame to a faint star hovering low over Dur Sharrukin's eastern skyline. “It's the wandering star of the crown prince, and it's showing itself to
me
. ” He grinned excitedly and turned to Soulai. “Don't you understand? It's my time.”

Annakum came lurching along the wall just then, more gaunt and disheveled than the day before. His pink tongue fluttered halfway to the ground.

“Annakum!” Habasle called. “Ready to
hunt!
” The mastiff trotted past. “Annakum, here!” The command roared through the still morning but died unanswered as the dog plunged drunkenly into the tall grasses and disappeared. “A plague on you then!” Habasle shouted.

Grabbing Ti's mane, he swung his leg and managed to pull himself onto the stallion's back, though not without an unguarded cry of pain. He snugged the reins and, to Soulai's surprise, extended his arm. “I have to hurry. You'll ride.” Their hands clasped and before Soulai had his calf wrapped around the other side, Ti bounded off.

A fistful of tunic and the questionable strength of his legs were all Soulai had to keep from falling. Ti's powerful haunches tossed him skyward with each stride, but he didn't dare throw his arms around Habasle again.

By the time they reached the dark green jungle flanking the river, Ti had slowed to a walk. The trio began pushing their way into the scrub. One after another, pockets of damp air submerged them. Croaking frogs fell silent as they approached, then took up their chorus after they passed. Coot flushed in twos and threes, flapping their wings and whistling alarm before ducking into the undergrowth. As the ground turned soft, Ti's steps became tentative. Soulai's own heart thudded with the fear that they were heading into a sticky trap.

Near the river, dense stands of knife-sharp sedge and yellow qasab choked their passage. Habasle slipped from Ti to chop down one of the giant reeds, then fashioned a spear by lashing his dagger to it. They proceeded with the makeshift weapon carried upright and ready.

Greenish black mud sucked at Ti's hooves now. Each careful step started with a soupy squish and finished with a loud pop. A few more slogging steps and Ti sank to his fetlocks, then his knees. He panicked. Habasle and Soulai struggled to hang on as the stallion lunged and leaped and crashed through the tall reeds. With a splash he made it to the river and halted, breathing hard. The sun had risen. Clouds of red and green and yellow bee-eaters swooped arcs around the intruders, twittering anxiously. Annakum poked his head out a little downriver. He looked frantically thirsty, but ignored the water.

Leaning over, Habasle yanked on a young bulrush, which came up easily, root and all. He swished it through the water, then took a bite out of the pale bulb. He pulled up another and handed it to Soulai. Crunching contentedly, he scanned the river, then guided Ti far enough into the shallows to skirt the thickest growth. They waded downriver toward Annakum. Soulai stiffened. As hungry as he was, he couldn't eat. He couldn't even look down. They were in the water again and he vividly recalled it closing over his face. The shore was in view, though, so trying to close his ears to the sloshing of Ti's legs, Soulai focused his eyes on the security of land and prayed to return to it.

As they waded a winding path through tunnels of towering qasab, several deer flushed from the water's edge. The fine-boned creatures hesitated, heads lifted in unison, before darting into the jungle with Annakum barking and chasing after them.

Their narrow trail, which was only a slight flattening of grasses, hardly suited a horse, but Habasle urged Ti along it. Upstart palms and a web of creeping vines hindered their progress until an angry squeal sounded ahead. Habasle thumped Ti's sides and the horse lunged forward, tearing through the undergrowth.

Within a few strides, Ti stopped and snorted. Soulai peered over Habasle's shoulder to see a huge, bristled boar standing on its trampled nest of rushes. Its eyes glinted as it warily sidestepped Annakum. Soulai held his breath as Habasle lifted the makeshift spear and hurled it at the animal. The weapon wobbled and fell short. The boar bolted into the jungle with Annakum close on its jerking tail.

“Get my spear!” Habasle ordered. Soulai had no trouble sliding off Ti's rump, for the horse was prancing and rearing in a panicked frenzy. He quickly picked it up and handed it to Habasle, then hurried to remount, but found himself stepping into air: Habasle was already galloping away on Ti.

Frightened, Soulai sprinted after them. An anguished squeal split the air ahead, and he knew that this time Habasle's spear had found its mark.

But a great crashing followed. Suddenly the boar, with the spear trailing from its bloody shoulder, charged. Soulai jumped sideways. The boar veered after him, catching the spear's shaft on a tree and knocking it free. In desperation, Soulai dived for the weapon. He grabbed it just as the huge animal landed on him. Its odious drool splattered his face. He screamed as the curving yellow tusks slashed his arm.

Grabbing the dagger end of the spear, he shoved it with all his strength into the boar's belly. A blackness was smothering him, his vision blurred, yet somehow he kept jabbing. The meaty weight collapsed on him and he felt the sticky entrails spilling across his thigh. He didn't have the breath to vomit.

Soulai didn't know how long he lay beneath the dead boar. When the heaviness was rolled off him, he looked up to see Habasle wearing that crazed grin of his. But somehow the crashing sounds returned and there was more grunting and Habasle's grin vanished as he madly tugged at the spear still embedded in the boar's body.

Before he was able to free it, Habasle toppled over Soulai, felled by a second angry boar. Annakum hurtled from the undergrowth to sink his teeth into this boar's leg, and with a furious squeal, the pig whirled to fight its new attacker. Yelping and grunting, the fighting animals shook the leafy canopy as Soulai scrambled out from beneath the fray.

From the protection of a tree trunk, he watched Habasle regain his feet and stagger back to the dead boar. He watched him desperately pull at the spear, once again attracting the attention of the boar, which tore away from Annakum to slash at Habasle's leg. The mastiff redoubled his fury and leaped between the two, catching the tusks in his throat. The strangled yelp shot through Soulai. It was more than he could take. Biting his lip, he ran to Habasle's side and helped him wrangle the makeshift spear free. Habasle spun, leveled it, and, with all his strength, buried the point behind the boar's shoulder. The huge animal stumbled backward, step after weaving step, toppled onto its side, and, finally, lay twitching in its death throes.

Shaken but triumphant, Habasle planted a foot on the dying boar. He shared his smile with Soulai, who, to his own surprise, found himself smiling back. They'd done it. They'd cheated death! Habasle's expression changed dramatically, though, as he looked past Soulai. Following his gaze, Soulai saw to his own horror that Annakum lay stretched on the ground, the wound to his neck bubbling with blood. The dog's ribs shuddered spasmodically; with each breath his weak growl trailed to a whimper.

“No.” The word formed silently on Habasle's lips as his face went pale. Dropping to his knees, he reached out trembling fingers to stroke Annakum's bloodied head. But instead of a welcome, he was met with a wild snarl that rumbled up through the dog's throat. The massive jaws snapped, narrowly missing Habasle's fingers, and fell back to the ground. The chest deflated and remained motionless.

“Nooooo!” Habasle's wail echoed through the dank jungle air. He sat, unmoving, unbelieving it seemed, and stared at Annakum's body. Tears spilled down his face but he didn't wipe them away. After a long while, he lifted one hand, then the other, and, as custom required, slowly dragged his fingernails across his cheeks. The lines puffed pink, and bled. “No! No! No!” he cried over and over, pounding the earth. True to ritual, he pulled his hair and rubbed handfuls of mud into it, tore at his tunic in a mindless frenzy. When his voice grew hoarse, he drew his knees to his chest and rocked on his heels. “Annakum…Annakum…Annakum,” he chanted.

Tears filled Soulai's eyes as well as he stared at the slumped body of the lifeless dog. He was so tired of blood and injury and death. Miserably he studied the fingers of his left hand, vaguely surprised that he could see right to the bone.

How long they sat there, Soulai couldn't tell, but even with the thick foliage shading their heads, the clearing started to grow hot. The sun must be nearing its peak, he thought absently. His mind wandered to other things, like the ashipu, the uridimmu, and Annakum's strange behavior.

“Do you think it was the ashipu's curse?” he murmured after a time.

“What?”

“The ashipu's curse,” Soulai repeated. “I think, maybe, that the uridimmu took the form of a mad dog. He became Annakum. That could mean that it's over.”

Habasle sniffled and cleared his throat. “Annakum wasn't mad.”

“But you saw him,” Soulai insisted desperately. “He couldn't walk straight, he was thirsty but he wouldn't drink…when you called he ran away—”

“Annakum never ran away!” Habasle cried. “He was the bravest of all my dogs. From the time he was a puppy I suckled him on the teat of a lioness and he drank in her bravery. There was nothing wrong with him.”

“But he tried to bite you—”

“Silence!” Habasle ordered in a raspy voice. He knelt over the mastiff and gently folded his legs beneath him. Then he stood. He began piling rushes and palm fronds on top of the dog's body.

Strangely, Soulai felt no resentment at the harsh command. As he watched Habasle, in fact, he wondered if he'd ever feel anything again. Somehow, he realized that Annakum meant as much to Habasle as Ti did to him. So, cradling his injured limb, he rose to help. The sudden pain that surged along his arm made him gasp, but he gathered what foliage he could.

A whistling snort sounded at the edge of the clearing. With a jolt, Soulai remembered that Ti had been part of the contest. He turned to find the sweaty horse uninjured, but trembling all over. His nostrils flared wide, sucking in the odors of mangled flesh and clotting blood. He stamped his foot. The whites of his eyes showed and their terrified expression reminded Soulai of the head charioteer's angry words:
He's ruined
.

“That's the one who ran away,” Habasle said scornfully, “not Annakum.”