To Ride the Gods’ Own Stallion (13 page)

“What happened?” Soulai blurted. “With the boar—what happened to Ti?”

Habasle narrowed his eyes. “The boar was coming at us,” he said flatly. “I spurred Ti toward him but at the last instant he showed himself faithless and fled. Now go!”

Even before Soulai could loosen the reins, Ti grabbed the bit in his teeth and trotted off down the slope, obviously anxious to get home. As they picked up speed, the trot became a canter and the canter a gallop. Faster and faster, Ti hurtled headlong over the undulating land, and Soulai's tugs on the reins did nothing to slow him. Stiff with fear, Soulai finally managed to brace his knees against the stallion's sides, give one hard yank on the right rein, and pull Ti's head almost around to his flank. Even if we fall, he figured, at least we'll have stopped. I'll be able to catch my breath.

Ti didn't fall, though, and Soulai pulled him into a blowing, walking circle. When his own legs had stopped trembling, Soulai took a moment to look around. Dur Sharrukin's walls were barely visible beyond the hill behind them. The rolling grasslands stretched in all directions, shored up only by the winding trees and river to the west. A little to the south and east, darkly silhouetted against the moonlit sky, rose the mountains of his village.

A sharp homesickness overcame him, quickly replaced by the anger he still felt toward his father.

Better that you'd never been born…never been born…never been born!

The cutting words drummed through his head. His father had bartered him, had sent him away. He'd said Soulai needed scars to be a man. Soulai's hand throbbed harder with the memory. Well, he had his scars. What's more, he sat astride a royal stallion, was dressed in jewels and a fine robe—better than any his father owned. Who was the man now?

Staring at the mountains, Soulai felt his heart beat faster. It would be easy to gallop back to his village, show off Ti to his family, and still make it back to Nineveh before tomorrow afternoon. He eased the stallion in that direction. But after a few steps he reined him to a halt. Habasle might be very sick, he conceded, so sick he might die. What if he dies before I get back? Would his death be my fault?

Tormented by a storm of conflicting passions, Soulai kept circling Ti and thinking. The sky became black, and the grasslands glowed silver under the giant moon. A dusty, burnt scent hung in the air, giving off an odor of things finished and, at the same time, of things not yet begun. It smelled like the day after the fire, when his life had been forced to change.

Soulai tugged on the reins once more. Before the moon had set, he was climbing the mountain path toward his home.

Homeward

Soulai had never herded his goats this far along the mountain range, but he felt safer traveling through the tree-covered slopes than out in the open grasslands. He knew if he climbed at a shallow angle, he was likely to come across the stone aqueduct that carried spring water down to Nineveh.

Ti was unhappy climbing the mountain and his nervous prancing was increasingly harder to control. He kept shaking his head, which jerked the reins out of Soulai's hand; and every little noise from the surrounding woodlands made him snort and come to a halt, twitching with fear.

Soulai laid a soothing hand on the horse's neck. The boar hunt had done this to him, he knew, just as the lion hunt had before that. How could a creature that had once captured all eyes with his nobleness and bravery now be so timid? An unseen animal rustled the grasses just then, making Ti jump a full stride sideways. Soulai bit his lip. Maybe I shouldn't ride Ti back to Nineveh at all, he thought. What future does he have there? Murder at the hands of the ashipu? Death on the battlefield? The brilliant parti-color stallion whose destiny he'd wanted to share seemed to have fallen far short of his promise. They were cowards both.

Ti startled and shied again. Soulai had to prod him forward. The adventure of returning home was losing its excitement; disappointment and a sense of sadness weighed upon him.

In the darkness ahead, he finally made out a pale snakelike form. He kept blinking as he rode closer, wanting to believe he had found the way home, and when the sound of running water reached his ears, he sighed with relief. Taking a firm hold on Ti's mane, he headed him up the path that flanked the aqueduct.

Soulai tipped his head and gazed at the starry sky as Ti climbed. It occurred to him that Habasle might be staring up at the same stars. He'd be wondering, no doubt, how far Soulai had ridden. Guilt stabbed him. He shunted it aside and looked up again. The constellation of the scorpion was gone. There was the long-necked bird, though, winging its way south and west—back toward Nineveh, he noticed. And there was the giant horse now, galloping in its wake. That image made him pause. But the stars had to be wrong. Nineveh was a place for warriors. He clenched his jaw and rode on.

The sky beyond the mountain's crest was just lightening to an iron gray when Soulai came upon the burned-out remains of his family's house. The charred walls stood silent, encompassing only the few brick piles his mother had stacked that first morning some three months ago. He couldn't help scanning the remains for his clay horses, though he distinctly remembered Soulassa gathering them up as he was being led away. The pleasure he had once felt when cradling a lump of clay returned with such a strong pang that it surprised him. But that was when he was a child, he scolded himself, and he tried to set aside the memory. He coaxed Ti onward.

The village was just stirring. A cock crowed atop a slanting roof; an old man peed alongside a hut. Some children carrying pouches to fetch water spotted Soulai and ran toward him with shouts that splintered the quiet.

“It's Soulai! It's Soulai!”

The children swarmed around him, touching the splendid fringed rug and the sleek hide of the stallion. Soulai was about to warn them to be careful, but to his amazement the gold-and-white neck stretched down and Ti stood as still as one of Soulai's statues, allowing the children to pat his forehead.

“Soulai? Soulai, is that you?” Two men, friends of his father, emerged from their homes and made their way toward him.

“Welcome home, boy!” said one, clapping him on the thigh.

“Where's my family?” Soulai asked.

His heart skipped a beat when the men shook their heads. “So sad, so sad,” they murmured together. “They live now with your aunt and uncle,” the first man said. He pointed in the direction of the neighboring village as if Soulai had been away so long he wouldn't remember.

Worry grew in him as he guided Ti across the streambed. This wasn't how he had pictured his homecoming.

The unfamiliar sound of horse hooves entering the next village brought dozens of heads popping out of doorways. As before, the children were the first to crowd around Ti. Among the adults that followed, Soulai found his uncle, and then his father.

“That's surely a creature of the gods you're riding,” his uncle said appreciatively. The man circled Ti, taking in every line of the handsome stallion.

Soulai's father moved toward them. He laid an uncertain hand on his son's leg and appeared to be searching for words. Noticing the bandaged hand, he said, “You're hurt.”

Tears threatened to rush to Soulai's eyes. Of course I'm hurt, he wanted to cry. You did this to me. But he stuck out his chin instead. “Just a scar,” he responded.

The words hit their mark. His father blanched.

“You've been set free?”

“I was given this horse to ride.”

“Jahdunlim…?”

“Jahdunlim sold me to the palace,” he said angrily.

Soulassa came pushing her way through the onlookers and when Soulai saw her, he smiled.

“You're home!” she exclaimed. “And your horse! He looks just like—” She raised her hand. “Wait here.” Sprinting back to their aunt and uncle's hut, she disappeared inside, then rushed out again, carrying something. She handed Soulai one of his clay figurines, the one of the long-maned stallion standing with his head thrust boldly into the wind. “It looks exactly like him,” she said in amazement. “How did you know?”

Soulai studied the statue. It did look like Ti, he thought in surprise. Or what Ti used to look like. And the clay, even hardened, felt good.

“I've kept them all,” Soulassa was saying, “including the broken ones. They're in a safe place, waiting for you.”

“Thank you.” He hesitated, disliking the awkwardness of his return. “I thought you'd be a wife by now.”

Soulassa glanced at her father.

“That's not in the stars,” he said gruffly. “Soulai, go to your mother now. Maybe the sight of you will make her well. Your sister will see to the horse.”

Soulai slid off Ti and handed the reins to Soulassa. The lingering blisters on his feet stung the moment he touched ground, and he ripped off the palace-issued sandals and tossed them into the undergrowth. He curled his toes in the powder-soft dirt.

Ducking inside the hut, Soulai found his mother sitting slack-legged on a mat. Between her hands, his baby brother practiced sitting upright. His aunt, who had been carding some leftover wool beside the cooking pot, dropped the brush to the floor with a clatter.

His two younger sisters jumped up from their play and ran to him, hugging his leg. “Soulai! Soulai! Soulai!” they squealed in unison. When his heavy robe parted to reveal the scars on his thigh, their eyes widened.

Soulai tousled the girls' thick hair. “Don't you worry,” he said, smiling. “The lion looks worse.” His smile faded, though, as he studied his mother. Like a child, he fell into the cradle of her arm. Burying his face against her neck, he inhaled the familiarity of home. His mother squeezed him close, her shoulders trembling. The trembling became sobs that led to coughing—such heavy coughing that she had to push Soulai away.

Quietly entering the hut, Soulassa took a place beside their mother. Her hands remained folded in her lap, her head bowed, and Soulai realized it was the first time that he had seen his sister look helpless.

As the coughing worsened, the baby started crying at being jostled. Soulai's mother turned her head, coughed harder, and spit. She lifted her tunic then, pushed her nipple into the wailing mouth, and smiled wanly at Soulai.

“Look at you,” she said, fingering the edge of his beautiful robe. “How handsome.”

“No,” said Soulai, gently taking her hand in his. “Tell me about you. Are you sick? Why are you living here?”

Soulai's aunt had returned to her wool, but now she stopped. “Of course she's sick—her heart's broken. Her eldest son a slave, her daughter rejected.”

“You aren't getting married?” Soulai asked, turning to Soulassa.

His sister shook her head.

“After the fire we couldn't put enough together for the dowry,” his mother explained. “The little we had went to purchase new tools so your father could work.”

“And speaking of work, what are you doing here?” his aunt demanded. “Has the debt been repaid?”

Soulai sat back on his heels, aware that villagers had gathered outside the doorway, awaiting his story. He described Nineveh's palace and the stables filled with beautiful horses. Hiding a growing sense of guilt, he told of his service to the prince, Habasle, which brought appreciative aahs from the crowd. He embellished a few tales of hunting lions and boars and finished by saying that he and Habasle were out together on a many-days hunt and that he had been given permission to ride home.

A voice came from the doorway: “So you have repaid your debt?”

Soulai's back stiffened. “I'm home, aren't I?”

“But the term was five years. How has the debt been repaid?”

“The debt is my father's, not mine.”

“Soulai!” Disappointment sounded in his mother's voice.

Bolting for the door, he pushed through the crowd, and found his way to Ti. He fumed, mad at all of them and, he had to admit, at himself. Soulassa was quickly at his side, stroking Ti's neck.

“Don't worry about me, Soulai,” she said. He could tell she was trying to sound brave. “I can marry someone else…some other time.”

“Here.” Soulai slid Habasle's silver bracelet off his arm and handed it to his sister. “This alone should make up your dowry.”

She gazed with wonder at the extravagant piece of jewelry before handing it back. “I'm guessing this isn't yours to give.” She studied his face for a long time, then said, “You've spun a tale for the others, Soulai, but you've never lied to me. So please tell me the truth. Why do you wear these clothes?” Her hand flicked disdainfully at Habasle's robe. “And why do you ride this fancy horse? And how has the debt of our family been repaid?”

With a deep sigh, Soulai told her everything.

His sister's eyes widened as he spoke. “You're killing an innocent man,” she whispered in horror.

“I haven't killed anyone!” he protested.

“But you've left this prince wounded…and sick…in an empty city. You've stolen his horse, Soulai.”

“But I haven't—” he tried to interrupt. A wave of his sister's hand closed his mouth.

“If, as you say, you are the only person who knows where he is, then you
are
killing him as we speak.”

A small cry escaped Soulai. “I just wanted to see you,” he said. “I wanted you to see that I'm a man now.”

“In whose eyes?” Soulassa demanded. “
His?
” He knew she meant their father. “Or in yours? You're nothing like him,” she went on impatiently, “so why do you keep measuring yourself by his stick? You can't stay here; you have to go back; that's where your destiny lies.”

“You mean my death, don't you?” he retorted. “I've already been mauled twice, and near to drowned once. I won't last the five years, Soulassa.” His throat constricted. “I'm too much a coward for that life,” he said quietly.

To his surprise, Soulassa lifted his bandaged hand. “The way I look at it,” she said, “you're rather brave: You've escaped the lion, survived the river, and triumphed over the boar. There's still plenty of living in you. And creating, I think.”

She was searching his eyes for agreement, but Soulai looked away. “There's no creating back there,” he said belligerently. “It's all killing and dying; it's time passed in the underworld.” She said nothing, which annoyed him. “You don't understand,” he concluded. “You don't care.”

“One of the things you've said is true”—Soulassa finally responded with an edge to her voice—“I don't understand you right now. But I do care. We all do.”

He was casting around. “Father doesn't. He traded me off like an animal.”

Soulassa's eyes narrowed. “Somebody had to pay, Soulai. It wasn't fair, perhaps, and it wasn't easy—even for him. He's carried the guilt all summer. And Mother cries nonstop whenever someone mentions your name.” She paused. “But he did what he had to do. He did what he thought was right for the family.”

“You think it's right? Wait until you marry and have children; then you come tell me it's right to sell your child!”

However soft her voice, Soulassa's look was still full of reproach. “But you're not a child, Soulai.”

The words slapped him across the face. He clenched his fists. “I'm not going back—not yet!”

“Of course you're not.” Their father had joined them. He spoke in a commanding voice, threw his arm around his son's shoulders, and hugged him in a way that Soulai could not remember ever having experienced before. “You're home. And it's seeming that there are two men in the family now.”