To Ride the Gods’ Own Stallion (8 page)

Gallop without Warning

Soulai's vow of protection doubled his work pace. So worried was he to be apart from Ti now that he trotted the other horses out to the watering trough, fidgeted while they skimmed the rippling surface with their lips, then hurriedly returned them to the stable. And even though the month of Elul continued to burn with the heat of the kilns, he jogged from task to task: flinging manure, raking bedding, running horses to and from the armory.

The wound in Ti's neck finally healed, and Soulai began slicking the stallion's hide with his hands and his spit until the fine hairs gleamed. But try as he might, he couldn't smooth away the scars. Their defiant ugliness marred Ti's beauty the way the fire's snaking cracks had scarred his clay horses. The scars implied that the gold-and-white stallion was imperfect—tested and found wanting. Soulai reminded himself that Ti's scars were the lion's fault, or rather, Habasle's. He rubbed cedar oil into the thickened skin and polished Ti's arching neck, all the while staring into the pale blue eye that yet spoke nothing.

He had to help Ti recover his courage, Soulai decided, but in the next instant he just as vehemently changed his mind. No, no, he didn't have to. If Ti remained timid, no one would ask anything of him. Habasle would forget the stallion and there would be no lions to face, no wars to join.

The unresolved worry drew him to Ti's side day and night until Soulai gave up and began sleeping in the stable. To feed himself he begged from the kitchens a roasted ear of corn or a duck egg, or he stole from an unattended basket a handful of almonds. Sitting in the darkness, then, he watched and chewed and contemplated. To his surprise he noticed that the forearms resting atop his knees were now banded with muscles. And a finger to his ribs showed that despite the little food he was eating, he had actually grown larger. A wave of pride in his manliness surged through him before self-consciousness chased it away.

Over the next several weeks, in the quiet of the night, Soulai became a part of the stable's private world. He was surprised to learn that it was a world in which the inhabitants slept very little. A few horses dozed off and on in the powdered manure, but most stood throughout the night, swishing their tails and nickering to each other. An occasional squeal spoke insult, a snap of the teeth, retort.

Soulai discovered other inhabitants of the stable: bats living beneath the high thatched roof. He watched with keen interest as they unfolded nightly from their upside-down sleep and winged out of the stable entry. For some reason, one bat kept returning throughout the night. After several nights Soulai made out the tiny pink shape of a baby bat plastered to the rafters, and this became the first place Soulai looked each evening. He began counting the number of trips the mother made, usually nodding off to sleep after four or five.

One night, after the mother bat had flown off with the now furry baby clinging to her chest, Soulai was lying on a rough cushion of barley hay listening to an unseen horse steadily pawing at the stone floor. The monotonous scraping was lulling Soulai to sleep when he realized that the rhythm had become footsteps. He opened his eyes just enough to make out someone carrying an armload of tack down the aisle. Pretending to be asleep, he kept his eyes slitted, watching, until the person stopped in front of him. Long bronze spurs poked from the backs of heavily tooled sandals. Soulai opened his eyes wider and saw Habasle, with two leather pouches draped across his shoulders, fastening a rug onto Ti's back.

Soulai sat up. “What are you doing?”

Habasle unknotted the tether and slipped a bridle over Ti's ears. “Taking my horse,” he said without turning around.

“Where?”

Ti was backing into the aisle. The sharp hooves narrowly missed Soulai's toes as he scrambled to his feet.

“Where are you taking him?” he asked again.

“You ask too many questions for a slave. Get out of my way.”

“Wait.” Soulai boldly reached for the reins. “Take me, too.”

Habasle slapped away the hand. “No! I order you to stay.” He began leading Ti toward the starlit opening at the end of the stable. Fear seized Soulai. He stumbled after Habasle. On impulse he dove amid a row of horses and unknotted the tether of a bald-faced chestnut stallion. He hurried him backward, then trotted him all the way to the courtyard.

Habasle was untying the same mastiff he'd had at the library, the one he called Annakum, and to Soulai's surprise, he fussed over the dog as he would a small child. Gently he rubbed each ear between his fingers. Putting a finger to his lips, Habasle offered Annakum a treat. The moment was interrupted by Ti squealing a challenge and the chestnut answering it. Habasle immediately straightened. He looked embarrassed, then frowned at Soulai. “This doesn't concern you. Go back to your sleep.”

“I'm supposed to take care of your horses,” Soulai responded stubbornly, “especially Ti.”

But Habasle, juggling the mastiff's collar and a spear in one hand, and Ti's reins in the other, began walking away. Soulai took a deep breath, looked over both shoulders and up at the blue-black sky. A brilliant star chanced to arc through the void like a hurled spear. When it disappeared, Soulai bit his lip and set off after Habasle.

What are we doing? he wondered. Going on a hunt—in the middle of the night? He looked at the chestnut stallion pacing alertly at his side. And why, of all horses, did I untie this one? Ti hates him.

Soulai grimaced as he recalled the day when the two stallions, tethered side by side, had suddenly pinned back their ears and begun kicking. Wicked screams had punctuated the sickening thuds of hooves into flesh as stableboys ran from all directions. At Soulai's begging, Mousidnou had let Ti stay; the chestnut was exchanged for a mousy roan.

If only I'd decided to follow sooner, he thought, I could be leading that roan. He shook his head as a distinct uneasiness tickled his belly. I don't have a rug; I don't even have a bridle. If Habasle is planning one of his hunts—as the mastiff and spear seem to indicate—I may as well jump headfirst into the lion's mouth.

But instead of leaving the stable courtyard and the palace by the curving ramp, Habasle headed in the opposite direction. He led Ti up the limestone steps to an adjoining courtyard, turned, and walked up another set of steps. The horses slipped and scrambled over the uneven ground and Soulai was certain that their clattering hooves would alert a guard. But none approached, and soon they were making their way through the kitchen's shadows and past the glowing mouths of the kilns. Bakers working through the night lifted their heads to watch indifferently before returning to their paddles and fragrant loaves.

The next courtyard was nothing more than bare dirt littered with broken urns, empty baskets, haphazard stacks of bagged grain, and more than one lopsided cart missing a wheel. Although darkness enveloped them, Soulai could see Habasle looking nervously left and right.

“What're you huntin' at this hour?”

The gruff voice came from nowhere, Soulai jumped.

“Whatever's awake,” Habasle casually answered the guard at a small gate that was nearly hidden by baskets of stinking trash. The man touched his hand to the hilt of his sheathed knife but stepped aside as Habasle pulled on the door and guided first Annakum and then Ti through the narrow opening. The lintel was set so low that the stallion had to duck his head. When Soulai followed, the guard stepped forward, and for a moment Soulai thought he was going to stop him. But the man just looked him up and down, belched, and squatted on the ground, scratching his stomach.

The stench of rotting garbage that had been dumped outside the palace wall assaulted his nostrils as he followed Habasle north. A skinny yellow dog scuttled away from an overturned basket, but otherwise the city lay still. At the palace's northeast corner, Habasle paused. He peered into the darkness. The horses stopped, stamped, then suddenly pricked their ears in unison. Soulai shivered; something was waiting around the corner. He held his breath and listened. He heard nothing, but gradually, a reddish shape moved closer until he could see that it was the ashipu himself standing in their path. The tall man confidently reached out and closed his fingers around Ti's reins.

“Hunting bats?”

Annakum growled, long and low.

“Or showing yourself to be one?” The man's throaty chuckle held no mirth. “Come—squeak, squeak, boy—like the frightened creature of the night that you are.”

Habasle stiffened but remained silent.

“You're a waste of my time,” the ashipu sneered. “The silver hardly warrants…Give!” He tried to pull the reins from Habasle's hand. Ti grunted at the blow to his tender mouth.

“Take your hands off my horse.” The words came quietly, but loaded with warning.

The ashipu jerked the reins again. Ti's pained squeal was followed by him heaving his weight left, then right, trying to escape the cruel pressure on his bridle.

“
Your
horse.” The ashipu spat. “You insolent cur. He's been royally bred for royalty only. And now I've chosen him for sacrifice.”

“If you try to harm this horse, I'll cut out your heart and feed it to you.”

Soulai, creeping closer, saw the ashipu's black eyes narrow. The man drew himself up. Summoning his evil powers, Soulai thought. The night air seemed to grow strangely thin and Soulai could scarcely breathe.

“Your ill manners profess your ill breeding.” Light from the half-moon glinted on the blade of a knife pulled from the ashipu's robe. In one quick motion he grasped Ti's headstall and laid the silvery blade against the white throat. Ti snorted but stood as still as stone, as if under a spell. Even Annakum, who had kept up a steady growl, fell silent.

Habasle immediately dropped the reins, which swung noiselessly in the darkness. He took one retreating step, then another. He switched his spear to his right hand, calmly leveled it to his waist, and eyed the distance to the ashipu's belly.

The red-robed man smiled. Still staring at Habasle, he slowly drew the knife across Ti's hide so that a dark trickle spread through the hairs. He shook his head. “Not a wise choice, little bat. Now put it down.”

Habasle hesitated. Then he turned and defiantly hurled the spear into the night. No one spoke until they heard it clank to the ground.

The smile never left the ashipu's face. “You,” he said to Habasle, “and you,” indicating Soulai, “are going to assist me in a much-needed cleansing ritual.”

But as the ashipu had drawn his knife, Soulai had begun creeping around to the chestnut's other side. He hoped they wouldn't notice him leaning his body into the horse. The pressure signaled the stallion to step toward Ti. Ears twitched. Muscles tightened. Soulai held his breath and leaned again. The chestnut swung his hip forcefully around this time, bumping against Ti. The old feud was rekindled and the parti-color stallion lashed out with both hooves. Humping his back, the chestnut returned the blows, kicking again and again. Ti bellowed and spun sideways, and the knife fell from the ashipu's hand.

Encumbered by his long robe, the man tried to evade the flailing hooves of the fighting stallions while searching for the lost dagger. Just as he found it, however, Annakum's jaws clamped onto his naked wrist. The huge dog shook his head and the man crumpled, shrieking in pain.

Habasle grabbed Ti's reins and yanked him away from the fight. In one leap he was on the stallion's back and drumming his legs along his flanks. They sped toward the city's walls.

Soulai yanked sharply on the lead rope of the angry chestnut. In desperation, he jumped for the horse's back, managing to get only one knee locked over the withers before the animal bolted. The rope fell from his hands. All too aware of the rough ground rushing beneath him, Soulai grabbed for the mane and tried to pull himself upright. With a final, all-out effort he heaved his body atop the galloping stallion, crouched low, and ordered his quivering legs to squeeze tight.

One of Nineveh's main entrances, the Nergal Gate, lay directly ahead, but Habasle steered Ti toward a smaller one, which had a door standing ajar and a lone guard waiting nervously beside it. Having neither reins nor lead rope, Soulai felt lucky that his galloping mount veered in the same direction. Ti and Habasle rushed into the tunnel that pierced the thick inner wall. The chestnut charged after, bashing Soulai's leg against the bricks. In a couple of strides they were passing through a twin gate in the city's towering outer wall. His entire leg took the blow this time. There was no pausing to notice the shattering pain, for the stallion suddenly bunched and sprang through the darkness over a liquid black moat. They landed hard on the opposite side and Soulai struggled to balance as the horse scrambled. And then they were galloping again, Soulai lurching precariously with each stride, the horse's spine splitting him with each footfall. Blinded by his wind-whipped tears, he gasped when the chestnut lunged into the air again, grunted when they crashed to ground on the far side of another moat. The coarse hairs of the mane cut into his fingers, but he refused to let go. In the span of a dozen wild heartbeats, they were away from Nineveh, thundering headlong into the blackness of the unknown.

A sickness coursed through the bat's veins. He had to struggle just to keep his balance on the edge of the palace watering trough. Over the stable's manure piles his cousins clouded the night air, swooping low to pick off dung beetles and spiders and carry them to the thatched rooftop to be swallowed. But the young bat couldn't swallow. He could barely perch, his body swaying from side to side, his mouth agape. Confusion pounded in his head.

That dog had just come through the courtyard, the same one that he'd bitten…when was it? Through his mind's haze he recalled the night when the huge dog had surprised him, had knocked him from the trough to the floor. When the black nose sniffed close, he'd sunk his teeth into it. That had prompted a loud yelp, and, while the dog circled, rubbing at his nose with a paw, he'd managed to right himself and finally to fly off. He couldn't remember when that was now. The moon was always waxing and waning, no end. His head throbbed harder. He shook it, trying to dispel the cloudiness. The movement unbalanced him. Instinctively he spread his wings, but already he was falling.

A small splash, heard by no one, and water enveloped him. The cold liquid shrouded his weak struggle, gradually suppressed his breathing, then cradled his lifeless body for the remainder of the night.