To Ride the Gods’ Own Stallion (9 page)

The Uridimmu

Sunlight warmed Soulai's face, nudging him awake. He rolled onto his back, stretched, and yawned. For a few moments he relished the luxury of uninterrupted quiet. Then memories of the previous night began charging through his mind. He opened his eyes and was struck by a sapphire sky so immense that he instantly felt small and insignificant. Where am I? he wondered. Curling onto his side again, wincing at the newly aroused aches in his legs and hips, he surveyed the area. Habasle sat a short distance away, his back to Soulai. He seemed to be talking to Annakum, even leaning over to brush his cheek along the dog's head. Annakum returned the caress with a sloppy lick, and, smiling, Habasle offered the dog a tidbit—a dried fig, it looked like. Then he popped one into his own mouth and shifted his position. Soulai saw now that Habasle had a small white rock in his hand, which he began striking against the flat face of a boulder. He was hunched to the right; the spear wound obviously still troubled him.

Soulai stretched again, and this time his movement attracted Annakum's attention. Although the mastiff remained prone, he studied Soulai intently with cold eyes the color of pale moons. Soulai scarcely breathed. He didn't so much as twitch until he became aware of shadows on either side of him. Glancing over his shoulder and squinting into the sun's glare, he discovered two bearded vultures on the rocky crest at his back. Their enormous sooty wings hung open like charred palm fronds. Just like Annakum, they watched him. But there was something more in their gaze, Soulai realized; there was a patient hunger, a confident expectance of death—his death!

He jumped to his feet. That brought Annakum to his, a long growl rumbling from his throat. Soulai tensed. He wanted to run, but wasn't sure how far a stumbling flight would take him before the dog's fangs or the vultures' bony wings knocked him to the ground.

He shifted his gaze from the shaggy-headed birds to the snarling dog and back again. A fist-sized rock lay within reach, and, keeping a wary eye on Annakum, he cautiously bent to pick it up. The sharp weight in his hand made him feel better and he stood taller. The mastiff quit growling but shot a threatening glance in Soulai's direction. Then, padding a tight circle, he flopped beside his master.

Habasle had ignored the standoff, so Soulai broke the silence. “Where are we?” he asked. The words came croaking from his dry throat, sounding more fearful than he would have liked. But the noise was enough to discourage the scavengers. One vulture flapped its wings and lifted itself into the air. After a clumsy bit of hopping, the other bird followed.

“North of the city,” Habasle answered while continuing to draw. “Near a road leading to Harran. Or to Dur Sharrukin.”

Soulai sidled toward the line of boulders that partially ringed their encampment. In the distance, Nineveh's sharp-toothed outer wall glinted in the morning sun. He could see the Khosr River flowing from the city and separating into brown ribbons that filled the moats and canals. Spotting movement atop the walls, he could have sworn that guards pointed in their direction.

A strange feeling crept over him. Three months ago, when he was being led toward this city, his heart had pounded with fear; now that he stood outside it, he had an irrational longing to return to it.

His thoughts were interrupted by a rustling in the underbrush. The horses! At least he was still with Ti; he could still protect him. Annakum pricked his ears, but only followed with his eyes as Soulai warily left the clearing.

A wadi, as deep as a man is tall, and thick with feathery grasses and date palms, lay behind them, and it was there that Habasle and Soulai had hidden the two horses last night. But when Soulai made it to the bank, he found only one horse. He shook his head and sighed. He had expected it, really, for Habasle had ridden from the palace with hobbles tucked inside his pouch, and so Ti still shuffled along the streambed, tugging at stalks with his teeth. The lead rope, which was all Soulai had had to knot around the ankles of the bald-faced chestnut, lay empty atop some crushed grasses.

Ti heard Soulai's approach and whinnied. It was the familiar morning greeting that signaled hunger, and Soulai hated not having some grain to feed him. As he picked his way down the crumbling dirt walls, he watched the gold-and-white stallion wade through the sea of plumes like some magical mount belonging to Ea, the water god.

When they met, Soulai extended his hand. Ti stretched his neck to lick the salty palm, sucked and slobbered, all the while gazing at Soulai with gratitude. Soulai smiled. Until he saw the dried blood on the stallion's throat. He remembered with horror that the ashipu still wanted to kill Ti. That Habasle wanted to ride him into battle. How am I going to protect him? he wondered. Especially out here, in the middle of nowhere, and on foot.

He sighed again. Ti stopped his licking to rub his head against Soulai's shoulder. Soulai smiled and helped scratch the sweat-stiffened hairs left by the bridle. He had been worried that last night's hard gallop would drain the recuperating horse, but instead it appeared to have invigorated him. Even hobbled, Ti moved with more ease than he had since the lion hunt.

He continued scratching the horse, flaking away the dried lather on his chest and belly. The white marking of the winged creature, Ninurta's mark as everyone called it, caught his attention. Slowly he traced his fingers along the outline. Was Ti really destined to go to war? The words of Naboushoumidin, the chief scribe, came back to him:
Animals, people, even kings—they're born and they die…Don't let your own soft heart cheat this horse of his rightful destiny.
Soulai clenched his teeth. No. He couldn't let Ti be killed.

When his fingers finally tired, he patted the stallion on the neck, picked up the empty lead rope, and climbed out of the wadi.

“We've lost a horse,” he announced as he entered the encampment.

Habasle was still busy at the rock. “No,” he responded, “
you've
lost a horse. Mine's where I left him.” He jerked a finger over his shoulder.

Soulai glared. He's already forgotten how I helped him escape the ashipu last night, he thought bitterly. The skin beneath his brand twitched. He was a mere slave, a tool, something to be used and discarded. Just like Ti. He squinted at the vultures circling overhead and vowed not to speak further.

The sun climbed higher, shadows shortened, and the rocky ground began to burn through his sandals. Only his growling stomach interrupted the quiet in the clearing. But Habasle, who had switched from the figs to a crusty round of emmer bread, didn't offer to share.

It was sometime later that the noisy approach of something large startled both boys. Soulai caught his breath and heard Habasle do the same, until Ti shuffled into the encampment and they both relaxed, trying to hide their relief. The horse was all curiosity, nostrils flaring, ears swiveling. He sniffed at the rumpled rug, then at the pouch sitting beside it. When he smelled the lead rope that had been used to hobble the chestnut stallion, he squealed and stamped his front hooves on it. Soulai smiled.

He'd been watching Habasle's work for the better part of the morning now. White lines nearly covered the boulder's surface, and they were beginning to resemble a battle scene. Boredom combined with curiosity overcame his vow. “What are you doing?” he asked at last.

“Making my mark,” came the reply. The steady clacking sound of rock hitting rock continued.

“Why?”

“So they'll know I was here.”

“Who?”

“Whoever, or whatever, is following us.”

A chill ran along Soulai's sweaty neck. He remembered the ashipu. Instinctively he glanced toward Nineveh. “What do you mean?”

Habasle turned around. Soulai was astonished to see how much fresh blood had soaked the tunic. Habasle's eyes shone dark and feverish; his words tumbled over one another. “I mean that the ashipu saw it, too. All the month of Sebat the three stars on the true shepherd's belt twinkled, meaning the wings of Ninurta would brush the shoulder of the next king. But while everyone was searching the skies, I found the god's own image on Ti. And on me.” He pressed two fingers across the tattoo on his upper arm.

Soulai ignored the claims. “So who's following us?”

Habasle reached for the pouch nearest him. The effort made him groan and clutch his side, but he dragged it over, pulled something out, and tossed it.

A polished stone object landed in Soulai's palm. His fingers opened to reveal a strange creature, half man and half animal, carved from lapis lazuli. Different from a lamassu, this one had hairy legs, upon which sat the torso of a bearded man; the arms were raised to invoke a prayer—or a curse.

“What is it?”

Habasle sank back against the boulder, still cupping his side. “An uridimmu. A mad lion or mad dog, depending on the curse. But it's meant for us.”

Sweat dampened Soulai's palm. “This is what's following us?”

“If the ashipu's powers are strong enough. And they must be, for it appeared in my pouch without my knowledge.”

“And you're marking this rock to help it find us?”

“Yes,” he said. “I want it, the ashipu—I want all of them to find us. I want the whole world to know that I, Habasle, son of Ashurbanipal, king of the universe, king of Assyria, for whom Ashur, king of the gods, and Ishtar, lady of battle, have decreed a destiny of heroism, stood here on this day.”

The words, bloated with ego or fever, charged through the midmorning stillness. Soulai looked over his shoulder again. Then over the other one. “Shouldn't we be riding on then?”

There was no answer, only Annakum's rapid panting and then the steady clack-clack of Habasle returning to his drawing. Soulai bit his lip. A small panic told him to run far away from the image that seemed to burn like fire in his hand. He dropped the carved blue stone onto the crumpled pouch. The feeling of being small and insignificant returned. He crossed his arms and paced circles. Annakum lifted his head, visibly annoyed, so he stopped. Then he stood watching Habasle. “What are you drawing?” he asked at last.

“Me. On Ti. Look, I'm spearing a Mede. See? Piercing him straight through his middle. And there's another I've already slain behind me.”

This time Soulai chose not to respond. Habasle twisted around. “Don't you see it?”

A frown wrinkled Soulai's forehead.

“So be it,” Habasle said, handing him the white stone. “You do better.”

Soulai sighed and, still frowning, sat down. A rotten odor arose from Habasle's clothing, along with a moist heat. But at least this was something to do, and, after studying Ti a moment, Soulai bent into the boulder. Thick, confident lines began filling its surface. He thought about the little clay horses he had formed in his hands and rounded his marks with their fullness. He remembered the incredible power of last night's ride and drew Ti's barrel lean, the legs stretched long.

Habasle's attentive silence signaled approval. Somewhat reluctantly Soulai finished drawing his master on Ti's back and filled in the dying Mede beneath Ti's pounding hooves. Then, thinking back on the chiseled panels he had studied outside the library, he added a feathered headdress to Ti's bridle and fastened fat tassels from his throatlatch and breast-collar. The horse's noble image appeared poised to leap from the boulder.

For a while, Habasle just sat at his side, staring. A smile played about his lips. Then he began to nod. “Yes,” he murmured. “Yes. That's exactly how it will look.” His burning eyes settled upon Soulai. “Draw yourself, too.” He tapped the boulder.

Soulai's mouth hung open. “Why?”

“Because you are my slave!” The abrupt order shattered the brief accord. “Just do it,” Habasle said in a calmer voice. “Draw yourself carrying my arrows and a spare shield.” He winced; the pain seemed to frighten him. “Listen,” he added, “I didn't invite you along last night, but you followed anyway. So you're in the thick of it now, with Ti and me.”

Again Soulai bent into the boulder, but the passion had evaporated. The figure he drew looked small and stiff compared with the other images. He set down the white rock.

“Why does the ashipu want to kill you?”

Habasle chewed on a hangnail and shrugged. “Someone's mother has crossed his palm with silver.”

“Someone's mother?”

“The mother of a potential king. I have found that not many of Ashurbanipal's sons live to greet their own father. Sillaja, my good friend and brother, laid down after breakfast with a fire in his stomach and never awoke. Irsisi carried a message to the ashipu and never returned, though that son of a jackal declares my brother never arrived.”

“But why should he try to kill you? Would he be king then?”

Habasle laced his fingers and loudly cracked his knuckles. “No, but if he has a hand in choosing the next king, he'll find a way to hold the reins.”

Soulai could barely speak the next words. “Why does he want to kill Ti?”

“That's my doing. The man owns no interest in horses, probably never even set foot in a stable until I asked him to tend to Ti's injuries. I didn't think he'd notice the markings, but he did—or the asu did. Now, having found Ninurta's omen, he knows that Ti and I together are destined for greatness, so if he can't kill me, he'll kill him—in the name of ritual sacrifice, of course.”

A shiver traveled up Soulai's spine as he gazed at the gold-and-white stallion. “What are we going to do?”

The way Habasle kept chewing on his thumbnail while staring at the horizon made Soulai nervous. “What are we going to do?” he repeated urgently. “You have a plan, don't you?”

Habasle's lips spread around his gnawing teeth. “No,” he mumbled. He yanked his thumb away. “Well, I plan on living—at least for a time, I just don't know where.” He pursed his lips while thinking, and scanned the road below them. Then he looked back toward Nineveh. “Thieves by night,” he mused, “jackals, snakes, and now—possibly—mad dogs and lions. Still, there are any number and sorts of enemies in the day, and those more easily seen.” He turned to Soulai. “It's about a day's ride to Dur Sharrukin, where we can hide until we make some plans. Would you rather risk the seen or unseen enemy?”