by C B Samet
“I am Laos First Clan Leader. Abigail was here to study, but she worked as hard as any Caballus every day, feeding and tending the horses. We call her Abigail the Horse Lover because she adored them so much. Any friend of Abigail will be as welcome to Aithos as she is.” He raised his voice at the last sentence for all of his clan around to hear.
I blushed, not realizing that I had made such a good impression.
“Tanlos,” he motioned with his hand toward the tall Caballus, “spread the word that we will have a communal dinner tonight with our guests.”
Tanlos gave a clipped bow and departed.
“Thank you,” I replied. “Please, can we help with anything?”
I felt a restlessness. I needed to keep my mind and body occupied, lest I think of devils and demons.
Laos nodded and gave us assignments. “But you must only do these things if you feel so inclined. We do not make guests labor.”
I assured him that the activity would be good for each of us. We separated, the Queen to help with dinner, I to tend to feeding the horses, and Joshua to help set up a place for us to sleep in their cliff dwellings. I didn’t ask the Queen how she felt about cooking; there was no privacy to pull her aside and respectfully inquire if she, the Queen, would be offended at my assigning her to a task. Despite this, there was no look of condescension when I told her that she would be helping make dinner. She was whisked away by a short man and seemed to be engaging him in lively conversation as they walked into the kitchen.
Leaving the town behind, I walked across the moist grass to the stables. The familiar scent of horse and hay filled my nostrils. I wheeled the barrel of grain out of storage and filled the troughs as horses eagerly gathered around.
I felt peaceful as I gazed across the pasture at so many beautiful creatures. I remembered thinking during my internship that I could stay here forever. I turned to leave, but a distant movement caught my eye. A horse was galloping in my direction. I squinted to see a familiar set of dark legs beneath a gleaning chestnut body. Phobus!
I ducked under the split-rail fence and walked toward him as he slowed. Sudden movements were discouraged among horses and could cause them to spook, but I was so excited to see him that I threw my hands around his neck. He didn’t flinch. I smelled his scent of pinhead oats and muscadine grapes.
“Phobus,” I cried into his mane. “I’m so happy to see you. And you remember me, don’t you?”
He released a soft whinny. I stroked his neck.
“I wish I could tell you how impossible life has turned,” I sighed. “I’m here with friends and we’re in trouble. Terrible, terrible trouble. Everyone’s in danger.”
I brushed his mane, which I’m sure brought me more comfort than him. I ran my fingers through his soft and silky hair. Inspecting each hoof, I removed pebbles and packed dirt, all while telling him how much I missed him.
When I finished grooming him, he bowed. I stepped back and looked at him perplexed, but he held the pose. I had never seen a horse bow, but there was only one reason I could think he would do so. I walked beside him and grasped the bottom of his mane, but hesitated. He remained very still as though waiting for me.
With uncertainty but rising elation, I jumped up and positioned myself on his back. Phobus rose up gently, as though sensing my un- easiness at never having ridden without a saddle. He walked calmly at first, then picked up his feet with a little more vibrancy.
Tangling my fingers in his mane, I leaned forward and whispered, “I’m ready.”
With that, he bolted away from the stables through the corral. He galloped smoothly, careful to not make any sudden turns that might slide me off his back. With a fantastic leap, he bounded over the fence and into the open range. He galloped until he reached the peak of a small hill.
Coming slowly to a halt, he turned to the west and together we watched the sunset. It was a magnificent blaze of red, orange, and pink. I was grateful to have seen the most amazing sunset atop a beautiful steed before the end of the world.
Phobus returned me to the stables in a trot. Sliding off, I gave him a grateful pat on the neck. I walked to the barrel of grain, scooped out a serving size for him and dumped it in the trough. I left, returning to the dining hall.
It was bustling with life, friendly faces and warm chatter. The food was served in an assembly line, and people went outside to eat around large fire pits.
I waited in line until I reached the serving counter. Leaning forward, I reached for a bowl of soup being ladled by a woman behind the counter. As I grasped the bowl, I made eye contact with the Queen! I gasped and nearly dropped the hot soup.
She almost smiled at my reaction and her face softened. It quickly transformed back to neutral. There was a new softness in her gestures, and she was at ease to be friendly rather than stately.
In a voice barely above a whisper, she replied, “I am not above service to my hosts.”
I nodded, too surprised to speak, and moved on in the line, picking up a flask of water.
I found a seat near Laos, and he nodded in acknowledgment as I sat beside him.
Sipping my turtle stew, I looked around at the gathering of First Clan. There was conversation and weaving of blankets and children playing. There must have been three hundred people or so in the First Clan.
I turned to Laos, looking at his familiar tan, leathery skin wrinkled from the sun and a lifetime of physical labor. But there were worry lines, too.
How much time must a leader spend worrying about his people? And about his family?
He had three daughters, but also a son. His son had left the clan to become a deep-sea fisherman. There was a great fishing port south of the Ntajik Strait that his son now called home. I heard he had only seen his son once in the last five years. Perhaps it was challenging being the leader’s son, but I couldn’t fathom knowing my parents were alive and not seizing every possible moment to be with them.
If his son knew the declining state of the kingdom, would he come back to see his family?
“How many Caballus are there?” I asked.
He squinted into the fire momentarily. “At last Summer Gathering, we counted ten thousand, but they are spread out along the canyon.”
“And horses?”
“In excess of one thousand.”
I nodded.
“You’re very troubled, Abigail the Horse Lover.” I nodded and ate more soup. Hiding in Aithos had not dispersed my fears as I had hoped. Anxiety still gnawed at me, like hearing a distant woodpecker beating away at the side of a tree.
Laos added, “When the Caballus are faced with hardship and need guidance, we visit the Gunthi monks and seek their counsel.”
I looked at him, startled.
He nodded in affirmation.
I bowed my head humbly in a gesture of gratitude for his offer.
The Gunthi monks were not available for public consultation. Of all the books in the university library, there was only one whose author could lay claim to having met the monks. Baird Potts was a traveler, writer and professor of humanities. His book was published some fifty years ago but was still heralded as the preeminent authority on ethnicities across the world.
Baird would study a culture, and then immerse himself in it until he understood every nuance of their government, economy, and religion. I selectively read sections on whichever culture my study abroad required of me. There was admiration and reverence in Baird’s tone when he wrote of the Gunthi monks, but no insinuation of anything supernatural. Regardless, I needed someone else’s wisdom to know what to do and where to go next. Such an offer was foolish to refuse.
“We will make preparations for you to leave for the sanctuary in the morning.”
I stammered, “The river?”
He half nodded, half shrugged. “It would seem that your troubles cannot wait until the rapids recede.”
I nodded, biting my lip.
We sat there for a moment looking at the moon.
Laos crossed his
arms. “Do you know the story of Mother Moon?” I knew of it vaguely; big moon was mom and little moon was baby.
“A little,” I admitted, shaking my head slightly. “Long ago, when the universe was created, planets, moons, and suns scattered to its corners. Like a giant family they spread out, separated by time and space and gravitational fields. Around our planet, two moons were drawn into circulation—mother and child. But mother and infant were doomed on different orbits. When they each reached the nearest point to our planet, they were said to be united— or reunited. Mother and infant are only together every one hundred years. During that time she is filled with joy and the oceans rejoice in her happiness.
“It is fortunate that their reunion will happen in our lifetime,” he added.
I reflected on his words. Mother and child united seemed like something to look forward to seeing. But I also thought of the oceans rejoicing. According to meteorology class, the two moons close together wreaked havoc on the tides. The ocean was absolutely impassable and unsurvivable during their week together. I wanted no part of the ocean on a calm day, much less when the moons unite. I felt seasick just thinking about the great swells and violent waves “rejoicing.”
After I thought I had lingered in silence long enough to be polite, I excused myself and thanked Laos again for the offer to see the monks.
Through the crowd and commotion of socializing groups outside the dining hall, I found Joshua. He was standing next to a white stal- lion, looking casually handsome and surrounded by three Caballus women with giddy voices and flirtatious eyes. Tall and beautiful, they wore knee-length dresses with exposed shoulders revealing smooth, tan skin.
I reflected on my short stature, pale skin, untamed black hair, and plain clothes. The best thing about my appearance were my boots, and even they didn’t belong to me.
I recognized the women as the daughters of Laos, and the stallion was Unis, one of his many prized steeds. I caught enough of the conversation to discern that they were telling him the legend of the Princeps. I stood quietly until Joshua saw me. His eyes were playful and his deep voice jovial. I hadn’t heard or seen him like that since the Queen and I landed on his doorstep at Oxville on V-Day and he had been drinking spirits.
I was struck briefly with an unexpected pang of jealousy that it wasn’t me standing so close to him and making him feel desirable. A moment later, I was able to shrug off my annoyance and insecurities and focus on the reason for my intrusion.
“Abbey!” he declared with enthusiasm. He introduced me to his suitors.
I nodded as pleasantly as I could. “Fantastic meal, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, very good. Can I speak with you a moment?” With a hand on his elbow, I led him away.
Joshua looked down at me expectantly, but I was struggling to find the words.
“I need your help,” I began slowly, staring at the ground. It was frustrating to always need his help, but more so when it also meant putting him in danger.
He waited for an explanation.
“Tomorrow.”
“Abbey.” He lifted my chin up until I made eye contact. “Are you going to expound on that before the moons unite?”
His words sent an unseen chill through me. It was a common say- ing because it usually meant sometime in the distant future, but now it was in our near future as Laos was just explaining.
“I need to see the Gunthi monks and find out what they propose I do or where they propose I go to keep the Queen safe. It means taking the river at the canyon base down to their sanctuary.” I paused. “It means riding the river,” but I could see he didn’t understand what that involved. “This time of year the river is a raging rapids, and even the Caballus don’t travel it. It’s very hazardous.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“We could die,” I whispered.
“I’ve done cliff diving at Kwixi Bay near Marrin Beach and spelunking at Optato’s caves. I’m not afraid of a river.”
I was afraid enough for the both of us, but I only nodded in appreciation of his accepting my request. He could sleep well tonight and fully realize my concerns the next day when we were in the thick of the rapids.
Despite his friendly encouragement for me to stay and socialize, I left him with the white horse and pretty companionship. I found my way down the canyon into our quiet cave and curled up in a thick blanket. Part of me wished I would have implored Joshua to come back to the cave with me, and the other part hoped he would have a night of rumpus and ruckus...because it could be his last.
For hours, it seemed, I only saw images of death and destruction, but my dreams were becoming more vivid. All of my friends were dead—Jo, Laos, Vallik—all at the hands of Malos. I could see his bulbous, floating figure and beady eyes filled with gloating enjoyment at the rising body count around him. He turned and looked at me with surprise and concern, as though I was intruding on his moment of triumph. Soon his expression became that of loathing. Before he could get nearer, I woke with a start.
Joshua was lying down next to me and covering me back up with the blanket. I rolled closer and lay my head on his chest.
“I’m sorry I’m such a coward,” I said, half asleep.
He pulled me close and kissed my forehead. “Being afraid doesn’t make you a coward. Your actions define what you are, and from what I’ve seen, you’ve been very brave and protected the Queen very well.”
I remained silent, amazed he knew exactly how to comfort me.
“Paul would be very proud of you,” he added, squeezing my shoulder. “He once said to me, ‘The substance of a man is determined by the works of his hands.’”
Paul had told me that, too. He was always full of wisdom and encouragement though he didn’t tolerate laziness or failure well. Because he diligently drilled into me the importance of school, I never considered not going to college or not completing it. I could never stand to see the look of disappointment in his eyes. It was as though brother, mother, and father were all shaking their heads, crestfallen. Despite the bleak future, finishing college seemed more important than ever with Paul gone.
“Paul used to sing to me,” I blurted out, more awake now, as a memory suddenly flooded my mind. I swallowed back tears.
“I didn’t know that,” Joshua confessed. He stroked a relaxing hand through my hair. “What did he sing?”
“A song my mother used to sing to us. She picked it up from a river basin tribe—the Guyana—I think. She translated it and made it rhyme in our language, but kept the same meaning and rhythm.”
Joshua pulled away slightly. “I’d love to hear it.” I blushed, but thought how good it would feel to hear it as well. I launched into the slow, steady song softly.
Don’t want to roam,
Just take me home,
To the stream side.
So take my hand,
We’ll leave this land
For the low tide.
Goin’ to be grand,
Sink in the sand,
Under white pine.
My heart to yours,
There on the shores,
Soak in sunshine.
Joshua held me in his arms until I fell back into a deep sleep.
4
Joshua and I were awoken entirely too early at dawn by a handful of Caballus and led to separate caves. Laos’s daughters led me to a dimly lit cave, each carrying an item—one a flask, one a pile of linen and the other a bag of candles. I stumbled behind them to keep pace. My feet were sore from several days of walking, and they had me walking barefoot over the cool rocks. My thighs ached with each step from riding Phobus yesterday.
All around, I could hear the sound of water trickling down stalactites. Stopping at an opening to the sky, I watched streams of early sunlight glistening on a pool. The smell of limestone swirled around me. As they arranged lavender-scented candles around the small room of the cave, the meaning of this escapade occurred to me. This was the Ritual of the Falls—performed for each traveler before their journey to
the Gunthi sanctuary. It was intended to be a cleansing of body and soul in preparation to receive a higher level of awareness in the presence of the monks. I wondered how many outsiders received such an honor.
The women motioned for me to get undressed. I slowly com- plied. They then motioned for me to get into the pond. The bottom of the pond was not discernable, owing to the dim light of the cave. I looked around, but there was no place to descend by step. With some hesitation, I finally stepped off the edge of the rock and plummeted into the pond.
Mount Kapri, it was freezing!
My body felt electrified by the frigid water.
Emerging, I was soaked from head to foot and treading water to keep my head from submerging. At last, I found a rock at the bottom that I could stand upon with my shoulders above the water. I looked at Laos’s daughters, suppressing a remark but not a scornful look. Their expression remained flat, but their eyes betrayed a hint of enjoyment at my shock and shivering.
They handed me a bar of soap and a rag and instructed me to start at my head and work my way down. With teeth chattering, I scrubbed every inch of my body, fearful that if I missed a spot, they would make me stay in the water longer or worse, make me start over.
When I was done, they helped me out of the water and doused me in an aloe-scented oil. Thick and warm, it brought my shivering to a halt. I stood, feeling awkward, as they smoothed the oil over my body. Finally, I was to be clothed. Instead of their usual shirts and cloaks, they approached with long, narrow strands of thinly woven linen. They wrapped my entire body expertly in the linen, snug enough to stay on but loose enough for mobility. Only my head, hands and feet were free. It occurred to me with some disquiet that this was how the Ntajidians prepared their dead.
They sat me down on a cushion and knelt around me. One began to brush and braid my hair in decorative rows. The others decorated the backs of my hands with thin gold paint.
