the Year the Horses came

by Mary Mackey

  Up ahead a torch shone through the trees. She hurried toward it, calling Arang's name. Soon she found herself face-to-face with Stavan and Zastra. She looked for Arang, but he was nowhere in sight.

  "Well, where is he?" she demanded. "Haven't you found him yet?"

  "We've found him," Zastra said, and the moment she spoke Marrah knew from the tone of her voice that something very strange and terrible had happened. She came to a full stop and looked from one to the other. Their faces were pale and grim.

  "What's happened?" she cried.

  "Marrah, come back to camp with us and I'll tell you — "

  "Where's my brother, Zastra? Where in the name of a hundred curses is my brother?"

  Instead of answering, Zastra put her hands over her face and began to cry. Marrah looked at Stavan. He was holding something out to her. At first she didn't understand what it was, and then she saw it was Arang's tunic, torn and covered with blood.

  "No!" she cried.

  "It was a lion," Zastra sobbed. "Stavan saw the tracks. We ran, Marrah, we ran; we really did. But we were too late; there was nothing left but his tunic. Oh, the poor little boy. I'll never forgive myself...."

  But Marrah wasn't hearing her. She had snatched the torn tunic from Stavan and was holding it to her breast, crying that Arang must still be alive and they had to find him before it got any darker.

  Somehow they calmed her down enough to lead her back to camp. Somehow she ate the soup they forced down her throat and drank the water they offered her. But she wouldn't give up the tunic. Whenever Zastra tried to take it from her, she yelled at her and clutched it closer.

  "Find him!" she screamed at Stavan. "This is your fault. If you hadn't made him that bow, he wouldn't have gone hunting in the woods. He isn't dead! No lion ate him! Find my brother!"

  Stavan didn't say anything. He only looked at her with a strange expression on his face, a cold, odd expression that she hated, and then he bowed and turned and went off into the forest.

  After that there was only grief and fear and a night so long she knew it would never end. She sat in stony silence, holding Arang's tunic on her lap, never shedding a tear after her first outburst. Sometimes she lifted it to her lips and kissed it, and sometimes she merely caressed it slowly, smoothing out the torn parts and matching them up again. As she touched it, she thought of their childhood together, how she and Arang had run and played and picked berries and dived into the sea.

  When she looked up, she saw Shema and Zastra and Rhom, looking at her pityingly.

  "She needs to cry," Zastra said, "or her heart will break."

  "Cry," Shema commanded, taking Marrah in her arms in a motherly embrace. "Cry, my darling." At Shema's touch, Marrah's heart broke at last. Letting the tunic fall to the ground, she laid her head on Shema's shoulder and sobbed. Seeing her cry, the traders began to cry too, mourning for the little boy.

  Marrah never knew how she got through that night. She must have slept, because sometime just after dawn she woke. For a moment it was like any other morning: a dim pink sky, the sound of bird calls, the rush of the river beside her bed. And then she remembered that Arang had been killed by a lion.

  "Marrah," a voice said. She turned her head to find Zastra standing over her with a cup of hot broth. It was a special treat, but she had no stomach for it.

  "I want to go back to Xori," she told Zastra, waving the cup aside, and when Zastra tried to comfort her she waved that away too, because there was no comfort left for her in the world. Rising to her feet, she walked down to the river to splash cold water on her face, but her feet felt like stone and it seemed to take a long time. Stavan was nowhere in sight, but Rhom was up already, sitting on a rock mending the carrying strap he had left half finished last night, and Shema was eating her breakfast. She looked away and they said nothing, respecting her grief.

  She walked into the river and let the cold water swirl around her legs. The ducks were still swimming in the reeds and the current was still circling around the same snags, but nothing was the same. Everything she looked at or touched or thought of reminded her of .Arang.

  She bent down and splashed some water on her face, and as she rose she heard a peculiar sound. It was high and low at the same time, like a great flock of birds chattering all at once, and it seemed to be coming from the forest. She looked back at the camp and saw that Rhom and his sisters had risen to their feet.

  "What is it?" Shema cried.

  "I don't know," Rhom said.

  The sound grew louder and clearer; it was a song, sung by dozens of people who were coming closer with every passing moment. Now Marrah could hear other sounds: a drum, a kind of clacking like wooden sticks being beaten together, the stamping of many feet. Suddenly an amazing sight burst out of the forest. First came four men carrying a dead lion slung on a pole. They were short, light-skinned, and broad-chested with dark eyes and hair that hung loosely around their shoulders, and at first glance Marrah thought they were naked, but then she saw they were wearing a sort of loincloth made from a leather strap. Behind the men came a line of dancing men, women, and children who stamped their feet and turned and waved their arms, singing at the top of their lungs. Many of the women carried babies on their backs, but all of them — men and women — carried spears that they clacked together as they sang.

  "It's the Forest People!" Zastra cried.

  And then Marrah gave a cry too and began to run up the river-bank, for there, at the end of the dancing line, coming out of the forest as if he had never been away, was Arang, safe and whole.

  "Arang!" she cried, running toward him. They met in an embrace that nearly knocked both of them over. Picking him up, Marrah spun him around laughing and crying and yelling with joy. "You came back! Thank the Goddess! You're alive!" She put him down and tried to look at him sternly, but it was hopeless because she was grinning from ear to ear. "Do you have any idea how much you worried us? We thought you'd been eaten by a lion."

  "I almost was," Arang said proudly. "Oh, Marrah, it was so exciting! The she-lion had me treed and she was going to eat me, only they" — he waved at the Forest People — "shot her just in time. You should see how well they shoot. They're the best."

  Marrah turned and saw several dozen small half-naked people regarding her with polite curiosity. She wanted to thank them, but for a moment she couldn't speak. Lifting her hands, she somehow managed to put the tips of her fingers together. I thank you in Her name for saving my brother's life, she thought, but the words still wouldn't come.

  When the people saw her make the sign of the Goddess, they muttered approvingly. The oldest woman and the oldest man stepped forward and returned Marrah's salute. Then they smiled and pointed at Arang and the lion. Slowly, with great emphasis, they began to speak. Their voices were cheerful and pleasant, but Marrah didn't understand a word they were saying. Seeing this, they began to repeat a few simple words over and over. Gradually she realized they were speaking some form of Old Language.

  "Boy," they were saying, "lost. Not good, so young. Throw his self-cover to she-lion. Bad idea."

  Marrah turned to Arang. "Did you throw your tunic to that beast?"

  Arang looked sheepish. "Well, she had me up in a tree," he said. "What else was I supposed to do? I gave her my birds too, all of them, and I even had a pheasant."

  "That was bird blood on your tunic?"

  Arang looked down at the ground and drew a design with one bare toe. "Mmm, yes. Dumb, huh?"

  "Dumb!" she yelled, and she was just about to tell him how very dumb it had been when she realized that the leaders of the Forest People were still waiting for a reply.

  I'm sorry my brother put you to so much trouble," she said slowly, pointing to Arang. "I thank you with all my heart for saving him. The she-lion would have killed him if you hadn't killed her

  The Forest People nodded and smiled, and the old woman reached out and patted Marrah on the back as if sympathizing with her. "Little brothers big trouble," she said. She poin
ted to the old man. "He my little brother. Big, big trouble, he." She laughed uproariously, showing a mostly toothless mouth. The rest of the Forest People joined in the laughter as if it were the best joke of the summer. Marrah had the distinct feeling that she had missed something, but she laughed too.

  "Follow you long way, Sabalah daughter," the old woman said. "Follow you all the way from Xemta but now got good lion skin, eh?"

  Suddenly Marrah understood. These weren't just any Forest People; they were the same ones who had told the priestesses that she and Arang were coming to visit the Caves of Nar. It hadn't just been luck that they'd arrived in time to save Arang from the lion. They'd been watching him for weeks, making sure he didn't get into trouble — and a good thing, too. She wondered where they'd taken him after they killed the lion and why they hadn't brought him straight back to camp, but before she could ask, Stavan abruptly stepped out forest holding his knife in one hand and his spear in the other.

  "Let the boy and the woman go!" he thundered in Shambah.

  The Forest People gave little squeaks of fright and tried to hide one another. Babies screamed, and the four men who were carrying the lion dumped it unceremoniously on the ground and began to run toward the forest.

  Put your weapons away!" Marrah yelled. "They're friendly. They saved Arang's life." She turned to the Forest People. "Wait, don't run away. He's harmless."

  "Friendly?" Stavan looked unconvinced.

  I mean it, Stavan. Throw that spear down right now. You're scaring everyone half to death."

  Stavan threw down his spear, put his knife back in his belt, and ran toward Arang, scattering the Forest People in all directions like frightened mice. Ignoring them, he fell to his knees in front of Arang, took him in his arms, and hugged him. "You're back, you're safe, you're alive! Han be praised! I was sure you were dead. I thought the lion ate you." He stroked Arang's hair, his eyes wet with tears.

  Moved by the sight, Marrah reached out and put her hand on Stavan's shoulder. To her surprise, he seemed to take this as a reprimand. Flinching as though he'd been struck, he rose to his feet, dropped his arms to his sides, stepped back, and stared at her with the same cold, unreadable expression he'd give her last night when she'd screamed at him that Arang's death was his fault.

  "I'm sorry I greeted your brother like that," he said stiffly. "No doubt under the circumstances you'd rather I didn't touch him. If you want me to leave, I'll go at once, and you won't ever have to see me again."

  Marrah was too surprised to respond. She looked at Stavan and then at the Forest People, who were beginning to emerge cautiously from the forest to reclaim their lion.

  Taking her silence as a sign she understood, Stavan continued in the same vein. "I'd ask you to forgive me, but what I did can't be forgiven. In my own country, I'd be sacrificed to Lord Han so that my blood would wash the shame from my father's name, but here I think you're more merciful. I think your Goddess doesn't ask for the blessing of blood."

  Whatever was going on in his mind was so foreign he might as well have been speaking Hansi. "What in the name of seven curses are you talking about?" Marrah cried. "First you charge everyone waving your spear, and now you're talking nonsense."

  It was Stavan's turn to look bewildered. "Surely you understand that I promised to protect you and your brother with my own life. Well, I wasn't there when Arang needed me. Instead" — he pointed to the Forest People — "they saved him, and I'm" — he paused as if the word were sticking in his throat — "dishonored."

  At last Marrah understood. "You think I'm still angry at you?" He nodded. "You think I still blame you for the fact that Arang ran off into the woods and nearly got himself eaten by a lion?" He nodded again. "And you think I don't like you anymore and don't trust you because you couldn't keep your promise?" For a moment he stood like a statue; then slowly he nodded for a third time. Marrah saw shame in his eyes.

  Poor Stavan. Since they spoke to each other in a common language, she often forgot how different he was.

  "Stavan," she said gently, "I'm not angry with you. I spoke out of turn last night when I said it was all your fault, but I was half crazy with grief. I owe you an apology. And I still trust you."

  "You do?"

  "Of course. How could you even think for a moment that I really believed it was your fault? If I'd taken your advice and watched Arang more closely, he never would have run off in the first place. As a matter of fact, I've decided that I should ask you to be his aita. He's too much for me to handle by myself." She put her arm around Arang."Of course it would only be a temporary sort of situation. Mehe, Arang's real aita, is back in Xori, but you could be a sort of...step-aita to him. What do you think?"

  Stavan looked so surprised she almost laughed, but she had enough sense not to, which was a good thing because he probably would have been mortally offended. "I'd be honored," he stuttered, "Very honored — that is, if you're sure and if Arang likes the idea."

  "Like it!" Arang cried. "I've been trying to get her to do this for weeks. Take her up on it, Stavan, before she changes her mind."

  Stavan did, immediately. "You'll be my son," he said, bending down to give Arang another hug, and when Marrah reminded him fathers had sons and aitas had nephews, he didn't object. "Let him be my nephew, then. We'll mingle our blood as the Hansi do."

  Arang wasn't too keen on the idea of mingling his blood with anyone, even Stavan, but he held his tongue. He wanted Stavan for his aita no matter what.

  That evening after they had feasted on lion meat and listened to the People sing their lion-hunting songs, Stavan led Arang up to fire, and there, sitting on the fresh pelt, he cut his finger and Arang's finger and let their blood flow together. Then he pierced Arang's earlobe with a bone needle and put one of Achan's gold earrings in the hole. Arang, who had been warned ahead of time, gritted his teeth, but the finger cutting and ear piercing didn't hurt nearly as much as he'd thought they were going to, and for the rest of the night he sat proudly beside Stavan watching the Forest People dance

  The next morning things returned to normal. Sometime during night the Forest People left without making a sound, taking the lion pelt but leaving the claws behind. Gathering the claws, Marrah scrubbed them in the river and wrapped them in a piece of soft deerskin. By the time she was finished, the breakfast fish were cooked and ready to eat. Soon they were back on the trail, following the Orugali more.

  They walked for two more days. The river widened, and with each step the traders seemed to grow more excited. One morning, Shema and Zastra got up early, washed each other's hair, and wove necklaces of flowers for everyone, including Stavan. On that very afternoon, the thirty-second since they left Gurasoak, they finally came to the place where the waters of the Orugali emptied into the Blue Sea. From there it was only a short walk to the village of Lezentka.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Rockfish and clams,

  dark, sweet figs,

  olives and roses,

  wines from the east,

  deep-keeled boats

  with sails so white

  they melt on the back of your

  tongue like salt —

  Lezentka has everything

  but not when you want it.

  Lezentka's the place

  where travelers must wait.

  SABALAH'S SONG

  VERSES 15-17

  Lezentka

  The next place they were headed for was the island of Gira, famous for its fine obsidian, great temples, and spectacular religious festivals. It was said that no people worshiped the Goddess with more enthusiasm than the Girans, who were generally acknowledged to be the greatest drummers in the world, and their huge snake dances — some of which involved hundreds of people moving together in perfect rhythm for days at a time — were reputed to bring the Goddess into the heart and mind of anyone who participated.

  Marrah had been born in the birth sanctuary of the eastern temple of Gira, when Sabalah had sought refuge there on her way west. Both of
the twin priestess queens of the island had blessed her at birth, rubbing a bit of earth on her forehead and putting a drop of salt water in her mouth to make her part of the Earth and the Sea, and although Marrah couldn't remember the ceremony or anything about Gira itself — having left it when she was only a few months old — she had always longed to visit it.

  Knowing how impatient she would be to get to the island, Sabalah had warned her that they might have to wait several weeks before they could catch a boat headed in the right direction. On the way west, she herself had had to wait almost a month in Lezentka before she found a party of traders making the crossing to the Sea of Gray Waves, and although the people had been hospitable, she was the first to admit it had been a boring month. Lezentka, she told Marrah, was not one of the great cities of the earth. Its primary claim to fame was that it lay near the mouth of the Orugali, and although some of the villagers specialized in long-distance trading, it could hardly be called a major port. Its houses were made of wood and mud, just like the longhouses of Xori only smaller, since each only housed a single mother family; the river water had a brackish taste that lingered on the back of the tongue; and there was no Goddess Stone or sweat hut, only a dusty central square and a pretty little temple dedicated to the Earth, whom the villagers worshiped in the form of a pregnant deer.