the Year the Horses came

by Mary Mackey

  "But to leave them here in slavery! How can we? Stavan, every night of my life I'd think of them." She got up and walked away from him, out into the dry streambed where the pale rocks gleamed in the starlight like white bones, and she looked up at that alien star-filled sky, so bright and close it looked as if she could reach up and touch it. And yet it was so far away, so immense. Close and far and impossible, she thought. And she knew then that no matter how hard she tried to make it otherwise, only she and Arang and Stavan were riding west. She returned to Stavan, sober-faced and pale. Taking his hand in hers, she held it, and when she spoke her voice was steady.

  "Only the three of us then," she agreed, and as she spoke she felt like a traitor, but what choice did she have? Dalish, she thought; Dalish, perhaps. She couldn't quite give up on Dalish, but the rest, yes, she could. She had to.

  Stavan drew her to him and held her, but when she closed her eyes all she could see was Dalish, Akoah, and the women of Shambah. Go away! she ordered, but they just stayed there, looking at her. She found herself wishing that she had a pipe of hemp or a cup of kersek. Wasn't that how the Hansi warriors forgot the people they'd killed? How could she live with this without being drunk on something?

  She opened her eyes and found Stavan looking at her. "Kiss me," she commanded, and he did. It was a long kiss, and somewhere in the middle of it, she found the forgetfulness she was looking for. They kissed some more, and after a while they lay down. She took off her heavy wool tunic and leggings and Stavan took off his, and they stretched out on his cloak under her shawl, breast to chest and knee to knee in all the sweet nakedness of love. Soon he was dragging the tips of his fingers over her nipples, spreading her lips, caressing her with his tongue, and drinking the salt and sweetness of her, and she was smelling the musk and animal scent of his body. He was hard and eager, but he never once did anything she didn't invite, and his respect was at the same time so familiar and so long-lost that she shivered and wept and cried out to him that she'd been afraid that the joy of love had left her forever but now she'd found it again.

  When she cried, he comforted her and kissed her and made love to her in the old way, like a man of her own people. They lay head to foot, and after what seemed like a long time, he brought her to an orgasm that made her moan.

  They did foolish things that night when they should have been riding back to camp; the specter of death hovered over them, and knowing this might be the last time, they made the most of it. Sometimes they were tender and sometimes they rolled around, kissing so hard it seemed as if they might swallow each other's tongues.

  There came a moment when she reached out and tapped him on the thigh, and he entered her, and for the first time they rocked back and forth together, and he came inside her, not once but several times. Then they rolled over and she rode him, high and hard, bringing herself to a slow, steady climax.

  Afterward they lay in each other's arms looking up at the sky. Overhead, the stars had changed and the night was passing, but neither of them could bear to get up, put on clothes, and ride back to the camp. Marrah curled up and Stavan held her. They felt like two people in a boat, drifting on a great dark sea.

  "Do you think we started a child?" Stavan whispered.

  "I hope so," she said and moved closer.

  They didn't mention Vlahan, but both of them knew Marrah soon would be sleeping beside him again. Better our child than his, they could have said to each other, but they didn't need to. They understood each other perfectly.

  Later, as they rode back toward camp through the tall grass, they were silent. The wind had stopped, and a motionless peace seemed to have descended on the steppes. It wasn't dawn yet, but Marrah could feel the light hovering somewhere just over the edge of the horizon. Stavan sat straight on his horse, moving with it in an easy way she'd never mastered. He looked at home in his wool leggings and hooded tunic; his eyes were as pale as the stars, and even his hair was the color of the dried grasses. He was part of this world, he fit in, and no matter how close they got or how long they lived together there would always be this difference between them. And yet she loved him. She didn't love his people or their way of life or anything about them, but she loved Stavan. I've chosen him over my own, she thought guiltily. Again she thought of Dalish and Akoah and the women of Shambah, and she prayed that a miracle would happen. Let the earth shake or the sky fall; let us wake up one morning and find the Hansi have all disappeared. Let me take them back to the Sweetwater Sea.

  While she prayed for the impossible, Stavan's thoughts were taking a more practical turn. He rode up beside her, reached out, and patted her horse on the neck. "We're going to need a signal. If Zuhan lets Arang sleep with the herdboys, I'll hear about it, but you won't." He frowned and thought it over. "Let's agree that if you see me playing with a ball of brown wool you'll know I'll be coming for you that same night. And if you see me with a ball of white wool, it means you're to come into the tall grass as quickly as you can because something's gone wrong and I have to talk to you right away."

  "Why wool?"

  "Because it's easy to get; besides, it's just the sort of thing a crazy man would do." He smiled, a little bitterly, she thought. "Becoming a fool hasn't been easy, you know; it's taken thought. But it's been easier than being sane. If I'd been sane when my father rode against the Tcvali, I'd have been expected to kill and rape like a sane man."

  "And tomorrow when I see you, you'll be a fool again?"

  He nodded.

  "You'll walk right past me?"

  "Right past."

  That was a sobering thought. Not knowing what to say, she reached out and took his hand, but it was hard to make much progress that way, so she dropped it, and they rode on.

  When they got to the spot where they had to leave the horses, he pressed two small objects into her palm. She tried to look at them, but the sky had begun to cloud over and it was too dark to see. "One's a pack of sleeping powder," he explained. "When I give you the signal, see it gets into Vlahan's stew. I want everyone in that tent asleep except you."

  She felt the other thing he'd handed her. It was wrapped in a piece of leather, tied with hemp. "What's this?"

  "A present, a bit of good luck. But don't take time to open it now; we have to hurry."

  They ran back through the grass, past the sentries and the dogs. When they came to Vlahan's tent there was no time to say goodbye. Stavan lifted the bottom edge and Marrah rolled inside, and just in time too, for not long after she'd stretched out next to Vlahan, Timak woke up and shuffled outside and Marrah heard the sound of her piss hitting the dirt. Soon the breakfast fire was smoking and Vlahan was sitting up, demanding food and complaining of a terrible headache.

  All morning she walked around in a state of excitement, hardly hearing Timak's nagging commands. She folded the bedding, went down to the river with Hiknak to get water, swept out the tent with a handful of dry grass, peeled roots, and skinned a rabbit, spitted it, and put it on the fire so Vlahan could have something fresh to eat. He was in a horrible mood, as irritable as a sick hog, and she took care to stay away from him until after he'd eaten. She'd noticed that when he was hungry he was often unpredictable, and she had no desire to cross him, even by accident. When he'd stuffed himself with rabbit and had a pipe of hemp, then she'd go to him and ask for permission to visit Arang, but until then the more space between them, the better.

  As she worked, she thought about last night. Sometimes she furtively ran her fingers along her arms, thinking of how Stavan had touched her, and sometimes she licked her lips, remembering how hungrily they had kissed, but when she went down to the river, she took care to wash carefully. Vlahan had a nose like a dog, and she didn't want any trace of Stavan's scent on her.

  She did take one chance, however. When Timak was occupied with Vlahan and Hiknak was busy basting the rabbit, she found some excuse to go into the tent. Kneeling in the circle of light that came through the smoke hole, she pulled out the present Stavan had given her, unwr
apped it, and found herself holding the Tear of Compassion. Suppressing a cry of surprise, she looked at the little butterfly for a moment, floating in the clear yellow rock as peacefully as if it had never been dragged across half the world. Then quickly, before anyone could come in and catch her, she tied it around her neck and hid it under her tunic. This wouldn't do for long. She'd have to put it in her pouch so Vlahan wouldn't see it, but today she'd give herself the pleasure of wearing it. Reaching down, she touched Earth for luck.

  After that, she had no more time to think. She ran to the store baskets, found the hunk of cheese Timak had sent her for, and made it outside just in time to get a cuff on the ear from Vlahan, but she didn't care. Instead of glaring at him, she knelt at his feet with the most exquisite patience while he heaped insults on her for her slowness, laziness, and general lack of worth. What did it matter what this fool said to her?

  Vlahan seemed impressed with her new docility. "She's learning," he said to Timak. Timak, however, was not pleased. She looked at Marrah with narrowed eyes and when the time came to spread out the fresh dung, she made sure to hand her the largest basket.

  By midday, Vlahan seemed to have recovered from his hangover. He was nasty, but it was only the usual nastiness. Waiting until Timak was safely out of earshot, Marrah quickly washed the dung off her hands, came up to him, and knelt at his feet again. "I want to ask you a favor, husband," she said, casting down her eyes demurely as a modest nomad wife should. Her Hansi might have been better, but it was good enough, and Vlahan looked pleasantly surprised. This was definitely the longest sentence she'd ever said to him, and he had no way of knowing how the word "husband" stuck in her throat.

  He lifted his pipe to his lips, took a long stream of smoke into his lungs, and looked her over. "What?" he said. He was a man not given to long or complicated conversations.

  "I want your permission to go see my nephew." She came within a hair of saying "brother" instead of "nephew." The thought that she'd come so close to spoiling everything made her shudder, but Vlahan, as usual, hardly paid any attention to her except when he wanted her in his bed, so her sudden expression of alarm passed unnoticed.

  "When?"

  "This afternoon." She knew she should say something else. He was looking at her expectantly. "Please, husband."

  "Hmm," he said, and his eyes narrowed the way Timak's had earlier. "I think not."

  It was all she could do not to yell at him that she was going to go whether he gave her permission or not, but she knew by now that if she did so, she wouldn't be able to see Arang for days, so she kept her temper and even managed a humble smile. "May your wife ask why?"

  "No," Vlahan said, and with a wave of his hand, he dismissed her.

  Stunned by the failure of her request, she went back to spreading out dung. What was going on? True, she'd never asked to go to Arang before because Arang came to her almost every other day, but Vlahan had let her walk freely around the camp. She had to have his permission to approach Zuhan's tent — no woman could come near it without her husband's consent — but why should he object? Did he know something? Had he awakened last night, found her gone, and figured out where she was?

  She shuddered at the thought of what he might do to her if he suspected she had been unfaithful. She had heard a number of stories about how the Hansi treated women who betrayed their husbands. The lucky ones were pelted with rocks until every bone in their bodies was broken, but most died in much slower, more horrible ways. She felt sick with anxiety, but there was no way to warn Stavan. He'd be out with the herdboys by now, playing the fool with straw in his hair. If she couldn't get to Arang, there was certainly no way she could get to him, and they hadn't had the foresight to arrange a signal that could be seen from a distance.

  But as it turned out, she worried for nothing; or, rather, she worried about the wrong thing. Vlahan had not wakened, and he had no idea she'd been with Stavan. His reason for denying her permission to go to Zuhan's tent had nothing to do with her. That afternoon, the ceremonial drums began to beat, and a runner came through the camp calling all the warriors to the Great Chief.

  The drums continued beating all day as the women went about their work, and sounds of singing could be heard coming from behind the leather curtain that separated the men's secret rituals from profane eyes. Near dusk, Changar himself appeared, leading a string of fine horses through the camp. He was dressed in his wolf robes, and the terrible necklace of Shambah hung around his neck.

  "There'll be blood in the cup today," Timak said as he passed, and as usual she was right. By the time night fell, everyone including Marrah knew that seven horses had been sacrificed to Han and that Zuhan, the Great Chief, had declared Arang son of Achan his one and only heir and appointed Vlahan, the bastard, to be his guardian until he came of age.

  When she heard the news, she went inside the tent, lay down on a pile of blankets, and turned her face to the wall. The plan she and Stavan had made wouldn't work now. They'd missed their chance by only a few days. She thought of Arang, of how he would be surrounded by guards, his food tasted, his every movement watched. Their bad luck made her sick with disappointment.

  "Get up," Timak ordered, coming in to kick her. "There's a fire to be tended and water to be fetched." But Marrah stubbornly refused to move.

  "Leave me alone," she said. She needed time to think. Of a new plan, of some way to get to Arang; of a hundred things that couldn't be said out loud. Timak was so stunned she forgot to go on kicking. "Leave me alone," Marrah repeated, "or I'll tell my nephew you abuse me." She didn't expect the threat to have any effect, but to her astonishment, Timak gathered up her shawl and hurried out of the tent.

  Well, well, she thought. It looks like being the aunt of a future Great Chief is going to have some advantages. She felt triumphant, but her triumph was short-lived. Not long after Timak had beaten a hasty exit, Vlahan came back from the ceremony, strutting like a chief in a fine new robe and a necklace of wolf teeth. Pulling Marrah to her feet, he shoved her in the direction of the fire.

  "Help Timak cook my dinner," he ordered, and then, just to make sure she understood who was talking, he slapped her so hard her ears rang. Stumbling outside, she did what he'd told her to do, but that night, when he dragged her into his bed, her patience snapped and she fought him with all her strength.

  "I hate you!" she screamed. "Don't touch me!" Every time he laid a hand on her she shuddered with repulsion and struck out at him, but he was stronger than she was and ultimately he managed to wrestle her to the ground. Tying her hands behind her back with one of his bowstrings, he raped her and then tossed her out of bed to lie all night half smothered in the cold ashes of the fire.

  In the morning, Timak came up with a nasty grin and cut her loose. "You'd better behave," she warned, "or you'll get plenty worse than that." Bruised and humiliated, Marrah staggered to her feet and started toward the river to scrub herself clean, but Timak stopped her.

  "You're too vain," she said. "Always washing and primping when there's work to be done." Thrusting a leather bucket in Marrah's hands, she led her out to milk the mares and watched her with cold, suspicious eyes until the chore was done. Then she set her to digging out the tent pit, a hard job since the turf had to be cut with a stone knife and pried up in blocks.

  That afternoon, as Marrah was bending over the fire picking out roasted roots with a forked stick, Hiknak came up and began to throw on more dried dung.

  "The fire's already hot enough," Marrah snapped. It wasn't fair of her to take her disappointment out on Hiknak, but she was so miserable at the prospect of spending a whole winter in the same tent with Vlahan that she probably would have snapped at the laughing priestesses of Nar if they had been anywhere in sight.

  "Hush," Hiknak whispered. "I want to talk to you. I have some advice. Don't fight him."

  "What?" Marrah stopped, one hand poised over the coals.

  "Don't fight Vlahan. He likes it." Hiknak raised her head. Her thin pale face looked mo
onlike and girlish, but her eyes were hard. "I should know. I fought him too at first, but now I not only give in, I even act like I want to do it. As soon as he found out I was willing, he stopped wanting me. He specializes in breaking things — horses, women, they're all the same to him. So I repeat, don't fight him."

  It was good advice, but it proved useless.

  All day the drums had been beating and the warriors had been celebrating, but having heard the worst of the bad news yesterday, Marrah no longer paid attention to the sound. Out on the steppes the men were playing war games, and sometimes if she shaded her eyes with her hand, she could see little figures riding full tilt at each other or the silhouette of a warrior rising in his saddle to take aim at something with a singing bow, but it was all happening very far away. There would be no chance to talk to Arang until the games were over.

  As she cut through the tight-rooted turf and dug into the earth, she worried about him. She hoped they weren't forcing him to drink more horse blood or, worse yet, tattooing him.

  By the time it was almost dark, her hands were scraped and bleeding but she had made a hole in the turf roughly the size of the tent. Timak inspected her work and turned away with a grudging grunt of approval. "Tomorrow you make it deeper," she said, but when it came time to hand around the food, she gave Marrah a bigger portion than usual.

  After the evening meal, they began to wait for Vlahan. As usual, Timak busied herself with sewing, Hiknak braided hemp, and Marrah picked thorns out of balls of unwashed wool. It was cold outside so they put more dried dung on the fire, and a pleasant dried-grass scent filled the tent. If Marrah hadn't known that Vlahan would be coming home drunk, she would have felt almost cozy sitting there probing the greasy wool while Timak droned on about people she didn't know and gossip she hardly understood.

  It grew later and later and still Vlahan didn't appear. Over on the other side of camp, the drums went on beating. Hiknak began to nod over her rope, Timak took a furtive nap, and Marrah could hardly keep her eyes open. Just when they had all resigned themselves to another endless wait, Vlahan suddenly pushed aside the tent flap, letting in a gust of cold air. His face was as red as his beard, but as soon as he spoke Marrah could tell he wasn't drunk.