by Linda Benson
Disheveled and out of breath, he carried the short stick of a goat herder. “Evan,” he shouted, gulping for air.
“Ulu, what is it?”
“You must come back,” Ulu cried. “Marilda and Biscuit have both lied down to kid. But the babies are not coming out! I think they are stuck!”
“Are you sure?” Evan gently prodded the boy, his hand on his shoulder. “Marilda and Biscuit are not due for another two weeks.”
“I can see the head of Biscuit’s baby. She has been pushing ever since you left. I waited, but nothing is happening.” The boy blinked back tears. “I didn’t know what to do. So I ran and ran to find you. I’ve been following the sound of your footsteps.”
Sahara watched Evan’s face in the deepening shadows. It changed from gentle concern to genuine worry in the space of a few seconds.
“I must go back,” he said. “I am needed for these births. Ulu, run back and stay by the nannies. I will be right behind you.”
Ulu nodded and raced back down the trail.
Sahara gulped. Evan was going back? How could she find the horses now? Without Evan — in the dark?
He seemed to read her mind. “You should come back with me,” he said. “It might take just a short while to birth the nannies.” His eyes focused on his feet. “Or it could take hours.”
“Can I find the horses myself?” Sahara asked. What am I thinking? Go alone?
“I — I think so,” Evan said. “But are you sure you want to go by yourself? You could wait right here for me.”
Sahara hesitated. Grandfather had said she must tell the hunters about the horses. But surely he didn’t mean for her to go alone through the night. Then she remembered her last dream — a baby horse with its foot trapped under a rock. In her dream she had saved it. She had found extraordinary strength to move the heavy stone. Now, in real life, she would need extraordinary courage to find the horses in the night. She gulped, drinking in the cold air.
“Draw me a map,” she said, pointing to the soft earth between them.
Evan knelt beside her and scratched the route in the loose dirt. Two small hills, then around a larger hill. At the bottom was the azure pond, and at the top of the next hill, the alder grove. She studied the crude map until she had it memorized. Evan handed her supplies: a small loaf of bread and some dried fruit. He pulled the fragile book about horse training out of his pocket. She gently tucked everything into her jacket.
“Thank you,” she said, trembling in the cool night air.
“Here, you might need this,” he said. He dug something out of his pack, tying it around her waist. It was leathery and a bit gooey. And it smelled.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Fresh goat skin,” he whispered. “To mask your scent.”
Sahara shivered. The full impact of what she was doing suddenly settled on her shoulders.
“The moon rises in the east,” said Evan, pointing. “It should cast just enough light. I will follow as soon as I can.” He hesitated. “God speed.”
“God speed,” Sahara said.
But her words seemed to float away into the eerie moonlight around her, as she watched him trot back down the path toward Ulu and the goat herd. Why did I tell him I’d go by myself? She was now utterly alone — on an unknown trail, with only Evan’s hasty directions to guide her. She touched the silver talisman around her neck, the one gift from her mother, for good luck. She barely remembered her mother, who had died so long ago. “Please watch over me now,” she whispered into the night air, “wherever you are.” She drew a deep breath, and started up the trail.
Chapter Fourteen
IT DID NOT TAKE LONG for fear to set in. Sahara kept her eyes straight ahead, so she would not lose her way on the unfamiliar path. But her feet tripped in the small hollows made by goat hooves. The fresh goat skin weighed her down. What if a cougar smelled her? Didn’t they hunt at night?
Stop it, she told herself. Stop it.
The moon was half full and shed just enough light for her to make out the round of the first hill, then the second. Sahara picked up each foot and set it cautiously down, willing herself not to stumble. Her legs became weary and she longed to rest, but what if the hunters arrived before she did? She felt under her jacket, and the bulge of the book tucked against her ribs reassured her. The book on horse training. How she longed to sit and study it, in the light of day.
Descending the second hill, Sahara came through a grove of trees and could see across a small plain to another, larger hill. This must be the ridge from which Evan had watched the horses. If only he were here. He could show her the way. Still, the map that he had scratched in the earth had so far been accurate. Sahara had faith that she was going in the right direction. She only hoped that the horses would not spook and run when they sensed her presence. She hoped the stinky goat skin covered her smell.
Instead of heading up the ridge, Sahara skirted the large hill, following the map she had memorized. If she stayed on the flat there was less chance of tripping or getting lost in the trees. She shivered. How long had she been walking — an hour, or maybe more? It seemed to be taking forever. Evan had said there was a pond, and she should be there soon. Azure blue, he had said. But that would be in the light of day. It would be inky, dark water by moonlight.
Something tickled her face, and Sahara jumped. But it was only tall grass surrounding the sides of the path. She was entering the lush field that Evan spoke about. With feed rich enough for goats and for horses. She saw moonlight sparkling ahead of her, rippling on water. The azure pond. And above it would be the alder grove, protected bedding ground of the horses.
She stopped. Sahara held herself quiet as a mouse, listening. What had she heard? A snort, a blowing of breath through nostrils. Horses! It had to be. They were right where Evan had told her, and the sound must be from a large animal. A wave of excitement mixed with apprehension enveloped her. These were the animals she had dreamed about, and now they were close, just in the trees above her. If she could sense them, surely they could sense her, too. Did she smell like a goat, with the skin hanging off her waist? Horses would have no fear of a goat. Just another four-legged creature eating grass. Not a predator. Nothing to worry about.
Sahara lowered herself to the ground next to the pond. She sat cross-legged, trying to focus her eyes into the grove of trees above. The moon rose higher behind her back, shining its paltry light in shifting patterns through the trees. How many horses were there? It looked like several were standing. And there were lumps on the ground, as if some were lying down. Would there be mothers and babies? It was hard to count, but Sahara heard stamping and the soft snorts of animals. She was so close to the creatures, and they were not running from her, but resting in the safety of the grove, just as Evan had said. She wished she could get her hands on them like in her dreams — feel their silky manes and broad backs.
But that was impossible. No matter how calm the horses seemed, she knew they were wild animals. She’d seen them tearing across the plains. If she moved closer they might rise and race away from her, spooked at her presence. Should she wait for the hunters? Sahara sat very still, pondering her options, when a dog’s high keening voice sent a shiver up her back. Not just one, but several long baying notes pierced the still night. The chase dogs! And the hunters would surely be right behind them.
Sahara’s plan seemed so silly now. How could she get to the hunters without spooking the horses? If the horses ran, the hunters would follow. They would not stop at the sight of a girl. Especially Dojo. The dogs’ voices were louder now, cresting over the top of the hill. Sahara rose on shaky legs, unsure of her next move.
Through thin moonlight, she saw the horses stir. Alarmed by the commotion, they milled about, snorting in alarm. They gathered themselves quickly into a herd and broke into a run, headed away from the hunters. They moved at a mad gallop, straight down the hill toward the azure pool and the field where Sahara stood rooted to the ground in indecision. If she thr
ew up her arms to try and turn them back, she might head them right into the path of the hunters. But if she stayed where she was, she might be trampled.
Chapter Fifteen
THE HORSES CAME STREAMING off the hill, screaming notes of alarm. The moon glowed on their silken coats, and Sahara could barely breathe. She had never been so close to the creatures. With huge muscles gleaming, feet pounding the earth, manes and tails floating, and the sweet smell of sweat foaming on their necks, it was almost as if she were dreaming again. But this was real. Sahara tried to count, but it was dark, and they were coming too fast. There were maybe twenty or more. Some large, some small, and mothers with babies scrambling to keep pace.
The chase dogs sounded close now — their voices echoing as they ran in hot pursuit. Surely the hunters with their arrows and clubs were near. Now was her chance to save the horses. But in the moonlight, Sahara had not realized she had put herself in such danger. Not only could she be trampled, she risked being shot or wounded herself. Sahara jumped blindly off the path just as the horses thundered past her. Catching her foot in a hole, she landed on her hands and knees in the wet grass and squirmed back around to see. The horses never wavered in their flight. Black and dun and gray, with long manes flowing and hooves beating a frantic rhythm of flight, they barely seemed to notice her presence.
The goat skin around my waist must be working, she thought, or their fear makes them crazy. The last one in line was a strangely colored male. Its coat was mixed both black and white, and it appeared the color of smoke, or spun moonlight.
Sahara heard the voices of the dogs, but saw no hunters. Surely she was in time. She could stop them now, and tell them about the book. But as the horses pushed past her and she stepped back onto the trail, she heard the soft whoosh of an arrow snake by, missing her by inches. And in the space of a few heartbeats, the last horse stumbled and went down in the path, not twenty feet from where she stood. It thrashed on the ground, making guttural noises of pain, struggling to stand.
In the dim light of the moon, she saw the chase dogs moving in the alder grove above her. Noses to the ground, they frantically searched the place where the horses had slept just moments before. Who shot the arrow? How can a hunter be ahead of the chase dogs?
She heard the horses galloping away into the distance, beating out a steady rhythm of get-away, get-away, get-away-gone. But the injured horse was badly wounded. An arrow protruded from the flesh of its hip, and it could not rise. Sahara’s heart caught in her throat at the sight of him.
The fresh scent of running horses brought a change in the dogs’ voices. Moving in a pack now, they sprang over the top of the hill and began charging downward. Men’s voices cried out from above her in the alder grove. The hunters!
Sahara moved protectively in front of the smoke-colored horse. It thrashed wildly, attempting to rise. “Shh,” she said softly. “It’s all right.” It looked to be a young male, larger than the babies, but not as big as the other horses. Maybe a year or two old, if she ventured a guess. It turned its head and looked uncertainly at Sahara.
As the group of hunters charged down the hill right behind the chase dogs, something loomed out of the shadows near the pond, rising in an unearthly way. A bow was strung taught with an arrow, and the figure moved menacingly toward Sahara.
“Out of the way, girl,” said a gruff voice. Dojo!
Chapter Sixteen
DOJO WAS THE FASTEST runner in camp. He must have sprinted in front of the chase dogs when the horses leaped from their hiding place.
Sahara sensed the terror of the animal behind her, struggling to rise. “No!” she screamed. She rose to her full height in front of the young horse. “Stop it!”
“Get out of the way,” Dojo snarled, “so I can finish the kill.”
“I won’t.” Sahara’s heart thumped against the wall of her chest. “You must not hurt this horse again.” She changed position, aligning herself directly between Dojo and the young animal. Sahara’s breath came in shallow gasps, and she willed her arms not to shake.
The dogs were almost upon them. The other hunters poured down from the trees, bows drawn.
“This is no place for a girl,” Dojo warned. “Go back to the camp.”
Sahara trembled. I am only a girl, she thought. She pushed those thoughts to the bottom of her belly. She patted her jacket. The book tucked inside gave her courage, and she spoke.
“You must not kill this horse,” she said. “We can ride this horse. We can train it.”
The horse struggled on the ground. Sahara sensed its fear and noticed sweat beading on its neck in the moonlight.
“What nonsense are you talking now?” said Dojo. “The animal is already crippled. Get out of my way.” He started toward her in a menacing way.
Sahara reached under her clothes and dug for the book. “I have a book,” she said, stalling for time. “A book that proves it. Proves that horses can be used in other ways.”
The chords of Dojo’s neck throbbed and his eyes blazed with anger. The dogs whined, eager to be after the rest of the herd.
Sahara stood her ground. She patted her clothes and felt the silver medallion under her shirt, but did not feel the book’s bulge.
“It’s an ancient book,” she said. “Horse Training. It explains how people can use horses.”
Dojo spit into the grass beside him. “Foolish girl,” he barked. “You have no book, and besides, how would you know what it says? You can’t even read.”
Where is it? Sahara searched her clothes frantically now. It was right here, underneath my jacket. I felt it just moments ago. Her first instinct was to run and search for it. Did it fall when she jumped off the trail to avoid being trampled? How could she explain about the horses now? Without the proof of the pictures in the book, no one would believe her.
“I will not tell you again,” snapped Dojo. “Move off the path!”
The horse now struggled to stand and run, but only collapsed on his injured leg and thrashed in pain behind her. She could not look for the book now. She had to protect the horse.
Dojo took another step toward her. “If you had any sense, you’d know your place in the world.” He cocked his head and spit sideways. “Back in camp with the other women.”
How dare Dojo talk to her like that! But instead of wavering, her back straightened and she held her place on the trail. “I won’t move,” she said. “I’m going to train this horse.”
As Sahara spoke the words out loud they seemed to take on a meaning of their own. Instead of something she saw in a book, or in a dream, the words became a real thing to her. To Train a Horse.
“Did you hear what I said,” she called out to the other hunters, “about the book?”
No one answered. But two of the hunters shifted in their tracks, as if unsure of the right thing to do.
“It was a book I was given.” Sahara spoke the words clearly, so all could hear. “Given by the Keeper of the Books, the old woman who lives on the hill.”
One of the hunters nodded. “I have heard of her, but never been there.”
“It’s true I could not read the words in the book. But there were drawings. Pictures.” Sahara pronounced each word with emphasis. She barely believed she was speaking like this to the hunters. Some inner strength she did not know she possessed rose up from within her now. “People before us have ridden horses, used them. We need to remember how to do it again.”
“But the horse is injured now,” one of the hunters said.
Another one nodded. “Crippled. He’ll never be any good.”
“There’s enough meat there for ten tables,” urged Dojo.
The hunters mumbled among themselves, becoming restless. “Might as well let us finish him.”
“How about giving us a chance with him?”
Sahara turned at the familiar voice. Evan walked briskly up the path behind her. Edging slowly past the struggling animal, keeping far enough away so as not to frighten it more, he took a position next
to Sahara.
Her heart gladdened at the sight of him. He can make the hunters understand.
“Sahara and I have a proposal.”
She squinted at Evan, wondering what he had in mind.
“Let us take this young horse and try to heal him. If he recovers, then we’ll see if he can be trained.”
“Ha,” Dojo barked in disgust. “The animal cannot even rise. He is useless, except in the stew pot.”
Evan looked at Sahara. “Show them the book.”
“I tried to. It…” She patted her clothes futilely. “I must have dropped it, somewhere on the path.”
Evan’s voice rose. “I have seen the pictures in the book, also. They showed men with horses, riding them, pulling carts with them, just as Sahara told you.”
Sahara held her breath. She glanced at the horse, who lay still now, save for his trembling skin. He is losing strength.
“Think of how much this animal could pull,” Evan added. “More than our dogs. Ten times as much!”
“Ridiculous,” Dojo snapped. “What proof do we have for these silly ideas?”
“I say we let them have it,” said one of the older hunters. “If they can’t save the horse, we can always slaughter the fattened animal later.”
Sahara shuddered. Still, it appeared to be their only chance.
Dojo lowered his bow, stuffing the arrow into the pack on his back. “Take the creature then,” he growled. The hunters tethered their dogs and began to move away. Dojo stomped off slowly. “Mark my words well. I drew first bead on him. It is my kill you are taking.”
“You will not have him, Dojo.” Sahara hissed. “He is not a kill. He will be my horse.”
The words were strong, but doubt clutched her gut like a belly-ache. Morning would come soon, and Laurel would find she was missing. She was due back to help with Grandfather. Banner might still be sick. And here she was on a strange trail, several miles from home, suddenly in charge of a huge animal that writhed in pain and fear. What mess had she gotten herself into?
