by Linda Benson
Nehalem continued to stare, clearly expecting an answer — from somebody.
“The horse did it,” cried a woman whose pots where turned over by the mad run around the campground. “Just like a wild animal. I was afraid for my life. It almost trampled me.”
“She’s NOT a wild animal,” cried Sahara, defending her horse. “I’ve caught her now. See, she’s following me.” And indeed, Little One, exhausted from all her misbehavior, now walked in perfect step as Sahara led her to the pan of milk.
“Well, we’ve seen clearly enough what she CAN do,” said Nehalem, pointing to the torn-down tent and the broken campsites. “We’ll discuss this further at the camp meeting tonight. We are overdue for a decision on what to do with this animal.”
“But it’s not her fault,” Sahara began.
Nehalem held up his hand to stop her. “We’ll decide tonight.”
Sahara bit her tongue. Maybe tonight was better. Nerves were on edge, and it was probably better to let things cool down. But Sahara seethed inside. It wasn’t Little One’s fault. She was just a baby.
What if they decide to take her away? What if they decide to butcher her like game? Sahara shuddered. She had become so close to Little One, saving her from the wild dogs, feeding her milk, watching her grow. Sahara closed her eyes. She could see herself riding astride, just like in her dreams. Galloping madly over the prairie, the wind bringing tears to her eyes, leaning close over the horse’s neck and grasping the black mane for balance. She could see it plain as day.
Why can’t anyone else?
Chapter Thirty-Nine
ASH SLID INTO PLACE next to her on a small bench in the center of camp. He had helped Sahara with the evening chores, tying the goats up and making sure Little One’s corral was securely fastened. Everyone from the clan gathered for the meeting, as there was more to discuss than just the matter of the horse.
Nehalem stood and cleared his throat, drawing the crowd’s attention. “We have several issues to decide tonight.”
Sahara’s belly knotted.
“The first, and most important,” Nehalem continued, “is how long we should stay camped at this site.”
Rumblings and bits of conversation were heard all around. Sahara waited. At least he didn’t think her horse was the most important thing.
“It appears we have stumbled upon a good-sized settlement,” said Nehalem. “These ruins seem to be filled with a bounty of useful items. Already we have unearthed more than we can carry on our dog carts.”
Cheers and hurrahs were called out all around the camp. The clan was overjoyed at their good fortune. But Nehalem continued. “Instead of trying to stockpile more goods, perhaps we should alert the people at the Gardener’s Camp, so that all might share.”
“But we’ve done all the work,” said one man. “I say we keep all this treasure to ourselves. Let’s keep digging, and make a cache of the items we cannot carry,” said a man. “We can get them on the next trip.”
“Too risky,” said another. “What if other travelers or robbers discover the place? Then we’ve done all that work for nothing.”
Nehalem waited, allowing people to have their say. Then he raised one hand, stopping them. “The reason I think we should consult with the good people at Gardener’s Camp is I believe there may be clues here important to our own survival.”
“I agree,” said the man in charge of digging at one trading shop. “In the building where we found the shoes, there were papers and writing. If we keep searching, we might find a school. Or books.”
“What good will that do us?” asked another man. “Since our teacher died, we have no one to read them.”
“The teacher at Gardeners’ Camp can read a little.”
“He doesn’t even believe in books,” someone said. “Only in facts — what we can see and what people tell us.”
Sahara nodded. The teacher hadn’t believed her book about horse training. The one she used to have, before Dojo used it for kindling.
“What about at Nu-town?” said a man from the back. “When Fargo, the Wanderer, passed through, he said they had a school at Nu-Town. And books.”
“He also said they have a doctor,” said Nehalem, “which might be more important, especially if we find medicine or healing supplies in these ruins.”
“But Nu-town is so far. How would we get there? Fargo said it took him months, and there was little water along the way. We might not even find the place.”
We could ride my horse, thought Sahara, and get there faster. But she did not say it, because she did not want the clan to laugh at her. She glanced at Nehalem.
“That’s another reason we should return to the Gardeners’ Camp,” he continued. “To tell them about Nu-Town. I am sure they have no idea there are so many people in another part of our world. We have much to discuss with our trading partners — the people of Gardener’s Camp.”
“I agree,” said a hunter. “We have definitely stayed too long here. Already we are traveling further and further to find enough game to eat, and we seem to be taking on more mouths to feed all the time. Now we have goats and a wild horse.”
“Yes, and for what reason?” said Greta, a hollow-eyed woman with a baby on her hip. “That horse trampled all over my camp today, and ruined several good dishes.”
Nehalem cleared his throat, looking directly at Sahara. “Which brings us to another matter,” he began. “We need to come to a decision about the young horse.”
“Did you see the mess it made?” asked another woman. “When the dogs barked, it turned back into a wild animal. It’s dangerous to have in camp, if you ask me.”
“She’s been feeding it our goat’s milk,” said one man, motioning towards Sahara, “which seems wasteful. But the horse is growing well. Perhaps it’s time we butchered it. It would make quite a feast.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying all along,” shouted Dojo, nodding. “The animal has plenty of meat for a feast! I’m dying to see what young horseflesh tastes like.”
“No!” said Sahara, standing. She caught Laurel’s disapproving look, but knew she must speak up. “When the horse grows up we can ride her. I’m going to train her to pull a cart.”
One man let out a loud guffaw.
“You can barely control her now,” a woman said. “What happens when she gets larger and stronger?”
“I will find a way,” said Sahara. “I am learning more about her every day,” she said, “If only I still had the book…”
Nehalem narrowed his eyes. “What book?”
Until now, no one from Sahara’s clan knew she had kept the book hidden under her bed. “Back at the Gardener’s Camp, I received a book from the old lady on the hill — the Keeper of the Books.” Sahara took a breath, and kept going. “I couldn’t read it, but it had lots of pictures. Pictures of how to train a horse.”
“Pictures of training horses in a book?” asked Nehalem. “Why have you not mentioned this before?”
Sahara looked down. Why hadn’t she told anyone? “Well…I don’t have it anymore. I — I had it with me when I found the first horse, but the teacher at Gardener’s Camp…” she glanced toward Ash, “The teacher didn’t believe it was true.”
Ash spoke up then, in a small voice. “The teacher even made fun of her, when she told him about it.”
“So…I kept it tucked away,” Sahara continued, her voice shaking. Her sister sat across from her, but Sahara could not meet her eye. “And then Dojo — ”
Nehalem looked at her, urging her to continue. “Dojo what?”
“He…He used the book to start a fire,” she said.
Nehalem turned a hard looked toward Dojo. “Is this true?”
Dojo shrugged his shoulders. “We needed kindling, and it was an old book. Falling apart. How was I to know what was in it?”
Anger prickled the skin on Sahara’s arms. “You knew what was in it! I told you about it up on the mountain, when you shot the first horse with your arrow! There were picture
s in that book. Evan, the goat keeper, saw them, too. I was going to use them, to train this horse, but now…” Her eyes pleaded with Nehalem. “People used to know about horses,” she cried out. “I’m sure of it. But everyone’s forgotten.”
Sahara seethed inside. Emotions rolled in her gut like a whirlpool, and she only heard bits and pieces of the crowd’s discussion.
“That Dojo is a good hunter, but he can be a hot-head. Destroying a book was not very smart.”
“What if the book really was about horses? What does that mean?”
Dojo stared hard at Sahara from across the campfire. Surely he did not relish being made to look like a fool, especially in front of Nehalem. Sahara kept her eyes focused on her lap.
Nehalem raised his hand for silence. His strong voice cut through the chatter. “All right. I have listened to your concerns. And I have come to some decisions.”
Sahara swallowed hard.
“There are many things we are still learning. How people lived before the Dark Days. What befell them during that awful time, and how we might prevent it from happening again.” Nehalem cleared his throat and continued. “As far as the horse goes, this girl — ” he pointed to Sahara “ — does seem to have some special skill with animals. If she says she was given a book with pictures of horses, I have no reason to disbelieve her. And if a horse could be trained, certainly its strength would make it a useful animal. So at least for now, Sahara may keep the horse.”
The woman whose camp Little One had trampled spoke up. “But how is she going to control it? I don’t want my camp destroyed again by that wild thing.”
Nehalem shot a stern look toward Sahara.
“It was my fault,” she admitted, in a small voice. “I let the horse loose. We were running together out on the prairie, having fun, and when I let her go, she became excited. I’ll make sure she does not get away from me again.” Sahara tried to put more conviction in her voice than she actually felt.
Nehalem nodded. “I’m trusting you to make sure that this does not happen again.”
Sahara snuck a glance toward Dojo, but he was stomping away.
Nehalem turned back to the crowd. “As far as the larger issue, I am aware that it is earlier than usual for our trip. However, I suggest that we load the carts with what goods we have now, and travel to the Gardener’s Camp ahead of schedule. All in favor — raise your hands.”
A majority of hands shot up, and it was decided.
As soon as the meeting adjourned, Sahara snuck to the horse corral and shimmied between the boards. Little One greeted her with a soft whinny. She threw her arms around the young horse’s neck, burying her face against the silky mane. Little One was safe, for now. But Dojo was blazing angry, and he still thought of the horse as meat. Sahara would have to keep Little One away from him and under control at all times. But how could she do that on the long journey to the Gardener’s Camp?
Chapter Forty
My fingers fumble with the knot, as Beauty tosses his head and prances in place, his thick black mane tangling in the rope I fasten with haste behind his ears. “Hush, my love.” There. I grab his lead and clamber up a steep cliff, threading the narrow path between rugged boulders. Beauty nickers to the others inside, and I cover his mouth to stifle the noise and place my hand on his forehead to comfort him. “Shhh.” Between the boulders, we find our way into darkness, the deep night of the cave. Here are my people, and the rest of our herd, soft snorts and rustlings. Far into the blackness of the cave we venture, here, here in the dark where we are safe…
“Sahara?”
Someone calling her name. It was Ash. But the horses in the cave…Beauty…Sahara sat up, her head spinning. I was in a cave, with many horses, and…No. Sahara shook her head, trying to clear the dream and snap back into the present. Today is the day we leave for Gardener’s Camp. There is much to do. Have I overslept?
“Just a minute.” She dressed quickly, blinking as she stepped into the bright sunlight. Who was the woman in the dream? Leading her horse into a cave? She seems so familiar, but…. “Have you milked the goats already?” Sahara struggled to shake the cobwebs of the dream from her mind. It was so real, so vivid.
Ash nodded. “Yes, and when I didn’t see you, I slid the pail of milk under the fence for Little One.” He held something in front of him. “Is this rope strong enough?”
Sahara bent to inspect it, still remembering the woman from the dream, how she led the black horse up the cliff to safety…from what?
“I hope so,” she said.
“It’s the best I could do,” he said. “No one had any extra to spare.”
“I know,” said Sahara. “They’ll need it to lash down their loads.”
All around the large camp, stacks were being made of wood, metal, boxes of shoes, containers, and anything they could possibly haul to the Gardener’s Camp for trade. Carts were piled high, and the loads were readied. Sahara felt sorry for the dogs that had to pull the heavy carts, and knew they would not be able to travel very far each day.
The goats would follow behind, and even the two female kid goats were big enough now to scamper along beside their mother. But Little One would have to be tied up. Even though Sahara hadn’t allowed her to run free on the prairie since she trampled through camp, the horse still had a small amount of freedom in her corral. Enough to kick up her heels and run a few strides. But how would she handle being led along behind the carts all day — and tied up every night?
Little One was growing fast and eating bites of grass now. Sahara was sure she could wean her off the goat’s milk if they found enough grass for her to eat. The only thing that grew around their camp now was closely cropped bunch-grass, already picked over by the goats.
Sahara was anxious to be moving. Maybe in their travels they’d pass a long, damp swale filled with tall grass, like she’d gathered for the injured horse. She wondered about him, occasionally. Did he still wear the halter she had fashioned for him from goat skin, or had it rotted away by now? Did he find his herd again, or was he running free and lonesome somewhere?
“Sahara?”
She’d almost forgot Ash still stood there, she was thinking so hard about horses. Now she tousled his small head with the palm of her hand. What would she do without his help?
“We better go check on Little One.”
She walked quickly to the corral fence, Ash scampering behind.
“You don’t think anybody would really butcher our horse to eat, do you?” His eyes were bright and intent. “I mean, some people were really mad at the camp meeting.”
“They were upset because of the way she ran helter-skelter through camp when she got loose. But Little One is getting tamer by the minute.” She reached through the fence, and the horse sidled up to be scratched.
“But the goats are tame, too,” said Ash, his voice quivering. “And people sometimes eat them.”
“Yes, but they’re different. They’re smaller and…” She was stumped for a minute, trying to think of a good answer for Ash. “And you can’t ride them,” she said at last.
“Do you think she’s big enough for me to ride?” asked Ash, climbing up to the top rail of the fence. “I’d like to be on her back when she runs really fast, all over the desert.”
“I promise you,” said Sahara. “Someday you can ride this horse.”
“Are you going to call her Little One forever?” said Ash, laughing. “She’s not so little anymore.”
It was true. When Sahara first found the baby horse, up on the stony ridge, she came up only as high as Sahara’s waist. Now her back was up to Sahara’s chin, and she seemed to grow bigger every day.
“You can help me pick out a better name,” said Sahara. “What should it be?”
“How about Runs Fast and Tramples Things?” said Ash.
Sahara shook her head. “No. Not a name that means trouble. A good name. An important name.”
“Like Sky? Or River?”
Sahara shook her head. “Keep
thinking,” she said. “We’ll find the right one. Is your family all packed?” Ash’s mother, Nehalem’s daughter, had two younger children besides Ash.
“Whoops. I better go see. I’m supposed to be helping,” Ash said, as he slung the rope over the corral post and dashed off.
Sahara fingered the old piece of rope. She rubbed the young horse on its forehead, and scratched along the silky mane. “You have a long journey ahead of you, and you’ll have to be tied to a cart most of the time.” The horse did a half-buck and a jump around the corral. “No, none of that,” said Sahara. “You have to stay out of trouble.”
Sahara knew she had to keep the horse under control if she was to prove to everyone that Little One could really be trained. What would happen if the horse did not behave?
Chapter Forty-One
Traveling alone. Walking, struggling to walk, with no one, not one of my clan, no horses, no animals. Hot, sun searing on my back, dry, dry desert, and so far to go without water. Beauty, oh my Beauty, how I remember the arch of your proud neck, the feel of taut muscles galloping beneath me, long mane flowing in the wind, your eager whinny. But now…there is only desert before me. No water. No grass. I slip your headgear off and give you freedom. One step, and then another, inching across this wasteland alone, and Beauty, my Beauty, you are gone to me now, forever…
Sahara blinked as she woke and gazed out across the desert. The day was neither hot, nor dry, as in her dream. Instead, the air smelled fresh and clean, and the plains were awash in wildflowers. Sahara shook her head, remembering how the last two afternoons brought both clouds and thunder bursts. The desert responded to the welcome moisture by bursting into bloom.
She sat up hastily and peered outside her tent flap. Her clan and all the dog carts were there. She searched for her horse. Still tied securely to the back of the cart, Little One whinnied a greeting. Sahara shook the dream aside. She had been worried about keeping her young horse under control on this long trip to the Gardener’s Camp. It must be the reason for these troubling dreams. Hadn’t Grandfather told her that the mind often wrestles with daytime worries while you sleep? Sahara shook her head, trying to forget the troubling dream, and rose to feed her animals.
