Habasle finally pulled Ti to a halt and slid from his back. “It’s no use,” he shouted against the whistling gale. “It’s a sharqi, a black wind. We’ll have to wait it out.” He jerked his thumb at Ti, who curved his head around as if listening to the plan. “Make him lie down.”
Soulai hesitated, reluctant to make Ti serve as a windbreak, but Habasle had already begun yanking on the bit and shouting at the stallion, who braced his neck in confusion. So Soulai worked his way around, against the wind, bent over, and lifted Ti’s right foreleg. As he had learned in the palace stable, he tucked it high, close to the shoulder. Then he reached over the withers and, clumsily tightening the rein with his bandaged hand, began pulling the horse’s nose around. Giving in to the pressure, Ti stretched his muzzle closer and closer to his left flank until he became so unbalanced on three legs that he collapsed onto the ground with a grunting thud.
“Get out of my way,” Habasle said as he yanked his robe from Ti’s back. He wrapped it around his head and shoulders and took shelter beside Ti’s belly. “At least he’s good for something,” he muttered.
As Soulai settled himself beside Ti’s neck he glared at Habasle. He coaxed the horse’s head around, tucked the reins under his elbow, and caressed the dust-covered forehead apologetically. Ti nickered softly.
After a while, Habasle curled onto his side, his back to Ti. Though blowing sand stung Soulai’s neck and ears, he remained upright, cradling the massive head in his lap. The wind’s relentless onslaught, its monotonous wail, finally numbed him into a drowsy half-sleep.
It was the silence that awakened him. That and a clamping chill. When Soulai opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that Ti no longer rested his head in his lap, but instead stared expectantly into the twilight. Soulai’s heart thudded. What was out there? Rubbing the grit from his eyes, he scanned the horizon. To his surprise, Dur Sharrukin’s walls loomed no farther than the flight of two arrows. They had been so close.
Ti abruptly lunged to his feet and shook, though his brilliant gold-and-white markings remained covered with dust. Jostled awake, Habasle rolled onto his knees. A film of dirt coated his face as well, and he opened and closed his mouth as if tasting something awful.
“Look,” Soulai said, pointing to Dur Sharrukin.
Habasle barely glanced up, then struggled to his feet and moved around Ti. “The ashipu is gaining power,” he mumbled. He slapped at Ti’s shoulder, brushing away the dirt that concealed the hawklike marking. “Even over Ninurta!”
“Let’s get inside Dur Sharrukin,” Soulai said. But Habasle was watching the huge moon, partially concealed by silver-yellow clouds, rise from the horizon.
“When the rising moon is half-hidden by clouds,” he recited, “so that only the lower half is visible, Assyria will be invaded by an enemy. And there will be great mourning for a prince.” He leaned against Ti, his jaw tense. His hand found its way to his side and he slumped a little. “I don’t feel right,” he murmured. “I think maybe the worm has returned…or the ashipu’s curse…Annakum’s sickness. I feel the drool building in my throat.” He opened and closed his mouth several more times.
When he looked at Soulai, the fever once again showed itself in his eyes. And this time a look of desperation accompanied it. “I can’t do this alone,” he said. “You have to ride for help.”
Soulai was stunned. “Me?”
For a moment Habasle seemed to want to take back his words, but then he slowly nodded. “Yes. It’s your duty.”
But in the black eyes Soulai detected an anxiousness that lay behind the command. This boy who was his master was even more ill than he let on, and he knew in that instant that they both sensed the balance of power tipping.
“There’s enough moonlight,” Habasle said, mustering his composure. “Take the horse and ride back to Nineveh. I’m commanding you,” he reminded Soulai. “Find Naboushoumidin, the royal scribe. He can consult his tablets. There must be some help for me.”
Up along Dur Sharrukin’s walls, the jackals howled, sending a tickle of fear through Soulai. He suddenly wanted no part of his new role. “I don’t know the way,” he protested. “And…and how can I enter the palace, alone and at night?”
Habasle tugged the hammered silver bracelet from his wrist and extended it to Soulai. With resignation in his voice, he said, “Take it.” Then he pulled the robe from his shoulders. “Put this on, too.”
Soulai took the items but stood dumbly.
“Others have said we resemble one another.” Habasle’s words came clipped and matter-of-fact as he removed his personal cylinder seal, which was elegantly carved from blue chalcedony. He tentatively offered it to Soulai, changed his mind, and pulled it back. For a long time he studied the necklace. Finally he heaved a long sigh and extended his arm again. “My identity,” he said, looking directly into Soulai’s face. “And with it, my life.”
Soulai hesitated. Slowly he removed the tag that marked him a slave and exchanged it for the cylinder seal. With his heart pounding in his ears, he placed the new necklace over his head. A vigorous sense of power surged within him and he couldn’t contain the grin that spread across his face, though he tried to squelch it when he read the uneasy look on Habasle’s.
“Don’t crow yet. The ashipu is not my only enemy.”
“Do you really think I can get to Naboushoumidin?” The idea of galloping Ti for help so enthralled Soulai that he ignored Habasle’s warning. He fitted the silver bracelet onto his right forearm, just as Habasle wore it, then slipped into the warm robe, luxuriously soft and weighty. “I might be able to get inside the city, but the palace guards will look closer.”
“Hmm.” Habasle frowned. He counted on his fingers. “Tomorrow is the first of the week. In the afternoon Naboushoumidin tells his stories beneath the lamassu of the palace’s west gate. There will be a great crowd. Make your way to the front and tell him—and only him—of my condition, and command his help.”
Soulai looked down the grassy slope at the black ribbon of trees that hid the river—the river where he’d almost drowned. His excitement vanished. “Why don’t we ride back to Nineveh together?” he proposed suddenly. “Ti can carry both of us. Or you can ride and I’ll walk.”
Habasle shook his head. “I fear I won’t be riding for a long time…if ever again. The ashipu’s power is stronger than I thought, though I do possess something that he badly needs.” He patted the smaller pouch.
“What will you do?”
“I’ll crawl inside Dur Sharrukin—a little worm myself—and wait. I have my dagger to fight off the vultures…or anyone who turns on me.” His hollow grin couldn’t hide his worry. Soulai started to turn away, but Habasle had one more order. “Whatever happens,” he said solemnly, “don’t let the ashipu get his hands on this horse.”
Soulai shook his head. No one would steal the stallion from him. “Are you sure you don’t want to ride Ti at least up to Dur Sharrukin’s gates?”
“I’m dying as we speak,” Habasle said heavily as he lowered himself to the ground. “Don’t argue the details.” With an all-out effort he waved his arms in the air. “Go on! Ride!”
Excitement poured through his veins as Soulai turned and gathered the reins on Ti’s withers. Unable to use his injured hand to support a leap, he jumped high enough to get himself across the horse’s back, then pulled his leg over. The stallion sprang forward, making Soulai gasp and snatch the reins tighter. What if I can’t stay on? he worried suddenly. What if he throws me out there in the middle of nowhere? Adjusting the reins and settling his seat seemed to calm Ti. Still, the stallion pranced in place with such awesome power that Soulai was at a loss for words. How could Habasle think this most magnificent of horses had failed him?
“What happened?” Soulai blurted. “With the boar—what happened to Ti?”
Habasle narrowed his eyes. “The boar was coming at us,” he said flatly. “I spurred Ti toward him but at the last instant he showed himself faithless and fled. No
w go!”
Even before Soulai could loosen the reins, Ti grabbed the bit in his teeth and trotted off down the slope, obviously anxious to get home. As they picked up speed, the trot became a canter and the canter a gallop. Faster and faster, Ti hurtled headlong over the undulating land, and Soulai’s tugs on the reins did nothing to slow him. Stiff with fear, Soulai finally managed to brace his knees against the stallion’s sides, give one hard yank on the right rein, and pull Ti’s head almost around to his flank. Even if we fall, he figured, at least we’ll have stopped. I’ll be able to catch my breath.
Ti didn’t fall, though, and Soulai pulled him into a blowing, walking circle. When his own legs had stopped trembling, Soulai took a moment to look around. Dur Sharrukin’s walls were barely visible beyond the hill behind them. The rolling grasslands stretched in all directions, shored up only by the winding trees and river to the west. A little to the south and east, darkly silhouetted against the moonlit sky, rose the mountains of his village.
A sharp homesickness overcame him, quickly replaced by the anger he still felt toward his father.
Better that you’d never been born…never been born…never been born!
The cutting words drummed through his head. His father had bartered him, had sent him away. He’d said Soulai needed scars to be a man. Soulai’s hand throbbed harder with the memory. Well, he had his scars. What’s more, he sat astride a royal stallion, was dressed in jewels and a fine robe—better than any his father owned. Who was the man now?
Staring at the mountains, Soulai felt his heart beat faster. It would be easy to gallop back to his village, show off Ti to his family, and still make it back to Nineveh before tomorrow afternoon. He eased the stallion in that direction. But after a few steps he reined him to a halt. Habasle might be very sick, he conceded, so sick he might die. What if he dies before I get back? Would his death be my fault?
Tormented by a storm of conflicting passions, Soulai kept circling Ti and thinking. The sky became black, and the grasslands glowed silver under the giant moon. A dusty, burnt scent hung in the air, giving off an odor of things finished and, at the same time, of things not yet begun. It smelled like the day after the fire, when his life had been forced to change.
Soulai tugged on the reins once more. Before the moon had set, he was climbing the mountain path toward his home.
16
Homeward
Soulai had never herded his goats this far along the mountain range, but he felt safer traveling through the tree-covered slopes than out in the open grasslands. He knew if he climbed at a shallow angle, he was likely to come across the stone aqueduct that carried spring water down to Nineveh.
Ti was unhappy climbing the mountain and his nervous prancing was increasingly harder to control. He kept shaking his head, which jerked the reins out of Soulai’s hand; and every little noise from the surrounding woodlands made him snort and come to a halt, twitching with fear.
Soulai laid a soothing hand on the horse’s neck. The boar hunt had done this to him, he knew, just as the lion hunt had before that. How could a creature that had once captured all eyes with his nobleness and bravery now be so timid? An unseen animal rustled the grasses just then, making Ti jump a full stride sideways. Soulai bit his lip. Maybe I shouldn’t ride Ti back to Nineveh at all, he thought. What future does he have there? Murder at the hands of the ashipu? Death on the battlefield? The brilliant parti-color stallion whose destiny he’d wanted to share seemed to have fallen far short of his promise. They were cowards both.
Ti startled and shied again. Soulai had to prod him forward. The adventure of returning home was losing its excitement; disappointment and a sense of sadness weighed upon him.
In the darkness ahead, he finally made out a pale snakelike form. He kept blinking as he rode closer, wanting to believe he had found the way home, and when the sound of running water reached his ears, he sighed with relief. Taking a firm hold on Ti’s mane, he headed him up the path that flanked the aqueduct.
Soulai tipped his head and gazed at the starry sky as Ti climbed. It occurred to him that Habasle might be staring up at the same stars. He’d be wondering, no doubt, how far Soulai had ridden. Guilt stabbed him. He shunted it aside and looked up again. The constellation of the scorpion was gone. There was the long-necked bird, though, winging its way south and west—back toward Nineveh, he noticed. And there was the giant horse now, galloping in its wake. That image made him pause. But the stars had to be wrong. Nineveh was a place for warriors. He clenched his jaw and rode on.
The sky beyond the mountain’s crest was just lightening to an iron gray when Soulai came upon the burned-out remains of his family’s house. The charred walls stood silent, encompassing only the few brick piles his mother had stacked that first morning some three months ago. He couldn’t help scanning the remains for his clay horses, though he distinctly remembered Soulassa gathering them up as he was being led away. The pleasure he had once felt when cradling a lump of clay returned with such a strong pang that it surprised him. But that was when he was a child, he scolded himself, and he tried to set aside the memory. He coaxed Ti onward.
The village was just stirring. A cock crowed atop a slanting roof; an old man peed alongside a hut. Some children carrying pouches to fetch water spotted Soulai and ran toward him with shouts that splintered the quiet.
“It’s Soulai! It’s Soulai!”
The children swarmed around him, touching the splendid fringed rug and the sleek hide of the stallion. Soulai was about to warn them to be careful, but to his amazement the gold-and-white neck stretched down and Ti stood as still as one of Soulai’s statues, allowing the children to pat his forehead.
“Soulai? Soulai, is that you?” Two men, friends of his father, emerged from their homes and made their way toward him.
“Welcome home, boy!” said one, clapping him on the thigh.
“Where’s my family?” Soulai asked.
His heart skipped a beat when the men shook their heads. “So sad, so sad,” they murmured together. “They live now with your aunt and uncle,” the first man said. He pointed in the direction of the neighboring village as if Soulai had been away so long he wouldn’t remember.
Worry grew in him as he guided Ti across the streambed. This wasn’t how he had pictured his homecoming.
The unfamiliar sound of horse hooves entering the next village brought dozens of heads popping out of doorways. As before, the children were the first to crowd around Ti. Among the adults that followed, Soulai found his uncle, and then his father.
“That’s surely a creature of the gods you’re riding,” his uncle said appreciatively. The man circled Ti, taking in every line of the handsome stallion.
Soulai’s father moved toward them. He laid an uncertain hand on his son’s leg and appeared to be searching for words. Noticing the bandaged hand, he said, “You’re hurt.”
Tears threatened to rush to Soulai’s eyes. Of course I’m hurt, he wanted to cry. You did this to me. But he stuck out his chin instead. “Just a scar,” he responded.
The words hit their mark. His father blanched.
“You’ve been set free?”
“I was given this horse to ride.”
“Jahdunlim…?”
“Jahdunlim sold me to the palace,” he said angrily.
Soulassa came pushing her way through the onlookers and when Soulai saw her, he smiled.
“You’re home!” she exclaimed. “And your horse! He looks just like—” She raised her hand. “Wait here.” Sprinting back to their aunt and uncle’s hut, she disappeared inside, then rushed out again, carrying something. She handed Soulai one of his clay figurines, the one of the long-maned stallion standing with his head thrust boldly into the wind. “It looks exactly like him,” she said in amazement. “How did you know?”
Soulai studied the statue. It did look like Ti, he thought in surprise. Or what Ti used to look like. And the clay, even hardened, felt good.
“I’ve kept them all,” S
oulassa was saying, “including the broken ones. They’re in a safe place, waiting for you.”
“Thank you.” He hesitated, disliking the awkwardness of his return. “I thought you’d be a wife by now.”
Soulassa glanced at her father.
“That’s not in the stars,” he said gruffly. “Soulai, go to your mother now. Maybe the sight of you will make her well. Your sister will see to the horse.”
Soulai slid off Ti and handed the reins to Soulassa. The lingering blisters on his feet stung the moment he touched ground, and he ripped off the palace-issued sandals and tossed them into the undergrowth. He curled his toes in the powder-soft dirt.
Ducking inside the hut, Soulai found his mother sitting slack-legged on a mat. Between her hands, his baby brother practiced sitting upright. His aunt, who had been carding some leftover wool beside the cooking pot, dropped the brush to the floor with a clatter.
His two younger sisters jumped up from their play and ran to him, hugging his leg. “Soulai! Soulai! Soulai!” they squealed in unison. When his heavy robe parted to reveal the scars on his thigh, their eyes widened.
Soulai tousled the girls’ thick hair. “Don’t you worry,” he said, smiling. “The lion looks worse.” His smile faded, though, as he studied his mother. Like a child, he fell into the cradle of her arm. Burying his face against her neck, he inhaled the familiarity of home. His mother squeezed him close, her shoulders trembling. The trembling became sobs that led to coughing—such heavy coughing that she had to push Soulai away.
To Ride the Gods’ Own Stallion Page 12
