To Ride the Gods’ Own Stallion

by Diane Lee Wilson

  Quietly entering the hut, Soulassa took a place beside their mother. Her hands remained folded in her lap, her head bowed, and Soulai realized it was the first time that he had seen his sister look helpless.

  As the coughing worsened, the baby started crying at being jostled. Soulai’s mother turned her head, coughed harder, and spit. She lifted her tunic then, pushed her nipple into the wailing mouth, and smiled wanly at Soulai.

  “Look at you,” she said, fingering the edge of his beautiful robe. “How handsome.”

  “No,” said Soulai, gently taking her hand in his. “Tell me about you. Are you sick? Why are you living here?”

  Soulai’s aunt had returned to her wool, but now she stopped. “Of course she’s sick—her heart’s broken. Her eldest son a slave, her daughter rejected.”

  “You aren’t getting married?” Soulai asked, turning to Soulassa.

  His sister shook her head.

  “After the fire we couldn’t put enough together for the dowry,” his mother explained. “The little we had went to purchase new tools so your father could work.”

  “And speaking of work, what are you doing here?” his aunt demanded. “Has the debt been repaid?”

  Soulai sat back on his heels, aware that villagers had gathered outside the doorway, awaiting his story. He described Nineveh’s palace and the stables filled with beautiful horses. Hiding a growing sense of guilt, he told of his service to the prince, Habasle, which brought appreciative aahs from the crowd. He embellished a few tales of hunting lions and boars and finished by saying that he and Habasle were out together on a many-days hunt and that he had been given permission to ride home.

  A voice came from the doorway: “So you have repaid your debt?”

  Soulai’s back stiffened. “I’m home, aren’t I?”

  “But the term was five years. How has the debt been repaid?”

  “The debt is my father’s, not mine.”

  “Soulai!” Disappointment sounded in his mother’s voice.

  Bolting for the door, he pushed through the crowd, and found his way to Ti. He fumed, mad at all of them and, he had to admit, at himself. Soulassa was quickly at his side, stroking Ti’s neck.

  “Don’t worry about me, Soulai,” she said. He could tell she was trying to sound brave. “I can marry someone else…some other time.”

  “Here.” Soulai slid Habasle’s silver bracelet off his arm and handed it to his sister. “This alone should make up your dowry.”

  She gazed with wonder at the extravagant piece of jewelry before handing it back. “I’m guessing this isn’t yours to give.” She studied his face for a long time, then said, “You’ve spun a tale for the others, Soulai, but you’ve never lied to me. So please tell me the truth. Why do you wear these clothes?” Her hand flicked disdainfully at Habasle’s robe. “And why do you ride this fancy horse? And how has the debt of our family been repaid?”

  With a deep sigh, Soulai told her everything.

  His sister’s eyes widened as he spoke. “You’re killing an innocent man,” she whispered in horror.

  “I haven’t killed anyone!” he protested.

  “But you’ve left this prince wounded…and sick…in an empty city. You’ve stolen his horse, Soulai.”

  “But I haven’t—” he tried to interrupt. A wave of his sister’s hand closed his mouth.

  “If, as you say, you are the only person who knows where he is, then you are killing him as we speak.”

  A small cry escaped Soulai. “I just wanted to see you,” he said. “I wanted you to see that I’m a man now.”

  “In whose eyes?” Soulassa demanded. “His?” He knew she meant their father. “Or in yours? You’re nothing like him,” she went on impatiently, “so why do you keep measuring yourself by his stick? You can’t stay here; you have to go back; that’s where your destiny lies.”

  “You mean my death, don’t you?” he retorted. “I’ve already been mauled twice, and near to drowned once. I won’t last the five years, Soulassa.” His throat constricted. “I’m too much a coward for that life,” he said quietly.

  To his surprise, Soulassa lifted his bandaged hand. “The way I look at it,” she said, “you’re rather brave: You’ve escaped the lion, survived the river, and triumphed over the boar. There’s still plenty of living in you. And creating, I think.”

  She was searching his eyes for agreement, but Soulai looked away. “There’s no creating back there,” he said belligerently. “It’s all killing and dying; it’s time passed in the underworld.” She said nothing, which annoyed him. “You don’t understand,” he concluded. “You don’t care.”

  “One of the things you’ve said is true”—Soulassa finally responded with an edge to her voice—“I don’t understand you right now. But I do care. We all do.”

  He was casting around. “Father doesn’t. He traded me off like an animal.”

  Soulassa’s eyes narrowed. “Somebody had to pay, Soulai. It wasn’t fair, perhaps, and it wasn’t easy—even for him. He’s carried the guilt all summer. And Mother cries nonstop whenever someone mentions your name.” She paused. “But he did what he had to do. He did what he thought was right for the family.”

  “You think it’s right? Wait until you marry and have children; then you come tell me it’s right to sell your child!”

  However soft her voice, Soulassa’s look was still full of reproach. “But you’re not a child, Soulai.”

  The words slapped him across the face. He clenched his fists. “I’m not going back—not yet!”

  “Of course you’re not.” Their father had joined them. He spoke in a commanding voice, threw his arm around his son’s shoulders, and hugged him in a way that Soulai could not remember ever having experienced before. “You’re home. And it’s seeming that there are two men in the family now.”

  17

  Racing the Sun God

  Before long, Soulai was sitting cross-legged on the floor of his uncle’s crowded hut. The villagers had left the doorway to go about their morning chores, yet an air of expectancy hung about the house, and Soulai could sense their cocked ears and readiness to return in a rush.

  A bowl was set in his hands by his aunt. He felt her glare lingering on him as she straightened. He’d never been a favorite with her—his love of clay had brought the word worthless to her lips—and now his suspected lies only fed her disapproval. “Thank you,” he murmured before spooning the honeyed milk curds into his mouth. Soulassa had added a handful of chopped almonds on top, the way he liked, yet he found no flavor in them this morning, and the milk turned instantly sour in his stomach. The pain made him think of Habasle and his worm. Was he still alive? His stomach again twisted with guilt and he set down his bowl.

  “Are you all right?” his mother asked. She hadn’t taken her teary eyes off of him.

  “Of course he’s all right,” his father answered in his stead. “Didn’t I tell you your son would return a man? Just take a look. Now he’s got some—”

  Every head in the room lifted.

  “—got something to be proud of,” his father substituted, and Soulai flinched, knowing he meant scars. “He’s as much a man as me.”

  Soulai glanced at Soulassa, who raised an eyebrow before turning away. She and their aunt had settled themselves apart from the others. He knew they whispered about him. Discomfort needled him from all sides.

  “Tell us about that horse you have with you,” his uncle said.

  “His name is Ti,” Soulai began. How foreign the subject seemed here. When had his family ever discussed horses? “He comes from the horse breeders of Lake Urmia.”

  “And what has he been bred to do?”

  Soulai hesitated. “He’s been bred to carry a soldier to war, or to pull a chariot. Or to ride into the hunt. Did you see his odd-colored eyes? The head charioteer said that horses like him aren’t even afraid of lions.” His voice faltered.

  “And just when do you suppose we’ll have our next war, Soulassa?” His aun
t’s cutting remark was clearly meant for him. He didn’t hear his sister’s response.

  “Wife!” his uncle warned. But he turned to Soulai with a look of concern upon his face.

  “What plans do you have for this horse? He looks as though he’s used to a ration of grain and we’ve none of that here.”

  “He’ll keep on grass,” Soulai answered none too confidently.

  “Of course he will,” his father added. “At least until Jahdunlim climbs the mountain again. I know he’ll pay a fistful of silver for the likes of him.”

  Soulai looked at his father with shock.

  “I’m not selling Ti.”

  “Oh, come now. What are we going to do with a royal warhorse up here?”

  Soulai stood. “Ti stays with me,” he said, and he turned and ran out of the hut once again.

  Before he was three steps outside, Soulassa was at his elbow. She tried to lay a hand on his arm, but he shook it off.

  “Where are you going, Soulai?”

  “What do you care?”

  A strangled sound came from her throat and she stamped her foot. “You know I care—but do you? Do you care about this horse that’s been bred to face lions? About that prince who’s asked you to save his life?” Her voice trembled with anger. “And what about the rest of us? You can wear these clothes and ride this horse for a while, but…” She threw up her hands. “How long before they come looking for you?” Soulai knew everybody around slowed to listen. “And if they can’t find you, what will Nineveh’s soldiers do to us?”

  People were gathering around them now, not hiding their interest. Soulai felt like a snake was wrapping its coils around him, slowly choking him. “If you make me go back, I’ll be a slave again,” he said desperately. “Is that what you want?”

  Soulassa glanced skyward, sucked in her breath, then looked straight at him. “I’m not making you go back. I can’t. But”—she hugged herself and blinked back tears—“but for years you told me that you didn’t fit in here, that you felt useless. Don’t prove yourself right. Or him,” she whispered.

  For a moment Soulai wasn’t sure what she meant, but then, from the surrounding crowd, he could sense his father’s smirk.

  “You have to choose,” Soulassa said. “Now.”

  It was the same demand Jahdunlim had made. And Habasle.

  For the first time since he’d made the decision to ride home, Soulai faced the nagging uneasiness he’d tried to keep buried in the pit of his stomach. He turned his back on his sister and the others and gave Ti a good, hard look. Still coated with dust and streaked with sweat, the stallion foraged through some fallen leaves like any one of the village’s donkeys. That would be his future here. Soulassa was right; there was nothing here for either of them.

  Trying to keep his hands from shaking, Soulai set about refastening the rug on Ti, along with the breast-collar and crupper. It was the first act of bravery in his life and, truth be told, he was scared. He tossed the reins over the stallion’s neck and, taking a deep breath, mounted. With a last look at his sister, one punctuated by an attempt at a confident smile, Soulai urged Ti forward.

  A glimpse of something pale caught his eye just before a loud crack announced that Ti’s hoof had crushed it. Soulai pulled Ti to a stop. On the ground lay the broken remains of his clay horse, the pride of his childhood. He paused for a moment, staring at it, then thumped his heels. Ti bounded down the path. As they plummeted, the cold morning air rushed against Soulai’s face like a watery current. His breath came in short gasps, but each one cleansed him and felt good.

  His mind raced ahead of their descent. It had taken two days walking to reach Nineveh with Jahdunlim. Could Ti gallop that distance in less than half the time? Already he could feel the first rays of the sun god Shamash warming his back. Naboushoumidin would be telling his stories this very afternoon. A worry grew in him that he’d started too late. He should never have ridden home. Now there wasn’t enough time.

  Still, when the ground leveled at the base of the foothills, he bent over Ti’s neck and urged him on. The stallion doubled his speed. With every muscle, Soulai concentrated on keeping his balance, for he was fully aware of the bone-shattering earth below. Sweat soon beaded his brow, and Shamash laughed at him from above, but Soulai gritted his teeth and rode on. He’d show them, he swore. He’d show all of them.

  Part 3

  Pink-orange light streamed through the crate’s slats, painting a pattern across velvety paws. The lion studied the stripes with a bored expression that masked his longing. He shifted his haunches. The rough wood needled his hip. He shifted again. But his underleg relaxed into his own excrement and he tucked it up. The muscle cramped. Amid the uneasy chitter of other awakening animals, he groaned.

  Man had done this. Man had snatched him from freedom. In sudden fury, the lion snarled and spun; he swiped at the thick planks, shoved his massive head against the door. It gave, just a little. Curious, he pawed at the door’s edge. It wiggled.

  Steadying his golden eyes on the spot, he began pushing. He caught only splinters at first, but kept at it. The pawing grew frantic, and little by little the door relented. The lion thrust a foreleg through. He leaned into it. The wood squealed, then slowly gave way in splintering pops.

  Shredded slats combed through his mane as he squeezed through the opening. For the first time in a long time he stood at his full height. The tuft on his long tail swatted the broken crate in parting contempt.

  Voices were approaching. The lion crouched, scanned the zoo for cover, and in three graceful leaps bounded atop the contents of a storage shed. He crouched in the shadows of the thatched roof. He was hungry. Man was here. It was time to feed.

  18

  The Trap Unseen

  As the morning wore on, Ti’s sides began to glisten. Then the sweat turned to sticky lather that glued Soulai’s legs to the horse’s coat. Although they alternated between trotting and galloping, the stallion’s breathing gave way to labored gusts. His neck, usually arched, hung level, straining to pull his body along. Soulai knew they should rest; what if Ti went lame? But the possibility of Habasle’s death weighed on him. I won’t fail at this, he said with determination. He pressed his heels harder into Ti’s flanks and the stallion, sensing the urgency, responded.

  When they reached the main road leading to Nineveh, Soulai eased his kicking and allowed Ti to walk. With caravans of herdsmen and merchants crowding the road, progress was slow anyway. Soulai thought about trotting around the knots of people and animals, but fretted about attracting attention. What if someone questioned his identity? He glanced up at the sky. The sun god was already sailing past his summit.

  To his dismay, heads began to turn. Ti, even lathered and blowing, was still a magnificent animal. And Soulai, dressed as a noble, was obviously in a great hurry. Something important was afoot. Herdsmen whispered. A mother roused her children from a heavily laden oxcart and pointed. The unfamiliar attention made Soulai throw back his shoulders with pride. Then, remembering his sister’s words about wearing clothes of deceit, he squirmed beneath the scrutiny.

  Ahead, a flock of lop-eared sheep blocked the roadway, and past them, Nineveh loomed into sight. The scent of home made Ti restless and he began to prance. Tossing his head, he pulled the reins from Soulai’s hands. Soulai quickly gathered them back; he spoke sharply, but Ti reared and spun. The sheep scattered, bleating in alarm, and their herdsmen, having noticed Soulai’s regal attire, bowed slavishly and urged him to take the road. He had no choice but to loose the reins.

  Head held high, Ti trotted on until the crowded road was once again obstructed, this time by a long caravan of plodding oxen. Some pulled wagons loaded high with bundled goods, while others lumbered alongside, free of harness. The owner of this wealth was a man on horseback who, distracted by the noisy cries of the frightened sheep, had turned to look over his shoulder. When he spotted Ti, his gaze changed to one of lingering appreciation. Soulai’s stomach dropped. Jahdunlim!


  What am I going to do? he screamed inwardly. Jahdunlim would certainly recognize him if he got a close look. Pretending to check the crupper securing the rug, he pulled Ti to a halt and turned his back to the road. He fiddled with it as long as he could, but the stallion began tossing his head and bucking with impatience.

  “That is a fine-looking horse you ride.”

  Soulai jumped. It was Jahdunlim’s oily voice; he’d know it anywhere. Ti whinnied a challenge to the man’s gelding.

  “He wouldn’t be for sale, would he? I’ve just returned from trading in Harran and I’ve silver to offer.” Jahdunlim jingled the pouch he wore on his belt.

  Soulai shook his head, trying to hide his face. He kept busying himself with the crupper, but the man didn’t go away.

  “There is always another horse, isn’t there? And there is always so much you can do with silver,” he said in that slithery way of his. “Why, you could buy yourself a slave—or another slave, as a person of your position no doubt already owns a great number of them.” The trader reined his gelding around Ti, peering suspiciously at Soulai. “But slaves can be so much trouble,” he rambled on, “wouldn’t you agree? So maddening when they run off. Which is why much of my trade is in slaves who forget they are slaves. I firmly believe that when a possession is found away from its owner, it is only right for the finder to see that the possession is returned to its rightful place. For an appreciative fee, of course.”

  By now he had worked his way directly under Soulai’s face. It only took one look for an “Aha! ” to jump from his lips. Greedily, he grabbed Ti’s reins. Soulai panicked. On impulse, he kicked Ti toward the gelding, forcing the smaller horse to shy away. Jahdunlim ended up teetering between the two horses, reluctant to release the reins, but at the last moment he spat a curse and let go. Soulai yanked Ti toward Nineveh, urging him into another gallop. He didn’t care who noticed him now.