The Horse In The Mirror

by Lisa Maxwell

  Chapter 9

  They followed the trails openly now as though they no longer feared the Blueskins. The day they had laughed together had changed their relationship. The tension Is always felt around the man dissipated and he seemed more relaxed too. They laughed at little things now – a horse's silly spookiness, the antics of the small animals that invaded their camps, each other's mistakes. If the man was crazy it no longer mattered. He treated Is better than any of the people at the government school. He had not tried to claim her as his wife or slave, or dominate her in any way. He was quiet, uncomplicated company. His camping and foraging skills were excellent, and if he couldn't talk, Is didn't miss it.

  The only thing she wished she could ask him was where they were going and if he was taking her to his people. But she wasn’t worried. She figured that if the man had learned his camping skills from them, they must know how to live as unobtrusively with the land as he did. If he had learned his bridle-less horsemanship from them, they must be great horsemen. Is found herself beginning to want to meet them.

  Instead, one day they crested a ridge and in the valley below them Is saw a shabby little town of about twenty wooden shacks. Even from this distance she could see the filth and squalor of the place. Piled behind the buildings were heaps of refuse. Anything that had ever been discarded lay around on the ground.

  Is brought Lark to a standstill and her revulsion must have been evident for the man began to explain with his hands. They had to go down there. He tapped his saddle and pointed to Lark's bare back. All of Is's possessions had become the property of the Blueskins the night they had captured her. Sitting Lark bareback for hours on end, day after day was uncomfortable, and Lark was beginning to get rubbed places in his coat that could turn into sores.

  So the town was just a place to get supplies. Is felt relieved, but still leery. She was an outlaw riding a stolen war horse. There might be a reward on her. She shook her head at the man, unwilling to take the risk.

  He tried to reason with her. Pointing north, he began to count off days on his fingers. They would be traveling many days. He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. It had been warm enough that Is had not needed a sleeping bag, but she had already had to borrow the man's jacket and he would need it himself as they got higher into the mountains.

  He took a wallet from his saddlebag and opened it. Is had never seen so much money. He rifled through it, selected a few bills and put them in his pocket. Then he handed the wallet to Is, motioning for her to put it in the inner pocket of his jacket, which she was wearing. She reached out to take the money, surprised to see her hand shaking.

  No one had money like that. He must have stolen it. She remembered how he had handled Chest. She remembered how he had shown her that a tool could be used as a weapon. What if he had killed people to steal their money? Is couldn’t put the wallet inside the jacket, next to her body, if that were true.

  He watched her, head cocked quizzically.

  He couldn't miss how her hand shook. She thrust the wallet back at him. He looked puzzled but took it. Then he shrugged and put it in a different pocket from the one he'd put the other money in. He was still looking at her with a raised eyebrow. She rode past him and started down the ridge ahead of him so he could not see her face. She had to sort out her reaction. Why should she be so upset? She was an outlaw too. She had stolen Lark. If she had stolen as much money as Lark was worth instead, it might have been more than the amount in the man’s wallet. She didn't know. Lark was very valuable, but she didn't know exactly how that translated into money. She didn't even know the denominations of the bills she had seen. As a trainer Is had been paid in supplies and credits that had gone toward her retirement. She never handled money and had not been taught how to read it.

  Is rode down the hill in turmoil. She had never intended to break the law. She had been forced to do it to save Lark. She wouldn't deliberately harm anyone. But that might be what the man did. Maybe he sought out people and took things from them. Maybe he hurt them and maybe sometimes killed them. If she let him buy her things with his stolen money, what would that make her? She thought of her parents and wanted to weep. She had sunk so far from what they had wanted for her.

  She needed to make that right. Maybe she should give herself over to the law. Maybe she should let someone in this town take her in. Her thoughts turned to Lark. Some other trainer would finish his training and he would be sent out with a berserker. He would die fighting in a way horses did not fight if left to themselves. She tried to see the government that did that to horses and people as wrong. But now she couldn't. That government was trying to protect its people. It was not at fault for failing in her parents' case. It had made something better for its people than this stinking outlaw town, or the lawlessness of people like the crazy man she was riding with. She seemed unable to remember any of the things she had felt that had made her steal Lark.

  The man caught up and rode beside her into the town. Is was so distressed that she hardly noticed the smell of open garbage. Everything was stained with the red mud of the streets. Nobody had bothered to pick up garbage wherever it had been dropped. They were near the middle of the town before she really looked at the people who were coming out of the houses to stare at her on the war horse and the man on the bridle-less mare.

  The men were all of a kind - dirty, with long, greasy hair. They wore filthy, worn clothes and old boots. Their expressions were hard and calculating. Is's instinct for self-preservation started to resurface.

  She looked around more carefully. In contrast to the men, the women wore dresses that had once been very fancy and fine but showed signs of wear now. They wore elaborate hairdos like nothing Is had ever seen before and more jewelry than she'd ever imagined. Is was reminded of the way the Imperial Guard bedecked their horses for state occasions. Each service tried to outdo the others, showing off their wealth in jewel-inlaid bridles, saddle blankets of the richest cloth, and saddles so encrusted with precious stones Is had wondered how the horses could carry their weight. She had poured over pictures of such pageantry as a child, and now she saw it dimly reflected in the display these women wore. She wondered if for the men of this town, the women were no more than a means to display ownership and wealth – just like the Guard's horses.

  They passed a few dispirited-looking half-starved horses in a corral that was ankle-deep in mud and droppings that no one had bothered to clean in what Is judged must have been years. The horses eyed them listlessly. Is could see where they had chewed the wooden fence in their hunger and she knew then she would not give herself up to anyone in this town.

  They came to a building that looked a bit more kept up than the others. This one had an awning and people were sitting under it on old rickety chairs and ancient bales of hay they should have fed to the horses long ago.

  The man dismounted and Is followed suit. The men sitting around watched them with shrewd, conniving stares. Is saw one of them get up and saunter off. She wanted to get back on Lark and leave as fast as she could. But the man didn't seem to notice anything, as if he was accustomed to this sort of decadence and danger and implied violence. He walked into the store, leaving Is in a frenzy of doubt. She didn't want to leave the horses but wasn’t sure he’d be able to bargain for their supplies without an interpreter.

  She heard voices inside the store, and after a while someone came out and trotted off down the street. More people were showing up all the time. Mostly they just hung out in doorways and stared. A few came over and joined the people under the awning. A few went inside. Is wished desperately that the man would come out so they would leave before anything bad happened.

  Eventually he did come out carrying an armload of stuff. Is moved to help him pack it in the mare's saddlebags – a sleeping bag for her, food concentrates, and a coat and rain slicker for her. She took the garments without trying them on. They would have to do. />
  While she was packing things away, he turned and headed back into the store before Is could stop him. A few more people sauntered in after him, making Is very nervous for his safety, and her own. The voices coming from inside the store seemed friendly enough but she couldn't make out the words. More people kept going in. Someone came back out with a bottle in his hand and called to a man across the street. More people went in. Is fretted, while inside the store the men drank and their voices grew louder.

  Eventually she saw the man who had left the store earlier, coming back. He was carrying a saddle.

  "Try this," he said in a heavy accent Is had never heard before.

  She couldn't believe her eyes. The saddle the man was holding out to her was a berserker's saddle, built for a war horse. She couldn't guess how this man had gotten it.

  The saddle was old and covered with a thick layer of dust and mildew, but had originally been made with the highest quality workmanship and the best leather. With a little cleaning, and conditioning oil, it would be like new. Other than stiffness from obvious neglect, everything seemed in good repair. The seat would be bigger than Is needed, but the saddle would fit Lark's broad back perfectly.

  In the excitement of trying the saddle on Lark, Is forgot about the hostile crowd until one of the men who had been lounging around spoke.

  "You gotta pay for the saddle, little lady," he said in a leering tone, and then turned to the others. "Ain't that right?"

  Taking their cue from him, other men chimed in. "Yeah." "That right, Gene." "Everybody got to pay their way here." They began to move around her, their voices and actions meant her no good.

  She didn't bother to reply. The man who had brought the saddle had gone into the store. He wasn't concerned about being paid.

  Is had let herself get caught on Lark's right side and mounting from that side was something she had never seen the need to practice. To mount with the saddle, she needed to jump high enough to stick her foot in the stirrup and then swing the other leg over. It was a coordination her body knew well from the left side of the horse but it might not translate so well to the right. She hesitated a fraction of a second and the men closed the circle around her until it would have been foolhardy for her to turn her back on them to mount.

  She thought to swing Lark around so everyone would have to move out of his way. But a man stepped forward and grabbed the lead she had thrown over Lark's neck while she had been fitting the saddle.

  "Now, where would you be thinking of going without paying us?" he asked.

  The others made similar comments but Is wasn't listening. If Lark had been fully trained she could command him to strike out and the man holding the lead would be dead. Or she could make him kick the men who were standing too close to his hindquarters. But as it was Lark was totally trusting. He didn't know that anyone could hurt him and he couldn't understand what it might mean to him if someone hurt her. These men either did not recognize Lark as a war horse, or they had figured out he was not trained. Lark would be no help to her with whatever happened next and calling for the man’s help never entered her mind.

  She struck the first man who reached for her, knocking his hand away with an oblique blow. They all laughed and retreated a little but she knew they wouldn't quit now. They were goading one another on, still kind of good-humored among themselves, but very serious for her. "Don't be afraid of the little she-lion." "Hey, Digger, did she scratch you?" "Watch out for her teeth."

  She didn't see the man come out of the store. The first she knew he was there was when one of the men surrounding her said, "Ooof," and sat down abruptly. The other men caught on right away though. They turned away from her and now the man was the one who was surrounded.

  They still weren't very serious, still razzing each other. "Now, what's this? You suppose the she-cat's his woman?" "Naw, he ain't big enough to knock her down." "Or knock her up." The men laughed and carried on with like comments.

  On some signal that Is missed, the whole group charged in and dove on the man. At least she thought that was what happened. An awful lot of people hit the ground. She thought to jump on Lark and try to make him charge into the crowd, but if the man was on the bottom she didn't want to trample him. Instead she raced from Lark's side, grabbed a chair, and was about to wade in swinging as hard as she could when the mare interposed herself between Is and the men. She looked up, and he was sitting on the mare's back, grinning. Is was so totally dumbfounded that she stood, staring stupidly a moment, and that was all the other men needed. They disentangled from the heap, saw Is cut off from Lark and headed toward her. She raised the chair.

  Everybody suddenly wasn't in such a hurry.

  The man made the next move, causing the mare to pivot her hindquarters toward the men and making an opening for Is to get to Lark. She walked slowly, her muscles tight as springs. No one moved. She made it to Lark, set the chair down and sprang into the saddle.

  The mare went by them in a gallop and Lark dug in and went too. A lesser rider than Is would have been left behind in the dust, but Is was too much a part of her horse.

  Lark would never catch the mare but he was doing his best. Is crouched over his shoulders and let him run. Whoops and catcalls and whistles trailed them, but no pursuit. For the men of the town the whole thing had just been a little fun to break the boredom. If they had succeeded in raping her, it would have been just the same, a little entertainment for them.

  They were out of the town in no time and streaking across the plains, heading for the ridge they had descended earlier. In the name of safety, Is rarely galloped her horses as fast as they could go. Even for an experienced rider such a gallop as this created a rush of adrenaline that was exhilarating. Her body took over the muscular coordination of moving with the galloping horse, her mind free, triumphant, and as wild as the horse's mind.

  When they hit the slope the mare slowed. Is let Lark catch her and he was happy to slow to her pace. The man was grinning from ear to ear and Is realized that she was too. It felt good to be able to break and run away from that kind of harassment.

  It hadn't been that way in the government school. There had been nowhere to go, and no one to go to for help. Well, that wasn't quite true. If you were "with" the right people no one else would bother you. But Is had never been able to do the things that would have gotten her that sort of protection. She had been fair game for everyone.

  They were moving along at a steady trot now. But the day had grown dark for Is. Her mind took her back to the school.

  . . . "So you're the peasant?" Phil looked her over with cold appraisal.

  Phil was the protector for Beth's group. For some reason Beth had befriended Is and wanted Phil to take Is into the group.

  It was after curfew and it was part of the test of Is's mettle to sneak out like this.

  Phil walked around her, looking her over. Is glanced at Beth who gave her a little encouraging smile. Beth hadn't told her it would be like this.

  "So, what do you know how to do?" Phil asked.

  Is knew how to milk cows, cut hay, weed gardens and carry water.

  "C'mon, Phil," Beth said. "She's pretty. She'll be fine. I'll watch out for her."

  Is already knew enough about Beth to know that assurance wasn't going to help. The next thing she knew, Phil reached right up under her government blouse and took hold of her breast.

  "Do you know how to do it?" Phil asked in a lewd voice. "Do you know how to do it real good for a man?"

  When she didn't move, Phil let go of her breast as if he were dropping it in disgust.

  "She ain't no good to me," he said to Beth, ignoring Is.

  Beth was going to protest, Is could see that. Phil saw it too.

  "It takes more than a hot cunt, baby," he said sidling over to Beth. Is saw his hand go right up under Beth's skirt as if he owned her. Beth's eyes half-shut as she moved her legs apart and began to push her hips against his
hand. But Phil wasn't even looking at Beth. When Is glanced at him, startled from what she'd realized was happening, he was staring right into her eyes. He bared his teeth at her in a wicked smirk.

  Is backed off, then caught herself, turned and walked away. At the door she looked back. Beth had both her hands on Phil's chest and her head was bent forward so her forehead was on his shoulder. She was still moving her hips. She never noticed Is leaving. But Phil was watching and his look was triumphant. He controlled both women. One he chose to keep; the other he drove away. She felt as conquered as Beth.

  Is shook herself free of the memory. Out here it was different. Surely. But the day seemed darker than before. Maybe the only difference was that there was more room to run.

  In the school she had closed the door and gone back to her own ward, but her trouble had only begun. Unprotected by any gang leader, she was harassed by everyone, hated fiercely by the rest of the girls, and blamed for anything that needed a scapegoat.

  Early on she had tried to appeal to the authority of the adult attendants. She had quickly learned better. They had treated her as though she was a troublemaker and liar. The other students had gloated and stepped up their harassment of her. Realizing that there would be no help, she had learned to cope on her own.

  She glanced sideways at the man who had helped her, twice now. Unaware of her scrutiny he reached forward and stroked the mare's neck and in that simple act of affection Is saw the love that bonded him to the horse.

  Aware of her gaze, he smiled at her. Is saw his confidence, good spirits and the love within him – a mixture she could only call joy. But she could not share that with him now, and she looked away. Twice she had been helpless and he had rescued her, facing down bigger and stronger men. Is wondered how it must feel to be able to do that.