Wild Blood

by Kathryn Lasky

  “Who are you?” Mikki looked at the grizzled mule.

  “Another mule. Once in the yoke like you. But I left before you were born.”

  “I remember you well,” Abelinda said. “I couldn’t quite understand why you had left.” She shook her head. “But, yes, I do believe you sowed the first seeds that night and now look at us.” She looked toward Jacinto and remembered his words. “Freedom is not given. It’s taken. And then Jacinto showed us the way. We took our freedom. Seized it!”

  Mikki was tossing her head with delight and had begun to romp around in the swirls of steam. She bucked, reared, then bucked again. “I love it! I just love it!” She whinnied wildly into the air. The sound of her sheer delight spun up into the frothy white of the steam plumes. It was a fine sound, a glorious sound that came from someplace deep within her and spiraled up and up in rings of pure happiness.

  Meanwhile, Tijo had moved on to a nearby colt and was cutting away its bridle. Then he went to another horse and freed that one of its saddle. He was very solemn as he performed these tasks. It was like a beautiful ritual. He cut the straps with a quiet dignity. But the sound that Tijo loved the most was when he would drop the metal bit onto the ground. Usually, there was a dull thud, but if the bit hit a rock, there was a satisfying clink. He pried off what horses’ shoes he could. Some, however, held fast, and they would have to wait for the wear and tear of the trail before they would be loose enough to cast.

  He worked all night, and when the morning light broke, the shadows of the Mighties crept across the basin. They were nearer then they had thought. It was less than a half day of travel to the base of the mountain range and then straight up, or so it seemed. But brimming with the exhilaration of their new freedom, these horses and mules were ready. Anything was better than the bit and bridle, the yoke and the spurs. “I thought I would die in a jerkline,” said one old mule, shaking his head in wonder.

  “You know,” said another, “in a jerkline with a yoke, you can never look up. You never see the blue of the day sky or the stars of the night. I feel I’ve become part of not simply a new land but a new universe.”

  Estrella felt a growing anxiety. She was free. The twitch was gone from her muzzle, the saddle from her back, and the disgusting taste of metal — gone, but would she ever forget it?

  Now that the initial thrill was wearing off, the newly freed horses and mules were starting to grow nervous. They’d never lived without human masters, and didn’t know what to do.

  “Hold On,” she whispered. “Must we teach them to be free?”

  “Freedom can’t be taught. Remember, most of them still wear the shoes nailed into their hooves. It takes a while. Freedom might be seized as the mule, the one they call Jacinto, says, but wildness — well, that is a sensation that is waiting to be revealed. When we cross the Mighties, they will begin to discover it.”

  “Are we taking them with us?” Estrella asked.

  “Why, of course,” Hold On said, giving her a stern look. “You will lead them. You are our leader. They are part of the first herd now.”

  “But, Hold On, there are so many. I … I fear …”

  “Fear what?”

  “The Mighties — leading this huge herd now across these mountains to … to … where exactly? I just have a feeling about the sweet grass, but what if …”

  “Don’t you see, Estrella, that it is your mission to lead these horses and mules to their new lives. You have the vision.”

  But do I? Estrella thought. She had made a terrible mistake in ignoring the omo owl’s warning to split the herd. She had been impatient, too eager, and risked the lives of the first herd.

  Where was the tiny horse? The sparkling creature had appeared so suddenly in the stall, hovering over that lump of fool’s gold. It had turned its head toward her and seemed about to speak. Fear not … fear not, it had seemed to say. But now she was afraid. Free but frightened. Where was the tiny horse and where was Hope? Hope, who Tijo said carried the spirit of Haru? She needed them now. She had to lead, but who might guide her? In the midst of one hundred horses, she had never felt so alone.

  Then suddenly the old scent began to thread through her nostrils, through the remnants of pain from the horrid twitch. It was the sweet grass. She had caught that scent again. It overpowered the smell of the leather saddles still on the horses’ backs. It vanquished the taste of the metal. This was their destiny, and it lay on the other side of the Mighties. It was as Hold On had told her — she was the one who must lead them across this mountain range.

  “Tijo,” she said, “we can’t go on until every saddle, every bridle, yoke, and bit has been cut. Only then will they begin to know freedom.” She glanced at some mules standing nearby with yokes askew on their shoulders. “Unyoke the mules!”

  The lodge of Hope was growing fragile. Without it, Haru was a feeble spirit and completely powerless for her earthly work, which she knew was not finished. She did not precisely understand the creature called the tiny horse. It appeared to fade in and out like the stars. The one thing that Haru did know was that despite the feebleness of her spirit, she must not linger over the field strewn with the bodies of Ibers — many of which had been trampled when the horses and mules escaped.

  Haru did not like to see death but was glad that, in the chaos of the stampede, the Chitzen slaves had been able to escape. No creature should be kept in chains, two-legged or four.

  Because of her weakened state, Haru had to rely on the winds to carry her spirit in search of her next lodge, if indeed she could find one. But this morning was nearly windless. She must give the faithful coyote, Hope, a chance to restore himself. What a valiant creature he had been!

  As the earth warmed, the air would rise, and the first breezes would stir. Patience, Spirit. Patience, she counseled herself. I have nothing to live for, only to die for. Now, as the heat thickened, the first true breeze of the morning roused itself.

  Hope had never in his short life been so exhausted. He curled up not far from the dead body of Pego and the body of an Iber lieutenant who had been trampled to death in the rebellious tumult of the horses. Hardly an ideal place to sleep, but he was desperate. Sleep was what he craved, what he thirsted for. Only sleep could slake him.

  What Hope did not realize was that it was not he who was tired, but it was the spirit lodge wearing thin. When Haru found a new lodge, he would revive. But he had been too tired to keep up with the thundering herd of animals. Hope felt a wind stir his fur. I am haunted by winds, he thought as the spirit of Haru left him.

  When he awoke, it was long past midday. He felt refreshed but lonely. He blinked as he saw a vulture pecking on the remains of Pego. Another vulture lighted down nearby and was examining the body of a dead human. The vulture looked up.

  “Hah!” he cawed roughly. “I knew I was right.”

  “Right about what?” Hope said.

  “You weren’t dead after all.” He twisted his head and looked directly at the other vulture, who raised his bloody beak.

  “I just felt that the coyote was more your size,” the other vulture replied.

  “You didn’t want to share. That was the problem.”

  “Share what? Who was more your size?” Hope asked.

  “You,” the vulture said, spitting out a metal button from the jacket of the Iber lieutenant. “The problem with humans is their clothes. It takes forever to get a decent bite.”

  “Well, I’m not human and I’m not dead,” Hope said, inching away.

  “Yes, that’s a problem, too,” said the first vulture.

  “Let us know when you are!” the other vulture cackled from where he was perched on Pego’s rib cage. “Since you don’t wear clothes, it’ll be a lot less work for us!” Both vultures were cackling madly now.

  Hope could not get away fast enough. He felt strong again, without a trace of the exhaustion that had overwhelmed him earlier, but he also felt terribly lonely. He scurried around bodies of Ibers, bodies that had been thrown by
horses, then crushed by their stampeding hooves. He needed to find the first herd. He needed decent creatures. Grace, where was Grace? Oh, what he wouldn’t give to see Grace again!

  Estrella, Hold On, and Arriero stood together surveying the tack and tackle, the tools of restraint that the Ibers had used to shackle the horses and the mules to their will. The other horses were cantering about, jumping, rearing, bucking, wallowing in the ecstasy of their freedom.

  “Es un milagro,” Corazón said softly, trotting up to them. “Look at all this — the bit, the bridles, and you see that stallion over there? He just kicked off the last of his shoes.”

  “Milagro, miracle, is not quite the right word,” Hold On said thoughtfully. “No. It’s more a sign of will — what free will can do. That stallion kicked off his shoes because he was determined. He did not even wait for Tijo to come with his blade and pry them off.”

  Estrella was listening carefully. “And I believe it was free will that made Pego die for us. He charged out between us and the two muskets that El Miedo fired.” She paused for a long time and looked at the horses milling about in the long shadows of the Mighties.

  “I think,” she began again slowly, “I know what we need to do first. We are many now. To cross these mountains with so many is no easy task. I think we must first send scouts to seek out the best trails. I want us to keep together, but there might be times when we must separate. We need three scouts who can find good trails with good forage. Sometimes a trail might be able to support all of us. But the grazing will grow thin. There will not be enough for all of us all the time on a single trail.”

  “Estrella is right.” The mare Abelinda had come up to the small gathering. “When we started with El Miedo, we numbered six hundred in all. When we would pass through even good pasture, there was not enough to nourish but half that number. It became worse and worse. Fights broke out. But we were in the flatlands, the plains.” Abelinda tipped her head up. The jagged snowcapped peaks of the Mighties clawed at the sky. “There cannot be much that grows up there,” she whispered.

  The solemnity of this moment was crushing. No one spoke for a long time. Estrella longed for just a glimmer of the tiny horse, and Tijo was lost in thoughts of Haru. Had she worn out the spirit lodge of Hope? Would she find another?

  Estrella gave herself a shake and twitched from her withers down through the large muscles of her shoulders. She had to stop looking for this glimmer. The tiny horse would come when it would come. One could not summon the elusive creature.

  “Abelinda, would you serve as a scout? You know how much grazing can support this number of horses.”

  The mare nodded. “I would be honored.” Even though Abelinda had shed her shoes, she still possessed an Old Land manner about her. Estrella could see that Angela and Corazón approved of her.

  Now Sky came up. “I would like to be a scout.”

  “But you are so young,” Estrella replied doubtfully.

  He tossed his head in indignation. “Estrella, I am older than you! Remember, you were foaled at sea during the voyage, where I was foaled a month before on land on First Island.”

  “That’s true,” Estrella said with a sigh. Being the leader of the herd had been a great honor, but it had also made her feel old beyond her years.

  “My legs are strong. And you know I have a good muzzle on me. I pick up scents others don’t.” He paused and then added quickly, “Except for Hold On, of course.”

  Estella nodded. Sky was eager and energetic, and would do his very best to serve the herd. “Then you are a scout.”

  Abelinda spoke up. “I think we need one more scout. A big strong horse.” All heads swung toward Arriero.

  “Of course,” Arriero replied. “I, too, am honored.”

  A memory loomed up with fierce intensity in Estrella’s mind. That first year in the New Land they had been tracked by two big mountain cats for the better part of a day. When the cats broke into a run and began their chase in earnest, the four stallions — Arriero, Bobtail, Grullo, and Hold On — worked together to wear them out and draw them near through a series of quick dodges and feints. Then Arriero, the largest and most powerful, had spun around just as the male was about to attack and bucked. He had caught him with his hind hooves, ripping open his belly, and flung him into the air. Yes, they needed Arriero as a scout. He was powerful and lithe. A monster when he set his mind to it. They were after all going into a territory very different from any they had experienced.

  It was not simply high country. It was an immense mountain range. Thick with trees they had never seen, animals they might not have ever imagined. A chill breeze swept down from the mountains. Within minutes, the air turned silver in a slanting wind full of sleet and ice. Winter had come.

  An eagle flew over the crown of the fir trees that moaned in the wind. Her gizzard flinched slightly, and then a warm riffle of a breeze stirred her primary feathers. I am flying into the cold Taku winds. So why is there this warm current? Then it dawned on her. By my talons! A spirit has lodged in me. She had heard of such things, but she had never quite believed it, and even if she had, she could not believe that a spirit would choose her. Was this a compliment? She immediately chastised herself for having such a thought. It was vain. Eagles had to be careful about that. Her mum had constantly warned her about vanity. “Vanity is treacherous. Vanity is only for fools.”

  Enough! a voice resonated in her. Yet it was not quite a voice. The eagle was confused.

  You are not vain. Now we have work to do.

  The eagle teetered as if she had hit a rough patch of air.

  Work … I’m all for work. There’s a good trout stream two points off my port wing. And I’m a great fisher bird. I can get some lovely fish.

  Spirits don’t need food.

  The eagle was not sure exactly what the spirit meant but decided not to ask. Instead, she felt a strong urge to introduce herself. My name is Tenyak. Haru was taken off guard. She had never had a lodge creature introduce itself. Nor had she met one so talkative.

  What’s yours?

  My name is Haru. The human you see below on that horse is my boy, Tijo. He has a strange and wonderful understanding of these creatures. The horse he rides is Estrella, a young filly. She is the leader of the first herd. This country the Ibers call the New Land, but for the horses, it is the Old Land. They are returning, and it is our work to make sure they get to where they are meant to be.

  Tenyak knew exactly where they were meant to be — the Valley of the Dawn on the other side of the Mighties, where the grass grew thick and tall and its nodding flower heads looked in the dawn light almost blue. Where winter came late, and summers lingered.

  What is that I see twinkling ahead where the sun just set?

  Aaah! Haru sighed happily. She knew she had picked the right lodge for her spirit. It is another spirit, you see. It is the spirit of the dawn horse. It, too, will help with our work. But the dawn horse is a shy creature. Bashful, a bit timid.

  Just one moment, Haru continued. She felt Tenyak’s wings angle as the eagle began to carve a turn. First, I must ask of you one thing. There is something that must be retrieved, brought back to its rightful owner.

  Yes? Tenyak said. What is it?

  A blanket — a blanket made from the hide of a white buffalo.

  A white buffalo! Tenyak nearly staggered in flight. I thought they were creatures of legends. Not real.

  All legends start from something real. But this one was real, I assure you. The blanket made from its pelt was stolen. Stolen by the Chitzen chieftain, who is now a captive of the Ibers.

  And then, perhaps because Tenyak’s being was so suffused with the spirit of Haru, the eagle knew instantly.

  And this blanket belongs to the one they call Horse Boy?

  Indeed, Haru replied, and felt the eagle once more tip her wings and begin a banking turn toward the encampment of the Ibers.

  Even after the chieftain and the rest of his clan escaped, he continued to be haunt
ed by terrible dreams. This one was different, though. He was dreaming of being free and powerful again. He was riding the dark stallion once more. The Burnt River People were again fearful, respectful. He was no one’s slave but everyone’s master. A sharp snort suddenly awakened him. When he opened his eyes, he saw a gleeful light dancing in his wife Pinyot’s eyes. What is she so cheerful about? He growled at her, and she laughed. He was about to leap to his feet, but something knocked him over. His eyes widened in disbelief. An immense eagle stood on his chest. She raised one talon and raked the space just in front of his eyes. The message was clear. The eagle would rip out his eyes if … if … if what? It was clear that the eagle was demanding something of him.

  “If what?” he blurted out. And at that moment Pinyot laughed.

  “If you don’t give up the blanket!”

  “But what does an eagle want with a blanket?” He felt the talons digging into his chest.

  “I told you the blanket was cursed. It was Haru’s and therefore Tijo’s,” Pinyot whispered in a scalding voice.

  The eagle drew her face close to the chieftain’s, and deep in the amber of the eagle’s eyes, the chieftain saw the face of Haru peering back. In that instant, the chieftain fell over dead and rolled off the blanket.

  Pinyot stood up. She glanced at this man who had beaten her so mercilessly for so long, then began to fold the blanket into a neat bundle. She pulled some twine from the fastenings of her moccasins and tied it around the bundle.

  “There!” she said softly.

  The eagle nodded. The small nod was more acknowledgment than she had ever received from her husband. She felt her eyes start to fill. Then, grasping the bundle, the eagle spread her wings and flew out from the shelter. Pinyot stepped through the opening and watched until the eagle’s wings faded into the night, but she could still see the white of the blanket.

  She now caught her breath. How could this be? How could I have just walked from that shelter? She was walking quickly now, and no one seemed to notice. Pinyot kept walking. She walked right out of the encampment. She chuckled to herself. Perhaps I have become a spirit, too — an omo. But in that moment, she winced. A sharp rock poked at the sole of her moccasin. And it felt good. She was not a spirit. She was not dead. She was alive. She was free. So she kept on walking into the night.