Wild Blood

by Kathryn Lasky

  The three different strands of the loose braid of horses were making their way up toward the fourth hallum. They kept their eyes on the trail but would often scan the sky for the eagle. However, the fog had grown thicker. Despite the steepness of the terrain, the grazing was good, with more than a few winterberries that the horses had come to love. They actually liked the foliage better than the fruit. Sky had gone back down to check on Angela. Their rest at the beaver pond had helped her some, but he had noticed that on this day with the steep terrain, the mare was moving more slowly.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she whinnied. “No need to worry. I am just enjoying these berries.”

  Corazón, who was grazing nearby, flashed a look to Sky that said it all: Her hoof is worse!

  “Well, it’s not far to the next hallum and the slope on the other side coming down is not bad. And there’s a river.”

  “Oh, that will be so nice for Tijo. He must be sick of eating berries, and I know the hunting isn’t so good. But fish! That boy can catch any fish.”

  But, thought Sky, will Angela be able to cross the river? If it’s deep enough to swim, that will be good. But if it is shallow and the riverbed is cobbled with rock, the pain on her hoof will be terrible.

  Later that afternoon, the strands of the braids of horses met on the sandy bank of the river to begin their crossing. From the shore, the river appeared placid, with barely a hint of a riffle on its surface. The shadow of the eagle’s wings was printed on the smooth green water. A gentle rain began to fall, dimpling the slow-moving flow. The horses were eager to start across. The water felt good on Angela’s hoof. The old mare could see that the horses ahead of her had reached a deeper part of the river and were swimming. She would be there soon and knew the deep water would feel even better as she would be weightless. For in truth, the lameness was creeping up her leg. A thread of lightning crackled overhead. The muscles from her fetlock to her knee were hot with pain, but the chill of this water was so soothing. She had reached the deep part now and luxuriated in her weightless state. This is freedom, too, she thought. Freedom from pain, freedom from pretending there is no pain. Freedom from trying to keep up. She closed her eyes and basked in the delight of not feeling a single twinge.

  Suddenly, she realized she had drifted a bit away from the others. The lightning overhead had intensified, as had the wind. It was as if the whole world of the river had changed in a second. Bolts of lightning stabbed the water. A large rock that rose above the surface in a froth of rapids suddenly split apart as a dagger of lightning sliced down from the sky. She felt the deep pull of the river. An undercurrent that she had not been aware of through the scrim of her nearly numb leg was pulling her away. Panic filled her. She tried to swim, but the harder she tried, the stronger the current seemed to become. She looked wildly around her. A view of the others was obliterated in the heavy downpour. It was as if the entire sky were emptying into this swollen and raging river. Seconds later, Angela was swept around a bend. The last horse she saw was Corazón, her eyes wild as she searched for her old friend. Her mouth open and screaming. Screams that could not be heard over the howl of the wind, the roar of thunder. Angela felt the scrape of the riverbed beneath one hoof. If she could only get a purchase, she might be able to drag herself from the mindless surge of the river.

  On the shore, a grizzly bear crept from her den. She shook her paw and bellowed her wrath at the sky, cursing the bear god. Her den would be flooded again. “Why? Why?” she howled to the river god. “What kind of god are you? This is not your time. Spring is the time. Twice now you have scoured me from my den.”

  She waded into the water. Cursing and slapping the waves. She was sick of fish. Fish would not nourish the cubs growing inside her. Last year, her newborns had died because she had no milk. She had no milk because she had no fat. She had no fat because there had been no red meat. And there had been no red meat because … because she didn’t know. The meat trail had disappeared for some mysterious reason that she could not begin to ponder. But her cubs had died. Died of starvation. She, too, would die of starvation, but the little ones, the cubs, died first. She felt herself growing thinner, weaker each day. Her fur pelt hung like rags from her bones.

  She would become prey to huge bears, a female like Unka who always seemed to find prey. Unka, it was rumored, had even eaten her own cubs. She was mad, that bear. There was something wrong with her. She was unlike any other grizzly. She was white to begin with, but not white like the ones from the far north with the webbed paws. The soles of those bears’ feet and the inside of their paws were covered with hair. Unka was unlike them and bigger than any grizzly male. She’ll come and get me, the grizzly thought as she railed at the storm. What’s left for me, a cubless female? The world has no use for my kind. I shall die alone. Unka will find me. I shall be no match for her. My flesh consumed by Unka. My bones left to dry and be bleached by the sun and then most likely be swept away by the rising flood of the river, come spring. And the bones of my cubs? The little fragile bones, what will become of them?

  She took her paw and, looking down, wiped the sleet and hail from the fur of her face and muzzle. When she looked up, she saw something odd staggering from the water. The wind drove a scent toward her. RED BLOOD! MEAT! My cubs will live!

  The roar was deafening. Angela looked up. Her eyes rolled back in terror. Never had she seen anything so large as the fearsome creature before her. The head was massive. The snout squarish, and below that was the most terrifying mouth imaginable, with fangs as long as a donkey’s ears.

  It seemed like only moments before, Angela had been relishing the absence of pain when her feet had left the riverbed and she had suspended herself in the lovely cold and numbing water. Then there was the sudden fright as she had been swept away. But now she knew there would be pain again. She hoped the pain would not last long. And she did think that she saw more than selfish hunger in the creature’s eyes. Yes, it was desperate but not just for its own sake.

  The bear did not rush her. She seemed to sense that Angela had given up. She knew with one swat of her immense paw she could knock the horse down. It wouldn’t run. She saw how it stood cautiously on three of its legs. The fourth lifted just above the water’s surface. The creature was lame. This would be easy.

  The bear lunged. All Angela could think was Better than the muskets to die this way … Yes, better than the muskets is this death, for I am nourishing something. Something that will live.

  The bear looked deep into her eyes and saw something she had never seen before, not savagery but grace. And so the bear thanked Angela as she lay dying. Thanked her for giving her own life so her cubs would be born, and she would have milk and they could feed and not starve like the ones before.

  The storm eventually blew out, and Angela’s blood curled away on the eddies of the river. The trout swam out from their havens under the rim of rocks. The bear lumbered off to find a winter den to sleep and sink into her drowsy half-waking dreams of cubs, suckling cubs, and the crisp air bearing the sweet scent of milk.

  It took the herd four days to find what was left of Angela. The swollen river had retreated, and the barrel of her rib cage soared up in the shallows not far downstream from where she had died. It was sunrise, and everything seemed luminous; even the white ribs had a radiance and did not look, at first, as if they belonged to anything dead or, for that matter, that had ever been alive.

  Corazón knelt down in the water. “This is Angela,” she said, her voice heavy with heartache.

  The eagle settled on a nearby rock. Tijo and Estrella regarded the bird. It was as if Haru spoke silently in their heads. I told you I am not all-powerful. Estrella looked at the glinting play of light dancing on the water.

  The scintillations of light as the rising sun hit its surface. The loneliness of this canyon that it cut through. The stones in the river were distorted by the refraction of the light passing through the water. Each stone might have had a story, Estrella thought. Stones were t
hought not to be alive, and yet it was not as if they had ever died but had rather been worn and polished by time. Trout flashed by. One even circled the shallows where Angela’s bones lay.

  Corazón was making small whimpering noises as she stood over her friend’s skeleton.

  “I was the one who named her,” the old mare said softly. “You might not know it” — she nodded toward Abelinda, who stood near Mikki and several horses from El Miedo’s expedition — “but once her name had been Fea.”

  “Fea?” a stallion asked. “Fea, you mean ugly?”

  “Indeed. Because she had those spots on her muzzle. But I called her Angela.” She paused, then continued, her voice gathering strength. “I called her this because when we were cast overboard by the Seeker we were all terribly frightened. But she kept saying to me that she knew I could do it. She stayed by me when the shark circled. She gave me strength and courage. And so I told her when we landed on that first beach, ‘They should call you Angela.’ For indeed, she was my angel in the sea.” Corazón heaved a bit as if swallowing a deep pain. “I told her that she was more, so much more than the spots on her muzzle.”

  Corazón felt a twinge deep within that big heart for which Angela had named her. If only she had not gone lame. If only! They had shared so much, from their lives in the Old Land to the New Land. They had met as young fillies. Once, when Corazón was sold but the prospective buyer did not like the looks of Angela as he sought a matched pair for his bride, Corazón had said, “Oh, Fea, if only I had spots on my muzzle like you!” Angela said to her, “And then they would call you Fea as well.”

  “I wouldn’t care,” Corazón had answered. “If only,” she had sighed.

  Then her friend replied, “If onlys are like failed prayers. So don’t waste your time on that, dear.”

  So Corazón decided that to honor her dearest friend, she’d best not think if only. But it did not mean she stopped missing her lifelong friend. It did not mean that there was not a hollow place in her that would never be filled, a lonely canyon in her very soul.

  “And she called you Corazón,” Estrella said, “because you have a big heart.” Even though it might be broken, the filly thought. However, Estrella did not say these words but continued to stare at the rib cage. Eventually, she imagined these bones of Angela would be swept away completely. There was a channel on the other side where the river had once run but not now. Something had diverted the water course. How often had that course changed, and how many more times would it change? But eventually, all things would come together. The strands of the river, the bones would break down into sand, the stones would tumble and fracture. All things begin to mingle and weave together. The light, the water, the valleys, the rock that would rise up to make the Mighties. They all flowed through time and merged into one.

  Hope had been running with the herd for several days now. He was devastated by the death of Angela. He was frustrated that he could not better serve the herd. A spirit no longer lodged within him, but he felt the need to help the herd. Was there nothing he could do to help them? He was a fraction of a horse’s size. There was no way he could have fended off the grizzly, but there must be something he could do. Perhaps I should stop thinking about providing a lodge for another creature’s spirit. Perhaps I should just be more of a coyote — not the trickster, but the tracker.

  The thought bloomed in his mind. Hope already knew that he did not have to be the kind of coyote his father had been, deceitful and angry. He was not that sort of animal. He never could be. But he did have skills that were unique to his kind. His sense of smell was vastly superior to that of any horse. His ears were larger for the size of his head than many animals. The grizzly bear’s ears were rather stubby for such big creatures. Hope was little; his very smallness was a boon. The herd had four scouts — Estrella, Sky, Abelinda, and Arriero. All big horses.

  But their main task was to scout for good trails with good forage. They might pick up the scent of a predator, but in fact, they were too big, too far from the ground to pick up what Hope could. When they had come upon Angela’s body, it was Hope who had picked up the lingering scent of the bear. But more important, he had followed the muddy footprints and found a tree not far from the river where the grizzly had rubbed off the bark, scratching its back. Her back. Hope could tell just from the scent left behind that it was a female.

  He had already warned Estrella two days before they crossed the river that something like a mountain cat, but not exactly, had been near, and then he had found its paw prints. Smaller than a mountain cat but definitely stealthier. Hope had been shocked when he found how close the cat had come to the horses led by Abelinda. Why it had not attacked he was unsure. The grizzly, however, was much larger and more dangerous than any mountain cat. Hope realized that they were coming into territory with larger animals now. There were larger predators for larger prey. There were big-horned sheep, twice the size of the deer they had seen earlier on. But these enormous horned sheep were easy prey for a grizzly if they came down to drink in a creek or river. Hope began to think that although he might not have the vision of a spirit, he could use his skills, his earthbound gifts as a coyote with keen ears and a good snout to help this herd.

  So Hope set out determined that with his coyote instincts he would help the herd. Their destiny had become bound with his own. He was not sure why this was so. But it was. His time on earth, as with all living things, was limited, and he would not live to destroy as his father had but live to help. I am small, Hope thought, but I can do much. I am descended from an ancestry of deceit, but I can live true. I was wronged by my father, but I can make right by helping these horses. This will be my honor, my joy, my destiny.

  Hope had not traveled far before he picked up the scent of the cat again. Why was it always following Abelinda and little Mikki the mule? Abelinda was moving slower these days, but she wasn’t lame, as Angela had been. Hope was unsure why she had begun traveling so slowly. Mikki had veered off from the trail just a bit. The little donkey had found a patch of the winterberries that were so succulent. Their smell was heady. But cutting through that smell was the slightly musty odor of the cat.

  It was the eyes Hope saw first — amber eyes shining like river stones in the brush. Hope shrieked, “Run, Mikki!” Within two seconds, Abelinda was at the donkey’s side.

  “You ruined it!” the cat screeched, and skulked out from the bushes. The close-set eyes now bore into Hope. Four other horses arrived, including Grullo and Bella. “How did you know I was here? I pride myself on stealth. Stealth and ambush. That’s my game.”

  “Scent and tracking, that is my game,” Hope barked.

  The horses were astonished. Mikki was trembling and pressed herself against Abelinda’s flank.

  “You prey on the weak and the young. I know your kind,” Abelinda whinnied shrilly.

  “This is the law of the Mighties, fool!”

  Hope knew that the cat was right. This was how creatures survived — the ways of predator and prey. The coyote knew he had to convince this cat that was so different-looking from the mountain cats of the desert that the law in this case must be different. He could not show fear. Though this animal was not nearly the size of a grizzly, nor was he as big as a desert mountain cat, he was accustomed to being feared. Hope, trembling, took a step closer. The slits in the cat’s amber eyes flashed as if he were surprised.

  “Have you ever seen creatures like these before?” Hope cocked his head toward the horses.

  “Never, but the flesh smells good,” the cat replied.

  The horses remained quiet even as the cat seemed to drool at the very thought of their blood.

  “And,” Hope said, “we have never seen a cat quite like you. The ones from the high desert are larger.”

  “We’re fiercer.”

  “Oh, I could tell that immediately — and smarter.”

  The cat seemed pleased with the coyote’s words. “So why should I spare these animals?”

  “Tha
t is a very good question. Not easily answered.” Hope was stalling for time and trying to think of an answer. “Well, these creatures that stand before you are called horses. Do you realize they are the first horses in this land?”

  “Really, now?” The cat seemed interested.

  It was of course not quite true, for there was the tiny horse. Maybe, Hope thought, I should say that. Just be honest.

  “Well, it is not quite accurate … Once a long time ago, before even your kind was here, before the Mighties were so mighty, the ancestors of these horses roamed this country.”

  “Where did they go?”

  “No idea,” Hope said. “But I am just asking you to let this herd pass now.”

  “But why? The law of the Mighties is — ”

  “I know the law of the Mighties. I am asking you to respect the spirit of the Mighties. These horses are coming home. Kindly let them pass.”

  “And what will I get in return?”

  “I make no promises,” Hope said humbly.

  The cat blinked. He shook his head as if not believing what he heard and saw. He was an animal of action, of supreme slyness and secrecy. And standing before him was this little coyote without a trace of any of those traits. He felt as if he were being crushed by truth, by honesty. Suddenly, the cat felt weak and retreated.

  Estrella had lost count of how many hallums they had crossed over. But this one by far was the highest. For three days, the horses had followed a steeply sloping face, but finally, they could see a gap in the mountains ahead. It was a bright, sunny day and the shadow of Tenyak’s wing slashed the ridgeline.

  “You feel it, don’t you?” Estrella asked. Hold On, who was carrying Tijo, turned his head toward the filly.

  There was no need to ask what she was referring to. Both Tijo and the stallion could tell when Estrella was perceiving visions of the tiny horse.