Elska

by Catherine Hapka

  “Oh no,” she moaned, sliding down from my back. “That was Alfvaldr's son. He will tell his father what I was doing!” She gave me a hug. “Go back to the others, Elska,” she commanded. “I'm going to run home on my own. If I cross the river here, I know a shortcut. That way, perhaps Father will be too tired to punish me by the time he gets home from the rettir.”

  I didn't understand her words, but it was easy to understand the slap she gave me on the rump. I took a few steps forward and glanced back. She waved her hands to shoo me on. Although I did not want to leave her, I did as she asked.

  But horses' eyes are on the sides of our heads rather than the front. That means we can easily see what is happening well behind us. So I was watching when Amma waded into the fast-moving river, wincing and hugging herself as the cold water splashed around her legs.

  And I was also able to see when she reached a deeper spot and slipped on the slick rocks. She jerked backward with a cry and disappeared under the foamy, racing water.

  The Rescue

  Amma is in danger!

  The idea filled my mind. My training told me to continue on as she had commanded. But my instincts said otherwise— and they were much stronger. Spinning around, I raced toward the bank of the river. I plunged into the icy-cold water without pausing. It swirled around my legs, and a chunk of ice bounced off my fetlock.

  Halfway across the river, Amma popped to the surface. She waved her arms and cried out.

  “Amma!” a voice yelled from the shore. It was Tassi. He had followed us just in time to see Amma's fall. He turned and ran away, but I did not worry about that. All my focus was on Amma.

  The water was sweeping her downstream. She grabbed for a rock that jutted out and clung to it. Her feet and legs swept out before her, but she held on with all she had. How much longer would her strength last?

  I plowed on through the current. It dragged at my legs. Soon it was up to my withers. The effort and the cold made my muscles ache, but I kept on without pausing.

  Amma saw me. “Elska!” she cried out. Her small hands gripped the rock. I could see her arms tremble.

  The water tried to push me downstream. But it was not strong enough. I had made similar crossings many times, either moving with the herd or carrying humans. There are many rivers in this country, and very few bridges. We horses are the bridges of Iceland.

  Growing up in the rocky volcanic terrain had made me sure-footed and nimble. Living with the elements had made my legs and body strong and able to withstand terrible cold. My hard hooves found purchase among the slippery rocks. I pushed on against the current and the chill. Behind me, I still heard shouting. But I no longer paid it any mind.

  Finally I reached Amma. She stared at me with terror in her eyes.

  I moved around her as carefully as I could, not wanting to jar her loose from the safety of the rock. Then I was directly beside her, blocking the worst of the current. I lowered my head toward her. Would she know what to do?

  She did. Letting go of the rock, she grabbed for me. The current snaked under my belly and tried to sweep her away. But her hand caught a thick strand of my damp mane and hung on.

  I braced against the water, trying not to move. Amma scrabbled at my withers with her other hand. Her legs drifted out behind her, and for a moment I feared the current would take her away. But finally she found a chunk of mane there as well. She pulled with all her might … and at last I felt her weight on my back. She was safe!

  She leaned forward, both hands buried in my mane and her legs shaking as they clung to my sides. All I had to do now was return her to dry land. I took my time, moving carefully across the shifting footing. Once or twice I felt Amma's balance waver. That was strange for Amma. Normally she rode with more grace than any other human I had known. But fighting the water had weakened her.

  Each time she swayed and started to slip, I stopped short. I waited, as still as the mountains, until she found her balance again. Then I moved on, fighting the current with each step.

  On the shore, people were gathered. Tassi was at the front, along with Amma's father and brothers. Everyone was shouting, but I hardly heard them. There was nothing they could do to help.

  At last I felt the riverbed slope upward. One more step, then two, and the water was only as deep as my knees. Amma's father waded in to meet us. His arms reached for the girl, pulling her from my back and cradling her in his arms. She collapsed against his shoulder. Her bedraggled hair draped across his face, but he did not push it away.

  He hurried back up the bank. Most of the other humans crowded around them, chattering anxiously in their human way.

  I started up after them, my sides heaving.

  Of all the many river crossings in my life, that had been the hardest.

  Tassi came to me, putting a hand on my side as I clambered the rest of the way up the bank. I didn't need his help to make the climb. But it was nice to know that he was there.

  “Good girl, Elska,” he murmured when we reached the top. He rubbed my wet neck with both hands. “Good girl!”

  The cold river water was clinging to me. I shook myself dry. The water showered out in all directions.

  Tassi jumped back, shouting with laughter. “Bad girl, Elska!” he cried. But he did not sound angry.

  Home

  The birds were returning to Iceland. The snow cover had receded more than halfway up the mountains. The meadows were slowly changing from dry brown to green. Soon it would be time for the herd to return to the open highlands for the grazing season. The sheep were milling and bleating in their field. Even they understood what was coming.

  It had been a long, cold, dark winter. I had worked hard, carrying messages and taking the boys fishing when the weather allowed. In the deepest part of the winter, of course, I had little to do. At those times, the humans rarely left home. But now they were busy again, preparing for the short growing season to come.

  “Elska!” Amma burst into the yard, her pale hair flying behind her. “Are you ready to go?”

  I nickered to her in greeting. It made me happy to see her every day. Ever since the day of the rettir, we had been together. I had returned to my home farm, my original herd, and my favorite human. Being there made the hardships—the harsh winter weather, the sometimes difficult work—much easier to bear.

  Amma hugged me. “I'm going to miss you,” she said into my shedding coat. “But at least now I know you'll come back to me in the autumn. I am so happy that Alfvaldr gifted you back to me!”

  My ears pricked forward. Over Amma's shoulder, I could see that young Tassi had just ridden into the yard on a young dapple gray.

  “Actually, my father didn't gift him to you, Amma. He gifted him back to your father,” he called out.

  Amma jumped in surprise, then turned and made a face at him. “Tassi! Were you listening to my private conversation with Elska?”

  “It's not private if you speak loudly enough for every fish in the sea to hear,” Tassi said, smiling broadly.

  Amma tossed her head like a playful filly challenging a herdmate. “Well, it doesn't matter if you hear anyway. Elska is mine, and you know it!”

  “True enough!” Tassi laughed. “But remember, you should be very nice to me, Amma. I was the one who convinced Father to trade her back to you in exchange for the buckskin mare.” He laughed again. “Magni is still sour at losing his best racing horse!”

  “I know.” Amma scratched me under my mane. “But Alfvaldr told me he knew that Elska and I belonged together. He saw it when she rescued me from the river. How could he keep us apart after that?”

  Tassi nodded. He slid down off his mount, then walked over and gave me a pat. “We miss Elska at home,” he said. “But you're right. She belongs with you. Some things are meant to be.”

  Amma ducked her head against my neck. Then she turned and smiled at the human boy. He smiled back.

  “Everybody ready to go?” Amma's brother Valdi appeared in the yard at that moment. “It's get
ting late.”

  Tassi moved quickly away from Amma and me. “You're right, Valdi,” he said, vaulting up onto his horse. “I'd better get home to help Father. I'll see you both later.” With one last smile for Amma, he kicked his mount and rode away at a fast tölt.

  Valdi watched him go. “What was young Tassi doing here?”

  “I don't know.” Amma busied herself untangling a knot in my mane. “I suppose he misses Elska and wanted to visit her.”

  “Yes. I'm sure it was Elska he wanted to see.” Valdi chuckled. Then he moved on toward Jarpur, his usual mount. “All right, let's separate out the horses that are staying for the summer. Father will want to get the others off as soon as he comes out.”

  For the next few minutes, the two of them pulled horses from the herd and led them to a separate area. Hamur, Tyrta, Tappi, and others—each horse followed the humans willingly. All of us enjoyed the open, easy life spent grazing freely. But all of us were nearly as content to stay behind and help our human herdmates.

  Finally Amma came back to me. “I wish you could stay, too, Elska,” she said, scratching me again in all my favorite spots. “But Father says it is better if you go out this summer.”

  I rested my head against her shoulder. The sun was warm for so early in the season, and my eyes drifted half shut. In that moment, I was fully content.

  Amma pushed aside my bushy forelock and looked into my eyes. “You will miss me, too, won't you?” Her voice was little more than a whisper, no louder than the arctic fox creeping among the dry grasses in a meadow. “But we will see each other again come autumn.” She slipped back and rubbed my belly, which swelled more than usual for late winter. “By then you will have a foal to show me,” Amma went on. “I can't wait to meet your baby, Elska dear. I know it will be just as special as you are….”

  APPENDIX

  MORE ABOUT

  THE ICELANDIC HORSE

  Ancient History

  The Icelandic horse originated from the native breeds of Scandinavia and the British Isles. In the late 800s, Viking settlers brought horses to the island in boats along with other livestock. The harsh climate and challenging landscape helped mold the descendants of those horses into the hardy, sure-footed Icelandic breed of today.

  The Bridges of Iceland

  In the time of the Viking settlers and for many years after that, Iceland had few roads and even fewer bridges. Horses were expected to carry people through the varied terrain and across the many rivers. The lack of roads meant that the wheel did not come to Iceland until much later than most of the rest of the world, so horses were even more important there as work animals and as a means of transportation. Today the only traditional use still served primarily by the Icelandic horse is the annual rettir, or sheep roundup, which takes place each September, just as in Viking times. But many people throughout Iceland continue to keep horses for pleasure. And Icelandic horses have been exported to many other countries as well.

  Short but No Pony

  In most breeds, equines that stand 14.2 hands at the withers or shorter are considered ponies. But not Icelandics! Although they average around 13 to 14 hands, they are always properly referred to as horses, not ponies. Ice-landics are very strong for their size and can carry more weight than many larger horses.

  Gaits Like No Other

  Icelandic horses are a gaited breed. All breeds of horse can perform three basic gaits: walk, trot, and canter/gallop. But gaited breeds have additional gaits. The Icelandics come with two extras—the tölt and the flying pace. The tölt is a comfortable, gliding gait, while the flying pace is a very fast gait used mostly for racing. Other gaited breeds, such as the Tennessee Walking Horse, the Five-Gaited Saddlebred, and the Missouri Foxtrotter, have their own varieties of these extra gaits.

  Law of the Land

  Even today, Icelandics are the only breed of horse in Iceland. In fact, it is forbidden by law to bring horses into the country. And if a horse leaves, it is not allowed to come back. This law has been in existence since around the year AD 900, which means that the Icelandic horse is considered one of the purest breeds in the world. The law has also protected the native Icelandic horse from many diseases that are common elsewhere.

  A Colorful Bunch

  Icelandics come in just about all possible equine colors. They also come in various pinto (spotted) patterns. In a herd of Icelandic horses, you might see several shades and patterns of chestnut, bay, black, gray, dun, buckskin, grullo, roan, silver dapple, palomino, and cremello, among others.

  Safe and Sound

  Icelandic horses have no natural predators in their homeland. This has helped give them an especially even, friendly temperament. Thanks to this, along with many years of selective breeding, they are generally less likely to be spooked than other breeds of horse. They are also very hardy and long-lived.

  What's in a Name?

  It is a tradition even today that most Icelandic horses are given an Icelandic name, even if they are bred elsewhere. Elska is an Icelandic name commonly used for mares; it means “friendly” or “playful.”

  MORE INTERESTING FACTS

  ABOUT ICELAND

  There are almost no trees in Iceland.

  Like other extreme northern and southern areas, Iceland has very long days in the summer and very long nights in the winter.

  Iceland was created by volcanic activity and still has several active volcanoes.

  More than 10 percent of Iceland is covered by glaciers.

  The word geyser comes from the Icelandic language. There are lots of geysers in Iceland!

  Thanks to its volcanic and geothermal activity and its glaciers, Iceland is often called the Land of Fire and Ice.

  Modern Icelanders are listed in their telephone book by first name.

  Geothermal energy is used for much of modern Iceland's heating and electricity. Icelanders even use it to heat some of their sidewalks!

  Vermont, Early Spring 1850

  I was born in a rocky paddock on a moonless night. Light snow fell from the sky, covering my brown fur with white. My mother's tongue washed over me and warmed my skin. Soon she nudged me, urging me to stand.

  Rise, she told me. Danger can hide in the dark woods.

  I scrambled to my feet. My long legs were sturdy, my body stout. I nursed, and my mother's milk gave me strength. I hopped in the snow, trying out my legs. Mother smiled proudly as I trotted and leaped. Soon I grew weary, and sinking onto a soft pile of hay, I slept.

  Morning came, and the rising sun broke through the clouds. As soon as it was light, my mother began to teach me.

  There is so much to learn, she told me. I followed her around the paddock. She touched her nose to all the new things: fence, tree, water trough, hay, mud.

  Mud I learned quickly. As the snow melted, my tiny hooves sank into the sloppy brown mess. I was scrambling onto a dry stump when a fluttering sound startled me.

  A bright blue creature landed on the fence. I tensed. Is this danger? I asked my mother.

  Her muzzle twitched in laughter. No, my son. That is a blue jay. They are pesky and steal my corn, but they are not danger.

  Jumping off the stump, I whinnied to the blue jay. It flew into the trees.

  Blue jays have wings, my mother explained. They are free to fly to wherever they want.

  I peered between the fence rails. I wanted to race after the blue jay to the place called wherever they want. The blue jay had disappeared, but outside the paddock were many more new things to explore!

  I touched my nose to the railing, but the fence circled my mother and me, penning us in. I checked my back. Did I have wings? All I saw was brown hair.

  If only I had wings, I thought. I could fly free, too.

  Suddenly a shriek filled the air. I fled behind my mother. I flicked my fuzzy ears. Danger? Turning, I peeked from beneath her thick black tail.

  A creature leaped over the top railing, landing with a splash in the mud. It was as colorful and noisy as the blue jay, only b
igger! Wings spread wide, it hurtled toward me.

  Terrified, I turned to run, but my long legs tangled. I fell in a heap. Mud splattered my white star. The giant blue jay plopped on the ground next to me. Its wings wrapped tightly around my neck, and I was trapped!

  Mother, I neighed. Danger!

  But my mother's eyes were twinkling.

  “Papa! Bell had her foal!” the blue jay cried out.

  “I see, Miss Katie,” an even taller blue jay answered. “But, daughter, your joy is scaring him. Let him go so we can see how fine he is.”

  The wings released me. I scrambled to my hooves and rushed to the far side of the paddock. My mother hurried after me and blew into my nostrils.

  Do not be afraid. Those are humans. The large one is Papa. The small one is Katie. They feed and care for us. In return, we work for them.

  Work. I did not know that word yet.

  My mother pushed me forward. My legs splayed, refusing to move. The human called Papa set a wooden bucket in the paddock. “Come, Bell,” he called. My mother trotted over. Dipping her head, she ate hungrily.

  “You have given us a fine fellow, Bell,” Papa said, patting her neck.

  Wide-eyed and trembling, I stared at the human called Katie. She stood in the middle of the paddock, her eyes as curious as mine. Then she held out one wing.

  This time she walked quietly to me. Her wings were soft when they stole around my neck. Then her cheek pressed against mine, and my trembling stopped.