by Linda Benson
“Nothing,” said Evan. “There is only a short stub left now, with a wicked point inside.” Evan shrugged. “He is too large for us to hold down, and too wild to stand still for such a thing. The only thing we can hope for is that the wound will fester, and it will work its way out.”
The horse stood quite still now. Whether it was the pain of his fresh wound, or a realization that he was trapped, he stopped his mad dashing about. He watched the goats. They had given up their frolic and returned to nosing the bits of grain left in the dust.
“Do you have more?” asked Sahara, holding out her hand.
Evan nodded, and handed her a leather bag. Moving very slowly, watching every flick of the horse’s ears, she climbed over the fence and poured two piles. One for the goats, and another several feet away, for the horse. Sahara climbed back over the fence and watched.
The horse waited for several minutes. He seemed to be deciding. The two goats continued to eat greedily. Finally he made up his mind. Hobbling across the small enclosure, he stuck his nose eagerly into his pile of grain. He seemed unsure how to eat the strange bites, but he seemed delighted with the taste. As he practically inhaled the life-giving food, his eyes stayed glued on Sahara.
“Hello, horse,” she said to him. “Welcome.”
Chapter Twenty
WORD SPREAD THAT A wild horse was held captive in the small corral. Few people in the Gardener’s Camp or from Sahara’s clan had seen a horse, especially up close. The rugged trail over the mountain from camp became well-trod as visitors showed up daily.
Sahara tried to be there as much as she could. Besides bringing the horse food and water, she felt a sense of protection toward the animal, who was still not healed. And although he accepted Sahara’s presence, he was still scared of strange people.
Ash and Ulu raced together down the trail one morning, sliding to a stop in front of the corral. “Wow,” they said in unison. “Look at him.”
“Don’t frighten him,” Sahara warned. “Stay back a bit.” The young horse, even with his festering wound, was gaining strength daily. He raced around the corral with barely a noticeable limp when strangers approached.
“Look how strong he is,” said Ash.
“And fast,” said Ulu. “I wouldn’t want to go in there with him, though. He’s so wild he could run right over the top of you.”
“He’s beautiful,” breathed Ash. “Moves like the wind.”
Yes, thought Sahara, watching the horse’s black mane float above his smoke-colored body. Too beautiful to kill.
Laurel was none too happy about the hours Sahara spent with the horse. “You shouldn’t be traipsing that far away, taking care of some wild animal. You should stay in camp and make sure you do your assigned work. Besides, Grandfather is not strong, and that dog of yours is due to whelp soon. You know how important her puppies will be to our clan.”
“Yes, I know.” Several families in the Trader’s Clan needed dogs to pull their goods. Banner stuck her nose under Sahara’s arm. Her belly was stretched and extended now. Blitz thumped his tail softly from the edge of the campfire. Sahara missed her dogs, but she had to leave them in camp, because they would spook the wild horse. “The horse is my job, too,” said Sahara. She tried to speak with conviction, hoping it came out as such. “He’s still injured, and needs someone to look after him.”
Laurel shook her head impatiently. “A wild animal like that is not a job for a girl. You should let the men handle him. Besides, you act as if the horse is more important than your grandfather, your own flesh and blood.” Laurel’s mouth pinched together at the corners, and Sahara held her tongue.
But Laurel didn’t actually forbid Sahara from going to the horse. And so, after she helped Evan with the goats, Sahara spent the better part of each morning on the mountain, gathering double armfuls of grass that grew in the long swale below the pond. She stacked them outside the corral, feeding the young animal as much as he would eat. And he ate a lot. What would she do when the grass was gone? Who will take care of him when our clan leaves in the fall?
Mornings were the best time on the mountain, because few people from camp showed up, and she could be alone with the horse. He seemed to know her now, and did not startle when she came close. But he never let her get quite close enough to touch him, or try leading him with the leather rope that still trailed from his head. She sat beside the corral with the ancient book on horse training in her lap, trying to decipher the words.
One morning, as she approached the small enclosure, she noticed a difference in the animal. He seemed to be distributing his weight evenly on all four legs. Not favoring the lame leg. As she drew closer, she saw that the wound looked different, too. It was fresh and pink, as if it had reopened overnight.
Sahara peered closely at the young horse. Then it dawned on her. Maybe the arrow point had come out. Hopping over the fence to search the dry dust in the middle of the corral, she saw the sun glint off something bright. Yes. It was the arrow tip. The infected wound must have festered and burst overnight, just like Evan had said it might, or maybe the horse had dislodged the arrow by rubbing or scratching it.
Either way, it was good news. Now maybe the wound would heal. She closed her eyes and tried to remember her dreams of riding astride. Going so fast it felt like flying — the wind bringing tears to the corners of her eyes.
Sahara had a sudden vision of running across the corral and springing onto the horse’s back. What would happen if she did? Would she ever be brave enough to try such a thing?
The horse trotted up and down the fence line, more energetic than she had seen him. He must be feeling better. Sahara gathered an armload of grass that she had stacked the night before. Tossing it over the fence, she climbed the rails slowly, watching him.
The horse took a few tentative steps toward the food, but instead of coming eagerly as he usually did, he stopped, glancing around nervously.
If I put the hay closer to the fence, maybe he’ll come near enough for me to slide a leg across his back. No, I should try to get some of the grain that Evan gives to his milking goats. But Sahara knew it was in short supply, and not much could be spared. If only she had something special to bring the horse toward her.
Maybe I should go to the old woman up on the hill, and have her teach me the words in the book. It was all very good to have a book she couldn’t read, and to have dreams of riding horses, but none of the pictures really showed Sahara how to tame the wild horse in this corral. She needed a dream, now, a detailed one, of how to actually train the horse in front of her.
Sahara sat on the fence, murmuring to the horse, soothing it when his head came up abruptly and his sharp ears scissored back and forth. The horse blew through his nose and began to pace the fence. Sahara stole a glance toward the trail from camp, wondering what spooked him. She got her answer.
Up the trail swaggered Dojo, with two young hunters beside him. “Ah, you have fattened him well,” he said. “More fat makes for a tastier stew.”
The horse seemed frantic now, as the hunters drew near. He had not had such an intense reaction to the other people that came to see him. He must remember Dojo, or maybe he somehow knew that Dojo had tried to kill him. The horse began to gallop madly around the small enclosure, almost knocking Sahara off the fence rail where she sat.
“Stop it,” she hollered. “You’re frightening him!”
“He’s wild! Of course he’s scared. What did you expect?” said Dojo.
“He seems to be moving all right though,” said one of the young men. “Not lame.”
“Maybe you should try riding him, like the girl said,” said the other man.
“Are you crazy? You can’t even catch him!”
The men tossed taunts back and forth, urging each other on.
“Ha! I’d like to see you try and ride that thing.”
“Grab for his rope!”
Sahara watched in horror as the young horse, sweat now trickling off his neck, circled frantically aro
und the corral. Surely this was not good for his recovery, and would set back his progress.
“Leave him alone!” she cried.
Ignoring her, two of the men sprung from the top rail and jumped directly inside the corral, while Dojo chortled a wild laugh from outside the fence.
“Don’t!” Sahara shouted. “You’re scaring him!”
But they ran at the horse from opposite directions, each lunging for the rope that dangled from his head.
The horse backed away from them, but finding no escape route, raced in fear around the enclosure, sides heaving. Finally, in a mad dash for freedom, he lunged directly at the opposite fence. But the rails held tight, and he fell to his knees with a loud ka-boom. Sahara’s heart thumped hard in her chest. Surely his injured back leg will give out now, and he will be crippled forever. Without thinking, she leaped down from the fence, hoping to stop the men inside.
But the horse scrambled upright, just as both men grabbed again for his rope. The panicked horse sprang toward the fence one more time, and this time the top rail crumpled. As boards crashed and wood splintered, the horse struggled over the top, and stood panting and heaving on the other side.
“Now look what you’ve done!” Sahara screamed at the men. She scrambled over the broken boards and edged toward the young horse, holding out her hand. “Good boy…don’t be scared.”
But the frightened animal looked around wildly and bolted away. Getting his bearings, he headed with a loud snort toward the meadow and the azure pond, never faltering or turning. Racing away into the blinding sunlight, picking up speed and widening the distance between them with every stride, the horse galloped past the pond and out into the desert beyond.
Dojo cursed loudly, as the other two men spit into the dust of the small corral.
No! It all happened so fast, in just a few beats of her heart. Sahara stared in disbelief at the broken fence, wondering if the horse would come back. But as he disappeared into the dust of the desert and out of sight completely, the silence in her heart was deafening. The horse was gone.
Chapter Twenty-One
SAHARA SQUIRMED ON THE hard bench, trying to keep her mind on the lesson. Laurel insisted she attend the camp school, since she’d done nothing but brood since the horse ran away. Several trips to the corral, waiting for the horse to come back, had proved fruitless, and Laurel finally put her foot down.
“Go see what you can learn,” Laurel said, “instead of moping around all day.”
The teacher’s high, scratchy voice droned on and on. Short in stature, with pudgy arms, a prickly beard that stuck out in all directions, and not much hair left on his head, he reminded Sahara of a fat, plucked chicken. She stifled a giggle and glanced around to see if anyone noticed.
The open-air building, covered with recycled pieces of roofing metal, held the stifling heat inside. Twenty or more children, most from the Gardener’s Camp and a few from her clan, listened to the teacher’s history lesson. Most were Sahara’s age or younger, including Ash and Ulu, and no one seemed to notice her restlessness. Sahara swiped beads of sweat off her neck, eager to be finished. She would rather clean the goat barn than listen to the teacher’s annoying voice. And besides, Banner was bound to pop out her puppies any minute.
As the teacher continued, Sahara found the words troubling.
“Transportation,” the teacher said, “was not always with dogs pulling carts. Long ago, before the Dark Days, people traveled great distances in steel contraptions with seats, that moved by themselves with engines on wheels.”
Ulu giggled, and the teacher shot him a stern look.
“They were called Auto-mobiles,” said the teacher, “short for automatically mobile. Some historians have reported that great steel machines flew people up in the air.”
Sahara shook her head. This was hard to believe. Why didn’t the teacher talk about horses? If it was true that people had used horses, ridden them and used them with a harness, like the dogs, why didn’t the history teacher know about it? Why was she the only one that seemed to remember?
Sahara raised her hand. “Could you explain how we know about these auto-mobiles?”
“Certainly,” said the teacher. “We have found relics from the past. Long streams of different types of auto-mobiles, lined up on hard pathways of some kind. Some even had remains inside, as if people had been trapped there.”
“Oh.” Sahara blew out a breath.
“Where are they?” Ash asked. “Could we see them?” Everyone but Sahara seemed fascinated with this information.
“It is many weeks’ travel from here. I have not seen them myself, but have heard from Wanderers and other Bringers of News,” said the teacher. “It sounds fantastic, like many things in the world before us, but we are sure that it is true.”
“Are there any records of people using horses for transportation? Riding them, or — ” Sahara began, but several children laughed out loud. Why did I even open my mouth?
The teacher furrowed his brows. “That’s ridiculous. Horses are wild animals.”
“But I have book — ” Sahara said.
“Ah, a book,” the teacher smirked. “And I suppose you got it from that crazy old woman on the hill.”
Sahara nodded. The Keeper of the Books, Evan called her. Why was this teacher making fun?
“Well let me explain about books, young lady,” he said, pointing a fat finger at her. “You cannot believe everything you see or read in a book. Do you understand?”
Sahara gulped, unsure of herself now.
“You see, many books are fiction. Do any of you know what that means?”
One or two hands shot up, and the teacher chose a girl in the front row to answer.
“It means things that are made up,” she said. “Not true.”
“Exactly,” said the teacher, primly. “Books often contain things that people just imagine. Stories and fables. Now what we should actually believe in life is what we can see, hear, smell, or touch. Or what we learn from reliable sources. Facts, young lady, not things imagined in books.”
“But the lady on the hill! The Keeper of the Books, she — ”
“Young lady, please do not correct your teacher. Those are the rules of Camp School, as you well know. And keep your creative notions to yourself. Now I don’t want to hear any more absurd ideas about wild animals being used for transportation.”
Sahara focused her gaze on the table in front of her. She heard snickering behind her, and she could barely wait for the lesson to be over. She bolted outside, racing away from the teacher’s stinging remarks. She heard several kids chattering behind her. “Silly Sahara! What a goose! Thinks you can ride a wild horse!”
“Leave her alone!” shouted Ash, turning to confront the hecklers. “At least she caught one, and put it in a corral.”
“Yeah, but she couldn’t keep it there, could she?” said a bigger boy.
Sahara stomach churned. She longed to run up the trail toward the azure pond, to have the smoky-colored horse waiting for her, but she knew it was hopeless. Her horse, she had called him once. Ha! He was gone like the wild animal that he was, and he existed now only in her heart. A deep sense of loss hung in the pit of her stomach, and she couldn’t seem to shake it.
She had been so close to jumping on the young horse’s back. If only she had tried, before he broke the fence and ran away. Maybe she could have trained him — and ridden him through camp like the strange woman in her dream. Backing and turning, the admiring crowd whistling and applauding. If she could only train a horse to do that, everyone would admire her, and no one would call her names behind her back.
Sahara found Blitz tucked under a bench in front of their tent. She rubbed her face against his shaggy coat, drying her stale tears. But where was Banner? The dog had been seeking out hiding places in corners of their camp lately, but when Sahara searched in all the normal spots she found nothing. Where could she be? Kissing the top of Blitz’s head, she began to look in earnest. She searched ar
ound the permanent buildings which lay closest to her clan’s camp, and along the willow breaks where the trail from camp led to the irrigation canal.
Back again toward camp — was there anywhere she hadn’t looked? Blitz lay still, with his legs stretched out directly in front of him and his dark muzzle lying tucked on top of his paws. Sahara followed his eyes, and they were pointed straight ahead, in the direction of the woodpile.
Sahara noticed a faint trail leading around the back, heard a mute whimper, and found Banner dug into a hollow beneath the alder and willow branches used for kindling wood. Easing down to her level, Sahara saw five puppies, marked just like their mother, with white on their forehead and four white paws.
“Banner, look at you!” Sahara hunched down close and patted the dog’s head. “Good girl.” She picked up one of the squirming pups and held it close, feeling its tiny heart beating against hers. I may have lost the horse. But at least I have these puppies.
Chapter Twenty-Two
AS IF LOSING THE smoke-colored horse wasn’t bad enough, now, during the restless summer nights, Sahara no longer dreamed of horses. It bothered her. It nipped at the edges of her mind as she closed her eyes at night with her sister, and as she rose to the sound of people starting the morning fires. As she helped Evan with the goats each day, and as she sat through the lessons at Camp School, Sahara just couldn’t seem to shake her sense of loss. Not only had she lost the actual horse, who had bolted into the desert in barely the blink of an eye, but now she had no dreams of horses. The sadness lingered over her like a heavy fog.
As the days and weeks went by, people seemed to have forgotten about her strange adventure on the mountain. The school children quit teasing her, and now no one called her The Foolish Girl Who Tried to Tame a Wild Horse. It was almost as if it never happened. Sahara tucked the book about horse training safely underneath her sleeping bunk. Maybe the pictures were not real. Maybe someone from long ago dreamed of horses also, and made pictures of the dream. Someday she might go again to the woman on the hill to get her opinion. But Sahara kept her thoughts to herself, not wanting to appear foolish in front of the entire Gardener’s Camp.