It was many weeks before the mare was well enough to run with the stallion. Then she joined him in the cool of the evenings, kicking out her long legs and nibbling his rump.
Over the next year, he showed her his stomping ground, from the towering mountains to the west to the tumbling rivers in the east. They struggled together through the long, cold winter, turning their backs to the howling wind and hanging their heads low. Sometimes the earth beneath their feet rumbled and shook like a waking giant. The peaks of Mt Ruapehu spewed ash and smoke high into the sky. The land was as restless as the young stallion.
The following summer, a silver-grey colt was born to the pair. He entered the world on a fine, hot day and had the nature to match. He was fiery and brave right from the start, launching up onto his pin-stick legs as if they were sturdy tree stumps. He was soon racing across the plains alongside his father, his small flag of a tail held high. For the first time, the white stallion began to feel settled with his new family. He started to search the foothills and valleys for a place they could call home. He could not have known that men were to enter his life yet again, changing it forever.
4
Making friends
Lara and Kahu chatted easily as they walked home to Kahu’s place. For the first time since moving to Waiouru, Lara felt as if she had made a friend. She kept sneaking sideways glances at him, fascinated with his long dreadlocks and the tattooed bands around his lean brown arms. He was tall and slender but strong, like a sleek panther. For once, Lara didn’t feel too lanky alongside a boy; she could stand tall and willowy without feeling self-conscious. Kahu was so sure of himself and was happy to chat away to her, unlike so many boys his age who couldn’t really talk to girls.
Kahu’s home was out of town on a few hectares of land. They walked down a long, dusty driveway to the house. It was like walking into an oasis. Rambling roses and weeping willows surrounded the house. The house was rambling too, with wide verandahs and tall sash windows. ‘Hi, Mum,’ Kahu called out through the open front door.
‘Kia ora, Kahu. How was your day?’
Kahu showed Lara into a large dining room that had a fireplace at one end and doors opening out on to the garden at the other. Maori weaving covered the walls and bright mats carpeted the wooden floor. Kahu’s mum sat at a long kauri table, a pile of books open in front of her. Five young children sat in chairs around her, reading from the books.
‘Mum, this is Lara. I rescued her from a touch game.’
Kahu’s mum laughed, an easy, warm laugh like Kahu’s. ‘If I know my son, you rescued him from the bottom of a maul. Hi, Lara. My name’s Hine. And these are,’ she said, pointing to the children giggling at the table, ‘Kahu’s sister and brother, Ngawai and Hemi, and Caleb, Jamie and Sam.’
‘Mum does home schooling. That’s why the house is always full of cheeky kids,’ Kahu said playfully.
‘Kahu was once my star pupil, believe it or not,’ Hine said. Kahu quickly changed the subject again.
‘Lara’s interested in the Kaimanawa horses. I thought she might like to meet Koura and Hiriwa.’
‘That’s a great idea. Don’t let her get too close to Hiriwa though. He’s only polite to you, remember.’
Lara wondered who or what she was about to meet. ‘Who’s Hiriwa?’ she asked Kahu as they walked outside.
‘That’s Hiriwa.’ Kahu nodded over to where the silver-grey colt stood in the paddock behind the house. He nickered to Kahu. Lara had never seen anything more beautiful.
‘He’s gorgeous! Is he yours?’
‘He belongs to nobody,’ Kahu said. ‘He’s a Kaimanawa.’
‘Did he come straight from the wild?’
‘A lady bought him from a guy who rounded him and his mother up over a year ago. She couldn’t tame him so he came to me. That’s his mother, Koura, over there.’
Lara looked at the mare with the long flaxen mane and golden coat. ‘She’s really pretty.’
‘She’s gentle and easy-going. Not like her son. He takes after his dad. Hunters have been trying to catch him for ages, except he’s too smart. They reckon he’s half-crazy. I reckon he just doesn’t like people.’
‘Have you ever seen him?’
‘Nah, though they say he’s pure white and bigger than most Kaimanawas. He’s brave, too. He was with Koura and Hiriwa the day they were caught. He tried to bust them loose from the corral. He was shot and wounded before he galloped off.’
‘That’s really sad. Why can’t they just leave him alone?’
Kahu looked at Lara as if he was about to say something. Instead he walked up to Hiriwa and stroked the yearling colt’s soft silver muzzle, speaking quietly to him in Maori. The colt nudged him gently in return.
‘I think Hiriwa’s dad could be just as gentle if he was treated kindly. Like Hiriwa, he has to believe people can be trusted first.’
‘Hiriwa seems to trust you.’
‘We’re mates now. Not at the beginning though. He really gave me the run-around.’
Kahu leapt nimbly over the fence and landed next to Hiriwa. The colt snorted and jumped away.
‘See, sudden movements still make him nervous. He doesn’t feel entirely safe with me yet.’
Kahu stood beside the silver colt and ran his hands slowly along the horse’s back, down his side, and under his belly, speaking soothingly to him the whole time. When the horse was calm, he took a rope halter and slipped it over Hiriwa’s face. He then flicked a long rope across the horse’s back. Hiriwa shrieked and pulled away. Kahu kept flicking the rope until the horse settled again. ‘He’s beginning to understand I’m not going to hurt him,’ he explained.
Lara watched, fascinated at how patiently and calmly Kahu worked with Hiriwa. He was very different from the loud, cheeky boy she saw in class. ‘How long will it take to tame him?’
‘It usually takes me about six months to gentle a horse. Some people call it breaking, because that’s what they do—break the horse’s wairua, or spirit, until it loses the will to fight. I don’t do it that way.’
‘You’re more of a horse whisperer!’ Lara had seen the film starring Robert Redford.
Kahu laughed. ‘Nah, I don’t whisper anything to them. I just try to listen to what they’re saying to me. Have you ever ridden?’
‘Only once at a horse-hire place.’
‘Do you want to ride Koura? She’s great with learners.’
‘Could I?’ Lara struggled to keep the excitement, and nervousness, out of her voice. Kahu must think she was a real nerd.
‘You can’t ride like that though,’ Kahu smiled, pointing at her school skirt, ‘but it’d be fun to see you try! Mum might have some trousers you can borrow.’ He chucked Lara the rope halter. ‘I’ll go ask while you put on Koura’s halter.’
Lara studied the rope halter. How on earth did you put on one of these, she wondered. She whistled to Koura the way she had heard Kahu do. To her delight, the mare came straight over. She rubbed her head against Lara’s shoulder and waited patiently as Lara fiddled awkwardly with the halter. Lara managed to get the rope over Koura’s head except she wasn’t sure how to tie it. She made a knot and hoped for the best.
Kahu came out onto the verandah and chucked her a pair of trousers. ‘You can change in my room. It’s second on the left down the hall,’ he called out.
Lara had never been in a teenage boy’s room before. She had no brothers, and had never had a boy as a friend. Kahu was the first. She felt rather shy walking into his private space, and curious, too. It was a lot tidier than she had imagined. For some reason she thought all boys lived in a mess. Kahu was full of surprises.
The room was large and bright and had a big bay window overlooking the horse paddock. Posters of rap and rugby stars covered the walls, but what caught Lara’s eye were the carvings. Several large Maori carvings hung on the walls, and other smaller ones decorated the room. She picked up one beautifully carved piece which was curved and spiralled in the shape of a springing fern.
/> She realised Kahu must be wondering what she was up to and dressed hurriedly. His mum’s trackpants were way too big and she had to pull the drawstring tightly around her narrow waist. She must look like a dick! She tied her long hair back in a ponytail and dashed outside to where he was waiting.
‘I’ll show you how to tie a rope halter properly,’ Kahu said, taking her hands and guiding them. His touch was gentle and Lara found it hard to concentrate on what he was showing her. ‘Do you think you’ve got it?’ he urged.
‘Sure,’ she replied quickly.
Kahu grinned. ‘Good, now hop on.’
‘Where’s the saddle?’
‘You don’t need a saddle. The best way to learn to ride is bareback. It’s safer, and you’ll get your balance much more quickly.’
Lara’s heart raced madly. She so wanted to ride but she was scared she might make a fool of herself in front of Kahu. What if she fell off? Don’t be stupid, she told herself. You want to do this, so do it!
‘Here, I’ll give you a leg up.’ Kahu reached down to her leg. ‘On the count of three, spring up and swing your leg over her back. OK, one, two, three!’
Kahu launched her into the air. Before she knew it her legs were wrapped around the mare’s back. He showed her how to hold the halter rope loosely in her hands. ‘Don’t grab the rope or dig in with your legs. Relax and move with the horse. Let her teach you.’
Koura moved off at a brisk walk. Although Lara felt totally out of control, it was a great feeling sitting astride a horse. ‘Don’t worry about turning or stopping. Just concentrate on moving with her and getting your balance first. She’ll take care of the rest,’ Kahu called out to her.
Lara and Koura strolled around the big paddock together while Kahu worked with Hiriwa. Lara forgot about the time, her homework, her mother, even the kids teasing her at school. All she thought about was the restful swaying of the mare beneath her. By the time she hopped off Koura, she felt as free as a bird.
‘That was great. She’s gentle, as if she understood I was a bit scared.’
‘Only a bit?’ Kahu ribbed her gently. ‘Yeah, Kaimanawas are smart horses.’
‘Where did they come from originally?’
‘The first horses escaped from farms near the Kaimanawa Ranges over one hundred and forty years ago. Then in the 1870s some ponies from Welsh and Exmoor stock were let loose and they bred with the wild horses.’
‘Is that why most Kaimanawas are small?’
‘And tough. In 1941 some military horses were also released from the army base near Waiouru. They bred with the wild horses as well.’
‘How come Hiriwa and his dad look different from the others?’
‘Some people say a pure-bred Arab stallion escaped into the area about sixty years ago. Perhaps that’s Hiriwa’s great-great-grandad!’
5
The desert stallion
After the men captured Koura and Hiriwa, the white stallion crawled away to die. The big man had shot him in the chest, but it was not the wound which was killing him. Without the mare and foal by his side, he was alone and scared once more. He had tried to rescue his family by rushing at the men to frighten them, yet it was he who was terrified. To him the men were predators, worse than the most savage wolves that stalked his nightmares. He couldn’t beat them, and in the end he was forced to run away.
The stallion sought refuge in the life-giving mud pools beneath the mountains. He rolled his aching, wounded body in the stinking sulphur and lay there, too exhausted to rise. Hawks gathered in the skies, watching eagerly from above.
As the white stallion lay beside the pond waiting to die, he slipped in and out of a strange dream. In the dream, he was tied to a foul-smelling animal with long knobbly legs and a humped back. It spat at him when he tried to pull loose and he was forced to follow. Ahead of him, more of the strange creatures loped along in a line, swaying and bobbing in the hazy heat. Beneath his feet, soft white sand burned hot and fierce.
Over forty years ago, a camel train like this had led the white stallion’s great-grandfather out of the deserts of Egypt. The stallion had grown up in a semi-wild herd of horses belonging to a tribe of Bedouins. The horses were Arabs, the oldest and purest breed of horse in the world. The stallion was a fine example of the breed, with wide dark eyes, flared nostrils, and a dished face. He was chosen, along with five other colts, to be sold off at a horse auction in the ancient city of Cairo.
The Arab stallion was used to the men of the desert and even enjoyed their company. They fed him sweet treats and scratched the itchy spots behind his ears. They spoke kindly to him and he was happy to follow them from camp to camp with the rest of the herd. This journey, however, was different. He had never worn a halter or been tied before. He pulled against the ropes tying him to the camel’s saddle. The men rode beside him, snapping long whips at his feet to keep him moving. Along the way, the camel train stopped off at oases to gather water and supplies. The sights and sounds were dizzying to the young horse. Men in flowing robes haggled loudly with one another in the marketplace and chickens and dogs dashed beneath his feet. But none of this prepared him for the chaos of Cairo.
The ancient city of Cairo sprawled across the desert in a tumble of mudbrick houses and dusty apartment blocks. The narrow, cobbled streets were jammed with cars, buses, trucks, donkey carts and bullock teams, and were seething with people. The horses were driven through the crowded bazaars and herded into auction yards in the centre of the city to await their fate.
The next few days passed in a blur for the young stallion. He and his friends were pushed from one yard to another, surrounded by people yelling excitedly. On the fourth day, he was loaded onto a freight train at the start of another terrifying journey. This time, he was on his own. The train lurched and rumbled along the tracks, throwing him from side to side in his stall. The noise was terrible and the smell and heat overpowering. Without his friends by his side, he was petrified.
At the Egyptian port of Alexandria, they strung a canvas sling under his belly and hoisted him on board a cargo ship. He was led into the bowels of the ship and shoved into a narrow crate. The walls grabbed against his sides and he felt as if he was trapped in the jaws of a huge beast. He kicked frantically at the crate with his hind legs until the wood started to splinter. Suddenly three men threw open the crate and cornered him. They chucked ropes around his legs and dragged him down. They hobbled his feet, tying them up so that when he struggled up he was unable to lash out at the walls.
The stallion was kept in the crate for the two months it took to complete the lengthy sea voyage. The narrow space almost sent him mad with terror. He spent the first two weeks smashing his head against the walls until they blindfolded and tranquillised him. After that, he stood trembling in total darkness. A sullen little man fed and watered him, yet gave him no words of comfort.
When the stallion finally arrived in New Zealand, he was a very different horse from the proud Arab stallion who had galloped in the desert. His coat was dull, his ribs stood out, and his fine head was bruised and beaten. His new owner was shocked when he saw him. He demanded to know what had happened to him on the journey. The sullen little man muttered that some wild horses simply went stir-crazy when they were penned up.
The owner trucked the sick stallion down to his farm on the outskirts of Waiouru. When they led him into the stables, he felt trapped once more and lashed out at the walls. Several weeks passed and still he would not settle. He paced his stall and cried out pitifully. His owner was unsure what to do for the best. He wondered if the horse might be happier in an open field and decided to take him out to graze.
As soon as the stallion was released, he lifted his beautiful head and sniffed the cool breeze. He smelt wet soil, lush grass and volcanic ash. The smells were strange and new to him. The wind was cold against his skin and the ground hard beneath his feet. But he was free! He bucked with joy and darted across the paddock.
His owner realised too late that he should
have thought about the barbed-wire fence which surrounded the field. The horse had never seen a fence before. He galloped straight through it. The cruel barbs wrapped around his legs and tore into his flesh. The stallion ran for his life, dragging part of the fence behind him.
The Arab stallion did not stop until he had put many miles between himself and the farm. His legs were slashed and bleeding and he was frightened and alone in a strange land. The wind howled at him, biting at his skin and chilling him to the bone. Then, out of the drifting snow, he saw some horses approaching. They were unlike any horses he had ever seen. They were small and shaggy, their manes and tails tattered and torn. They gathered around him, the heat from their bodies warming him. When they moved off as one, he followed. He knew now that he would be safe.
As the white stallion lay beside the mud pools dreaming of his Arab ancestor, he too sensed he was not alone. A small, ragtag band of Kaimanawa horses came out of the shadows and wandered over to him. They nickered softly and one old grey mare butted him to his feet. Above his head, the hawks gave up their circling and flew off. With his new friends, the white stallion, like his great-grandfather before him, was ready to face the challenge of the wild once more.
6
Learning lessons
Lara spent nearly every summer’s evening at Kahu’s place. She liked his mum and dad and their home was always full of fun and laughter. And, of course, there were the horses. Kahu and the mare, Koura, were teaching her to ride. Although Koura was quick on her feet and had lots of spirit, she was patient and forgiving. If Lara lost her balance, Koura slowed until she regained her seat. If Lara gripped too tightly with her legs, Koura tossed her head until she learned to relax. She began to feel as one with the mare.
Restless Spirit Page 2