To Ride the Gods’ Own Stallion by Diane Lee Wilson Page B

the ground.
    He shifted his gaze from the shaggy-headed birds to the snarling dog and back again. A fist-sized rock lay within reach, and, keeping a wary eye on Annakum, he cautiously bent to pick it up. The sharp weight in his hand made him feel better and he stood taller. The mastiff quit growling but shot a threatening glance in Soulai’s direction. Then, padding a tight circle, he flopped beside his master.
    Habasle had ignored the standoff, so Soulai broke the silence. “Where are we?” he asked. The words came croaking from his dry throat, sounding more fearful than he would have liked. But the noise was enough to discourage the scavengers. One vulture flapped its wings and lifted itself into the air. After a clumsy bit of hopping, the other bird followed.
    â€œNorth of the city,” Habasle answered while continuing to draw. “Near a road leading to Harran. Or to Dur Sharrukin.”
    Soulai sidled toward the line of boulders that partially ringed their encampment. In the distance, Nineveh’s sharp-toothed outer wall glinted in the morning sun. He could see the Khosr River flowing from the city and separating into brown ribbons that filled the moats and canals. Spotting movement atop the walls, he could have sworn that guards pointed in their direction.
    A strange feeling crept over him. Three months ago, when he was being led toward this city, his heart had pounded with fear; now that he stood outside it, he had an irrational longing to return to it.
    His thoughts were interrupted by a rustling in the underbrush. The horses! At least he was still with Ti; he could still protect him. Annakum pricked his ears, but only followed with his eyes as Soulai warily left the clearing.
    A wadi, as deep as a man is tall, and thick with feathery grasses and date palms, lay behind them, and it was there that Habasle and Soulai had hidden the two horses last night. But when Soulai made it to the bank, he found only one horse. He shook his head and sighed. He had expected it, really, for Habasle had ridden from the palace with hobbles tucked inside his pouch, and so Ti still shuffled along the streambed, tugging at stalks with his teeth. The lead rope, which was all Soulai had had to knot around the ankles of the bald-faced chestnut, lay empty atop some crushed grasses.
    Ti heard Soulai’s approach and whinnied. It was the familiar morning greeting that signaled hunger, and Soulai hated not having some grain to feed him. As he picked his way down the crumbling dirt walls, he watched the gold-and-white stallion wade through the sea of plumes like some magical mount belonging to Ea, the water god.
    When they met, Soulai extended his hand. Ti stretched his neck to lick the salty palm, sucked and slobbered, all the while gazing at Soulai with gratitude. Soulai smiled. Until he saw the dried blood on the stallion’s throat. He remembered with horror that the ashipu still wanted to kill Ti. That Habasle wanted to ride him into battle. How am I going to protect him? he wondered. Especially out here, in the middle of nowhere, and on foot.
    He sighed again. Ti stopped his licking to rub his head against Soulai’s shoulder. Soulai smiled and helped scratch the sweat-stiffened hairs left by the bridle. He had been worried that last night’s hard gallop would drain the recuperating horse, but instead it appeared to have invigorated him. Even hobbled, Ti moved with more ease than he had since the lion hunt.
    He continued scratching the horse, flaking away the dried lather on his chest and belly. The white marking of the winged creature, Ninurta’s mark as everyone called it, caught his attention. Slowly he traced his fingers along the outline. Was Ti really destined to go to war? The words of Naboushoumidin, the chief scribe, came back to him: Animals, people, even kings—they’re born and they die…Don’t let your own soft heart cheat this horse of his rightful destiny. Soulai clenched