To Ride the Gods’ Own Stallion Read Free

“Choose!”
    Soulai saw his father shrink. An uncharacteristic expression distorted his face. Slowly he turned, head down, and walked toward the blackened skeleton of their home and workplace. Jahdunlim skulked in his shadow, eyes fixed upon Soulai. When the men stood before him, he forced his trembling legs to stand. His father had a queer look in his eyes.
    â€œI’m sorry, Soulai,” he said. “There is no other way.” His leathery hands roughly gripped Soulai’s wrists. From somewhere Jahdunlim produced a thong that he wrapped around them, pulling the knot so tight that it bit into the skin. Soulai gasped and jerked away. But the thong held snug. Panicked, he glanced from his bound wrists to his father’s stony face and then to Jahdunlim’s yellow grin. With a sudden chill, he knew the price of his weakness.
    â€œNo more than five years,” his father stated, the slight tone of uncertainty multiplying Soulai’s fears.
    The trader threw back his head and laughed. “Are you saying you don’t trust me? The word of Jahdunlim is known from Harran to Babylon. Now, I’m off. I have customers waiting.”
    Footsteps sounded and Soulai looked up to see Soulassa sprinting down the path ahead of several villagers. His mother hurried along, the baby clamped to her chest with one arm and his youngest sister balanced on her hip with the other. An aunt, clutching the hand of another sister, bustled alongside his uncle. Tagging behind, exchanging inquisitive looks, came two boys his own age. There were others, he knew, but Soulai’s vision suddenly blurred. He managed to swallow the cry that shot to his lips, only to hear it burst from his mother’s.
    â€œHe comes of free will,” Jahdunlim shouted. He lifted his whip as a weapon and halted everyone except Soulai’s mother. She slid her daughter from her hip and, wailing brokenheartedly, rushed to embrace her son. The baby’s high-pitched voice joined in.“Why? Why? Why?” she cried, first to the sky, then to her husband.
    Scowling, he yanked her free. “It’s the only way,” he repeated. “I had to choose one of the children. And he’s the one who…” His hasty glance at Soulai revealed his disappointment. Gathering his composure, he straightened. “A man measures his worth in his scars,” he said gruffly. “In five years your son will come back a man.”
    At the mention of five years Soulai’s mother ceased her crying. She took a wavering step backward and her free hand hovered near the empty O of her mouth. The jaws of his two friends fell open and their eyes met Soulai’s. Crushing humiliation made him look away. Standing apart from everyone was Soulassa. Her black eyes darted from her brother to her father, then back again.
    The baby’s crying rose a pitch and Soulai fought against bursting into tears himself. He ached to feel his mother’s arms enfold him. I’m not ready to be a man, he wanted to scream, not yet! I’m just a boy—a smallish, bony-shouldered boy who runs from lions. Can’t you all see that?
    But Jahdunlim was prodding him toward the path leading from the village. The trader tore free the reins of his gelding. Instead of mounting, however, he used the animal and himself as buffers for their retreat. Soulai glanced over his shoulder. The image he carried with him was of his mother kneeling upon the ground, one trembling hand covering her mouth; of his father, stiff-jawed and silent; and of Soulassa, calmly gathering his horse sculptures into her arms.
    It seemed fitting, he thought, that since he had mourned his death last night, he’d have a funeral procession today. His life was over. He wasn’t a man; he wasn’t even a son. He was merely a thing to be bartered.
    Head bowed, he stumbled down the dirt path. The thong cut into his skin with each step, inscribing his father’s words: A man