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

sneered the king.
    â€œâ€˜You could harness birds to a basket and be flown up into the sky,’ offered a young adviser who was always thinking.
    â€œâ€˜I like it!’ said the king, ‘I order you to gather one thousand birds.’
    â€œSo a call was put out and all across the land people began snaring birds and bringing them to the palace. Strings were knotted, one end around each bird’s leg and the other end to the basket, until there were a thousand birds affixed. Finally, when dusk fell and the stars began twinkling, the king climbed into the basket.
    â€œâ€˜I’m ready!’ he cried.
    â€œBut the birds, being ravens and doves and plovers, all day-flying birds, slept. The king was furious. He climbed out of the basket and shouted at his young adviser.
    â€œâ€˜Get me some night-flying birds and have this basket ready tomorrow or I’ll have you thrown down a well,’ he threatened.
    â€œSo the next morning another call was put out, and this time, from all across the land, people began gathering bats. As it was daylight, the winged creatures were fast asleep and had no idea that they were being harnessed to a basket. The king was very pleased, and, just as the sun was setting, he climbed into the basket and stared at the sky, waiting for his horse of stars to appear.
    â€œThe young adviser appeared at his side. ‘This could be dangerous,’ he warned the king. ‘Perhaps we should attach a long rope to the basket—’
    â€œâ€˜So you can pull me to the ground and keep me away from my horse?’ the king cried, ‘I won’t hear of any such thing.’
    â€œThe sun set as he finished speaking and the bats began to stir. Alarmed to find themselves tethered, they unfolded their wings at once and flew into the sky like a great black cloud. The king in his basket was carried along with them, higher and higher and looking smaller and smaller, until he was no bigger than one eye on his great horse of stars.”
    Naboushoumidin looked at Soulai and grinned. “I can’t tell you what became of him, but I can say that since that day no king has tried to capture the stars.”
    Soulai shared the scribe’s amusement. “Have you told that story to Habasle?”
    â€œI could tell it, but the question is, would he hear it?”
    Naboushoumidin swatted a fly away from his face. “He may one day be king, but you must be the young adviser. Always thinking, no?” He tapped his forehead with his finger.
    By this time the mastiff had stretched out, his massive head resting on his paws. His shoulders vibrated with rapid breathing. More flies clustered around the moist rims of his closed eyes. Naboushoumidin rose stiffly, tugged on the leash, and the dog sleepily stood up. The three continued across the courtyard.
    Just before they reached the stable, Naboushoumidin spoke. “I have been guessing, Soulai, ever since I saw you at the library’s entrance, that you have a question. I have all the knowledge of all the lands at my fingertips. So what is it that most troubles your heart?”
    Soulai thought about himself, about the years of slavery awaiting him. Images crashed through his mind; images of his father grabbing his wrists, of his mother crying, of Soulassa—was she a wife already? He remembered her gathering up the stiff-legged horses he had molded from clay. And then he thought of Ti. The dull coat, the lifeless eyes. More than anything else he wanted to know if Ti would ever get better, if he’d get back his spirit. If, somehow, he, Soulai, would be able to—
    â€œWhat?” the scribe prompted.
    â€œTi,” Soulai whispered. “Do you know what will happen to Ti?”
    â€œWho is this Ti?”
    â€œA horse…the most incredible horse you could ever…” Soulai’s voice trailed off. How could he fit words around the stallion’s spirit, a fire he had once sensed but could