Chapter Sixteen
I was torn. I wanted to look away, certain that at any second, disaster would strike and Aina would be thrown to the ground, never to stand again. Yet at the same time, her mother watched, allowing her to continue, albeit with creases of concern shadowing her face.
“Is it safe?” I asked as Aina reached an area where the trees thickened and I dragged my eyes away.
Iphinone shrugged. “She has broken countless bones. But it is safer if it happens like this, while I watch her, than if I refused to allow it. She would only sneak down here on her own if I attempted such a thing and probably try to run away with that horse of hers.”
It was her horse. Not in the manner chariot riders possessed horses, though, or the way we had possessed the mules before Morsimus had sold them for drink. Aina owned the horse, and the horse owned her. I could see it now. That togetherness. Myrina. Belonging to me.
I stood there and watched, mesmerized. The wind strengthened, billowing my robe, but I did not care. Only when a new thought entered my mind did I speak again.
“Are there other horses she can ride?” I asked.
“She has made one or two attempts. Some went more favorably than others, but it is Myrina who enjoys it the most. It would not surprise me if, one day, when I cannot bring Aina, the horse shows up at our door.”
“Their bond is that strong?”
“It is.”
I watched the way Aina controlled the animal’s movements with the pressure of her legs, altering its speed and lengthening its stride with a squeeze of her thighs. A new thought occurred to me.
“Can you do the same?”
Iphinone let out a deep chuckle. “I am not inclined to try.”
“What about your son? Ereas? Has he ridden?”
“He has not. He is certain his sister suffers from insanity.”
Insanity? Perhaps. But it was a marvel. A phenomenon. A gift I had not known existed, and I could not let the idea rest.
“Do you think that you could?” I pressed. “You say you have not tried, but if the desire struck you, do you think you could ride in the manner she does?”
Iphinone moved as if to laugh, only to stop and study my face more closely.
“I will not say I have not considered it. The joy Aina experiences would be enough to make even the harshest critic consider an attempt. And there is one horse who I believe might trust me enough to allow it: the young stallion you see there, with the deep bay coat. But for now, he is too young and spirited.”
“But you could work to form a bond with another, could you not?”
“Perhaps.”
I had fallen into a world of dreams, where women rode horses and galloped across the land as though they were as free as Hermes with his winged sandals.
These were the tales the rhapsodes told, stories etched in song for all eternity, and I longed to be a part of them.
I turned to Althea, who was listening silently.
“What about you? Would you try such a thing?” I asked her.
Althea chewed on the inside of her cheek.
“I am not one to shy away from adventure,” she said. “And the way Aina looks in these moments… Perhaps I would try someday.”
I could feel it rising from her, the same energy that was building within me. As we walked, I had been envious of Aina’s passion, but my envy was transforming into something more invigorating.
“And what about this bond they talk of? You have been here before. Do you feel bonded to any of the horses?”
Althea’s laugh was strong and long. “I have not been close enough to any of them to form such a thing, but there is one who I always feel is watching me. The dappled gray mare. The one with a foal.”
It took me a moment to locate the horse to which Althea referred, and when I found her, it was with a sense of surprise.
She was far from the giant beast that I imagined Althea being drawn to.
If anything, she was rather plain, unlike the herd’s stallion, who held his head up high in the center of them all and had been watching us intently since the moment we arrived.
“What about him?” I gestured toward the stallion. “Is he one that Aina would ride?”
“Erebus?”
Darkness. Named by a child yet it fit him so completely, for not a glimmer of light reflected from his jet-black coat. His attention had barely moved from our group, but only then did I feel the intensity of his gaze.
“She would never admit it, but I believe Aina is a little scared of Erebus,” Iphinone said. “It is his herd after all. Thankfully, she has the sense to show him the deference he deserves.”
“So she does not ride him?”
“She does not.”
This should have been a warning, but in that moment, I felt as if Aina had not taken Erebus as her own, not because she could not but because he was waiting for me. I dared not say such a thing aloud, for it would sound delusional, so instead I asked another question.
“How is it best to approach them? Slowly, I assume?”
“Slowly and with your hands raised. At least that is what Aina has always done.”
It was not the advice of a child but of one with years of experience, and I knew I would be a fool not to take it. “I am going to try. I am going to approach Erebus.”
The pair simultaneously raised their eyebrows but said nothing. I do not think I would have changed my mind even if they had. My pulse racing, I took those first steps toward the herd.
“I am not here to harm you. To harm any of you.” I spoke as I walked, mainly to block out the drumming of my heart.
Several on the outside of the herd eyed me curiously before backing away, though not far.
Soon I was there, moving among the animals as if I were one of them, but my gaze was fixed only on him.
“Erebus. Erebus.” My voice came out as if it were part of the wind, a gentle breeze that fluttered through the leaves to reach his ear.
“You hear me, Erebus. I am not here to hurt you. It is you and I, Erebus. Only us.” My heart was so far up my throat that I could barely swallow.
I did not fear that he would hurt me. No, my fear was that he would reject me.
Each step took me closer until I found myself at a distance from where, if I stretched out my arm, my fingertips would brush his coat.
But that was not what I wanted. I had no desire for some tentative blink of a moment.
I wished to place my palms flat against the muscles of his neck and feel his heat run into me.
I wished for him to feel my pulse and for us to be bonded, heartbeat against heartbeat.
So I took a step farther. His head snapped toward me, his nostrils flared.
“You can trust me, Erebus. You can trust me. I would never hurt you. Or your herd. I see the way you protect them. They are your children. They are lucky to have you watching over them.” I could not say where the words came from, but they were a stream that did not stop, and I swore he understood.
In turn, I took note of every small movement, from the swish of his tail—sometimes to bat away the flies but sometimes to give a warning—to the way his ears rotated, leaning forward only to swivel back if I took a step too fast or raised my voice a fraction too loud.
I stepped again and closed my eyes, drawing in a deep breath.
Shutting out the world around me, I lifted my hand and placed it on his neck.
That second was everything I hoped it would be. The exchange of touch. Of warmth. Of trust.
“She’s doing it! She is with Erebus!”
Aina’s shrill was all it took for the moment to break. Erebus’s ears snapped against his head, and I stepped back, not looking where I was going. I stumbled and shrieked, and the great black animal gnashed its teeth. He caught my shoulder, and a spray of blood flared up into the air.