Dark Horse (3 page)

Desperately, Gabria went to work. The digging she thought she could do in two days now had to be finished in one. Some of the mud had slipped back during the night, but most of the wal s had held.

Extending these deeper, Gabria dug along the mare's stomach and down her haunches. She could see how the foal had dropped, and she hoped it would be an easy labor. The mare was stiff and weakened from her imprisonment and was in no condition to fight a difficult birth.

The morning passed slowly, broken by intermittent snow and moments of warm sun. Gabria stopped several times to col ect more shale and brush, then continued on as fast as her complaining body al owed. Once, she had to stop to wrap the bleeding blisters and lacerations on her hands.

By late afternoon, Gabria was nearing the end of her strength. Only her intense desire to free the mare and the unborn foal gave her the energy to keep digging. Her movements became automatic: scoop out the mud, throw it aside, and pack in the rock. The aches in her arms and back united into one massive hurt, then faded as she pushed herself to the edges of endurance. After a time, it became easy to ignore the melting snow that trickled through her clothes. She only concentrated on fighting her growing lassitude.

The mare became agitated. Faint tremors rippled along her flanks, and she tossed her head in annoyance. Finally, in an effort to calm the horse and keep herself moving, Gabria began to talk aloud.

"I'm sorry, beautiful one, to be taking so long. I will have you out before your time, I promise. I just wasn't prepared for something like this." She laughed bitterly and flung a handful of mud behind her.

"Do you know how much is left when an encampment is burned? Very, very little. A few bits of charred rope, some blackened metal, and heaps and heaps of ashes. Many bodies, too. . . stabbed and slashed, or shot with arrows, or crushed by horses' hooves, or burned. But dead. Al dead. Even the children. The horses and livestock are gone. There is nothing. Only death and emptiness and stench."

The Hunnuli quieted and was watching Gabria with an uncanny look of understanding and sympathy, but the girl was bent over her task and did not see the horse's eyes.

"It has never happened before, you know. Oh, we fight often. There is nothing a clansman likes more than a good fight. But not like this. Nothing like this. It was a massacre!" She fiercely wiped her eyes.

"I found my brothers together,” Gabria continued dul y. "They fought back to back and their enemies' blood flowed. I saw it. The murderers took their dead with them, but they left a great deal of blood behind. My brothers must have been too much for them, though. In the end, the cowards ran my brothers through with lances instead of fighting them like men. Father died before his hall and his hearthguard, his chosen warriors, defended him to the last man. There is no one else left.”

For a time, Gabria was silent, and the ghosts of her dead clan haunted her memories. Even the pain of her body could not mask the aching loneliness that terrified her soul.

"I'm the only one," she snapped. "I was not there when they needed me. I ran off like a spoiled child because my father said I was to be married. When I came back to apologize for my heated words, he was dead. I am justly punished." She paused for a moment, then continued.

"I must earn the right to be a clansman now. I am neither man nor woman: I am an exile!" Gabria slammed a handful of gravel into the mud. "That is what is so ironic, Hunnuli. It was a band of exiles, renegades, that ambushed my clan. Exiles sent by that foul dung, Lord Medb.

"Oh, but he wil pay the weir-geld for this, Hunnuli. He thinks no one is alive who knows. But I know, and I know, too, that Lord Medb will die. I, Gabria of Clan Corin, am going to take my weir-geld in his blood. He does not realize that I am still alive, but he will know soon. May his heart tremble at the thought of his treachery being shouted to the clans and the world."

Without warning, dizziness shook Gabria's head and she fell against the mare. The girl lay panting on the horse's warm back while her whole body trembled with rage and fatigue. "I must hold on." Her voice rasped in her throat.

The Hunnuli remained still, letting the girl rest until her muscles slowly relaxed and her violent trembling eased. At last, Gabria sat back on her heels. Her face held no expression except for the rigid line to her jaw, the only mark of her hard won control.

It was getting dark and another light snow was falling. Despite her own weariness, Gabria noticed the mare was getting more uncomfortable. Her worry increased, for if the mare went into labor now, she would not be able to pul herself out of the mud. It was time to get the Hunnuli out.

Her legs sore from kneeling, Gabria painfully worked her way off the log platform to the bank. The mare neighed irritably. Her eyes rol ed in distress.

"Yes, I think I'm finished,” Gabria said. "But I do wish I had some rope." She quickly threw more gravel on the ramp to give the mare added traction.

Much of the mud had been cleared away in a crude circle around the horse, but the heavy mire still clung tenaciously to her hind legs and a great mass lay under her bel y. Gabria hoped with the log ramp beneath the Hunnuli's hooves, the horse could utilize her massive strength to pul herself out.

There was nothing more Gabria could do.

"It's up to you now," she said to the horse.

The Hunnuli understood. She stil ed and closed her eyes. Her muscles began to bulge as if she were concentrating all of her power into one gigantic upheaval. Her neck bowed and trembled in her effort.

Her nostrils flared as her breath steamed like the vent of a volcano. Then, without warning, the mare lunged forward, her entire being straining against the confining mud. Her muscles bunched in cords of black along her neck and rump. Her sinews Stretched until Gabria thought they would surely snap. Her huge hooves planted on the log ramp, the mare heaved upward, fighting for every inch of freedom.

Gabria sank to her knees, enthral ed by the horse's struggle. She felt helpless just watching, but she knew she would only be in the way if she tried to help. There was no place for her puny efforts beside the colossal exertion of the black horse.

Slowly, the mud began to relinquish its hold. The mare's front legs jumped a step forward, driving the logs deeper into the earth. She pul ed her back legs inch by inch toward the bank. Her stomach cleared the mire, clumps of mud clinging to her underbel y and to the distended milk bag. With one final effort, the mare threw herself upward. One hind leg lifted out and touched the ramp, then the other.

She heaved out of the mud hole with a neigh of triumph that echoed through the gul y. Gabria scrambled to her feet, crying with relief. They had done it! She threw her digging rock as far as she could and shouted again when she heard it hit the ground.

Immediately she went still. The Hunnuli was standing in front of her, her black form towering above Gabria's head and her neck arched proudly. Before Gabria knew what was happening, the horse reared.

Despite her sluggish body and aching legs, the mare threw her head back and rose up on her hind legs in the Hunnuli's ancient obeisance of respect and honor. Then the mare leaped away and cantered out of the gul y. Her hoof beats faded in the darkness.

Gabria's head began to whirl. A Hunnuli had reared to her--a mere girl, an exile. No one could claim mastery over a Hunnuli; what they gave was freely given. That one would pay her such an honor was more than she could believe.

She stared numbly at the mire where the mud was slowly falling back in place. Her eyes dimmed and the hil s swayed around her. Her muscles seemed to freeze, and, before she could stop herself, Gabria col apsed to the ground and emptiness closed her mind.

Help me!
a voice cried in her dreams.
Help me, Gabria.

She turned away from the insistent voice, wishing it would go away. The voice was strange, almost inhuman, and some sense told her it was female, but she did not care. Gabria just wanted to be left alone. She was so cold, she did not want to know who it was. Something warm nudged her cheek. She feebly pushed it away and wondered vaguely why her arm was so unwieldy. Not that it mattered; it was too much effort to find out. Sleep was more comfortable.

The thing shoved at her again with more force.

"Leave me alone," she mumbled.

Suddenly, something heavy slammed down beside her head. The girl flinched and slowly pried her eyes open. The moon had long set, and the sky was overcast. The darkness was almost total. It was impossible to see more than a few feet beyond her outstretched hand. Groggy and chilled, Gabria rolled over and tried to sit up. It was then that she saw a gigantic black shadow looming over her. Fear shocked through her. She screamed, threw her arms up, and jerked away from the terrifying apparition.

Help me,
the voice came again, pleading in her mind. Gabria crouched, staring about wildly. She had not heard a sound other than her own pounding heart. Where had that voice come from? The black shape had not moved, but stood, looking at her, its eyes glimmering with a pale, spectral light. It flickered softly, urgently.

Gabria's breath expelled in a loud gasp of relief. "Hunnuli?" she asked.

She stood up, shivering uncontrol ably, and stared at the horse in surprise. Something was terribly wrong. Gabria's fear for herself evaporated. She fumbled to the horse's side and was horrified to find the animal trembling violently and sweating despite the cold wind.

Gabria groped her way to her small camp and renewed her fire into a roaring blaze. The flames illuminated the Hunnuli and, in the unsteady firelight, Gabria saw her worst fears were confirmed. The mare was deep into labor; from the droop of her proud head and the tremors that rippled her mud-spattered coat, she had been for some time. Her hide was drenched in sweat and her ears wavered back in anxiety.

Slowly, so as not to startle her, Gabria stroked the horse's neck and carefully moved along her side to her tail. She had never delivered a foal alone, but she had helped her father with stricken mares and knew well enough what to look for. The horse stood immobile, panting hoarsely as Gabria examined her.

"Poor Hunnuli," said the girl. "What a time you've had. Your foal is so big. He may even be twisted inside." She prayed fervently it was not a breech birth. The mare's waters had broken some time before and her birth canal was painfully dry. If the foal was twisted inside, Gabria knew she did not have the strength to push the foal back against the natural contractions of the mare, straighten it, and pul it out again. She could only hope there was something else that was preventing an easy birth. She did not even know if the foal was alive, but something had to be done quickly if she was going to save it or the mare.

Rapidly, Gabria scraped some snow into her small water bag and set it near the fire. She sorted through her few possessions and picked out a pot of salve and her extra tunic. Then, working with al haste, she tore strips from the tunic and tied them with tiny knots into a soft rope with a noose fashioned at one end. As soon as the snow melted in the skin bag, she used the water to wash her hands and one arm clean. She took a liberal dab of creamy salve and rubbed it over her forearm and hand.

The girl picked up her rope, careful to keep it clean and moved to the mare's side. What she had to do next was going to be uncomfortable for the mare and herself, so she hoped the horse was too exhausted to complain. Using the utmost care, she eased her hand, holding the noose, into the mare's birth canal. The horse tossed her head, but she offered no resistance.

Gabria soon found the foal's front legs. She inched the noose around the tiny hooves and pul ed it tight, then she pushed her arm deeper past the foal's knees, struggling against the mare's contractions, which squeezed her hand with crushing force. When she found the foal's head, she sighed with relief, for the baby was not breech. Only its head was twisted, jamming it tightly against the pelvic bone.

Gabria's relief was pushed away by a feeling of dread. As she edged her fingers down the foal's cheek, her heart sank. The body was very unyielding and had none of the wiggling, warm movements of a live foal. In despair, she straightened the head and withdrew her arm. The mare, as if sensing her release, lay down while Gabria took the rope. With each contraction the girl pul ed steadily, softly talking to soothe the mare and hide her own fear.

At last the foal was born. It lay on the cold ground, its birthing sac wrapped around it, its eyes glazed in death. Gabria removed the sac and the afterbirth, and cleaned the foal's nostrils, although she knew her efforts were futile. The tiny horse had suffocated during the prolonged labor.

The girl sat down abruptly and stared at the dead foal. It was not fair, her heart cried. Why was she always too late? The baby was a stud colt of perfect proportions, with a streak of white on its black shoulder. Gabria's eyes filled with tears. If only she had not failed again, the colt would now be discovering its new life.

The mare lay motionless, half-dead with exhaustion. She made no move to examine her baby, as if she knew it was already beyond her help. Her eyes settled shut and her ragged breathing eased. Gabria sat with her arms on her knees and her head sunk in grief.

The fire slowly died to embers and its light was replaced by the glow of the rising sun. Night's gloom faded. A bird piped from a nearby clump of gorse. The clouds withdrew from the mountains, leaving the peaks in a dazzling coverlet of snow. On the steppes, the air was clean and brilliant.

It was the sun that final y roused Gabria. Its warmth seeped into her chil ed limbs and nestled on the back of her neck until she raised her head. She took a deep breath of the passing breeze and stretched out the stiffness in her aching muscles.

The sun felt delicious. It was so good to just sit in its warmth. But the heat on her back reminded Gabria of a possible danger. The mountain snows would begin to melt soon in this heat and the water would fill every available stream and wash. The last thaw that had formed the mud hole in the gul y had only touched the foothil s. Should the mountain run-off come down the eroded valleys, the gully she and the mare were in could be flooded. The water would take a little time to gather, but she did not want to dawdle. She had spent too much time here as it was. Her food supply and her strength were dwindling rapidly.