To Ride the Gods’ Own Stallion by Diane Lee Wilson Read Free Book Online Page B

thin hand and began wrapping Ti’s neck again. Soulai couldn’t tell the difference from the way the asu had wrapped them in the first place.
    â€œYou are the stable master, are you not?” The ashipu was speaking with no less disdain to Mousidnou now, who nodded quickly. “Trim the frog of the right front hoof, then.” He stepped aside.
    Grunting, Mousidnou bent over his ample belly to lift Ti’s hoof and slice a section from the leathery center, which he handed to the ashipu. The man dropped it into the ashes. Another spark, a small flame, and the moon-shaped piece started to shrivel. Before it was consumed, however, the ashipu plucked it out and ground it up in his own small bowl. Then, poking the powder into a reed, the tall man walked to Ti’s head, grasped an ear, and blew the dust into it.
    He held the long fingers of his right hand splayed across the frightened horse’s forehead, holding him magically captive. The man’s eyelids fluttered, then closed. “O Ishtar, goddess of Nineveh,” the ashipu prayed, “let the might of this steed’s hooves pound out the evil that threatens to drive him from the light of this world. O Shamash, exalted in this land, let not the claw of a lion fell this royal creature, but let your mighty hand spare his life that he may see out his number of days and gallop toward the destiny that you alone have determined.”
    The ashipu opened his eyes. His gaze fell upon Habasle and his lips curled as he reached out to lift one of the lion’s paws. “Killed by your own hand?”
    â€œI thrust my spear into him.”
    The man let the paw drop. “Your mother will be proud.”
    â€œI’d rather my father know the pride.”
    The ashipu folded his arms, looked down his hooked nose, and blinked. “But we’ll never know if your father knows, will we, since we don’t know in which alley he sleeps?”
    Habasle grasped the hilt of his knife. “My father is King Ashurbanipal.”
    â€œSo says your mother,” the ashipu responded with a sneer. Out of thin air a knife appeared in his own hand and he held it high between them. He twisted the blade in the fiery light of the newly lit lanterns. “A claw,” he said, and slashed a toe from the lion’s foot. Soulai heard Mousidnou exhale as the ashipu turned toward Ti and knotted the claw in his mane. And he noted Habasle’s chest rising and falling beneath the limp paws, though his face displayed a rigid calm.
    The asu was studying the ashipu’s bandaging when he called to the others. “Have you seen this?” he asked. “This mark on his other shoulder? Doesn’t it look like the wings of a hawk? I believe he’s been blessed by Ninurta himself.”
    Before anyone could move closer, though, Ti let out a long groan and sank to the bedding. Soulai shot a panicked look at Mousidnou. “The evil spirits,” the stable master whispered in explanation. “Doing battle with the gods.” He watched the horse and he shook his head. “Not many a man, let alone an animal, lives through this.”
    Ti’s sudden collapse brought back the ashipu’s scowl. He folded his bony frame into a crouching position over the small fire, pulled fragrant leaves from his dark pouch, and tossed them into the flames. Now his invocation seemed more in earnest.
    â€œO Ninurta,” he spoke, “god of the hunt, god of war, grant that the wounds of this noble horse, one of your hallowed creatures and faithful servants, may heal. Grant that this animal may once again shine as a servant to his god, the one that has marked him in his own image, and that he may gallop over the land trumpeting the glorious name of Ninurta.”
    The flames slowly died out. The horse didn’t get up. “That is all I can do,” the ashipu announced. He stood and walked away. After an awkward silence, the asu followed.
    Soulai glared