by Raven, age 13

Crouched like a cat on the temple balcony, I watched as the priest turned to the stone idol and chanted words of worship. I listened and caught some of it… “Praise be to Hien Gala, the Horse God of Nalarag—I shook my head in disgust. The Horse-God? That stone idol held no god and served no purpose than to gather dust. As if that cold stone carving could even capture the wild spirit of the horse. Fools.

The priest turned and called something to the guards by the door. I understood it as, “Bring in the sacrifice.”

I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see this. Why had I come to watch the morning worship anyway? I didn’t believe in any of the Nalarag people’s beliefs, and I would be better off taking care of my little siblings or rooting weeds out of the garden at home.

But then I heard it—a faint, confused nicker. My eyes flew open and I stared in horror as a beautiful white mare with garlands around her neck was led to the altar. The priest wrapped his hand around the hilt of a silver, shining knife.

“No!” The word burst from my lips as I leapt from the balcony and landed beside the priest in front of the altar. They stared at me in shock—the worshipers’ eyes were wide as coins and the guards’ mouths fell open.

But the priest did not stay in shock for long. Anger flashed in his eyes, and I realized what I had gotten into. Priests and worshipers took their gods seriously, and I had interrupted the ritual. He hissed, “Get away, girl. Get out of the sacred temple of Hien Gala.”

“Don’t sacrifice the horse!” I pleaded. “Lord Priest, I beg you. Please let her go.”

He drew back his lips and his nostrils flared. “Throw her out,” he snapped to the guards. They started toward me, and panic flared inside my mind. I twisted out of the grasp of one of the guards, grabbed the rope from another guard’s hands, and swung up onto the white mare’s back.

The worshipers stood up and cried out in anger as I wheeled the horse around and kicked her forward. She broke into a canter, ripping the delicate aisle carpet under her hooves as she tore down the aisle. I heard the priest shrieking and cursing behind me. The guards at the end started to close the massive oaken doors, but the mare put on an extra burst of speed and made it onto the street.

She paused then, looking wildly from side to side. I turned her head toward the gates and kicked her, whispering, “Come on, Wild Spirit. Run!”

She tore through the streets, toppling vendors’ carts and tearing up rotted cobblestones with her hooves. Shouts of anger pursued me. I turned my head and saw the temple guards coming after me—their swords drawn.

She could outrun them. I was sure of it. Even though I had only a halter to control her with, I didn’t need to control her. I was sure I could stay on.

And I did stay on—all the way through the city, out of the city and a good way into the country before I started to pull back on the halter. “Slow down, Wild Spirit. Come on, slow it down. We’re safe.”

Finally she did slow down until she stopped. She stood there, trembling, her ears listening for any threat, her eyes rolling. I slipped down, and ran my hand over her neck.

“Calm down, girl. See, you’re safe. You’re not going to die.”

Now that I had this horse, what should I do with her?

**********

As I led the mare up the dirt path to my big wooden hut, I saw my little brothers and sisters playing in the garden. My oldest sister, Mon Ranaka, was pulling weeds and watching my siblings play. My two older brothers, Tylan Ralas and Yale Numen, were chopping up the ground further down for the cabbages, and my mother, Maya Ghilardi, was standing in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron and watching her children with a smile.

She had raised us mostly by herself—only Mon Ranaka and Tylan Ralas remembered our father, Oranus Phiran. He had died, years ago, in the battle of the Nalarag Plains, forced to fight by the King. It had been three hundred Nalarag warriors against nine hundred Eastern warriors. There had been no strategy, no planning—just run out and fight. I hated the King of Nalarag for forcing the warriors to die even though there was no hope.

My mother turned her head, and saw me.

“Shimiya Dan!” My name burst from her lips as she stared at me. “What in Nalarag—where did you get that horse?”

My sister stood up, and my brothers came closer. I gave an inward groan. This would be hard.

“Ye Gods, Shimiya,” Tylan Ralas said, dropping his hoe. “What have you done?”

“I…I was watching a temple worship,” I said slowly. “They were going to sacrifice her, Mother. I had to rescue her.”

My sister came forward to stand beside Tylan Ralas, and placed her hands on her hips. “And what was your method of saving her?”

I watched the horse. She appeared to me calming down. I wished that she could explain things for me.

“I jumped down from the balcony, got on her back and rode her out,” I said as quickly as I could.

“Oh, Shimiya,” my mother moaned, dropping her head into her hands. “You stole a sacrifice to a god?”

“I didn’t steal her because she didn’t belong to them!” I said furiously. “They had stolen her from the wild, had ripped her from her home. I rescued her.”

“Shim, you stupid idiot,” Yale Numen said. “You’ve brought the temple guards down on us! Can’t you ever think about others once in a while, instead of pleasing your own selfish—”

“Stop it,” Mon Ranaka snapped. “Shim could’ve done things differently, but don’t you go insulting and railing on her again.”

“All right, Shim,” my mother said, sighing. “Go put her in the stables. Then come inside, and we’ll talk about it.”

**********

Later, when the mare was safely resting in a stall, I was sitting on one of the wooden chairs inside the house, explaining every detail.

My mother sat beside me, watching the fire crackle on the hearthstones. Yale Numen and Tylan Ralas leaned against the wall, while Mon Ranaka stood by the door watching the little ones in the garden.

I finished and waited for my mother to speak.

Finally she did.

“Shimiya, my reckless girl,” she said, “you shouldn’t have endangered yourself like that. You endangered all of us. The guards could’ve followed you all the way here and we could’ve been imprisoned.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” I said. “But they won’t find us here, Mother. They didn’t even follow me out of the city.”

“So you said.”

“You can’t very well return the horse, I suppose,” Tylan Ralas said.

I smiled. “I don’t think so.”

“Shim,” my mother sighed, “we don’t have the money to keep a horse. She’d eat up what little money we have.”

“But, Mother,” I said, leaning forward, “it’s spring. Grass is everywhere. She doesn’t need anything but grass and water. We don’t have to spend a coin on her. And I’d ride her; I’d keep her company—”

“I know you would,” Mother interrupted. “I’m not worried about that. But Shim, what about in the fall and winter? All the grass would be dead and there’d be nothing for her to eat. Then we’d have to buy hay, and that’s four coppers a bale. Grain is ten coppers a barrel. We can’t spare that money.”

“Mother, I could earn the money myself,” I said desperately. “I could work in for a vendor, or in a bar—”

“I will never see any of my daughters working as a barmaid,” Mother said sharply. “I don’t want you working for some untrustworthy vendor, either.”

“Then Farmer Mannos, over in the valley. He’d pay me a few coppers for a good day’s work. Mother, I love her already. I could earn the money to keep her; you wouldn’t have to pay for anything. Please, Mother, let me keep her.”

Mother sighed, hesitated a moment, then nodded. “All right. But if anything happens, she’s going right back to where she came from.”

I leapt up and gave her a hug. Then I raced outside to the stables.

**********

My mare, Wild Spirit, and I became the best of friends. I would ride her through the woods, over the plains, and back again, with only a halter and a blanket. Sometimes I would let my brothers and sisters ride her, but she responded best to me. I wonder if she knew that I had saved her life.

Early one morning I went out to the stable, the dewy grass brushing across my feet. I slid back the bolt on the stable door and entered.

My horse was gone.

An arm strong as steel encircled my neck. I felt the cold point of a knife prick my neck.

“So this is the little horse thief,” a husky voice whispered in my ear. “The High Priest begs an audience with you.”

I whirled around in my captor’s grasp. He wore a long dark green cloak and hood that shadowed his face, but I saw the flash of sharp eyes under the hood.

His grip on my shoulder suddenly tightened when he saw me. “A girl?” he hissed. “It’s a girl I’m to take to die?”

“Where’s my horse?” I whispered, not daring to scream for help because of the knife at my neck.

He didn’t answer. He seemed to hesitate, and then dragged me out of the barn and around behind it. Then I saw Wild Spirit—she was tied to a tree, her eyes rolling and snorting in the cold morning air. It was to her that my captor dragged me. I put up a struggle when he swung me onto her back and got up behind me, but the knife pricked harder and I felt a drop of blood slide down my neck.

He kicked Wild Spirit roughly and she bolted. He jerked her head to the right and she ran towards the city.

Everybody at home would think that I had gone riding. They wouldn’t be worried for hours upon end.

Would the Priest use me as the sacrifice instead?

**********

Wild Spirit started to shy when we neared the gate, but my captor merely kicked her hard and urged her through the gate. Dread grew in my heart as we rode to the temple, and inside it.

The priest stood at the altar. A smile curved across his face when he saw me, and he ran his fingers down the blade of the knife.

The doors boomed shut behind us. Silence fell. My heart pounded.

Wild Spirit pulled back on her halter as we got off her back and gave a deep, confused nicker. She remembered this place.

My captor jerked hard on the rope and, reluctantly, she followed us down to the altar.

“You will pay for stealing the sacred sacrifice of Hien Gala,” the priest said, his voice echoing in the temple. I stared at him, feeling the hundreds of worshipers’ eyes on me. “Bring her up, Ram Akota.”

Ram Akota. So that was the name of my captor. I hated him with all my heart.

Ram Akota, pushing me ahead of him, led Wild Spirit onto the altar.

So I would be killed as a sacrifice. What would happen to my family? Would they ever find out who had killed me?

At least I had Wild Spirit with me. I would die with her.

The priest pushed me down onto the altar. I lay there, watching the priest raise his knife. Sudden tears pricked my eyes. What had I done to deserve this?

My eyes went to Wild Spirit. She was watching me in confusion. Did she know what was happening? Did she know that both our lives were ending?

The priest’s eyes suddenly flamed, and I took a last breath.

But then a hand shot out quick as a snake and grabbed the priest’s arm, stopping him from plunging the knife down. Ram Akota stood there.

His hood had fallen back and I saw his face—strong and unwavering, green eyes burning. There was no trace of hesitation or doubt on his features.

“You—traitor,” the priest hissed. “Release me!”

“I’m sorry,” Ram Akota said softly. “I’ve changed my mind.”

With one twist of his arm, he threw the priest off the altar. I got to my feet and grabbed Wild Spirit’s lead rope. Two shrieking worshipers ran forward, but Ram Akota felled one with a hook kick and the other with a blow to the temple. But the temple guards had been trained as warriors, and they would not be so easy. As they drew their swords and came forward, Ram Akota whirled to face me. “Fly, girl,” he said. “Take your horse and fly.”

His eyes met mine for one flaming moment, and then I swung up onto Wild Spirit’s back. The guards slashed at her and she reared. I kicked her forward and she ran for the doors. The door guards scattered as she charged at them. I leapt down and wrenched the doors open.

I looked back one time before I rode away. Ram Akota was fighting the temple guards. I saw more coming. He would die—why didn’t he run?

It suddenly struck me. He was saving me. He wouldn’t run. He was fearless.
I swung up onto Wild Spirit’s back and rode out of the accursed city.

**********

I never told my family what had happened, and the priest never came after me. But sometimes in the evening, when the sun was sinking and the chill night air was playing with Wild Spirit’s mane, I would ride to high cliff and look out at the city. There with my faithful friend beside me, I would whisper my thanks.