Estrella slowed her pace. Foam dripped from her mouth and she smelled her own sweat. It was different from the sweat of the hold. It was sweat from running and not just from heat. She turned and saw the gray stallion picking his way down the beach.
Is that running? she wondered. His hooves struck the sand in an odd pattern, each leg lifting and striking the ground independently. It was quite pretty but not very swift.
“Why are you running that way?” the filly asked as Hold On approached.
“I’m not running. It’s not even trotting or walking,” he replied.
“What is it, then?”
“It’s a gait for close combat. The paso cierra de combate.”
“Where’s the battle?”
“Nowhere.” The stallion looked surprised. “I was taught that gait when I was a colt. That and so many others.” Hold On began reeling off a half-dozen words: “The andadura, the paso andado, marcha, el sobre paso.” His hooves began to dance in the sand, delicate little steps that looked silly to Estrella. “I guess I got used to them.”
“Were they all used for close combat?”
“Oh, no. Most were to make our gaits smoother for the rider.”
Estrella’s dam had told her about being ridden. That was what masters did. They climbed onto horses’ backs, but not before they had strapped on saddles and put something called bits in the horses’ mouths. Estrella never quite understood what a bit was. It sounded horrible.
“How do they teach you these gaits?” she asked with a curl of her lip.
“Different ways. They hobble one leg to another with straps, or put strings with rattling balls around our legs. They use their spurs and bits.”
“Bits sound awful!” said Estrella.
Hold On blinked at the filly. It seemed such a strange thing to say. He was so used to the bit, but of course it was awful. And of course the filly would think so. She had not yet been shod by the blacksmith. Her mouth, still soft, had never known the sharp tugs of the bit that gave such power to the rider.
Hold On looked at the filly steadily. Her resemblance to her dam was uncanny, despite the difference in their coats. Their eyes were nearly identical; he had noticed it immediately. Like her dam’s, Estrella’s eye color at first appeared to be brown with a touch of gold, like the deepest amber. But sometimes they seemed to glow as if there were a fire burning inside. Now in the moonlight, there was a spark in them that suggested a remarkable intelligence, an intelligence not unlike Perlina’s.
The spirit of the mare lurked like a ghost horse deep within the filly. The old stallion made a quick decision. There was no need for Estrella to hear more about bits, nor about gaits and spurs. They were in a country without men, without riders. It was wild country and he must begin to disregard all he had learned in the Old Land. It would not help him here.
“Bits are awful. And I must forget my bit lessons,” Hold On said.
Estrella cocked her head slightly to one side and regarded the stallion. Though he was dark gray, a few white hairs showed on his muzzle.
Suddenly, Hold On reared into the air, then plunged back down again and thrust out his back legs. He began leaping and kicking. Estrella was astounded. She had never seen a horse move like this.
“It’s bucking!” Hold On neighed when he saw her confusion. He was neighing and snorting and making all manner of boisterous noises. She could scarcely believe how high his hindquarters could kick.
“You’re bucking the stars!” Estrella whinnied gleefully.
“I am bucking out the old!” Hold On shouted.
“The old gaits?” Estrella asked. His excitement was contagious and she pawed the air.
“The old everything!” he bellowed.
The noise woke the other horses and they came pounding down the beach in an odd array of gaits — the paso cierra, the andadura. She couldn’t tell which was which. They all looked ridiculous to her and to Sky, as neither had been gait trained.
Soon, all the horses were bucking and galloping. Their antic shadows sprinted across the moon-washed sand. Sky simply flew. It seemed as if his four hooves didn’t even touch the sand. But through the excitement, and even though the salt air swirled in her nostrils, Estrella kept her mind on the lingering smell of the sweet grass. She knew they must move on. The silvery path of the moon beckoned her, and Perlina’s voice was like an ember in her brain. You are the first herd, and I the last, and we’ll go forward together.
Sky galloped up to Estrella. “We’re the fastest!” he crowed.
“It’s because their legs still tangle in the old gaits,” Estrella replied.
He flattened his ears. “Don’t worry. They’ll forget. Forgetting is good,” the colt said. “I had a dam once, but I was weaned by the time they put me on the ship. I hardly remember her now.”
Forgetting may be good, Estrella thought. She knew it would be easier if she could forget the death of her dam, but she steeled herself to remember. She had to keep the memory of her dam and the sweet grass firmly in her mind. She was of the first herd; she was the youngest of that herd and she could not forget, for she had very little memory of her dam.
She turned back and looked at the four horses behind her. Their strides were smoothing out and they gained speed and beauty. Their backs stretched and their strides lengthened as they shook off the old gaits. Their tails flared out behind them and their manes lifted in the wind, like spindrift off a cresting wave.
They know, Estrella thought. They feel it. We are coming home.
Just before dawn, the horses set off to explore the far side of the island. The beach ended abruptly in a point that projected out into a narrow channel. On the far side of the channel they could see land — a big land. The horses sniffed the air and blew, as they often did when they were curious. But what were they curious about? Estrella’s ears pricked forward. Were they picking up the scent of the sweet grass? Sky’s lips peeled back and his nostrils trembled slightly.
“Sky,” she asked tentatively. “Do you smell something — something fresh and sweet?”
Sky looked at her quizzically. “No. I smell salt. Just salt.”
“Nothing else?” Estrella asked.
“No.” He shook his head, as if he regretted disappointing her.
Estrella felt that if they could detect even the faintest whiff of the sweet grass, it would bind them, make them fast as a herd. There were things that horses could not be told but must feel to accept. She could not tell the horses they were a herd now. They would not be a herd until they knew it, felt it in their bones. She was not sure why this was so. She just knew it.
Something more pressing concerned her at the moment. How would they cross the channel? The smell of the sweet grass led across it. But to swim again? To be torn apart by a shark?
Hold On trotted up and she turned to him.
“We have to cross.”
Hold On looked at her. “Then we will cross.”
“B-b-but what about …”
“Sharks?”
“Yes.”
Hold On squinted. “It looks shallow. Not much deeper than we are tall.”
“Is it too shallow for sharks? Shallow enough to walk across?”
Hold On thought for a minute. “Maybe soon. We should wait.” He fixed her with a steady gaze. “You have someplace for us to go?”
Estrella felt a shiver pass through her. How could she share what she had seen in her dam’s eyes? How could she explain a feeling or describe a scent? Hold On was not challenging her. His question was not one of doubt or defiance. Still, she knew he expected her to say something. He wasn’t worried about where they were going, but he was very anxious about Angela and Corazón, who seemed to want to cling to the old ways.
She turned to the others as they stood on the edge of the beach. “Sky and I have never held a bit in our mouths. We have never had a saddle strapped on our backs. We have never known the weight of carrying a queen, a prince, or a padre.”
“But you could
learn!” said Angela. “When they break you, you’ll learn.”
“We don’t want to learn!” Sky snapped.
“Don’t be rude,” Hold On cautioned the colt. He took a step toward Angela and looked at her earnestly. “Do you really want these two to learn to take the bit? Bits can hurt, remember. Bits do not allow a horse to think.” He said this very gently, as it was clear that Angela was agitated.
Estrella stepped beside him so her face was close to Angela. Estrella’s breath stirred Angela’s whiskers and the few salt crystals still clinging to them. “We don’t want to learn the ways of the masters because there is something better waiting for us.”
“There is?” Corazón came in close as well.
“Home,” Estrella replied quietly. “Home.”
Corazón looked puzzled. “You mean the home of the first Iber Jennets and the Barbs, our noble ancestors?” Corazón asked.
“Before that,” Hold On said.
How does Hold On know? Estrella wondered.
“By my hoof, are you speaking of the ancient desert horses of Arabee?” Angela said with wonder.
“Long before that!” Estrella said, recalling once more the shadow of the creature that she had seen in her dam’s eyes. “I’m talking about home. The place where the sweet grass grows and we can be what we were always meant to be.”
Angela looked around, as if she dared not utter what she said next.
“Free?” she whispered.
Estrella, Sky, and Hold On nodded together.
“We’ll wait,” said Hold On, “until the water pulls back and it’s shallow enough for us to cross this channel.”
So they waited. All the horses except for Estrella and Hold On slipped into the posture of standing sleep. Their forelimb joints, the weight-bearing bones, engaged, and they locked in the joints in their hind legs by shifting their hips. Thus they were able to sleep comfortably while remaining on their feet. The last darkness of the evening faded and the world turned silvery. It’s the just before! Estrella thought.
Her dam had been right. Perlina’s coat was the lustrous color of those minutes just before the dawn. The pale, silvery gray enfolded Estrella, and the filly almost felt that she could nuzzle and nestle into the delicate shimmering light of a new day. She felt very calm. Just before the night leaked away into the first true brightness of the dawn, something caught her attention in the channel.
“Look!” Estrella said excitedly. “Something … something gold is breaking through the water!”
The other horses shook themselves awake.
“It’s the sea floor rising,” Corazón said.
“But earth isn’t supposed to move!” Estrella protested.
“It’s not,” Hold On replied. “It’s the water that’s moving. Drawing away.”
Estrella remembered that when she ran on the beach, the water had creeped higher and higher onto the sand. Now it was doing the opposite.
Low pink and lavender clouds skirted the horizon. They reminded her of the horses’ tails streaming out when they had run down the beach.
“We can go,” she nickered, and took the first steps onto the tongue of beach that stretched across what had been a watery channel. The others followed. The channel was not terribly wide and they started across it carefully.
A peculiar smell assaulted them as they walked into the water. The horses flattened their ears and snorted. There were dark forms half buried in the sand, and the horses could smell danger. Hold On seemed as nervous as Estrella was.
“They smell like death,” he said. “But they’re alive.”
“What are they?” Estrella asked. She felt a rising dread inside, the same dread as when the white vastness appeared in the sea beneath her. One of the dark creatures ripped out of the sand and bellowed. His huge mouth opened, revealing rows of jagged teeth.
“Crocodiles!” Hold On shrieked. He had seen them on First Island in a swamp near a meadow. A newborn foal had been attacked and swallowed nearly whole.
“Turn back!” Angela cried. The colt skidded to a stop and trembled on his slender legs.
Estrella clamped her eyes shut and tried to fix the scent of the sweet grass in her mind. “We can’t! We can’t!” she said fiercely.
“Why not?” Corazón asked.
“We can’t turn back now.” Estrella’s whole body was stiff with frustration. “It’s just the very beginning.”
Angela looked at her uncertainly. No one took a step forward.
Estrella took a shuddering breath and began to pick her way through the channel. The path before her seemed to squirm with the crocodile creatures.
Suddenly, Hold On was beside her.
“They caught our scent,” Hold On said.
The strange creatures rose up on stubby little legs. They were squat to the ground, but they were big creatures, great in length from their flattish heads to the tips of their tails. They tossed their wicked heads as more and more caught the scent of the horses.
“We can outrun them,” Estrella said. She could smell the other horses’ fear. “Look at those stupid little legs. They’ll never catch us! We can kick. We can jump.” And then Estrella, who had never worn a saddle or held a bit in her mouth, suddenly knew exactly what to say. “We have no bits, no bridles. We are free to move.”
“Estrella is right,” Hold On said, his voice rising. “There is nothing to rein us in! We have full power.” Then the stallion reared. “We are masterless.”
Estrella paused to wait for the other horses to follow, but they remained standing where they were. They won’t follow unless I lead, she thought. And she broke into a dead run.
She was like a low-flying buckskin cloud against the dawn. Her black mane and tail flared out like dark fire in the wind. When she hit the far side of the channel, she sprang over the first two creatures. The crocodiles bellowed and snapped at her with their huge mouths. The image of her dam’s leg in the bloodied sea churned in her mind’s eye. No! No! She leapt again, her legs curled tight against her belly as she sailed through the air.
The other horses ran after her. Squeals and bellows tore the air. The crocodiles scuttled out in all directions, dark bodies everywhere. Then suddenly, there was a cracking sound.
Like a whip! Hold On thought. A training whip! He jerked his head around. Streaks of blood splashed against the pink morning light. He wheeled.
“Sky!” Hold On screeched. It was Sky’s blood that traced the air. One of the crocodile’s tails had caught the colt and he was down. There was a blizzard of sand as the creatures rushed toward him, their enormous tails lashing the air. Sky scrambled to his feet and leapt straight up into the air. Hold On could see the glint of blood coursing down his black face.
Sky landed on the sand and kicked out into a flat gallop, sand billowing behind him.
“Sky?” Hold On asked as the colt reached the safety of the horses massed higher on the shore. A mask of blood covered the colt’s face.
“I — I think …” His legs began to quiver. Corazón and Hold On pressed close on either side of him. “It — it — was the tail that got me.” He shook his head, flinging drops of blood from his face. The blue eye shined through, bright as the morning sky. “My sky eye is fine!” the colt said with relief.
“What about your other eye?” Estrella asked.
“I’m not sure.” There was a tremor in his voice.
Corazón began to gently lick the blood away.
“I think —” Corazón began.
“I can see! I can see out of it. I really can!”
“It’s your eyelid that’s torn, but I believe it will heal,” Corazón said.
“Their tails — those creatures’ tails. You can’t believe it. It’s good it was just my eyelid. They could have cut off my head with those tails.”
“Look at them now. Just half buried on the beach. They look asleep.” Angela sighed.
“Let’s hope!” Corazón replied.
“We should go on,” Estrella said, and
started the long walk down the beach.
Had she known how many times she would say those words over the next hundred days, she would have been astonished. She would have perhaps been overcome with a paralyzing weariness and given up right then. But she didn’t know, so the filly moved on and the colt, the two mares, and the stallion followed.
The way was dense with vines, shadows, and trees — not just palmettos with their broad fronds but trees with enormous trunks the horses had never seen before. It was almost impossible for sunlight to filter down through the leafy canopy. Hold On had called it a jungle, but it reminded Estrella of the dim light of the hold on the brigantine, and it haunted her. She found some solace in the fact that at least she was standing on her four hooves and not suspended in a sling. But the going was tough.
Hold On had been watching Angela and Corazón as they picked their way through the thick vines. When Angela stumbled slightly, he called out, “Angela, you can’t use that old paso largo gait.”
“It’s the fast parade gait.”
Hold On snorted and tried to speak patiently. “You’re not in a parade here. You’re in a jungle! Don’t do the ambling side gaits; just walk, pick up your feet high, and keep your head down so you can see where you’re going.”
“Hold On’s right,” Corazón said. “We don’t have a bridle, a bit in our mouth, or a rider on our back with reins to guide us.”
Angela stopped and shook her head slowly. “Are you saying I should watch the track myself?”
“Yes, Angela. Look where you’re going, because there’s no track here. We have to make it ourselves.”
Although her first owner had named her Fea for the spots on her nose, Angela had been prized for her fine head, beautifully arched neck, and perfect throatlatch, the point on a horse where the windpipe meets the throat. She was considered to have the exemplary shape and lines of a horse of a distinguished lineage — an Iber Jennet. She had practiced tucking her head in and curling her neck so that her throatlatch became nearly invisible, as her master preferred. The only thing “fea” or “ugly” about her were the spots on her muzzle, which the royal stables always stained with dyes to cover up when Angela was on parade. “¡Perfecto!” the groom would say, and stand back from her, still holding his brush as he admired his artistry, the way a painter might admire a portrait he had just completed.