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2007-11-19T03:10:32Z

Book:FsrPH moved to People of the Horse (book)

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	==People of the Horse==		==People of the Horse==
	by Stevan Ronsarde		by [[Stevan]] Ronsarde

	My father was a wanderer. We never doubted his love for		My father was a wanderer. We never doubted his love for
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	incisor of some huge carnivore, a set of tiny sculpted		incisor of some huge carnivore, a set of tiny sculpted
	ivory soldiers wearing the ice-blue and black uniforms of		ivory soldiers wearing the ice-blue and black uniforms of
	Queen Morganae's infamous guardsmen.		Queen [[Morganae]]'s infamous guardsmen.

	But the gift I most loved was a wooden horse. Small enough		But the gift I most loved was a wooden horse. Small enough
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	babbled.		babbled.

	"She comes from a nomadic clan of Elves, son -- Wind Elves.		"She comes from a nomadic clan of Elves, son -- [[Wind Elves]].
	They call her the 'Sulde Taala.' I don't know exactly what		They call her the '[[Sulde Taala]].' I don't know exactly what
	that name means, but it's lovely, aye?" I nodded dumbly,		that name means, but it's lovely, aye?" I nodded dumbly,
	wanting to know so much more but not knowing what to ask.		wanting to know so much more but not knowing what to ask.
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	pick some of those good blackberries for our dessert		pick some of those good blackberries for our dessert
	tonight, and after supper I'll tell you about the Sulde		tonight, and after supper I'll tell you about the Sulde
	Taala and the people of Horse Clan."		Taala and the people of [[Horse Clan]]."

	After bowls of my mother's thick venison stew, herb bread		After bowls of my mother's thick venison stew, herb bread
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	right; they call her the "Carwu Taipen" or "Heart of the		right; they call her the "Carwu Taipen" or "Heart of the
	Clan." I've heard rumors that both Morganae and the		Clan." I've heard rumors that both Morganae and the
	Ferdahl struck bargains with them, telling them that they		[[Ferdahl]] struck bargains with them, telling them that they
	could roam wherever they pleased so long as they patrolled		could roam wherever they pleased so long as they patrolled
	the western borders of Ilithi. I don't know if that's true		the western borders of Ilithi. I don't know if that's true

Maintenance script: New page: ==People of the Horse== by Stevan Ronsarde My father was a wanderer. We never doubted his love for us, my mother and brothers and sister and I. When he was home, he was so utter...

2007-05-07T04:06:12Z

New page: ==People of the Horse== by Stevan Ronsarde My father was a wanderer. We never doubted his love for us, my mother and brothers and sister and I. When he was home, he was so utter...

New page

==People of the Horse==
by Stevan Ronsarde

My father was a wanderer. We never doubted his love for
us, my mother and brothers and sister and I. When he was
home, he was so utterly present -- dancing my mother around
our cottage, baking his wonderful cinnamon bread, playing
so joyously with us that he seemed almost a child himself.
But we always knew he'd leave again. He just had to do it,
it seemed. "The man must have some gypsy in his blood. I
always wondered about that mother of his", my aunt used to
mutter as she'd watch him preparing for yet another
journey.

After weeks or months with us, immersed in the sweet
routines of life at home, the day would come when he'd get
what my mother called "the look." His eyes would go a
little dreamy, and we'd hear him pacing restlessly through
the cottage or wandering in the orchards at the crack of
dawn. And we all knew he'd be gone soon, wandering some
unfamiliar place, filling that need he had for...well, I'm
not sure for what. So off he'd go. But he always came
back to us, and he always brought gifts for us when he
returned. He brought me some wondrous things -- a bamboo
cage containing a live finch with feathers of such a bright
green that it looked like a leaf in springtime, the carved
incisor of some huge carnivore, a set of tiny sculpted
ivory soldiers wearing the ice-blue and black uniforms of
Queen Morganae's infamous guardsmen.

But the gift I most loved was a wooden horse. Small enough
to balance on the palm of my hand, she was perfect in every
detail. She was pure white, with some ineffable other hue
-- not pale blue, but something like the thought of blue
glimmering just under the white. She was the white of
moonlight on water; the white of midwinter snowfall. She
was the white of seafoam cresting the waves over the
deepest part of the ocean; the white of the blazing-star
flowers that bloom at twilight. She was fine-boned to the
point of being almost fragile in appearance, though nothing
about her seemed frail, if that makes any sense. She
looked as though she could skip through the clouds
themselves and never leave a trace of her passage in the
sky. She had great black eyes, and her narrow hooves were
black, too, and glossy. Her flowing mane and tail were of
real horsehair, my father said. But it wasn't like any
horsehair I'd ever seen. It was more like gossamer, or
silk. Around her neck was a carefully painted garland of
red-gold blossoms. Firewheel flowers, my father said they
were called.

When he handed the little statue to me, smiling that smile
of his that made me feel all wrapped up in his love, I
gaped speechlessly at it, swept with feelings I had no
words for -- though 'enchantment' might be near right.
"Where did you...? What is...? She's beautiful!", I
babbled.

"She comes from a nomadic clan of Elves, son -- Wind Elves.
They call her the 'Sulde Taala.' I don't know exactly what
that name means, but it's lovely, aye?" I nodded dumbly,
wanting to know so much more but not knowing what to ask.

My father hugged me. "You and your brothers and sister go
pick some of those good blackberries for our dessert
tonight, and after supper I'll tell you about the Sulde
Taala and the people of Horse Clan."

After bowls of my mother's thick venison stew, herb bread
and butter, and the berries we'd picked earlier -- cloaked
with sweet cream -- we gathered around my father. Gently
stroking my mother's hair as she leaned against him, and
cradling my drowsy little sister against his chest, he
nodded toward the statue in my hand.

"The Sulde Taala. When they say the name, their voices go
quiet. Sometimes they call her the horse of the huntress,
other times the sun-horse, though they'd never explain what
either name meant. But I get ahead of myself. I speak of
the Wind Elves of Horse Clan (Zaldi Taipa in the Elven
tongue). They make up the home clan of all Wind Elves, if
indeed 'home' is even the right word for these wanderers."

"They are nomads -- herders who move with the seasons as
they graze their flocks. They seem to be almost arrogant
at first, though once you get to know them you begin to
realize that what you're seeing isn't arrogance so much as
a very different way of looking at the world. Having lived
all their lives in the open air, they view those who live
in villages and cities as weak, indecisive, and
incomprehensible. To them, cities are unbearably crowded,
and nothing but a blight on good pasture land. One of
their worst insults is to call someone a 'Stonefoot': a
derogatory term used to describe those who rely on building
permanent structures to house themselves."

"Natural aristocrats, they are, who acknowledge no master
and answer to no leader but one of their own. They call
their chieftain the "Indar Taipen" -- Elven for "Strength of
the Clan." His lady is a warrior and leader in her own
right; they call her the "Carwu Taipen" or "Heart of the
Clan." I've heard rumors that both Morganae and the
Ferdahl struck bargains with them, telling them that they
could roam wherever they pleased so long as they patrolled
the western borders of Ilithi. I don't know if that's true
or not. I just know they are fearsome warriors, and I got
chills up my spine the first time I saw a group of their
horse-archers thunder across the plains."

"They keep flocks of sheep and goats, shearing the sheep
and making heavy felt from the wool -- felt for clothing
and for their tents. Their goats have long, thick coats,
and they comb out the undercoat to make fine cashmere.
I've never seen cashmere like that before. It's light as a
butterfly wing, but warm, and so soft. It's fit for a
queen -- or for your mother", he said, smiling tenderly
down at her.

"They're good to all of their beasts. It's hard to
explain, but it's as though they believe there is some
precious essence in each creature, no matter how humble. I
noticed that even when they slaughtered a beast for food,
they did it all thoughtful and respectful-like.

"But the herds they prize above all are their horses. They
treat those horses like members of their own families.
When foals are born, they're named in a special ceremony
very similar to the ceremony the clansfolk use for their
own children. And every few years, they have a festival --
the 'Blessing of the Foals.' The horses are smart and
fast; they seem to know from birth how to jump obstacles.
And they're fearless in the hunt or in battle.

"The warriors themselves wear only the lightest leather
armor. The horses wear no armor at all, because the
warriors believe that their horses are purer of heart than
any man or woman can be, and because of that they have a
special connection to the gods. They say that connection
manifests through the rays of the sun as a divine life-
giver, conveying its blessing and protection upon their
beasts in battle. To them, putting armor on the horses
would be cowardly, and an insult to the gods. Before a
battle, the elder amongst their shamans -- the Jan Taipen or
'Spirit of the Clan,' will act as the 'Horse-Singer' and
call down the blessings of the sun upon the horses. I
thought it all seemed very odd at first, until I saw them
in battle. And I must say that whether it's the sun, or
the way they train their beasts, or the maneuvers they use
to be sure their horses are protected whenever possible --
whatever the reason, horses were rarely wounded. But those
horses -- they move into battle without hesitation, and
once I even saw some of them lie down right on the
battlefield so their riders could be shielded behind them.
Any horse killed in battle is grieved and given a warrior's
burial."

"They breed their own horses, and capture wild ones to
sell, though it's said if they hear you've mistreated one
of the animals they sold you, they'll come and steal it
back. They've bred horses for so long that they developed
a distinctive type called the 'Akhaal,' and they'll sell
them occasionally, though they're pricey. You can always
identify an Akhaal horse, because they have a unique color
pattern -- they are all solid colors with a white blanket
over the hips, or with leopard spotting, or lacy spots like
snowflakes. The color breeds true."

I glanced at the carving I held. No spots on her, just
that glimmering white. My father saw, and nodded. "Aye",
he said. "The Sulde Taala, she's not like any of the
others." He paused, thinking. "I don't really know where
she comes from. She's a horse, yes, but there's something
else....", he shook his head. "I can't describe it, I've
not the words. It's a feeling you get when you see her,
like she knows things beyond our ken. The Horse Clan folk,
well -- they don't worship her, exactly. But it's their
belief that she carries messages from them to the gods, and
from the gods back to them. So she's treated with great
reverence. She's never saddled and never shod. She runs
free, and always has her own meadow. Only a particular one
of the Clan's shamans -- they call him the Horse-Singer --
only the Horse-Singer can touch her. But she's not wild,
not in the way of an untamed horse.

"You'll be going about your business in the village, and
she'll suddenly just...be there. Gazing at you with those
great, dark eyes of hers. One night, I remember, I
couldn't sleep. I was walking -- you know the way I walk
the night sometimes..." here he flushed as my mother
chuckled at him. "Well, I felt a presence, and -- there
she was. Pacing along next to me like we were old
companions, and her not making a sound. I couldn't even
hear her hooves on the ground. She walked with me like
that for some time, and then just...faded back into the
night. When I went back to my tent, I was able to fall
asleep right away. My dreams were filled with a sweet,
wild singing, and I felt a deep peace like..." He stopped
there, and I thought I saw tears glinting in his eyes.
"I've not felt anything like it before or since, but it
changed me somehow, opened some corner of my soul." He
pulled my mother a little closer, rested his cheek against
my little sister's curls, and went quiet for a time.

"But for all that, the Sulde Taala is a mortal being. A
creature of the earth as much as you and me. For the Sulde
Taala comes to the end of her days and dies, like all
creatures must die eventually. I don't know what happens
at that time, or how the Clan folk deal with it. I just
know that at the center of every Horse Clan campsite is a
stack of horse skulls, all beaded and inlaid as richly as
any treasure I've ever seen. And the Clan folk told me
that these were the skulls of former Sulde Taala."

I was burning with questions. "But, where does the new
Sulde Taala come from? And how is she always white? And
does the new one come just as the old one dies? And
how..." My father held up a hand, grinning at me. "Slow
down, my curious one. I can't answer those questions. I
stayed with the people of Horse Clan for only a season.
Though they are a generous people, usually glad to share
their ways with outsiders, they were not willing to speak
of that part of their lives. I think that, if I were to
spend more time amongst them, perhaps they would come to
trust me enough to explain. And I promise you that if ever
I'm so lucky, I'll come home straightaway and answer those
questions of yours. Now," he said, smiling at all of us,
"it's late. Off to bed with the lot of you." So off to
bed I went, to dream of a snow-white horse with dark,
intelligent eyes and mysteries to share.

My father continued his travels, of course, though he never
did encounter the Elves of Horse Clan again. He heard from
a Trader that the Clan had taken to wandering ever more
distant regions, disappearing for long periods of time into
the mountains said to shelter the Dwarven homelands. Seems
to me an odd place for Elves to visit, but then they were
hardly ordinary sorts.

Now that I am a man, and able to travel on my own, I find
myself wondering if I can locate these nomads -- these
horse-archers; these Elves who wander with their herds,
traveling with a white horse (if horse she is) that
communicates with the gods. For now, I have only my
father's story, and the wooden statue that sits here on my
desk, still able to fill me with a sense of wonderment
whenever my eye falls on its graceful little form.
[[Category:Book]]

People of the Horse (book) - Revision history

Maintenance script: Book:FsrPH moved to People of the Horse (book)

Maintenance script at 03:52, 7 November 2007

Maintenance script: New page: ==People of the Horse== by Stevan Ronsarde My father was a wanderer. We never doubted his love for us, my mother and brothers and sister and I. When he was home, he was so utter...