the eighth son

of the horse lord Ganbataar.

Then, ten days into King Xau’s visit,

my younger sister Sarnai went missing.

Every man and every woman of our tribe,

plus seven of the king’s guards

and the king’s wife

rode out at dusk to look for her.

King Xau stayed behind.

As did I,

left to help with the children

and guard the camp,

a decision I stridently protested,

careless of the trust

my father had placed in me.

The king sat cross-legged on the grass,

not even seeing to his own children,

leaving that to their amah.

I heated stew.

The amah and I fed the children.

Dark. The king still sitting

on the grass,

a strain on his face

which I took for guilt.

His two remaining guards

standing either side of him,

his guards who might have

joined the search

if only Xau had let them—

miles upon miles

of windblown hills

where Sarnai might be lying,

Sarnai, my little sister,

fearless but reckless.

Most of the riders had returned

when the king at last stood up,

unsteady on his feet,

his captain supporting him

as if he were ill.

Out of darkness,

a horse came to the king,

unsaddled, unbridled,

a wild horse,

and the king laid his scarred hands

on its withers.

Then noise, lamplight,

people pressing about the king,

his guards tacking up fresh horses.

Just before they set out,

the king and his guards

and my father Ganbataar,

the king spoke:

“Let her brother come too.”

He dipped his head to me,

and I, I did not know what to think.

Hard to let go of anger,

but I mounted a horse

and rode.

And the wild horse led the king

through darkness to Sarnai,

her ankle broken,

her horse dead beside her

(she having slit its throat

after it stumbled and broke a leg).

Small beside King Xau’s other deeds,

finding one reckless girl,

but she was my sister,

and all the long ride back to camp

I rode double with her,

holding her safe in my arms.

ANCHOR

The wild horse diminished,

dark brushed on dark,

became no more than movement

inked on night.

King Xau stared after it.

The girl was safe,

her ankle broken,

but Leong said she would be fine.

Lantern-light behind him,

the girl, her brother, her father,

Leong setting the girl’s ankle.

A blur of voices.

“King Xau—Your Majesty—”

The girl’s father. Kneeling.

“Your Majesty, thank you

for summoning the wild horses,

for finding my daughter.”

Nearby, loud, a cricket chirped.

Xau set his hand under the man’s arm,

raised him up. Words slower to come.

“We are glad we succeeded.”

Xau hadn’t known whether

the horses would hear him.

Far to reach, to ask their help,

hard to hold that thought clear.

How many horses had heard him?

Enough. The girl safe.

The horses’ trust bright as gold,

heavy. He closed his eyes.

“Xau. Time to head back.”

He jolted awake. The sky paling.

Sitting cross-legged on the grass.