Elizabeth Moon - Once a Hero

“As happened recently—” her father said.

“I can see that,” Esmay said, cutting off the obvious; she was not in the mood for a longer lecture from Berthol.

“Good,” said her father. “So when they offer you rejuvenation, Esmaya, what will you do?”

For that she had no answer; she had never even considered the question before. Her father shifted the topic to a reprise of the ceremony, and soon she excused herself and went to bed.

The next morning, waking in her own bed in her own room, with sunlight bright on the walls, she was surprised by a sense of peace. She had suffered enough bad dreams in this bed; she had been half-afraid the nightmares would recur. Perhaps coming home had completed some sort of necessary ritual, and they were forever banished.

With that thought, she hurried down to breakfast, where her stepmother offered the morning grace, and then out into the cool gold of a spring morning. Past the kitchen gardens, the chicken runs where every hen seemed to be clucking her readiness to lay eggs, and every rooster crowed defiance at the others. She had heard them faintly through her window on the front side of the house; here they were deafening, so that she was not tempted to slow and look at them.

The great stables smelled as always of horses and oats and hay, pungencies that Esmay found comforting after all these years. There had been a time when she resented them, back when she, like all the children, had been expected to muck out her own pony’s stall. Unlike some of the others, she had never enjoyed riding enough to make the work worthwhile. Later, when a horse became her escape route into the mountains, she was old enough that she no longer had the daily chores to do anyway.

Now she walked down the stone-flagged aisle, the great arches opening to her left into one of the exercise yards. On her right, rows of stalls with the dark narrow heads of horses peering out. A groom came out of a tackroom at the sound of her steps.

“Yes, dama?” He looked confused; Esmay identified herself and his face relaxed.

“I was wondering—my cousin Luci mentioned a mare she’d looked at—that Olin showed her—?”

“Ah—the Vasecsi daughter. Down here, dama, if you’ll follow me. Excellent bloodlines, that one, and has done very well in training so far. That is why the General chose her for your foundation herd.”

Outside the mare’s stall, a twist of blue and silver; Esmay looked down the row and saw more such twists. This was her herd, picked by her father, and although she could exchange them, it would shame him. But to make a gift of one mare, to Luci—that would be acceptable. She hoped.

“Here, dama.” The mare had her rump to the door, but when the groom clucked she swung round. Esmay recognized the qualities for which her father had chosen the horse: the good legs and feet, the depth of heart-girth, the strong back and hindquarters, the long limber neck and well-bred head. Solid dark brown, just lighter than black—“You would like to see her move?” the groom said, reaching for the halter that hung beside the stall.

“Yes, thank you,” Esmay said. She might as well. The groom led the mare out of the stall, across the aisle, and out into the courtyard. There, in the open ring, the groom put the mare through her paces, which accorded with her conformation. A long, low walk, a sweeping trot and long level canter. This was a horse to cover the ground, mile after mile, and yet she would be handy as well. A good mare. If only Esmay cared particularly—

“I’m sorry I was rude,” Luci said, from the arches. Her face was in shadow; her voice sounded as if she’d been crying. “She’s a lovely mare, and you deserve her.”

Esmay walked nearer; Luci had been crying. “Not really,” she said quietly. “I’m sure you heard all about my regrettable attitude towards horses back when I left.”

“I inherited your trail horse,” Luci said without answering the comment. She said it as if Esmay might be angry about it. Esmay had not thought about old—Red, had that been his name?—in years.

“Good,” Esmay said.

“You don’t mind?” Luci sounded surprised.

“Why should I mind? I left home; I couldn’t expect the horse to go unused.”

“They didn’t let anyone ride him for a year,” Luci said.

“So they thought I might flunk out and come back?” Esmay said. It didn’t surprise her, but she was glad she hadn’t known that.

“Of course not,” Luci said, too quickly. “It’s just—”

“Of course they did,” Esmay said. “But I didn’t fail, and I didn’t come back. I’m glad you got that horse . . . you seem to have inherited the family gift.”

“I can’t believe you really haven’t—”

“I can’t believe anyone really wants to stay on one planet,” Esmay said. “Even when it feels right.”

“But it’s not crowded,” Luci said, flinging out one arm. “There’s so much space . . . you can ride for hours . . .”

Esmay felt the familiar tension in her shoulders. Yes, she could ride for hours and never come to a border she need worry about . . . but she could not eat a meal without wondering if some old family grievance were about to explode. She turned to Luci, whose eyes kept following the mare.

“Luci, would you do me a favor?”

“I suppose.” No eagerness, but why would there be?

“Take the mare.” Esmay almost laughed at the shock on Luci’s face. She repeated it. “Take the mare. You want her. I don’t. I’ll square it with Papa Stefan, and with Father.”

“I—I can’t.” But naked desire glowed from her face, a wild happiness afraid to admit itself.

“You can. If that’s my mare, I can do what I want with her, and what I want to do is give her away, because I’m going back to Fleet . . . and that mare deserves an owner who will train her, ride her, breed her.” An owner who cared about her; every living thing deserved to be cared about.

“But your herd—”

Esmay shook her head. “I don’t need a herd. It’s enough to know I have my little valley to come home to . . . what would I do with a herd?”

“You’re serious.” Luci was sober again, beginning to believe it would happen, that Esmay was serious, and that different.

“I’m serious. She’s yours. Play polo on her, race her, breed her, whatever . . . she’s yours. Not mine.”

“I don’t understand you . . . but . . . I do want her.” Shy, sounding younger than she was.

“Of course you do,” Esmay said, and felt a century older, at least. Embarrassment hit then—had she seemed this young to Commander Serrano, to everyone who had a decade or more on her? Probably. “Listen—let’s go for a ride. I’ll need to get back in shape if I’m going to visit the valley.” She couldn’t yet say “my valley” even to Luci.

“You could ride her—if you wanted,” Luci said. Esmay could hear the struggle in her voice; she was trying hard to be fair, to return generosity for generosity.

“Heavens, no. I need one of the school horses, something solid and dependable . . . I don’t get any riding in Fleet.”

Grooms tacked up the horses, and they rode out toward the front fields, between the rows of fruit trees. Esmay watched Luci on the mare . . . Luci rode as if her spine were rooted into the horse’s spine, as if they were one being. Esmay, on a stolid gelding with gray around its eyes and muzzle, felt her hip joints creaking as she trotted. But what was her father going to say? Surely he had not expected her to manage a herd from light years away? Had he expected to manage them for her? As Luci cantered the mare in circles around Esmay, she decided to go the whole way.

“Luci—what are you planning to do?”

“Win a championship,” said Luci, grinning. “With this mare—”