Page 75 of Something Human

“It was,” Rus said.

“What?”

“It was what I wanted to hear. You hadn’t asked me. You had talked about how it might be, but you had not actually asked me.”

“No, I hadn’t, had I? I think I was afraid to—I thought you would say no.”

“I might have,” Rus admitted. “But now I’m saying yes.”

“Are you? I thought maybe you were.” He smiled as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “I meant it when I said you’ll like Tios.”

“I know.”

“And I’ll—I’ll look after you. Anything you need … You know what I mean.”

He did, and he knew distantly that it should have felt shameful—the Phemian was saying that Rus would want for nothing, that he could be kept like a woman if he felt like it—but it just sounded like those three days in the temple storeroom in the fall. It sounded good.

They sat looking at one another, holding the moment between them, because that was all they could do just then. Just then, it was enough.

There was a low drumming vibrating in the earth under them—it had been going on for a minute or two, but only now did Rus look down the valley to see the source. The herd was there, closer than he had expected, moving in their direction. He sprang to his feet.

“Mount up! Mount up! They’re coming this way!”

Everyone ran for the horses. Rus caught up his spear, carrying it loosely under his arm, at the ready. They were all safely mounted by the time the herd came through. The cattle slowed as they reached the river bank, passing by at an easy amble, a sea of gleaming black backs and swishing tails. There were thirty or forty of them, all cows with one bull, no calves yet, as it was still early in the year. The Phemians watched them pass with wide eyes—all except Adares, who barely paid them any attention. He was too busy smiling at Rus.

Rus couldn’t ignore the herd entirely; too many years spent training to fight the wild cattle of the north had given him an instinctive wariness, a kind of alertness whenever he was around them. But he had never cared less about them than he did just then.

They rode following the movement of the herd, Suthus and Hath leading the party. Doros, who was on a Phemian horse, was having trouble keeping it calm in the presence of the huge, unfamiliar beasts, and Adares must have been paying more attention to his surroundings than Rus had imagined, because he rode ahead to come up beside Doros and speak to him. Suggesting that he ride away from the herd to ease the horse’s anxiety, Rus thought, though he couldn’t hear what was said. He smiled. He liked the way Adares took care of his men.

Suddenly there was a shout. Rus looked and saw Kleisios, just ahead of Doros and Adares, trying to cling to the back of his horse, another Phemian animal, which had been frightened by the cattle too and was bucking. In another moment, she had shaken Kleisios from her back and bolted, leaving him on the ground, dangerously close to the herd.

Several people tried to come to his aid at once. The kahar all knew better than to make noise or sudden movements that would startle the herd, but the Phemians didn’t. Rus’s path was blocked by Doros, whose horse was now rearing and neighing in terror. He saw Hath taking off after the fleeing mare and Adares sliding down from his mount beside Kleisios. Rus nearly shouted in horror at that. He slapped Doros’s horse on the rump to urge her out of the way and kicked his own horse forward. It wasn’t safe to be on foot this close to the herd.

Adares had helped Kleisios up and was giving him a hand onto his own horse while Suthus and the other Luth urged him in low voices to mount back up himself. But it was too late. The herd was agitated, moving faster now, and their party had caught the attention of the bull.

A bull defending his herd was different from a bull maddened for the divination or for battle, but it was a subtle difference. The essentials were the same—the massive body, the hooves thundering, the horns lowered—and at that moment it was all rushing toward Adares. The horse bearing Kleisios had wheeled and was galloping to safety. Adares half-turned, looking over his shoulder at Rus. As if Rus was his best hope—his only hope—for rescue.

Terrifyingly, that was true. Rus’s horse wasn’t an experienced bull-fighter, and he had to kick her hard to make her gallop, to cover the distance that was still much too great. He yelled to catch the bull’s attention, and the big head with its heavy horns swung toward him. He lifted his spear and threw with all his strength, the follow-through carrying him half over the horse’s neck. He recovered and readied himself to jump when the moment came—

And the moment didn’t come. The bull’s head jerked back, his body shuddered, and his legs folded beneath him. He fell to one side, landing with the thud of a dead weight. Rus’s spear had gone into his right eye socket, straight through to his brain.

Rus hauled on the reins and slid back down into the saddle. He looked around for Adares, wheeling his horse to meet him and reaching out a hand. Adares grasped it and let himself be hauled awkwardly up onto the horse behind Rus. She needed no urging now to take off, galloping, even with the weight of two riders on her back, away from the dead bull and the startled, milling cows.

The rest of the party was reassembling further up the north slope of the valley, at a safe distance from the herd. Before they reached the others, Rus turned to look back at Adares.

“You’re all right?”

He was looking more than a little dazed. “I’m fine. Thanks to you. That was exciting.”

“You could say that.”

“I suppose it often takes only one spear-thrust to kill a bull, like that?”

“Hah! Not very often, no. I’ve never heard of it happening.”

Adares’s arms tightened around him for a moment. “You don’t say.”

They rode up to join the others, and Adares slid down first. Rus joined him on the ground. He was surprised to find himself a little shaky, unsteady on his feet. It had all happened so quickly and been over so suddenly. It was only now, when he was able to think back on it, that he realized he hadn’t felt the exhilaration of an impending fight; all he had felt was the responsibility of protecting Adares.