Elska

  HORSE DIARIES

  #1: Elska

  #2: Bell's Star

  For Lisa, the Icelandic expert in the family.

  —C.H.

  For my models—Hannah, Eli, Evan, Brendan,

  David, and Bill. And a special thank-you

  to Brian Puntin and the beautiful Icelandic horses

  at Roberts Woods Farm, and to Bill Short and

  Hurstwic.org for photos of Iceland and research

  materials on the Viking age.

  —R.S.

  CONTENTS

  1

  Iceland, Circa AD 1000

  2

  In the Farmyard

  3

  Three and a Half Years Later

  4

  At the Homestead of Alfvaldr

  5

  Back and Forth

  6

  Training Time

  7

  The Rettir

  8

  A Reunion and an Accident

  9

  The Rescue

  10

  Home

  Appendix

  “Oh! if people knew what a comfort to

  horses a light hand is …”

  —from Black Beauty, by Anna Sewell

  Iceland, Circa AD 1000

  My name is Elska. That is what the people call me, though in the first months of my life I knew nothing of people.

  I was foaled in early summer, in a meadow dotted with flowers. My first memory was the feeling of the warm sun on my back. I did not know it then, but in summer in Iceland, the sun shines for more than twenty hours each day. My dam, Silfra, was on her feet within moments of my birth. She nudged at me with her soft muzzle. The scent of her surrounded me and made me feel safe.

  My long legs twitched. They felt new and strange. I moved them, trying to figure out how they worked. Finally I got my two front legs out in front and my back legs under me. I gave a push and staggered to my feet.

  I swayed back and forth and almost fell. Then I found my balance. I stood on my shaky legs. My brushy tail swished behind me, and my ears twitched at the sounds of my brand-new world. I opened my eyes wide, trying to understand the things I saw. Interesting smells drifted past my nostrils.

  My dam nudged me again with her nose, almost tipping me over. I realized I was hungry. I searched along her body until I found the right spot. Then I nursed, the warm milk filling my belly.

  Soon I was full, which made me very sleepy. I allowed my new legs to collapse under me, and was asleep almost before I hit the ground.

  When I awoke, I stood and nursed again. Energy coursed through my body, and I turned away from my dam. I noticed other creatures nearby—horses like me.

  Curious, I tried to run to them. But my long legs tangled with each other and I went sprawling face-first on the ground.

  My dam was amused. Patience, little one, she told me. Soon you will be running like the wind.

  Wise Silfra was right. Within hours I was running and playing as if I had been doing so forever. The others welcomed me to the herd. I met Bergelmir, the herd stallion and my sire. I also met an older filly known as Leira; her patient old dam, Irpa; a sweet filly the humans would call Tyrta, who was only a few days older than I was; and a playful colt with a colorful pinto coat who would be called Tappi.

  It was Tappi who first showed me how to tölt. I already knew how to trot and gallop. I could walk, too, though I did it as little as possible—it was too slow when there was so much to do and see! When I first noticed Tappi, he was moving in a different way. His legs flashed beneath him, one-two-three-four, while his head and back stayed straight and proud.

  I galloped after him, curious. Why do your legs move like that? I wanted to know.

  He lifted his knees higher, showing off as he tölted around me. All the horses of this land can do it, he told me. It is called a tölt, and it is what makes us special among all the animals.

  How do you know so much about it? I wanted to know. You arent much older than me.

  My mother, Perta, told me, Tappi said. She is the oldest mare in the herd. She knows everything!

  I watched his legs carefully. Then I tried to make my own move in the same way. After a few tries, I got it. I was tölting! Before long it felt as easy as breathing. My hind legs stretched under my body, one at a time, pushing me forward. My front legs lifted and curled, helping to propel me along. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, faster and faster. Tölting was fun!

  A few days after my foaling, the rest of the herd left my birth meadow. I kept pace easily, sometimes walking or trotting and sometimes tölting with Tappi. We forded a fast, cold, shallow river that tumbled down from the mountains in a series of waterfalls. Then we climbed a steep, mossy hill and found ourselves overlooking a green valley. A herd of smaller creatures dotted the slopes of the valley and nibbled at the grass. They were white, gray, black, and brown—almost as many colors as there were in my herd. My mother told me that such creatures were known as sheep.

  They share our summer grazing lands, she told me. In autumn, the men come and round them up, along with us.

  I didn't understand all of what she told me. Summer, autumn, and men meant nothing to me. But I didn't let it worry me. Like the way my legs worked, I figured these things would become clear in time.

  The herd continued through the valley of the sheep. On the far side, we found ourselves in the shadow of a mountain. Its iron-gray slopes stretched up toward the blue sky. Near the top, veins of silvery white trickled down, like the strands of my friend Tyrta's creamy mane and tail against the dark golden palomino color of her body.

  The wise old mare Irpa saw me looking. That is ice and snow, little one, she told me. You will learn more of that soon enough.

  I wanted to know more now, but the herd was on the move again. We traveled through more valleys, across high meadows and lava fields, past hot springs and geysers, and over rocky foothills coated with moss. By late evening, when the sun set for the first time in many hours, we reached a broad, grassy plain with a river running through it. Most of the horses waded into the river, drinking deeply. I nursed from my mother, then collapsed onto the soft ground and slept.

  That was the first of many journeys I made with the herd. We moved around often in search of grazing. Several months passed and I grew bigger, faster, and stronger. I drank less of my dam's milk and nibbled more grass with the older horses. I grew taller and stouter, and a layer of fat covered my ribs.

  Then one day in early autumn, something different happened. Tappi was the first to notice.

  New horses! He came running toward the herd, breathless. Come and see!

  Before we could move, horses crested the next hill. But what was that upon their backs?

  Ah, it is Hamur! My dam, Silfra, snorted with pleasure. Her ears were pricked forward and her gaze trained on a particular roan horse. See how big he has grown since winter!

  All around me, the other adult horses were expressing similar things. The other foals were just as confused as I was. What was happening?

  Still, watching the reaction of my elders, I knew it could be nothing frightening. The horses came closer, and I got a better look at the odd creatures that rode upon their backs. They sat upright like a bird does, or an arctic fox when it stands on its hind legs to scan the fields. But these creatures were much larger than a fox. They also made strange noises as they came, sharper than the soft snorts and nickers of a horse and louder than the calls of most birds. I cocked my head to listen to these cries.

  One was tall with a loud voice: “Watch, Amma! You must stay close to us, or you will not be allowed on the rettir again until you are older.”

  A smaller one responded, “But I am old enough, Jarl! I am nearly eight.”

  Yet another's voic
e was like the low rumble of a geyser: “Your brother speaks the truth, Amma. Keep your horse near mine.”

  “Yes, Father. Ooh! Look at the pretty silver dapple filly over there.”

  I was trying to puzzle out what the sounds might mean. Then I noticed that the smallest of the odd new creatures was staring straight at me. I took a step closer, curious.

  Come, little one. Silfra walked toward me, moving her head to show me which way she wanted me to go. We are meant to go with the humans now.

  Sure enough, the herd was already drifting ahead of the newcomers toward the nearest mountain pass. Silfra's body blocked my view for a moment. But when I turned my head to look behind me, the small creature—a human, my dam had called it—was still gazing after me.

  In the Farmyard

  The farmyard was a flat area of hard-packed dirt between a grassy field and a wide, fast-flowing river. In the middle of the yard was a long, low, turf-roofed building with several smaller structures near it. A column of smoke spiraled out of the top of the main building, though it smelled nothing like the sulfur gasps of the volcanoes or the steam of the geysers. Several horses I didn't recognize grazed in a field nearby.

  At the time, I understood little of what I saw. Later, I would learn more. The biggest structure was where the humans lived. They grew no thick winter coat like horses, sheep, and dogs did. Instead they huddled inside their houses, heated by fires, wrapped in woolen garments.

  I also came to understand better what role we horses played in the life of the humans—and they in ours. For the warm season, most of the family's sheep and some of their horses were turned loose to graze wherever we could find forage. We mingled with the livestock of neighboring families— for instance, I discovered that three of the mares of our herd belonged with another human family from across the river, and several more went to a different homestead some distance away. At the start of the season of cold, ice, and snow, all the neighbors rounded us up—horses and sheep alike— separated us out, and brought us into the farmyards for safekeeping.

  We had barely arrived when I saw several horses tölt into the yard. A human sat astride one, while the others carried large packs strapped to their backs.

  Will I carry people or other loads on my back someday? I wanted to know.

  Silfra lowered her head and breathed into my nostrils fondly. Indeed you will, little one. But not yet. You are still too young.

  “Silfra!” The young human I'd seen earlier slid down from the horse she was riding. She ran toward us, and I was so surprised that I thought my eyes would bug out of my head. She moved on two legs! It was very odd to see—like a bird without wings. But this odd way of moving seemed to come as naturally to her kind as the gallop or tölt did to a horse.

  The young human ran right up to my dam and threw her arms around her neck. Silfra lowered her head, nuzzling the girl's hair, which was the soft golden color of a field of dried grasses.

  This is the smallest foal of the human family, she told me. She is known as Amma. She is very kind to all the horses.

  I crowded close to my mother's flank, watching Amma curiously. She noticed me standing there, and the corners of her mouth turned up. Her smooth skin was nearly as pale as Leira's cremello coat, but her mouth was ruddy and her eyes were the color of the clear sky.

  “Is this your latest foal, Silfra? She's beautiful!”

  Just then one of the larger humans walked up behind Amma. This one was a male, with light-colored fur covering much of his face and head.

  “Found your favorite mare, did you, Amma?” His voice was deeper than the young one's. “Looks like Silfra has given us a silver dapple foal this year. A filly, is it?”

  “Yes, Father.” Amma looked up at the older human. “I want to call her Elska.”

  She looked over at me as she pronounced the last word. Elska. It stuck in my head. Elska. Elska. Elska.

  She has given you a name, little one, Silfra told me proudly. From now on, you will be known as Elska.

  And so I was. Before long I learned to pick out my name from the humans' speech. A few more of their words became familiar, too—get over, stand, hay, and others. But mostly I could tell what they wanted by the way they moved or looked at me. It was easy to please them if I paid attention.

  After a brisk, pleasant autumn came the long, cold, dark winter. The sun that spent so much time overhead during the summer months now hid below the horizon for most of the day. We huddled together for warmth, our tails to the wind and icicles forming on our whiskers. The humans brought us dried grass to eat and fresh water to drink. My coat had grown in thick and long, and I only shivered on the very coldest and windiest of nights.

  One day, when most of the ice and snow had melted, the humans separated out a number of the horses and tied them apart from the rest of us. I was surprised to see that Silfra was among them. She explained that it was time for the herd to go free again. But this time she would not be coming with us back to the meadows and foothills.

  It is my turn to stay and help the humans this warm season, she told me. You must go with the others to eat grass and grow beneath the summer sun. I will see you again when the days grow shorter.

  Just then Tappi ran up to me. He had grown taller and sturdier over the winter, though he was a bit thin. We all were from the hard season—including the humans.

  Tappi snorted at me, his eyes bright and eager. Come, Elska! The humans have opened the gate. Let's race.

  He didn't wait for an answer before taking off at a brisk tölt. He broke to a canter as he cleared the gate, and a moment later, he slid into an even faster gait—a flying pace.

  I cast one last glance at my dam. Then I took off after Tappi, doing my best to catch up.

  Three and a Half Years Later

  More seasons passed. I was getting used to the pattern of life. When it grew colder and many of the wild birds took flight for warmer lands, we went to the farmyard. When the days lengthened and the birds began to reappear, we returned to the meadows and glaciers and crystal-cold rivers of the open land.

  Now it was turning to winter again. Tappi, Leira, Tyrta, and I were nearly fully grown. We helped the new foals understand when the humans showed up to herd us back to the farm.

  Among the humans was Amma. She was riding Irpa, who had stayed behind on the farm this past summer. The human girl had grown, just as I had. But her hair was the same bright color, and her eyes just as blue.

  “Elska!” she called when she spotted me. She rode toward me. I had learned to read the humans' expressions, and I could tell she was pleased to see me. I was pleased to see her, too, and walked to meet her. She leaned over to give me a scratch on the crest of my neck, her fingers digging down through my thick, bushy mane to find the itchiest spots.

  But there was little time for that. Soon her father and brothers and neighbors were shouting for her. Then we, along with the sheep, were setting out on the long trip back to the farmyard.

  Once we were settled in, Amma came to visit me. She cooed my name and looked me over, running her hands all along my body. Once again, she seemed pleased by what she saw. I was now as tall as my dam, perhaps even a little taller. My silvery pale mane fell halfway down my neck, and my tail nearly brushed the ground behind me. There were dapples on my rich, dark coat from the months of good forage.

  “What are you doing out here?” Amma's eldest brother, Valdi, asked as he appeared in the yard. “Playing with the horses?”

  “Elska is old enough to begin training now,” Amma answered him. “Father said I can help.”

  I could sense the excitement in her voice, though I didn't understand her words. Soon after that, my training began. Amma taught me to carry a bit in my mouth and weight on my back. At first it all felt very strange. But I trusted Amma and knew that she meant me no harm, so I tried to do as she asked me. Before long she was riding me across the broad meadows and fording the swift-flowing river to carry messages or small items to neighboring farms. I enjoyed these o
utings, especially when she talked or sang

  to me as I trotted or tölted along. Sometimes we would meet her young friends on their horses, and then we would race—I was good at the flying pace, a gait that was faster than trot or tölt, and I often won these races, even when the other horses were older and more experienced. I could tell that this pleased Amma, and so I always tried my hardest. Occasionally one of Amma's brothers would ride me to the shoreline to go fishing or on some other errand. Once or twice, their father or grandfather rode me around the farm. But mostly it was me and Amma exploring the stark autumn lands of Iceland, at least until the days grew too short for much travel.

  One not-too-cold day in very early spring, after most of the thick ice was gone from the river but well before the humans began to gather the wool from the sheep, Amma and I rode out to one of the fields. The sheep were at the far end, near the river, grazing on the soft green shoots of early-spring grasses. Her brother Valdi was with us on a fine, young horse named Jarpur. The humans talked as they rode toward the sheep at a fast tölt.

  “You have done a good job with that mare's training,” Valdi said.

  “It is Elska that has done a good job,” Amma said, giving me a scratch on the withers. “She is the smartest and best horse I've ever known. The prettiest, too!”

  I briefly pricked my ears at the sound of my name. But I had just noticed something more interesting than the humans' speech. A horse I recognized from the summers, Haddingur, the stallion from a different herd, was approaching from the direction of the river. A tall human was riding him.

  I let out a nicker, as did Jarpur. Had-dingur lifted his head and snorted in return.

  “Greetings, Alfvaldr,” Amma's brother called to the stallion's rider. He sounded very respectful. I wondered if it was because Haddingur was such a fine stallion. “What brings you to our lands?”