The Horse Man

Kiera

The smell of bacon frying with eggs and hash browns wafted to Kiera’s nose. It was a cute little freckled nose and it twitched like a rabbit's at the unusual smell, but the girl did not take her eyes from the window.
“He said he has horses? He has horses? Will he need help in the barn, d'you think, Dad?” she asked, not turning away from her self imposed vigil.
“Kiera, girl, we don’t know him, and we don’t know if he is even a good person. Maybe after he has lived here a while, then you may see if he wants help in the barn. But he seemed very unsociable. He probably won’t want a little girl messing around his place.”
“But he paid us ever such a good price for the lease of the ranch, Dad! He must be nice! Thanks to him, we're eating bacon and eggs and hash browns, for breakfast!”
The girl's eyes widened with delight. Due to increasing taxes and restrictions on farming and ranching, their family ranch had barely made it through the last two years without accepting the government subsidizing that would make it not really their ranch anymore. Luxuries like meat at breakfast, new clothes and shoes, toys, candy at Christmas, they had all disappeared to appease the ravenous beast called Government.
As a last ditch effort, Dad had advertised the ranch for lease, hoping against hope that somebody would want to live so far out in the Montana hills that it took two hours on dirt roads just to find a gas station.
Months had gone by, and then a man had responded to the ad, said it sounded ideal, sent Dad the money in cash for six months lease without haggling the price, and said he would be moving his horses in on June the third. Today.
Kiera prayed every spare minute of the day that he would need help in the barn and a twelve year old girl would be just what he needed. Naturally, he would be so grateful for the help that he would offer riding lessons, and a horse to ride whenever she wanted… Reluctantly, Kiera turned away from the window and towards the magnificent breakfast that Mom had made.
It was nearly noon before they saw any sign of the man who was going to be living on their ranch.
A wagon drawn by two beautiful silver colored horses rattled up the drive, followed by a veritable herd of glossy, frisky horses, their tails and manes waving, their nostrils drinking in new smells, their hooves dancing on the gravel drive.
Kiera dashed to the window, shivering in excitement. A shimmering black horse broke apart from the herd, a man sitting astride him with no saddle or bridle, and walked towards their house, his hooves lifting high, fairly dancing across the driveway.
“Mom! Dad! Look!! He’s coming here!!” squealed Kiera, jumping up and down.
Dad got up from the table as a rap sounded on the door, and pulled it open.
The man standing in the doorway was both tall and very dark. His hair was so black that the light reflected off of it looked blue, his skin was the color of Dad’s Sunday morning coffee with just a swirl of cream, and his eyes were black. Not brown at all, but black as ink.
“Hi.” Said Dad. “Come in for a bit, and have some coffee?”
“Thank you for inviting me, but I cannot stay long. My dear ones will become restless and destructive if I leave them long in a strange place. I wish only to be directed to the lodging in which I will stay, and to be shown where I may store hay and grain for my dear ones. It is most kind of you to offer your assistance, as you did when we spoke on the telephone, but I am used to working alone.” The delicate head of his mount peeked into the house, the big brown eyes dancing with mischief and his little black ears flickering. The man smiled a little. “This is Ghazi. He is very bold, but he is gentle.” He introduced the horse as if it were a human. “My own name is Hyn.”
Kiera could not contain herself any longer. She bounded forward.
“I’m Kiera! Can I pet him? Can I ride him? Is he a gelding? Is he an Arabian?”
Hyn stared at her suddenly and fixedly with his queer eyes. “Kiera?” he said, softly. “I like that name.”
He abruptly turned to her Dad, and ignoring Kiera, walked out of the house with him. Nothing deterred, for adults were beyond comprehension on their best days, Kiera yanked on her shoes and hurried after them.
“You are too kind, Mr. O'Neil. I am assured that my dear ones shall be most comfortable. They are unused to dogs, however, and the High King of my herd has made a practice of killing wolves. My little brother here has been very anxious of late as well, and I believe that given the opportunity, he would also kill.”As he spoke, he stroked the sleek neck of a short backed, well built bay stallion.
“Guess we'll keep our dog to ourselves then,” replied Dad.  “What kind of horses do you have? They’re like nothing I ever seen.”
“I have the Strain of Ard Righ, of which Bellerephon is stud, I have the Strain of the Great Desert, of which Ghazi is stud, the strain of the Bucephalis, of which Aristides here is stud. I have also my own crossbreed of which I have not chosen to maintain purity in blood. This mare is one.” A big, leggy mare was crowding the man named Hyn, her head over his shoulder, walking so close to him she nearly trod on his feet every time she stepped.
“They sure are something!”
“Yes, and that is why I was so pleased to find your… your ranch. Many thieves have attempted to steal my dear ones from me.  It is more difficult when I am far from their cities. I will still have some concerns, but it will be of benefit to me to have you here as witness if I should be obliged to kill a thief. When one lives alone, one is vulnerable to corrupted society, and my treasures are worth far more than can be comprehended.”
“No kidding? Just last week Western Horseman published an article about how much more a Thoroughbred costs than a Quarter Horse. Couldn’t believe what people pay for them! A good quarter horse might cost you up to a hundred grand, maybe, but the dough paid out for some of those Thoroughbreds, why you can pay ten million for some of those racing stallions. That’s more than my ranch is worth! Is that what you have here?”
“No. Mine are inexpressibly more valuable. Many years ago, a man offered me his three daughters for one of my mares when I refused his offers of money, of land, of political power. I spat in his face. What comfort should I take in the possession of another man's children? Why should they hold value if they are not my own daughters? And why should I entrust the care of one my children into hands that would not guard the value of his own offspring?”
Kiera halted. Dad wouldn’t want her to listen to this conversation, for sure. But still, what would he say about his horses?
“I can’t believe someone would trade their own kids for animals!” Dad was saying when Kiera crept near them again.
“My treasures are more to me than animals.” Hyn replied. “I have never had children, but I suppose that you feel for your child as I feel for my dear ones. I entrust to you my confidence, and the knowledge of the value of my sweethearts. No person may be allowed to know of their existence. I have shared with you this story that you may know the dangers of disclosing to others what I have in my keeping.”
There was silence until Dad and Hyn went into the barn and Dad began showing Hyn all the amenities.
Kiera stared at the horses. They mostly ignored her, except for the black horse that Hyn had been riding. He walked up to her and sniffed, then cocked his head to one side and made a chuffing, grunty sound.
Kiera suddenly was very aware that she was five feet three and ninety pounds, and that the black Ghazi was very big and heavy. With big white teeth.
“I don’t have any treats.” She whispered, nervously. Ghazi flicked his little ears and swaggered back to the band, his tail high and proud like the cover of The Black Stallion. As he entered it, a huge horse the color of dust bit him on the neck, and Ghazi squealed and kicked out at him. The dusty horse screamed in an angry voice and lunged at Ghazi with his ears flat to his neck. Ghazi ducked out of the way and made a hasty but dignified retreat to his own mares.
Kiera giggled as the big stallion pranced proudly around his mares, obviously taking pride in his ability to defend them. She did not feel quite brave enough to go to them, but perhaps if she were to stand here a while, another would come to her. 
After a few breathless moments, another horse detached himself from the band, and sauntered over to her. He stopped right in front of her, and dropped his elegant head into her chest. “Hufffff…” he said, and began nibbling her shirt. Kiera began to back up. These big horses were quite a bit different than reading about them.
“Hyiiiiiiinnnn!” whinnied one of the horses in the band. “Hyiiiiinnnn!”
The sound of hastening footsteps hurrying out of the barn came to Kiera.
“Enough, mo grah! Enough!” shouted Hyn.
The horse backed up, embarrassed.
“That was Ruadth Móhr. He is a beggar, and he has eaten so many shirts I cannot be bothered to wear them except on special occasions.” Hyn said, apologetically.
“Good girl, Silvara.” He crooned to the whinnier.
“Can you please teach me how to ride?” Kiera blurted it out in a rush, hoping she could say it before she lost courage.
Hyn turned to face her, a shocked look on his coffee colored face, his ink black eyes unreadable. He said nothing for a long moment. Then at last, when Kiera was certain he was going to ignore her like some adults did, he snapped, “Why do you want to learn how to ride? Why not just get on?”
Now it was Kiera’s turn to gape.
“But you have to take lessons first…”
“No! You take lessons if you want to ride a certain way! You want to ride a certain way?”
Kiera thought frantically. Why did  she want to ride? How did she want to ride?
“I’m not… not sure…” she stammered.
“ Well, then you would just be wasting your time. To ride a pony, that is something that anyone can do. Go get a pony with a fat belly and learn to stick on his back when he trots and not fall off when he canters. You will be considered a competent rider for a country girl. You decide you want to do something special, then you come to my house, ask me again.  You want to know your goals. You don’t have much time in your life, don’t waste it playing at horsemanship unless you are serious. A lifetime is not enough time to learn half of what there is to know, even with a good teacher. Thank you, Mr. O'Neil, for the tour. I will enjoy immensely the luxury of heated water which to bathe my children.”
With that, Hyn walked towards the ranch house, his horses trailing after him, whickering and snorting and nipping each other playfully.