by Alex Bledsoe
“And you found it?”
He shrugged. “If you like rule by committee, kids underfoot all the time, and some woman who claims she’s a goddess living in the woods calling the shots, then yeah, I found it. I thought these folks were all here for the same reason as me, to get away from all the meanness in the world. And they’re mostly decent people. But they’re so cut off here, I don’t think they realize how fragile all this is. They think anyone who shows up has been divinely drawn here by Epona. But eventually someone’s gonna top that hill who ain’t lookin’ for peace and love.”
“So why do you stay?”
“Gave my word,” he muttered. “All I got left, so I have to make it worth something.”
Betty returned and put down two tankards of wine. “Compliments of the house. We have to finish this old stuff before we open the new cask Epona gave us. Enjoy.”
Again I waited until Betty was across the room. “Epona gave them wine?”
He nodded. “She keeps the good stuff to herself, and when her worshippers hold their mouths just right, she gives it to them. Us,” he corrected.
“She sounds more like a bartender than a goddess.”
He took a long drink. “I’m bein’ too cynical. Epona’s something, I gotta admit. She started this place. A spot away from everything, away from all the troubles of the world. People hear about it, but supposedly you can’t find it unless you’re meant to.”
“So I’m meant to be here?”
“Hell, I’m just repeating what she told me. She lives in a little house in the heart of the woods out there, and every full moon, people go up there to ask her advice, her blessing, and so forth. Nicole is sort of her day-to-day manager here in town, making sure everything runs smooth. Most of the jobs are done by women, unless something needs lifting or killing.”
“Lots of things need lifting?”
“No. And nothing ever needs killing.”
“You sound disappointed,” Betty said from behind me.
Carnahan looked up. “Got nothing to fight against here, Betty. Nothing to measure yourself against.”
“We fight against what’s inside of us. That’s the scariest stuff of all, don’t you think?”
“That’s Epona talking,” he snorted.
“ No,” Betty said with surprising, sudden intensity. “It’s me talking. Every person here believes in what Epona represents, but we think for ourselves. We believe we can exist without conflict, in harmony with nature and-”
“-in connection with spirit,” Carnahan finished with her. “Yeah, I know the words.”
“But not the meaning. Stan, we all took a conscious leap of faith when we came here. I won’t have it denigrated by someone like you.”
“Someone like me?” he repeated. He glanced at me and winked.
“Yes. Someone who says he believes, but doesn’t. Someone who says he wants to change, but not really. You’re a liar, Stan, and you and I aren’t the only ones who know it.”
Stan smiled at me. “Sense of humor is the first casualty of enlightenment.”
Betty rolled her eyes, grinned and mussed his hair like a boy.
“You believe this Epona is a goddess?” I asked Betty.
She thought for a moment. “Do you know what I was before I came here? Nothing. Well, that’s not strictly true, I bore my late husband’s children, then raised them to be men like him and women like me. We left no mark on anything. Every special jagged edge had been smoothed away by time and our sense of propriety. I knew that when I died, I’d leave no trace behind. Even my children would forget what I looked like. But I was resigned to being a woman, a person, of absolutely no consequence.”
Her whole demeanor changed. The amusement was replaced by a look of wonder, all the more powerful for its completeness. “Then I met Epona. She didn’t try to convince me my life was wrong, or my choices bad. She just… she showed me I could be more. I could matter.”
“By moving to the woods and opening a tavern?” I asked, with as little sarcasm as I could manage.
She smiled one of those infuriating, patient grins the enlightened always have for the rest of us. “I understand why you say that. After fire ants, cynicism is the most difficult thing to kill. But look around. Every tile, every crossbeam, every book and decoration and piece of furniture is there because I put it there. This place is mine, in a way my life never was before. And a cynic could never see that, or even comprehend it. But once the cynic inside us dies, the idealist can dance in the moonlight. Epona showed me that. That’s why I love her, and worship her. So yes, I believe she’s a goddess.” With that, she left to attend to something in her kitchen.
“She feels pretty strongly about it,” I observed to Carnahan.
“Ah, they all do. I tell you, if I hadn’t promised to stick it out for a year, I would’ve already blown this place like a port city whore.”
“How much longer do you have?”
He shrugged. “This is boring,” he said abruptly, and stood. I followed him to the end of the counter. He removed the darts from the dart board, then nodded at a big bowl of apples. “Grab those.”
We went outside. It was completely dark now, and the enormous full moon rose in the east. Orange torchlight illuminated the whole town.
Carnahan stuck all the darts but one into the wall by the door. He readied the remaining one in his hand. “We can at least try to keep our skills sharp, right? Those apples won’t feel anything. Toss one up.”
“Which way?”
“Surprise me.”
I threw one high into the darkness above the torches. Carnahan’s eyes flashed upward, his arm jerked, and the dart stuck neatly into the fruit as it came down.
Betty, watching from her tavern’s back door, said, “Not bad.”
Grinning, Stan reached for the bowl. “You try.”
I plucked a dart, and he hurled an apple higher and harder than I’d done. I made myself relax; no conscious skill could help me with this, only the instincts I’d honed over the last few years. My elbow flexed before I even knew it, and my apple landed with the dart fully embedded.
A few other townsfolk stopped to watch and politely applauded. The three girls we’d seen inside joined Betty in the doorway. I took the bowl back and threw another apple. Carnahan hit it dead center. I did the same on my next turn.
By now we’d attracted quite a crowd, including several charming young ladies. Miraculously we both hit our next two apples, to much appreciative clapping. At last one girl, a shapely lass with long red hair, took an apple from the bowl. She wobbled a little, tipsy from the celebration, but the gleam in her eye was unmistakable.
She took a big, voluptuous bite from the apple. Torchlight glinted on the juice as it ran down her chin. “I have an apple-flavored kiss,” she said, “for whichever of you puts their dart closest to the center of this bite.”
Carnahan and I exchanged a look. This was more like it. We each plucked a dart, his red and mine green, and waited.
The girl looked up into the clear, starry sky and took a deep breath. “By Epona’s white mane, I ask that my wish come true,” she called to the night. Then she threw the fruit as hard as she could.
The moment grew silent and immobile. No one breathed. Again my arm snapped, and the fruit hit the ground on the open space between the girl and us.
With a sly smile, she bent and picked it up. The crowd gasped.
Our two darts could not have been closer together. The flights were interlaced and the shafts side by side in the exact center of the bite.
The crowd cheered. Carnahan and I both grinned. The girl pulled the darts from the apple and, holding them side by side, licked the juice from their tips. “Looks like,” she said with an unmistakable smile, “I owe two kisses.”
My grin grew wider. Heck, I could grow to like this place.
A familiar voice suddenly cried, “Will you people get the hell outta my way!” Cathy pushed roughly through the crowd, oblivious to who she shoved. Behind
her, Nicole almost ran to keep up. Cathy seemed uninjured, although her hair was tousled, but something bad had clearly happened. She marched right up to me and faced me with cold, suddenly haunted eyes. The crowd fell into a murmuring semi-silence.
“I’ve done my job and made my delivery,” she snapped. “I am now going to take the longest, hottest bath of my life, and then I am leaving. What you do is entirely your business, but I advise you not to go anywhere near this Epona.”
I stepped close to her, aware that all eyes watched us. “Are you all right?” I asked softly. “Did something-”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she muttered, and pushed past me. I started to go after her when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“Mr. LaCrosse,” Nicole said. Her eyes were even sadder than they had been before. “Epona would like to see you.”
“I’ve just been told that wasn’t a good idea,” I said. I didn’t know if I should pursue Cathy or not.
“Miss Dumont will be fine,” Nicole insisted with gentle authority. “She wasn’t hurt in any way. And neither will you be. Epona merely wants to meet you.”
A murmur went through the crowd.
“Why?” I asked.
Nicole stepped closer. “She said to tell you,” she whispered, “that she knows how hard you tried to save Janet.”
I went cold inside. Cathy knew nothing of my past; certainly I hadn’t seen anyone from Arentia in the village. There was no way, no fucking way, this Epona could know about Janet.
Nicole smiled sympathetically at my reaction. “She is a goddess, you know.” She pointed at my sword. “You won’t need that.”
“I usually need it the most right after someone tells me that.”
“You’re going to meet a lone woman half your size. Who’s also deathly ill.”
“I thought she was a goddess.”
“Then going armed won’t matter, will it?”
“Don’t worry,” Stan interjected. “Seriously. Being with Epona is the safest place in the world.”
I unbuckled my sword. I would’ve preferred to leave it with Cathy, but I handed it to Carnahan. He took it easily, the weight barely registering. “Keep it clean for me, okay?”
He nodded. “Like it was mine.”
Nicole took my arm. For the benefit of the crowd she said, “Now come into the forest, Mr. LaCrosse, and meet the Queen of Horses.”
SEVENTEEN
I’d spent a lot of time in forests all over the world, but I’d never seen one that looked, or felt, like the one into which Nicole led me that night. This was a virgin forest, almost a jungle. No ax ever struck home in this place, nor any natural fires swept it clean. Vines and undergrowth shrouded the roots and formed intricate lattices in the spaces between the trunks. They kept travelers on the trail far more efficiently than any man-made fence. In no time the glow of the village vanished behind us, and only the bright moon overhead showed the way. The music and noise quickly faded as well. Insects, frogs and birds filled the air with their cries.
It took a moment, but the presence of birds finally hit me. I was no expert, but I could recognize most normal bird cries, and the ones I now heard were new to me. They almost sounded like fragments of composed songs, rather than the calls of living animals. “What kind of birds are those?” I asked Nicole.
“Just birds,” she said with a dismissive wave. “What else would they be?”
“That’s why I’m asking,” I said. I didn’t press the issue, but I knew she was evading my question. Owls, loons and mockingbirds sang at night, and this was none of them.
The trail was broad and clear, as it would have to be to regularly accommodate the town’s entire population. But it wasn’t expedient. It curved around some truly gigantic trees, no doubt allowing pilgrims sufficient time to contemplate their upcoming meeting with the goddess.
Nicole’s crack about Janet had put me on edge, and the further we traveled, the more annoyed I got. How could Epona know about that? How could anyone? I never told a soul, not even Phil, how truly hard I’d fought that day. I took a fucking sword hit to a lung and continued trying to save her. When my own sword broke, I fought on barehanded. I killed seven of them, and injured a dozen, but they outnumbered me and eventually beat me down. And then they made me watch what they did to Janet. But damn it, I did fucking try.
Something large moved in the woods to my right. I turned in time to see a shadowy form, far too big for either a wolf or deer, leap nimbly through the undergrowth. It was so stealthy I barely heard its passage. Another one, whatever it was, ran laterally through scrub that should’ve tripped anything larger than a raccoon. Then I realized these huge silent shapes were everywhere, moving parallel with us. I was just about to ask Nicole what they were when one of them emitted an unmistakable equine whinny.
“Looks like you’ve got horses in your trees,” I said.
Nicole laughed. “You make it sound like an infestation. Like roaches or rats.”
I shrugged. “If the horseshoe fits.”
“You don’t care for horses?”
Moonlight gleamed off the eyes of a great equine shadow as it paused to watch us. “Not as a rule.”
She nodded. “All that speed. The grace. The strength. That can be intimidating, I suppose.”
I scowled. “Saw a guy get his jaw kicked clean off once. That was intimidating.”
“Did he deserve it?”
“Maybe. I’d just prefer that my work animals not make that kind of moral judgment.”
“See, that’s your problem. A horse by its nature is not a ‘work animal.’ ”
“Then what is it?”
“An equal. A friend. A symbol of the goddess.”
I smiled. “Yeah, you gals always get into horses, don’t you? I never knew a girl who didn’t obsess about horses until she discovered sex.”
I’d intended it as a joke, but Nicole didn’t laugh. Instead she walked in thoughtful silence before replying, “I guess that’s true. Something about horses appeals to the adolescent feminine nature. That’s very astute.”
“I was mostly kidding.”
“I know, but I think you may be right. There’s an undeniable sexual thrill for a woman to wrap her legs around a horse, and that gets replaced by the thrill of actual sex. So we do lose that first rush of chaste awareness once we begin making love.” She thought some more. “The act of love mirrors the act of creation. Perhaps, for women, the feeling we get before we know physical love is the closest we get to knowing the goddess. Because a goddess is everything at once, eternally sexual and eternally virgin. So even as the virgin, she’s still aware of her power because she’s also the wanton. And perhaps that is what girls feel.”
“You got all of that from one bad joke?”
She laughed. “As Epona’s hands-on agent in daily mundane life, I spend a lot of time trying to think like she does. I know she considers horses her sacred symbols and avatars in this world, so I guess I do, too.”
I watched more horses flit through the trees. They were quick and graceful in a way totally at odds with the terrain; were they even real? “So all your children get the chance to be trampled by these sacred horses on their fifth birthday?”
“No, not children. Just daughters. A taste of the nearness of death, before they grow old enough to give life.”
“Do any ever get more than a taste?”
“Yes,” she said sadly. “That’s what gives it value. Some are lost. But most survive. Epona is not a cruel goddess.”
“You did say she was a dying goddess.”
Nicole stopped and faced me. The moonlight hid her eyes in shadow, so I couldn’t read her expression. “Mr. LaCrosse, do you have any sort of spiritual life?”
“I’m usually too busy.”
“There are many gods and goddesses worshipped in the world. Most are no more substantial than the icons used to represent them. But the greatest gift a true goddess can give those who believe in her is the reality of her presence. Epona
chose to become one of us. A human woman. And like all of us, she is prey to the frailty of the flesh she inhabits.”
“That sounds a little like a dodge,” I pointed out. “Not much of a goddess if you have to make excuses for her.”
Nicole did another one of those patient grins. “Her compassion and wisdom are the true signs of her divinity, not her mortal form. Death won’t part her from us. And the time she’s spent among us will become our legend, our mystery, the story that binds our hearts together, and to her.”
“You realize how that sounds.”
She shrugged. “I’d rather believe in something than nothing. I get the impression you feel the opposite.”
She had me there. We resumed our trek in silence, engulfed by the night. The fact that Epona knew about Janet did not convince me of her divinity; after all, news of the death of a princess tended to get around. I’d seen far too many unlikely things to simply accept divine insight without question. I had no doubt that, at the end of this trail, I would meet only some half-crazed mumbling wisewoman with a lot of stage presence, but I almost wished Nicole were right. To behold a goddess in the flesh might almost cure me of my bitterness.
We rounded a corner and found our path blocked by the same immense white horse I’d seen leading the herd that nearly trampled the little beribboned girl. This close I saw I’d gotten the gender wrong; this was a mare, and she regarded me with black, fathomless eyes. I recalled the apple-flavored redhead’s prayer: “By Epona’s white mane.”
The horse allowed Nicole to gently stroke her cheek, and the woman whispered something so softly I couldn’t catch it. Then the huge white head turned and again fixed its dark eyes on me.
