Paranormally Yours: A Boxed Set

by Alisha Basso

  For Pindar, there was grain, but not much, carried in several sacks by each of them and strapped behind her saddle. No grass for him to graze, and now a thin layer of dry snow covered the ground. She pulled the hood of her new leather cloak tighter to her throat. Wind flew against them in frigid blasts, swirling clouds of prickly ice crystals into their faces.

  Shortly after they started out, she’d tried making another break for it. Pheeso had blocked the path with his massive body and an equally giant glare. But it had been Pindar who again had fought her. Again, she had failed.

  What was there to do but sulk? She’d grown bored with staring daggers at the Supreme Guardian’s broad shoulders. It had no effect anyway. Each step took them farther from the Ravery and deeper into her conflicted feelings—equal parts fear and anticipation for…what she didn’t know.

  She wondered about the portal. Was it a worm hole? Physics hadn’t exactly been her subject.

  If she could make her mind blessedly blank—meditation practice had eluded her as well—she could block out the million ways her body hurt. Nothing had prepared her for this many hours in the saddle, not to mention attacks by weird flying bird-men, or being tackled by a linebacker also known as Supreme Guardian Leinos. She was nearly fifty for Pete's sake. Much too old for this nonsense. Even with whatever Vraz had done to heal her ankles, they ached. Her knees and forehead were bruised. Her seat bones felt like they might poke through her skin. Her back...oh, cataloguing it didn’t change anything. Everything hurt. She’d kill for a tube of lip balm.

  She had a bad feeling that this night would bring a hard, cold bed on the ground, not the hot bath with mineral salts, candles, soft music, and big glass of red wine she needed.

  She huffed out another sigh and sat up straighter. Sulking didn’t help. They needed her for something. Who didn’t like to be needed? And the something they needed afforded her their deepest respect. Find their lost horses. How hard could it be?

  She patted Pindar’s neck. He didn’t complain. Neither would she.

  But good God—or goddess, as her new friends said—it was a long day. Finally, the ground leveled and the wind settled to a mere whine. Perhaps they had reached a pass. They stopped at a large overhang of rock as the last of the day’s paltry light gave way to night. It was not quite a cave, but would shelter them from the worst of the elements.

  Lauren carefully slid to the ground, knowing her frozen toes would break off if she landed too hard. Painful pins and needles poked her as circulation slowly returned to her feet and hands. She loosened Pindar’s girth and exchanged his bridle for a large leather halter she’d nabbed from the barn at Raver’s Keep—old, but in good repair. She stroked Pindar’s nose wondering about the horse who’d last worn the halter. What was his name? He’d been bigger than Pindar, that much was plain.

  “You’re having a grand adventure, aren’t you boy?” The horse pushed his muzzle into her belly and wuffled softly then rubbed his face against her. She massaged his cheeks and ears and everywhere the bridle touched.

  Artepa and Pheeso quickly had a fire built in a stone depression seemingly made for just that, and there had been dry wood stacked inside the shelter. So this was a regular stopping place. As the flames danced illumination along the interior walls, Lauren realized there were places for horses with deep basins for water and feed. She led Pindar to one of these, removed his saddle, and brushed him down using more supplies she’d stuffed in the pack they’d given her. He didn’t have a winter coat, would soon be shivering. One thing she hadn’t seen at the Keep had been horse blankets.

  She slipped the heavy leather cloak from her shoulders and laid it over his back, unsure that would be enough to keep him warm all night. Using the reins from the bridle and the girth from the saddle, she fashioned a surcingle to keep it on him. Before she finished, cold knifed through the remaining layers of her clothes. Deep shudders of exhaustion racked her. She went to the fire.

  Someone had laid furs on either side and Artepa was just placing a heavy kettle on a hook above the flames. Lauren closed her eyes. The scent of wood smoke transported her to her brother’s cozy living room where her family gathered for Thanksgiving dinner, filling the house with laughter. She basked in the memory for a few moments before asking, “Can I get some water for Pindar?”

  “He will be first, of course, my lady,” Artepa said without looking up. “Then, tea for us.”

  “And soup,” Pheeso said. He concentrated on slicing something into a large pot.

  The sound of her brother Steven’s chuckle echoed in Lauren’s thoughts. She wrapped her arms around herself and knelt as close to the fire as she could without getting in it, thankful for its heat and something warm to fill her belly, even if it wouldn’t be a five-course meal. Tea and soup sound good.” She clamped her jaws together to keep from chattering and considered how quickly her needs and wants could be reduced to the essentials.

  Leinos came up with more wood. “By the goddess, Lady Horsecaller.” He cast furious glances at the other two, picked Lauren up, and slid her between two thick furs. “Did you not see that her lips were blue?”

  There may have been more recriminations or explanations, but Lauren fell asleep before she even felt warm.

  Leinos gave water and grain to the horse and stood there for a time, listening to him chew. The rhythm resonated deep within him, stamped into his bones and carried by his blood, a gift from generations of Cirqian horse people back to the first Horsecaller.

  He placed his hand on Pindar’s neck as Lauren had shown him, feeling the big animal’s throat work and concentrating on the flow of breath. Closing his eyes, he slowed his own breathing until they were in time with each other. The horse accepted his presence, but no more. Leinos did not feel the light pressure he would expect from connection, the gentle hum vibrating up the back of his neck. It had been so long since he had bound his energy with another, had he forgotten how? He had no right to even try with the Horsecaller’s horse. Pindar could be blocking him.

  Leinos still struggled to believe the woman sharing his fur was the Horsecaller. But if Vraz and High Crone Sebira said it was so, then it was. And soon all Cirqians would be reunited with their horses. The land would be healed by their sacred hooves. Perhaps it was not too late. He would reserve judgment. He would not allow longing to take root.

  When they finished eating—which they did in uncommon silence—Leinos banked the fire around the pot and kettle to keep the soup and water warm should the Horsecaller waken. He did not assign a watch rotation because Vraz had surrounded them with an aegis before going to ground for the night.

  It thickened the air like clouds rolling in from the sea, the mist that roiled with sighs of the dead. Did the dead whisper of horses? Of fierce gallops through shadowed woods? Of languid days softened by the sun’s warmth across a broad back? Did they remember the feel of bare skin against rough-sleek hair?

  He could listen, if he chose. If they were near the simmering sea. But they weren’t. Instead, they straddled the unyielding hump of the Raver mountains.

  The wind had stilled, hushed by the aegis. He fancied the land holding its breath.

  Waiting.

  Just as the people waited.

  Before sliding into their furs, he, Pheeso, and Artepa tucked their cloaks around Pindar and stared at him, his tangible presence nourishing their souls as much as—no, more than—the thin soup sustained their bodies. Hope lit his guardians’ eyes, expectation that everything would be all right. They had faith. They had each other.

  As magnificent as this singular creature was, he alone was not enough.

  The Horsecaller must do her part.

  Chapter 10

  SIXTH-degree sage, Rezol, stared out into the night toward the nameless mountain that contained his future. Fortunately, his tower’s single window faced north. But at that moment, he was not devising new ways to penetrate the mountain’s mysteries. It contained layer upon convoluted layer of shields placed there generat
ions ago by a first-degree sage. The same mythological sage had also sealed himself inside to help protect what he had hidden there.

  The Absolute.

  Or so the story was told.

  Then, the story had been forgotten—by most—and a new country sprang up, blithely ignorant of the land’s history, of the incredible power beneath them. And blithely ignorant they remained, right up to their despotic rulers, including their current king, Rast.

  Rezol pulled his thoughts back. It did no good to dwell on the paltry mental faculties of his benefactor.

  Instead, he pondered what might have happened to the yekerk he had sent to the Ravery. Though nearly brainless, the flying creatures were useful. They were dead, of that he was sure, for he had kept a sliver of their small minds in his thoughts always, like bubbles on the roof of his mouth. These had popped, quickly, and in succession.

  When the measureless chasm that was the Ravery gaped in his mind like the voracious jaws of the legendary frit, he had sent the yekerk to defend the opening. Chances were slight anyone would come through after all this time. Perhaps they had stumbled into it, back to where they originally came from. No matter. There were always more yekerk, other ways to find information. And now that he had broken the aegis over Raverwood, he would keep the Ravery closed. One less thing to be concerned about.

  If the sage leaders in Elaz knew he sensed the portal’s activity, if they knew he could open it, they would surely find a way to kill him. The knowledge came as a surprise even though he was well acquainted with what they were capable of.

  Rezol would extract the secret tucked so deeply in the mountain no matter how long it took. Then, he would be the one giving orders. First, he would dispatch King Rast. For now, he needed the grasping tyrant as a cover for his real work. Then, he would punish the other sages for what they had done to him, what they had taken from him. A vision of his mate and their baby daughter flashed. He forced the painful memories where they belonged—in the far recesses of his mind—and returned to his earlier ruminations.

  Something was happening in Cirq. Flames of sage thought, quickly extinguished, pointed to Raver’s Keep. He would send another contingent of yekerk to probe farther inside the borders. Even with Cirq weakened, it was the only place that held any hint of threat so long as the Guardians remained in place.

  Tinnis’s neighbor to the south, Derr, had long ago eschewed the assistance of sages, and later made the fatal decision to banish all sages and crones. Their country had been in turmoil ever since. He must find the Absolute before they reorganized. They also could thwart his plans.

  But Cirq still keep a sage in their capital. Marzak of Lerom was the most powerful sage in service to a monarch, though Queen Naele had little enough left to rule. And Vraz would soon match Marzak in power. Vraz, whom he had once called friend, was unswervingly dedicated to Cirq.

  And only Cirq held the key to righting the balance of power: her horses.

  He had studied what little had been written about the strange, four-legged animals and knew that with their strength, Cirq could crush his dreams. He had gone to the Bitter Reaches himself, but the confounded beasts had eluded him. Perhaps they could fly. No one could gather them but a true Horsecaller, and there were none of those to be had.

  He would make sure it stayed that way.

  Whatever it took.

  ~~~

  Thousands of horses stampeding across a vast plain, obscured by a cloud of red dust. Their high-pitched calls echo in her ears, the ground shakes with their pounding. The sky darkens as hundreds of bird-men blot out the light, howling their blood-curdling shrieks. They sweep down on the herd. Horses scream in terror, whipping their heads around to bite their pursuers. Blood streaks the horses’ backs. They begin to waver and stumble.

  “No!”

  Lauren woke, a heavy weight on her chest. Leinos had thrown his body over hers, had one hand clamped over her mouth.

  “Not a sound,” he whispered.

  She gave a quick nod, and he removed his hand.

  “Something is out there.” His breath tickled her ear. He spoke on the exhale, barely audible, but clear nonetheless. “Do not move. No sound. Understand?”

  He cocked his head, listening to something outside that only he could hear. She couldn’t hear a thing, not with her heart pounding blood into her ears like a kettle drum.

  She tried to be still, but had to shift, slightly tilting her hips to a more comfortable angle. Her body responded to his against her will—softening, inviting. She kept her eyes squeezed tight as his body answered the call with a sudden, unmistakable hardness. Then, he was gone.

  She stared into the blackness and groped around until her hand found the smooth stave Pheeso had given her. She couldn’t remember bringing it into the fur, but she scarcely remembered going to bed.

  Scuffling made her peek out to see Vraz dragging something large into their camp. He tossed whatever it was at Artepa’s feet.

  The boy from Raver’s’ Keep stared at them in frozen terror.

  “Malek!” Artepa cried. “What are you doing here?”

  It took Lauren only a moment to answer that question for herself. He was there because of her. Malek’s teeth clattered together as he glanced from Artepa to Pheeso, then to Leinos, and finally settled on Lauren.

  Vraz stood with his hands on his hips, his angry breath clouding like steam from a locomotive. “Not much longer and he would have been a frozen pile of frit dung.” He threw Malek’s small pack at the boy’s feet.

  “Please,” Malek cried. “Let me stay. I will keep up. The Horsecaller will need help.”

  Artepa dropped to one knee and put her arms around the boy. “Nephew,” she said gently, “your parents forbade this.” Her eyes shifted to Leinos. “The Supreme Guardian forbade this.”

  “The Horsecaller herself forbade this,” Leinos added.

  Lauren thought forbade too strong a word but didn’t interrupt.

  Artepa gave the boy a swift hug. “We will decide come morning.”

  The woman picked him up and crawled beneath her fur. Pheeso grunted as he joined them, and Artepa murmured something lulling to him, or to the boy, or maybe to both. Lauren knew a quick stab of homesickness, a longing for her mother that she hadn’t felt in a long time. Leinos threw more wood on the fire. Vraz melted into the dark from wherever he’d come. The camp grew quiet.

  The next best thing to her mother’s soothing voice was a horse. Lauren wanted to check on Pindar anyway, so she shrugged out of the sleeping bag and went to him. He was lying down but got up and nickered softly as she approached, and she instantly felt better. The dream of the horses being attacked by the flying bird-men had left her uneasy, and her nerves were already rattled and raw. Getting yanked from sleep with the Guardian on top of her didn’t help. He’d said he would protect her. She guessed he was doing his job. Too well.

  “Hey, buddy.” Pindar turned his head into her chest, nibbling her shirt with his lips. She noted that everyone’s cloaks were either on or under him where they were sure to get damaged by his steel shoes. His water bowl was full and clearly someone had fed him. Their level of dedication to his wellbeing made her smile. “I’m all out of treats, my friend. Maybe I can find something when we get to…wherever it is we’re going in such a hurry.”

  “Tomorrow we will reach Steepside. A village.”

  Lauren nearly jumped out of her skin at the Supreme Guardian’s voice by her shoulder. The man was quiet as a cat.

  “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  He paused for a moment before saying, “My apologies.”

  “You don’t have to keep apologizing. It doesn’t change anything. We’ve established that I’m not happy about being here, you care only about getting your horses, I’m going to do what I can, and then go home. So, let’s just get on with it.”

  Usually, she was the one to smooth things over and make everyone comfortable. But once again, her fear and frustration had gotten the better of her
.

  Again, the slight pause. “Indeed.”

  Lauren could come to hate that evasive comeback. She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, trying without success to release some of her mounting tension. “Please don’t humor or placate me. And let’s not pussyfoot around, either. Why don’t you just come clean about what’s going on here?”

  The Guardian placed his hand next to hers where it rested on Pindar’s neck, his fingers grazing hers. “He is well?”

  She flinched at his touch and the abrupt change of subject. “Yes. Thank you. He is well. But—”

  “Then let us return to the fire. You must be hungry. I will answer your questions after you have eaten.”

  She followed him to the fur where he bade her sit while he poured a cup of tea and ladled soup from the simmering pot. She clasped the warm mug gratefully and let the steam thaw the insides of her nostrils. Oh, how she longed for hot water. Lots and lots of hot water.

  He sat next to her with his own cup and arranged the fur around them. Altogether too cozy, but it was that or slowly freeze to death. Reluctantly, she admitted she liked the feel of him next to her. She hardly knew him, and she understood why he’d vowed to protect her, but there was no escaping the sense of safety she felt with him by her side. Something she’d never experienced with Darren.

  There were similarities. Both men were tall and handsome, though Darren’s features were just-a-little-too-refined, his look too practiced. That polished exterior hid a boorish ego, though. Where Leinos was rough around the edges, so far, he’d been kind and respectful toward her. She’d seen the gentleness at his core. She could get used to that.

  Leinos watched Lauren tuck into her soup and waited until she held out her bowl for seconds before beginning.

  “What is your most pressing question?” he asked.

  She peered through the thin haze above her bowl but answered without hesitation. “What happened to your horses?”

  “It was a long time ago—”

  “Oh, bloody hell. Isn’t it always?”