by Alisha Basso
That, Lauren thought, was the million-dollar question. “Vraz brought me through the Ravery. He and Sebira. It was no accident.”
His shoulders hitched ever so slightly, and he glanced away. “You were needed.”
The anvil dropped on her other toe. “You did this?”
He met her gaze but had the grace to look sheepish. He shrugged. “The horses were dying, our country was dying, and I knew—everyone knew—there was no one left in this place who could do it.”
There, he said it again. Our country. Did he include her in this? “And who is everyone, exactly?”
“The All, mainly. The high crone and the first-degree sage are the liaisons between them and the people. You could say we’re the ones running things. Most the time, we keep our noses out, let the story tell itself. But I could not stand by and let the horses die, let Cirq die. They’re special. Different from the ones back home. Don’t you feel it?”
Lauren had felt something, but she wasn’t sure what it was. “I know Cirq and the horses and Horsecaller are bound together, but I don’t understand this power.”
“You will in time. You are bonded with them. Only one with my blood has this link. The crone, Sebira, she granted this capability.” He ducked his head and lowered his voice. “I think she was sweet on me.”
Lauren had a hard time imagining the old hag sweet on anyone, but it had been long ago, and everyone was young, once.
Together, they watched the herd for a time.
After a while, she asked, “So, I can’t go home?”
Again, he shrugged. “Much changes with time. It has been many hundreds of years since I came through. You must tell me what the old world is like now.”
“Many hundreds?” She knew that wasn’t right.
“Si,” he said. “We lose track on the other side, don’t count it up the same way humans do, but I’d say it’s been over five hundred years since I came through the Ravery. There were ten generations of Horsecallers before the last one was killed.”
“No,” Lauren said slowly, looking at him more closely. “It’s been only about one-hundred and thirty years since you disappeared from Earth.”
Enzo’s forehead furrowed tightly again, making his dark brows nearly touch. He stroked his beard, staring out at the herd.
“Look,” Lauren said. She pulled the slim journal from her pocket and opened it to the first page. “See, you started this in August of 1881. You disappeared in October of that same year.” The same month it had been when Vraz had fetched her. But it had been springtime in Cirq. Clearly, time was not on the same calendar here as it was on Earth.
Enzo looked where she pointed, nodded. “What year was it when you left?”
“Twenty thirteen. Still is, as far as I know. But…” If over five-hundred years had passed here in one-hundred thirty years on Earth, that meant that in the nearly three weeks she’d been in Cirq, then perhaps less than one had passed at home. Later, she’d figure out the math.
He put his back to the herd, but not without difficulty, she saw.
He began to walk to Pindar with long strides. “Your horse needs help.”
She followed, had to jog to keep up. “But—”
As they passed the Horseguard, all still on their knees, he said, “You may rise,” without slowing his gait. To her, he continued, “You have overcome your worst fear, have you not, little Raver?”
She used to have so many fears, putting her finger on one seemed impossible. She was stronger, more whole, and more honest, even while she felt more vulnerable than ever but still did not know what he meant.
They reached Pindar. He pricked his ears as Enzo walked up to him.
“When you arrived in Cirq,” he started as he put his palm flat on Pindar’s forehead and concentrated for a time. “When they brought you through the Ravery,” he corrected, “you did not want to need anyone or be needed by others, is that not so?”
As if he could see inside her heart. “Yes,” she answered, because what he said was true, or had been. She hardly recognized herself, though, anymore.
He moved his hands over the big gray, expertly inspecting and assessing. “And now?”
While she thought how to express the vast changes she’d undergone since coming through the Ravery, he glanced over his shoulder at the crowd that stood at a respectful distance. “You,” he said, pointing a long finger at Malek who stood next to Leinos. “Come here, boy.”
Malek looked to her for reassurance, and she nodded, reached for him. The boy came forward.
“It is time you learned better how to use your gift,” Enzo said to him.
Malek’s eyes went wide.
“Don’t be afraid,” Lauren said and nudged him forward. Enzo tore the bandage off Pindar’s broken leg and tossed aside her painstakingly wrought splint.
He took Malek’s hands in his, placed them around Pindar’s thigh, and closed his eyes. Malek did likewise. For a moment. Then, he lifted one lid and peeked at the big man holding his hands, but Enzo’s eye’s remained closed, and Malek followed suit. They stayed like that for a time, then, with care not to disturb the boy, Enzo removed his hands, sat back on his haunches, and waited.
A small smile tickled the corners of Malek’s mouth. Pindar blinked, stood on the injured leg, flexed it, kicked out. Malek jumped back. Pindar bent his leg again, then put his toe to the ground. He brought his head around and nipped Enzo’s arm. Enzo only smiled and patted the horse’s neck.
“You went a little too far, my boy,” he said. “With practice, you will get it right.”
“Is it fixed?” Lauren asked, astonished.
“Not completely. He must still rest. This sling is a good idea. By tomorrow, he can begin to put weight on it again. Walking will be safe.”
He stroked the horse’s back, big hand coming to rest on the itchy spot at Pindar’s wither and rubbing absently, something he did without even realizing, she thought.
“You brought a brave and solid horse with you,” he said. “Combine his blood with those.” He nodded at the herd. “He has earned that much.”
He drew himself up. “Sebira grows weary of my company even though there was a time when she welcomed it. Attend me.” He went to the horses again.
“Sebira?” Lauren remembered the crone had appeared momentarily before he did.
“It is because of her that I am able to be here. Continue to welcome them in Cirq—crones and sages both—for they are great allies…but formidable enemies.”
They reached the edge of the herd. He touched them as they walked into their midst, just as she had the first time, stroking their backs, fluffing manes, running his fingers through tails. She shared his bittersweet joy at this reunion with his beloved creatures, knowing he would leave them soon. The horses parted to let them through, then closed, forming a dense wall of flesh and bone between the two Horsecallers and the outside world.
The moment they reached the exact center of the herd, he stopped. The horses were full of expectation, and the nimbus around him intensified. “You comprehend the paradox of being Horsecaller?”
Did he imply she might misuse the ability to call the horses? “I accept this power—whatever it is—as a blessing, and will try to wield it wisely. But no, I don’t comprehend this paradox.”
“True wisdom is a virtue, my dear, but a blessing can become a curse, and virtue turn to vice.” He smiled at some internal joke, leaned close. “Even divinity has drawbacks.”
He put one hand on the nearest horse, the other on her head, and dizzying images swirled through her mind too swiftly to see. In an instant, she connected with the mind of each horse, knew their aches and pains and who was related to whom, felt the dust next to their skin, babies moving in mothers’ wombs, and the hope in their hearts; the same hope she had seen rekindled in the eyes of Cirqians.
She longed to make everything right for them, to protect, and become one of them, not just one with them. Through Enzo, she reached out, felt her spine stretch, her
hands and feet harden, and hair grow densely over her whole body. Her sacred hooves took a tentative step.
The connection broke. She collapsed and inexplicably began to sob. He gathered her to him, stroked her hair, whispered in her ear.
“My descendants of this world were trained to resist the seductive call of the horses. This secret died with the last Horsecaller. You must be wary, for you have come upon it in a manner never intended, not unlike the way I learned.” His chest heaved with the memory of some deep sorrow, but he kept her close as if she were a frightened filly. “I felt it,” he continued, “but did not fully discern the risk until too late. I lost my firstborn son.”
She pulled away. “He became a horse?” she blurted. The sensation of growing mane and tail lingered.
“No, no.”
He squeezed her shoulder, but whether to steady her, or himself, she could not be sure.
“He went with them too often, in his heart, in his mind. Finally, he never returned. His body remained, living, yet not.”
They sat in the dust together, and the horses were quiet.
“You must make them one with you, Lauren, guide their sacred hooves on clear paths, but resist being one of them.”
Mutely, she nodded again, too overwhelmed to think.
“I cannot always be near to help. But you are strong.” He wiped her tears. “And I am never far. Come now, compose yourself,” he commanded. He rose and pulled her up, smacking dust off his trousers. “Many depend upon you.”
They returned to the others.
“Horseguard of Cirq,” Enzo said to the assembly. “You have maintained tradition for two hundred and twenty-two courses. Now you have horses and Horsecaller again. Do not waver, always put your horses first, and above all, see to the safety of the Horsecaller.”
They bowed and spoke as one. “We have so sworn, my lord.”
“Horsecaller,” Enzo continued, “you will need this.”
From behind him, he produced a stave and handed it to her.
She took the weapon. At once, she felt the difference between it and the one she had been carrying, the one she had lost along with her saddle and bridle somewhere in the mountains. It would take flight, should she but point it, an extension of her arm, her will.
“And this,” he added as he shook out a blue cloak like the one he wore.
The material was thin and supple, but she could feel its strength when he put it on her shoulders, as if silk and linen, velvet and steel had all been woven together.
He fastened the exquisite cloak under her throat. “With this, I officially welcome you to the House of Enzo. Our house. Live long, and,” he leaned close, shot a look at Leinos, spoke so only she could hear, “make more Horsecallers.”
Enzo stepped back with a wink. The air grew dense, pressure built behind her eyes, and he began to fade. She felt herself blink like a dimwit while everything else he’d said whizzed through her brain until it connected that last comment with the bit about only one of his blood being able to bond with the herd.
“But I’m too old,” she blurted.
His image solidified for a moment.
“Not here,” he said.
Chapter 36
KING Rast did something he had never done before. He went to his sage’s tower rather than ordering the sage come to him.
Rezol knew him to be trudging up the long, spiral stairway long before he reached the doorway, hand over heart, sucking air.
“My lord,” Rezol said when he opened the door from where he sat across the room. “A matter of some import must have forced you to me. Surely you could have sent a messenger?”
“The Supreme Guardian of Cirq is dead,” he gasped, dropping onto a bench. “But the Horsecaller was not with him.” He raised weepy eyes to the sage. “What do I do?”
Before replying, Rezol allowed himself a moment to gloat. So, she had escaped. Good. He went to stand next to his monarch. Then, because he was happy to have succeeded thus far, he pulled a chair over to sit, rather than pose intimidatingly above the man as he usually did.
“Have you forgotten, my lord? We want the horses and Horsecaller for ourselves." It was not unusual for the recipient of sage persuasion to forget what he had been persuaded to. Rezol did not resent having to remind the man, not now. “If she goes to call the horses, then the moment of victory is upon us.”
Rast mopped his brow, let his hand drop into his lap. “Yes, but how?”
“Simply intercept her before she returns them to Lerom. You must send your best men to Cirq.”
“Attack them?”
“Yes. It is time.”
“Of course.” Rast got to his feet and toddled out, mumbling about mustering his forces.
As soon as the heavy door swung shut behind the king, Rezol sagged onto the narrow palate that served as his bed, and as he did, the ancient aegis over his mountain dropped as well. Woe to any left in the mine’s depths, for he did not know if he could continue. He doubted Rast could lead his forces to Cirq fast enough to change anything.
Cadell had failed to capture the Horsecaller. He did not know where the man had gone and did not care.
All his well-laid plans slipped away. Without the horses, he might never find the Absolute. Without the Absolute, he could do little to avenge his mate’s death, might never find his daughter.
He lay down and allowed himself to fully imagine his mate, to truly remember, to thoroughly look at her in his memory as he had not for a long time. Her beauty and kindness shown brightly, even after so many courses, and he willed himself to gaze at her image, even as the pain built. This crashed over him like a waterfall, and he did nothing to stop it, simply let it wash him clean. Then, for the first time, he tried to picture what his daughter might look like now, nearly grown. Did she have her mother’s wispy blonde hair and deep, blue eyes?
Yes, he thought. She would take after her mother. She glided before him in his imagination, smiling.
He would find other means to achieve his goal.
He would have the Absolute.
Eventually.
And with it, absolute power.
Chapter 37
LATER that day, after a numbing bath in the lake, Lauren checked on Pindar. The big gray tossed his head when she stroked his neck, impatient, now that his leg felt better, to be with the rest of the herd. She wasn’t ready to let him out of the sling yet.
“But you’re going to be just fine,” she said, lifting a bucket of fresh water for him to drink. “And I am, too.”
She admired his ears as they ticked backwards and forwards with each swallow. She still worried over what the loss of the stallion meant for her brother. The assumption would be that she stole him. They’d probably think she’d cracked and took off. Would his insurance cover the loss under the circumstances? She hoped so. There was nothing she could do about it, but she couldn’t keep the niggling doubt from rising up occasionally. And now, a new concern…
“I could maybe have children,” she whispered. It was hard to imagine at this point in her life, but she wasn’t about to doubt her divine Great-Great-Grandpa Enzo.
She glanced over Pindar’s back and zeroed in on Leinos where he stood in conversation with Captain Geed. He was clearly meant to be the father of her children. Leinos, of course, not Geed. For there could be no mistaking Enzo’s intention when he included Leinos in his instructions to her.
She felt an unmistakable thrill deep in her belly, one part anticipation, one part trepidation, all desire, and pressed her hand there, quelling it for the time being. She had to be sure of the man, first. Sure that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. That is, that he wanted the same thing.
Then, she went to check on Pheeso, who sat away from everyone else, near the spot Artepa had died, staring at the placid lake surface. She couldn’t imagine what he felt, what the loss of Artepa meant to him. There were no words, so she crouched beside him and tried to see what he saw in the water, balancing her new stave across her knees
. Only bright sky reflected off the lake for her. Most likely, he journeyed inward and saw neither the water nor the horses.
Or her, for that matter. She didn’t try to engage him in conversation, and he didn’t acknowledge her. For that, she had to squelch a bubble of relief as she was more than a little afraid he blamed her for his mate’s death.
Just the same, she wanted to offer what comfort she could. She’d have to check with Leinos to see if there was anything else they could do for him. After a while, she touched his shoulder lightly and rose. She stood there for a moment, wishing for inspiration, but nothing came. She kissed the top of his head and started back to the others.
Shortly, Leinos walked at her side.
“I do not know if he will recover,” he said. “I do not know what bothers him more, the loss of his lifemate or the way she transitioned, but he is deeply troubled.”
Lauren only nodded, lost in her own thoughts.
“What happened between you and Ebro?” Leinos asked.
He probably sensed the change in her. He was close enough for her to feel his warmth, but not touching, appeared unsure whether he should, taking in the new cloak and stave with a sideways glance and studying her face with his copper eyes.
She didn’t want any distance between them, yet she was even less sure. After all, she had been conversing with a dead man. A man who had first been granted a special power, one he had used wisely, and then had a kind of divinity bestowed for his service, for creating Cirq, for maintaining peace.
She had held her great-great-grandfather’s meaty hand and felt the warmth of life and kinship. The stave he had given her hung loosely in her palm, smooth, warmed by her blood, as solid and real as she. Enzo had not been carrying it at first, had pulled it out of the air. The cloak, too. She fingered its silky edge, expecting it to disintegrate, but it didn’t. Delicate and unearthly, yes, but no less tangible than the staff.
“Horsecaller business,” she finally answered.
Family business.
Leinos smiled broadly, a rare thing. She felt the tension ease out of him.
