Mistress of the Runes

by Andrews

  “How would you have approached it?”

  “I would have put your arm down there,” I said, and she grinned at me again.

  “Aren’t you glad I insisted that we have shutoff valves at each waterer? Otherwise you’d be turning that water off three hundred yards away, then running back to see what was going on.”

  “Yes, you were very smart to do that.”

  “You fought me on it,” she said in a tone that questioned my giving in so easily, but I had gotten more comfortable giving in of late.

  Perhaps out here nature set the example: summer giving in to winter, cold ground giving in to the first shoots of spring grass, and mares giving in to a cycle that ensured the life of the herd. I had no doubt that I would fight many more battles, but for now I was at peace.

  *

  I stepped out of the shower, dried off, and immediately pulled Liz into bed with me and curled up around her. My intention was to make love to her, but the bracing wind and cold temperatures had made me more tired than I realized, and I passed out as she was talking.

  In the predawn, a dream fragment floated through my head and I heard my own voice, the voice of the redheaded warrior speaking to his young aide as he stood currying his horse.

  “Don’t focus on loss, focus on what you’re going to obtain. You can’t be a warrior if you focus on loss.”

  “Did you think you were lost when you lay at the bottom of that ravine, sire?” he asks me.

  “Momentarily, but as with all warriors, just when you believe you are finished, the world turns, because the gods save their warriors.”

  I awoke to the light piercing through a purple and orange sky and saw two big white-tailed deer leaping across the back forty. The horses had their heads hanging over their stall windows, and Rune nickered at me as I opened the back door. The dogs bounded toward me as if I’d been gone for a year, and the two stray kittens we’d adopted after they appeared at our doorstep scaled the fence to see me.

  Everything was surreal and beautiful: the wildlife, the weather, the quiet. I had chanted, prayed, looked for work, and tried to remain positive. For months I had tried not to think too far down the road, and now the road had risen to meet me. Who am I now? What am I here to do? More than ever, I need to know that.

  Liz came outside and put her arms around me, unwilling to let me fret alone, dissolving my fears in love and lust.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have a solution.”

  “We are the solution. Forget the world. Make love to me,” she whispered and pulled me back into the house and into bed. “Remember that it’s who you are, Brice Chandler, that I love and have always loved.”

  Liz’s hot mouth enveloped mine, her legs, radiating heat, wrapped around my thighs, and her breasts pressed so tightly to my chest could not muffle the beating of her heart. “You belong to me,” she said, and her tongue created a writhing rhythm in me, moving in time to her fingers drumming inside me until my hips could no longer refrain from the wild, erotic dance, and I thrust my whole being into her—coming to be one with her, all the while feeling this had happened to us before.

  *

  The phone rang about the time I was starting to breathe regularly, and I answered it without checking the caller I.D. It was Madge.

  “Haven’t heard from you two in a while. You doing all right?”

  Saying that we were, I tried to focus my brain, which was swimming through the euphoria of endorphins brought on by sensational sex.

  “I’d say from the sound of things, you’re doing better than could be expected. I told you the day you met Liz Chase that she was perfect for you.”

  “You did not!” I fired at her and she laughed loudly.

  “I knew it inside. I was just making sure that you came to it on your own…that you knew it and didn’t rely on my telling you. Important to come to things like that on your own. Call me sometime when you’re not in bed,” Madge said and hung up.

  “How long have you known her?” Liz asked, giggling, having heard Madge’s loud voice through the phone.

  “Forever.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The bills were through the roof. Not just the ordinary cost of living, but construction costs and now the cost of horses.

  “Healthy as a horse” was obviously a phrase coined by people who never even saw a horse, much less owned one, horses being expert at finding something to run into, step on, bite into, or trip over. Their intelligence and curiosity made them as dangerous as a five-year-old kid on a sugar high. And even if they managed not to wrestle one another into a bloody state, or eat themselves sick on fresh grass, they always needed shots, worming, teeth floating, or hoof trimming.

  Dr. Brown and his assistant, Sarah, unloaded the buckets, syringes, teeth braces, and other paraphernalia that January always brought. They were a relaxed pair, Brown and Sarah. They leaned up against the hitching post and petted the horses, then admired the land.

  Finally, we got down to the shots—EWE, tetanus, rabies, West Nile—then the injection to relax the horses so they could have their teeth floated. As Sarah tightened the halter buckle, the metal teeth brace slammed into Rune’s teeth. Even with sedation, Rune’s eyes went wide. Sarah apologized and loosened the buckle, and I cringed.

  When the work was complete, Rune was left in her stall to recover from all the bodily insult. I stayed with her, held her sagging head up, and talked to her while the sedative wore off.

  When Brown and Sarah moved on to Hlatur for his sheath cleaning, Liz was in deep conversation with them, examining even the most private parts of Hlatur for signs of any waxy blockage.

  “Lose your diamond up there?” I teased her as the vet finished, packed his gear, and Sarah lugged all his equipment out to the truck.

  “Bet you like the sunsets out here,” Dr. Brown said as he backed his big truck out of the drive.

  “I like everything out here. I hate to go into the city.”

  “Me too,” he said and tipped his hat, taking his leave and a sizeable chunk of our money for only an hour’s work.

  *

  That night I was working at my computer, when suddenly my mouth was in terrible pain. My front teeth hurt so badly that I couldn’t touch them. My lips felt feverish and I began tasting metal, like I’d eaten green beans from a bad tin can. I got up and walked around to see if the pain would go away, then wandered out into the barn where Rune was standing in her stall, her hay still lying on the ground at her feet. She hadn’t eaten since the vet left. Taking her temperature, I discovered it was 102.5.

  I got the bute paste, dialed up two grams, and gave it to her, then stroked her head; she looked sad. “You can’t chew, can you? Your mouth is sore.” She looked me full in the face. “When that big metal thing clanked against your upper and lower teeth that hurt like hell, didn’t it? Okay, I got the message. The bute will take away that pain, and by tomorrow you’ll be able to eat again, I promise.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the pain in my own teeth ended, just as abruptly as it had started. I went back out in the barn and found Rune lying down with her feet tucked up under her and mentally told her not to get up. I entered her stall, sat down on the shavings beside her, stroked her chest and neck, and put my arm around her. It was magical. My mare on the floor with me, her legs tucked up under her like a large dog, letting me hug her.

  When I went back in the house, Liz was playing computer games and I told her about my experience with Rune and her teeth. “This is so weird. I’m listening to the horse, Liz, and she was telling me her teeth were hurting. Now I’m listening and I think she’s telling me to go to San Francisco.”

  Liz stopped playing and turned toward me. Studying me for a moment she said, “Is she putting it on her charge card?”

  *

  Our plane flight to San Francisco had been uneventful, and we’d obtained a rental car without waiting. Auspicious, I thought. We drove up and around the winding roads o
verlooking the brightly shining bay and were glad we would be here in San Francisco for a day.

  Liz checked the directions and told me to take a hard right, then head straight up the hill, and the house we were looking for would be on the right-hand side. She was right.

  I parked on an uphill slope, cranked my steering wheel to the far right, and set the parking brake. “People live like mountain goats here,” I remarked.

  Liz was staring up at the three-story rococo flat bearing the correct address.

  “Brice, it’s vacant.”

  “What!” I sagged back into the leather seats and peered across her up into the tri-level flat. “Maybe it just looks vacant, come on.” I refused to believe we’d spent time and money to come to a vacant house.

  We clambered up the steep front steps and I rang the bell, but already I could see through the giant bay front windows the house had no furniture; it was vacant. I rang again and got no answer. We were turning to leave as the door opened.

  “Come in.” A tall woman smiled at us.

  I was overjoyed someone was there, although she looked nothing like I had envisioned the voice on the phone. In fact, she was rather stunning with a long white fur coat and a white fur hood; the only sign of color was the trim around the bottom of the coat, which looked like sapphires.

  “Are you—”

  “No,” she said. “The older lady you’re most likely seeking isn’t here any longer.”

  And I immediately knew that she’d died.

  “I’m here wrapping up the shipment of her belongings to her son, who’s going to auction them off, I think.”

  “I can’t believe it.” I was distraught over not getting my questions answered and also sad over the demise of the sweet woman I knew only by her voice.

  “You must be a longtime friend.”

  “No, I really didn’t know her at all. I’d spoken to her on the phone. She sent me a gift on occasion and invited me to come and visit. I wanted to talk to her about why we’re…” I struggled with the words.

  “Here.”

  I thought she was completing my sentence, but realized she was offering us a seat on the couch.

  “Well, not here here but—in a more cosmic sense—why we’re back. I’m sure that sounds completely insane to you.” I tried to laugh, feeling self-conscious now.

  “She would have loved that conversation. She probably would have said, ‘Can you prove you ever left?’”

  Where have I heard that? I thought. Who else played games with me about leaving? It all sounded so familiar.

  “So no one’s back, they’ve never really left?” I probed. “They’re just sort of around?”

  “Perfecting their archetype or transitioning to a new one,” she said. “Warrior, queen, working on love and fear while wearing different costumes.”

  “When it comes to the warrior archetype, there wasn’t much love, as far as I can see.”

  “Fear gets love out of balance, doesn’t it?” she said, checking bookshelves and looking into cabinets. “I was thinking about leasing this place myself, what do you think?”

  “It’s a lovely place,” Liz said, as I tried to sort out what was going on.

  “So we’re each just an archetype?” I quizzed her.

  “And the perfection of your archetype perfects the whole.”

  “One atom at a time until we all become what—a happy drop of rain?” I asked sourly.

  “You know about the planets. The sun dwarfs them all—all the ones we talk about—but the sun is dwarfed by Arcturus, and that star is dwarfed by Betelgeuse. The earth is not even a pixel on your computer next to the star Betelgeuse. So, you see, there are limitless experiences and possibilities. Oh, she left something for you,” the tall woman said and handed me another small package, like the first two I’d received in the mail. She watched me unwrap it. “Ahh, just as I suspected—a rune!”

  “Did she send runes to a lot of people?”

  “I don’t think so.” She seemed surprised by my question.

  “It’s blank.”

  “Some people don’t believe the blank rune exists, but there it is. The unknowable, the beginning and the end. Karmic shifts. Karma shifts, you know, as you continue to evolve. The rune is called Odin.”

  “That was the name of my Viking hound, my Norwegian elkhound…” As the words came out of my mouth, an elkhound padded into the room and stood beside her obediently. It was Odin. I’m sure it’s Odin!

  I gasped and knelt to the floor, tears in my eyes. “Odin!” I called out. He walked over and licked my cheek, then quickly turned and went back to her, standing at her side, leaning up against her, obviously claiming her.

  “Is that my dog? My dog is dead.”

  “Is he?”

  I watched him look adoringly at her. “He looks just like Odin.”

  “Then he is.” She smiled. “Energy is neither created nor destroyed, only transformed. You know that old saw. Physics, actually.”

  Liz took my hand, squeezed it reassuringly, then asked, “How did the older lady find us?”

  “The dog led us to you.”

  “When, how?” I whispered.

  “You both remember the restaurant, dear, in the storm?”

  I stared into her piercing blue eyes, astonished at what she was saying. She was the waitress that night asking about my dog. “You were there as—”

  “I found you several times: the docent in the museum, the woman who gave you the postcard by the river where you washed your feet, the shopkeeper with the antique horse, remember?”

  And with each mention of a person her features shifted just slightly, reminiscent of the form I had seen. “Let your journey begin!” She snapped her fingers, mimicking the gesture the elderly shopkeeper had executed. “I must go. Oh, and don’t forget, dear, to look for the signs.”

  “Who is the man on the horse with the queen?” I blurted out.

  She stopped abruptly and faced me, obviously shocked at my impudence in bringing up the subject.

  “Why are you asking questions to which you already know the answer, Brice?” she said, and I recognized the voice I’d heard over the phone.

  “You’re the woman I spoke to on the phone! What’s going on here?”

  “And that’s the question I came in on.” She turned to go.

  “Wait! Please, I’m sorry. Is he…was I that man? Please tell me.” I heard myself begging.

  “You are that man. I’m here if you continue to have questions,” she replied lightheartedly. “And you already know about the triplicities.”

  “What are the triplicities?” I hurried to ask before she could leave.

  “Google it, dear,” she said impatiently, and walked up the stairs. The dog followed her, never looking back.

  “How will I know when you’re speaking to me?” I called after her.

  “Listen to the horse,” she said, and a wind began to pick up and swirled around her feet and enveloped her body; her white robe blew around her thighs like a soft white blanket, and a rush of wind caught her long platinum hair and whipped it around her head like the mane of an exquisite horse whose ethereal eyes were as blue as sapphires.

  “Omigod, Liz!” I said, nearly faint.

  Liz grabbed me by the arm, the hair on our bodies standing straight up from the electricity in the air as the woman-now-horse, with Odin at her heels, departed into the ethers.

  “What time is it?” I murmured.

  “1:11 p.m.”

  As we made our way back down the steps to the car, my mind remained in a heightened state of awareness while my knees shook uncontrollably.

  “How did she know your name and how did she—” Liz began.

  “Forget my name, how did she become a horse? I didn’t imagine that!”

  “We always say horses have spirit. We don’t say any other animal has spirit.”

  As we unlocked the car door, there, clearly visible on the dashboard, lay a book. “Did you buy this?” Liz asked as she got
inside. “It’s a book on runestones.”

  When I assured her I hadn’t, she began thumbing through its pages to find the blank rune. “Oh, my God, check this out!” She held the book up, open to the last illustration on the back page. It pictured a tall woman in a white fur coat and fur hood, with jewels around the hem of the coat and a talisman bag around her waist. It was captioned, “Mistress of the Runes, Iceland 1642.”

  “Maybe that woman is a performer; and she plays the part of a—” I stammered.

  “Maybe she is who she is,” Liz said, and we both looked back up at the house on Telegraph Hill, its lights out, doors locked, and completely empty.

  We pulled away from the curb slowly and rode in silence.

  “She was the Mistress of the Runes who painted the picture that had me as the warrior and you as the queen in the Viking battle that was never recorded and she never saw, of two people who weren’t born until hundreds of years later. How did she know what that battle looked like, what we looked like?”

  “Because she was there. You told me you saw her heal your horse after it was injured saving you. She’s timeless—we’re all timeless,” Liz said, staring out of the car window as we drove back to the airport.

  “It’s just so hard to wrap my mind around it.”

  “‘Around’ is apparently the key word,” Liz said softly.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Weeks later our trip was an unsettling but distant memory. Because my mind had to reject what it couldn’t process, I didn’t marvel again over the events in San Francisco, and Liz only brought it up as a puzzle to be solved.

  She Googled “triplicities,” reading to me from various links. A triplicity was a series of repetitive numbers, and the number 111 signified seekers—those who wanted to know more about human existence. Different people around the world reported seeing different sets of numbers; some saw threes, some saw only twos. One article said those who saw triplicities of one were the enlightened.