The Centaur Queen

by Jovee Winters

  I did not like it, and yet I recognized the wisdom of it. The Fates could read the past, present, and future. If I went with a question in mind, they could twist my thoughts, forcing me to ask a question that cost them very little and answered nothing at all.

  Nodding my understanding, I was just about to ask Petra whether he was ready to leave when Galeta interrupted me.

  “You should know, however, that if you agree to this journey, the Fates may require more than just the seeds. A task, no doubt a terrible and deadly one, will be asked of you. And if I were you, I would not want to accept any task without understanding exactly what it is I’d be walking into.”

  I snorted because of course I’d already expected this. “Fear is a weakness of the flesh and nothing more, but forewarned is forearmed. Knowing what I do of the Fates, I have no doubt the task will be a difficult one, but I am not without my own strengths.”

  Galeta tipped her head, acknowledging the truth of my words.

  Then a thought occurred to me. “Would you happen to know where they’ll send us?”

  She shook her head, causing her golden curls to bob prettily. “I do not know. The Fates know you come, but their minds haven’t settled on a course of action yet.”

  I’d been right then, obviously. I’d had my suspicions inside the games and Galeta had just confirmed them. A half grin curved my lips. “I see the rumors of you are true.”

  She looked anxious. Her eyes shifted around, as though searching to see whether anyone had heard me. But only Petra remained, and I knew he’d say nothing.

  “If you know so much,” I said slowly, “how is it that you do not know what’s caused this madness? You have second sight. Surely you must have some idea. I do.”

  It was the Harpy, the Creator, and Galeta herself, though I still hadn’t riddled that one out fully. Whatever the Pink had done, it had been against her will, possibly even accidental, but it had shifted the landscape of everything. The question I’d ask the Fates was in this riddle.

  A deep sigh spilled from her. “I wish second sight would answer all my questions. Sadly, that’s not how my particular talent works. Because of the Creator’s influence in all this, there are many blank spots for me. I know some,” she admitted softly, “but not enough to speak definitively, and so I’d rather say nothing at all. The only way to unravel this mystery is to do it slowly and methodically, which is precisely why I’ve chosen you to speak with the Fates. Learn all you can, and when you are ready to return to me, merely speak my name and I will come for you.”

  Pursing my lips, I understood she would give me no more. Petra shifted behind me, and I could sense his anxiousness to begin our journey. Satyrs, much like centaurs, were creatures of nature. We loathed being boxed inside four walls for long.

  Exchanging a few other pleasantries, I ended with a clipped nod. “Be well, Galeta the Pink.”

  “And you, Tymanon. And you. May the gods have mercy on us all.”

  It would be several days travel to the island of the Fates. As though realizing that himself, Petra was the first out the door. I followed close on his heels. The moment we stepped outside the enchanted castle walls, he and I both took one long inhale of pine-scented air. The castle had smelled stale and dank. It was an odor that all castles acquired over time.

  Petra carried little, just a spelled pouch at his waist that I’d given to him during the games. The only things I’d ever seen him put in it were bits of fruit, nuts, and berries. He was mostly herbivorous, though he would eat the occasional bit of charred flesh when I provided it.

  His arms were muscled from years of chopping down trees to get at the nymphs hidden within. His abdominals were equally as solid, and his legs were impressive. I could admire the strength of his body. Though I’d preferred the look of a centaur male more in the past, I was discovering that, at times, I could in fact see beauty outside of my own race. It was a novel concept, though hardly earth shattering.

  I looked at him and he at me. I was taller than Petra by a hand, roughly four inches, and weighed more than him by several stone. But there was something very stout about my companion. Perhaps it was in how he looked at me, as though we were equals.

  Without either of us speaking a word, we turned toward the east and ran. Few creatures in Kingdom had the endurance centaurs had. I’d been quite surprised to discover in the games that Petra could, in fact, keep up with me. I had four legs to his two, but he was naturally swift and agile, able to squeeze through smaller areas than I could. He tired sooner than me, but that was only after several miles of extreme exertion.

  We ran, stopping every two hours for drink. I rarely ate when on the hunt, and though I suspected he’d eat, he did not complain.

  By the time we finally stopped running, we’d gone a solid eight hours and traveled nearly forty miles. My heart raced in my chest, beating steadily but forcefully. I was coated in a fine sheen of sweat and dust. Even my withers ached. I’d not pushed myself so hard in years. I was a scholar, not a traveler, and yet the urgency of time had impressed itself upon me in a mighty way the further we’d traveled through the realms.

  The lands had shifted so greatly. The great valleys and chasms were now not so great. Bodies of water that had seemed to stretch toward infinity were oftentimes little more than puddles. I’d seen creatures slithering and slinking in the woods I’d never seen before. And I sensed that the loss of Wonderland had caused all of this to happen.

  Wonderland was a madcap realm within Kingdom. Its strange magic was usually contained within its borders, but the unraveling of magic had released its wildness into other parts of Kingdom.

  Petra plopped onto a large gray boulder sticking up out of the ground, breath sawing through his lungs like a bellows as he looked around.

  We’d entered a clearing surrounded by a bed of thorny bushes and brambles. Not a particularly appealing a place to tramp through for either predator or prey. This would be as good a place as any to bed down for the night. The sun was less than an hour away from setting, giving me enough time to hunt for meat. I desperately needed protein after the exertion of the past few hours. Nearby, I could hear the gentle gurgle of a brook.

  “We can wash the dirt off us here,” Petra said, obviously having heard it for himself.

  “Yes. But first we must build a shelter and forage. I will hunt tonight. You and I both need the energy.”

  He didn’t fight me on that, which let me know he was more exhausted than he was letting on. His eyes were shaded with weariness, and there were tired lines pinching around the corners of his mouth as he nodded. My companion had grown far too quiet as of late. The moment we’d been dropped from the games, he’d become a different man. It was really none of my concern, and yet I felt a pressing need to see some of the old light back in him once again.

  We split up, he to go forage and I to suss out any game I could find. What I found were two rabbits and a vole. It wasn’t much meat, but something was better than nothing.

  Whipping my hunting knife from my pouch, I set about skinning and cleaning the meat. Not knowing when we would next acquire meat, I wanted to smoke some overnight to see us through the next two days of our journey.

  By the time I returned to camp almost an hour later, Petra was already back and had started a fire. There was a large bundle of seeds and five dark-brown, misshapen lumps sitting on a broad leaf before the campfire. My heart tripped in my chest at the sight and my mouth watered instantly. It couldn’t possibly be. I gasped when I drew near, because somehow he’d accomplished the impossible.

  “By the gods.” I grinned. “How in all of Kingdom did you manage to scrounge up truffles at this time of year?” Truffles were an absolute weakness of mine. Their season was pitifully short, but I always made sure to gorge whenever they came around.

  A whisper of a grin tugged at the corner of his full lips. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was close. “I found a moist, dank spot of forest floor that seemed ideal. I looked, and there they were.�
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  I knew that was not at all the case. Truffles were near impossible to find and usually done only by the keenest of noses and with an innate knowledge of just where to dig. Flicking a glance down at his grime- and dirt-encrusted nails, I knew he’d put in quite some effort to make it happen. Warmth speared through my chest.

  “Why did you go looking for truffles?” I asked, unable, it seemed, to leave well enough alone.

  Brushing a hand over the still-matted ends of his hair, he looked to be in debate with himself. I thought he might not answer, but finally he said, “I knew you liked them.”

  When he looked at me, his moss-green eyes seemed to glow in the gathering darkness. Soon the sun would set for the night.

  “Hm,” was all I could say back, not sure why his answer pleased me so.

  “Anyhow.” He shrugged after hastily clearing his throat. “I wove a basket of waxy leaves together to make a stew of this, if you’d like.”

  I’d been dreaming of roasted meat, but stewing what we’d found together would stretch our meager finds. “Okay. Stew it is.”

  “Then I’ll head toward the river, fill up our makeshift pot, and return in a bit.”

  He stood, stretching his arms above his head, and for just a moment, I was riveted by the steely, ropey strength of his arms and abdominals. From the waist up, he really was almost was like a centaur, save for the tiny horns resting upon the crown of his head that was mostly covered by the thick curls of his shaggy hair. I’d been put off by them when I’d first seen them, but now I barely remembered he had them at all. I’d always wondered at why his horns were nothing but stumps when most satyrs tended to have very large, very regal curving horns. But I’d felt it too rude to just come out and ask.

  He turned, and I frowned, wondering at my strange thoughts as of late, before gently shaking my head. Time to get to work.

  Petra had been kind enough to leave me several smooth stones, twigs, and broad, waxy leaves. I’d smoked plenty of meat while inside the games. Funny how he’d anticipated I might wish to do that again today.

  I was just placing the finishing touches on the smoker when he returned, cradling the makeshift pot between his hands and walking carefully, so as not to spill any. But satyrs were as surefooted as mountain goats. I knew he’d not waste even a drop of it.

  “I put several baking stones into the fire. If you could dig them out, I’ll set the pot atop,” he said.

  Grabbing the knife from my pouch, I reached close to the flame and deftly flicked the two large cooking stones out with the metal tip, arranging them so that Petra could set the pot down. The stones were so hot that only a few moments after setting it down, the water in the pot began to bubble.

  Petra took a seat on an overturned log beside me, and I set about chopping one of the rabbits into crude chunks on a large, semi-flat stone. Once cut, I dropped the rabbit into the boiling water. Petra added the truffles, seeds, a few pine needles, and a small chunk of salt lick he always kept on him.

  Meanwhile, I slivered the rest of the meat into strips before placing them into the smoker. All of this was accomplished quickly and in silence.

  Once I’d lain down the final cut, I raised a brow. “Shelter?” The night was clear, and the stars were visible. I scented no rain.

  With a quick glance toward the sky, he shook his head. “I don’t think we need it.”

  He looked over at me. There were a thousand different thoughts rolling through my head, but for some reason I could only focus on the cricket song stirring in the breeze. Our nights spent inside the games had been easy, but now my stomach quivered, coiling with thick knots of tension and nerves. Why?

  “Perhaps you could take this time to bathe,” he suggested into the ever-thickening silence growing between us.

  Pursing my lips, but not having a good reason to suggest otherwise, I tossed him a grateful smile. “Thank you. I am in need of one. But are you sure you wouldn’t rather go first?”

  “No. Ladies first.”

  “Well.” I kicked out my left front hoof, wrinkling my nose at the thick coat of red dust caking my body and nodded. “I won’t take long. Give me fifteen minutes.”

  He nodded. “I saw some soap weed a klick back, over that way.” He pointed toward his left, the same direction he’d gotten water from earlier.

  Thanking him again, I left. But when I glanced back for just a second, I saw him pull the seeing disk from out of his spelled pouch, and though it was nearly dark, I could see well enough to note the turned down frown tugging at his lips. Whatever he stared at obviously brought him great pain.

  I found the soap weed, a long, thorny green stalk the size of my wrist with a delicate looking purple bloom on the top. I trimmed off the thorns and then tugged the thing out by its root, ripping the bloom off and tossing it away. The soap came from the milky sap the weed produced in its stem.

  When I finally got to what I’d hoped would be a river, I saw it was more of a shallow stream. The water was clear, so there were no surprises within. But there was no way I’d be able to submerge my substantial hind end, and I was filthy enough that I needed a bath.

  I’d have to shift, then. All centaurs could do it. Though I tended to prefer my natural form when traveling, I was also a rarity amongst my people in that I did not hate wearing two legs and had made the shift enough times that I’d gotten the human legs as strong as my equine ones.

  Closing my eyes, I concentrated on the innate ball of power that rested inside all hybrids. Centaurs abhorred magic as a people, yet we were hypocrites, because even we could perform some. The golden yellow droplet of power began to grow and swell inside of me, rushing warmly through my blood like a stream. The shift was seamless, and in moments I felt my body contorting, realigning itself to its new dimensions. I grew shorter, especially from the waist down.

  Holding out my arms to steady myself, I breathed through the transformation. In only seconds, I stood on two feet. It always took me a moment to prepare my body for that first step. Balancing on two legs as opposed to four took considerable effort and skill. My knees were shaky, but soon I felt confident enough to turn and slowly wade into the water.

  I was a rather smallish woman on two legs, barely five foot four. And though I was far more powerful as a centaur, there were benefits to transforming, like being able to fit into smaller, more confined spaces.

  The shock of the cold water prickled over my skin, making me suck in a sharp breath as the water rose past my thighs and flirted just beneath the swell of my breasts.

  With a muttered curse, I walked to the deepest spot I could find, screwed my eyes shut, and dunked myself completely. A cry of shock spilled off my tongue when I finally came back up, but I was acclimating and proceeded to scrub the dirt off.

  Thankfully, Petra was far enough back at camp that he shouldn’t have heard my cry. Gods, I was such a girl sometimes.

  Chapter 3

  Petra

  I watched her in the seeing disk Ty had given me. She had long blond hair and wore a crown of leaves and twigs upon her head, her elegant horns poking out of the fauna. Her skin was pale as milk in the moonlight, her eyes as blue as the Seren Seas, and her lips the color of a bright-red rose.

  I’d hoped that somehow, after the wild magic had set upon Kingdom, Myra might have been set free of the curse. So much of Kingdom had been affected. But my hopes had been dashed the moment Ty had handed me the spelled seeing disk.

  Myra gazed down into the ever pool with an empty hollowness in her sky-blue eyes, forever out of my reach, forever lost.

  And yet Tymanon and I now went to find the Fates.

  Again.

  Again for me, but not for Ty. I’d tried going to the Fates once, what seemed like a lifetime ago, but it’d been only a year since I’d tried to free Myra. I’d not been successful. I’d gotten close, but had ultimately failed.

  My heart thumped wildly in my chest. I knew I was not capable enough to challenge the Fates for an answer alone. None could
enter the Isle of Gnósi without first passing the three, and the three changed at the whim of the Fates themselves. The three could be anything—questions, trials, tests, puzzles, a test of brawn or skill. Anything. I could not help hoping that maybe this time, the outcome would change.

  I traced the lovely face of the trapped satyr. In the love games, I’d been able to forget about my duty to Myra. Faced with constant challenges, I’d been too busy and exhausted to do other than pass out at night’s end. But with our return to Kingdom returned the driving need to reclaim her. My obsession of the past year was back and burning like a flame inside my breast.

  I traced her beautiful face, wishing with all my heart she’d look up at me, just one more time. But I was naught but a ghost to her now.

  “I promise, Myra, with all my heart. I promise.”

  Closing my eyes, I pocketed the disk and hung my head. Exhaustion laced my very bones, not just from the thought of Myra, but from the run. Trying to keep up with a centauress in her prime was not a task for the faint of heart.

  But I would give Ty no cause for concern. I had just as much reason to go to Gnósi as she did. I did not believe it was coincidence that the one place I needed to go just so happened to be the place Galeta the Pink had tasked us to go. I’d been around Tymanon enough now to recognize a pattern when I saw one. I only wished I understood it. I was nowhere near as clever as my friend.

  A shrill cry pierced the night sky.

  Tymanon!

  Jerking to my feet, I didn’t think. I just turned on my heel and ran, pulse pounding so furiously I tasted it on the back of my tongue. It was easy enough to follow her trail, and in minutes, I cut through a bush. The stream was navy-blue and dancing with threads of moonlight, looking like fireflies and fairies. There was a ripple of water at the very center and a dark shape floating beneath. It had to be Tymanon.

  But she did not appear to be in distress, and slowly, my heart rate settled back down to normal. I should go, give her peace, stop looking.