Divine by Mistake

by P. C. Cast

  Turning toward the river, I noticed we had wandered several yards from the bank, probably because it was very rocky and suddenly looked a little steep. Carefully, I led the way back to the river, scrambling down the bank in a shower of loose rocks. After all the trouble it took to get back down to it, I was relieved to see the water was as clear and cold as ever, especially because as the day progressed it had become noticeably warmer. Not that it was too uncomfortable under the shading cover of the trees, but the cool water was a nice relief. To keep the heat in perspective, I reminded myself that it was nothing compared to a typical Oklahoma summer day when the humidity registered at about a zillion percent plus the normal one hundred–plus degrees. Almost enough to make Wonder Woman’s bra melt.

  The change in worlds had hurt my reputation, but it had definitely improved the weather. So I guess I should count my blessings.

  Epi’s nudge interrupted my thoughts. “Ready to go, gorgeous?” Her look said yes, so I led her to a rock large enough to use as a mounting block. The mare tilted her head and gave me an odd look.

  “I guess you’ve already figured out that I’m not Rhiannon. She could probably leap up on you without any help.” Epi’s knowing gaze didn’t falter, and I felt the need to stand up for myself. “No offense, but that could be because she’s so used to thrusting herself up and down.” Epi arched her neck and blinked her beautiful dark eyes at me. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not against some thrusting, but I like to think I choose quality over quantity.” The mare tossed her head and made a very human-like squeal. Really, it sounded like a little horsy laugh, and as I heaved myself off the rock and scrambled aboard I found myself giggling, too. “So we understand one another?” Epi reached back and nudged my foot, which was dangling awkwardly out of the stirrup. “I’ll take that as a yes.” I smiled and put my foot where it belonged before giving the incredible horse the “let’s go” cluck (as if she needed it).

  I reached down and patted her neck fondly. There are some things about this world that were just plain cool.

  Epi and I angled up toward the bank, and I was surprised to see how steep and rocky it looked from this direction. It hadn’t seemed so bad coming down. Well, it was probably just the difference between seeing it from my feet and seeing it from horseback. Leaning forward, I urged Epi up toward our soft, green path—

  Suddenly the rocks shifted, causing Epi to scramble and lunge awkwardly to keep her footing. I was jolted forward hard and had to grab her around the neck to keep from being thrown off. I could feel her struggling to regain solid footing. It was like she was trying to swim through rocky quicksand that kept sucking at her feet. She seemed to be unable to gain any ground as rocks and dirt tumbled around us. All I could do was hold tight and try not to let my weight shift too far to either side so that I wouldn’t cause her to lose her already precarious balance.

  All at once we broke free and lurched up over the bank and onto solid ground. Ignoring my quivering stomach, I slid off Epi and began running my hands down her muscular legs. She was breathing hard and shaking all over. Any other horse would have been white-eyed and panicked, but Epi stood quietly, letting me complete my frantic examination.

  “Good girl. There’s my sweet girl.” I kept talking to her, trying to calm my nerves as much as hers. “You were so brave. I am so proud of you.” I finished feeling all of her legs. No broken bones. No lacerations. She seemed okay.

  But I knew from having grown up around horses the deceptive fragility of their legs. Once you witness one horse race where they come around the corner and a horse places a foot at just the wrong angle, and it snaps, you never forget it. I was ten years old the first time I saw a horse break a leg. It broke clean, between the knee and the hoof, and that horse kept on trying to finish the race with the bone of his leg jutting through the skin.

  It just takes a single misstep.

  I let Epi press her forehead into my chest and I rubbed her beautiful head, straightening her mussed mane. “You’re okay, you’re okay. Such a good girl.” I kept murmuring inane endearments as we brought our breathing and heart rate under some semblance of control.

  Eventually she lifted her head and nuzzled my cheeks, which were wet with tears. I wiped my face and stepped back from her, looking her over again with a critical eye.

  “I think you’re okay.” I walked a circle around her while she lowered her head and blew at a tuft of lush grass. I smiled. “You’re hungry. You must be okay.” She chewed a mouthful and blew a sigh at me. “Let’s not do that again. Okay?” She tossed her head. “Well, big girl, now I have to get back on you with no damn help at all.” Epi stopped chewing, and I swear she made a very female sounding “hmmph” noise through her nose. “Just hold still and don’t laugh.”

  She held still, but as I groaned and struggled my way aboard, I can’t swear she didn’t laugh. We started forward and she seemed fine. Sighing in relief, I clucked her into a smooth trot. My hair, of course, had begun escaping from its braid of steel, and I began trying to poke curling red tendrils back into submission while humming the theme song from Bonanza.

  “I give up.” Epi’s ears cocked back to listen to me. “No matter how tragically unfashionable, I seriously need a scrunchie.” About half of my hair was curling around my head like I was Medusa’s crazy redheaded sister. The other half was still clinging to the French braid. “Maybe I’ll start a new fashion trend.” Epi made no comment. I think she was just being nice.

  Time for a new theme song.

  I was halfway through humming the theme from I Dream of Jeannie when Epi’s trot faltered and slowed to a strange-feeling walk. It felt like she was trying to stay on her tiptoes, or rather her tiphooves. I pulled her to a stop and slid quickly off.

  “What’s wrong, Epi?” I patted her neck and she tossed her head restlessly. “Let’s check it out.” Rule number one of horse troubleshooting: when in doubt, check the hooves. Grasping her left front leg low, I clucked at her and said, “Give, girl.” Wonderful, obedient animal that she was, she lifted her hoof. It looked normal. With my fingers I picked a couple of small stones out of the hoof base and pulled free a small dirt clod. Carefully and firmly I pressed my thumbs down on the frog part of her foot.

  Yes, horses have frogs. Don’t try and figure it out, just take my word for it. Lift a horse’s hoof sometime. Look at the part that Vs and is soft. That’s the frog. And don’t bitch about the name, some ancient frog probably martyred itself for the betterment of horsekind. Show some respect.

  Well, this frog sure seemed okay. Working my way around Epi, everything was just fine until I got to her right front hoof. When I pressed down on her frog she flinched and gave an equine groan of pain. I patted her neck to reassure her, and brushed away some clinging dirt and grass from the hoof. Moving my thumbs up higher on the soft V, I pressed again. This time the groan was louder and I could feel an abnormal warmth and mushiness under my thumbs. Gingerly, I set her foot down.

  “Don’t quote me on this, I’m not a vet, but I think you’ve bruised your frog.” I was trying to keep my voice light and not let this unusually smart horse know that I was very damn worried about this turn of events. I looked down at the offending appendage. It was obvious she wasn’t putting much weight on it. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think your hoof hurts.”

  She butted me with her nose.

  “I thought so.” I rubbed her jawline and she leaned her head into my caress. “So I probably shouldn’t ride you. How about if we find a nice little clearing, maybe somewhere upstream where the bank isn’t so steep, and we rest for a while?”

  Walking slowly, I led the way with Epi hobbling painfully behind me. I kept up a chattering monologue, and she walked with her forehead resting against my back in the space between my shoulder blades. I was glad she couldn’t see my eyes frantically scanning the land ahead of us, trying to find an easy place to descend. I knew I had to get her close to the river, and not just so that she could have water to drink. That hoof needed
attention. My mind was rummaging through old horse-care-rules information I had filed away somewhere in my brain back in my youth. I just hoped they weren’t filed in the cells that my affinity for red wine had killed off. I seemed to remember that Epi’s kind of symptoms were telling me that the bruised area of her hoof should be iced. If I could get her to stand in the river for ten minutes or so, it seemed logical that it would stop some of the swelling and help the pain. Then she could rest and I’d figure out what the hell we were going to do next.

  For a fleeting moment I wished ClanFintan would show up with the rescue posse. But reality intruded on my moment. The centaur was busy rounding up people and dealing with the creature crisis—one AWOL reluctant bride was not a big deal. And anyway, I’ve never been the kind of woman who lived her life pining after a knight in shining armor, praying that he would come charging in on a white horse to rescue me. In my particular case the whole horse/guy thing was causing me to unintentionally mix my metaphors. Which was giving me an English-teacher headache.

  But luck was with me, and we hadn’t walked too far when we came to an abrupt right bend in the river. There were fewer trees here, so there was more erosion, and the grassy incline sloped gracefully down to meet the tumbling river. Picking our way carefully, I led Epi to the water.

  Without any major mishap we made our way slowly to the river’s edge. Balancing myself with one hand against her flank, I pulled off my boots and rolled up my soft leather pant legs. Epi was done drinking and she nuzzled me with her wet muzzle.

  “What we really need, old girl, is a couple of pedicures. But where the hell is a beautician when you need one, anyway?” I gave her a pat, then led her forward into the icy water. “How about we do the next best thing and soak our aching feet?” Epi seemed willing, gingerly following me as I picked my way between the largest of the slick rocks out a little way into the fast-moving current.

  Ohmygod it was cold.

  “Hey, Epi, have you ever heard the very sad, very Scottish love song ‘Loch Lomond’?” She lifted her right hoof fretfully and I leaned my weight against her left side so that she was forced to put it back in the cold water. She looked at me doubtfully but kept her hoof submerged. “It’s the story of two of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s men who were captured in the revolt. One of them was executed and one was set free. Rumor has it the song was written by the doomed soldier as a final love letter to his sweetheart.”

  Epi looked clueless.

  “Haven’t heard it, huh?” Cold, cold, cold. “Well, you’re in luck—not because I can sing, because as you already know, I can’t, but I do know all the words to all the verses. And, yes, I’m willing to teach you.” She sighed and I think she might have rolled her eyes. As I launched energetically into the first verse, I noticed that my aching feet were going numb. Clearing my throat I put on my best bad Scottish accent,

  By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes,

  Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond.

  Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae

  On the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomond…

  As I worked my way through a pitiful rendition of one of my favorite ballads, I noticed that Epi’s attention was waning.

  “Okay! Let’s sing that chorus one more time!”

  …O ye’ll tak’ the high road and I’ll tak’ the low road,

  An I’ll be in Scotland afore ye,

  But me and my true love will never meet again

  On the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomond!

  I sighed melodramatically and gave a big pretend sob while I wiped pretend tears from my eyes.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it.” She blew at me then lipped the water, shifting her weight fretfully. “I can see you’re not impressed with tragic and depressing love songs sung with a tragic and depressing lack of understanding of even the basics of musical pitch. Okay, okay—how about I give you a little taste of something I am actually fairly decent at.” She glanced at me, obviously gun-shy from the demonstration of my singing talent, or rather my lack thereof.

  “Hey, smartie, I do remember a description of a horse from an essay I’ve taught to sophomores.” Her ears pricked at me. “The author wrote, ‘A duck is a long low animal covered with feathers. Similarly, a horse is a long high animal covered with confusion.’” She blinked at me and looked a little huffy. “Well, it seemed funny then. Guess you had to have been there.” She was fidgeting again, and I figured I would only be able to get her to stay in the water for a couple more minutes. Groping around in my brain, trying to keep my mind off my freezing feet, the lightbulb of inspired thought suddenly clicked on in my head.

  “Hey! I know what you’d like.” She wasn’t paying much attention to me, and I had to keep leaning on her left side, forcing her right hoof to stay submerged. Her back legs were starting to move restlessly.

  “Yeah, I know this isn’t any fun. Just listen to one more, and then we’ll blow this freezing pop stand.”

  Clearing my mind, I delved back into my memory. My Bible as Literature professor had been an eccentric woman—a truly fine representative of a long succession of bad-clothes-wearing college English instructors. For part of our semester final she made each of us memorize and present aloud sections of the Old Testament that dealt with animals. My third year of college was a longggg time ago. But as I started my hesitant recitation of the ancient verses, they began tumbling from my mouth as if they were happy to be set free of the cobwebs in my brain:

  Hast thou given the horse strength?

  Um…something—something…um…oh yeah.

  The glory of his nostrils is terrible.

  He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength,

  He goeth on to meet the armed men.

  He mocketh at fear and is not affrighted;

  Neither turneth he back from the sword.

  The quiver rattleth against him,

  The glittering spear and the shield.

  He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage:

  Neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet.

  He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha,

  And he smelleth the battle afar off,

  The thunder of the captains, and the shouting.

  At least this time I kept her attention.

  “The Book of Job, Chapter something-or-other, Verse I-don’t-remember.”

  Her ears were pricked in my direction and she tossed her head briefly, giving me a snort of what I hoped was horsey appreciation. And, more importantly, she had stood still with her hoof fully submerged in the healing water.

  “Thank you, thank you. No, no, you’re too kind.” I bowed as gracefully as one can bow with frozen feet. “I think that about covers our literary moment for the day. Tune in tomorrow, same time, for another twisted version of my own personal PBS. Come on, old girl. It’s damn cold out here.” Leading Epi back to shore we moved slowly. Feet are odd appendixes when they’re frozen. I felt a little like Quasimodo hobbling out of the water to find sanctuary on dry ground.

  Because of the erosion, the rocky ground was mingled with the ferny green carpet of the upper forest. It was actually a nice resting place. There was plenty of grass within Epi’s reach, which was perfect because she really needed to rest. Pulling the saddle from her back, I tried to keep a close eye on how she was acting, without being obvious.

  “Wish I had some currycombs. You sure look nappy.” Improvising, I pried a piece of bark from a nearby log and rubbed it back and forth over her tired body, giving her a nice scratching. She sighed and closed her eyes. “Kind of like a foot rub, huh.” I patted her rump. “Why don’t you graze for a while and rest, then I’ll take another look at that hoof.” She stood with her right front leg cocked to take the weight off it and settled down to the business of eating.

  And I realized that I really needed to, well, tend to The Call of Nature. Ugh.

  “Epi, I’m going to take a little walk.” She gave me a quick glance before returning
her attention to her three-legged grazing. “Be right back.”

  Scrambling up the bank, I kept my eyes peeled for a nice-size bush and a soft-leafed plant. I hate camping. Wading off the path and into the indigenous foliage, I began testing plant leaves, grading them on texture and durability, like an insane Mrs. Whipple.

  And, shazam! I bumble into a little slice of heaven. Grapes! Big, dark, ripe grapes! Rushing through my toilette (Note to self: remember to wash your hands), I (delicately) crammed several of the wonderful pieces of fruit into my salivating mouth. Yummy.

  Yanking as many of the clusters off their vines as I could carry, I hurried back to where I left Epi.

  “Hey, Epi! Look what I found.” She looked unimpressed, but at least she wasn’t restless or pawing. She went back to grazing. I put my stash of grapes down by the saddle blanket, went to the river to reclaim my discarded boots and wash my hands. Then, finally, I plopped my tired and flattened behind down, resting my back against the saddle, and I set to work feasting upon nature’s aphrodisiac. (Michelle told me once that grapes are nature’s aphrodisiac. And she should know.)

  The grapes were delicious, and I don’t think it was just because I was starving. It sure felt nice to have a full tummy. And I didn’t notice any unusual side effects from dining entirely on an aphrodisiac. At least not yet. But I did notice my eyelids felt verrrry heavvvvy.

  Dragging my tired and sore behind up—God, my thighs felt like I’d been riding the entire Dallas Cowboy defensive line—I gimped my way over to the sleepy mare.

  “Let me see this hoof.” She roused herself long enough for me to take a look at the bruised frog. It didn’t look any worse, and it didn’t feel quite as hot as before, which must be a good sign. I patted her neck and gave her a tired hug. “To quote John Wayne as Rooster Cogburn—‘Here. We camp here.’ Forgive me if I don’t make that quote more realistic by falling off you and onto the ground.” She didn’t even blink at my attempt at humor. Guess she was getting used to me. “Let’s just take a little nap. Wake me if I sleep past time for school.”