by P. C. Cast
I started purposefully down the hall with my mouth shut, before I could say anything else that would make no sense at all to the local populace.
I remembered the way to the courtyard, and a double set of well-muscled guards bowed and opened the doors for me. I paused for a moment, observing the activity in front of me.
The courtyard had been transformed from a lovely garden area to an efficient working area. Women clustered at different stations—it seemed they were doing everything from carving shafts of arrows to tearing strips of linen and boiling huge vats of water. Everyone was busy doing something. Working side by side with the human women were ohmygosh female centaurs.
I stepped back into the shadows of the doorway, intrigued by my first look at female centaurs. The first thing I noticed was that they were smaller. No. I take that back—the first thing I noticed was that they were stunningly gorgeous creatures. They carried themselves with a grace and fluidity that was a cross between the way a beautiful Arabian mare would move, and a prima ballerina. There were at least a dozen female centaurs scattered throughout the courtyard, their coats and coloring ranging from blond palomino to a dusky dappled gray. They each wore intricately decorated leather vests, a little like the ones ClanFintan and his warriors wore, but the females’ vests were brightly colored and sparkled with jeweled beading.
Several of them were clustered around the area where the human women were carving arrows, and my eyes were naturally drawn to that group of alluring horse-women.
In the middle of which stood my husband.
I suddenly decided it was time to leave the shadows and make my Goddess-Incarnate-Beloved-and-Chosen-of-Epona presence known. Drawing myself up to my full height (which would probably come about to the shoulders of the female centaurs), I stepped out into the courtyard.
“Good morning, Goddess!”
“Epona!”
“Blessings upon you, Epona’s Beloved!”
I smiled gratefully at their adoration, which made the incredible beauty of the centaur females somehow easier to digest, and returned their greetings as I made my way slowly (so their loving welcome could sink in) to my husband.
As I joined his little group, he moved into the space in front of me. His eyes held mine—they sparkled with his own, decidedly more personal, form of adoration. He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed first my palm, then the pulse point at my wrist.
“Good morning, Rhea.” His deep voice gave me shivers. Or maybe it was his lips that gave me shivers. Or maybe it was…
Anyway, you get the idea. He gave me shivers. Not that I minded.
“Good morning, love.”
He registered my greeting by stepping even closer to me and leaning down to lightly kiss my lips.
“I missed you this morning,” I whispered to him.
“And I did not want to leave our marshmallow.”
I smiled at his accented pronunciation.
“Thank you for having breakfast sent to me.”
He bowed his head briefly in acknowledgment before saying, “I know you are always hungry.”
“Well, yes, I am.” I did my best to give the words a double meaning. His grin widened.
At the sound of a delicate throat clearing we remembered where we were, and looked away from each other to find the entire courtyard watching us with happy, knowing smiles on their faces. I felt my own face begin to get warm. One of the female centaurs cleared her throat (again) and my gaze shifted to her. And my face flushed from warm to hot.
She was probably the loveliest creature (human or otherwise) that I had ever seen. Her hair and the coat of her body were the same color—a shimmery platinum blonde. Her hair hung in a thick waterfall of silk down her back, well past her shoulders. (Not one wild, crazy curl.) She had incredibly high cheekbones, which framed startling aquamarine eyes. Her lips were full and lightly dusted with some kind of sheer lip shine (where the hell had she gotten that?). She wore a scarlet-colored leather vest (just the shade that made a redhead like me look like an orange-head) encrusted with crystal beads that glistened in the morning light. Her full, perky breasts weren’t exactly bared, but they weren’t exactly covered, either.
ClanFintan still held my hand in his, and he pulled me forward to her.
“Rhiannon, I want you to meet a close friend of mine, Victoria Dhianna, Lead Huntress of Centaurs.”
She gracefully executed something between a curtsy and a bow.
“Lady Rhiannon—” her voice was as silky and perfect as her hair “—at last I meet the woman who managed to marry ClanFintan.”
I bowed my head slightly and said with the perfect inflection of surprise, “Managed to marry him? Gosh, the tenacity with which he pursued me left me little choice.” I smiled and added, “But I am glad he made sure he caught me.”
I heard ClanFintan’s snort of humor, but my gaze stayed locked with Ms. Blue Eyes. I was pleased to see her eyes crinkle (laugh lines!) as a smile broke out over her face.
“Touché, Lady Rhiannon,” she laughed.
“Call me, Rhea.” I grinned back at her. It looked as if she had girlfriend potential.
“Rhea…” ClanFintan regained my attention. “I must go see to the warriors. Many more have joined us last night and this morning. I need to make certain that they are organized, and that their leaders are apprised of our plan.” He raised my hand to his warm mouth again. This time his kiss was followed by a quick nip on the fleshy part of my palm. “I will look forward to dinner tonight.”
His parting look said dinner and beyond. I sighed happily and watched him leave.
“Obviously, what I heard about your mating is not true.” Victoria had moved to my side, and was speaking softly.
I looked up at her. “What is it that you heard?”
“That duty alone made you mate with ClanFintan, which is why it is only a handfast and not a permanent marriage covenant.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I told the truth. “What started out as duty has changed. Much like a handfast can be changed into a permanent covenant.”
“I am pleased for both of you.” And she sounded as though she really was—my jealousy radar didn’t detect any latent hateful vibes to lock on to.
“Me, too.”
“Let me introduce you to the rest of us.” She turned and caught the attention of the group of lady centaurs.
All except five of them had wandered off during our exchange. The five that remained were easily recognizable as the most exquisite of an already attractive group of females (horse or not).
“Kaitlynn, Cynthia, Elaine, Alexandra and Cathleen.” As Victoria called each name, the corresponding centauress (female for centaur?) executed an agile mixture of curtsy and bow in acknowledgment of her introduction.
“These are my Huntresses.” Her proud gesture took in the five beauties.
“Welcome to Epona’s Temple,” I said, trying not to feel dwarfed by the statuesque horse-women. “I am pleased to have you here, although I wish it was under different circumstances.”
Victoria’s serious expression mirrored my own. “As Huntresses we oversee the crafting of bows and arrows, as well as the provisioning of game for our Herds. When we received word of the Fomorian invasion, we thought our expertise could be of use.”
“You’re right. We need all the help we can get.”
Victoria looked pleased at my acknowledgment of their worth, then she said to the Huntresses, “Continue to instruct the women in techniques that will lessen the time it takes to carve and form arrows. I will notify the cooks that we are at their disposal if they need fresh game.”
The Huntresses went back to working with the other women, and Victoria and I found that we were left standing together in a small pocket of silence amidst a throng of busy people. It was hard for me to stop looking at her—not only was she stunning, but she intrigued me. I had gotten used to ClanFintan and “the boys.” Amazingly enough, I didn’t think of them as bizarre or unusual anymore. They were just, we
ll, guys. But these female centaurs were something else. Not only did their beauty draw my attention, like standing next to Michelle Pfeiffer or Sophia Loren, but I was dying to ask a zillion questions about what the heck a Huntress was, how did she get to be one and how they figured into centaur society.
And, well, I knew I couldn’t mention it—but I was bubbling with curiosity about stuff like, um, well, centaur sex. If I were a cat I would be as dead as a big ol’ pile of poopie.
Instead, I settled for a safe question that I hoped would be appropriate for Rhiannon to ask.
“I’m not very familiar with the role Huntresses play in centaur society, but I would love to know more about you and your…” I hesitated for a second, stressing about what noun to use as only an English teacher could stress. “Colleagues.”
“As the name implies, each of us is Huntress for our Herd, or Clan, as you would call them. We supplement the domestic meats with a supply of fresh game, we are master trackers, and master crafters of arrows, cross-and longbows. We even occasionally attach ourselves to a human Clan, but you already know that.”
I nodded like I’d already known that, and quickly asked, “So centaur men don’t hunt?”
“Only for centaur women.”
“Men are men,” I said. She nodded and we exchanged a knowing look.
“We are not warriors—we leave that to the males—even though our patron goddess is Diana. But we are not virgins, either.” She smiled. “And we do respect Epona and pay tribute to her at the beginning of each phase of the full moon.”
I heard a whisper in my mind and repeated it aloud, “Epona thinks highly of Huntresses.”
“Thank the Goddess for her favor.” Her expression was pleased and open. “I do not know if you plan to travel with ClanFintan to Glen Iorsa, but if you do, I would like to ask your Goddess’s blessing upon a new birthing grove, Glen Shurrig, which will be opened with the next spring season.”
I could only guess that Glen Iorsa was where ClanFintan was from, and I felt an instant of awful insecurity. I mean, he was my husband, and I didn’t even know the name of his hometown.
Before I could become a neurotic mess, the voice in my mind whispered, He was born to love you. With a rush of surprise and appreciation, I sent a silent thanks to Epona for the reality check. He loved me, and it really didn’t matter where he was from.
Answer the Huntress flitted through my head, and I shook myself and said, “I’d be happy to, after we take care of the Fomorians.”
“Yes…” Victoria lowered her voice and continued, “Is it truth that they have captured, and are mating with, human women?”
“You can’t really call it mating.” My voice echoed my loathing. “They rape them to impregnate them. I have only witnessed one woman giving birth—but that was enough. She was killed by the hybrid creature as it was born.”
“Diana help them,” she breathed the prayer.
“Diana, Epona and all of us have to help them.”
“Lady Rhiannon!” A woman calling for me across the courtyard interrupted us.
“Yes. I’m over here.” I waved and the woman hurried over to me. As she got closer, I recognized her as one of Carolan’s assistants.
“My Lady,” she curtsied. “Carolan sent me to find you. He asks that you come to him in the sickroom. He must speak with you.” She looked frazzled and tired.
“I’ll be right there.” I turned to say goodbye to Victoria. “I hope we have more time to talk again soon. It was a pleasure meeting you and your Huntresses. Thank you for your help.”
“You are gracious, Lady Rhea.” Her lithe body executed the female centaur’s distinctive bow. “As our Goddess teaches, females must support one another.”
“I’m with you there, girlfriend,” I called back over my shoulder as I headed toward the sickroom. I saw her eyes widen, and then her laugh lines were back as her face split into a smile.
Yep—definite girlfriend material.
CHAPTER 7
I thought about the beautiful centaur as I followed Carolan’s assistant across the courtyard. This world didn’t have technology. No computers, cars, TV, etc., but it was rich in diversity and replete with ancient culture. For some reason, I felt at home here, which was strange because I was nothing but a plain old (well, not too old—and not too plain, either) white girl. Ms. Middle America Schoolteacher, and a registered voter. Now I found myself the Chosen of a Goddess, married to a centaur (decidedly not a white boy), battling vampire-things (they wouldn’t even be considered Americans—not even in New York) and becoming friends with a Huntress who just happened to be half horse.
Somehow I didn’t think this was what my mother had in mind when she said things happen in life you don’t plan for (if I remember correctly, she was talking about saving money versus buying a new Ann Taylor outfit). I hoped I had bought the damn outfit.
We left the courtyard and walked through an archway, then turned left and entered a hall. I recognized that it was the same hall I’d followed yesterday to get to the sickroom. Another quick turn and the smell told me we were near before I saw the door. This time it was guarded by a young male centaur I didn’t recognize. He acknowledged me with a bow and opened the door.
It was worse than yesterday. The number of patients must have at least doubled. Their groupings of least to most ill were no longer discernible. Pallets were crowding each other, and any free space had been filled with bedding laid directly on the floor. Muffled noises and weak cries came from different areas of the room, but mostly an unnatural silence hung over the chamber, like someone had pushed a bizarre mute button.
I counted three assistants, plus the one I had followed, and had to search around for a while before I found Carolan. He was over in the far corner of the room, bent over a pallet. As I watched, he stood slowly, then reached down for the end of a soiled bedsheet so that he could cover the small patient’s head. He turned, moving like an old man, and caught sight of me. First, he motioned for an assistant to carry out the body. Then he nodded in the direction of the makeshift hand-washing area, asking me to join him there.
I made my way to him, returning the pitiful greetings of the sick with quickly uttered blessings.
“It looks bad,” I whispered to him as he washed his hands. “There are so many of them!”
“And more are becoming sick as we speak. Two more died in the night. This morning I lost three children and one aged woman.” He glanced over his shoulder, then looked back at me and lowered his voice even further. “I estimate five more will not last the day. And for every one that dies, three more are brought here in various stages of the illness.” He wiped his hand across his brow. “I need more quarantined space.”
“Whatever you need is yours.”
“Not far down the hall from here there is a grand ballroom. Rhiannon loved to host huge masquerade balls where she disguised herself so she could come to her own party incognito.”
“She was just friggin weird.”
He nodded in agreement and continued, “We could use that space for the milder cases, and the cases that have just begun to show symptoms. Then I would be able to save this room for the most seriously ill.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me. How can I help?”
“I need a little over half of these people moved, but I do not want any unexposed humans transporting the sick ones. I thought, perhaps, you might convince some centaurs to help us.”
An image of Victoria and her more than capable Huntresses flashed through my mind. “I think I know just the centaurs to head up this job. You start getting them ready for transport, I’ll bring in the marines.”
“Marines?”
“It means I’ll come back with the good guys to save the day.”
He looked relieved. “Thank you, Rhea.”
“Not a problem.” Before I left I gave him a teasing smile and said, “Uh, I saw your wife this morning. She asked that I give you her love. I hope that doesn’t mean I have to kiss you or anyt
hing.”
His eyes sparkled and he looked more like himself as he answered, “I think the sentiment is enough—no kiss will be required.”
“Except from her.” I grinned.
“Yes.” He grinned back at me. “Most definitely from her.”
“I’ll go get the marines.” As I left I could see he was still smiling while he began giving orders for the forthcoming move.
Retracing my steps back to the courtyard gave me time to wonder if I’d spoken too soon. Overseeing women making bows and arrows was one thing, hauling around sick, stinky folks was another. But my feet were still moving, and I didn’t see that I had much choice—unless I wanted to go running to ClanFintan to ask for his help.
I loved him and everything, but Carolan had asked for my help. And I wanted to be able to give it. I also wanted to be able to act independently in my new world. I’d never been a follower—and, obviously, neither was Rhiannon. I thought it was about time that I exerted some of her/my authority without my nervous compatriots acting as trapeze nets in case of my failure or major screwup. It was kind of like being happily married but wanting your own money. Some people would say it was a destructive thing, this need for independence in modern women. I think it’s simply not being a clinging vine. I’m not a militant man-hater or anything like that. I just have a brain and can breathe on my own. Jeesh.
The courtyard was still humming with activity, but the Huntresses were easy to spot—they were the tallest, most gorgeous things in the area. I could see that Victoria was talking earnestly with Mariad, so I waited for them to conclude their conversation before I pssst-ed at her to catch her attention. She saw me and smiled as she came toward me.
“Lady Rhea.” She brushed her shimmering mass of blond hair back as the wind blew it in front of her face. “I am pleased to see you again so soon.”
“You may not be so pleased after I tell you why I’m back.”
She gave me a questioning look.
“Did you hear that we are dealing with an outbreak of smallpox?”
