Jaime, who was coming down the aisle to see them off.
Jess lingered by the door of the changing stall, wanting a few last human moments. "Are you sure—" she started as Jaime reached her—but Jaime shook her head before Jess could even finish.
"I know this might be my last chance to get home," she said. "Believe me, I know that. There's no telling how things are going to go on this end—or if the new Council will even allow the travel spell at all without Arlen—" She stopped, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then met Jess's gaze with a sad, almost self-mocking look. "It's just that I can't believe it yet." Arlen's death . "And until I can believe it, I can't leave. I can't . . . I mean, what if he shows up tomorrow? No one ever saw him dead . . . and if he did—show up, I mean—then I have to—"
"Jaime," Jess said, cutting her off with that single low word; Jaime looked surprised, as if suddenly realizing she'd been babbling. Jess said, "Do you remember how hard I looked for Carey when Dayna and Eric first found me? When no one believed I was a horse— Carey's horse—or that he was even real?"
Jaime gave her a hesitant nod.
"Stay here," Jess said. "Wait for Arlen."
Jaime seemed to stop breathing for a moment, and when she started again it was in an uncertain fashion.
But then she turned to the matters at hand and said, "Anyway, I can do some good here for both Carey and Arlen, at least when I'm not drugged into oblivion. And Mark ought to be expecting you; I spelled him a message last night. The only question is whether he'll read it in time—he doesn't seem to check the thing regularly."
"We have his phone number," Jess said, Ohio words that felt strange in her mouth after so many months without a visit. "And Simney is working on the thing that happens to you in the evening?"
Jaime gave her a wry grin. "Yes, Simney is working on the thing . And Cesna, too; it's giving her something to think about that has nothing to do with Arlen, and she's good at little mysteries like that.
They both agree it has something to do with magic. They'll figure it out. I can afford to be a little more patient as long as I have the spelled wine."
Carey and Suliya came down the aisle leading the stallion. Carey peeled off from her side then hesitated by Jess and Jaime. "You all right?" he asked Jaime. "You want to make any last-minute changes?"
Jaime shook her head, resolute despite the delicacy she seemed to have taken on over the last few days.
Jess had never imagined looking at Jaime's strong rider's body and thinking the word delicate at the same moment, but here she'd done it, and not for the first time. But Jaime just said, "I wish you'd rethink this plan, but I'm through arguing about it. I'll stay here and do what I need to. I hope I'm wrong, and this turns out to be the right thing." She hesitated, but didn't offer him a parting hug even though it hung between them. She and he had started off too much on the wrong foot, and Jess had long ago accepted that the history between them meant they would never be close friends, no matter how well they knew one another.
"Thank you," Carey said, holding Jaime's gaze a beat longer than necessary—saying those things they could never say. And then he turned to Jess and repeated his question. "You all right? Last-minute changes?"
Jess, too, shook her head. The changes she wanted would never happen, and it would bother her too much to ask and be denied . . . again. She still mourned the loss of something between them. Something she hadn't yet quite identified, but felt as keenly as any clumsy hand on the rein . . . and something that Carey only now seemed to notice.
"Jess," he said—and stopped, at a loss. "Jess, I—"
Jess said softly, "Choices matter," and left it at that.
He rubbed his thumb over his lower lip, looked at her another contemplative moment, and then, torn, looked away, failing her and knowing it. Making choices. "See you on the other side of the spell," he said, hesitated again, and then headed for the foaling stall.
"Yes," Jess said, still softly, watching after him. "The other side of the spell."
"Don't worry," Jaime said, keeping her voice low. "You know how he gets when it comes to doing his best for Arlen. The man practically brought him up. He'll get through this."
"Through being a man-brained mule's butt?" Jess asked, not quite able to put the asperity in her voice that she'd intended.
Jaime laughed anyway, and gave her a quick hug. "Come back soon," she said. "I'll keep a stall bedded for you."
And Jess had to laugh too, no doubt what Jaime had intended. She ducked into the changing stall, centering herself so she'd fit as Lady; closing her eyes, she triggered one of the sapphire stones dangling from her long, thin, spellstone braid.
The magic swept through her, blinding her to everything but the changing sensations of her world; she threw her head back, embracing the essence of the Lady shape she loved so well. Four strong hooves, nostrils flared to catch the sudden renewed strength of the scents around her, the awareness of her own strength, her speed, her power . . .
Her willingness to harness them all for the people around her.
Fully, solidly equine, Lady lowered her head and shook like a dog, black mane flapping . . . a changing-time ritual. Then she took careful stock of herself, sorting out what remained of her human feelings and intentions, finding her own conflicts anew, recognizing the imperative the Jess-self had left for her—to stand while harnessed and then join the others at the foaling stall even though some part of her—Jess parts too complex for her to think about in Lady form—didn't want to do it.
It was a new dilemma for Lady . . . do this and don't do this directions at the same time. She ducked her head, scratching her nose along the inside of her foreleg, black forelock falling into her eyes. She was as dun as dun got, Lady was—not a sooty dun like her brother, but a fine clear-coated buckskin dun, thick black line down her back, tiger striping ghosting up her legs, black points all around. Striking color on solid conformation, good sloping angles, strong loin, and a sweet arching neck . . . she raised her head, a dry-boned, clean-cut head unlike the coarser features of the palomino, who now stuck his head from the open foaling stall door as he puzzled about suddenly scenting a new and yet somehow familiar mare.
Suliya gave his lead a futile tug and that put Lady in motion. She nudged open the unlatched stall door and waited with ill-concealed impatience while Jaime buckled up her special courier harness—saddlebags, clothes, and all—her head bobbing, ears pricked in complete attention at the foaling stall. But when Jaime gave her a pat and said, "You're all set," she flicked an ear back in her version of a thoughtful frown, turning her head to nuzzle her friend. Worried.
"It's okay," Jaime said softly. "Go ahead."
So Lady blew a gentle snort and headed for the stall with long, free strides that were entirely reflected in the way she moved as Jess. By the time she got there, Suliya had convinced the stallion to move to the back of the stall, but she couldn't stop his posturing; he met Lady with his neck arched high, prancing in place and offering a courtly series of grunting nickers.
Lady flattened her ears, informing him that he was far too forward, and Suliya eyed her with alarm.
"Carey—"
"We're going," Carey said, placing a hand on Lady's harness, holding tight.
And Lady's world wrenched itself inside out . . . and despite the sudden inner cry of Jess's despair in her mind, jerked her right along with it.
Chapter 12
The spring ground was wet against Carey's face, the strong humus smell of it unmistakable in his nose.
He lifted his head, watched the woods spin around his field of view in response, and quickly closed his eyes. "Burning hells," he whispered to himself, only now realizing how much improvement Arlen had made in the refined versions of the changespell. He clenched his jaw on the bile in his throat, told himself don't throw up, don't throw up, don't— Someone beside him threw up.
That would be Suliya, her first introduction to world travel full of turbulence and a rocky landing, and he
ought to say something reassuring like it gets better but just at that moment his jaw was clenched even harder— He swallowed, took a breath, swallowed again . . . and cautiously lifted his head to the steady drizzling rain that silvered the young, brightly green leaves around them.
We're all here. Not separated, not flung to the winds . . . Dayna, sprawled on her stomach much as he'd been, groaning imprecations at the world; Suliya, dazed and clinging to the lead rope of an empty halter—a halter draped carelessly over the lanky form of a man with an odd gold-tan sheen to his completely exposed skin and orange stripes in his flaxen hair. Unlike the others, he hadn't arrived spilled over on his stomach; he looked more like a puppet for which someone had suddenly cut the strings, ungainly and awkward. And not yet conscious . . . the best time they'd ever have to get clothes on him.
"Suliya," Carey said, or meant to; it sounded more like a croak. He worked his too-dry mouth until he had enough spit to try again, and said, "You have to get him dressed . . . now . . . before he wakes up—"
She apparently found the thought of wrestling with the palomino man alarming enough to get her moving past her discomfort; Dayna dragged herself through wet leaf layers to lend a hand.
And Carey found Jess. As unconscious as the palomino, taking the change hard . . . curled into a shivering ball, her head lolling with a slackness that sent a skin-tightening moment of dread through Carey even though he knew better; he could easily see the movement of her goosebumped ribs with her breath.
"Clothes, Jess," he muttered, making it to her on hands and knees and gently disentangling her from her harness. Limp-limbed, she gave no sign of rousing; he couldn't recall ever seeing her so affected.
Then again, he hadn't been there the first time it had happened, her first experience with these parkland trees and paths and the entirely new world that greeted her opening eyes.
Stifling a curse and a shock of guilt— I did this to you—he dug through her carefully packed saddlebags and pulled out her underlayers, an Earth-made sweatshirt with a horsey design and a pair of Wrangler jeans. With Suliya and Dayna exchanging snatches of directions at each other—"Move his leg" and "Lift his butt" and one short, mortified, "Watch out for his—the zipper!" in the background, he dressed Jess on his own. Dressed her as though she were a child, hands gentle on her long limbs, confidently intimate as he arranged her underlayers and carefully eased her hair out from within the sweatshirt.
As he snapped the jeans together, her breathing went from slow and shallow to a quick fearful stutter, and he leaned over to meet her confused gaze as her eyes fluttered open—not successfully at first, not all the way, but when finally she looked out from behind them, she found him waiting.
"You all right?" he asked, a strange echo of his words from the barn.
She frowned slightly, looking at the canopy of trees above them, glancing at her own rain-beaded hand as if she weren't sure that's what she'd find at the end of her arm. Then she said, "Hard," in one of her single-word sentences that always made perfect sense to him.
"Yeah," he agreed, running a hand down her arm. "Take your time. All we have to do for now is find the path. No hurry."
" Some hurry," Dayna said from behind him. "If we get caught off trail, we're going to draw a lot of attention. The rangers here aren't police officers per se, but they won't hesitate to call them in if they think something off-spell is going on."
"Something off-spell is going on," Suliya muttered.
"That's the point," Dayna said. "Hand me that shoe, will you?"
"I think he's starting to come around—" Suliya's voice rose a little in trepidation; Carey glanced over his shoulder to find Dayna struggling with the last shoe and the palomino—the man —on his back after their ministrations, his arm twitching.
Jess rolled to her side, struggling to make it at least to her knees. "He will be so scared—"
"Take it easy, Jess. We can handle it."
"But you don't know —" she cried, more anguish than volume, and too wobbly to do anything but fold back to the ground and rest her head on her arms despite her best effort.
Carey stroked the back of her head, following her long hair down her spine, as aware as she that these next few moments were crucial, and would likely set the tone for the rest of their time with this newly changed man. "No, we don't know. But we'll do our best. Be easy, Jess."
He didn't think she had a choice, not to judge by the soft whimper that escaped from her. But he'd hoped the man would be slower than she to recover; she, at least, was accustomed to changing.
"His name," she said, muffled and indistinct, "is Ramble."
He'd never even asked.
Dammit.
The Ohio woods of Highbanks Metropark looped and swirled around Jess, defeating her every attempt to rise; utter frustration released a tear; it followed the upper curve of her cheek and then dropped to the already wet ground just inches from her face. She'd wanted to be here to help Ramble, to make these moments as easy as possible for him.
She'd never expected to find herself as weak as a newborn foal.
Memories came rushing back, the way it had been that first change—memories nearly buried by the intensity of her confusion at the time, and by the number of seamless changes she'd made since then, both on her own and while traveling here.
Arlen had indeed improved the spell from that first hesitant version. Or something else had gone very wrong— Arlen, she thought, focusing on the image of him. They were here for Arlen, and for the rest of Camolen.
And she was here for Ramble, to help him adjust. Not to swoon dizzily in the leaf humus, not to get lost in the enormity of her own first change. Not to churn inside over how badly she wanted to lean into Carey's hand on her back at the same time she was so deeply, coldly angry at him.
"Carey," Dayna said uncertainly from the other side of Carey, from where Jess had managed to get a brief glimpse of the man Ramble had become before the weight of her own limbs dragged her back to the ground. Bigger than any of them, with a ranginess that perfectly reflected the palomino's own.
If he gave them trouble, they'd be no match for him.
"Carey," Dayna repeated, more uncertainly yet.
Carey brought his head down to hers. "Be easy, Jess," he said, and she couldn't tell if he kept invoking one of his old Words with her out of habit, or because he thought it might truly have some influence that sat deeper than her wariness of the needs that drove him.
If so, he was right. She couldn't help it, couldn't help but listen to him crooning easy and respond with the trust that he'd trained into her as a foal, then a yearling, then a young mare under saddle. She sighed deeply, losing the edge of her anxiety. "Go help," she told him.
Her back was cold where his hand had been.
Her attention drifted; she didn't know for how long. Long enough for some of the strength to seep back into her muscles. The world steadied; she became more aware of the rain dampening her sweatshirt, of the birds boldly ignoring them to flutter in the surrounding underbrush, of Carey murmuring not far away—using the same kinds of words he gave Lady but slightly firmer. More authority than reassurance, but not pushing.
Ramble needed more than that. He needed to hear a language he could understand. His language.
Her language.
She jerked her head up at a sudden explosion of activity—Ramble in action, Dayna just trying to get out of the way, Suliya tugging at his arm, Carey simply placing himself in Ramble's way, giving him a quick push and then giving him the time to think about it.
Jess remembered the impossible effort of trying to make her new arms and legs work. As had been Lady's nature, she'd been thoughtful about the process even through her fear. Ramble, she thought, was more likely to get mad—and then, without a halter, without restraints, they would lose him to the woods.
She got to her knees where he could see her, the trees tipping only mildly around her now . . . and she lifted her head to give him a throaty nicker.
He froze, distracted from human antics; he perked his ears and arched his neck and— No. So strange, how she could look at this human form and know exactly what the horse in him meant to do. But the human form merely tipped his head slightly, straightening almost imperceptibly, focusing sharply on her.
She remembered that, too. Sudden binocular perception over her entire field of vision. And color.
Intensive color, for the first time, and the assault of it on her mind. How grateful she'd been when she realized she could trust Dayna and her friend Eric even if she closed her eyes, how relieved to retreat to the interior of Dayna's house and its muted color scheme. Now, still on her knees, she moved a little closer, calling to him again. More quietly this time. Reassuring instead of attention-grabbing.
He softened a little, taking cues in that most horsey of ways . . . if she wasn't running, then he didn't need to run, either. If her posture was soft and relaxed, she perceived no threat to either of them. She lifted her chin a little, stretching her neck, eyes wide and curious. A mare inviting a stallion to say hello.
"There you go," Carey breathed, easing aside so he could move with Ramble, maintaining the connection he'd established.
"We're spellin', then, ay?" Suliya said, as quietly as Carey.
"I think we'll be all right," he said. "Just give him some time. Let him tell us when it's all right to get a little closer."
Jess shifted a little, putting her shoulder to the man, taking away any sign of aggression from her stance and giving him the chance to make the approach. Clumsily, still on his knees, still dropping a hand to the ground for balance now and then, freezing and tilting his head in warning when Suliya once moved too suddenly, hesitating to watch Dayna when she murmured something about finding the nature trail and then eased away to do it, he approached.
Changespell Legacy Page 12
