Changespell 01 Dunn Lady's Jess

by Doranna Durgin

  "Carry them? Why?" The hand gripped and tangled in black strands of mane. Not all three of them. Not them, too.

  "My guess is magic. There wasn't a mark on them—and we'd never have found them if Neron hadn't felt the magic that came from their direction. It had to have been big, because he's no sensitive," Katrie said, matter-of-factly.

  Lady lifted her head and called out again as Jaime turned away from the woman, suddenly aware that her own nonchalance since crashing the gate was all a cover. How could anyone be nonchalant in a society as alien as this one, when threat and death seemed to be all around her? She wrapped her arms around Lady's dun neck, and was shaken by the vibrations of the anguished whinnying.

  "Here, now." The light touch on her shoulder startled her; she hadn't expected any gentleness from the tough looking woman who'd stood before her. "Sherra'll put them right."

  "It's not just . . . it's—" Jaime faltered, talking into Lady's neck, overwhelmed by the prospect of finding just a few words to convey everything that needed to be said. Finally she settled for, "We already lost one friend getting here." Maybe two, she thought, as she felt Lady's soft black nose nuzzle gently at her shoulder.

  Surprise evident, Katrie said, "You did?"

  Jaime wiped her eyes on the sleeve of the bright tunic and glanced up at the taller woman, and got her own surprise at the new respect she thought she saw there.

  "Would you tell me?" Katrie asked.

  Jaime surprised herself by asking bluntly, "Why?"

  After a moment, Katrie shrugged and said, "Curiosity, I suppose. But . . . we're all involved in your story, too. It started here and it's going to end here. And while maybe you'll find a way back home, we'll still be here, living with the results of this mess."

  Jaime, too, thought a moment, looking at Katrie with her peculiarly acute vision, and seeing a blunt, tough woman who had the thoughtfulness to come up with that answer.

  "Supper'll be on," Katrie said. "I'll show you how it's done here, and you'll have plenty of time to tell me your side of things."

  Jaime didn't have to think any longer. "That sounds fine," she said, briefly resting her hand on the thick black stripe that traversed Lady's spine. The dun's attention was already elsewhere, and her neck vibrated with a barely voiced call.

  "She must have seen them," Jaime said, climbing through the fence. "She knows he's here somewhere."

  "I've seen her here on regular courier runs—she never seemed to care that much," Katrie commented.

  "That," said Jaime, "is part of the story."

  * * *

  She had quite an audience at the meal, which was a huge buffet complete with hot soapy water in which to wash the copper-veneered wooden platters and utensils—although Jaime now knew they'd be magically cleansed in the kitchen as well, so it was sort of like rinsing the dishes before they went in the dishwasher. People wandered in and out, keeping the noise level at a loud but pleasant hum, and the food slowly disappeared as Jaime told a tableful of people how she'd met Carey. She did not, however, speak of Jess' involvement, despite her comment to Katrie. Somehow that was too personal and, she decided, not really her story, anyway. She simply told Katrie and her friends that Dayna had run into Carey at the hotel. She put Dayna in Jess' place at the YMCA, and did not mention that Carey had memorized the spell—or that he'd even inadvertently destroyed it in the first place. But she told the scrupulous truth when it came to Eric, and the caring person he'd been, and that his death had been stupid and unnecessary. And she told about meeting Katrie on the road, and turned it into a Keystone Cops adventure that even had Katrie smiling.

  But she didn't learn the things that she wanted to know. No one could tell her if her friends would be all right; the best she could do on that score was discover that Sherra had left them in the hands of her students while she recovered from the work she'd done. No one cared to venture a guess on what the problem had been, or what the prognosis was—although they seemed to think it wouldn't be unusual if Jaime had to wait another day to find out. Jaime sensed they had some idea of what had gone on, but were simply too discreet to discuss it. They wouldn't even tell her about Arlen, or what Calandre had been up to in Carey's absence—someone always managed to change the subject, or she got a table full of shrugs, and eventually she quit asking. While she quietly fumed over that for the last half of the meal, she eventually realized they had done no more than she, with her altered version of Carey's adventures, and had to respect them for it.

  When the talkfest adjourned, she inquired and was told the little room in which she'd napped was hers for the duration, and she returned to it, tried one more time to find her contacts—this time by candlelight, although the halls had been lit with strange spherical glows—and crawled into the soft bed, where she fretted for all of five minutes before sleep kidnapped her thoughts and turned them into a night full of frustrating dreams.

  * * *

  As darkness fell, Sherra's head courier brought Lady into the barn, where she ceased her calling. He stayed with her for a while, and offered her some of the choicest hay she'd ever seen, but her mouth was not for eating tonight. And though she knew the dark-skinned man, and liked him, she did not respond to his gentle words, or even react to the grooming he offered her. Eventually, he left her alone with her thoughts.

  For Lady had thoughts. She didn't understand them and she didn't like them, but she had them. She was aware that something of great magnitude had happened to her; every moment of her time as a woman was etched into her excellent equine memory, but they were memories she couldn't comprehend. Far too many words bounced around in her mind, both the place and object names that she could deal with and the more abstract facets of language that she couldn't. It made her mad, and it frightened her, and more than anything she wanted Carey to return to her and make it stop.

  But the very thought of the man who could, who always had, soothed her, merely created more torment. She had memories of feelings she didn't understand, and couldn't translate to her equine makeup, and they made her want to crash through the door of her stall and even through the thick wood gate, and to run her fastest through the woods, galloping until her tortured heart gave out.

  In sudden frustration, she kicked the wall; a solid blow that rang throughout the barn and tingled up through her hock. Again she kicked, and again, barely controlled violence that settled into a leg-damaging rhythm which numbed her mind and distracted her from the unbearable.

  "Lady!" It was Morley, the head courier, back again and fumbling at the latch to her stall. Furious at the interruption, she screamed at him and charged the stall door; he fell back and gaped at her as she began kicking the wall again. She was lost to herself by the time he ran out of the barn.

  Kick, beat. Kick, beat. Kick—Morley was back again, with the same woman who had tended her shoulder. "Lady," the woman crooned, a considerate approach that earned her the same greeting Morley had received. Only Carey could help Lady now, it had ever been only Carey—except now she couldn't stand the thought of his touch, and it left her nothing.

  The woman did not retreat, though Lady bared her teeth and shook her head and rolled her eye. She was . . . humming. Lady pricked an ear despite herself, then, suddenly aware she'd been thwarted, ran to the back of the stall where she pawed the straw bedding and half-reared, fighting years of training as well as her own frantic passions.

  The humming was quite nice, actually. A stray wisp of color ran through Lady's thoughts, startling her; it wasn't a color her eyes could see, although . . . that other part of her had seen such things. She snorted, and suddenly realized that her legs were trembling, and that her right hind ached, and that please, please, she just wanted it all to go away and maybe this woman would do that for her. With a deep groan she approached the stall door again, and the woman put a hand to her forehead, ever humming; the soothing blues and greens washed through her mind. Without quite realizing how it had happened, Lady found herself lying in the stall with the woman beside
her. She surrendered herself to those healing forces, and felt the alien part of herself sliding away.

  * * *

  Jaime was furious. Unfortunately, she had no one at whom to be furious—except maybe those well-meaning people who refused to tell her the details of what was happening with her friends and brother, and who insisted that while they were recovering, they were not yet ready to see her. Even then she knew it wasn't really their fault that they weren't quite sure how to deal with this woman from the world without magic. And for her part, she was tired of the constant discoveries—discovering that her bath would have indeed been a warm one if she'd only known there was a spell to trigger for it and how to do it, that the funny little chime in her head meant someone was looking for her and she should return to the great room to meet them, that she could have easily obtained a mouth cleansing spell instead of futilely scrubbing her morning mouth teeth with a towel-wrapped finger. Pah. She was still spitting out lint.

  A ride, she thought, would do her good. Might do Jess—or Lady—good, too. Distract her, perhaps, and give her something to concentrate on, for the longer hours in the Camolen day seemed solely intended to provide them both with more time to worry. And Jaime was curious to see how a horse whose alter ego was steeped in the theories of dressage would respond to some focused riding.

  When she arrived at the barn—fed, dressed in her cleaned, mended breeches, and anticipating a good conversation with Carey's horse, she found Lady in the same paddock—but an entirely different animal. Head low, standing in the corner with the weight shifted off her stocked-up right hind, Lady gave her an indifferent glance; the ear she flicked was merely a reflex to rid herself of a fly, nothing more.

  "Jaime?"

  It was not a voice she knew. Jaime turned to the dark-complected man who was coming up behind her and lifted an eyebrow in a polite but not quite welcoming response, unwilling to be distracted from Lady. His confident step faltered.

  "Katrie said that was your name—Jaime," he offered in an almost question. "I'm Morley, head courier here."

  "It's Jaime. What's going on with Lady?"

  "That's why I'm here. We're not really sure, and we hoped you could help us."

  "We?"

  "Hanni and I. She's our animal handler—um, she specializes in treating animals with magic. I had to call her in for Lady last night."

  "What happened?" Jaime asked, trying to keep the demand out of her voice as she quickly turned back to Lady, scrutinizing the dun.

  He shook his head. "Burn me if I know. She went crazy last night after I stalled her—started kicking the wall, and then rushed me. She went after Hanni, too, but that woman's a good handler. She got the mare sedated, but couldn't really interpret the problem—although she treated it as best she could."

  "Then she was doing the kicking with that back leg," Jaime said, glancing at Morley for confirmation. "Is she still sedated now, then? And what did you mean, she 'treated' it?"

  He shook his head. "No, the sedation's run its course. I wish Hanni were here—she could explain a lot better. But she spent a lot of time with Lady and she's at home in the village, sleeping."

  "You can't give me any idea of what she did?" Jaime asked, persistent, and beginning to feel alarm as she watched a horse who had given her no sign of recognition.

  "Not really," Morley said uncomfortably. "I know, generally, how they go about working on an unknown like this—it's sort of like finding the path of the most resistance—that's where the problem is. Then they eliminate it."

  "Oh my God," Jaime said, sudden dread clutching her heart. "Jess!" she called sharply, stepping up on the first rail of the fence and leaning far over the top rail. "Jess!"

  Morley came up beside her, his bafflement palpable. Jaime ignored him.

  "Jess! Please, Jess, come and talk to me," she pleaded, her thoughts reverberating with Morley's then they eliminate it. The horse regarded her in an unremarkable way, a mare with lean but pleasing conformation and all the extras that went with being a dun, the black points on ears, muzzle and lower legs, the thick line down her back, and the faint tiger striping on the backs of her legs. It was only Lady who looked back at her, who shook her lowered head so her thick mane flapped noisily against her neck, and who looked away to scratch her face against her foreleg.

  Almost beside herself, Jaime turned on Morley. "What have you done to her! Get Hanni back here and put her back the way she was, right now!"

  Morley took a step back, but was uncowed. "In the first place, 'the way she was' was making her crazy. In the second place, this is Carey's horse, not yours, and he'll be the one to make the decisions about her."

  "You should have thought of that last night!" Jaime said accusingly.

  "Carey wasn't available and you know it. As far as I'm concerned, Hanni saved that mare's life last night and there'll be no more said about it." His concerned and cordial attitude had cooled considerably.

  "You don't understand," Jaime said, desperation setting in as she groped for some way to explain it to him, words that would make him understand just how important the Jess part of the mare was. She closed her eyes and made a concerted effort to slow her thoughts and choose her words. Calm and cool, Jaime, that's your rep. Live up to it.

  But she didn't have to.

  "Carey," said Morley, interrupting her thoughts with relief in his voice.

  Her eyes flew open to the welcome sight of two figures approaching in two blessedly familiar walks—one loose-jointed, one self-assured. Jaime ran to meet them, grabbing them each for a quick hug that left Mark grinning and Carey surprised.

  "You're all right," she said, finding Carey untouched aside from the healing cut on his face and standing back from Mark to scrutinize him, finding pretty much what she always saw in him, right down to his mildly goofy grin. "Aren't you?"

  "Just fine," Mark assured her, right before his face distorted in an exaggerated twitch. She hit him lightly on the arm and said, "What happened? Where's Dayna?"

  "Dayna needs a little more time," Carey said, but his comment was so matter-of-fact that she felt reassured anyway. "I heard you've been nagging the house aides unmercifully—but that none of your many questions have been answered. You want some of those answers now?"

  "You better believe it," Jaime said emphatically. "But first—I think we've got a problem here."

  "Why?" Carey said, glancing at Morley. "What's going on?"

  "It's Jess," Jaime said heavily.

  "That's what she's been calling Lady," Morley offered, still back at the paddock fence. "As far as I'm concerned, the problem's solved, but you can decide for yourself."

  All three of them joined Morley at the fence and Carey spent a few moments watching the dun. "There's her shoulder, which I've been told happened on the ride in." He looked at Jaime, as if checking out her head.

  "I'm fine," she said, which at this point was an absurd lie. "But—"

  "I'll tell you what I told her," Morley interrupted. "Last night your mare went into a frenzy in her stall—kicking, which is why her hock is swollen. She was wild, Carey—she came after me, and she meant it. She'd been fussing all afternoon, too, but this—well, I've rarely seen the like. Hanni was in for a calving and she took Lady on. Calmed her, and took care of the upset."

  "Jess is gone, Carey," Jaime said in heavy emphasis. "She was there before, you know she was. She knew me, and she listened to me out on the trail—not like a horse would, or even could. She even got me out of a sticky situation with some people who tried to stop me."

  "I heard about it," Carey said, frowning at Lady, who had immediately come over to greet him, and was lipping at his outstretched hand.

  "I think it was being Jess that upset her so much," Jaime said, looking away from the oh-so-horsey exchange between Carey and Lady. "And Hanni took care of it, and now I can't see Jess anywhere."

  "Who in the Ninth Hell is this Jess?" Morley demanded.

  Carey pulled gently on Lady's chin while she made satisfied
faces. "When I went to Jaime's world, Lady came with me. Only, the magic turned her into a woman, and we called her Jess. Dun Lady's Jess."

  Morley stared at him.

  "And when we came back, she was Lady again. Only the Jess part of her was still there . . . ." Carey trailed off as Lady removed herself from his range and sniffed a fence post like it was the only possible reason she came to them in the first place.

  "It must have confused the hell out of her," Mark said. "How could a horse deal with a woman's experiences?"

  "She couldn't," Morley said firmly. "Maybe your Jess is in there somewhere, maybe not. But I still think Hanni did the right thing—unless you'd rather have lost both of them."

  "No," Carey said, barely audible. He turned away from them, and looked out on the yard, which was empty of all save a goat that shouldn't have been loose. After a very long moment, he turned back to them and said, "We've got a lot to catch up on, Jaime. Let's go find a spot in the shade."

  "I'm sorry, Carey," Morley offered, genuinely upset at Carey's distraught reaction. "If only I'd known about it—"

  "Don't say it!" Carey turned on him fiercely, turning Morley's words into a surprised expression even as Jaime realized Morley was really saying, if she'd told me about it, this could have been prevented.

  "Carey—" she started, but couldn't have gotten any further even if he hadn't broken in.

  "Don't even think it," he told her, just as fiercely. "There was no way you could know, just as there was no way Hanni could have suspected what she was doing. It just . . . happened this way. Maybe," he said, continuing with some difficulty, "maybe it's for the best, anyway. Jess . . . was too vital to have lived the rest of her life trapped in a horse's mind."

  "You don't believe that," Jaime said, almost as fiercely as he'd interrupted her. "I know you don't. You tried for two months to convince yourself she was nothing more than a horse in a woman's body, and you couldn't. You're not going to be able to convince yourself that—that this," and she gestured widely at Lady, "is for the best, either!"