by P. C. Cast
“I seriously need a trim.” I mentally calculated…I’d been in this world for almost six months, and I hadn’t had my thick curls trimmed for several weeks before I’d been yanked over here. Man, my hairdresser, Rick, would have an apoplectic attack if he could see me now. Rick always said, “Girlfriend, I don’t know why you’d ever let a woman touch your hair. They’re in competition with you, so they just look for hateful little ways to make y’all look like shit. I don’t mind if you look fabulous. We’re not, shall we say, dipping out of the same punch bowl.” You have to admit he had a point.
“Women do not cut their hair.”
I snorted, remembering ClanFintan saying something very much like that several months ago.
“Let me clue you in, my friend.” I spoke to her reflection in the mirror. “There’s nothing wrong with a little snip-snip once in a while. I swear I’ve seen more split ends in the past six months than I have in the past decade. You’d think we were at a Pentecostal retreat.”
Alanna didn’t say anything. She was becoming used to my out-of-this-world babblings. Apparently she enjoyed the excitement now that she trusted me not to bite her head off. And, yes, I mean that literally. I’m telling you, Rhiannon was not a nice girl.
I contemplated silently how I was going to go about mass hair trimmings while Alanna finished my hair and makeup. When I had first awakened in this new world, I had felt awkward about Alanna waiting on me. Because she is the mirror image of my best friend (in any world), Suzanna, it felt somehow, I don’t know, blasphemous, to allow her to coif me, clothe me and coddle me. But I have come to the realization that I am Alanna’s job. She’s technically my slave, but that’s ridiculous and I called bullshit on that as soon as she told me about it. So now I tell myself, and everyone else, that she’s my personal assistant and I let her have her way with me.
Okay, I admit I like the attention.
And Suzanna always was great at everything that had to do with being a Lady. She had to be. She’s Southern Mississippi born and raised, transplanted in adulthood to Oklahoma (which they don’t consider a part of the True South). And being a Lady of the South must be some kind of crossdimensional-genetic-imprint, because Alanna definitely did Dixie proud.
Alanna squeezed my shoulder, signaling that she was done with my coiffure. I stood and held my arms out while she wound a shimmery piece of golden silk around my body until it hung in beautiful folds, accentuating my deep curves and long legs.
“Hold this while I find that new brooch.”
I held the slick material together at my left shoulder while Alanna dug through a pile of gold and sparkles that pooled on my vanity.
“Here is it…” She held a brooch out for my inspection. “Is it not exquisite?”
“Ohmygod, it’s beautiful!” I breathed a long, sincerely jewelry-loving sigh.
It was a golden miniature replica of my husband—a plunging, centaur warrior—complete with a diamond-handled claymore, which he held before him in both hands, streaming hair (or mane, whichever way you wanted to look at it) and plenty of muscles (both horse and human). It looked so lifelike that for a moment I thought I felt it quiver. And in this world, you never know.
“Wow—” I peered down at the brooch as Alanna pinned it into place “—it even looks like him.”
“That is what I thought.” She turned and retrieved a new pair of hoop earrings that were encrusted with diamonds. “And I thought these would lighten your spirits, too.”
The earrings flashed with clear fire as they caught the reflection of the candles.
“I’ll bet these weren’t cheap.” I put them in my ears, loving their weight.
“Of course they were expensive. Only the—” we finished the familiar sentence together “—best for Epona’s Chosen.”
Alanna handed me a thin golden coronet, decorated with an ancient piece of polished amber, and I slid it in place on my forehead. It rested comfortably there—like it had been made for me—like I had been born into this position and Chosen by a Goddess for special favors (and responsibilities, my mind reminded me). Little wonder I had grown to love this world. My husband was here; my friends were here; people depended upon and trusted me; and (incidentally), the position of Goddess Incarnate does carry with it a decidedly better salary than Oklahoma public-school teacher (well, let’s face it, a burger-flipper has a better salary than an Oklahoma teacher, as I’m sure the real Rhiannon is finding out).
“You look lovely. Pale, but lovely.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I pulled a face at her.
Two firm knocks sounded against the bathing room door.
“Come on in!” I called.
The perky little Noreen nymphet rushed into the room.
“My Lady! The warriors have been sighted over the western ridge,” she gushed.
“Well, let’s go welcome them!”
“Rhea, your wrap.” Alanna reminded me of the encroaching cold as she helped me into an ermine-lined cloak (no animal rights activists here). Then she wrapped herself in a similar cloak, and we were ready to roll. I felt my heart pound in expectation as the two women stood aside so that I could lead the way from the room.
A quick left turn took me through my private hallway, which led to the main inner courtyard of Epona’s Temple. One of my warriors opened the door, and the three of us spilled out into the crowded courtyard.
“Hail, Epona!”
“Blessings upon you, Lady Rhiannon!”
“Blessed be Epona’s Chosen!”
I smiled and waved cheerfully at the throng of maidens and guards who made a path for me through the courtyard, out past the plunging-horse fountain that smoked with bubbling mineral water, to the smooth, ivory-colored marble wall that enclosed the temple. Outside the front entrance I was pleased to see a nice-size crowd of locals had gathered to welcome home the warriors.
Epona’s Temple had been built on a plateau, and the raised entrance to the temple faced a westerly direction. I looked up from the crowd that spread before me and felt my already hammering heart leap in response to the magnificent sight. The setting sun had left the sky a watercolor of dramatic violets and pinks, which shaded to deep, sapphire blue near the horizon. Against that amazing backdrop came the warriors. Plunging over the western ridge the army moved as one, a liquid tide of strength tempered by grace. At first they were just darker shadows within shadow, bodies silhouetted by the setting sun, centaurs intermingled with humans on horseback. The closer they came the more individuals emerged. Beading on the centaurs’ leather vests shimmered and glinted with the movement of their long strides. The bridles of the horses ridden by the human men winked brilliant shards of color as the fading evening light caught its reflection in well-adorned headdresses. They galloped in a tight formation, the banner of Partholon, a silver mare rearing against a regal purple background, snapped and curled above them.
As they came to the strategically cleared area that surrounded Epona’s Temple, the army executed a neat flanking movement. Rippling like water, they separated into two neat columns that split to surround the group of joyously waiting spectators who cheered their maneuvers appreciatively.
Unexpectedly, I was reminded of my father’s football practices. His team had become so successful that a crowd that outnumbered the total fans at most Friday night high school games consistently gathered to watch their practices. He had decided it would be good for morale to entertain his loyal fans, so he had his boys enter the practice field in intricate formations. The football players feinted and moved around each other like they were in a well-choreographed play.
The loneliness of having no father in this world with which to share this amazing sight felt especially poignant as I watched my centaur warrior husband break rank and move fluidly toward me.
Dad would have liked him.
I mentally shook myself free from my morose thoughts, swallowing back a wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm me. Throwing back my shoulders in an attempt to look Goddess Inc
arnate–like, I stepped forward to greet my mate. As he approached, the cheering died to an expectant hush.
ClanFintan closed the space between us quickly, but time seemed to suspend long enough for my eyes to be filled with the being that was my husband. He moved with a grace and strength that I had come to realize was unique to his species—centaurs. You might imagine that melding horse and human would create a creature that was either a monstrously confused apparition, or a gawky, uncomfortable attempt to mix worlds, but neither was true. Centaurs were, perhaps, the most exquisite creatures I had ever encountered. And my husband was a prince among them. He was tall. His human torso towered above my five-foot-seven frame. His hair was dark and slick, reminiscent of Spanish Conquistadors, and it was tied back into a thick braid, from which a few tendrils escaped to play a teasing game around his well-defined face. Seeing him after a month’s absence with new eyes, I was struck by how much he reminded me of a muscular Cary Grant, complete with chiseled cheekbones and a deep, romantic cleft in his chin.
I let my eyes slide down his body, and I felt my lips form an appreciative, welcoming smile as I took in his muscular torso, which the traditional leather vest of the centaur warrior left enticingly semi-bare. As I already knew, centaurs had a body temperature several degrees higher than a human’s. Obviously, the chill in the air wouldn’t bother him. Not for the first time I appreciated the muscular view his hot (in all senses of the word) body afforded me.
From his human waist back, his body was that of a well-muscled stallion. He stood easily sixteen hands tall at the withers. His coat was a rich bay, the color of ripe acorns that had been polished until they gleamed. This glistening bay deepened to black on his legs and tail. With each stride, his muscles rippled and tensed. As he approached me, he looked very powerful and suddenly—unexpectedly—very foreign.
He came to a halt directly in front of me, dwarfing me with his physical presence. I had to force myself not to take a nervous step back. My eyes lifted quickly from his body to meet his gaze.
ClanFintan’s eyes were large but vaguely slanted, almost Asian in shape. They were the color of a starless night, so black I couldn’t distinguish his pupils. I found myself trapped in their darkness, and the nausea I had felt earlier fluttered to life in the back of my throat.
I suddenly remembered my first response to the thought of being intimate with this amazing being. I had been more than a little uneasy at the prospect—even after I had learned he could shapeshift into human form at will.
Then he smiled, and the lines at the edges of his eyes crinkled into familiar patterns. In one swift movement, he stepped forward and took my hand. Turning it palm up he raised it to his lips and kissed me softly. While his lips still touched my skin, his eyes again met mine, and he playfully took the meaty part of my palm between his teeth, nipping my hand gently.
“Hail, Epona’s Beloved,” he said in a deep voice that carried throughout the crowd. “Your husband and your warriors have returned.”
His voice washed over me, reassuring me with its obvious affection. I blinked once, and my trepidation blew away like autumn leaves. This wasn’t some gigantic stranger. This was my husband, my lover, my mate.
“Welcome home, ClanFintan.” As any good teacher can, I raised my voice so that it carried. My smile grew as I spoke. “High Shaman, warrior and husband.” Stepping into the warmth of his embrace, I was vaguely aware of the cheer that escaped from the watching crowd.
“I have missed you, my love.” His voice resonated throughout my body as he bent to capture my lips.
His kiss was brief and hard. Before I could return the kiss as enthusiastically as I’d like, he grasped me around the waist and swung me up onto his broad back. As if responding to a signal, the cheering crowd swept around us as individuals were welcomed by family and friends, and a tide of well-wishers pushed us joyfully toward Epona’s inner courtyard. From the corner of my eye I caught a flash of silver-blond, and turned my head in time to see my friend, Victoria, accepting the restrained greeting of Dougal. They stood close to each other but not touching, letting the crowd swirl around them. To a stranger, it appeared that Victoria’s classically beautiful face was serene and unaffected by Dougal’s presence. In the time I had known her I had come to understand that she masked her emotions well and, as Lead Huntress and provider for her people, that was only proper. But she could not conceal the emotions in her eyes, and right now they blazed with a desire that I hoped Dougal could read as clearly as I could.
ClanFintan moved forward with the crowd and Victoria and Dougal were soon blocked from my view. Sighing, I rested one hand lightly on his shoulder while I waved greetings to the warriors I recognized as we moved forward. Still a little shaky from my initial reaction to ClanFintan, I concentrated on being welcoming and goddess-like. This, at least, was a familiar drill. I had become accustomed to playing the benevolent Goddess Incarnate.
You are not playing, Beloved.
The words whispered into my mind, and I jerked in surprise like I’d brushed against an electric fence (jeesh, I hate those things). ClanFintan glanced back at me in alarm, and I squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. No doubt he could feel the tension transmitted from my body into his.
Epona had not spoken to me for months, yet I recognized the Goddess’s voice as surely as I would my own.
We entered the courtyard and ClanFintan came to a halt, turning so that we faced the pressing crowd. He glanced briefly over his shoulder at me, covering my hand that rested on his shoulder with his own.
Hastily I cleared my throat, trying to regain my scattered thoughts.
“Um, I…” The people silenced themselves as I looked out at the crowd, and for an instant it seemed that behind the joyously gathered group I saw something dark. Something that lingered and watched and waited, but when I tried to look directly at it, disappeared. I cleared my throat and mentally shook myself. “I…um…I mean…” My gaze flitted around until it found Alanna. Her arms were wrapped intimately around her husband, but her eyes were on me. A frown hovered on her lips as her confusion at my uncharacteristic hesitance registered.
I started again.
“We would like to invite you to join us, all of Epona’s servants and their families, for a feast to welcome home our brave warriors.” The strength of my voice grew as I spoke. “Please share with us the joy of their return with food and wine!”
The crowd cheered, milling expectantly, eager to follow us to the Great Hall. At the same time, ClanFintan twisted around, pulling me down from his back and setting me gently on the ground beside him. We moved forward through the entrance side by side, his arm resting protectively around my shoulder, his gait slowing to match my much shorter steps.
“Are you well, Rhea?” he asked softly.
“Yes, I’m fine.” I tried to smile up at him, but a new wave of nausea left me feeling clammy and weak.
The warriors who guarded the huge intricately carved doors saluted as I approached. In a move that made them look like muscular shadows of one another, they pulled the doors open and the smells and sights from the Great Hall escaped, spilling over us in a welcome of the senses.
ClanFintan led me to our familiar chaises, which to me always evoked the image and opulence of ancient Rome. He folded himself down into one after bowing me toward my own. As was customary, we reclined for our meals as did the ancient Romans (minus the stuffing puking stuffing puking part). The heads of our chaises were almost touching, and a narrow pedestaled table rested within arm’s reach. I smiled at him, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the intense way he was studying me. Then the hall quieted and I cleared my throat before I began the blessing. Taking a deep breath, I felt myself relax. Not only was I used to public speaking/teaching/scolding/whatever, I enjoyed it.
“We thank you, Epona, for the safe return of our brave warriors.” I noted a murmur of agreement rustling through the crowd. I closed my eyes and tilted my chin back, raising my arms over my head as if I was focusing my
blessing upward and within at the same time. I continued. “I have only to close my eyes and in memory I see the hardships we have overcome this past season.” I had learned early on that in Partholon time wasn’t measured by months, it was measured by seasons and the changing moon. “But our Goddess was near us then, as always. We can hear Her voice in the sounding of the rain, and the trilling of the birds. It is in the rhythm of the moon, the brush of the breeze, the sweet, living scent of the earth. We are reminded by the changing of the seasons that blessings are not to be had singly. Instead, they come to us in a mixture, and sometimes must be discovered as sifting gems from sand. Tonight we are thankful for our gems.” The walls of the Great Hall echoed my closing words, “Hail Epona!”
I opened my eyes and smiled at my wonderful audience before I sank gratefully into my chaise.
“Please bring me some herbal tea, and take away this wine,” I whispered to an attentive servant. She gave me a confused look, and who could blame her? I was definitely acting out of character, but she complied without question.
“What is wrong, Rhea?” Although he kept his voice low, ClanFintan’s worry was obvious enough to cause several of the people and centaurs in chaises near us (which included Alanna and her doctor husband) to send me concerned, questioning looks.
“Oh—” I tried to make my voice sound light “—I’ve had some kind of stomach upset that doesn’t want to go away.” I met my husband’s steady gaze with my usual slightly sarcastic grin. “It’s almost as stubborn as I’ve been known to be.”
Several of our eavesdroppers chuckled. I noticed that Alanna, Carolan and ClanFintan did not join them.
“You look pale…” He hesitated, studying me again. “And thin.”
“Well, you can never be too rich or too thin,” I quipped.
“Humph,” he snorted through his nose, making a sound that was very horselike.
“Alanna,” I called, “I thought some of the maidens were going to play music during the feast.”
“Yes, Rhea.” Her smile was tinged with concern, like she thought I was hovering at the edge of a nervous breakdown. “They await your signal, as always.” She pointed to a raised platform in the corner of the hall where six young women sat with various instruments resting against their silken-clad laps. They were all looking expectantly in my direction.
