by P. C. Cast
I glanced up at him as he handed me his coat. “Thanks.” I squished it into a vaguely pillow-shaped lump and plopped it against the Hummer’s door before resting my head on it. The fabric was soft, and it was still warm from his body. Breathing deeply, I inhaled the scent of him—clean, strong man, with a faint residue of some kind of aftershave. In that place between awake and asleep, I recognized the scent. Stetson cologne. The man in the white hat. That figures. I felt my lips curve into a begrudging smile as sleep claimed me completely.
Hugh Jackman and I were flying cross-country through violet-colored puffy clouds. He had his arms wrapped around me and was nibbling on my neck while he described the opulent beachside suite he had reserved for us at the Hyatt in the Cayman Islands…
…And I was sucked out of the dream and through a tunnel of fire. I knew I was no longer physically attached to my body, but it still felt as if my heart was literally being squeezed within my chest. I couldn’t breathe. In a total state of panic, I opened my mouth to scream, and my spirit form exploded through the tunnel. Disorientation and nausea engulfed me. I gulped huge breaths of cool air, wondering how a spirit body could be so close to projectile vomiting. But soon the familiar hovering sensation calmed me and I felt my vertigo fade. A noise below caused my attention to turn downward.
The sight of the enormous temple brought a rush of emotions. Home! Epona’s Temple. My body floated gently as I absorbed the wonderfully familiar view. It was late afternoon, and the sky had already begun to be tinted with the delicate watercolors of a Partholonian sunset. The smooth cream-colored walls that surrounded the temple caught the changing light and refracted it with a magical, pearlized glow. Below me I could see that the temple guards were beginning to light the many torches and sconces that kept Epona’s Temple illuminated throughout the night.
I recognized several of my nymphets as they moved from courtyard to courtyard, busy arms filled with everything from fine linens to baskets laden with fragrant herbs.
At first the scene looked endearingly normal through my tear-clouded eyes, but as I watched with fond interest, something nagged at my mind. Something was wrong—or at the very least, different. When I saw two of my most youthful maids meet in silent passing, I realized what it was. They weren’t talking. No, it was more than that. I drifted closer. It wasn’t some bizarre spell of silence that had somehow been cast over the temple. I could hear their little slippered feet pattering on the marble floor. One of the guards (a thick, fur-lined cape only partially obscured his muscular form, I noted appreciatively) spoke a muffled curse as he burnt his hand lighting a torch that was too quick to flame. It wasn’t that they couldn’t speak. It was that they were choosing not to speak to one another. The atmosphere in the temple was depressed. The air itself felt thick and smothering.
What the hell had happened?
As if my thoughts were directions for my body to follow, my spirit form began to drift toward the center of the temple. I sank through the domed ceiling as the sun dipped beneath the western horizon.
My bathing chamber was unusually dim and had the deserted feel of a house that had stood empty long enough that it was no longer a home. It made me overwhelmingly sad to see the room that had been at the heart of so much happiness and laughter reduced to being an abandoned shell.
A cowl-shrouded figure was meticulously lighting the candles that nestled in the golden skull holders centered within niches in the otherwise smooth walls. Her slender hands shook while she moved from candle to candle. The air of despair that hung about the woman wasalmost palpable. Her methodical movements were interrupted when the slender stick she was using as a match burned too low. She gasped, dropping the smoldering brand to the marble floor. Moving quickly to extinguish the still-glowing tip, the edge of her hood slid back, revealing the soft curves of Alanna’s face.
“Oh, girlfriend,” I breathed as I noticed tiny lines around her eyes that had not been there the last time I had seen her. She showed no response to my spirit voice. She sighed deeply, fished down into the pockets of her mantle until she found another lighting brand, then continued mechanically with her duties.
I felt my body rising through the layers of warm, steamy vapor. “No! Let me talk to her!” I pleaded with my Goddess.
Patience, Beloved.
The words drifted through my mind and were gone like the specters I had witnessed rising from the blacktop road. I moved swiftly through the ceiling and began floating purposefully in a northerly direction. I had experienced enough dream excursions to know that my Goddess was in control. She had something she needed me to see. It was best to just sit back and wait for her will to be done. Not that familiarity made it any easier.
I noticed that night had come quickly and totally. This was not the gradual darkening of the land, as I had come to know was typical for Partholon. It was as if, in the absence of the sun, darkness reigned uncontested. For some reason that analogy made me shiver. And my body came to a halt.
Below me the dense forest had parted to expose a clearing, and the flickering glow from a large campfire drew my attention. I began drifting lower. At first I noticed only that this was the same clearing that was mirrored in both of my worlds, but before I could contemplate time travel and what the hell I was doing here, the huge campfire drew my eyes. It was an odd color, not the warm saffron and gold of friendly flames, instead it burned a startling red that looked ready to explode and destroy.
I didn’t see him until I had descended to just a few feet above the fire. Then he moved, reaching into a leather pouch at his side to pull forth a handful of something that looked like sand. He flung it into the flames as he spoke the words “mo muirninn” over and over in a guttural voice that sounded strained and rough. ClanFintan’s eyes were red-rimmed and fixed as he stood like a bronze statue of himself, staring into the wild scarlet fire. He was close to the blaze; so close that I was amazed that the ends of his thick, dark hair weren’t smoldering. His human chest was bare and slick with sweat, likewise the equine part of him was flecked with white foam, like he had been running for days and days.
“ClanFintan!” I gasped his name with all the power of my longing.
His head snapped up and his attention was instantly focused in my direction.
“Rhea, love. Have you finally heard me?” His rough voice grated through the night between us.
“Yes,” I yelled, hoping that my Goddess would allow me to communicate with him, if even for just a little while.
Reassure him, Beloved. The words drifted softly within my mind.
“I’m here! I’m trying to get home!” As I spoke, I felt the thrill of the sensation that was caused by my ethereal body becoming semi-visible. I saw my centaur husband’s eyes widen in surprised pleasure. Looking down at my almost solid form I saw, much to my embarrassment, that I was totally naked.
“I see you.” His harsh voice had gone liquid and thick with longing.
“Epona doesn’t ever seem to clothe me properly.” My spirit words drifted hauntingly through the air to my beloved.
“And I thank Epona for it.” The intensity in his words said he was talking about much more than my state of undress.
I smiled softly at him and spoke what my Goddess whispered through my mind. “And Epona will make sure I return home.”
“When!” His expression was tortured.
“I—I don’t know,” I faltered.
“You must return,” he stated simply. “The absence of Epona’s Beloved has taken a great toll upon our world.”
“No!” I cried. “I’m not gone forever. Tell the people Epona would not desert them.” As I spoke I felt the quiet surety within that said I was speaking the truth.
“When?” he repeated.
“Something has happened in my old world.” I took a breath. “Nuada has followed me here.”
His eyes narrowed to slits. He was far too wise in the ways of the spirit world to question the fact that our dead enemy had somehow reanimated.
“Your Goddess would not allow that creature to harm you!”
“No! It’s not me I’m worried about.” I lifted my hands beseechingly. “He’s after the people I love. I think I know how to get back to Partholon, but you have to understand that I cannot leave here until I’ve made sure the people I leave behind will be safe.”
A shadow passed over his handsome face, and I felt the tension behind his words as he spoke. “I saw the man in the clearing. The man with my face.”
“Yes.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“He is my mirror image in your world?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Then you are protected and safe.” His jaw clenched as he ground the words through his teeth.
“Yes,” I repeated, feeling disloyal and inept and very, very guilty.
He kept his eyes locked on mine. “Our daughter—she is well?”
I smiled and felt my face relax. “She is still making me good and sick.”
“Then she is well.” He raised one arm so that his hand was stretched out, reaching over the fire for me. “Come back to me, Shannon.”
“I will, love.” I felt the sob burn in the back of my throat as my body began to drift up and dematerialize. “Tell Alanna I’m fine. Tell her not to lose hope…” My voice trailed off, evaporating into the night.
The tunnel of flames loomed before me and I braced myself for the return journey, but I couldn’t stop the scream that slipped from my terrified soul…
…And I sat straight upright in the passenger’s seat of the Hummer.
“Shannon!” Clint was shaking my shoulder. His expression bordered on panic. “My God, Shannon! Are you awake now?”
“I’m…I’m…fine,” I fumbled, feeling the horrible disorientation of moving between two worlds.
“First you cried out like someone was trying to strangle you, then you didn’t move at all.” His face was white. “You hardly breathed.”
“It was just the Magic Sleep; the dream vision Epona sends me on sometimes,” I said, like I was explaining something as ordinary as how to butter bread. “It’s different here—harder. It must be because this isn’t Epona’s world, even though I’m still her Chosen,” I reasoned aloud, feeling a huge sense of relief at more evidence that my Goddess hadn’t deserted me.
He paused, as if he was struggling for words. I decided to just sit there and breathe deeply, because my stomach had begun turning itself inside out.
“Damnit, Shannon! Magic Sleep! What—”
“Pull over!” I yelled.
“Wha—”
“PULL THE FUCK OVER! I’M GOING TO—”
I didn’t have to finish my declarative sentence. One quick look at my probably green face had clued in Clint. The Hummer swerved delicately as he fishtailed to a stop. I wrenched open the door, and leapt out into the barrage of quarter-sized snowflakes. Two steps from the vehicle I bent over at the waist and began heaving.
Snot—puke mouth—shaking—whimpering—feeling like I was going to die. I hate puking.
“Easy, you’re okay.” Clint’s strong arms braced my body so that I could concentrate on puking up my intestines rather than falling headfirst onto the snowy, puke-spattered roadside. I was very grateful my hair was pulled back. Just thinking about what a horrible mess it would be if it had been free and wild (and puke encrusted) caused me to vomit up what was left of my guts.
“Here…” Clint handed me a bunch of Kleenex when my heaves had subsided.
“Th-thank…” I couldn’t get the words out, but I took the tissues anyway and mopped my mouth and blew my nose.
“Don’t mention it, Shannon my girl.” I could hear the smile in his voice as he guided me back to the open door of the Hummer.
“No!” I pushed against him. “I need some fresh air. I’ll stay out here for a while.”
“Not long,” he said as he propped me against the side of the vehicle, pulling my door closed to stop the snow from falling inside. “It’s too cold, and you’ll get too wet.”
I nodded and concentrated on breathing normally.
“Can you stand by yourself?” he asked. I realized he still had a firm hold on my arms.
“Yes.” My voice sounded far away and shaky.
“I’ll be right back.” He squeezed my arms before letting go and moving to the rear of the vehicle.
This means the baby is fine. The baby is fine. The baby is fine. The words were a litany that played around and around inside my head, beating in time with the pulse that spiked painfully in harmony with my headache.
“Rinse out your mouth then drink this.” Clint handed me one of the bottles of water that I remembered packing with the sandwiches. It was still cool and felt smooth and refreshing as it washed the lingering taste of gall from my mouth.
“Better?” he asked.
“Thank you, yes.” I managed coherent speech. “I just need to stand here a second.”
I sipped the water and we stood. The snow was so heavy it made it seem like we were existing in a little pocket of our own world. Just Clint, the Hummer and me. Everything else was silent whiteness, wet and cold. Let us be silent that we may hear the whispers of the gods. Emerson’s words flitted through my mind. If only it was that easy.
I looked down and saw that we were standing in snow over our knees, and if there were any other vehicles on the road, we certainly couldn’t hear or see them.
“This can’t be safe. What if someone hits us?” I blinked snow from my lashes and looked at Clint. He reached up and brushed a blob of snow from my shoulder.
“The turnpike is closed. I haven’t seen a car in more than an hour.”
“Closed!” I was starting to feel human again. “If it’s closed, how did we get this far?”
“This lady has been through desert sandstorms and war, a little snow is nothing to her.” He flashed me a teenage-boy smile and gave the squatty vehicle a fond look.
I just shook my head at him. Guys and their cars. Then I remembered my beautiful Mustang and relented, returning his grin.
“You must be recovering.” He started brushing the snow off me in earnest. “Let’s get out of here.” He opened the door and shoved me into the passenger’s seat, then waded through the snow to the driver’s door, shaking blobs of white wetness off himself before he jumped behind the wheel.
“Want your coat back?” I noticed he was coatless and shaking as he put the Hummer into gear and eased her forward.
“No, I’m fine.” He ran his hand through his thick, dark hair. It was wet, and it stayed slicked back after his hand had returned to the wheel.
Just like ClanFintan’s. I couldn’t help the thought. My centaur husband often combed his thick mass of long, dark waves back and tied them into place with a leather thong. I used to tell him it gave him the rakish look of a Spanish Conquistador, and teased him about the fact that since he was half man, half horse, he could ravish me and carry me off with no outside help.
In the slatelike light of the snowy non-day the differences between Clint and ClanFintan seemed to disintegrate. I felt something deep within me begin to tremble.
“Do those dream visions always affect you so violently?” He barely glanced at me, and I was glad that I had time to compose myself before I answered.
“Not always.” I was together enough to know I should prevaricate.
“Where did your Goddess take you?”
“Home,” I couldn’t keep my voice from sounding shaky. “To Partholon.”
“Oh.” His light, curious tone changed abruptly. “What did Epona show you?”
“My temple isn’t right without me. They’re, well, I don’t know how to put it without sounding incredibly egotistical.” I shrugged my shoulders and decided to just tell the truth. “They need Epona’s Beloved.”
Clint nodded as if he was trying to understand. Keeping his eyes on the road, he asked, “Did you see—” he hesitated over the name “—ClanFintan?”
“I saw him and I spoke with him.
” When he didn’t respond, I continued. “I told him I would return to him as soon as we took care of the Nuada problem.”
“We?” his voice was sharp.
“ClanFintan saw you through the divide, too.” I felt a fond smile curl my lips and I added, “He is assuming you will take care no harm comes to me.”
“His assumption is correct.”
“He appreciates it.” I didn’t know what else to say. I mean, please. This whole situation was more bizarre than any episode of Night Gallery or The Twilight Zone had ever been. And that took some damn doing.
“Do you?” Clint’s voice shot out.
“Do I what?” My thoughts had been interrupted and I didn’t particularly like his tone.
“Do you appreciate the fact that I would die rather than see you harmed?”
Now I understood his tone.
“Yes.” My answer was truthful and blunt, but before he could question me further I changed the subject. “Where are we?”
Clint gave me a look that said he was onto my tactics, but he didn’t push it. “Around ten minutes from the Broken Arrow exits. Where do I go from there?”
“Dad lives about ten miles east after you take the Kenosha turnoff.” I sighed and looked down at my bizarre clothing that was now decidedly puke spattered and damp. “Damn, I hate to show up looking like this.”
“I was kidding before, but isn’t there a Wal-Mart just off the expressway?”
“Yessss…” I strung the word out, rearranging my thoughts from the mythological world of Partholon to the commercial world of Oklahoma. “Think it would be open in this mess?”
“Wal-Mart?” He laughed. “Nuclear war couldn’t close its doors.”
“Then go a few exits past Kenosha, and take the 145th street exit.” The directions came back to me easily. “There’s a Wal-Mart about a mile south of the highway. We can run in, get some clothes and get back on Kenosha. Shoot, we’ll be home in time for dinner,” I said in my best Okie accent, even though the thought of dinner made me feel green again.
“Your wish is my command.” He gave me a playful look. “You are the goddess here.”
