The Changespell Saga

by Doranna Durgin

  “You called her ‘Jess,’” Jaime said in a low voice. Not Lady. Jess.

  Carey spared her only a glance. “Once I told you that you would always be Lady—that magic couldn’t change the nature of who you were.” He stared into her eyes, used his thumb to wipe away the last traces of grit beneath her eye, and then lightly kissed the spot where it’d been. “Maybe magic couldn’t—but you did. There’s more to you than there ever was to Lady, and if you come back with me, you’re going to lose it all.”

  “I don’t want to leave you,” Jess said, her low and occasionally husky voice now thick with new tears. “There is no rule that can make me leave you.”

  “But, Jess,” Carey said, and he sounded stunned, “if you come, you’re going to lose you.”

  “Now that is just too sweet.”

  The voice startled them all, and Mark quickly slammed the truck cap door closed while the rest of them searched for the new participant in their little drama.

  Jaime closed her eyes in despair when she recognized Derrick’s pal Ernie. He leaned casually against a tree beside the parking lot, but there was nothing casual about the silenced gun he had trained on them. “Figured I was out of a payroll when she nailed Derrick,” he said, nodding at Jess. “And then I heard you say something about gold. I’m interested. Real interested. In fact, I think I’ll want to keep a couple of these ladies with me until one of you gents brings that gold back to me.”

  “Whatever he was paying you, it was too much,” Carey said. “It didn’t go too far toward keeping him alive, did it?”

  Ernie shrugged, unoffended. “I was watching her,” he said, tipping the gun at Jaime. “He said he could handle the trade. I guess he was wrong.”

  “No more than you, if you think we’re going to trot off and bring you back gold.” Carey’s voice was hard, and it suddenly made Jaime consider that his past held the experience that hardened that voice. And though she wanted to protest his reaction, fearful it would simply set Ernie off, a small voice told her to let him handle it.

  “Oh, I think you will,” Ernie said easily. “You know, it’s not true what they say about silencers. They don’t really silence the gun. It’s a popping kind of noise—about the same kind of noise it makes when a bullet hits a kneecap.”

  Jaime couldn’t believe her ears. Where had Derrick found this guy in little Marion, Ohio?

  “That one, I think,” Ernie said, pointing the gun at Jess. “Everyone seems to be so concerned about her. And she’s such a pretty thing. Be a shame to see her hobbling around on a leg that doesn’t bend any more, don’t you think?”

  Jess made a sound in her throat that both Jaime and Carey recognized as the threat it was; Carey stepped in front of her. It was meant to restrain and not protect her, but Ernie’s false affability vanished. The gun bucked slightly, and Eric yelped as the glass door of the truck cap shattered, spraying him with shards.

  “Even if the police aren’t coming, I don’t want to hang around here all night,” Ernie said in annoyance. “I want the women to move back into the parking lot, and I want you to go get that gold.” His voice rose to an abrupt shout that startled them all. “Now!”

  Jaime wasn’t sure just what happened next, as Dayna took a first hesitant step toward the parking lot. Suddenly they were all moving, and Jess flashed past her but jerked up short as someone swung her around, trading places—the gun popped, there was a cry of pain—and then Jaime was caught in a crushing grip, unable even to call out to the freeze-frame of her friends around her. She was yanked and twisted and wrung out like dirty laundry, then dumped, gasping, onto ground that in no way resembled the parking lot of the YMCA.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter Eleven

  Prickly stemmed, low growing plants covered the damp ground. They smelled...spicy. Jaime dared to open her eyes and quickly closed them against bright sunlight. But...

  She couldn’t hide forever. She rolled over and pushed herself to her knees, opening her eyes once and for all.

  Bodies in various states of disarray littered the ground; only Carey, like Jaime, slowly climbed to his feet. He pulled himself up on the tailgate of the pickup, a vehicle that was totally, almost hilariously out of place.

  Jaime stumbled over to him, trying to voice some coherent question, when sudden thought gripped her. Jess. She whirled, a move turned clumsy with her yet-uncoordinated limbs, and searched the prone figures for one that matched Jess.

  Instead, off to the side, she found a dun mare stretched flat on her side and adorned with the rags of what had once been clothes.

  “Jess,” she whispered, horrified, and turned to Carey. His eyes were closed, but the pain on his face left no question but that he’d seen the mare.

  The others were stirring, and Carey’s eyes opened, hard again, the pain safely tucked away. He staggered over to Ernie, pulled the gun away, then wobbled a few steps backward so he could take in the whole group at the same time. The surprise and dismay on his face was Jaime’s first clue that there was something else going on here, something she’d missed. Dayna’s cry of alarm drew her attention to Eric—to his stillness. Something deep within her twitched in horror.

  “Eric!” Dayna cried again, crawling closer to her friend, trying to turn him over. Carey took a few impotent steps forward and then stopped, looking away from the scene that Jaime had not...quite.... The gunshot. She remembered the gunshot, and the cry of pain, and she suddenly dove to help Dayna turn Eric.

  There was very little blood. It was Eric’s blank eyes and slackly hanging jaw that looked so terribly dead, the way his arm flopped to the ground as they turned him. Dayna touched his face, a tentative gesture, and her brief moment of disbelief turned to a flood of grief. She threw herself over him and wailed.

  Mark crawled, horrified, to join them. He reached a trembling hand out to confirm that what he saw was real, but didn’t quite—couldn’t seem to—touch Eric’s body. Jaime finally did what no one else seemed capable of, and closed Eric’s wide-open eyes.

  “Just stay right there on the ground,” Carey said harshly, a voice out of synch with their grief, and close enough to the edge of reason that Jaime turned to see what he was talking about. She found Ernie flat on his back on the bare, rocky ground and carefully compliant. But then his mouth opened, and once started, he couldn’t seem to stop the words that poured out.

  “Where the hell are we, huh? Take me back, man, take me back! I won’t give you any more trouble, I don’t even know you and your damn gold exist. Derrick wasn’t anything to me—take me back, and I’ll make sure nobody ever bothers you, and I mean nobody. I’ve got connections—”

  “None of ’em will do you any good from here,” Carey said coldly, cutting off the panicked rush of words. He wiped the slow trickle of blood from his face, trauma left over from another world. “We can’t take you back. I wouldn’t if I could. You’ve killed a friend, and now you’re going to get a taste of this world’s justice.”

  “Carey—” Jaime started, but when he looked at her, she couldn’t do anything but shake her head. She suddenly felt she couldn’t stomach any more violence, not even retribution. Carey watched her a moment, and must have deciphered her unspoken thoughts. He lowered Ernie’s gun so it was no longer a threat.

  “Okay, Jaime,” he said. “Let him learn to survive here—that’s punishment enough. If he survives at all.” To Ernie, he said, “You got questions? Figure ’em out for yourself. Somewhere else.”

  Ernie sat, his wild glance going from Carey to Jaime and back again; he couldn’t quite believe any of it yet.

  “Go,” Carey said, softly dangerous. “Before I change my mind.”

  Ernie scrabbled to his feet and stumbled away, looking back more than he looked ahead.

  “He’ll die out there,” Jaime said, more to herself than anyone else.

  But Carey shook his head. “He’ll survive. His kind always does.” He looked at the huddle of friends, considered them, and finally turned away to Jess.r />
  Or maybe, Jaime thought, maybe now she was Lady again. She tore herself away from Eric’s side, where Mark had gathered Dayna into his arms, and moved over to Carey and the dun mare, much steadier on her feet now. Carey crouched to run his hands along the mare’s side; she stirred, flipping her nose off the ground a few times before she gave a chillingly human groan.

  It did what Eric’s death couldn’t. It drove home all the sorrows of their situation, and Jaime suddenly found that tears were running down her face, that a sob choked her throat.

  “No,” Carey murmured, though she wasn’t sure to whom, until he took her arm and shook it. “Not now, Jaime—help me get her up.”

  She stared blankly, pulled up the bottom of her shirt to wipe her face, and blinked at him.

  “Remember Sabre after the magic?” he asked, short, clipped words in a strained voice; he snatched a remnant of Jess’s jeans and threw them aside. “Remember the other horses? They didn’t understand, and it was more than they could take.”

  Shock can kill a horse. Her fears from that day echoed in her mind, and her tears miraculously vanished. Hands and knees, she moved to Jess and joined Carey in freeing her from the leftover clothes. Then, with Carey pushing from behind, she moved to the mare’s head and urged her to get up, starting with pleas and quickly deteriorating into an absurd tug of war, her hands entwined in the dark, thick mane behind black-tipped ears.

  “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” Jaime panted, pausing to readjust her grip. “Maybe we should just give her some quiet, some time to adjust—” she broke off at Carey’s unyielding expression.

  “No,” he said firmly, a denial touched with anger. “I know her. She’s got to get up, get moving...get distracted.” He stared down at the muscled rump before him and gave it a sudden kick.

  “Carey!” Jaime gasped, although he’d turned his foot so he was not digging her with his booted toe.

  He ignored her. “Get up, Lady, burn you! Get up!” He punctuated each command with another kick, and the dun stirred; Jaime danced back out of the way and back behind the horse, bending over to add her own, less violent incentive—thumbs over sensitive ribs. Lady gave a grunt of pure annoyance and in one quick heave, was on her feet. She shook herself off and then stood dully, her head drooping so low her nose almost touched the ground. Carey quickly moved to her head, crouching down and touching her forehead with his. “Don’t you dare,” he whispered to her. “Don’t you dare give up, Jess. I know you’re in there somewhere. You’ve got to be.” He stood, and gently tugged her head up with her forelock. “Got anything in the back of the truck I can use as a halter?” he asked Jaime, never looking away from his...horse.

  “Maybe.” She heaved a deep breath, suddenly fatigued—suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that they had only begun to tackle their problems. “I’ll check.”

  She was rooting around in the truck, trying not to touch Derrick’s body, when Dayna’s first shriek rent the air. What now? Turning awkwardly in the confined space, she discovered Mark holding the small woman back, while Dayna, in the strength of her anger, proved almost impossible to restrain.

  “You bastard!” Dayna screamed across the hard, scrubby ground, looking after Ernie. Jaime scooted across the tailgate and hopped to the ground, only then able to see that Ernie lingered at the fringes of a small patch of brushy woods. She ran to Mark’s side, grabbing at Dayna’s twisted shirt, interposing herself between Ernie and Dayna’s fiery wrath—with no effect on Dayna. “You bastard!” she repeated, jerking herself out of Jaime’s grasp at the expense of several buttons. “I’ll kill you! You’re going to die for this!”

  Suddenly Jaime felt a pressure, as though a transparent force field had traveled through her body and left her behind; she jerked around to look and saw nothing...except Ernie, staggering out of the woods and falling to the ground.

  “Stop her!” Carey shouted. “Stop her, Mark!” He left Lady and sprinted toward them, not slowing as he tackled Mark and Dayna together and brought them all to the ground. All except Jaime, who stared first at the tangled mess of her friends and then at Ernie, who had struggled to his feet and disappeared into the woods with no time wasted.

  “What was that?” she whispered to the air—Camolen air.

  “Magic,” Carey panted. “Raw magic.”

  ~~~~~

  They regrouped at the tailgate of the truck while Carey, using a halter made of old baling twine, circled Lady around the truck, urging her along until she finally trotted behind him.

  “That’s my girl,” he said, running a hand down her neck as he stopped them by the tailgate. The horse lowered its head and shook vigorously, and then stretched out her head to sniff the truck.

  “How much....” Jaime started, and had to clear her throat. “How much of Jess is left, do you think?”

  Carey shook his head. “I don’t know. I keep hoping she’s in there, but...I just don’t know enough about magic. Sometimes it’s far too thorough. Have you paid attention to your words?”

  “Our words?” Mark repeated, as an odd look crossed his face. “Not English,” he murmured, looking at Jaime. Not English. And the air was filled with the spice of hot rock and vegetation, and the sunlight was somehow whiter—

  “Who cares?” Dayna said dully. “I want to go back home.”

  Carey looked at the mare for an overlong time. Finally, still looking at the neck he stroked, he said, “I can’t get you there. The stone was only keyed for two spells. If you really want to go home, you’re going to have to help me find Arlen.”

  “If he’s not already dead,” Mark said pointedly.

  Carey looked at him then, a sharp glance. “Right,” he said. “If he’s not already dead.”

  Jaime scrubbed her hands over her face. “All right, Carey. We need to find Arlen. But first, we have to do something with—for—Eric. And you need to tell us something about where we are—in relation to where we’re trying to get. Where is Arlen’s place from here? Where’s Calandre, or this Sherra person you’ve told us you were trying to reach?”

  “And why was Dayna able to play around with magic?” Mark inserted, looking at their friend.

  “I wasn’t playing,” she muttered darkly. “And you shouldn’t have stopped me.”

  “I didn’t stop you because of him,” Carey asserted, just as darkly. “I stopped you because of what it would have done to you. Just ask Jaime. She knows what can happen if you fool around with magic and you don’t know what you’re doing. That magic could have come lashed right back on you—it could have killed us all.”

  Dayna’s anger dissipated into pale-faced understanding. “Oh.”

  “I don’t understand how she was able to manipulate it in the first place.” Jaime frowned, looking at her friend. Dayna, the highly structured? Dayna, the organized and inflexible? Jaime had supposed that magic required great sweeps of imagination and creativity.

  Carey shrugged, his attention wandering back to Lady as she investigated Derrick’s body, hesitating at the scent of blood on his shirt. “Arlen could tell you, or even Sherra.” He looked from the truck to Eric, and then out at the hard, scrubby land around them. “We need to get away from the open ground, get this truck under cover. I think we should dump this guy and put Eric in the truck—and drive it as far from here as we can get.”

  “Headed where?” Jaime asked pointedly. “Look, there’s a mileage notebook in the glove box. Why don’t you draw us a map or something—anything to give us the lay of the land—and especially which directions we want to avoid.” When he seemed about to protest, she added, “We might get separated. We might have to fumble around on our own. I’d rather not do it blind.”

  He shrugged, and handed the thin, tough hay-twine lead to Jaime to hold while he hunched over her little notebook and sketched them a rough map. “We’re just over the border from Anfeald—Arlen’s domain; that’s the direction the truck is pointed now,” he said. “You can’t make it very far that way driving, though—
there’s a steep climb that turns into woods at the top. This whole area isn’t heavily populated—the bigger cities are northeast of us. Sherra’s—Siccawei—is behind the truck—pretty much straight south.”

  “And in Camolen, in which direction does the sun rise?” Mark asked, his tone so neutral Jaime couldn’t tell if he was serious. But Carey took him seriously enough.

  “East,” he said. “But I’m not sure what the language translation will have done with directions.” So he drew a quick compass on the map and labeled the points.

  Jaime shook her head when she saw that East and West had flip-flopped, and suddenly had to look away from the perverted map. Somehow that simple difference drove home the fact that she wasn’t home anymore, and it was almost too much to fathom, never mind handle. After a minute she cleared her throat and said, “Good catch, brother. That could have landed us in trouble fast.”

  “Sherra’s is past the dry riverbed—I know it’s a gorge here, but it bottoms out to the right, there, and I think you can get the truck over it—unless you don’t think the truck’ll manage over this ground.”

  “Drive it till it gets hung up.” Jaime shrugged, her moment of overwhelmed disorientation shoved aside for practical matters. “Or goes dry. Though I’m not sure why you’re so concerned about the speed. No one knows we’re here.”

  Carey straightened, frowning. “Think in terms of magic, Jaime. Anyone with the least skill felt us arrive.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Ulp.” But her light tone was a pure contrast to the dismay she felt.

  Carey said dryly, “Right,” and pointed back to the map. “Sherra’s hold is at the edge of a lake in another huge tract of woods. She’s got quite a little village sprung up on the other side of the lake, cleared land and everything there. The paths are clear and you won’t have any trouble finding it.”

  “And Calandre?” Mark asked grimly.

  Carey pointed off to the right of Arlen’s direction—between Sherra and Arlen. “Erowah is that way.”