She shook her head. “Like me,” she repeated. “But not.”
He thought she was going to say something else—but instead she took a deep breath, making a noise in her throat he could only call a nicker.
The man whirled around to look at her, eyes narrowed. Unfriendly. Unlike Jess, he was not the culmination of years of careful breeding—if he was even a changed horse at all. His legs were a little too short, his belly a little too big. And his ears... well, somehow their generous size fit his strong-boned face. Not to mention the expression on that face as the man eyed Jess, the surprising note of crafty intelligence as he sized her up and realized what she was.
But he’d hardly absorbed that surprise when the man snorted, a loud sound accompanied by plenty of spittle, and rushed them.
Astonished, Carey pulled Jess back—only to have her yank herself from his protective grip.
She met the man with a little squeal, half-turning at the last instant and letting fly with a powerful kick that took him in the thigh—not only stopping him short, but knocking him back. He sprawled on the floor, his attempts to regain his feet hindered both by his anger and his apparent unfamiliarity with those particular feet.
Jess followed up with another, less powerful kick and sent him scrambling backward, his long face more sullen than alarmed. She lifted her chin, eyeing him, balancing lightly on one leg while the other foot remained just off the floor.
The man regained his feet when he reached the far wall of the little room—and he stayed there, watching her balefully.
Ears back—for Carey knew that expression—Jess gave her head a little toss, turned on her heel, and pushed past Carey and Ander to leave the room.
“Jess—what... ?” Ander followed a step behind Carey. But Jess’s shoulders were back and tight, her fury radiating from every line of her body. She swept by Arlen’s new apprentice, Natt, who instantly yielded the hallway, alarm on his soft-featured face.
Out past the stalls she went, and out of the stable entrance, into the bright sunshine of the hilly Anfeald fields.
Carey slowed his pace—and Ander did not appear to appreciate Carey’s hand on his arm when he would have gone ahead.
“Give her a moment,” Carey told him.
Ander turned on him, the very set of his mustache full of frown and challenge. “I know how to deal with her.”
Something in the way he’d said it made Carey blink; he held up his hands, exaggerating the release of Ander’s arm. “Fine. You want to push her, after what you just saw? I’m going to give her a moment to settle down.”
Ander hesitated; it was enough so Carey could leave him there, walking slowly—ambling, really—out of the shadow of the hold to join Jess.
She simply stood, looking out on her favorite old tree in the winter pasture. A breeze lifted the ends of her long hair and danced with them, a whimsical little motion at complete odds with her stiff anger.
What Carey wanted to do was walk up behind her and put his arms around her, nestle his chin at the side of her neck and whisper comforts into her ear—even drop a kiss or two on the soft skin beneath it.
But Jess still struggled with things human, and she needed the space to learn how to handle them.
Carey knew enough to give it to her... he glanced at Ander, who’d caught up, and wondered if the same held true. He had the feeling Ander did a very good job of taking care of someone who didn’t necessarily benefit from the help.
Her head canted slightly to the side and then back again as they approached; he could see her shoulders lift in a sigh as he came up beside her and stopped.
“Jess?” he said, after a moment of watching her watch the pasture.
She sighed again. “No kicking—I know.”
Carey felt a grin lift one corner of his mouth. “I’m not sure that rule holds under those particular circumstances.”
She nodded, and said firmly, “It shouldn’t.” After another moment, she sighed, and spoke more quietly. “It’s hard when I’m human but my body acts like a horse. Confusing.”
“I know,” Carey said.
“What did you think?” Ander asked her, moving around in front of them.
She frowned in thought. “Not a horse,” she said. “A mule.”
Carey gave a short laugh of understanding, thinking back over the ten days since the man had been found wandering in the closest town. He’d been stubborn and uncooperative, but never stupid. He never did anything unless he saw a clear benefit for himself, and their handling of him had required the utmost tact.
“A mule,” he said. “That does make sense.”
“He was rude,” Jess said, the insult still audible in her voice. “As soon as he realized I was a horse—”
“A strange horse,” Ander said. “Crowding him.”
“Yes.” Her mouth was tight; Carey flashed on the exact expression that would be on Lady’s face, had she been in Lady’s form... then stopped his thoughts from going there.
“Jess,” he said, lifting his hand to touch her back and then not quite doing it. “You haven’t said hello to Arlen yet. How about we go back into the hold, and you two can have something to drink. There’s plenty to talk about besides that mule. Did you know Jaime was coming in tomorrow?”
“Jaime?” Jess demanded, turning to search his gaze. Then her dark eyes widened slightly with realization. “It’s time for the hearing. For Willand.”
Carey nodded.
“C’mon, Jess,” Ander said, easily resting his hand on Jess’s shoulder. “He’s right. Let’s take a few moments—get that mule out of your system.” His hand tightened, shook her shoulder gently. “Not that he’s likely to bother you again. He’s not going to walk the same for days!”
Jess snorted, gave a little smile; her distant expression made it clear she was reliving the confrontation. When she looked at Ander, she’d gone a little shy—and a little sly. “I did show him, didn’t I?”
“Not much doubt about that,” Carey said. She was over it now—the conflict of behaving like a horse while in her human body—and it seemed to him she was doing better with such moments all the time. As they turned and walked back to the hold, he wondered if he might not have given her that kiss or two after all.
~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter Five
Arlen’s hold occupied the entire side of a rocky hill—within as much as without. The base of the hill contained the lower levels entirely, including the stables—which, thanks to Arlen’s magic, were well-ventilated and well-lit.
The stone upper levels emerged about two-thirds of the way up the hill and ended just before the crest of the hill. Anfeald fields spread out in pasture and cultivation; solid chunks of forest emerged where the soil ran thin over rocky outcrops, and at the arid old riverbed gorge to the south. Arlen’s rooms on the top level revealed a veritable pastoral panorama of fields and pastures, including the hold’s vegetable garden and Carey’s training corrals.
Arlen waited for them there, a tray of refreshments on the small table between the scattered old chairs in his personal quarters. He sat on the short couch with a small black and white cat on his lap, absently stroking her as he reviewed a thick manuscript.
“Arlen!” Jess cried at her first sight of him, scattering both cat and papers. She bounded in to greet him, giving him a horse-hug—leaning up against him with her head firmly against his shoulder.
“Jess,” he said, amusement in his voice; he patted her back. “Has it been that long?”
She pulled back and said seriously, “Spring is when everyone wants the new young horses ready to go.”
“Well,” he said, his mouth twitching. “And it’s summer now. I guess it’s been quite a while, at that.”
Jess looked at him, suddenly aware of the new grey silvering his characteristically untrimmed hair. His mustache—a thick thing that neatly obscured his slight overbite—was now more grey than not, though he was only a few years older than Jaime.
Maybe, she thought, if h
e’d been a horse, he would have been a black-gone-to-grey. Yes. It suited him.
And he looked good, fit and dressed in a black, belted tunic over a pair of Ohio’s blue jeans and fully recovered from his ordeal at Calandre’s hands. But... the look on his face...
“Oh,” she said, realizing. “I forgot. This is Ander. He’s my friend.”
“Yes, I believe I’ve heard the name before.” Arlen eyed the courier with an expression Jess couldn’t interpret, and then glanced at Carey. She didn’t understand that, either, so she ignored it. She stooped to pick up the papers her entrance had scattered.
“Thank you,” Arlen said, accepting them as she stood. “It’s the paperwork for Willand’s supplicant’s hearing. But we’ll talk about that later. For now, we have our little mystery to attend.”
“I didn’t mean to scare the cat,” Jess said, looking around for it; she liked cats, and always had.
“Never mind,” Arlen said firmly. “She made it through last summer in better shape than any of us. She’ll live through today just fine. Have a seat, Jess.”
Jess sat on the floor right where she was, leaving the chairs to Carey and Ander and watching to make sure Carey did sit, and that he put up the leg that always gave him trouble. Ander moved Arlen’s latest needlework project from the seat of the remaining chair, rather gingerly placing it in the little nearby basket.
“Well?” Arlen prompted, once Carey had made himself comfortable and Ander had settled, looking distinctly uncertain about gathering so casually before one of Camolen’s most powerful wizards.
The powerful wizard nodded at his tray of food. “Eat. And tell me what you think.”
“I do not think,” Jess said, eyeing the sliced melon among cheese and apple. “I know. The man was a mule, and not a very nice one.” She pulled off her cap and shook her hair out, spreading the black central strands over sandy buckskin. Lineback dun.
“No doubt he lacks the benefits of Carey’s training,” Arlen said, then raised an eyebrow at Carey’s responding expression. “What is it?”
“What happened would be the better question,” Carey said. “The fellow went after Jess when he realized what she was. He’s not someone to be taken for granted.”
“I took care of it,” Jess said, matter-of-fact about it now. She took the melon, holding it in her mouth for a happy moment before she swallowed. “Arlen, where did he come from? Who did this to him?”
Arlen shook his head. “We don’t know, Jess. It’s one of the reasons his appearance is so disturbing. It’s important to help him get back to what he was, but it’s just as important—if not more—to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
Jess nodded, and was startled to hear Ander say, “Maybe he could learn to be human, like Jess did.”
She stared at him, her eyes widening. Her scowl took over her face, and then she was up and on her feet, scattering Arlen’s papers all over again.
“Easy,” Carey murmured, but his old Word of command had no sway over her now.
Ander, too, rose to his feet, taking a hesitant step toward her—and stopping when she stomped some of her anger out, a sharp thud of riding boot against the thick old rug padding Arlen’s floor.
“No!” she said, and left the homey circle of chairs for the window. The cat startled, scooting along the ledge to sit primly at its end, her tailed curled around her feet.
“No,” Jess said again, clearly and decisively. “Turn him back. Turn him back as soon as you can.” She swung around, staring at them—practically glaring at them. “And treat him like a mule until you do.”
“All right, Jess,” Ander said, giving Carey a bewildered look.
Carey snorted, and said only, “You’ve got a lot to learn.”
Jess knew he spoke of her and didn’t care. “No, it is not all right,” she snapped at Ander, her words stumbling a little over one another. “He is a mule, and being a mule is a good thing. Being human is not better.”
“I didn’t mean—” Ander started, looking a little more alarmed—as well he should. As well he should think before he said such things!
“Do you think it was easy, trying to understand the world from a brand new body? Do you think I was happy to be without my whiskers, my ears—my tail? It took a long time to learn about being Jess, and it was hard.” Her voice cracked on the last word; she turned her back on them again and blinked fiercely at the green fields.
She swiped at the few tears brought on by the memories of those days, when she’d have given anything just to be a horse again, and struggled for composure. “I had Carey. He has no one.”
Carefully, Ander said, “All right, Jess. I didn’t mean that being human was better than being a mule—or a horse.”
“Damn straight,” Jess muttered. Distantly, she heard the challenge of the stallion pastured around the curve of the hill. Her father. Her father. “Damn straight.”
“Now that we have that settled,” Arlen said, effectively ending the conversation—and doing it with a finality that told Jess he understood. “Here,” he said, digging into his pocket to hand her a square of fine, dark blue material. “Upset by seeing him, were you?”
Jess looked up at him, at the light brown eyes that were oft times hard—the eyes of someone who wielded immense power. Sometimes they twinkled a little—but most often—as now—they were simply somber.
She realized she’d been more upset than she’d thought, and it hadn’t simply been because she’d experienced a conflict of human and equine behavior.
“Yes,” she said. “Upset. He has no one. Maybe he doesn’t even have Words to listen to.”
“Maybe not,” Arlen said. “But he’s a crafty old fellow, and he’s probably got a life time of outsmarting humans behind him. He did, after all, get away from whoever changed him. He’ll be all right until I can get him changed back—which should be considerably easier, now that I know what he is.”
Jess looked at the material in her hand; it was nicer than most of her clothes, an odd bit of luxury amongst Arlen’s well-worn things. “Do you really want me to—”
“Yes,” he told her, smiled, and sat back in his chair. So she wiped her face and blew her nose, and left the material on the inner windowsill. When she turned around, it was to find Ander watching her cautiously, and Carey... he, too, watched her. But his expression was different. Restrained.
After a moment he sat down, and Ander followed suit. Jess was glad when the little cat oozed back in the window and whispered a mew of feline commentary.
Arlen tugged at a wrinkle in his jeans, restarting their conversation. “I imagine Carey’s told you we know little about this man. Mule. We know where he showed up, so we imagine he’s from someplace nearby. Why he was changed, we have no idea. The only wizards with enough skill to create this sort of spell are on record as clearly opposing such inhumane experimentation. You can be certain we’ll all be watching for more signs of this sort of activity.”
Jess had only been to a few Council meetings—the Council of Wizards, comprised of Camolen’s most powerful wizards from each of its precincts—but she’d been to enough to know this was Arlen’s way of saying they were through talking about the mule. That was fine with her. She scratched the cat’s ears a moment, then realized it would be polite to pick up the papers she’d once again scattered.
And picking them up made her think about Willand. She paused in the middle of the task and sat back on her heels near Arlen’s feet. “Will Willand be freed?”
“Who’s Willand?” Ander said, as Arlen made a sort of grimace, obviously searching for words. Carey gave her a questioning glance, surprised that Jess hadn’t spoken to him of Willand.
She returned his gaze, equally surprised that he supposed she would have. As if Calandre’s young apprentice, and the things she had done to Jaime, were something Jess wanted to think about, never mind talk about.
No one else answered Ander’s question; they were watching her. So it must be her place to say the words, as
reluctant as she was. “Willand is... was... Calandre’s apprentice. Jaime...” she hesitated. Ander had heard about Jaime, and certainly saw evidence of her—in Jess’s breeches and sunglasses and assorted Ohio-based belongings—but had never met her.
And Jess did not feel right telling Ander about the things Willand had done to Jaime. Jaime was more than Jess’s friend—she had taken Jess in after Eric and Dayna found her. Now Eric was dead, Dayna was in Siccawei studying magic, and Jaime was back in Ohio riding high-level competition dressage and dealing with the memories of what Willand had done.
“Jaime,” Jess said, carefully, “spoke against Willand in front of the Council, about the things she did with Calandre. Willand hates her. She hates all of us.”
“She does, at that,” Carey said. “But she’s trying to convince the council she’s suffered enough, that she can be sufficiently monitored to assure her good behavior outside of confinement.” His tone of voice made it clear what he thought about that.
“She doesn’t follow anyone’s rules,” Jess said, pairing the words with a considerable frown. “And she hurts people.”
“It’s a supplicant process, Jess,” Arlen said, but he didn’t look any happier than Jess felt, his mouth uncertain beneath his full mustache. “It doesn’t mean she’ll be freed.”
“She wants to hurt Jaime,” Jess said. “She wants to hurt all of us.”
“It won’t come to that,” Arlen told her.
But he didn’t look as certain as he tried to sound.
~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter Six
Jaime Cabot closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, triggering her travel spellstone and waiting for the inevitable disorientation relocating to Camolen.
Usually she ended up a foot or so above Camolen soil—and usually, she fell right on her butt.
Arlen had set up an enclosed travel booth so she could land on her butt in privacy—she and the few other people who were allowed to go from one world to another, for it took a special nullification of the world travel checkspell every time they visited. In a way, some small part of Jaime was glad for the supplicant’s hearing, and the promise of more Council hearings over the years—it gave her a chance to see Jess, and her friend Dayna, and Arlen.
The Changespell Saga Page 36