The Changespell Saga

by Doranna Durgin

  “Why aren’t you?” she asked him.

  He shrugged—one shouldered, the hand of his injured arm tucked into his waistband. “Because not getting caught is a whole lot different than reaching Anfeald hold in any timely way. Especially for two horses. “

  She wanted to snap at him—but she had no answer to that. All she could do was lay back her phantom ears, tilting her head at that certain angle and doing it unequivocally enough that both Carey and Mark reacted, shifting uneasily, and Ramble glared, not following the byplay enough to know why Jess had gone angry, but ready to respond to it.

  Gifferd shrugged again. He looked like the arm hurt.

  Jess felt not the slightest twinge of guilt.

  ~~~~~

  They all held their breath, waiting for the hay to return from Camolen as Gifferd’s partner had done—damaged, twisted into a macabre semblance of its own nature. Dayna and Mark and Carey and even Gifferd, watching and waiting and not breathing.

  They weren’t, Jess was sure, aware of their collective reaction. But she was. Ramble was. Both of them, shifting uneasily, knowing that holding breath generally followed on the heels of hearing something potentially threatening, and when the whole herd did it at once, run for your life! often came next.

  Jess broke the moment. “It’s gone,” she said. “Now we’ll go, too.”

  Dayna gave the slightest of sighs—a sound a relief, and also the weight of responsibility. “I don’t know just where you’ll end up, you know.”

  Originally, the spell had dumped them out between Anfeald and Siccawei. Dayna thought it might do the same again—but since they were triggering it from a different location, couldn’t be sure. Jess didn’t truly care. “We’ll return. We’ll recover. We’ll eat. We’ll find Anfeald from wherever we are.”

  “You sound so certain,” Mark said, raising an arm to wipe sweat against the sleeve—the spring day, creeping past noon, had gone warm and humid, and the normally airy barn gave them no relief behind their hay bale barrier.

  “I am,” Jess responded, aware of her own surprise. “For the first time in a while.” She grabbed the hem of her crop-top shirt, and Ramble took it as his cue—tugging at his clothes in undisguised eagerness to be rid of them.

  “This is where you leave,” Carey said, turning on Gifferd.

  Mark spoke right over him. “Whoa—wait a minute, Jess. Give me a chance to say good-bye while you’ve still got some clothes.”

  Jess tossed her head in mild irritation. “It doesn’t matter.”

  But to them it did, and she knew it. And she did want to say good-bye to Mark. They hadn’t spoken much about it, hadn’t said I might never see you again, but they both knew it, just as Mark knew he might not see his own sister again.

  When he reached for her he did it in typical Mark fashion—arms open wide to wrap a big hug around her, lifting her off her feet. “There,” he said, and set her down to give her a kiss on the cheek. “That should last me until next time.” But when he stepped back to look at her he faltered, and took her in for another, gentler embrace. “Okay,” he said in her ear. “I admit it. There’s never enough Jess until the next time.”

  “Never enough Mark,” she said, knowing well enough why he jammed his sunglasses back on the moment he broke away. Men. She would teach him to cry, sometime. The next time, if there was one.

  He turned on his heel, grabbing Gifferd’s good arm with none of the careful physical respect they’d so far given the SpellForge agent, dragging him the first few surprised steps out of the barn.

  But Gifferd followed without resistance, only one backward glance at Carey and then Jess. After that Dayna pinned Suliya with an unwavering, sky-eyed gaze until Suliya threw her hands in the air and left, closing the door behind her.

  Ramble by then was out of his clothes, his spellstones sitting on top of the haphazard pile of material while he hovered in the stall doorway, waiting for permission to leave.

  If nothing else, he was returning to Camolen with better manners than when he’d left.

  Jess held out her hand and he came to her, watching Carey. They’d said their good-byes the night before.

  The day before, when Carey had made his choices. And possibly long days before that, when he’d determined to bring Ramble here in the first place.

  She wasn’t sure, and she could see from his expression as he moved up beside Dayna that neither was he.

  “We’ll make it back,” he said. “Soon. I’ll see you in Anfeald.”

  Anfeald. Home to her, whether she was horse or human. She wanted to say he might be safer if he stayed here, what with SpellForge agents’ magic gone awry in Camolen. But he’d take it the wrong way, so she stayed silent, watching him. Hoping he could read her as well as ever, barring those times he refused to listen at all.

  That he could see she wasn’t leaving him, but that she was returning to something else.

  “Soon,” was all she could say, and she could barely get it out at all. Quickly, unable to bear it any longer, she stripped off her clothes, threw them out of the spell area, and stood in the aisle with Ramble’s warm broad hand in hers.

  “Here goes,” Dayna said. “See you on the other side, Jess.”

  “Thank you,” Jess told her.

  Dayna nodded, closing her eyes to concentrate, her storage stones clenched in one hand and the magic rising around her. Rising around Jess and Ramble, percolating right through them.

  Carey lifted his head, his eyes full of purpose. “Braveheart,” he said, but—startled—bent over for a sudden fit of harsh, deep coughing.

  When he straightened the forming magic had her, slower than a spellstone but just as strong, percolating up through her skin and bone and muscle with Ramble’s scared and tightening grip on her hand the only counterpoint. When Carey straightened—

  He stared at the bright red blood covering his palm... put fingers to the blood welling at his lips, lifted it to stare in disbelief. Looked over his hand to meet her eyes, a moment of shock and significance passing between them.

  The magic took her away.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  She remembered this.

  All of it.

  The harsh change, the shock that came with it, the sense of being jerked out of one form and crammed into the other. The dull ease with which she could simply continue to lie on the rough ground, rocks jabbing her skin and a damp drizzle leaking down from a featureless grey sky to bead upon her deep dunned buckskin coat.

  The droplets collected, marking the time as they gathered, outgrew themselves, and rolled down Lady’s well-sprung barrel, leaving damp trails behind. Water beaded on her long black lashes, framing dull eyes. Water beaded on her whiskers and dribbled into her exposed nostril, inspiring not so much as a twitch.

  Not at first.

  Hampered by the rough transition, Lady still floundered in the leftover Jess-thoughts, the ones full of concepts and meanings too complex for her nature. She needed an anchor, a single simple thought to start with. Something to build on.

  Blood.

  Wrongness.

  Her legs flailed in a brief spurt of energy, hooves scraping against the rocky ground to churn up clots of mud and grey, wintering moss. She heaved herself up to rest on her chest, front legs stretched awkwardly before her. Beside her, a palomino—his gold coat deepened by wet blotches at hip and shoulder and the slabby curve of rib—lay motionless. Not so much as a twitch, only his shallow, erratic breathing.

  Blood.

  Wrongness.

  Message for Anfeald.

  She braced her front legs against the slick ground, and shoved herself up to stand braced, head down, long mane and forelock obscuring her eyes and a coating of mud along one side.

  Lady again. A rough, hard slap from one form to another, but Lady again. Home.

  Blood.

  Carey, coughing so hard, looking at his own bright frothy blood with befuddled surprise. Back in what Lady vaguely thought
of as the other place, knowing only that she couldn’t reach it... knowing she’d chosen to leave and now feeling the pull of her fear for him.

  She lifted her head, snorting harshly to clear her nose of water and mud—and as much as Carey’s blood worried her, the palomino relieved her. Ramble. Himself again.

  She took a step closer, running her whiskers along his hip to inhale the strong wet and musky scent of him. His ear flicked; he knew she was there. But his open eyes were as dull as hers had been.

  She nickered at him, a barely-sound. Question and request. Get up. Get moving. Find yourself.

  The ear subsided; the eye closed.

  She nuzzled his hip again—and when he didn’t respond, she bit him.

  His head jerked up; she bit him again. Hard enough to hurt, not hard enough to wound. He surged to his feet, as muddy as she, and stood with his head lowered to shake like a dog—orange-streaked mane flopping, small stones flying, freeing himself from the confines of what he’d so recently been. And then he snorted—great big sneezy snorts, as wet as the drizzle around them, a whole series of them.

  When he lifted his head, his eyes had brightened. He knew he’d come back to what he wanted to be—and unlike Lady, he’d hardly been human long enough to care about taking on the human form again. He was simply Ramble, a palomino stallion who had once been human and who for some time might, if he chose, have a certain insight on human activities.

  Although it looked as though he might choose not. He lowered his head again, bogging it, leaping into a back-arching buck and then another, squealing and grunting and charging a small circle with the pure physical expression of aggressive joy. His second circle around he tried to entice Jess into the game, but she tucked her tail and haunches and tipped her head to warn him off with flattened ears; he veered away.

  After a moment he approached her more courteously , waiting for permission to come close, to arch his neck over hers and most demurely nibble along the base of her mane. Flirting, but not strongly. Connecting.

  Claiming.

  It felt strange. Strange because Lady, sorting equine memory, could not remember any recent time such as this—a simple, quiet social moment with a herd member. Strange because the Jess voice in her head made mild protest, trying to draw her attention to Carey and to Jaime at Anfeald.

  But thinking of Carey made Lady think of blood and wrongness, and having Ramble’s ministrations comforted her. And thinking of Jaime and Anfeald seemed just as hard.

  The nearby hay bale made a welcome distraction. She and Ramble fed together—she neatly, he in great tearing chunks. Lady ate until her stomach filled, twitching her withers against the irritating movement of a wet, unfamiliar braid and the round black thing attached to it. The courier pouch, as unfamiliar as it was.

  The courier pouch. Jaime. She wasn’t ready to leave the hay yet, but she lifted her head to consider the trail to Anfeald.

  The ground beneath them was slightly sloped; that around them, rolling. The clay and limestone soil supported tough, scrubby bushes with stout thorns, faded brown to her equine eyes and with plenty of room to navigate between clumps.

  The bushes themselves reeked of goat and goat droppings; the damp, cool air told her of copious hares, and brought her the fading scent of purzhan—a predator cat not quite big enough to threaten a horse, but not a creature Lady wanted to encounter. She eyed the stunted, bare-branched trees on the opposite hill, just the place for a purzhan to lurk.

  Beyond it, and who knows how many hills beyond that, mountains stabbed up at the sky, giant snow-capped teeth. She hoped to avoid crossing such rough territory.

  But she didn’t know if they could.

  Because she had no idea where they were, or how to get home to Anfeald from here.

  ~~~~~

  “I don’t know,” Dayna said, glaring at Carey, unable to dampen her annoyance even at his pale face and tormented expression, his features suddenly tight and a smear of blood on his shirt that led her glance to his hand. “They could be anywhere. And you’ve cut yourself—you’d better do something about it.”

  A cough rumbled in his chest. “I will,” he told her.

  ~~~~~

  “I don’t know,” Jaime said, glaring at Hon Phia. “I haven’t authorized the use of any major magic, and Natt and Kesna are busy enough just keeping this hold secured. If you want to know who burst in on the eastern province, you’re going to have to figure it out yourself.”

  Phia glared back at her. “We will,” she told Jaime. “And you’d better hope we don’t find you involved.”

  ~~~~~

  “I don’t know...” Arlen said, staring with thoughtful but puzzled resignation at the hardened bloom of distortion by the edge of the narrow trail. Crowded by trees, darkened by shadow and early spring cloud-gloom, the spot had almost escaped his notice. “But I think we’re going to have to get involved. And sooner than I’d planned, at that.”

  Grunt bit off the tender twiggy end a tree branch and snorted wetly as his only comment, not one Arlen found useful one way or the other.

  ~~~~~

  Throughout Camolen, the mangles bloomed. Random blooms, some no larger than an apple, some big enough to flow across the horizon, engulfing all that stood in the way. Some met with old blooms, solidifying together in handshakes of startling vigor. Some made their own way. One small community became entirely circled, and immediately began rationing food while those within only hoped to live long enough to starve to death.

  Camolen knew.

  Not the cause, not what to do about it, not how to stop it or in which direction they might run to escape it. But what had killed its wizards, what had left it without services, what had separated families and brought the daily life of its people to a terrifying standstill...

  Camolen knew.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lady circled through the rolling hills, easing through the scrub, placing her feet carefully on the slick ground and keeping an eye out for the goats and their shepherd. The drizzle stopped; the clouds broke away into patches of sunshine. Bright, hot sunshine, a closer sky than she was used to. She stopped, closed her eyes, and let the warmth of it beat against her face, waiting for some internal signal, some tug that would tell her in which direction lay home.

  Except that a horse thrown from one world to another needed the chance to establish her sense of direction before she had to call upon it. She knew which way lay east and west... but without an awareness of where she stood, not in which lay Anfeald.

  Ramble followed along in her wake, never crowding her but never leaving much distance between them, happy to snatch at forming leaf buds, happy to be a horse again, happy simply to be with her. Now and then he came in close, resting his chin on her back before moving away.

  She let him.

  Eventually she led him back to the hay and they grazed at it like old pasture buddies, and then the sun slipped down over the horizon opposite the toothy mountains. As darkness fell, she eased down to doze on her chest, her nose resting on the ground, upper lip drawn up just enough so her front teeth took the weight of her head.

  Ramble moved in close, standing over her. Guarding for her.

  She let him.

  In the darkness, in her dozing state, she hunted for the Jess within her. Sometimes she could find that voice... sometimes it came to her in faint, simple directions. Now it was silent. Silent and grateful for the respite, imparting to Lady that the confused and wounded Jess part of her wanted nothing but the solitude this form gave it.

  Lady gave a resounding snort and climbed abruptly to her feet, shaking herself off and swishing her tail in brief annoyance. Ramble, started awake, shied respectfully away; upon recovering, he arched his neck and nickered and came back to her all light on his feet, both proud and cautious. Reaching her, he touched his chin to her back, lips twitching; after a moment he lightly groomed her withers while she nibbled hay.

  She let him.

  Before t
he sun rose, they fell to the hay again, leaving only scattered remnants for the wayward goats, and when Lady lifted her head from the meal, she hesitated for only an instant... and then led them away from the mountains.

  She didn’t know the mountains; she’d never seen them. Horse-like, right or wrong, her decision was made; she would start by leaving them. Soon enough she found a path, trodden more by petite cloven hooves than man or horse, but softer ground that would save their unshod feet. She took it, winding through the hills, heading down away from the sun, pausing every couple of hours to browse on sparse forage, ever mindful that Ramble had never been a courier’s horse, never been introduced to rough country.

  She showed him the art of tucking back to go down steep hills, and of crabbing sideways steps. She showed him river crossings and careful movement against fast current and deep water—and once, how to swim without panic. She introduced him to the buddy system when the small black flies swarmed, he who had spent so much of his life in stalls and alone; they dozed nose to tail and kept each other’s faces clear of the pests.

  They bucked themselves awake in the cold mornings, rolled as day cooled into evening, and snatched burgeoning spring greenery along the way. And though Lady, standing with her head high as if she could see all the way to Anfeald, had disturbing flashes of blood and Carey and urgency, for the most part...

  She was a horse. No human rules shaping her equine behavior, no human puzzlements deviling the Jess in her. Just she and Ramble and days on the hoof, steadily heading for more settled territory and roads she hoped would take her to Anfeald.

  Ramble, fulfilled and truly active for the first time, ceased to aim his mouth at everything in sight. He stayed polite and respectful and even worshipful, and when Lady felt the first restless signs of her season coming on, he courted her.

  She let him.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Give it time,” Mark announced.

  “That’s all they said?” Dayna asked skeptically, eyeing Carey.