The Changespell Saga

by Doranna Durgin

  Carey himself said nothing, aside from a baleful glance at Gifferd—who very wisely refrained from his obviously lurking I told you so.

  After a day at Marion General Hospital in an expensive health care system that Mark took for granted but Carey found foreign, offensive, and occasionally frightening, he was in no mood for I told you so. Especially when he hadn’t wanted to go in the first place.

  “Did they buy your story?” Dayna asked.

  Mark waved a dismissive hand. “I told them we’d gotten too manly in our flag football; they bought it. And the tests didn’t show anything else.”

  “I would be astonished,” Carey said with weary dignity, suppressing the miserable impulse to cough simply because once he started, there’d be blood before he stopped, “if your health care tests could detect an expired spell.”

  “So they said give it time,” Dayna repeated.

  “And no more football, take it easy, report back if it gets worse or fails to get better, and follow up with my own doctor when I get back home,” Carey said, adopting a dutiful tone.

  Dayna gave him a dark look, sky blue eyes shadowed by her lowered brow and down-tilted head. “Home,” she muttered. “I’m working on it.”

  ~~~~~

  They were two horses as if they’d never been anything else, easing toward feral.

  After a time the downhill travel leveled out, and the trails turned to rutted roads full of potholes and wheel ruts and blessed with a centerline of thick, early-blooming wildflowers, most of which were delicious. The trees grew taller and thicker, and their tender tips tasted less tangy. Along with the dried stems of the previous fall’s grasses they found the first spears of new grass.

  Once or twice Lady found ways to circumvent farm gates and they snatched a clandestine meal among herds of cattle. Once or twice—more frequently, now—they came upon areas of strange and contorted landscape from which they bolted away with great drama.

  After a time...

  Lady lost her interest in Ramble’s attentions, quite abruptly no longer feeling the need. Ramble stopped guarding her quite so jealously and began to treat her more gently, more protectively—more warily, as well he might any mare in foal.

  And Lady was content. Despite the unending search for food, the ribby look of her sides and the ragged condition of her hooves, she was content.

  And so one day after too many days for a horse to count, she looked at Ramble and looked at the pleasant spring-fed glade through which they traveled and she had the sudden impulse to stop. To stop traveling, to stay here and eat her fill day after day, swishing flies from Ramble’s face and nibbling the itches at his withers, taking off into fits of sudden bucking play any time she pleased. Pretending, in all that, not to notice the small battered black cylinder taped and sewn to her mane until it finally fell off.

  The horror of it hit her like a weighted quirt.

  Blood. Carey. Arlen dead. Her friends in trouble. All of Camolen in trouble.

  Depending on her.

  She shied at nothing in the middle of the perfect glade, violently startling aside to race away with her tail clamped tight and her ears laid back. Ramble, sure they were under attack, startled away as well.

  And Lady ran. Vaulting downed trees and sudden dips, dodging thick trees... she ran like a horse driven, unable to slow until finally she tired, failed to see a root hump, and tumbled, rolling over her shoulder and slamming up against a tree, her legs in the air like a bug on its back.

  Noble courier mare.

  Besieged by thoughts and emotions too complex for a horse to process or even outrun, she reacted instinctively to save her own sanity. She reached for the familiar touch of the spellstone braided into her upper mane and—

  She changed.

  So many days of living as a horse—for all practical purposes, a wild horse—had left its mark on her. Her skin stretched tightly over her ribs; her thick, coarse hair fell ragged over her back, as when she’d first become Jess. Her tough feet felt worn and tired, her bare skin absurdly sensitive to the air and to the leaf mat beneath her back. And even human, she found herself so overcome with so many different emotions that she simply rolled over to her side, curled up, and cried. So much intensity to fit inside one frail human body... fury and fear and sorrow and worry and guilt, so much guilt...

  And all the implications of the changes within herself. As Lady she’d known instinctively; even Ramble had known. As Jess she knew with both her heart and mind. She covered her low stomach with long fingers splayed out, found it as flat as ever. Too flat, too hungry. But she knew what triggered that protective, possessive gesture.

  That which she had wanted so badly. That which she’d thought to conceive as a woman, to carry as a woman, to bear as a woman.

  The child she’d wanted—they’d wanted.

  But not of Carey. Never of Carey, never of any human.

  She thought she’d known all along that this was the way it would have to be, and she’d been unable to face it. She wondered if Carey would realize the irony... that this child existed only as a consequence of his own decisions.

  Exhausted, Jess slept. And when she woke, cold and stiff and cramped, she found her emotions drained, the storm died down to something she could live with.

  She studied the terrain, the trees, the soil, the roughly uneven ground, and put the observations in context with everything she’d seen since arriving. Southwest. Very west, to start with. And they’d traveled roughly east so far. It was time to add a northern slant, and see if she couldn’t recognize the next main road.

  No more wavering, no more lingering in pleasantly perfect glades. Shivering now, Jess fixed her purpose in her mind, most firmly in her mind...

  And triggered one of the changespells to take her back to Lady. To find Ramble... to find Anfeald. And maybe along the way to find herself.

  ~~~~~

  Jaime lost track of the time—days and hours and weeks, all of which were subtly different from home.

  She found it easier that way. It dulled the part of herself still calculating the odds that Arlen was okay and yet hadn’t contacted anyone.

  But Arlen wasn’t stupid. If he had survived, he could certainly figure that his best chance of staying alive was to hole up and play dead.

  Just not this dead, Arlen. Not this long.

  But then again, she wasn’t paying attention to the time. She wasn’t.

  She kept an eye on the pregnant mares, most of whom were so close to foaling they spent their nights inside the special barn behind the hold. She tended her map, a project that—along with Anfeald’s decently central location—had helped to turn the hold into a central courier hub of sorts. The place where people sent their news when they felt it was of general interest... and the place people came to get it.

  For Jaime with her map was the first to see the pattern when the communication and travel services problems changed from being a wizardly manpower problem to being a process problem. Dependable magic going wrong. People being blamed when magic was the problem.

  More was askew than just the mangles.

  So she watched the mares, tended the map, kept copies of general messages for disbursement to anyone who wanted them, and—possibly most important of all—kept Arlen’s puzzled cats company. As much as they adored Jess, as much as they slyly worshiped Arlen, they’d ever only disdainfully tolerated Jaime... until now.

  Now they slept on her face.

  And so they were as she rested on Arlen’s couch, her daily effort to convince herself she was in some semblance of control, when Kesna approached the open door—quiet in her soft slippers, hesitating at the entrance... taking in a soft breath, not bringing herself to interrupt, trying again—

  The cats leapt from their self-appointed vigil, hurrying to the entrance; the calico tuned up his conversational voice and put it to good use.

  Not Kesna.

  Jaime’s eyes flew open. She couldn’t say anything at first; she couldn’t do anything but ga
pe.

  Jess.

  Jess in hay-specked winter clothes from her changing stall, her feet bare and battered, her hair an unruly tangle, the bones of her face strong beneath gaunt features—her eyes carrying a touch of panic and uncertainty.

  Jaime saw it and checked her rush of joy, didn’t bound up from the couch to throw her arms around the friend whose reappearance meant Jaime herself was no longer so alone.

  She levered herself upright on the couch. “Jess, it’s so good to see you. Will you come in?”

  Even in her first few days as a woman, Jess hadn’t shown such wariness. She’d been full of curiosity and trust and frustration, desperate to find Carey and to make herself understood, but not this... wildness.

  She took a step into the room, a single step, and held out a trembling hand—one of broken nails, bruises, and grime. It took Jaime a moment to realize what she held. A film canister. Covered with worn silver duct tape to which stuck a proliferation of dark dun hairs.

  Jaime stood and held out her own hand, making it simple. She would not risk scaring away this flighty version of Jess; Jess would have to come to her.

  After a hesitation, Jess did. Enough of a hesitation that Jaime had time to understand, thinking of Phia’s latest visit. Thinking of her certainty that the world travel spell had been used at the western fringes of Camolen—and that Jaime had something to do with it.

  Jaime knew nothing about it. But now, weeks later, here was Jess—as wild as a horse from the range, offering her a film canister.

  She barely squelched her burst of questions—when did you get back, why are you alone, what happened to the others, what did you find out—knowing they’d chase Jess off as surely as any sudden movement. Instead she accepted the canister Jess tipped into her hand, worked the tape free, and pulled out a tightly rolled piece of paper. It was printed on both sides and crudely laminated with packing tape.

  As Jess eased back a step, Jaime sank back into the couch and scanned the messages—short comments from everyone in who’d gone to Ohio. Notes confirming that the message board system no longer worked, that the farm was doing fine and that Mark missed her and worried about her, that Ramble had told them nothing of import—but that they’d had the visitors about which she warned them, and Suliya recognized them as being from SpellForge and FreeCast. Watch out for them, Carey said. Don’t trust them.

  She smoothed the taped paper over her thigh, tasting bitter disappointment high in her throat and knowing she’d hoped for more.

  Had hoped, without admitting it even to herself, that Ramble had seen Arlen escape harm.

  But maybe that wait would never be over.

  Maybe she’d always lift her head, half-expecting to see him whenever someone entered the room.

  She took a steadying breath and turned her attention back to Jess. Wild Jess, still looking as if she might bolt at any moment. She opened a hand in a welcoming gesture, one without any demand in it—just an invitation.

  Jess edged closer, hesitating—but when she made up her mind, she came all the way, kneeling by the couch as was her habit of old, a searching expression on her face as she hunted for words and didn’t find them. Finally she just shook her head.

  “It’s okay,” Jaime said. “We’ll get things sorted out. It doesn’t have to happen right this minute.”

  And to her surprise, Jess heaved a sigh—a very horse-like sigh with a flutter of noise at the back of her throat—put her head on the couch, and almost instantly fell asleep.

  ~~~~~

  Jess woke to the gentle sensation of someone scratching between her shoulder blades, so like the congenial nibble of teeth at her withers that she thought Ramble until she startled herself by realizing she was Jess. Not Lady, as she’d been for so many days. Jess.

  And not Ramble beside her, but Jaime.

  Jaime, giving Jess space—knowing not to push when Jess was on the verge of bolting, so closed in by stone and her own human body here in the hold.

  She’d just made welcoming space, and Jess had moved into it, ready to collapse with another of the fits of exhaustion that now dogged her.

  “Better?” Jaime asked.

  Jess lifted her head, shoving grimy hair from her face. “Better,” she said, and she was. Not as shaky.

  Never had she been so long as Lady, since that first change. Never had she been so long from people. Nothing was the same... not Camolen, not the people she knew within it, not her own self.

  As a creature who found solace in habit, Jess found it all disturbing. Enough so she almost hadn’t made it up those stairs to find Jaime at all.

  But now... “Better,” she said again, and nodded.

  “Good,” Jaime said. “Can we talk, then?” She gently waved the canister paper. “This leaves me with a lot of questions.”

  Jess pulled herself up on the couch, delighted at the immediate appearance of both cats. The calico turned himself upside-down in her lap so she could pretend to rough him up. The older cat eased to the back of the couch and purred. Jess buried her fingers in soft fur. “The paper says everything we know.”

  “It doesn’t say why you’re the only one who came back.”

  “I’m not the only one,” Jess said, wondering if she imagined the slight sting of accusation in Jaime’s voice. “Ramble came back. They turned him human to learn what he knew, and he knew nothing. He suffered there. I brought him back.”

  Jaime’s expression held suppressed impatience—and a certain ingrained weariness. Her carefree hairstyle had grown out in shiny, deep brown waves; shaggy instead of spunky. But she had a confidence in her place here that she hadn’t carried when Jess had left.

  She was no longer a guest... she was a working part of this hold. One with authority—and she was trying not to use it on Jess, but she wanted those answers.

  Jess didn’t have them all. But she had some of them. She ignored the growl of her stomach to say, “Gifferd said the others were safer to stay. And Dayna said she couldn’t make the spells work for so many at once. The magic is harder, now.”

  “So they didn’t come back with you. But you’ve been here for—?” She scrunched her face slightly with the question.

  “I don’t know,” Jess admitted. “Many days. The magic was confused... it returned us to an edge part of Camolen. Far away.”

  “No wonder you’re so tired,” Jaime said—but of course she didn’t know all of it, and Jess suddenly wasn’t sure if she would talk about that. “At least you made it. We’ve got some parts of Camolen we can’t reach any more.”

  “What is it?” Jess asked. “What happened to the Council? Does no one yet know?”

  Jaime shook her head. “Not yet. I initiated a message to the new Council while you were asleep, telling them about SpellForge. And I’ll tell the peacekeepers—but they’re already maxed out trying to keep up with the new riots.”

  Jess didn’t know maxed out, but she got the gist of it. “Things are bad enough already,” she said. “Why would people make them worse?”

  Jaime shrugged. “Fear, mostly.”

  Jess couldn’t help the frown at the grown-familiar frustration within herself. The inability to understand how people hurt each other.

  Frightened horses would run. They’d band together for protection. They wouldn’t destroy things and strike out at each other. They wouldn’t—

  “I’m going,” she said suddenly.

  Jaime didn’t hide her surprise, the widening of her Mark-like eyes. “Going?”

  “I left Ramble in one of the pastures. I told him I’d come back.”

  “Jess, I don’t—” Jaime hesitated, held out a hand in what looked like supplication. “You just got here. I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you all. We need you. I don’t understand—”

  “Why I would go back to be with a horse? As a horse?” Anger seeped out, but it wasn’t at Jaime, wasn’t fair to make Jaime think it was. “I thought I understood about being human, but I didn’t. I thought I understood about being f
riends... about being lovers—but I didn’t.” She tossed her head back, a gesture suddenly more natural than any human thing; she knew her phantom ears canted back. “I can no longer be certain of my friends, and without that, I am not sure of being human at all. In trying so hard to learn what it’s about.”

  Jaime looked stricken, her eyes glistening, her mouth uncertain and vulnerable.

  “I need time,” Jess said, then nodded at the canister that had bumped against her shoulder for so long and bore every sign of it. “I have done what I can. Now I will go do something for me. And for Ramble. He needs me, too. If you let us, we will use the furthest fields. If not... we will find a place.”

  “Let you!” Jaime cried, comprehension beginning to dawn—the loss she faced. “Of course I’ll let you! I can’t believe—I wish—” She stopped, clenching her hand around the film canister, a hand that only moments ago would have reached for Jess instead, still wanted to reach for her now.

  But Jess had put distance between them with her words. Had taken away Jaime’s ability to take their friendship for granted, just as Carey and Dayna had taken away Jess’s ability to rely on their support and presence.

  Finally Jaime blurted out, “But what about Carey?”

  The calico was not to be fooled; he sensed Jess’s sudden tension and leapt lightly away, boxing the ears of the little black and white cat on the way. Carefully, Jess said, “Carey isn’t here. And if he makes it back...” she stopped, took a considering breath, and wished the cat were still in her lap, giving her his warmth and affection. “There are some things he never accepted about who I am. He tried to pretend it wasn’t so, but... I don’t think he’ll want me now.”

  Jaime didn’t understand. Not with that look on her face, eyebrows drawn over worried eyes. She might have been about to ask... but she hesitated on her words, and said something else instead. “Will you at least eat something? Rest again, before you go? You look done in, Jess.”

  She was done in. But she was also through traveling, and could spend her days in a secure field with more grass than she and Ramble could eat in a summer of grazing. She would be all right. They would be all right. Still, she gave Jaime a thoughtful, faraway look. “I have a sudden want for those spicy chicken pieces you taught the cook to make.”