Changer's Daughter (68 page)

She is angling her steps in the direction of the ravine when something golden-brown bursts out of the undergrowth ahead of her. A dog, she thinks, or a wolf. Too small to be a wolf, too slender. A coyote?

Species identification is not important, not when the animal is rushing at her, alternately growling and barking. Johanna shies away from those sharp, white teeth. The coyote—Johanna thinks it must be a coyote—dodges behind her, swerves to run alongside. It is driving her away from the ravine, down a slope, towards, Johanna realizes, the sprawling farmhouse where Demetrios Stangos resides.

This seems like a good idea. Revealing that she had been trespassing doesn’t seem all that bad now, especially when seen as an alternative to the devil chasing her. She glances back. The devil might have fallen off a few paces, but he’s definitely still after her.

Even if Mr. Stangos isn’t about Johanna can certainly appeal to someone down at the house. Stangos had seemed like a steady fellow. Certainly he’s married. Mrs. Stangos will protect her. They’ll be glad to help her, especially when she tells them about the devil in their forests.

Meanwhile the coyote has dropped back and is directing his barking at the devil.

Maybe it isn’t a devil. Maybe it’s just a wildman. Johanna could have imagined the horns, couldn’t she? Or maybe they were fakes, purchased from some costume store at Halloween. It’s amazing the things people do with plastic these days.

Johanna’s thoughts are hardly comforting—there isn’t much choice between naked wildman or woods devil. What is comforting is the sight of the white-sided farmhouse set among neatly trimmed fields. Goats are grazing on the short-cropped grass, small as a child’s toys at this distance. Two or three raise their heads as if hearing the crashing through the forests above their pasture.

Johanna wishes she had the breath to scream for help, but she barely has breath enough to run, and her heart is pounding wildly, its beats irregular.

I should have gotten more exercise,
she thinks before her wobbly legs betray her. She trips over an exposed rock, sprawls headlong. Her own momentum carries her forward as she falls. She lifts her arms in a futile attempt to shield her head. A burst of brilliant light fills her thoughts, followed by absolute darkness.

Shahrazad’s momentary thrill of triumph when she succeeds in herding the woman toward Demetrios’ house dies when she sees Kleon’s anger turned upon her.

“Away, little bitch,” he commands in a deep, gruff voice, while advancing a few steps toward the fallen woman. “Let me through and you won’t get hurt.”

Feeling very small and very weak, Shahrazad wants to bolt. Terror radiates from the goat-legged man, cutting into her spirit as the winter wind cuts through her coat. She runs, meaning to go only the few paces that will carry her to the human.

Beginning to run is a mistake. Once Shahrazad begins to run, she wants to keep running. Had a root not snagged her paw and slowed her head-long retreat, Shahrazad might not have stopped. As it is, she manages to dig her hindquarters into the soft ground and stop near the human.

The woman is breathing hard: short, ragged gasps. Blood is trickling from a fresh cut on her head. She smells as if she has lost control of her bladder.

The coyote stands over the unconscious figure, bares her teeth, feels her hackles raise, and growls.

“Threatening me, little dog?” The faun laughs very unkindly. “What are you going to do? Bite me? Oh, I’m so very frightened.”

Shahrazad growls again, ears flat. She snaps her teeth once in Kleon’s direction, doesn’t step away from the human, though her every nerve is singing with raw fear.

“
I’ll bite you,”
she threatens with the fur prickling up along her back.
“It will hurt. Go away.”

The faun understands, but he sneers.

“I suppose you think I’m afraid of you,” Kleon mocks. “Little dog, I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of your father. I’m not afraid of Demetrios. That woman you are guarding so faithfully, little dog, she tried to steal my baby away, might have injured my wife. That human is not leaving here alive.”

Shahrazad cannot believe Kleon’s bravado. Anyone in his right mind would be afraid of the Changer. Demetrios is pretty formidable, too, in his fussy fashion. Demetrios is head of the herd here, isn’t he? Demetrios—not Kleon.

Shahrazad has already noticed that the other fauns are keeping clear of this confrontation. That means they aren’t certain Kleon is in the right. And hadn’t the tree—the tree who was apparently this faun’s mate—hadn’t she pleaded with Shahrazad to stop Kleon?

Neither young things nor coyotes particularly like thinking things through, but faced with the consequences of failure Shahrazad thinks hard. Kleon is trying to push her into a fight. He’ll probably win, too, if it comes down to that.

But he isn’t coming forward. The headlong rage that had sent Kleon after the intruder is ebbing now. The incitement to panic has vanished, and Shahrazad realizes that Kleon had been causing much of her own fear.

Though unclouded eyes she looks at Kleon She sees a strong creature, a bit small for a human, quite large for a goat. His haunches are piebald, the coarse hair clean and well-brushed. His hair is shiny black, touching his shoulders, but neatly trimmed. He wears his beard, quite naturally, in a goatee. His gaze, wholly human now with no trace of goat, holds a hint of uncertainty.

Having herself pushed acceptable limits too far numerous times, Shahrazad understands. Kleon had been genuinely furious. Had Shahrazad not intervened, had the human not run so fast, Kleon might have driven the intruder to her death. Now he has calmed somewhat, is rational enough to realize the consequences of his actions, yet he does not wish to be seen backing down. Herd creatures and pack animals are quite alike in this.

Shahrazad realizes that she knows the perfect solution to their standoff. She will do nothing. She will wait here, guarding this human. She doesn’t think the woman will be waking up any time soon. Surely Demetrios will come back before long. He would not have left Shahrazad if he did not plan to return before too many hours had passed.

She will simply wait. Then Demetrios can deal with Kleon. Demetrios can figure out what to do about the trespasser.

It isn’t a heroic decision, but it is a sublimely coyote one, and whatever else she is, Shahrazad, daughter of the Changer, is most certainly a coyote.

Feeling her hackles settle, Shahrazad lowers herself onto her haunches alongside the human, bends to lick the blood from the woman’s head wound, and reassures herself that nothing seems smashed beyond repair.

Kleon stands staring at Shahrazad, then he grunts and turns away, trotting off into the forest. One by one, several shadows detach themselves from where they had been watching—the other fauns, joining their fellow. A few nod thanks in Shahrazad’s direction. One waves a small object and shouts encouragement in which the only words Shahrazad understands are “called Demetrios.”

Sometime later, Shahrazad hears the music of the panpipes, haunting and delicate, yet filled with furious energy. It is coming from direction of the distant apple orchard. Wild as the music is, it comes to her as the sound of peace.

Johanna awakens to find herself lying in a strange bed in a room hung with photographs of orchards in flower. A golden brown dog is sleeping near her feet. When Johanna moves, the dog hops down off the bed and trots out of the room. A few moments later, she hears the sound of boots against the hallway floor and a man comes into the room. She immediately recognizes him as Demetrios Stangos.

Oddly, he is wearing a hat, though they are inside the house, a jaunty fedora that looks rather nice against his reddish brown hair. His eyes are also brown, and though their expression mingles stern disapproval and concern, she thinks she sees kindness there as well.

“Johanna,” he says. “I am Demetrios Stangos. You may recall me from some past business. How do you feel?”

“My head aches, Mr. Stangos,” Johanna admits. “I ache all over.”

“Please, call me Demetrios,” he says. “You are a guest in my house.”

Johanna colors at this, remembering how she had come to be there. Demetrios ignores her embarrassment with old-fashioned courtesy.

“You fell, several times according to the doctor. You may have had a minor heart attack.”

“Doctor? Heart attack?”

“I had a doctor in to see you. He has left now, but will return with an ambulance. He would like you to come in to the hospital and be hooked into a heart monitor. However, he wanted you to rest first, since you probably have a concussion.”

Demetrios pauses, then goes on with the air of one reciting a lesson. “From the concussion you should expect some lapses in memory. Do not trust what memories you do have—at least those dealing with the immediate past. Head injuries are tricky that way.”

“I remember,” Johanna says hesitantly. “I was in the forest, near an old orchard. I saw something that frightened me... A devil and a woman holding an apple. I was so scared I just turned and ran. The trees... They moved....”

She hears her voice catch; the words end on a sob.

Demetrios smiles at her with gentle amusement.

“Hallucination,” he says, “perhaps brought on by the tales they tell about this forest. You have heard how my lands are haunted, haven’t you?”

Johanna nods reluctantly. The motion make her head throb and swim.

Demetrios pours her a glass of water from an elegantly simple stoneware pitcher.

“Drink this. The doctor left you something for the pain, but he said it was best if you used it sparingly. Concussions are tricky.”

“You sound like you know personally,” she says, accepting the water. It is very cold and tastes of minerals: artesian well water, no doubt.

“I’ve butted my head into things a few times,” Demetrios admits with a wry grin. “Do you remember what brought you onto my land? I cannot believe it was by accident. There are fences, and the property is posted as private.”

For a moment, Johanna thinks of pleading amnesia, but the truth comes spilling out, including the resentment that had led to her coming here to steal.

“Why didn’t you speak to me about this?” Demetrios asks when she has finished. “Had I known, I would have made an arrangement to share the proceeds with you. I did my best to make sure you received the credit. I thought it would help your business.”

Johanna flushes, ashamed. Her host lets his hand drop so he can scratch the dog behind her ears. When he speaks, Johanna has to fight the odd impression that Demetrios’ explanation is for both of them.

I’m still concussed
, she thinks, amused and relieved, receptive to whatever Demetrios will say.

“You were right when you thought I had some idea the fairy apple might be special,” Demetrios says. “I had studied the parent tree, had some hopes for the genetics if properly stimulated. When I found the witch’s-broom gone, I tracked down who might have taken it.”

Johanna opens her mouth to ask how he’d managed, but Demetrios anticipates her.

“It really wasn’t that difficult,” he says. “The skills and knowledge needed to do the job are rather specialized. Then I visited your greenhouse and you pretty much told me the rest.”

“That tree,” Johanna says a touch defensively, “was not on your land.”

“No,” Demetrios agrees. “It was not, but the tree was too well established for me to move it, and I was reluctant to forgo my experiment.”

“I can understand that.”

“Can you?”

It strikes Johanna that Demetrios always looks slightly sad. He pauses as if considering, then goes on.

“You are interested in finding new species. You might say that I am interested in preserving the very old.”

“Heirloom varieties?” she offers.

“Yes. You might call them that. The gene pool has grown very small and very attenuated. I am always searching for traces of...”

Demetrios trails off. Johanna thinks that perhaps he has forgotten she is there, but he speaks before she can prompt him.

“From one point of view, the fairy apple was a success. However, from another, it was a failure. It is a new version, but definitely not an heirloom.”