Strange Attractors (10 page)

Rosette rubbed his flank with her toes. ‘I don’t see how. In any case, a quick trip to check things out will do us good.’

The chart uses those words?

Rosette studied the symbols again, her eye going back to Neptune rising, and the Archer. ‘Not exactly. It does say to trust intuition and explore.’

That could mean our hunting party tomorrow?

Rosette laughed. ‘It could. How about this? We get hay down for the horses before the hunt, pack in the afternoon and head out on dark. Deal?’

Sounds good to me, though I have nothing to pack.

She laughed again. ‘It’s done then. We’ll be off at sunset.’

Grayson brushed snow off the latch; the change of climate from Temple Los Loma was shocking. He huffed into his hands and rubbed them together. ‘Rosette?’ he called. ‘Are you about?’ He knew the answer before the silence gave it away. He called again, cracking ice from the hinges and pushing the gate open.

The cottage was still. No smoke wafted from the chimney and no light glowed from within. The windows were black, free of condensation. They reflected his bulk as he ploughed through the drifts. He stepped onto the veranda and stamped his feet. The path hadn’t been shovelled and snow piled high. A blanket of white covered the rose garden and no tracks—paw, boot or bird—marked the ground. Wherever Rosette was, she’d been gone for days, if not all month. He shivered and turned away from the door. He had his horse to look after. He’d do that first before searching the cottage for clues.

‘Let’s get you rugged up, shall we?’ he said to the animal, running up the stirrups and loosening the girth.

The barn was unoccupied save for scattering hens and pigeons cooing in the rafters. He groomed the
mare, whose nose was buried deep in the manger. Grayson concentrated on his task, trying not to think of why Rosette hadn’t rushed out to greet him, Drayco loping at her side. Hotha had said she wasn’t here. Why was he so surprised? He shrugged.
I thought she’d be here by now.

The wind gusted through the barn and he found a thick rug for his horse, buckling it into place. Where was the rest of the livestock? Jarrod’s red mare, Wren, and the mountain ponies were nowhere in sight, nor were the goats and house cow. She couldn’t have taken them all with her through the portal but how’d she expect them to survive winter without care? He checked the loft. There was a full store of hay and grain. What was going on?

The mystery solved itself when he opened the back door. The animals had been pastured in the adjoining southern paddock, the gate to the overhang tied open so they could get to shelter and the outside mangers. Hay bales had been stacked in the chute—as they were eaten, another dropped down to replace it. Clever. She’d even re-tied them with thick rope so there was no chance of the animals ingesting the twine that normally held them fast. She must have planned on being away for some time.

What could she be doing? Searching the corridors for An’ Lawrence, or rearing her child in some other world? His child? He shook his head as he returned to the cottage. Maybe she’d left a note. In any case, he had to get warm. He couldn’t think in the cold.

He pushed the garden gate open, again cracking ice from the hinges. The string of tiny bells that chimed in the summer was soundless, their clappers frozen solid. He waded through the powdery snow, a layer of drift rising in the wind. Frost covered the front door knob
and he had to crack it loose to turn it, or was that a spell? In either case, he entered the cottage and it welcomed him. Even without a fire it felt warm and it smelled sweetly of cedar wood and apples.

Leaving his boots by the door, he hung his fur cloak on the rack and started a fire. She hadn’t been gone as long as he’d thought. He could tell by the smell of wet charcoal and the thin layer of ash that the down draught had blown over the tiles; a few paw prints marked Drayco’s presence.

‘So it was you two,’ he said aloud. ‘Not Maka’ra or Hotha’s scout who was here last.’

They had left in the afternoon, he guessed, when the fire was cold. He stared up the chimney, checking the flue. Was it yesterday? Perhaps they were only out foraging. Collecting snow root? Or was it the day before?
I should have come sooner.

While the kettle was set to boil, he rummaged for tea and honey. There were plenty of supplies in the cupboards and hard cheese, soy milk, flour and butter in the cool box. He found his favourite cup and laid the table, mixing up a batch of pan bread to fry. The little chores gave him comfort and kept the waves of worry from crashing.
Where could she have gone this time?

The star chart on the table caught his eye and he looked at the date. She’d been here two weeks ago, that was obvious. He frowned. Unless the chart had been set for a time in the future, or the past. She did that often—looked ahead or behind. She said hindsight and foresight were brothers and she was well acquainted with them both. He didn’t know enough star lore to understand astrology in the way she did, but he knew enough about Rosette’s nature to realise that this chart had not been left haphazardly. All her other papers and notes were tucked away, but here
was a clue, a message perhaps, for those who could read it. He folded the chart in quarters and put it in his pocket. Kreshkali would know what it meant. He would save it for her.

He frowned. ‘But she’s off looking for the Sword Master as well.’ Had they found him yet? ‘What were you thinking, Rosette?’ he asked the walls. As if in answer, he spotted her diary by the bedside. He sucked in his breath. ‘Dare I?’

He didn’t. Whatever reason she had for going off into the freezing wilderness and many-worlds beyond, he would not discover it that way. A witch’s bedside writing was a private matter. He’d learned that the hard way. His fingertips still burned when he thought of it. He had no intentions of ever touching that book again.

Grayson poured his cup of tea. The scent of rosehips and basil rose with the steam, mingling with the hardwood smoke and disappearing up the chimney. He warmed his hands around the cup and stared at the flames. ‘Maybe she went back into the corridors. Or maybe she sailed to the islands with Maka’ra, or maybe…’

Who was he kidding? She could be anywhere. It was all speculation but one thing was for sure—it was no herb hunt she was on. Her sword was missing from its place by the door. He also suspected she was still pregnant—the basket by her bed sat unused as were the tiny clothes in the cupboard beneath her mirror. He rubbed his temples. How long would this pregnancy last?

Hotha had told him it was unpredictable. Her travels through the corridors, not to mention her prolonged suspension from her body, her
death
, had changed the gestation. They didn’t know if it added days, weeks or
months, or subtracted them. At this point it was clear it had added.

He leaned back, staring at the rafters. Nell’s mobiles of stars and planets danced, suspended like puppets. ‘At least you could have left me a better clue. You know I can’t read the stars, and I can’t wander the corridors without guidance.’

A whinny from the barn brought his head up. It wasn’t his mare’s. He stamped into his boots and charged out the door. When he reached the gate he saw two horses standing outside the barn, pawing the snow and whickering. They turned their heads to him and one trumpeted a brassy challenge. He was a huge warhorse, his face obscured by a thick white forelock; his body was rugged up in a green canvas blanket that didn’t quite fit over his dappled rump. His neck was a sleek gold, not yet thick with a winter coat. The long flaxen tail whisked the ground, yellow against the white snow.

The other horse he recognised. Her name was Wren, the brilliant copper-red chestnut mare that Jarrod favoured. He didn’t know how they’d ended up in the house paddock but their request was clear. They wanted into the barn. He shook his head. What could this mean?

‘It means they’re hungry.’

He jumped out of his skin as Maka’ra, tall, bundled in furs and smiling an ivory grin, walked up the path. A cowbell clanged and soon a spotty, long-haired bossy appeared, meandering through the snow behind him.

‘Demons, Maka’ra! Where did you come from?’

‘You know this, Grayson. Rahana Iti, across the Emerald Straits.’

‘I meant…’ He shook his head, extending his hand. ‘It’s good to see you.’

‘I’ve come to check on this lot,’ he said, nodding towards the horses and slapping the cow’s rump as she strolled past. ‘While Rosette’s away. It looks like the horses crossed the ford to the north pastures and the rest followed. None found a way back.’

Half a dozen long-eared goats trotted past, a few of the yearlings kicking up their heels and bounding like gazelle through the deep snow.

‘And Rosette? Do you know where she is?’

Maka’ra inclined his head for a moment before following the animals to the barn. ‘She’s still not here, is she?’ He chuckled.

Grayson fell into step beside him, walking in the fresh path made by the horses. He didn’t see the humour.

Maka’ra kept smiling. ‘I was coming to…’

‘Check on her?’ Grayson asked, interrupting.

‘Check on the livestock. I knew she was gone.’

‘You knew?’

‘She’s not one to sit still when there’s a search party out.’

Grayson nodded.

‘When she didn’t show up at the start of winter, I took the mare and house cow to the stone paddocks, the ones with the cave shelters. The fields are too deep with snow now—no grazing—so I was going to bring them up to better ground. But she’s been back. Moved them already. Besides, there’s no other way to explain him.’ Maka’ra indicated the golden warhorse. ‘He’s not from around here, not with that colour.’

‘I wouldn’t know.’ Grayson pushed the horses back and opened the barn door. The animals knew the way, each going to a stall, except for the cow. She went straight to the loose hay beneath the loft steps. Grayson tugged on her bell collar and led her, with a bucket of oats, to the far end of the barn and helped Maka’ra
settle the horses. The goats bounced in, heading straight for the grain bins. Grayson led them out the back where the mangers were brimming with oat grass hay. He latched the gate, relieved to get them settled. They were like a mob of school children, jumping and bleating and head-butting. He was comfortable with neither kids nor goats. His own mount seemed delighted with the company, though, and alternately whickered and tossed her head.

‘Did she leave a message?’ Maka’ra asked as they returned to the house.

‘Not one I can read.’ Grayson fished out the chart. He didn’t know if the big islander read the star symbols, but he trusted the man’s instincts. His own, he was beginning to doubt.

Maka’ra squinted at the page, stamping his feet on the porch. Once inside he continued to read the horoscope, naming the planetary placements aloud. ‘She’s asked a question about her father,’ he said, pointing to the moon just over the fourth house ruler. ‘He’s trapped somewhere. She’s off to find him, again.’

‘Again? I thought she would have done that already. Why come back otherwise? Unless…’

‘She found him, and then lost him?’

Grayson rubbed his temples. ‘Does it say where she went?’

‘She has the moon in the sign of the Fishes,’ he said, pointing to the crescent symbol at the top of the page. ‘It’s conjunct the ruler of the Archer, indicator of long journeys and new horizons.’ Maka’ra swung the kettle over the fire to boil. ‘She’s walking the corridors, but where she ends up is not as expected.’

‘Nothing’s been as expected, Maka’ra. Not since I met her.’ Grayson mumbled the words, his mouth turned down at the corners.

‘The new one has not arrived yet,’ the island man said, taking in the empty basket and smooth covered bed.

‘Apparently not. She and Teg…’

‘He was not here. Just Rosette, with the big black,’ Maka’ra said. He tossed the chart onto the table.

‘And now, she could be…’

‘Anywhere.’

Grayson stared into the fire. ‘That leaves a lot of possibilities.’

Shaea couldn’t believe her eyes. She’d never seen her whole body naked, sparkling clean, her hair washed and untangled. She’d never seen herself properly at all. As she stood in front of the full-length mirror, her hair combed and dripping down to her thighs, her round breasts and buttocks rosy red from the hot bath, she laughed. ‘I could have made some comforts with this,’ she said, her hands on her hips, turning side to side. ‘I had no idea, but I’m something that would fetch a price, don’t you think?’ She turned her bottom towards Rall and wiggled.

Rall hobbled into the room, a towel twisted around her head, another over her shoulders. She glanced at the mirror; her hunched shape was more like an insect’s than a woman’s. She snarled. ‘And I’ve got less than I thought.’ She slid into a chair, picking at the scraps left from their earlier meal. ‘Come on, girl. Stop staring at yourself and finish your supper. We will leave tonight.’

‘Tonight?’ Shaea looked at the bed and pouted. ‘I thought I’d get to actually sleep in one of these.’

‘You may still, but not here. We need to be out of the city before word goes round. There’ll be talk—
that old witch’s got herself some coin
, they’ll say.
She took the girl and ran
.’

‘What’s worrying you, Rall? Can’t you have had a lucky day?’

‘Not me. They’d be onto it in a blink.’

‘Who’s they?’

‘Never mind. Just get that new dress on and dry your hair. We’re leaving tonight.’

‘What will we tell the gate guards?’

Rall chuckled. ‘What will we tell them? Where’s your imagination, Shaea? Can you think of nothing?’

‘Not yet. It all seems too…big.’

‘Big, is it? I think you mean to say extraordinary. Start using your words, girl. They’ll catch you out otherwise, wearing a dress like that and speaking from the gutter.’

‘I am from the gutter.’

‘Exactly, but you don’t want them to suspect it.’

‘All right.’ She cleared her throat. ‘This all seems so extraordinary.’

‘That’s better. Now, think of something extraordinary to you that would be ordinary to them.’