Strange Attractors (29 page)

‘Rosette?’

She opened one eye. ‘Kali?’ Slowly her mother came into focus.

Kreshkali’s lips were parted but no words came out.

‘What in demon’s darkness just happened?’ Rosette said between gasps. She rubbed her eyes, allowing them to adjust to the light. She was in the library. ‘Temple Los Loma?’ The words grated her throat. ‘How did I get here?’

Scylla came up to her, touching her nose to nose, her purr rumbling in the silence. Rosette gripped the cat’s neck and struggled to her feet. She got her breathing under control and encircled her belly with her arms. ‘Great goddess of the woods, can’t you two say anything?’

Kreshkali cleared her throat. ‘We wove a calling spell…’ Her voice trailed off.

‘It was my idea,’ An’ Lawrence added. ‘Thought it would expedite things.’

‘You wove a calling spell? On me? What were you thinking! Do you know where I was?’

They stared at her, shaking their heads. ‘You weren’t where I left you, that’s for certain.’ Kreshkali narrowed her eyes.

‘If you wanted me so urgently you could have sent a message, or come for me yourself. Bloody demon’s fire, that was horrid.’

An’ Lawrence and Kreshkali came closer, Scylla between them; the look on their faces was incomprehensible.

Rosette’s hands went to her face. ‘Do you realise Drayco’s left behind with no idea of where I am, if I’m alive or dead? He’ll be tearing chunks out of everyone he meets until he finds me. And Teg’s left to deal with it? What will they do? We were at the gates of Corsanon!’

‘Rosette,’ Kreshkali whispered. ‘I can’t believe it’s you.’

Rosette glared at her. ‘Who were you expecting?’

‘Not you, daughter,’ An’ Lawrence said, his voice wavering. ‘We weren’t expecting you.’

Kreshkali came to her side and led her to the table.

‘What do you mean, not me? It was a calling spell, wasn’t it? And I can’t stress enough how uncomfortable it felt. Have you ever been through one? It’s criminal. I’m tearing that spell out of my grimoire as soon as I get back to Dumarka.’

‘I’m sorry, Rosette.’ Kreshkali pulled out a chair and eased her down. ‘It was a calling spell, yes—but you’re not the one we called.’

‘Well I’m the one you got.’ She took the water her mother offered, frowning. ‘Who were you after?’

‘Whom.’ An’ Lawrence sat beside her.

She clicked her tongue. ‘Whom then?’

‘We were calling a manual,’ Kreshkali said. ‘Richter’s notes to be exact, the ones we need to bring back Jarrod.’

Rosette looked at each of them in turn. ‘A manual?’

‘Richter’s journals. She hid them from ASSIST and we’ve been searching the library.’ An’ Lawrence waved towards the shelves lining the walls to the ceiling. ‘We thought a calling spell would bring them.’

Rosette exhaled. The sun came out from behind the clouds, flooding the library with light. She rubbed her hands, flexing her fingers one at a time. The colours from the stained glass played across her skin, saffron, emerald and azure. She shook her head, a small smile lifting her face. ‘At least now we know where she hid them.’

Kreshkali hissed. ‘Is there anything that techno-witch didn’t put in our blood?’

Xane cantered the mare along the road, keeping her collected. There was plenty of time, no need to rush. He’d delivered the letter to the High Priestess and had her reply tucked safely in his saddlebag. Over the next rise was a steep climb and then the road skirted the river gorge, crossed the high arched bridge and snaked its way back to the main gates of Corsanon. He would be there within the hour, the mare in grand condition. He stroked her neck, about to praise her, when he saw them coming. ‘What’s this?’

Barrelling down the road were two black beasts. He squinted to make them out but they ran so fast he couldn’t identify them immediately. Dust billowed behind them as their long strides tore up the ground.

‘Easy, Grace.’ He shortened his reins and brought
her to a halt. Her head was up and she pranced on the spot, nostrils flaring. Xane kept her under control, moving well to the side. When he looked again at the approaching creatures, he knew what they were—a black temple cat and a very large wolf.

‘That’s the one we saw before. The witch’s familiar.’ He was hypnotised, watching their approach. The mare broke out in a sweat and tossed her head, limbs shaking. ‘Easy now. They’re not after us, Gracie.’ He stroked her neck. ‘At least, I don’t think they are.’

The temple cat roared and the mare backed away, shying into a stand of white oaks. Xane’s leg slammed into the trunk, the stirrup gouging the bark. His head whipped backward as the mare lunged, her hind leg firing towards the beasts as they passed. He kept her from bolting and watched the temple cat speed away. Inexplicably, he wanted to follow. ‘Settle, Grace. We’ve got a message to deliver,’ he said aloud. ‘To the city!’

Xane shifted his weight forward, easing up on the reins. Like a racehorse from the gate, she charged, cresting the hill at a dead run. He couldn’t slow her down. He looked over his shoulder once to see the wolf and temple cat disappear around the bend. The mare ran on until halfway up the next hill. She was blowing hard when he could finally ease her to a walk, her neck and flanks drenched with sweat. They had no time to relax. A mounted troop crested the ridge at the gallop. They were headed straight towards him.

‘Pursuit!’ the captain yelled. ‘Give way!’

The road was narrow at this point and it took all his skill to keep the mare to the side as the other horses charged past. He recognised the unit and exchanged glances with some of the riders. The look in their eyes was the same. Fear. When they’d gone and the dust settled, he walked the mare the rest of the way up the
hill. Once around the gorge he had a clear view of the Corsanon gates and it didn’t take hard maths to guess what had happened.

Bodies were strewn everywhere, the ground soaked in blood. The temple carriage was just inside the gate; the horses were agitated and the driver was standing at their heads, holding the reins short as he spoke with one of the guards. Other men were searching the carriage. Xane didn’t have much time to wonder about the beautiful young witch before he was approached by a guard.

‘Name and business,’ the man said.

Xane produced the letter from the High Priestess, explaining his errand, but while answering questions his focus kept returning to the carriage. The doors were open and two guards were looking under the seats. One stood, waving the captain to him. He held a trinket to the light, a pendant, silver and lapis, shaped like a bird of prey with a ruby sun above its head. Xane’s eyes welled. The headaches, all but gone this morning, came hurtling back. In the centre of the pain, he had a vision.

He could see himself on a farm, an expansive estate. There were brood mares in the paddocks and blossoming fruit trees, cherry, apple and peach. He was walking down a cobbled drive and she was with him, the witch whose dark eyes he had gazed upon, the beautiful woman in the coach. They were laughing together, climbing a stile, running through the fields, holding hands. The sound of waves filled the air and an eagle circled overhead, riding the thermals that rose from the high sea cliffs. She turned to him, laughing, calling him by name, but it wasn’t
Xane
. It was…

‘Xane!’ The guard snapped his fingers.

He blinked several times, bringing himself back to the present. The guard was nodding for him to pass but it was all he could do to urge the mare forward. He rubbed his temples, mumbling his thanks. He couldn’t tear himself away from the vision. It didn’t feel like a dream or a fancy. It felt like a memory. But that was impossible. Xane had never been near the sea, and he had never held a beautiful girl’s hand.

‘Get that message straight to the citadel, lad,’ the captain said. ‘Before you see to the mare.’

The guard’s instructions brought Xane fully back from the reverie. ‘Yes, sir.’

He checked over Gracie as they walked down the main streets, avoiding the marching troops that were heading for the gate. His horse’s eyes were sunken, her coat crisp with dried sweat and her legs filthy with road grime and dust. When he leaned over her shoulder he saw where the oak branches had scratched her hide and the saddle as well. He groaned. The Stable Master himself would check her condition when he returned. He didn’t imagine his story of the huge black beasts on the road would count for much. The mare was a mess and clearly overrun. ‘At least you’re sound,’ Xane said, smiling. ‘Not a hint of lameness.’

As the words escaped his lips, she stumbled, her toe catching on the jagged lip of a pothole. The steady clip-clop of her iron-shod hooves changed to something like drunken castanet dancers. He dismounted, mumbling as he bent over. ‘We gallop all the way to the temple and back, nearly trampled by beasts and warriors, and you pull a shoe inside the city gates? On a pothole?’

The mare twisted around as he bent over her hoof. The shoe was loose, two nails missing. He’d be lucky if it stayed on long enough to get to the stables.

‘There’s nothing for it, Gracie. I’m going to be put in charge of the aged brood mares and never ride again.’ He ran up his stirrups, loosened the girth and led her the rest of the way to the citadel. The lieutenant made him wait for more than an hour. At least he had time to water Grace and rub her down. When he finally was called in, he was hit with a barrage of questions about the girl in the coach and her travelling companions.

‘No, sir, I didn’t see a wolf in the carriage. She was with a man and her temple cat but that was all I spotted.’

‘Her temple cat?’

‘It was clearly Dumarkian,’ Xane said. That couldn’t be news. ‘And I presumed the creature was her bonded familiar.’

‘You presumed?’

‘I did. It seemed a logical conclusion at the time.’

The lieutenant’s brow knitted. ‘How long have you been apprentice to the Stable Master?’

‘Not long.’ Xane hesitated. As he scanned his memory, he had a moment of doubt. ‘This past year.’

‘You were at the battle on the fields?’

‘I was, sir.’

Again his mind wandered. Snippets of other memories emerged, overlapping his recent encounter just days before. Of course, he’d been shot and left for dead. The order of events would be a little vague. He put the new visions down to dreams, or maybe hemlock hallucinations, though he clearly saw a dark battle. It took place in a strange world with a flat, ungiving ground, thunder clapping overhead and beams of red light streaming from strange weapons. There was a troop of swordsmen, and women, sheathing their blades and shifting into beasts, wolves like the one he saw on the road today, huge, elegant, fierce. They were
beautiful creatures, and they were helping him.
Clearly I’m losing my mind.

‘Did you see the beasts there? On the battlefield?’

Xane shook his head. ‘There were no such beautiful creatures on the Corsanon Fields.’

‘Beautiful creatures?’ the lieutenant asked. He snapped his fingers. ‘Those
beautiful creatures
killed many of my men!’

Xane straightened. ‘And the woman?’ He felt suddenly bold enough to ask. ‘Where’s the woman? What have you done with her?’ Xane heard the words but they didn’t feel like his own. They were strong and confident with an edge of threat. Suddenly he was overcome with a burning desire to know that she was all right.

‘What have
we
done with her? There’s a good question, lad.’ He pushed his face up close to Xane’s and snapped his fingers again. ‘She vanished, as some of the temple witches can do. Left only this behind.’

He held up the pendant Xane had seen before.

‘Recognise it, lad? Did the girl in the coach wear this?’

Xane’s hand trembled as he opened it. The lieutenant placed the silver-and-lapis bird in his palm and the touch of it filled him with light. For an instant he thought he knew where she was and felt he had to get there no matter what it took, but the sensation vanished just as fast, leaving him dizzy. ‘It was hers,’ he said. ‘I recognise it.’

The lieutenant was called to the door, an urgent message from his second. Xane didn’t think twice. He slipped the pendant into his pocket. When the man returned, he was too preoccupied to notice it was gone.

‘You’re dismissed.’

‘The message?’ Xane asked. ‘I was meant to deliver it to the Stable Master.’

‘We’ll see that it’s passed on.’ The lieutenant waved him to the door and Xane left.

He walked the mare back to the stables and although he kept to the smoothest streets, the shoe was off before they reached the barn, just as he predicted. He squinted, holding it at arm’s length. ‘They didn’t get it level, Gracie, and the toe-clip’s too thin. Snapped clean off from just a little stumble.’ He patted her neck. ‘Not your fault at all, nor mine.’ He shook his head. He didn’t know that much about horseshoeing. At least, he didn’t think he did. ‘But it’s clearly not level, or even shaped to your hoof. Who shod you?’ Oddly, he couldn’t remember.

When he arrived back at the stables, Willem was waiting. Xane braced himself, drawing a deep breath. He explained what happened, why the mare appeared overworked and what the problem was with the shoe. Willem stared down at the single unshod hoof and unleashed a horde of queries. The sound of his ranting faded into the background and again a vision filled Xane’s mind.

This time he and the beautiful witch were hiking over lava fields, leading their mounts down a narrow path. Her horse had thrown a shoe as well and the hoof was bound in leather, protecting it from the obsidian, sharp as glass. Xane rubbed his head. He didn’t know what obsidian was. He cleared his throat. He wished he could clear his mind as easily.

Willem had stopped talking and was staring at him. He hoped he wasn’t waiting for the answer to a question. If so, Xane had no idea what it was. But Willem said no more. He checked the mare’s hoof and then the shoe, felt her pulse and noted the gouges in the saddle. Finally he spoke.

‘We send you off to deliver a letter and you come back as if from the border wars.’

‘Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.’ Xane started untacking the mare, surprised when Willem helped him. They curried and rubbed her down until she shone like black jade. Xane watered her again and turned her into her stall, filling her manger with an armload of hay. He smiled at the sound of her chewing and the languid swish of her tail.