Strange Attractors (51 page)

Shaea frowned. Why would the Entity care about that?
Yes, the warhorse.
She thought she heard twigs snap.

Mind you don’t strain him. Keep him out of the culverts.

She looked down at the huge beast, his legs churning, mane flowing, ears forward. His breath came easy. There was no sweat on his neck. She kept her hand gentle on the reins, her legs quiet, heels down, toes parallel, her body light as a feather on his broad back.
I don’t think he’ll be overtaxed, Entity.

See that he isn’t.

Shaea eased the horses down to a walk.
What do you want me to do?

Pay attention. Just before the township, off to the west side of the valley, you’ll come upon a strange scene. Don’t be alarmed. Nothing’s wrong—it’s just a glamour. You’re to go up to the red-headed witch and touch her.

Touch the witch?

That’s right.

The red-haired witch?

Yes.

Anything else?

She’ll instruct you from there. Do as she says.

What about Rall?

Never mind Rall. This is the witch you must answer to, if you want to find your way to the many-worlds.

What happened to Rall?

She’s out of the picture, for now.

And what’s this one’s name?

La Makee. Ride now; there isn’t much time.

I’m on my way.

Shaea didn’t ride, not yet. She wanted to think it through and the valley the Entity spoke of was not far off. ‘Touch the witch? What kind of glamour is that? La Makee? Isn’t that what they called Rall in the portal under the quarry steps?’ Her head hurt trying to figure it out.

She sucked on her lower lip, urging the stallion into a brisk trot. The road was smooth, the grade downhill. She had no idea what was going on but she figured it would make sense, sooner or later. Maybe something would come to her when she faced it head-on.

Shaea had trouble controlling the horses. Amarillo pranced in place and the mare planted herself, all four feet braced. Both animals were snorting, the sight of the frozen witch too much for them. Shaea thought it might be too much for her as well. She’d never seen anything so uncanny. It was like a piece of landscape had been stopped cold.

A woman stood before her, a Treeon witch by her tattoos, eyes unblinking. Was this La Makee? It must be. Her long black robe had blown open, frozen in the act, revealing her sword, the hilt silver with inlays of lapis. Her sword belt was made of fine black quilted cloth—nothing like what Corsanons wore. Her hair was flaming red, immobile as though it had been captured in a dance. The surrounding trees and birds were statue-still. Shaea’d never imagined anything like it could exist save in a book or painting. ‘Easy now,’ she said, holding tight to the mare’s lead, keeping the warhorse from bolting. ‘This is just a glamour, apparently.’

Shaea calmed the horses before dismounting. She tied them well to the side of the glamour, uncertain
what would happen when the frozen picture came back to life, or even if it would.

‘You be La Makee then?’ she asked, stepping towards the witch. If it were true, Shaea was about to touch the High Priestess of Treeon Temple. Her hand shook as she pointed her finger. ‘Pardon me, but the Entity said I am to do this.’ She didn’t get a response. ‘I’m guessing it’s going to crack the spell?’

The strain on the witch’s face was unbearable. Her eyes bulged, the whites dry and gritty, bloodshot. Her posture may have been confident, once, but it had caved in on itself, as if age had come all at once. Her face was lined, her mouth tight and the feeling emanating from her was menacing, cold and specific. Shaea stepped closer, her arm extended. She realised she was holding her breath. ‘A tap then, if you don’t mind?’ Shaea leaned in, her finger touching the witch on the shoulder. ‘Just like that.’

She snapped her hand back, clutching it to her breast. It burned and when she examined her finger she expected to see the flesh seared. She had no time to consider it further, in any case. Like falling glass, the glamour hit the ground. The sparrows squawked and faltered, righting themselves and flying away. The trees all but groaned, resuming their graceful sway in the breeze. An instant of cacophony blasted, the warhorse answering with a trumpet of his own before everyone settled. Everyone except the witch.

‘What took you so long?’ she croaked. Her voice was dry, like the sound of rocks scooped from a bucket. The witch shut her eyes and took a step forward, rubbing her shoulders. When she opened them again, she locked onto Shaea. ‘Did you walk the horses here backwards? Lazy, dawdling girl.’ She clapped her hands. ‘Get them! Now!’

Shaea didn’t move. ‘La Makee?’ She knew it was audacious, but she had to make certain. She wasn’t about to move until she was sure.

‘That be me,’ she said and spun around once. ‘And so be this.’

Shaea blinked. Suddenly Rall stood before her, still rubbing her shoulders, her face even more fierce.

‘You get it now, girl?’

Shaea nodded and Rall morphed back into the glamour of La Makee, if that really was the glamour. She wanted to ask which was really her but thought better of it.

Makee snapped her fingers. ‘The horses? Move your legs. We’ve far to ride.’

Shaea brought Makee the warhorse and returned for the mare. She mounted up, trying to sort her thoughts.

‘The Entity said if I…’

Makee lifted her hand, cutting her off. ‘The Entity said to do as I instruct. We ride, at the gallop. Follow.’

The golden horse reared, catching the urgency. Shaea held the mare back. Her horse wanted to bolt in the opposite direction, and so did she, but she resisted the instinct. The Entity was her key to freedom and she wasn’t going to lose it after getting this far. Makee turned her horse north at the run and Shaea followed.

Xane kept his outward appearance calm but, inside, his stomach roiled. The creatures in the well of his mind were frantic, shouting at him, passing images and numbers, symbols and letters across his mind’s eye faster than he could think. Everything he saw clashed with his memory of who he was. It didn’t make sense, yet it felt so familiar.
I’ve gone mad. The hemlock’s driven me psychotic.

He dropped his reins and clutched his head. He didn’t even know what
psychotic
meant. Was he possessed? Had his body been taken over? He shuddered, guiding the mare around a fallen log. It was too much to know. Too much to understand. In the depths of his mind, the creatures pounded their fists. He turned away, shortening his reins and pressing Rose into a gallop.
Ignore them. They aren’t there.

Willem had ordered him to stay close, and Xane kept him in sight, along with the temple priestesses. They galloped down the main road, but Xane followed the tree line, a stone’s throw away. Leagues of forest spread out before them and he navigated the terrain, keeping his eyes forward, trying not to think.

Then he spotted it. Or did he? Hallucination again? He double-checked and there it was, or was that another?
A wolf!
He reined the mare back to the road, nearly ploughing into the temple priestesses. He had to catch up to Willem. He had to report. This time it was real. The big man saw his panic and held up his arm, stopping the others.

‘Wolves!’ Xane said, sputtering the words. ‘They’re running this way.’ His mare rocked back on her hindquarters, pawing the air. The witches exchanged glances but didn’t speak.

‘Easy, lad. You’ve seen wolves? Are you sure?’ Willem snapped his fingers over his head as he spoke, sending a scout in each direction.

‘I don’t know how many,’ Xane said, catching his breath. ‘More than one, though. I’m sure. They’re coming this way, coursing for scent.’

Willem waved up the archers and they set arrows to their bows, following the scouts into the woods. One of the temple witches pushed back her cowl, speaking
directly to Xane. He shivered under her gaze but didn’t look away.

‘There are no wolves in these woods, lad. You must have seen a stray dog, or a badger.’

Xane didn’t respond immediately. A falcon whistled overhead and he resisted the urge to look up. He swallowed. The woman had hauntingly pale eyes and red hair that fell to her waist in a dozen braids. He squared his shoulders, finding confidence from an unknown source. ‘I know the look of a dog, Mistress, and that of a badger. They each move in distinct ways, and have their own conformation. I saw neither dog nor badger. These were wolves, Mistress, the size of timber ponies. They were like wolves of the Lupin order, if the stories are true.’ His chin lifted. ‘That’s my guess. Lupins.’

A gasp rolled over the nearest riders. The witch lifted her brow. ‘The Lupin order, is it? And what do you know of such things?’

A flash of images crossed his mind—twisting ladders, rivers of blood, wolf packs hunting, being hunted. Silver tables, heat lamps, puppies in a box. They came so fast he wanted to scream. These couldn’t be true visions. They made no sense. Besides, Lupins were mythical creatures, composed by the ancient storytellers to control adventurous children, explain strange sightings, missing livestock, rumblings in the ground and even the theft of blue lapis, a stone supposedly sacred to the creatures. Myths, all of it. Xane used to think so, anyway. Why was he even speaking of them?

He recalled the man in the carriage next to the temple cat and the later reports of the wolf. The ravaging. He cleared his throat, thinking of the wolf that had passed him and Gracie that day on the road. ‘Lupins are myth, as far as I know, but what I’ve seen
is the likes of them and I’ve seen more than one for sure. They are headed this way.’ He didn’t mention the ones he saw, or thought he saw, before.

The witch waved her hand, shooing a fly. ‘I hardly think you’ve seen one at all, lad.’ She turned her attention to Willem. ‘Ride on. We’ll follow the scouts. This is nonsense, but we will vanquish the fears.’

Xane frowned. The temple priestesses were giving orders to Willem?

‘And you!’ She pointed her finger straight at him. ‘Follow me.’

Xane hesitated, looking to Willem. He knew the man wanted to keep him close but his face was a mask. He flicked his hand at Xane, his attention elsewhere.

‘Yes, Mistress,’ Xane said, clucking to Rose. This High Priestess was doing nothing to vanquish his fears, or the mare’s. Rose was reluctant to ride off with the temple witches on their golden mounts, and so was he. It took a strong heel pressed into her flank but he got her moving, off the road, into the trees, straight for where his Lupins were last seen.

Teg skidded to a halt, his tongue lolling. He’d left Rashnan’s clan to the south and was checking the road to Dumarka. He sensed riders coming his way and ducked behind a tree just in time. He knew he was hidden from human eyes and the horses wouldn’t scent him upwind. He peeked around the edge of the tree, his ears pinned to his neck, out of the way. He blinked once and dropped to his belly. That lad on the dappled grey mare, the same one he’d seen from the carriage with Rosette, had halted a tree length in front of him, staring.
Can that be coincidence?
Why do I keep running into this boy? He drew to him the Elementals and made ready to blast him out of the
saddle. He didn’t want to drop him, or send up a warning that would alert the other scouts, but he was ready in case he was spotted.

Teg waited a moment before backing away. He stayed crouched and hidden. In three silent leaps he was far off to the side, indistinguishable among the foliage. The lad looked immediately his way. Impossible. A human couldn’t have spotted that movement. Teg lifted his head and they stared at each other until the lad turned his horse, bolting towards the road.

Demons! They’re closer than I thought and now the boy will set up an alarm.

Teg looked behind. Rashnan’s clan was a half-hour’s run back. He wasn’t going to get help from them any time soon. He needed to stay hidden. Make his way southeast. A falcon cry sent shivers up his spine.
Rosette?

Teg? Are you crazed? You’re like a duck on a dinner plate that close to the road. Get out of there.

He took off.

Not that way!
she screamed in his mind.
You’re heading straight for the archers.

He doubled back and she screamed again.

Stop! It’s no good. They’re all around you.

I’ll not be trapped.

Not if you hold still and listen to me.

He froze, trying to control his panting.

Stop gasping. I can’t weave a glamour over you when you’re heaving like a bellows.

He snapped his mouth shut, the air rushing in and out of his nose.

Quiet!

He took one long, exaggerated breath and let it out a molecule at a time, willing his heart rate to drop and his respiration with it.

Better. Are you so out of shape?

Hardly. I’ve covered leagues at a dead run since sunrise.

And you didn’t know you’d tripped over this lot? There are temple witches among them. I bet they’d love to get their first look at a live Lupin—or a dead one, for that matter.

Teg licked his lips.
How’s the glamour coming?

I’ve got you covered, Teg. They are here. Silence.

He felt the ground vibrate. Horses trotted by, the cowled riders looking left and right, some looking right at him before riding on. He allowed a small sigh. Archers followed, and the lad on the dappled grey mare.

Mind this one, Rosette. He spotted me in the first place. He’s got some eyes.

He felt another layer of the glamour waft over him, like a blanket draping about his shoulders on a winter night. The archers disappeared, leaving only hoof prints and scattered leaves behind. He felt the glamour lift.

Thank you, Rosette.

My pleasure, sweetheart. May I suggest you give me a hand?