Suliya finally showed up with two heavy bags slung over her shoulder, eliciting much dry amusement from Carey. Just shy of a shouting match later, they'd whittled her supplies down to one bag—"It's spring there," Carey said more than once, eyeing the extra sweater she wanted to bring, "and we can get anything you need!"—and gathered up all the gear to head for the foaling stall from which they planned to depart, the barn almost entirely cleared of witnesses. Two horses and three people, all holding hands and clinging to lead ropes with the plan to avoid the separation Carey and Jess had experienced on their first journey.
Then again, Jess thought as she trailed the group down the aisle, on that first journey she and Carey had just pitched over the edge of a steep, vertical, dry riverbed, with Carey already flung from the saddle by the impact of an arrow. Since then they'd used more refined spells for the handful of visits to Earth they'd made, and had no way of knowing how much of the separation had been caused by the spell, and how much caused by the circumstances under which Carey had triggered it to save their lives.
Jess set her saddlebags down next to her changing stall; she intended to wear her harness with her bags—and clothes—firmly attached; she knew for certain her gear would come with her even if the travelers became separated, and if nothing else she wasn't going to end up in Ohio—off-trail in one of the area's nature parks, to be precise—without clothing to pull on. Nakedness had never bothered her in the least . . . but she'd learned to avoid the reactions from others when they had to deal with it.
She waited for Tenlia, one of Carey's couriers and tired-looking at that, to lead her second horse of the day down toward the door, lifting a hand in greeting to Jess on the way by; the woman didn't even notice the occupants of the foaling stall, although the travelers would wait for the barn to clear before acting. No wonder Jaime had been left with instructions to recruit riders if she could, to scour Anfeald for suitable horses, and to streamline the ride assignments—although Jess still harbored hopes that Jaime would decide to travel with them. Jaime, the one person who seemed to understand the depth of Jess's reluctance over their decisions for the palomino, the one who saw the goods and the bads of their plans clearly in spite of what she wanted or wished things would be.
Jaime, who was coming down the aisle to see them off.
Jess lingered by the door of the changing stall, wanting a few last human moments. "Are you sure—" she started as Jaime reached her—but Jaime shook her head before Jess could even finish.
"I know this might be my last chance to get home," she said. "Believe me, I know that. There's no telling how things are going to go on this end—or if the new Council will even allow the travel spell at all without Arlen—" She stopped, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then met Jess's gaze with a sad, almost self-mocking look. "It's just that I can't believe it yet." Arlen's death. "And until I can believe it, I can't leave. I can't . . . I mean, what if he shows up tomorrow? No one ever saw him dead . . . and if he did—show up, I mean—then I have to—"
"Jaime," Jess said, cutting her off with that single low word; Jaime looked surprised, as if suddenly realizing she'd been babbling. Jess said, "Do you remember how hard I looked for Carey when Dayna and Eric first found me? When no one believed I was a horse—Carey's horse—or that he was even real?"
Jaime gave her a hesitant nod.
"Stay here," Jess said. "Wait for Arlen."
Jaime seemed to stop breathing for a moment, and when she started again it was in an uncertain fashion. But then she turned to the matters at hand and said, "Anyway, I can do some good here for both Carey and Arlen, at least when I'm not drugged into oblivion. And Mark ought to be expecting you; I spelled him a message last night. The only question is whether he'll read it in time—he doesn't seem to check the thing regularly."
"We have his phone number," Jess said, Ohio words that felt strange in her mouth after so many months without a visit. "And Simney is working on the thing that happens to you in the evening?"
Jaime gave her a wry grin. "Yes, Simney is working on the thing. And Cesna, too; it's giving her something to think about that has nothing to do with Arlen, and she's good at little mysteries like that. They both agree it has something to do with magic. They'll figure it out. I can afford to be a little more patient as long as I have the spelled wine."
Carey and Suliya came down the aisle leading the stallion. Carey peeled off from her side then hesitated by Jess and Jaime. "You all right?" he asked Jaime. "You want to make any last-minute changes?"
Jaime shook her head, resolute despite the delicacy she seemed to have taken on over the last few days. Jess had never imagined looking at Jaime's strong rider's body and thinking the word delicate at the same moment, but here she'd done it, and not for the first time. But Jaime just said, "I wish you'd rethink this plan, but I'm through arguing about it. I'll stay here and do what I need to. I hope I'm wrong, and this turns out to be the right thing." She hesitated, but didn't offer him a parting hug even though it hung between them. She and he had started off too much on the wrong foot, and Jess had long ago accepted that the history between them meant they would never be close friends, no matter how well they knew one another.
"Thank you," Carey said, holding Jaime's gaze a beat longer than necessary—saying those things they could never say. And then he turned to Jess and repeated his question. "You all right? Last-minute changes?"
Jess, too, shook her head. The changes she wanted would never happen, and it would bother her too much to ask and be denied . . . again. She still mourned the loss of something between them. Something she hadn't yet quite identified, but felt as keenly as any clumsy hand on the rein . . . and something that Carey only now seemed to notice.
"Jess," he said—and stopped, at a loss. "Jess, I—"
Jess said softly, "Choices matter," and left it at that.
He rubbed his thumb over his lower lip, looked at her another contemplative moment, and then, torn, looked away, failing her and knowing it. Making choices. "See you on the other side of the spell," he said, hesitated again, and then headed for the foaling stall.
"Yes," Jess said, still softly, watching after him. "The other side of the spell."
"Don't worry," Jaime said, keeping her voice low. "You know how he gets when it comes to doing his best for Arlen. The man practically brought him up. He'll get through this."
"Through being a man-brained mule's butt?" Jess asked, not quite able to put the asperity in her voice that she'd intended.
Jaime laughed anyway, and gave her a quick hug. "Come back soon," she said. "I'll keep a stall bedded for you."
And Jess had to laugh too, no doubt what Jaime had intended. She ducked into the changing stall, centering herself so she'd fit as Lady; closing her eyes, she triggered one of the sapphire stones dangling from her long, thin, spellstone braid.
The magic swept through her, blinding her to everything but the changing sensations of her world; she threw her head back, embracing the essence of the Lady shape she loved so well. Four strong hooves, nostrils flared to catch the sudden renewed strength of the scents around her, the awareness of her own strength, her speed, her power . . .
Her willingness to harness them all for the people around her.
Fully, solidly equine, Lady lowered her head and shook like a dog, black mane flapping . . . a changing-time ritual. Then she took careful stock of herself, sorting out what remained of her human feelings and intentions, finding her own conflicts anew, recognizing the imperative the Jess-self had left for her—to stand while harnessed and then join the others at the foaling stall even though some part of her—Jess parts too complex for her to think about in Lady form—didn't want to do it.
It was a new dilemma for Lady . . . do this and don't do this directions at the same time. She ducked her head, scratching her nose along the inside of her foreleg, black forelock falling into her eyes. She was as dun as dun got, Lady was—not a sooty dun like her brother, but a fine clear-coated buckskin dun, thick black line down her back, tiger striping ghosting up her legs, black points all around. Striking color on solid conformation, good sloping angles, strong loin, and a sweet arching neck . . . she raised her head, a dry-boned, clean-cut head unlike the coarser features of the palomino, who now stuck his head from the open foaling stall door as he puzzled about suddenly scenting a new and yet somehow familiar mare.
Suliya gave his lead a futile tug and that put Lady in motion. She nudged open the unlatched stall door and waited with ill-concealed impatience while Jaime buckled up her special courier harness—saddlebags, clothes, and all—her head bobbing, ears pricked in complete attention at the foaling stall. But when Jaime gave her a pat and said, "You're all set," she flicked an ear back in her version of a thoughtful frown, turning her head to nuzzle her friend. Worried.
"It's okay," Jaime said softly. "Go ahead."
So Lady blew a gentle snort and headed for the stall with long, free strides that were entirely reflected in the way she moved as Jess. By the time she got there, Suliya had convinced the stallion to move to the back of the stall, but she couldn't stop his posturing; he met Lady with his neck arched high, prancing in place and offering a courtly series of grunting nickers.
Lady flattened her ears, informing him that he was far too forward, and Suliya eyed her with alarm. "Carey—"
"We're going," Carey said, placing a hand on Lady's harness, holding tight.
And Lady's world wrenched itself inside out . . . and despite the sudden inner cry of Jess's despair in her mind, jerked her right along with it.