The spring ground was wet against Carey's face, the strong humus smell of it unmistakable in his nose. He lifted his head, watched the woods spin around his field of view in response, and quickly closed his eyes. "Burning hells," he whispered to himself, only now realizing how much improvement Arlen had made in the refined versions of the changespell. He clenched his jaw on the bile in his throat, told himself don't throw up, don't throw up, don't—
Someone beside him threw up.
That would be Suliya, her first introduction to world travel full of turbulence and a rocky landing, and he ought to say something reassuring like it gets better but just at that moment his jaw was clenched even harder—
He swallowed, took a breath, swallowed again . . . and cautiously lifted his head to the steady drizzling rain that silvered the young, brightly green leaves around them.
We're all here. Not separated, not flung to the winds . . . Dayna, sprawled on her stomach much as he'd been, groaning imprecations at the world; Suliya, dazed and clinging to the lead rope of an empty halter—a halter draped carelessly over the lanky form of a man with an odd gold-tan sheen to his completely exposed skin and orange stripes in his flaxen hair. Unlike the others, he hadn't arrived spilled over on his stomach; he looked more like a puppet for which someone had suddenly cut the strings, ungainly and awkward. And not yet conscious . . . the best time they'd ever have to get clothes on him.
"Suliya," Carey said, or meant to; it sounded more like a croak. He worked his too-dry mouth until he had enough spit to try again, and said, "You have to get him dressed . . . now . . . before he wakes up—"
She apparently found the thought of wrestling with the palomino man alarming enough to get her moving past her discomfort; Dayna dragged herself through wet leaf layers to lend a hand.
And Carey found Jess. As unconscious as the palomino, taking the change hard . . . curled into a shivering ball, her head lolling with a slackness that sent a skin-tightening moment of dread through Carey even though he knew better; he could easily see the movement of her goosebumped ribs with her breath. "Clothes, Jess," he muttered, making it to her on hands and knees and gently disentangling her from her harness. Limp-limbed, she gave no sign of rousing; he couldn't recall ever seeing her so affected.
Then again, he hadn't been there the first time it had happened, her first experience with these parkland trees and paths and the entirely new world that greeted her opening eyes.
Stifling a curse and a shock of guilt—I did this to you—he dug through her carefully packed saddlebags and pulled out her underlayers, an Earth-made sweatshirt with a horsey design and a pair of Wrangler jeans. With Suliya and Dayna exchanging snatches of directions at each other—"Move his leg" and "Lift his butt" and one short, mortified, "Watch out for his—the zipper!" in the background, he dressed Jess on his own. Dressed her as though she were a child, hands gentle on her long limbs, confidently intimate as he arranged her underlayers and carefully eased her hair out from within the sweatshirt.
As he snapped the jeans together, her breathing went from slow and shallow to a quick fearful stutter, and he leaned over to meet her confused gaze as her eyes fluttered open—not successfully at first, not all the way, but when finally she looked out from behind them, she found him waiting.
"You all right?" he asked, a strange echo of his words from the barn.
She frowned slightly, looking at the canopy of trees above them, glancing at her own rain-beaded hand as if she weren't sure that's what she'd find at the end of her arm. Then she said, "Hard," in one of her single-word sentences that always made perfect sense to him.
"Yeah," he agreed, running a hand down her arm. "Take your time. All we have to do for now is find the path. No hurry."
"Some hurry," Dayna said from behind him. "If we get caught off trail, we're going to draw a lot of attention. The rangers here aren't police officers per se, but they won't hesitate to call them in if they think something off-spell is going on."
"Something off-spell is going on," Suliya muttered.
"That's the point," Dayna said. "Hand me that shoe, will you?"
"I think he's starting to come around—" Suliya's voice rose a little in trepidation; Carey glanced over his shoulder to find Dayna struggling with the last shoe and the palomino—the man—on his back after their ministrations, his arm twitching.
Jess rolled to her side, struggling to make it at least to her knees. "He will be so scared—"
"Take it easy, Jess. We can handle it."
"But you don't know—" she cried, more anguish than volume, and too wobbly to do anything but fold back to the ground and rest her head on her arms despite her best effort.
Carey stroked the back of her head, following her long hair down her spine, as aware as she that these next few moments were crucial, and would likely set the tone for the rest of their time with this newly changed man. "No, we don't know. But we'll do our best. Be easy, Jess."
He didn't think she had a choice, not to judge by the soft whimper that escaped from her. But he'd hoped the man would be slower than she to recover; she, at least, was accustomed to changing.
"His name," she said, muffled and indistinct, "is Ramble."
He'd never even asked.
Dammit.
The Ohio woods of Highbanks Metropark looped and swirled around Jess, defeating her every attempt to rise; utter frustration released a tear; it followed the upper curve of her cheek and then dropped to the already wet ground just inches from her face. She'd wanted to be here to help Ramble, to make these moments as easy as possible for him.
She'd never expected to find herself as weak as a newborn foal.
Memories came rushing back, the way it had been that first change—memories nearly buried by the intensity of her confusion at the time, and by the number of seamless changes she'd made since then, both on her own and while traveling here.
Arlen had indeed improved the spell from that first hesitant version. Or something else had gone very wrong—
Arlen, she thought, focusing on the image of him. They were here for Arlen, and for the rest of Camolen. And she was here for Ramble, to help him adjust. Not to swoon dizzily in the leaf humus, not to get lost in the enormity of her own first change. Not to churn inside over how badly she wanted to lean into Carey's hand on her back at the same time she was so deeply, coldly angry at him.
"Carey," Dayna said uncertainly from the other side of Carey, from where Jess had managed to get a brief glimpse of the man Ramble had become before the weight of her own limbs dragged her back to the ground. Bigger than any of them, with a ranginess that perfectly reflected the palomino's own.
If he gave them trouble, they'd be no match for him.
"Carey," Dayna repeated, more uncertainly yet.
Carey brought his head down to hers. "Be easy, Jess," he said, and she couldn't tell if he kept invoking one of his old Words with her out of habit, or because he thought it might truly have some influence that sat deeper than her wariness of the needs that drove him.
If so, he was right. She couldn't help it, couldn't help but listen to him crooning easy and respond with the trust that he'd trained into her as a foal, then a yearling, then a young mare under saddle. She sighed deeply, losing the edge of her anxiety. "Go help," she told him.
Her back was cold where his hand had been.
Her attention drifted; she didn't know for how long. Long enough for some of the strength to seep back into her muscles. The world steadied; she became more aware of the rain dampening her sweatshirt, of the birds boldly ignoring them to flutter in the surrounding underbrush, of Carey murmuring not far away—using the same kinds of words he gave Lady but slightly firmer. More authority than reassurance, but not pushing.
Ramble needed more than that. He needed to hear a language he could understand. His language.
Her language.
She jerked her head up at a sudden explosion of activity—Ramble in action, Dayna just trying to get out of the way, Suliya tugging at his arm, Carey simply placing himself in Ramble's way, giving him a quick push and then giving him the time to think about it.
Jess remembered the impossible effort of trying to make her new arms and legs work. As had been Lady's nature, she'd been thoughtful about the process even through her fear. Ramble, she thought, was more likely to get mad—and then, without a halter, without restraints, they would lose him to the woods.
She got to her knees where he could see her, the trees tipping only mildly around her now . . . and she lifted her head to give him a throaty nicker.
He froze, distracted from human antics; he perked his ears and arched his neck and—
No. So strange, how she could look at this human form and know exactly what the horse in him meant to do. But the human form merely tipped his head slightly, straightening almost imperceptibly, focusing sharply on her.
She remembered that, too. Sudden binocular perception over her entire field of vision. And color. Intensive color, for the first time, and the assault of it on her mind. How grateful she'd been when she realized she could trust Dayna and her friend Eric even if she closed her eyes, how relieved to retreat to the interior of Dayna's house and its muted color scheme. Now, still on her knees, she moved a little closer, calling to him again. More quietly this time. Reassuring instead of attention-grabbing.
He softened a little, taking cues in that most horsey of ways . . . if she wasn't running, then he didn't need to run, either. If her posture was soft and relaxed, she perceived no threat to either of them. She lifted her chin a little, stretching her neck, eyes wide and curious. A mare inviting a stallion to say hello.
"There you go," Carey breathed, easing aside so he could move with Ramble, maintaining the connection he'd established.
"We're spellin', then, ay?" Suliya said, as quietly as Carey.
"I think we'll be all right," he said. "Just give him some time. Let him tell us when it's all right to get a little closer."
Jess shifted a little, putting her shoulder to the man, taking away any sign of aggression from her stance and giving him the chance to make the approach. Clumsily, still on his knees, still dropping a hand to the ground for balance now and then, freezing and tilting his head in warning when Suliya once moved too suddenly, hesitating to watch Dayna when she murmured something about finding the nature trail and then eased away to do it, he approached.
Ramble came to within arm's length of Jess and then stopped, apparently simply unable to process what he should do next, without a long neck with which to stretch out his head and greet her, carefully tasting of her breath while she inspected him in turn. She gave him a little nicker, a gentle exhalation. Encouragement, all the while watching him for any signs of sudden fear or aggression—hard to tell when he might explode, with the tension underlying his movements and filling his burnished features—hard-boned features, with a curved nose reflecting the mild arch of his horse's face, his cheeks and jaw less refined than Jess's. His eyes flickered between worry and interest and downright annoyance, and she knew they had been right not to push him, knew they needed to stay soft and relaxed and quiet—
Dayna's panicked reappearance shattered their careful peace into irretrievable shards. She startled Jess, she startled Carey and Suliya, and her gritted-teeth hiss of warning—"Park naturalist on the trail, we don't want to be caught here—" turned Ramble's alarm into action. Boxed in on three sides by Jess, Carey and Suliya, he whipped around, surging to his feet to bolt away in the fourth—and colliding solidly with Dayna. Carey and Suliya were on him in an instant, even while Jess made it to her own feet, hesitating to join the fray when one more person could turn Ramble's resistance into utter panic and escape.
For she had no doubt he could escape, and would—if they drove him to it.
"Easy," Carey said, his arms spread wide to make himself imposing without actually grabbing for the man, but Suliya latched on to Ramble's arm and suddenly found herself facing his teeth, spared a serious bite only because Ramble's neck didn't reach nearly as long as he thought it should. Far outmatched, Dayna ended up on the ground practically under his feet, and her attempts to disentangle herself only made it worse; Jess groaned in dismay as the scene turned to chaos, and then whirled at the barely audible scuff of a hard-soled boot against rock.
They couldn't be caught here—and here they were, making noise, being visible, being as obvious as any small group of people could get. Off trail, breaking rules, with none of the identification of which this world was so fond, and a whirlwind melee centered around a man who until just a short while ago knew only of being a horse. A stallion.
Jess hesitated, frozen with indecision—but just for an instant. Then she sprinted for the nature trail from which Dayna had come, wobbly but intent, ignoring Carey's surprised, "Jess!" and his curse as, with another spurt of noisy struggle, Ramble reclaimed everyone's attention.
She veered as she ran, dodging trees and avoiding roots and sending the birds in all directions—something else that ought to grab the park naturalist's attention—aiming to hit the trail behind the naturalist, to draw attention back down the trail and away from her friends. She, like Dayna, knew this park; she knew the spot where they'd arrived, and in what direction the nature center and parking lots lay. But still uncertain on her feet, she tripped—a vine, a root, a rock, she couldn't tell—and went sprawling, smearing herself with wet leaves and dirt.
A woman's alto voice, full of authority, rang through the air. "Hello, in the woods! Come back out to the trail!"
Jess rubbed her dirt-covered cheek on the inside of her wrist and climbed to her feet. The fall, at least, had gotten the naturalist's attention. No running, not anymore—and just as well, for her brief spurt of activity had cost her. Stumbling more than before, she did as directed—she headed for the trail, still aiming to hit it closer to the nature center than if she'd followed the woman's voice.
Within a few moments, she saw the movement of the tan-and-brown-clad naturalist through the trees; the woman had accurately pinpointed Jess's location and she was waiting on the trail when Jess arrived, hopping one-footed onto the packed dirt trail as she disentangled her bare ankle from one last encounter with a thorn-studded green vine.
They regarded one another for a moment, but a moment was all the naturalist took. "These woods are protected," the woman said. "What were you doing out there?"
Jess needed another moment yet, taking in the woman's unyieldingly stern face, her short dark hair slicked back under a Metroparks cap, her water-beaded raincoat crinkling audibly with the movement of her hands going to her hips. She looked Jaime's age, with more sun lines and smile lines that weren't the least bit in use at the moment.
She looked like someone who expected answers.
Jess had thought only of drawing attention, and not what she'd do when she had it . . . and lying had never been something at which she was convincing. Before she could come up with one, the woman's eyes narrowed, flicking from Jess's odd dun hair with its black center stripe to her larger than normal irises, and then to her damp, dirt-smeared clothing.
And her bare feet, one ankle dripping blood from the vine.
"Looking for my friend's brother!" Jess blurted, only the truth after all and a desperate attempt to draw attention from her tough-soled feet. Her phantom ears flicked back and forth, attending the woman, listening for the sounds of the struggle she'd left behind her. Nothing so far . . . either she'd given them enough distance, or they'd gotten the palomino under control.
"He's off the trail, too?" the woman said sharply.
"I got lost." That one was a lie, but her awkwardness in telling it looked as much like embarrassment at being lost as anything.
"In more ways than one, I think," the woman muttered. "Do you live here? In the Columbus area?"
Jess cocked her head, trying to understand the relevance of the question . . . trying to decide how to answer it.
"You sound like you might be from . . . out of town," the woman said, not unkindly despite her obvious remaining disapproval at Jess's presence in the woods.
"Yes," Jess said, deciding then and there to let her remaining stray awkwardness with words speak for her. "Out of town." Definitely out of town.
"Sometimes visitors aren't familiar with our rules. We try to be understanding, but the rules are there to protect the woods, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave the park."
Not a consequence that had occurred to her. To be separated from the others? And with no car, not even a horse to ride. The world shifted around her, and Jess wasn't sure if the effect was left over from the change or simply a matter of things happening too fast for her to keep up with. "But Mark—"
The naturalist eyed her again, head to toe. "I'll escort you to the nature center. It's the first place people come when they've gotten separated; you can wait for him there. It's out of the rain." She shook her head as her gaze landed on Jess's feet. "You sure you're all right? There's not anything you're not telling me, is there?"
Only everything. Jess felt it safer not to answer that one at all. She hugged her damp sweatshirt against herself and struck out for the nature center, determined not to wobble anymore until they reached it and she could sit. If she faltered, if she fell, then she'd only bring more park people here to help her . . . and she needed to clear this trail for Carey. Carey and Dayna and Suliya, and a resentful flaxen-haired man named Ramble.
Things could be worse, Suliya thought. Jess had drawn the park naturalist—a peacekeeper of some sort, to judge by Dayna's reaction—away, and the palomino was under control.
For now, at least. His expression wasn't that of a man she'd trust to do anything but cause trouble at the first opportunity. She'd already caught him staring at her, his jaw dropped slightly with the same expression his horse-self wore when contemplating a bite—except he distracted himself, frowning, working his jaw, tilting his head . . . trying to sort out this new body.
"Burning hells," Carey said, contemplating the man. "That could have gone better in so many ways I've lost track."
"At least it's raining," Dayna said, but her voice held weary agreement, not argument. "Not hard enough to soak us, but it's enough to keep the casual visitors away. With any luck, we'll have this trail to ourselves until we reach the parking lot. And with real luck, Mark will be waiting for us."
Carey still eyed the palomino, his mouth twisted in disapproval. "He's never going to trust us now. Jess is our only chance."
Ramble gave an angry snort, as if he could have possibly understood. Suliya knew better . . . he was just expressing frustration over the way his jaw functioned. But she didn't disagree with Carey, either. The palomino—finally brought under control when Carey twisted his ear, a common enough tactic with a rank and dangerous horse—sat awkwardly on the ground, constantly shifting as though he might find a way to arrange his legs that felt natural. Carey'd slipped a rope around his neck, knotted so it wouldn't tighten, and hobbled his arms.
"Wouldn't using those on his legs do more good?" Suliya had asked at the time.
"He's used to wearing them on his front legs; he's not as smart a horse as Lady and I think he'll consider himself hobbled." And then he'd thrown her a wry look, rubbing a reddened spot on his cheek. "Besides, he can't hit us this way."
True enough. Though Suliya herself intended to remember that ear twist once they got under way and the man had the chance to figure out hobbled front legs in this form didn't mean he couldn't run as fast as ever.
Carey picked up Jess's harness and saddlebags, slipping them over his shoulder. His own bag was a travel-sling, as was Suliya's remaining bag. Dayna stuffed her own small shoulder-carry into Ramble's now empty bag and straightened her tunic; the rain beaded on it. Wizard's clothing, spelled against such inconveniences as rain. Suliya, too, had once taken such things for granted. "That's that, I suppose," Dayna said. "We need to get out of here before something else comes up."
"I doubt we've got much of a break where he's concerned—he'll try us out again soon," Carey said, coiling the end of the palomino's neck rope and closing his fingers around it. Where Suliya would have tugged, he just made a clucking noise. "Hup, Ramble. Let's go."
Ramble's evident doubt had more to do with his legs and their use; he was aware of the hobbles, aware of his earlier failure. He made a few hesitant attempts to rise, and then eyed Carey with what he thought was a sly look, waiting to see if Carey believed his inability to walk.
"Suliya," Carey said, most casually. "Find me a good switch, will you?"
"You're not really—" Dayna started, but stopped, uncertain; she was already edging toward the trail, obviously eager to get moving, but—"He's human now . . ."
"A man who still thinks like a horse. Thinks he is a horse." Carey nodded at Suliya, who scanned the trees around them for a long and whippy limb . . . most of the brush bore short crooked branches, and the tree branches started way over her head. She finally found a sapling and tore off one of its lean branches; as she made her way back to the others, Carey again urged the palomino to his feet.
Same result. Suliya could have told him that. This horse—as horse or man—had his own ideas about what he would and wouldn't do. She stripped the leaves off the switch and handed it to Carey.
"Perfect," Carey said, making a show of examining it, tapping it against his leg. Ramble's nostrils flared in utter annoyance, and the next time Carey asked him to move out, he heaved himself to his feet, ungainly and uncertain, but this time really trying. "Thatta boy," Carey told him. "We can make this work, Ramble."
"You knew," Dayna said, background noise as far as Suliya was concerned; she was busy taking her first good look at the man. He was taller than any of them, thicker across the shoulders than Carey despite his overall rangy look, and the strong bones of his face suddenly seemed to suit him much better. Beside her, Dayna said, "You knew you wouldn't have to use it."
"I damn well hoped," Carey said. "I don't honestly know if I could have . . . And once he starts understanding things as a man, I doubt he would have forgiven it."
"And he won't give that rope around his neck a second thought, I suppose," Dayna said dryly.
Carey took a deep breath, one mixed with regret and frustration. "I don't think we can handle him without it. It's going to be a long walk out of here."
Dayna said, "It's already a long walk out of here. Let's just hope we find Mark at the end of it."
How casual they were. Roping this man, evading the peacekeepers of a foreign land, making plans to walk out to this parking lot thing Dayna kept mentioning . . .
Ramble followed Carey through the woods; Carey followed Dayna. And Suliya brought up the rear, hugging close the open-front sweater her younger sister had bought for her last year. At the time she'd agreed to come along, she'd thought it a certain way to gain Carey's attention, to earn his respect . . . and in turn, to regain her family's respect.
Now, watching Ramble, she felt the enormity of it nibbling away at the edges of her nonchalant self-confidence. The travel, her presence in this world that at once seemed familiar and alien . . . the irrevocable nature of this adventure she'd agreed to involve herself with . . . all represented in this horse so freshly turned to man that Carey led him away in hobbles, a neck rope, and a switch at the ready.