Meet the Family Page 2

  And the bay was out the gate on one side as another horse came in the other.

  The big draft horse went through more gibberish and banging of gavels.

  I'm not catching three-fourths of that. One knows what I'll buy or how much I'll pay for it.

  Two more high strung ex-race horses, then a scruffy pinto.

  "Rides and drives, a nice big mare, eighteen years old, back page, but what do you expect with an experienced horse. Plenty of miles left on her." The auctioneer leaned to the side for a mumbled question, nodded. "Saddle and bridle sell with her. Who'll give me twenty for this nice little mare?"

  "Twenty, twenty . . ." devolved into gibberish as the lad doing the showing mounted and proceeded to try and get the clearly irritated horse to show some action.

  :: Ought to buck him off! :: The mare trotted in the confined space, spun back to trot the other way.

  Rael swallowed. "Ten."

  "Ten, we have ten from the little lady. Good tastes, now you gentlemen aren't going to let her steal this nice mare—and tack—that saddle alone is worth ten!" A scattering of laughs from the spectators. "Ten, who'll give me twenty . . . gibberish . . . Twenty, thank you sir, back to you young lady do I hear thirty?"

  Rael rather suspected the "gentleman" was a buddy of the auctioneer, but thirty-five wasn't a bad price, since it included the tack.

  And maybe I heard that horse and maybe I didn't.

  She got a tag with a number on it, and pointed at the office, where she paid, including taxes, and received a piece of paper.

  The lady there pointed at the picture. "You kin see the markings match, picture was obviously taken when the horse was a just a couple of years old." Sniff. "No guarantee about the breeders’ report of the bloodlines."

  The horse's family tree was followed by lines with names, dates and signatures. Six on the bottom of the page, then the woman flipped the page over to show more.

  Ah! That's what they mean by back page. Lots of owners. Well . . .

  The woman eyed Rael, scribbled on the paper, and stamped it. "Just show this to the boys in the back and they'll get your horse out. And sometimes the city guards ask about papers, just show them this."

  "Thanks." Rael flashed a smile and bounced out to see what she'd done.

  ***

  "The boys" gave her pitying looks and brought the old mare out.

  "I mean, her conformation's good, but no one but Travelers actually like pintos." The boy handed over the reins.

  Rael held out a hand to be huffed at. "Well, I'm doing some traveling so maybe me and . . . whatever her name is, will get along."

  She retrieved the paper from her bag. "Carousel. Oh, I like that!"

  The other boy shrugged. "You're fine if you're stopping at inns. Otherwise . . . do you know the kind of stuff you'll need?"

  :: A brush? Halter? :: The mare sounded hopeful.

  Rael nodded. "A brush and halter. Oats. Umm, where . . . ?"

  Both boys pointed down the road. "About half a mile."

  :: Let's go. I'm hungry. ::

  "Right." Rael slipped the reins over the mare’s head, checked the cinch, and got a foot up into the stirrup . . . hopped a bit as the mare shimmied around . . . "Hey! Be nice!"

  :: Sorry! Bad memory . . . oh, you're a lightweight. I can carry lots of oats. ::

  The feed store boasted a hitching rail and a trio of kids who eyed the mare with disfavor.

  "Huh. Travelers nag." The first one sneered.

  "She's got pretty good legs." The long haired one opined, circling around. "You need a thicker saddle blanket and your girth is pretty frayed."

  "At least she's well shod." The third kid frowned. "What sort of bit is that? It doesn't look very comfortable."

  :: It's not! ::

  Rael sighed. "I just bought her at the auction. I . . . guess I need a bunch of stuff."

  :: Don't forget the oats. ::

  Rael hauled the saddle off her, and went shopping.

  With the help of the youngsters, Rael spent almost as much as she'd paid for the horse on a nice leather halter, and long lead rope, a snaffle bit, a thick wool saddle blanket, fifty pounds of oats, a canvas feed bag . . . "Is that tobacco?" "Yep, kills the worms." "Eww!" A hoof pick and two brushes.

  Saddle bags to carry it all, the oats split so some could go in each side.

  Carousel munched oats and the little bit of tobacco while Rael brushed her . . . looked around to see a temporary absence of observers, and reached into her dimensional bag for her pocket flask of the Joy Juice. The most potent combination healing potion ever invented by some insane people . . . who probably lived in Ash. Maybe I'll ask who, when I get there.

  She dribbled a bit into the feed bag and let Carousel get back to eating.

  "That'll cure anything else you've got," Rael told her.

  The mare shook, shedding hair flying in all directions.

  Rael spit out horsehair and went back to brushing.

  "I'm heading for Wallenton, so we just need to find Commerce Street and the right corridor. Then we can take our time riding to Ash. And then . . . I'll go meet some seriously scary people, while you lounge around in a stable."

  Rael put the brush away, and the nosebag. "Well. Let's saddle up and hit the road."

  Fortunately she'd saddled enough horses enough times—maybe four altogether—that she managed to get everything in the right place with only a few snickers from the kids. She looked at the bridle.

  "No buckles, just years of lashed together leather . . . impossible to untie."

  :: And it pinches! ::

  Rael walked back inside to spend more money.

  The new bridle was much better looking. "That work for you?"

  The mare turned her head far enough to look at her straight on with one eye. :: Do you hear me? ::

  "Yes."

  :: People aren't supposed to hear us! ::

  "Very few of us do." Rael grinned. :: I think you'll like the place we're headed for. ::

  The mare's ears perked in astonishment, and she didn't object at all to being mounted.

  ***

  Commerce Street was amazing. A corridor angling off to the side every thirty meters or so. Wagons, riders, and pedestrians disappearing into them on the west side, and emerging on the east side, across the broad paved street.

  A few of the exiting horses were excited and misbehaving. Bad enough with the ridden animals, but Rael detoured wide around a mess with a single panicked horse making a tangled mess of his harness, and coming close to setting off the other three horses he was hitched with.

  :: Idiot. I knew all about corridors long before I was hitched to a wagon.:: A bit of nostalgia in the mare's thoughts, a brief flash of trotting beside Mom and seeing that scary white thing she was being towed toward.

  Rael blinked. :: White? ::

  Nod. Another flash vision, the double row of glowing white circles stretching down the road ahead of them.

  "Huh. That is interesting."

  Can Smart Horses have dimensional magic?

  "Now we just need to find the Wallenton corridor . . ." Rael returned to reading the signs on top of the rock arches the corridors were anchored to.

  The drover ahead of her turned around on his seat. "Wallenton's clear down at the south end. It'll be faster if you dodge over a block then down three."

  "Thanks!"

  Carousel was already turning down a narrow side alley, and was happy to trot a few blocks. :: I feel good! ::

  :: We call it the Joy Juice, I think the people who first made it call it the Wine of the Gods. ::

  Which is pretty presumptuous . . . unless it really was made by gods, which can't be ruled out, around here.

  Rael leaned a bit and Carousel turned up another alley, and back to Commerce Street.

  The second corridor to the right was Wallenton's. They waited for a wagon to pass through, then trotted through without breaking pace. Into a large paved area, with streets running off in all directions.
The buildings were lower, the roofs steeper. The tallest building in sight—well the top bit was in sight, all carved and sporting spiky towers—made her think cathedral.

  It was noon before we got out of Karista, and now we’re four land grants east, that’d be eight hundred miles, call it twelve hundred kilometers . . . so according to the sun . . .

  She took the largest road heading roughly northeast.

  It took a bit of winding through crooked streets until she hit the main part of the city, with a logical grid, and finally found the northeast gate.

  The two guards looked bored. "Great, a Traveler. You got papers for that horse, Lady?"

  Rael pulled out the grubby sheet.

  They looked at both sides. Pointed at something and snickered. Handed it back and waved her on.

  Rael frowned and as Carousel ambled on, took a better look at the last line . . .

  Sold to: Snotty Lady with short red hair.

  Rael giggled as she folded the paper and stashed it again.

  The bridge dead ahead was all stone, a narrow arch that crossed not just the river, but a broad dirt path beside it.

  Is that an old riding path, from before the corridors? Or . . . wait, I've heard of tow paths, from medieval stories, teams of horses or oxen towing barges upstream. Rael turned to study the path as they crossed the bridge and tried—failed—to imagine it. Really?

  She could see a convergence of rivers, downstream, where what appeared to be a smaller river, or large stream coming in from the east to enlarge the river she was crossing.

  Looking upstream, a larger bridge soared over the river and down into what looked like a warehouse and manufacturing district. There was construction on that side, not yet up to the road on the other side of the bridge. The paved road continued for another hundred meters, then became a long grassy ridge with multiple wheel tracks worn into it, exposing sandy soil.

  Carousel pranced on the grass and trotted for a bit.

  A T-intersection . . . the broad ridge of the road curved to the south, while a narrower raised road continued east.

  "Follow the Stink River, Ajha said. So . . . do I turn south to follow that river, or east to follow the smaller river that is probably beyond those trees?"

  :: There's an odd smell from down there. It doesn't really stink. ::

  "Hmm, well, lets head that way for a bit."

  Carousel tossed her head and cantered down the east road.

  And dropped to a walk after a kilometer. Sweating, and breathing hard. :: I used to be able to go all day. Sorry. I'm old. ::

  Rael leaned and patted her. "There's no rush . . . Oh. I haven't got any water, or . . ." She looked at the thick trees and brambles. And up the road. "There's a break in the tree line. Let's see if we can get down to the river there."

  She swung off the horse and loosened the cinch. Walked along beside her. "Everyone keeps calling you a Traveler's horse. What's a Traveler?"

  :: They live in wagons and travel wherever they wish. They trade a bit, and work a bit, and sell charms, and put on shows. :: A snort and toss of head. :: I'm not one of them! I'm a hauler's horse. ::

  "Huh. Gypsies . . . I wonder if the Rom got exiled or if it's just a lifestyle that resembles the Rom." Rael walked along briskly, to keep up with the long-legged mare's gait. "You're not really big and muscular, like most of the harness horses I've seen."

  :: I pulled a fast trap, at first. Then I got sold for a taxi horse, but people didn't like my color! So I got sold again . . . and again. ::

  "Huh. You're much better suited as a riding horse." Rael peered past a big oak and found a broad clearing sloping all the way down to a rushing stream. Nice and sandy, well drained, with hitching posts and a big stone water trough. "Now this is nice! Let's see about some water."

  The trough had a pipe with a lever, and once cleared of leaves, Rael found both a drain hole and a polished stone plug on a chain. She lifted the lever, wondering if she needed to pump, or . . . a gurgle from the pipe and it spit water a few times, then poured out a steady stream.

  She took a taste, clean and cold. Carousel lipped at the flow and nodded her approval.

  Rael half filled the trough, then walked down to the stream. Sniffed. Yes, a faint tang of sulfur. "Not hardly bad enough to call it Stink River, although I suppose once the snow melt’s not diluting it, it could get quite . . . fragrant."

  Carousel just started munching grass.

  Rael stretched her legs. "I haven't been riding enough lately. I'm going to be sore tomorrow. And . . . it's late afternoon and this is a great place to camp. Shall we call it a day?"

  The mare nodded.

  Real unsaddled her, and hauled the saddle and the saddle bags over to a nice flat spot in the sun.

  Carousel followed. :: You're supposed to tie me up. ::

  "Well, sure, if you were an ordinary horse." Rael pulled the bridle off, easing the bit out of her mouth. "I mean, if you want, I can do it."

  :: But what if I run away? ::

  "Then I'll have to walk to Ash. Actually, you might want to wait to run away until after we get to Ash. Talk to the horses there. Or if you don't like snowy winters, Embassy would be nice. Lots of smart horses there, too."

  :: Any handsome stallions? I'm in the mood . . . ::

  "Some of the best stallions in the Multiverse."

  :: Right. We'll head for Ash early in the morning. ::

  It was bloody cold. And something howled and made weird shrieks across the river.

  :: Coyotes. If they cross the river, I'll stomp them. :: Carousel went back to grazing.

  "Don't you need to sleep?"

  :: I caught a couple of hours already. It's nice out here. I haven't just grazed the night away for a long time. ::

  "Do you remember where you're from?'

  :: I don't know the names. I would recognize it. ::

  Real reached out of her sleeping bag and grabbed her jacket. Spread it over the sleeping bag and drifted off.

  In the morning, they headed out in the early light, walking and trotting, another brief canter. They met a group with four wagons, heading the other direction. The driver of the lead wagon frowned at Carousel.

  Hey! I see some spots on your horses, too!

  Rael cleared her throat. "Are you coming from Ash?"

  "Yes . . ." The man's eyes drifted back to Carousel. "Do you know her breeding?"

  "Well, her papers said something about her sire being named Solstice, and her dam Carmel by Sun Gold."

  The man grinned. "Thought she must be one of Solstice's. She's got his look. You take good care of her. That old horse never had a bad foal."

  "I will."

  Carousel eyed the other horses as they passed. :: No one I know. They're just horses. I still meet horses I can talk to sometimes. ::

  :: In a couple of days you'll be meeting a bunch of them. ::

  Chapter Three

  Meet the Wolf

  It looked like an "Old Western Frontier" stage set had met up with a kitschy Swiss Chalet themed touristy ski villa and unfortunately, procreated. The setting sun tried to gild the spring snow-melt mud, and failed.

  Rael lifted her reins and urged Carousel down the slight slope and into the little valley.

  The grass-over-gravel road had continued in reasonable repair, if occasionally muddy, with rather obvious camping areas at high and dry spots along it.

  At first, riding alone, the lack of people had felt eerie. But the last two days had been pleasant in their peaceful emptiness. Carousel had travelled at her own pace . . . and barely laughed at Rael dismounting to walk several times a day.

  Today the sudden scatter of huts and muddy sheep and fenced pastures over the last ten miles had felt like an unfortunate intrusion on her serenity.

  The mud deepened as they descended to a creek in full spate. A bridge of logs thrown across, with boards nailed on top, was barely above the water, and from the fresh scrubbed look, had been under water quite recently. Carousel slid a bit on the
muddy slope down to it, ambled across and up the other side.

  And then she was in the village of Ash. The center of magic on this world.

  Pretty much as Subdirector Ajha had described it. Some new houses since he'd been here. Now the question was, where would Xen be? Here or someplace else, and would anyone tell her?

  Carousel's iron shoes clinked on harder pavement, free of mud. There were lights coming on behind windows, indistinguishable voices, a baby crying. Two girls, preteen at a guess, stopped to eye her.

  "Hi? I'm, umm, looking for Xen Wolfson?"

  One girl raised a supercilious nose. "Oh, you mean Xenotime Rustleson."

  The second girl elbowed the first. "Don't be snotty, she's obviously just a city girl, doesn't know anything." She pointed. "Take the road past the inn, go right at the fork."

  "Thank you." Carousel walked on without urging.

  The inn was emitting delicious smells. I could hunt him up in the morning . . . But she ignored her stomach and turned up the road running between it and a garden, lush with budding bushes, flowering trees, and rows of soil full of sprouts. Just past the inn's stable, the road turned into a dirt track. Sandy enough to not be a morass. A kilometer up the rising path, it split and she took the right fork. The almost full moon cleared the mountains to the east, and by its light she could see that the path dropped a bit toward another creek. Smaller, with a faint smell of sulfur.

  Runoff from one of the hotsprings they talk about.

  The path dived into the dark under an oak tree. A hitching rail was dimly visible. Was this a picnic spot, or did visitors tie their horses here and walk the rest of the way?

  "That's the usual procedure."

  For a second she thought she'd found him, the voice was almost . . . but the man stepping out into the moonlight was more muscular, bearded . . . but those dark eyes . . .

  "And I think you're the first Oner we've had stop by."

  Rael clamped down hard on her shields.

  White teeth flashed in a quick grin. Familiar enough to wrench her heart.

  "You must be Xen's father."