A Gathering of Wings (24 page)

But it is too late.

The bell clangs. Moments later, a band of Peacekeepers thunders toward Malora, led by Neal Featherhoof brandishing a spear. Sky pins his ears, and the horses behind her wheel and prepare to run.

“Easy, boys and girls,” she tells them. “Believe it or not,
this
centaur is friendly.”

Neal stops when he sees it is Malora, raises his hand, and brings the Peacekeepers skidding to a halt behind him in a cloud of dust. “You’re alive!” he says, approaching her on his own.

“I am!” she says with a wide grin.

Neal tilts his head. “I
thought
it was strange when we didn’t find any bones,” he says. “But they were so ready to believe that Dromadi windbag. They thought—”

“I had been devoured by crocodiles,” Malora finishes for him.

Neal chuckles. “Apparently not.” His jovial expression fades. “Zephele has been
inconsolable
.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. In the next day, she will hear herself repeatedly apologizing for being alive.

“I see you found Sky,” he says. “I can understand why you wanted him back. He’s a magnificent animal.”

Sky’s ears flicker. Aware that he is being praised, he lowers his head, blows out, and licks his lips.

“Where did you get the rest of these horses?” Neal asks.

Malora blinks. For all the time she has had to brood upon it, she hasn’t decided yet what she will tell the centaurs of Mount Kheiron. “I found them,” she says with a casual lift of her shoulders.

“You
found them
?” Neal says over the steadily rising sound of drums and flute.

Malora’s eyes dart to the arched entry to the city, where centaurs clutch bouquets of orange poppies. In the wake of the ringing bell, they look around in confusion, not sure whether to continue or take cover from invaders. The procession rushes around the corner in a series of orange flashes. Orange, Malora remembers, is the centaurean color of mourning. She sees the Apex and Herself at the head. Herself’s head is wrapped in orange netting. The Apex wears an orange band across his gray wrap.

The Apex glares at Margus Piedhocks. He can see the horses, but he can’t yet see Malora. Behind the Apex is his wagon, pulled by a Beltanian team outfitted in an orange harness. On the back of the wagon, Malora’s malachite bathtub has been fitted with a malachite lid and transformed into a coffin. It would be a disturbing sight if it weren’t so absurd.
The bathtub coffin is sprinkled with wildflowers. Orion, Zephele, and Theon, wrapped in orange, follow the wagon. Orion carries the Kavian serpent staff and Theon her knife. Zephele, empty-handed, sobs and stumbles, and her brothers reach for her elbows. Malora sees that Zephele’s hooves are bare and that she has painted them gold in the style of the late Capricornian scout. Following them are West and all the wranglers herding the boys and girls who have orange ribbon braided through their manes.

It is Shadow who first notices her. Ignoring West’s protests, she breaks away from the others and trots under the arch and right up to Sky. The two horses nuzzle.

West, in pursuit, stops in his tracks when he sees Malora. He sweeps off his orange-banded hat and draws a paw across his eyes, as if unable to believe what he sees. “Boss,” he says fondly. “You’re still with us. Suddenly it’s the best day, rather than the worst!”

Orion and Theon and Zephele come pounding toward her through the gates. Zephele has wept all the paint off her face. Her eyes and her nose are red from weeping. “Malora Ironbound, how
dare
you show up at your own funeral!”

“I’m sorry,” says Malora. She slides off Sky’s back and goes to her friend with arms extended.

Zephele clenches her fists and pommels Malora lightly on the chest. The centaur maiden’s mouth is pinched and white. “You have aged me twenty-five years!” she says. “And I look perfectly
hideous
in orange!”

“You do,” agrees Malora, taking Zephele’s hands in hers and bringing them to her lips. “But I like the gold-painted hooves.”

“Do you? Oh! Let me
hug
you, my dearest darling girl!” Zephele says, throwing her arms around Malora. “You shall have to remain locked in my embrace all day long. It’s the only way I can reassure myself that you’re really with us again.”

Orion stands nearby, shuffling his hooves. Malora catches his eye. He is smiling, his blue eyes bloodshot, with new creases at the corners. I have aged him, too, Malora thinks. She mouths the words again:
I’m sorry!

“No. Forgive
us
,” Orion says softly. “We have been through some very dark days. But it appears they are at an end now.”

“I hope you can put the shroud I weaved for you to better use,” Theon says with a shy smile.

“Theon!” Zephele pulls away from Malora and punches her brother’s arm. “Brother, you will burn it to ashes immediately,” she says. “I will not be able to
stand
the sight of it.”

“Make way for the Apex!” someone shouts.

The crowd of horses and centaurs parts to admit Medon and Herself. The Apex wrenches off the orange band and flings it aside. His face is flushed with happiness. “Welcome home, Daughter!” he says, striding toward her with arms outstretched.

Herself, lifting the veil, trots over to Malora. “My dearest child,” she says.

Zephele mutters in Malora’s ear, “I suppose I shall have to share you now,” as she steps aside for her parents.

Herself kisses Malora on the forehead and on each eyelid. “At this stage of life, one is
so
prepared for loss,” she says in a thin, reedy voice. “After losing Athen, it seemed only natural I should lose you, too.…”

Malora has already decided not to tell Herself about Athen. Herself will never see her son again. Knowing that he is alive but in self-imposed exile would only be torture for her.

Malora stands still while the Apex’s big, calloused hands rove over her head, her shoulders, her arms, her hands. “You are unharmed?” he asks, his gray eyes misty with concern.

She nods. “Just hungry,” she says with a happy smile.

The Apex pulls away from her. He lets out a roar and raises the hand that holds the Eye of Kheiron. “I now declare this day of mourning to be a day of thanksgiving! Malora Ironbound has returned to us!”

The crowd erupts in cheers. Malora finds herself once again lifted up on the shoulders of the centaurs and borne along like a trophy. When her feet return to the ground, she is staring at Honus, clutching his flute.

“I am wrung out. I don’t think I’ve ever wept as hard as I have in the last days,” he tells her.

“I’m sorry,” she says once again.

“There is nothing to be sorry for. So,” he says, tucking his flute away and turning to take the measure of Sky. “This is the Horse. I must say, he has about him an otherworldly look.”

“Ixion
is
an otherworld,” Malora says.

“You will tell us how you came to win Sky back,” he says. “But first, let’s restore your bathtub to its rightful use.”

“I have to take care of the new boys and girls first,” she says, looking around for them. New horses and old are mingling. Here and there are shrill eruptions of discord. She spies Zephele feeding the wildflowers from her casket to the Old Gal and to Stormy and Thunder.

“West and the others will see to them,” Honus says. “You are home now, and your friends are eager to help you.”

“Home,” Malora says, savoring the word.

She rides home on Sky’s back, stopping to let him graze on the rich grass of the riverbank.

“Didn’t I tell you it was delicious?” she says to the horse’s bowed head. Then she stares up at the mount, humming with life, and sighs with contentment.

“You’re going to like it here, Sky,” she tells him. “It’s the easy life, and Kheiron knows you’ve earned it.”

By the time she approaches the paddocks, she has already decided not to insult the stallion by putting him in with the other horses. She leaves Sky grazing in the front yard and walks into her house. She stops on the threshold. Everything is bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. It is so beautiful! And it is hers! Across the Flatlands and up on the mount, she smells food cooking over wood fires and hears joyful music. The music sounds so strikingly similar to that of the wild centaurs that she closes her eyes. Suddenly she finds that she is overwhelmed by fear and dread.

What have I done? What will the Beast do when there are no horses to eat?

But it is too late to undo what she has done. Even if she could, she would not. The wild centaurs can defend themselves, she thinks. Horses cannot. I had to do it … didn’t I?

She shakes the image of a vengeful Archon from her thoughts as she strides into the bedroom and shucks off the impala shirt. Slipping her robe on over her shoulders, she pats the cake of soap in each pocket, then heads out to the garden. Unbraiding her hair as she goes, she lays the white feather on
her dressing table. She takes for granted that her malachite bathtub has already been reinstalled and filled with hot water … 
strewn with rose petals, yet!
She removes the robe and lowers herself with a satisfied sigh into the hot fragrant water. When she is finished scrubbing herself clean, she immerses her entire self except for the tip of her nose.
This is me: home safe at last
.

She remains submerged, growing drowsy, when something dark looms over her.
Wild centaurs!
She heaves up out of the water with a loud gasp.

It is Sky. The stallion has found his way through the undergrowth into her garden. He dips his nose in the tub and sucks up the water.

She strokes his head, allowing her violently beating heart to return to normal. “I don’t suppose a little lavender and lime will hurt you.”

Leaving the water to Sky, she climbs out of the tub and slips back into her robe. As she sits at her dressing table, untangling the knots in her hair, she marvels at how quickly she went, a few moments ago, from relaxation to panic. Honus would say it is my uneasy conscience, she thinks. She picks up Lume’s white feather and runs it between her fingers, then beneath her nose. She wonders whether the entire episode in Ixion was just another case of her “courting death,” as Lume calls it. She doesn’t think of herself as a reckless person, but perhaps she is. Still, this is the first time her reckless behavior might have consequences for others.

While Sky browses in the honeysuckle, Malora dresses slowly and afterward walks around her house, touching everything. If anything, she appreciates her new home even more
now that she has been away from it. Someone has left a bowl of Barley Surprise on the table. She eats half of it, then wanders over to the shelf that holds her collection. She runs her hands over the statue of Sky and the sapphire egg Zephele purchased for her at the marketplace in Kahiro. The seashells she collected on the shore are lined up, along with crystals Honus found on the way to Kahiro. Most surprising is the leather pomegranate stuffed with ruby seeds. If they thought she was dead, why did they leave these things here? she wonders. Even during the darkest days, did they hold out hope? Or had this become a memorial?

She hears a thumping sound. Someone has come onto the porch. Malora whips around to see Sky, his head and shoulders thrust through the window, his nose in her dinner.

Relief washes over Malora. She laughs. “I’m glad you approve of Barley Surprise,” she tells him, removing the spoon so he can lick the bowl clean.

She sits at the table, feeling a drowsy stillness settle over her. Sky nudges her with his nose.

She reaches up and strokes his ears. “I’m all right, boy, considering that I escaped death twice in almost as many days and arrived home in time for my own funeral.”

Dusk has darkened to night and still no one comes for her. Outside, she hears West giving orders to the wranglers in a voice calculated not to disturb her. I should go out and help, she thinks. But she finds she doesn’t want to get dressed again or leave her house. She goes to sprinkle Breath of the Bush on her canopy, wondering as she does so whether this is a wise idea, given what happened last time.

It’s fine, she says to herself. Sky is safe with me. She hears him out in her garden, browsing in the honeysuckle.

“You’d better not leave any surprises for me out there!” she warns him as she climbs into her bed and douses the lantern. Sleep. Sleep is what she needs. Sleep will mend her frazzled nerves.

Wild centaurs move stealthily through the night, moonlight dappling their tattooed flanks and flashing on the hilts of their great swords
.

This same dream wakes her over and over again in the night. She longs for the night to be over and put an end to it.

The first thing she does when she wakes up in the morning is put the flask of Breath of the Bush at the back of her wardrobe. Then she visits the horses, Sky at her heels. West has moved Max and his two mares to the much smaller paddock reserved for ailing horses. He has put the new horses, including the three Furies, in Max’s old paddock. Old horses and new eye each other belligerently across the fence line.

“We’re going to take them out one by one over the next few days,” West tells Malora. “Give them a good going-over, deworm them, and clean them up. Meanwhile, Stormheart’s crew will build us a new infirmary paddock. Hope we won’t need it but can’t think that we won’t. Some of those horses are in a sorry state.”

“Thanks, West. I know it’s a lot to handle.”

“They’re good horses, boss,” West replies. Has West ever met a horse that wasn’t good?

Malora climbs the fence and takes Max’s head into her
hands. “I’m sorry to put you in such tight quarters.” Max sniffs at her pouch, nosing around for treats. “And I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you, but I’ll get some Maxes today, I promise,” she tells him. “I brought Sky back. See?”

Sky remains aloof, but Malora knows what he is thinking. “These two mares are off-limits,” she tells him. “They belong to the Champion. Even if he doesn’t remember what to do with them.”

Sky mutters as if to say,
I would know
exactly
what to do with them
.