Changespell Legacy (38 page)

Just not this dead, Arlen. Not this long.

But then again, she wasn't paying attention to the time. She
wasn't
. She wasn't wondering why she hadn't heard anything from Carey, Dayna, and Jess, especially after the most recent arrival-magic over which she'd recently been questioned. She wasn't wondering why late winter had turned into spring and she still found herself alone here, running the hold with Natt and Cesna and Linton while the new Council—she'd never think of them as anything but the
new
Council—hid behind its secure walls in Kymmet and still, as far as anyone could tell, was no closer to understanding why the Council had died in the first place, or why even everyday spells now often went awry.

She didn't wonder about any of those things. She kept an eye on the pregnant mares, most of whom were so close to foaling they wore Camolen's spell equivalent of a foal monitor and spent their nights inside the foaling barn behind the hold while the year's maiden mare lived in the very stall from which Ramble and the others had left for Ohio. She tended her map, a project that—along with Anfeald's decently central location—had helped to turn the hold into a central courier hub of sorts. The place where people sent their news when they felt it was of general interest . . . and the place people came to get it. For Jaime with her map was the one to understand first that the new Council wasn't having any luck with understanding the meltdowns simply because they were never out and about with a chance to see one in process—and that they couldn't attempt a source trace until that happened.

Jaime was the one to realize that if the new Council
did
attempt a source trace, they probably wouldn't accomplish it anyway—not on a non-spell magical effect of such heretofore unknown properties. The people with those skills were dead.

She was one of the first to see the pattern when the communication and travel services problems changed from being a manpower problem—no one in place to run the upper levels of the dispatch and travel booth activity—to being a process problem—those who were now in place now encountered problems and setbacks the system had evolved to avoid. Dependable magic going wrong. People being blamed when magic was the problem.

More was askew than just the meltdowns.

Most information, Jaime passed along freely. But when she came to her own conclusions, when she saw the patterns no one else had yet seen . . . those, she kept to herself. Let it become general knowledge when someone else figured it out—someone like a precinct lander, whose job was to shepherd and protect the people in the first place. Jaime, seeing what she saw, had no desire to face the questions that would come if she mentioned what seemed to her to be obvious.

So she watched the mares, tended the map, kept copies of general messages for disbursement to anyone who wanted them, and—possibly most important of all—kept Arlen's puzzled cats company. As much as they adored Jess, as much as they slyly worshiped Arlen, pretending it was coincidence that they ended up wherever he did, they'd ever only disdainfully tolerated Jaime . . . until now.

Now they slept on her face.

Even when she came up to Arlen's quarters only long enough to fling herself on the couch with her booted legs hanging over the end, resting her eyes against another round of message sorting and copying, they managed to find their way to her, oozing along the windowsill, creeping out from the bedroom. . . .

The older black-and-white cat had always been a shy little thing; she merely sat on the back of the couch and stared at Jaime. The jester of a calico inevitably ended up on her chest, paws tucked, so close to Jaime's face that his breath tickled the soft spot under her chin.

And so he was when Jaime heard Cesna approaching the open door to Arlen's rooms, quiet in her soft slippers, hesitating at the entrance . . . taking in a soft breath, not bringing herself to interrupt, trying again— The cats leapt from their self-appointed vigil over Jaime, hurrying to the entrance with no trace of standoffish waffling; the calico tuned up his conversational voice and put it to good use.

Not Cesna.

Jaime's eyes flew open.

She couldn't say anything at first; she couldn't do anything but gape.

Jess.

Jess in hay-specked winter clothes from her changing stall, her feet bare and battered, her hair an unruly tangle, the bones of her face strong beneath gaunt features, her eyes carrying a touch of panic and uncertainty. Enough that Jaime didn't act on her rush of joy, didn't bound up from the couch to throw her arms around the friend whose reappearance meant Jaime herself was no longer so alone.

She levered herself upright on the couch, swinging her legs one by one from over its arm to a normal sitting position. And she said quietly, "Jess, it's so good to see you. Will you come in?"

Even in her first few days as a woman, Jess hadn't shown such hesitance, such wariness. She'd been full of curiosity and trust and frustration, desperate to find Carey and to make herself understood . . . but not this wildness. She took a step into the room, a single step, and held out a trembling hand—one of broken nails, bruises, and grime. It took Jaime a moment to realize what else she looked at within that hand—a film cannister. Black, but covered with worn silver duct tape to which stuck a proliferation of dark dun hairs.

Jaime stood and held out her own hand, making it simple; she would not chance a move that might scare this flighty version of Jess away; Jess would have to come to her. And after a hesitation, Jess did. Enough of a hesitation that Jaime worked a few swift facts into place. Chandrai's latest visit provided the key—the information that someone had worked Arlen's world-travel spell in the eastern fringes of Camolen. And here was Jess, as wild as a horse from the range, offering a film cannister. A message cannister, battered and worn and long carried.

It was all she could do to keep herself from bursting into questions—when did you get back, why are you alone, what happened to the others, what did you find out—but she had no doubt they'd chase Jess off as surely as any sudden movement. So she accepted the cannister Jess tipped into her hand, worked the tape free with the help of her pocket knife, and pulled out a much-folded and rolled but well-preserved piece of paper, printed on both sides in various fonts and then covered with clear packing tape in crude lamination.

As Jess eased back a step, Jaime sat down and sorted out what she had. Short comments from everyone who'd gone to Ohio, each in a different tiny font—and one from her brother. Hard enough to read in English on this side of the travel spell, never mind such compact, intense notes. Notes confirming that the message board system no longer worked, that the farm was doing fine and that Mark missed her and worried about her, that Ramble had told them nothing of import—but that Suliya recognized one of the men about whom Jaime herself had managed to warn them, and he'd come via SpellForge, provided by FreeCast.
Watch out for them
, Carey had said.
Don't trust them
.

As if she hadn't figured that part out for herself, even without a name to put on her odd visitors.

Still, it was something to pass along to Chandrai as soon as she could. SpellForge, as unlikely as it seemed, had some involvement in whatever was happening.

She smoothed the taped-up paper over her thigh, tasting bitter disappointment high in her throat and knowing she'd hoped for more. Had hoped, without admitting it even to herself, that Ramble had seen Arlen escape harm.

The wait wasn't over yet, then. Maybe it would never be over. Maybe she'd always lift her head, half expecting to see him whenever someone entered the room she occupied.

She took a steadying breath and turned her attention back to Jess. Wild Jess, still looking as if she might bolt at any moment. "Jess," Jaime said. "Are you all right?" She opened a hand in a welcoming gesture, one without any demand in it at all, just an invitation; Jess edged closer, not a direct approach—but when she made up her mind, she came all the way, kneeling by the couch as was her habit of old, a searching expression on her face as she hunted for words and didn't find them. Finally she just shook her head.

"It's okay," Jaime said. "We'll get things sorted out. It doesn't have to happen right this minute."

And to her surprise, Jess heaved a sigh—a very horselike sigh with a flutter of noise at the back of her throat—put her head on the couch, and almost instantly fell asleep.

Jess woke to the gentle sensation of someone scratching between her shoulder blades, so like the congenial nibble of teeth at her withers that her first sleepy thought was
Ramble
until she startled herself by realizing that in thinking it at all, she'd shown herself human. Not Lady, as she'd been for so many days. Jess. Not Ramble beside her, but Jaime. As much as anyone, Jaime could read Jess's equine body language; as much as anyone, she could respond on that level.

And so she'd given Jess space, and not pushed her when she was on the verge of bolting, so closed in by stone and her own human body here in the hold. She'd just made space for her, and Jess had moved into it, all but ready to collapse with one of the fits of exhaustion that had dogged her recently. And now she made the waking up easy.

"Better?" Jaime asked as Jess lifted her head, shoving her hair out of her face. It didn't get lank and oily, not as Carey's did if he failed to wash it, but it was grimy and she was suddenly acutely aware of how well the rest of her matched its condition.

"Better," she said, and she was. Not as shaky as when she'd stood in the doorway, her equine companion of the past days lurking in one of the far pastures, her nerve threatening to desert her. Never had she stayed so long as Lady since she'd become Jess. Never had she been so long from people, not since Carey had first watched her stand on shaky foal legs. And while her world changed within her, she'd also watched it change without. Watched the distorted areas grow more frequent, watched the strange patterns of activity on the roads. Nothing was the same . . . not Camolen, not the people she knew within it, not her own self.

As a creature who found solace in habit, Jess found it all disturbing. Enough to shake her already rattled confidence.

Enough so she almost hadn't made it up those stairs to find Jaime at all.

But now . . . "Better," she said again, and nodded.

"Good," Jaime said. "Can we talk, then?" She waved the taped-up paper gently through the air. "This leaves me with a lot of questions."

Jess pulled herself up on the couch, delighted at the immediate appearance of both cats. The calico turned himself upside-down in her lap and gave her a look of surprised annoyance when she didn't immediately commence to roughing him up. The older cat, more demure, eased onto the back of the couch and purred. Occupied but not distracted by them, Jess said, "There are no answers to give you.

The paper says everything we know."

"It doesn't say why you're here and they're not. Why you're the only one who came back."

"I'm not the only one," Jess said, wondering if she imagined the slight sting of accusation in Jaime's voice.

"Ramble came back. I
brought
him back. They turned him human to learn what he knew, and he knew nothing. He suffered there. I brought him back."

"I can see why
you
came back," Jaime said, impatience on her face along with a certain ingrained weariness. Her carefree hairstyle had grown out in shiny, deep brown waves; now it merely looked shaggy, no longer spunky. But she didn't need to look spunky. She had a confidence in her place here that she hadn't carried when Jess had left. She was no longer a guest . . . she was a working part of this hold. One with authority—and she was trying not to use it on Jess, but she wanted those answers.

Jess didn't have them all. But she had some of them. She ignored the growl of her stomach to say, "Other people came from Camolen, like you warned. They tried to take us away." The notes she'd brought from Ohio had said that much, even mentioned Wheeler by name. "Wheeler said the others were safer to stay. And Dayna said she couldn't make the spells work for so many without more time. She had to use extra magic so Ramble and I could return. She didn't have enough."

"So they didn't come back. But they've had the chance—you've been here for—?" She scrunched her face slightly with the question.

"I don't know," Jess admitted. "Many days. The magic was . . . skewed. It returned us to an edge part of Camolen. Far away."

"No wonder you're so tired," Jaime said. Jess knew there was another reason, but didn't speak up . . . suddenly realized she wasn't sure she'd speak up at all, not about that. Jaime picked the cannister up from her lap and turned it over in her hand. "At least you made it. We've got some parts of Camolen we can't reach any more."

"What
is
it?" Jess asked. "All these days gone by . . . doesn't anyone know what the bad spots are?

What happened to the Council?"

"The meltdowns," Jaime mused, and then shook her head. "No, no one knows what's causing them.

Thanks to the information you brought, I've already initiated a message to the Council, telling them SpellForge is involved somehow. And I'll tell the peacekeepers—not that they're not already maxed out just trying to keep up with the riots that have started up along with everything else."

Jess didn't know
maxed out
, but she got the gist of it. And riots . . . "Things are bad enough already," she said. "Why would people make them worse?"

Jaime shrugged. "Fear, mostly."

Jess couldn't help the frown at the grown-familiar frustration within herself. The inability to understand how people hurt each other. Frightened horses would run. They'd band together for protection. They wouldn't destroy things and strike out at each other. "I'm going," she said suddenly.

Jaime didn't hide her surprise, the widening of her Mark-like eyes. "Going?"

"I left Ramble in one of the pastures. I told him I'd come back."

"Jess, I don't . . ." Jaime hesitated, held out a hand in what looked like supplication. "You just got here.