The Sword-Edged blonde

SEVENTEEN

I’d spent a lot of time in forests all over the world, but I’d never seen one that looked, or felt, like the one into which Nicole led me that night. This was a virgin forest, almost a jungle. No ax ever struck home in this place, nor any natural fires swept it clean. Vines and undergrowth shrouded the roots and formed intricate lattices in the spaces between the trunks. They kept travelers on the trail far more efficiently than any man-made fence. In no time the glow of the village vanished behind us, and only the bright moon overhead showed the way. The music and noise quickly faded as well. Insects, frogs and birds filled the air with their cries.

It took a moment, but the presence of birds finally hit me. I was no expert, but I could recognize most normal bird cries, and the ones I now heard were new to me. They almost sounded like fragments of composed songs, rather than the calls of living animals. “What kind of birds are those?” I asked Nicole.

“Just birds,” she said with a dismissive wave. “What else would they be?”

“That’s why I’m asking,” I said. I didn’t press the issue, but I knew she was evading my question. Owls, loons and mockingbirds sang at night, and this was none of them.

The trail was broad and clear, as it would have to be to regularly accommodate the town’s entire population. But it wasn’t expedient. It curved around some truly gigantic trees, no doubt allowing pilgrims sufficient time to contemplate their upcoming meeting with the goddess.

Nicole’s crack about Janet had put me on edge, and the further we traveled, the more annoyed I got. How could Epona know about that? How could anyone? I never told a soul, not even Phil, how truly hard I’d fought that day. I took a fucking sword hit to a lung and continued trying to save her. When my own sword broke, I fought on barehanded. I killed seven of them, and injured a dozen, but they outnumbered me and eventually beat me down. And then they made me watch what they did to Janet. But damn it, I did fucking try.

Something large moved in the woods to my right. I turned in time to see a shadowy form, far too big for either a wolf or deer, leap nimbly through the undergrowth. It was so stealthy I barely heard its passage. Another one, whatever it was, ran laterally through scrub that should’ve tripped anything larger than a raccoon. Then I realized these huge silent shapes were everywhere, moving parallel with us. I was just about to ask Nicole what they were when one of them emitted an unmistakable equine whinny.

“Looks like you’ve got horses in your trees,” I said.

Nicole laughed. “You make it sound like an infestation. Like roaches or rats.”

I shrugged. “If the horseshoe fits.”

“You don’t care for horses?”

Moonlight gleamed off the eyes of a great equine shadow as it paused to watch us. “Not as a rule.”

She nodded. “All that speed. The grace. The strength. That can be intimidating, I suppose.”

I scowled. “Saw a guy get his jaw kicked clean off once. That was intimidating.”

“Did he deserve it?”

“Maybe. I’d just prefer that my work animals not make that kind of moral judgment.”

“See, that’s your problem. A horse by its nature is not a ‘work animal.’ ”

“Then what is it?”

“An equal. A friend. A symbol of the goddess.”

I smiled. “Yeah, you gals always get into horses, don’t you? I never knew a girl who didn’t obsess about horses until she discovered sex.”

I’d intended it as a joke, but Nicole didn’t laugh. Instead she walked in thoughtful silence before replying, “I guess that’s true. Something about horses appeals to the adolescent feminine nature. That’s very astute.”

“I was mostly kidding.”

“I know, but I think you may be right. There’s an undeniable sexual thrill for a woman to wrap her legs around a horse, and that gets replaced by the thrill of actual sex. So we do lose that first rush of chaste awareness once we begin making love.” She thought some more. “The act of love mirrors the act of creation. Perhaps, for women, the feeling we get before we know physical love is the closest we get to knowing the goddess. Because a goddess is everything at once, eternally sexual and eternally virgin. So even as the virgin, she’s still aware of her power because she’s also the wanton. And perhaps that is what girls feel.”

“You got all of that from one bad joke?”

She laughed. “As Epona’s hands-on agent in daily mundane life, I spend a lot of time trying to think like she does. I know she considers horses her sacred symbols and avatars in this world, so I guess I do, too.”

I watched more horses flit through the trees. They were quick and graceful in a way totally at odds with the terrain; were they even real? “So all your children get the chance to be trampled by these sacred horses on their fifth birthday?”

“No, not children. Just daughters. A taste of the nearness of death, before they grow old enough to give life.”

“Do any ever get more than a taste?”

“Yes,” she said sadly. “That’s what gives it value. Some are lost. But most survive. Epona is not a cruel goddess.”

“You did say she was a dying goddess.”

Nicole stopped and faced me. The moonlight hid her eyes in shadow, so I couldn’t read her expression. “Mr. LaCrosse, do you have any sort of spiritual life?”

“I’m usually too busy.”

“There are many gods and goddesses worshipped in the world. Most are no more substantial than the icons used to represent them. But the greatest gift a true goddess can give those who believe in her is the reality of her presence. Epona chose to become one of us. A human woman. And like all of us, she is prey to the frailty of the flesh she inhabits.”

“That sounds a little like a dodge,” I pointed out. “Not much of a goddess if you have to make excuses for her.”

Nicole did another one of those patient grins. “Her compassion and wisdom are the true signs of her divinity, not her mortal form. Death won’t part her from us. And the time she’s spent among us will become our legend, our mystery, the story that binds our hearts together, and to her.”

“You realize how that sounds.”

She shrugged. “I’d rather believe in something than nothing. I get the impression you feel the opposite.”

She had me there. We resumed our trek in silence, engulfed by the night. The fact that Epona knew about Janet did not convince me of her divinity; after all, news of the death of a princess tended to get around. I’d seen far too many unlikely things to simply accept divine insight without question. I had no doubt that, at the end of this trail, I would meet only some half-crazed mumbling wisewoman with a lot of stage presence, but I almost wished Nicole were right. To behold a goddess in the flesh might almost cure me of my bitterness.

We rounded a corner and found our path blocked by the same immense white horse I’d seen leading the herd that nearly trampled the little beribboned girl. This close I saw I’d gotten the gender wrong; this was a mare, and she regarded me with black, fathomless eyes. I recalled the apple-flavored redhead’s prayer: “By Epona’s white mane.”

The horse allowed Nicole to gently stroke her cheek, and the woman whispered something so softly I couldn’t catch it. Then the huge white head turned and again fixed its dark eyes on me.

Sweat popped out all over me as the mare scrutinized me. I knew what those slashing hooves could do. I forced myself to breathe as the mare took two casual steps closer and stopped inches from my face. She snorted at me, as if asking a question.

Time froze for the moment we gazed into each other’s eyes. Beyond the obligatory equine haughtiness, I saw real intelligence and certainty of purpose that could, it seemed at the time, easily turn violent. The mare shifted her weight, and the massive flanks rippled. She had a regal quality, and I wondered how this Epona person could call herself the Queen of Horses while this magnificent beast was anywhere near.

The horse actually seemed to nod, as if she’d followed that train of thought. Then she turned and walked with immense dignity ahead of us up the trail. When she disappeared around a bend, I realized I had held my breath. I exhaled loudly, and almost had to sit down right there on the ground.

Nicole put a hand on my shoulder. “Pretty powerful, isn’t it?”

“Pretty damn nerve-wracking,” I said. I took a deep breath and hoped she couldn’t see my hands shake. “I’m ready to get out of the woods now, thank you.”

“Just continue up the trail, then. You can’t miss her.”

“What about you? Where are you going?”

“I have to go back. But you’ll be perfectly safe.” She turned thoughtful again. “I wish I could be there when you meet her. It won’t be what you think.”

She touched my face much as she had the mare’s. It was both unmistakably erotic and, paradoxically, maternally tender. Then she walked quickly away down the path toward the village.

I continued up the trail for another few minutes and grew increasingly apprehensive. The horses in the trees chuffed and snorted around me. Finally I turned a corner and reached the heart of the forest.

The moon bathed the clearing in bright blue light. A small cottage lay at the center, with a stone walk that led to the door. Light from a fire seeped out around the closed curtains. Smoke rose from the small chimney.

Whatever spell the journey had cast on me was broken by this prosaic scene. No goddess lived here, just a standard-issue village conjurer. I’d find her huddled over her potions, or scrawling things in a mysterious black book. Certainly no transcendental being occupied this space. I almost turned around and left, but the nagging comment about Janet came back to me. How had she known about that? I could discover that, at least, after coming all this way. I started up the walk.

The cottage door opened. A woman stood silhouetted against the fire blazing in the hearth. She was slender, long-haired and wore a loose gown that wasn’t quite opaque. I couldn’t see her face.

“Hello, Baron Edward LaCrosse of Arentia,” she said.