Strange Attractors - Kim Falconer [31]
Grayson poured his cup of tea. The scent of rosehips and basil rose with the steam, mingling with the hardwood smoke and disappearing up the chimney. He warmed his hands around the cup and stared at the flames. ‘Maybe she went back into the corridors. Or maybe she sailed to the islands with Maka’ra, or maybe…’
Who was he kidding? She could be anywhere. It was all speculation but one thing was for sure—it was no herb hunt she was on. Her sword was missing from its place by the door. He also suspected she was still pregnant—the basket by her bed sat unused as were the tiny clothes in the cupboard beneath her mirror. He rubbed his temples. How long would this pregnancy last?
Hotha had told him it was unpredictable. Her travels through the corridors, not to mention her prolonged suspension from her body, her death, had changed the gestation. They didn’t know if it added days, weeks or months, or subtracted them. At this point it was clear it had added.
He leaned back, staring at the rafters. Nell’s mobiles of stars and planets danced, suspended like puppets. ‘At least you could have left me a better clue. You know I can’t read the stars, and I can’t wander the corridors without guidance.’
A whinny from the barn brought his head up. It wasn’t his mare’s. He stamped into his boots and charged out the door. When he reached the gate he saw two horses standing outside the barn, pawing the snow and whickering. They turned their heads to him and one trumpeted a brassy challenge. He was a huge warhorse, his face obscured by a thick white forelock; his body was rugged up in a green canvas blanket that didn’t quite fit over his dappled rump. His neck was a sleek gold, not yet thick with a winter coat. The long flaxen tail whisked the ground, yellow against the white snow.
The other horse he recognised. Her name was Wren, the brilliant copper-red chestnut mare that Jarrod favoured. He didn’t know how they’d ended up in the house paddock but their request was clear. They wanted into the barn. He shook his head. What could this mean?
‘It means they’re hungry.’
He jumped out of his skin as Maka’ra, tall, bundled in furs and smiling an ivory grin, walked up the path. A cowbell clanged and soon a spotty, long-haired bossy appeared, meandering through the snow behind him.
‘Demons, Maka’ra! Where did you come from?’
‘You know this, Grayson. Rahana Iti, across the Emerald Straits.’
‘I meant…’ He shook his head, extending his hand. ‘It’s good to see you.’
‘I’ve come to check on this lot,’ he said, nodding towards the horses and slapping the cow’s rump as she strolled past. ‘While Rosette’s away. It looks like the horses crossed the ford to the north pastures and the rest followed. None found a way back.’
Half a dozen long-eared goats trotted past, a few of the yearlings kicking up their heels and bounding like gazelle through the deep snow.
‘And Rosette? Do you know where she is?’
Maka’ra inclined his head for a moment before following the animals to the barn. ‘She’s still not here, is she?’ He chuckled.
Grayson fell into step beside him, walking in the fresh path made by the horses. He didn’t see the humour.
Maka’ra kept smiling. ‘I was coming to…’
‘Check on her?’ Grayson asked, interrupting.
‘Check on the livestock. I knew she was gone.’
‘You knew?’
‘She’s not one to sit still when there’s a search party out.’
Grayson nodded.
‘When she didn’t show up at the start of winter, I took the mare and house cow to the stone paddocks, the ones with the cave shelters. The fields are too deep with snow now—no grazing—so I was going to bring them up to better ground. But she’s been back. Moved them already. Besides, there’s no other way to explain him.’ Maka’ra indicated the golden warhorse. ‘He’s not from around here, not with that colour.’
‘I wouldn’t know.’ Grayson pushed the horses back and opened the barn door. The animals knew the way, each going to a stall, except for the cow. She went straight to the loose hay beneath the loft steps.