Strange Attractors - Kim Falconer [80]
‘You used this brush?’
‘Aye, sir. Sorry. I didn’t clean it yet. I…’
The Stable Master waved him silent. ‘Good you didn’t. It’s got our clue. They were ridden to Prieta, most likely with the troops that chased the war witches.’
‘How can you tell?’
‘See these seeds?’
‘Pine nuts? They grow everywhere.’
‘Pine nuts do, indeed, but take a closer look.’
Xane focused his eyes and for a moment the seed zoomed in so close he thought he could see through it. He jumped back.
‘Are you all right, lad?’
He nodded, looking again. ‘They’re bigger than our pine nuts, aren’t they? And darker?’
‘They’re Parana nuts, grown only in the foothills of the Prieta Mountains.’ The Stable Master took off his cap and scratched his head. ‘But their shoes don’t show the wear we’d expect to see from a journey there and back.’
‘Some mystery,’ Xane said. Where have you been, my lovely Grace? My fractious Fortuna? And who was it that rode you, leaving you at the battlefield with neither saddle nor headstall?
There was no answer. He hadn’t expected one.
Xane led the horses to their stalls, relieved that he was finally dismissed. He went straight to his cot in the stableboys’ dorm, curled up and fell asleep.
Xane awoke in a sweat, his throat dry and head pounding. What was that sound? He strained to identify the noise. It could have been barn cats, or maybe it was the grating of the main gate to the brood mare barn. The hinges were old and it had to be lifted high to keep from scraping the ground. He listened again. Crickets resumed their chatter and a horse groaned as it lurched to its feet, its rug straps slapping when it shook. Bats were returning to the loft, their swoops and flutters muffled by the wall of hay stored overhead.
He reached for his waterskin and took the last sip. Just ordinary night sounds. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about except his aching head. I’ve got to get a drink. He wrapped his blanket around himself and crawled out of bed, his toes curling when they touched the stone floor. Cold. He pulled on his boots and scuffed down the hall to the courtyard well, gazing at the stars while dropping the bucket over. It hit the water, the splash echoing, but he kept his eyes on the night sky.
Ceres, Regulus and Saturn were near to setting—almost dawn. He cranked the handle and the sloshing bucket appeared from the depths. He filled his waterskin. His fingers were cold, his body shivering. He’d become soft since moving to the stables. It came with having dry clothes and a bed, and food every day. He used to be a lot tougher—tough like Shaea had to be. ‘Shaea,’ he whispered, pushing the cork into his waterskin after taking a long swig.
He didn’t expect an answer but the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Someone was near. He picked at his neck, acting as if he didn’t notice. They were hidden in the shadows yet quite close to hand. He pretended to study the stars again, honing his peripheral vision as he turned back to the stables. A blast of insight hit him, like a flash of memory, a slap upside the head. Am I dreaming?
It felt like it had all happened before, this sense of being watched. His response was involuntary—kneejerk. He had the strangest sensation behind his eyes and realised he could see everything around him in a grid-covered red light. It was how he imagined a nocturnal raptor might view the world, scanning the woods for a mouse hidden in the pitch black. He paused by the stable doors and heard the flutter of wings taking off. The noise he’d heard earlier came again. He recognised it immediately. It was