Fiona relaxed, unafraid this time. She listened and heard noises coming from outside the home. A sniff brought the scent of cooking fires.
She sat up, combing fingers through her knotted hair and wondering what to do. She needed to find Jorian. She needed to find Moth, too, and hoped the centaurs would help her. But her side ached and her head still throbbed, and she doubted she could get very far.
“Lucky to be alive,” she whispered, remembering Nessa’s words. She tossed aside the blanket, hoisting her long shirt to study the bruises on her legs. The rocks had beaten her up. The river had almost drowned her. “But they didn’t,” she said defiantly. “I beat them.”
Carefully she got to her feet, testing her wobbly legs. The straw and cool stone tickled her naked toes. Nessa had taken her stockings and boots, but Fiona couldn’t spot them anywhere. The noise outside grew to a commotion.
“Nessa?” Fiona called. “Hello?”
The noise and the smell of food lured Fiona toward the doorway. She peered into the connecting chamber. This one was similar to her own, with walls made of fabric and mortared stones. Heavy shelves with tools and cooking utensils stood near a wooden table, where a candle burned in a dish. Fiona saw no chairs, though, supposing that centaurs had no need of them. More importantly, she saw another doorway, this one leading outside. Fiona tiptoed toward it, not wanting to hide but not really wanting to be discovered either. When she reached the threshold she peeked out into the night.
Her eyes grew wide at the sight before her.
A hundred centaurs had gathered in the center of a village, laughing and running, lying and eating around an enormous well of fire. Moonlight flooded the valley, revealing their colorful coats and fine, brocaded clothing. Some had weapons, some were naked, and some were as small as ponies, with little chirping voices that sang out as they played. Some were white like Nessa, others every shade imaginable, from shining onyx to honey gold, all with dancing manes and long, swishing tails. Around the flaming well burned smaller fires used for cooking, where spits of fowl and joints of meat turned slowly and greasily. A big, bare-chested male chugged wine from a jug, splashing it across his bearded chin.
Awestruck, Fiona stepped out into the warm night. In the distance she saw the mountains, towering around the valley. Trees and green hills spotted the landscape. Supple grass yielded beneath her toes. She put a hand to her chest, feeling her racing heart.
Fiona slipped closer to the centaurs, ducking first behind a thatched fence, then a short stone silo. A thunder of hooves suddenly clamored through the village. Two centaurs galloped furiously toward each other, their shoulders tucked like battering rams. Around the flaming well the other centaurs watched, cheering the combatants. Fiona strained for a better look. An enormous crack echoed out as the centaurs collided. The smaller, brownish centaur tumbled backward. The victor, his charcoal skin glistening, beat his chest and howled.
Fiona stepped out from her hiding place. The dark centaur was Jorian. Somehow, she was sure of it.
“Males,” scoffed a voice from behind. “Such show-offs.”
Fiona jumped. There was Nessa, shaking her head with mock disapproval.
“You move quietly for someone so big,” said Fiona. “You following me?”
“I saw you leave the house,” said Nessa. “You needn’t hide. I told you—you’re safe here.” She looked Fiona up and down with a motherly eye. “Your color’s better than before. You’re well enough to skulk around at least.”
Fiona could tell she wasn’t really mad. She turned back toward the center of the village. “That’s Jorian, right?”
“My husband,” said Nessa with a grin. The younger centaur had gotten up again, grappling with Jorian. The bigger centaur tossed him aside.
“Why are they fighting?” asked Fiona.
“Because there are females around,” joked Nessa. “Don’t human males show off?”
Fiona had to laugh. “Yes!”
Nessa put her hand on Fiona’s shoulder. “Come on,” she said. “He’ll want to see you.”
The moment they stepped out of the shadows together, the other centaurs fell silent. Jorian turned from his opponent, rearing back like a stallion when he noticed Fiona.
“The child!” he bellowed.
The centaur chieftain galloped toward them, stopping short of Fiona, towering over her with the moon behind his wild outline. His human skin was the color of ash, his animal coat a lustrous charcoal. He wore no shirt, only silver bands around his upper arms and the remnant of scars across his downy chest. His eyes were like Nessa’s eyes, as sparkly as diamonds, and a long jet mane ran down his back like the fin of a sea monster. With the grace of a savage king, he bowed.
“I am Jorian.”
All Fiona wanted was to touch him. She could barely stay her hand. Jorian was the dream she’d had, the very vision of the constellation twinkling now above her head. Like Merceron he seemed godlike, as though he’d lived forever, as though nothing could harm him, not sword, nor arrow, nor Skylord.
“Fiona’s my name,” replied Fiona. “From Capital City. I… we… my friend Moth and me. We came to find you.”
Nessa said to her husband, “The one I told you about. The one that was with her.”
The Chieftain nodded. “Your friend is gone,” he said, not unkindly.
“What?”
“Jorian knows what you told me about the boy, Fiona,” said Nessa. “He sent scouts looking for him past the mountains.”
“Your friend. The one named Moth,” explained Jorian. “My scouts searched the river where Tyrin found you. The shoals too. There was no one else.”
Fiona couldn’t breathe. “Then they got him.”
Nessa’s hand remained on her shoulder. “Who, child? Tell us who was chasing you.”
“Tell us all,” said Jorian. He moved aside so that Fiona could join the rest of them. “You have a story everyone wants to hear.”
LITTLE QUEEN
FIONA SAT ON A SMALL WOODEN box near the fire, seeing the awe she felt reflected back in the eyes of the centaurs. Jorian gathered his people around the well, calling to the smaller ones who were playing to come and see the human child. A female hurried a plate of food into Fiona’s lap, and a gigantic mug of wine was set at her feet. Nessa stood beside Fiona, hovering in her maternal way while the other centaurs made a circle around them. The younger, honey-skinned centaur who’d been wrestling Jorian muscled his way to the front.
“This is Tyrin,” announced Jorian. “The one who found you.”
Tyrin might have been a teenager, or he might have been a hundred years old. It was impossible for Fiona to know. His sharp features beamed as he lowered to face Fiona.
“Nessa said you would be all right,” he said. “I’m glad to see you, Fiona of Capital City.”
A few chortled good-naturedly at her name. Fiona grinned, feeling stupid.
“Uhm, thank you,” she said. “Thank you for saving me.”
“Eat,” said Jorian. “And tell us your story.”
“She can’t eat that,” said Nessa, taking away Fiona’s plate. “She’s been sick.” The plate was piled high with meat, and Fiona was glad to have it gone. “I can bring you bread. Would you like bread?”
Fiona shook her head. “No, ma’am, not now,” she said politely, wanting only to be back in her bed of straw. A small female centaur went from staring intensely to finally reaching out her hand. Fiona grimaced as the creature fingered her hair.
“Look!” declared the girl centaur. “Such a color!”
The others nodded, and for the first time Fiona noticed that none of them—despite their rainbow of colors—were red-haired. She blushed as the centaur combed her fingers through her tangled locks. The girl, whose own hair was wonderfully golden, sighed.