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.
EIGHTEEN
Even thirteen years later the trail leading to the cottage was still there, overgrown but easily passable. Pollen and insects danced in the afternoon sun. And the woods along the route remained the densest, most impassable I’d ever encountered. The equine creatures that once dashed impossibly through them were gone, though. Or perhaps their ghosts only came out at night.
My horse tossed her head and snorted. The irony made me smile: back then I’d traveled on foot to meet the Queen of Horses, and now I explored the ruins of her kingdom on horseback.
We’d gone about halfway when I encountered something I didn’t expect. A fresh human footprint marked the muddy ground beside a puddle. I dismounted and knelt to examine it. It showed the impression of an adult-sized moccasin sole. At that same moment I heard a distant, high shout. It wasn’t a scream or cry of alarm, just the kind of noise certain people make to draw attention to themselves.
My horse snorted nervously. I didn’t blame her.
My own tracks weren’t obvious, but I’d made no effort to hide them, either. Discretion seemed prudent, so I led the horse into the woods as far as the ridiculously heavy undergrowth allowed. I tied her out of sight, spoke to her as soothingly as I could and gave her some berries plucked from a nearby bush. Then I crept back to the very edge of the trail, staying just inside the forest. It hadn’t occurred to me that I’d find anyone else here, and I couldn’t just walk up to the old cottage until I knew what might be waiting. This would take a while.
It took, in fact, until dusk for me to make my way quietly through the underbrush until I was close enough to see the ruins of Epona’s home. Along the way I heard several other cries, from many different positions but all the same voice. Someone really got around. By the time I saw the house, I’d also spotted evidence of random destruction in the woods around it, and seen the glow of a big fire through the trees.
The cottage remained, although its roof had collapsed and the once-neat yard was now overgrown. Vines curled up the stone wall and in through the empty windows. This was normal, and I’d expected it. But the rest of the scene was far more appalling.
A dozen deer carcasses hung by their necks from a sagging rope stretched between two poles. They’d been field-dressed in the crudest possible way, and the decaying piles of innards still lay on the ground beneath them. Their outlines were hazy from the insects swirling around them, and I was thankful I was upwind. A huge campfire, its flames licking dangerously close to the overhanging trees, raged between the hanging carcasses and the remains of Epona’s old cottage. A crude lean-to shelter had been built against the house’s nearest outside wall; I wondered why they hadn’t simply repaired the roof and moved into the building.