Calling the Wild Read online

  The ground beneath her feet began to change, no longer spongy, it was now firm, a thin layer of dirt over rock.

  “Look around,” Kiron commanded

  “For what?”

  “A rock.”

  “What kind of rock?”

  “I don’t know. It’s your rock we are looking for.”

  “My rock?” Moira asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Kiron, I don’t have any idea what you are talking about.”

  “Just look around for rocks.” He seemed distracted, and acted as if her questions were tiresome.

  Moira threw her hands up in disgust, a wasted gesture as he was not looking at her, and shifted her gaze from the canopy to the ground. As they moved further into the section of the forest that lay over a granite rock slab, the trees were sparse. There was not enough soil here to provide footing for the massive root systems.

  Moira carefully looked at each rock they came across. Most were simple granite, grey with black and white flecks. Billowy moss tried to disguise them, but their hard-edged shapes gave them away. Moira prepared and discarded a variety of smart remarks regarding Kiron’s vague instructions and the ordinary nature of the rocks they passed. She knew better than to mock him, for she trusted that there was a reason for this, and they knew better than to dismiss these apparently ordinary rocks. They were deep in a moveable enchanted forest. There was no telling what the rocks might truly be.

  “Are you looking for rocks?” he asked.

  “Yes, I am looking at each of the rocks.”

  They scooted between a massive tree and a large boulder, the surface ashy green with moss. Halfway through the narrow passage between the tree and the boulder, Kiron stopped to itch his hind end against the boulder. This set Moira into a fit of laughter.

  “Do not laugh at me, woman, you have no idea how itchy an animal coat can be.”

  Moira laughed harder.

  Moira followed him into a clearing. Sunlight fell in golden streamers through the sparse canopy. Tumbled rocks formed a small rise, their broken edges softened by thick layers of plants. Small purple flowers bloomed from the spaces between the rocks.

  “This forest is beautiful, each space different from the last,” Moira said. Kiron stopped in the middle of the clearing, a lone ray of sunlight highlighting a red stripe across his back. Moira moved forward, trailing her fingers over rough moss and downy lichen. “I’m sorry for taking you from this place. Your home is beautiful.”

  “This is not my home.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No, this is The Wild.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The Wild is not my home. It is a place of power, but not for me to call home. This forest was created a thousand years ago, when the higher beasts of The Wild recognized that humanity would only continue to grow. The prophets among us saw the destruction of our world, our downfall. Three hundred of The Wild, three times over, gave up their magic and sacrificed themselves, to create this place. This is the physical embodiment of The Wild, created as the prototype forest, containing elements from the strongest and richest of Earth’s forests. Those of us who study, who strive to be one with this place, are granted the right to visit it, but we are not meant to stay here, our place is in The Wild of the Earth.”

  “It must have taken a lot of power, amazing sacrifice, to build such a place.”

  “It was the single greatest act of The Wild, and our numbers continue to dwindle for the strongest among us were lost that day.”

  “You speak as if you were there. Are you that old?”

  “No, I’m only fifty, a child in the lifespan of a centaur, but when I am here I can feel their sacrifice.”

  Moira had been unconsciously walking a circle, leaving a glittering green line of magic in her wake. She reached the origin of her circle and it snapped to life. Moira jumped, startled.

  “I cast a circle. I didn’t mean to.”

  “Look around, look at the rocks.”

  Moira turned within her circle, looking at the tumbled rocks. The flecks in the granite glowed, pale creamy white and bluish black. Half buried by a fallen branch and specked with moss was a very different rock. Moira lifted it from its mossy home, brushing off what she could of the clinging lichen. In her hand this small rock, about the size of a grapefruit, glowed.

  Like her power, it had a green glow, speckled with black and maroon. The light pulsed, the rhythm even, but staggered, like a heartbeat. Moira lifted two fingers to her neck, checking her pulse.

  “It is beating in time with my heart,” she whispered in hushed amazement. “What is it? Wait, I know, it is a rock. What does it do?”

  “Break it open.”

  “Break the rock?” Moira turned to one of the large boulders, prepared to break it against the larger rock.

  “No, just break it in your hands.”

  She shot Kiron a skeptical look, then wrapped both hands over the rock, squeezing and twisting as if she were trying to tear a loaf of bread in half.

  The rock scraped her palms, the task seemingly impossible. Then a small crack appeared, visible first as a break in the pulsing light, then as a hairline fracture in the rock itself. Moira adjusted her grip and applied more force, her arms shaking from the effort. The crack grew in fits and starts, tracing around the center of the rock, until with a nasty grinding sound, the rock split.

  Instead of splitting in two the rock fractured into a dozen pieces. Among the dozen pieces were three of distinct shapes. The first was a black stone, glossy as obsidian, shaped in a prism with perfectly even facets. The second was a murky green gem, large as a robin’s egg, shaped into a smooth disc. The last piece was a cloud-laced chunk of white quartz, less formed than the other two.

  Kiron plucked the three stones from her palm, allowing her to drop the rest of the rock, and then handed back the stones. Holding them cupped in her right hand, she lifted them one by one to examine them in a ray of sunlight.

  “This looks like obsidian.”

  “It is.”

  “But this looks like emerald, and this quartz.”

  “They are.”

  “How can it be that I got three different kinds of rock out of a chunk of granite?”

  “The Wild gives you what you need. Push power into them, see what happens.”

  Moira lifted the emerald first, holding it up and pushing power into it, all the while trying not to imagine what such a huge chunk of gemstone would be worth. Deep within the emerald a starburst of lights appeared. No light escaped the gem, but when she held the emerald up to examine it Moira could see a thousand pinpricks of light pulsing and moving. It looked like a tiny galaxy trapped in a midnight-green universe.

  Moira turned her head to let Kiron see the inside of the emerald, and his eyes widened.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” she whispered in awe.

  “Nor have I.”

  They looked at each other, acknowledging the magnitude of that fact. Moira carefully set the green stone in her palm.

  When she lifted the obsidian and applied a drop of power, the high gloss shine broke apart, becoming a thousand smaller strokes of light. It was like the reflection of the moon on a calm black lake that was then shattered into endless rings by a stone dropped into the water.

  “What are they for?”

  “I don’t know, but this is what The Wild thinks you need.”

  Moira held up the final stone, the white quartz, but no matter how much power she pushed through it, nothing happened. Kiron, brow furrowed, took the apparently defunct stone from her. When he pushed power through it the bright white light of a fallen star flared within its clouded depths, so bright that it chased the daylight from the clearing. Kiron shut off the power, the light sucked back into the crystal and a cloud of birds lifted into the sky, crying out in anger at having been disturbed from their rest.

  “Apparently my rock wanted to give you a present too.”

  Kiron was still frownin
g at the quartz in his hand. “This is strange, I have never heard of something like this before.”

  “You seem to be saying that a lot. Is that a bad sign?”

  “No, I cannot see why.”

  “Then I’m not going to worry about it, my worry-plate is full.”

  “Very well.” Kiron curled his fingers around his quartz, his fist looking strong enough to crush the softly swirled rock. “Now, to make your pendulum.”

  Kiron moved to the largest of the boulders within her circle and held his hand over one of the fissures in the rock. A few tenacious plants had rooted in the small amount of soil that rainwater had carried into the fissure. Kiron held his palm over one spidery herb. The stalk grew, stretching up in an unnaturally straight line and spindling around Kiron’s wrist. When he had a good length of green cord around his wrist, he broke off the end. What remained of the plant slumped in apparent exhaustion.

  Next he placed his hand over the rock. The surface softened, then began to bubble. Moira moved closer, fascinated by the liquefied boiling rock, but when she tentatively held out her hand there was no heat. Small drops of silver began to rise up from the rock, forming balls and then leaping from the liquefied rock to Kiron’s palm, as if his hand were magnetic. When he had a small ball of silver collected in his hand, Kiron released the rock, letting it reform.

  “That was amazing, how did you do it?”

  “I can call elements from the rocks in The Wild. It takes great amounts of power, and here I can draw in more power as I expend it.”

  “I thought your magic was inexhaustible, even in the normal world.”

  “It is inexhaustible, but that does not mean I am always able to draw in great chunks of magic. Calling elements takes a mass expenditure. It is only really possible here.”

  Kiron plucked the emerald from her hand and placed it on his palm next to the ball of silver.

  “What is that silver stuff in your hand?”

  “Pure metal, distilled from the rock.”

  “I didn’t think there was metal in rock.”

  “There are veins of metal running through these rocks. Now watch.”

  The metal on his palm wiggled and vibrated, the ball rocking back and forth, changing shape. The tiny ball of silver stretched itself into a short wire, and then wrapped around the circumference of the emerald. The wire sprouted wings, which carefully cupped the emerald, holding it in place. At the place where the ends of the wires met, a thin shoot sprang up, wrapping itself into loop for a chain or cord to pass through.

  Kiron handed her the emerald, which had now become an amulet. The detail work on the wings was incredible, each feather defined, so real that they seemed to be in flight rather than stagnant.

  The final touches on the other stones were tame in comparison to the creation of the metal setting for the emerald. Kiron unwound the vine from his wrist and broke it into three lengths. He tied one around his quartz, made a long loop, and then slipped it over his head, the quartz dangling against the center of his breastbone. He used a second piece to create a tie for her emerald. With the last length of vine, he wrapped it around one end of her prism-obsidian, tying it off so that the obsidian dangled, the pyramid facets on one end pointing down.

  “Here’s your pendulum.” Kiron dangled it in front of her, then released it into her cupped palm.

  Tucking the prism securely into her damp jeans pocket, Moira slipped the emerald over her head. The vine that held it was as soft and supple as velvet cord.

  “Thank you for these.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “It must be nearly morning in the real world.”

  “When we return no time will have passed.”

  “The Wild is out of place and out of time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Amazing.”

  “It is, but now it is time to go, we’ve stayed as long as we are able.”

  “How do we get back?”

  “You need to get on my back.”

  Not wanting to repeat the slightly embarrassing process Moira climbed onto one of the boulders and motioned Kiron over. He cocked his head to the side and raised both eyebrows.

  “Will you just come over here?”

  “I am not a trained pet to come when you crook your finger.”

  “I know, I know, but will you please just come over here?”

  Kiron relented—sidestepping to the boulder. Moira reached out and steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder, then threw a leg over his back and hopped on.

  Moira slid her hand from his shoulder down his bare back and over the changing flesh at his waist. He shivered at her touch, and grabbed her hand, holding it still over his ribs when she began to repeat the caress.

  “Do not, unless you are prepared to finish what you start.”

  Kiron squeezed her fingers and then released her hand. He was waiting for her to make a decision, to chose how complicated this would be. With great reluctance Moira pulled her hand away, knotting her fingers together to keep from touching him. Kiron’s head dipped forward, but seated on his back as she was Moira could not see his expression and had no idea what he thought of her choice.

  “I don’t want this to get…complicated,” she said quietly.

  “Sex doesn’t have to be complicated.” His voice was cool and neutral, with no hint of either regret or relief.

  It would be more than just sex for me. “I know, but it’s better this way.”

  Kiron nodded, and started out of the clearing. Rather than head the way they’d come, Kiron led them further away from the old growth center of the forest. The trees thinned out until they reached a smooth meadow. Tall grass mingled with a thousand wildflowers, reminding Moira of Texas meadows in summer. The field was long and narrow, barely fifty yards wide, with tall evergreens flanking the opposite side.

  Kiron made his way to the center of the field and then turned, so they looked down the long stretch.

  “What is this place?”

  “It’s the outskirts of The Wild. There is little magic here, but it provides places for migratory animals to go when their instincts tell them to move.”

  “Oh, is this how we get home? Just keep walking until we run out of forest? How can we be sure that we return to the place we came from?”

  “Yes. No. Magic. Hold on.”

  Moira slid forward until her chest was flush to his back and then wrapped her arms around his waist, careful not to rub the sensitive flesh were his human body met his horse form.

  Kiron leapt forward, his powerful rear legs launching them into the air. When his hooves hit the ground he threw himself forward into full gallop. His back legs drove them forward, his front left leg leading, the right front and left rear leg coming forward together, then the right rear leg pounding into the turf. Moira could feel the effort in the way his muscles moved beneath her legs, a symphony of motion that keep his hooves constantly off the ground, his gait so smooth it felt like flying.

  Moira tucked her head behind his back to protect her eyes from the wind, her cheek to his shoulder blade so that she could look at the ground as it rushed by, a blur of colors.

  He pressed a hand over her arms, squeezing. Moira looked up, resting her chin on his shoulder, the wind blowing her hair so that it tangled with his, blonde and brown, sunlight and earth. In the distance, but growing steadily closer, was a wall of black, the end of The Wild.

  She was not frightened as she had been when she saw the forest rushing at them. Though the blackness appeared impenetrable, Moira unwrapped her arms from Kiron’s waist and lifted them to the sky. Her legs were tight around him, but Kiron reached back, clamping one hand over her thigh to hold her in place as the wind buffeted her. Though it brought tears to her eyes she looked forward, facing, with courage and faith, the wall of blackness. She believed that they would come out somewhere, that the black would not be the end of it all.

  If her doubt and exhaustion whispered that it would not be so bad if this was the end, she ign
ored it.

  The wind was rushing, rushing, over her, drowning out the sound of his hoof beats, until there was no sound at all. Time slowed, the silent wind streaming over Kiron’s laboring body and her supplicant pose, as they raced onward.

  Then there was no ground, no meadow or forest, only dark silence.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was utterly anticlimactic to find herself back in a field on the outskirts of Chicago.

  Moira lowered her arms, feeling rather foolish. She’d expected there to be something when they transitioned, a flash of light, perhaps some disorientation or pain. There had been neither, the blackness had lasted less than ten seconds, and when it was over they were galloping through the field.

  Kiron slowed to a canter, then a walk. “Are you all right?”

  “Yep, I’m okay.” Moira considered sliding off Kiron’s back, but he seemed fine to let her ride back to the motel.

  As he had said, it was the same time now as it had been when they had left. Without a watch, Moira could not be absolutely positive, but there was no change in the night around her, no lessening nor deepening of the darkness and the stars were all in the same mooring in the sky.

  It took longer than Moira expected for them to reach the motel, but Kiron’s steps were slow. She wondered if his unhurried pace was from exhaustion or, if he, like she, was savoring the night.

  Her clothes had dried, for the most part. Her bra was still uncomfortably cold, but her jeans were no longer clammy. The emerald was a warm and welcome weight around her neck. Her idle fingers toyed with it, stroking the wide face and exploring the silver wings that cupped it.

  The peace she’d found in The Wild was still with her, a warm weight around her belly. There was great magic in this world, she’d always known that, but never seen it so clearly as she did when walking through that magic forest. With all the power and magic out there, she would surely find a way to escape those who were after her, find a way to change her fate.

  She would have very little hope if it weren’t for the creature she rode. The spell to call and capture The Wild had been a desperate gamble, one that paid off more beautifully than she could have hoped for.