Kitabı oku: «Divine by Mistake», sayfa 7

“But I can’t just leave him out there.” I felt tears forming in my eyes again as my frustration overwhelmed me.

“Lady Rhiannon…” ClanFintan’s deep voice penetrated my swirling emotions. “Ask yourself what The MacCallan would have you do.”

I shut my eyes. Of course Dad wouldn’t want me to get hurt. If only it were that simple.

My mind could tell me that the man I watched die was not really my dad. He was not Richard Parker, high-school biology teacher in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma, football coach, horse trainer, amateur artist (he liked to work with charcoal sketches of animals—which now seems vaguely ironic), excellent cook and a darn handy plumber. He was my dad.

No, not just my dad. My favorite man in the world. Yes, my world, and I knew rationally that my old world was not this one. But my heart said something else. It said that it somehow didn’t matter. He looked like Dad. He sounded like Dad. And, no matter how bizarre and screwed up things had become since I’d awakened in this weird world, Rhiannon loved this man, too.

She might be a bitch. She was definitely a slut. She wasn’t even a very good person. But she, too, was a Daddy’s Girl. She loved her dad. Before now I hadn’t thought too much about home. I’d been a little busy. But if something happened to my dad, I knew, somehow I just knew, no matter how crazy her new world seemed to her, Rhiannon wouldn’t desert him.

And I wouldn’t desert her dad, either. I felt the responsibility of a devoted daughter. I couldn’t escape it and I was pretty sure that I wouldn’t want to even if I could.

But Alanna and ClanFintan wouldn’t understand.

I opened my eyes. Seeing clearly—finally.

“What you’re saying makes sense.” I gave them my best accommodating smile.

They relaxed.

And I pretended dizziness. “Oh, I’m so tired. Is it morning yet?”

They looked concerned, and I felt a momentary twinge of guilt. Alanna answered first, but ClanFintan squeezed my hand, looking worried.

“My Lady, it is not yet daylight.”

“Rest, Rhiannon, I will see to sending the warriors to begin bringing the villagers to the temple.” His free hand touched my cheek in a brief caress. He really was cute, in a horsey way.

“I’m just so tired.” I played Lana Turner, falling back on my pillows, my free hand touching my forehead. The other one still clutched at ClanFintan’s. (Well, it felt good!)

“Rest, my Lady.” Alanna was clucking and arranging pillows.

“I will see to the warriors.” ClanFintan bowed over my hand and turned it, palm up. My eyes shot open, and for a second I was scared he was going to bite me again. Instead, his gaze caught mine and held it while he kissed the middle of my palm. I mean really kissed it. Man, his lips were warm.

Yep—it felt good, too. I’m telling you—Dad would like this guy. Dad always liked a guy who could keep me on my toes.

Then he dropped my hand and moved quickly toward the door. I could hear him yelling orders for his centaurs to be awakened and sent to him, then the door closed and I was left with the lingering warmth of his lips on my palm.

Alanna was still plumping my pillows and looking worried, kind of like a sweet little mother hen.

“Are you well, my Lady?”

“Yes, Alanna, thank you. I think I just need to rest for a while. So much has happened.” I snuggled down into my comfortable bed. “You need to get some sleep, too. I’ll be okay, go ahead and rest.”

She gave me a doubtful look. “Can I not get you some warm mulled wine, or perhaps brush your hair until you sleep?”

Damn, she sure knew what I liked.

“No, honey. Thank you, though. I just need some sleep.”

“Then I will leave you to your rest.” She brushed the hair back from my forehead in a familiar gesture, and just before my eyes closed I felt her lips touch my forehead as she whispered, “Good night, Shannon.”

As she turned to leave I couldn’t help but ask the question that kept popping into my mind. “Alanna, did Rhiannon ever mention how she was going to get back here—and get me back there?” My eyes were still shut, but I could hear her feet stop, and I knew she had turned to look at me.

“She said it was not possible to return. It is only possible to pass through The Divide once and live.” Her voice sounded sad. “I am sorry, Shannon. I know this must be difficult for you.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault.” I wondered if she could hear my heartbeat all the way over there. Never go back home? I kept my eyes shut tightly.

Suddenly I understood Scarlett O’Hara. I couldn’t think about this today. I’d think about it tomorrow.

I heard Alanna’s footsteps fade away, and my eyes peeked open at the soft sound of the door closing. Then I sat up and downed the rest of the tea (caffeine is good for the soul). I had places to go and people to…well…inter. And this “stay safe and be good” crap might be okay for Ms. Rhiannon, but I’m a different kind of girl.

And my dad was not going to be abandoned.

6

Damn, I wish I had my Mustang. Mobility is the modern woman’s emancipation. Who can keep a woman down when she can jump her ass into a car and drive to a different town/state/man/job?

I tried to figure out how to get myself to a castle somewhere northwest of here. In the middle of the night. With some kind of vampire-looking monsters loose upon a bizarre world. Without a car. Well, to be fair, no one here had a car.

So, with my theme song—“I Am Woman”—playing over and over in my mind, I tried to fend off a nervous breakdown. Okay, when in doubt, fix your wardrobe. First order of business—change these clothes. There was no way I could travel in pieces of filmy silk. And even here it must get cool at night. I’d catch my death dressed (or rather, undressed) as I was. Plus, if I couldn’t have my Mustang—I could feel the big lightbulb clicking on in my mind again—the next best thing was, well, a real mustang. Alanna said my dream was truth. So that gorgeous silver mare must really belong to me. Bet she wouldn’t mind a midnight ride. And this outfit was absolutely not made for horseback riding. (Ouch.)

Looking around my spacious room, I noticed several carved wardrobes, like giant armoires. A little snooping yielded not just clothes but lots of clothes. No kidding, I felt like I was Barbie. Not just plain Barbie, but Prom Barbie, Summer Barbie, Cocktail Entertaining Barbie, Dating a Doctor/Lawyer/Corporate Executive Barbie…on and on. Rhiannon seriously had a lot of clothes, something I in no way held against her.

Trying not to get sidetracked (or hypnotized; I could see we had something else besides love for our dads in common), I covetously ratted through yards and yards of clothes until I finally stumbled upon what must be the Sportswear Armoire. It was filled to bursting with soft leather leggings and tops. All the pants were one style, the same buttery-yellow color, each with its own intricately tooled decorations. I recognized a very Celtic-looking knot woven down the sides of many of them. And I swear I could see more of those gross skulls hidden in the decorative leatherwork. They all had narrow legs, and weird ties that laced up high on the left hip (I guessed they were clueless about zippers in this world). I eyed them askance, hoping I hadn’t put on any water weight lately. Deciding on one pair that seemed to have the least skull-like pattern, I started to pull them on, and couldn’t help but gasp at the supple smoothness of the leather. They felt as if someone had fastened a baby’s butt onto my legs. They didn’t just fit, they molded their softness to my ass and thighs. Yep. Rhiannon was one spoiled girl.

She’d have a surprise coming when she checked out the price of clothes in my world, and the finite state of my closet.

I unwound myself from my silky top and grabbed one of the matching pieces of leather. This, too, laced up the back (which I had one hell of a time tying—I could see why I needed Alanna to help me dress). But I wasn’t about to wake her and answer a gazillion questions, so I struggled all by myself (all the while maniacally humming “I Am Woman”…) and finally had the top tied securely. Actually, I was pleased to notice that besides being flattering, the outfit was obviously built for riding. The clothes moved with my body, yet they afforded support that Victoria’s Secret would be proud of. (Let’s be totally serious here, I’m thirty-five—my generous Ccup “girls” are old, and gravity is an evil thing. Know what I mean?) So I was pleased to note that I was wearing the Celtic equivalent of a sports bra. I could probably climb trees or slay dragons (I briefly but fervently hoped that wouldn’t be necessary) in it.

Rummaging around in the bottom of the armoire, I found several pairs of very, very cool boots. They were made of the same buttery-colored leather, supple and pliant. They had thick soles, kind of like moccasins. As I grabbed a pair I noticed something on the sole and was delighted to see that into the bottom of each boot was carved a thick, five-sided star.

I would leave footprints of stars everywhere I walked. Barbie doesn’t even do that.

Well, I was all dressed, but—

Remembering back to my dream vision, I could still envision the temple from above. If my iffy sense of direction was correct, the temple faced the west. The mountain range was to the north, spreading as far as I could see to the east and west. On the west edge it met the sea. Further down the coast was Dad’s castle. I clearly remembered there was a wide river that wrapped behind the temple, and from there stretched roughly to the west. The northwest end of the river ended (or began, whatever) at the sea. All I had to do was follow the river away from the temple to the sea, and then turn right. I would eventually come to Dad’s castle.

At least that was the theory.

I knew the stable was attached to the northern part of the temple, and that was where I would find the mare.

But how the hell did I find the area of the temple that held the stables? It wasn’t like I could just wander around, unnoticed, until I stumbled into horse poopie. I had lifted up out of this ceiling. But I had no idea where I was located in the castle.

Great.

Then I got an idea. Remembering the adorable door decorations I had ogled earlier, I suddenly thought of one of my favorite mottoes: when in doubt, sucker a guy into helping you out.

I patted my hair, which was really staying in place for a change (thanks to Alanna’s expertise), and gulped the rest of my tea. Then I proceeded to the door—the one I was sure led to the hall, as opposed to Alanna’s or ClanFintan’s room. I opened it quickly and surprised “the boys.”

Yes, Lord, they were yummy.

Flat tummies. Bare chests. Strong chins. Tiny little coverings, and…(staying in character of Rhiannon the Slut I couldn’t help but sneak a peek) large packages. And I’m not talking UPS.

They banged their muscley chests in some kind of adorable salute. I drew myself up to as haughty an attitude as I’m capable (while trying not to drool), and looked the taller of the two in the eye.

“I would like to ride my horse.”

He blinked.

“Now.”

He blinked again. Why do I always assume tall guys are smarter? (Note to self: tall guys are not smarter, they’re just more attractive.)

“Well, inform the stable…um…servants that they need to saddle her for me.” Nice save, but I knew I was reaching. (God, I hoped Rhiannon rode with some kind of a saddle.) I took a big breath and tried to act all sure of myself and bitchy—which, for some annoying reason, was suddenly more difficult than usual.

“Mistress, shall I have your escort awakened?” Mr. Muscles still looked confused.

“No!” I realized my voice sounded shrill and I got it under control. “I want privacy. Do not wake up any of my guards. Just have the stable servants saddle her for me.”

“As you command, my Lady.”

And I was right on his heels as he turned and headed for what had to be the exit to the stables. I did see him turn his head once, and caught his startled glance as he noticed me right behind him, but I figured he must be used to Rhiannon acting like a raving bitch—this was probably small potatoes compared to her screwing everyone in sight and God knows what else.

The cute guard led me down a corridor that wound in the opposite direction of the one that led me to my handfast and feast. After a short walk we came to a set of carved double doors. Mr. Muscles spoke to the guards standing before the doors, and they hustled them open before rushing off to wake the stable hands. I entered the stable and my little Oklahoma horse-girl heart went all a-pitter-patter.

It was a stable fit for a queen. Or better. The stalls were carved out of the same milky-colored marble from which the temple and its surrounding wall were made. They stretched down a wide hall on either side of me. There were probably twenty spacious stalls on either side, and as I walked down the hall I couldn’t help pausing at each stall and cooing to the beautiful horses they held. They were the breeding stock of royalty. All mares, they ranged from dainty bays with an Arabian look, to long-legged sorrel Thoroughbreds. As I made my way down the hall, I was touched by how each mare seemed to recognize me. At each stall the enclosed mare would raise her soft muzzle and blow in my direction, looking forward to my caress and my whispered flattery.

“Hey there, beautiful girl.”

“Hi, sweet thing.”

“Look at you, what a pretty lady.”

The mares whickered back at me, vying for attention. It was familiar horsey talk to a girl raised around horses. Each mare’s head reached out over the half door of her stall, waiting for my touch. Whatever else Rhiannon was, she certainly loved her horses. And they certainly reciprocated the feeling. Add another to the column of ways Shannon IS similar to Rhiannon. (I’d try to make sure that column didn’t get too large.)

As I came to the end of the row of stalls, the chamber turned to my left, then widened into a gigantic stall attached to a private corral outside the stable. I recognized it as being the one my spirit body had visited earlier. Inside the spacious stall (which somehow reminded me of Rhiannon’s bedroom—as strange as that may sound) three lovely (but sleepy and rumpled-looking) nymphs were readying the silver mare for me. I entered the stall and the nymphs paused long enough to curtsy to me, then returned to grooming the mare.

I stopped and breathed a sigh of happiness at the sight of such an exquisite horse. She really was magnificent, even more exceptional than she had appeared in my dream. She noticed my presence and I was delighted to see her twist her perfect head around so that she could see me. She telegraphed her greeting in a wonderful, full-throated neigh that made me laugh out loud with joy.

“Well, hello to you, too, gorgeous!” I moved eagerly toward her, taking a currycomb from one of the servants and enjoying the feel of her sleek coat under the soft brush.

I love grooming horses. I always have. Too many horse owners think that grooming a horse or mucking a stall is mundane. They despise the ordinary tasks of caring for their animals. I never have. From the time I was a little girl, I have adored the smell of the stables and the feel of cleaning my horse’s coat and stall. It’s a labor of love. It’s like lying in the sun—or weeding roses—soul—and mind-clearing work. Good for what ails ya.

The silver mare nuzzled my face and lipped my shoulder as I combed her already perfectly groomed neck.

“You are a sweet, beautiful lady.” I clucked and cooed at her, feeling like I was a girl again, soaking in her scent and the feel of her warm breath.

Her head swung obediently forward when one of the servants approached with a dainty-looking hackamore (you gotta figure this mare wouldn’t need a bit). I stepped out of the way as two more servants lifted onto her back a saddle blanket that looked like a 1970s sheepskin bucket-seat cover with stirrups and a girth.

The servant tightened the girth and stepped back. Then they all stood there. Just looking at me.

I looked at those high stirrups. And the tall mare. And considered my thirty-five-year-old body.

Great. Now I have to pretend to be Ms. Athletic.

Wait—no, all I have to pretend to be is Ms. Bitch. And some people would say that was not much of a pretense.

“Well, someone help me mount!” Damn, I sounded hateful. Smile. Without hesitating, I strode forward (relishing a true John Wayne moment), grabbed a fistful of silver mane and lifted my foot (hoping a nymph would catch it and give me a boost up). Thank God one did, and I scrambled aboard, sticking my other foot in the empty stirrup and squaring my shoulders.

But now I didn’t know which way was out.

“Well, open the gate for me!” I seemed to be catching on to this pretend-to-be-a-bitch stuff pretty easily.

One of the nymphs scampered toward a door at the far side of the mare’s stall, and another nymph scrambled to open a seamless exit in the outer wall of the temple. I clucked twice with my tongue on the side of my teeth (in what I hoped was the universal horse noise for giddyup) and the wonderful mare moved forward. Just before I went through the last opened door, I pulled her to a halt and spoke over my shoulder to the servants.

“Thank you. You may go back to your beds now. Sleep late, I will care for the mare myself when I return.” I squeezed my thighs against the soft saddle blanket and leaned forward. The mare broke into a rolling canter.

We were out of the castle and on our way. The moon was still high and bright, so visibility was pretty darn good. I pulled the mare up so that I could look around and attempt to figure out just where the hell I was, and then I would theoretically know where the hell I should be going. The first thing I noticed was that the temple had been built strategically on the top of a hilly rise, and the grounds around it, although lush and green, were clear of trees. The temple itself was a huge circle, stately and rich-looking with marbled columns and a rushing fountain situated square in the foreground (some kind of giant horse rising from a fake ocean with what looked like hot mineral water spewing from several orifices—very Trevi Fountain-like).

I tried to look at the building with a soldier’s eye, and I could see what ClanFintan had meant by it being built for defense. The biggest clue to that was the huge wall that encircled it. The wall looked thick and impenetrable, and the top of it had the stereotypical toothlike balustrades, complete with a battlement that would be a great place to situate archers (or sunbathers, whichever the current conditions of war or not-war called for). And the wall wasn’t just solid, I noticed with a start of surprise, it was beautiful. It looked as if it had been built of one solid slab of enormous cream-colored marble. In the moonlight it gave off an otherworldly glow. I realized that if you took away the outer wall, the temple itself would have reminded me of the Pantheon in Rome, only the top didn’t have a hole in it.

The reflection of the moon on water drew my attention to the river, which looped around and behind the temple—not so close it would flood, but close enough that barges could dock nearby. It was a convenient setup. If it weren’t for those horrible flesh-eating man-creature things, this would be a very nice place to live.

Which reminded me that instead of sitting there all slackjawed like a Japanese tourist at the Vatican, I should be following that river to the sea. I had more important things to do than gawk at a pretty temple. And I damn sure didn’t have a camera with me. I mean, please, where would I get the film developed?

I headed the mare toward the river, glad that the night was so clear and quiet. I knew that somewhere inside the temple ClanFintan was rousing the centaurs and giving them instructions to start bringing the people to safety, so I leaned forward and squeezed my knees, urging the mare into a smooth gallop. It wouldn’t do to be caught out here in the open and have to go through some horribly embarrassing public power play about what I’ve been up to. Plus, I might very well lose. Rhiannon’s power seemed impressive, but I wondered how far it would extend if my desires were at odds with what was considered safe for Epona’s Beloved.

Soon, the mare’s gallop brought us to the riverbank, and I turned her to the west. The river itself was impressive. I had no way of telling how deep it was, but it was wide and the current was swift. It had a nice smell, not fishy and muddy like the Mississippi, but clear and rocky like the Colorado River. Trees lined the banks and I was relieved to see that the mare had picked out a small path, probably some kind of deer trail, which ran parallel with the bank. There wasn’t so much underbrush that she couldn’t have made her way without the path, but this made things quicker and easier. And I sure didn’t want to ride down the road that I had glimpsed from the temple. It seemed to head in the general direction I wanted to go, but it looked like it was pretty well used. Not that it was a four-lane highway, but I was fairly sure that at first light it would be crowded with centaurs and people—and, please. Like they wouldn’t notice Epona’s Beloved trotting along on her shimmery silver mare?

Speaking of my beautiful mare, I pulled her up from a gallop. She looked like she was in great shape, but we had two hard days of traveling, and no horse could keep up a gallop for two days. Patting her silky neck I relaxed and found my seat as she settled into a smooth, ground-eating trot.

“Hey, sweet girl, what does Rhiannon call you?” Her delicate ears cocked back attentively at the sound of my voice. “I can’t keep calling you The Mare, it’s rude. It’s like someone calling me The Woman, or considering my attitude lately, The Bitch.” She tossed her head in obvious agreement. And in this world, you never knew, maybe she could understand my words. “Clearly, everyone calls you Epona, but that sounds too formal and stuffy for me.” I reached forward and mussed her mane. “How about if I call you Epi? It might not be as dignified, but in my world dignified is usually synonymous with what politicians try to appear to be.” I didn’t think she’d be interested in a depressing lecture on the downslide of modern American politics, but it might be a long two days and I filed the story away to tell her about later—if I got really desperate for topics.

Her sassy snort and a little prance to the side were answer enough for me. “Epi it is.”

I let my fingers trail through her soft mane and settled back for a long ride. It was clear from the start that Epi was not one of those horses who need a lot of her rider’s attention. She was smart and well able to trot forward along the path without me guiding and coaxing. So I settled back and took in the scenery. It certainly was pretty country. Between the trees I caught glimpses of homes dotting the scenic land. They looked well kept and adorably thatched, although thinking about all the bugs that lived in the thatching dispelled some of my romanticizing.

Between cottages stretched acres of vineyards and fields filled with crops, I think I recognized corn and beans, but I couldn’t be sure in the moonlight. Once in a while I’d notice some sleepy animals, mostly cows and sheep with an occasional horse thrown in—and I was impressed and appreciative that Epi didn’t neigh like a common mare. Every so often I could see the moonlight reflect off the road as it snaked between homesteads, keeping in a generally northwesterly direction, but it was pretty far away and I felt well concealed by the trees.

All in all it was a nice night. I guess some people (sissies) would be scared at the thought of being alone out in the middle of who-knows-where, but I have never been afraid of the dark and never been scared of being alone. True, my destination was daunting, and I wasn’t even entirely sure what the hell I was actually going to do when (if) I got there, but I was Scarlett O’Hara-ing that, so it wasn’t hard, with me deeply entrenched in denial, to find joy in a clear, lovely night ride.

Gradually it became lighter. At about the same time the trees started to become more dense and the path less defined. Epi didn’t seem worried about it, so I let her pick her own path, and we gravitated toward the rocky riverbank. That horse-sense thing can really come in handy. Also, about this time I realized that I had ridden off, all Bitchy and In Charge, without giving one tiny thought to things like breakfast, lunch, dinner, water or toilet paper. Who knew what time it was, but by the time the sun was peeping over the top of the trees my butt and my stomach were both telling me that we had been riding “a while.”

In Okie slang, “a while” ranges from five hours to five days. My mind said I had probably been riding about five hours. My butt and stomach said they were sure it had been five days. And let’s face it, my butt and stomach are bigger than my mind, so they won.

Well, at least I knew where I could get some water. I could lithely dismount, lead Epi down to the sparkling river and (much like John Wayne) get a cool, refreshing drink. Maybe I’d even walk for a while and let Epi take a break.

Easier thought than done.

Have you ever ridden for “a while?” And I don’t mean round and round in a little corral while a riding instructor beams encouragement. And I don’t mean paying fifty bucks an hour to sit on a horse that could probably be declared clinically dead, following fifteen other Nags of the Walking Dead on an Authentic Trail Ride. Which lasts exactly thirty-five and one-half minutes.

I mean riding a horse (one that’s actually alive) for several hours. Alternating between trot, canter, walk, back to trot. On a thirty-five-year-old butt. Without breakfast.

Well, it’s not as easy as it appears in the movies, although I’m sure John Wayne really did ride a lot. His butt was probably made of iron. God bless him.

Sliding down the side of Epi I couldn’t seem to find my feet—or my legs. My butt was where I had last left it, except it felt like it had grown broader and flatter. What a lovely thought. So I stood there and attempted to restore circulation to my extremities, glad that Epi was the only one who witnessed my appalling lack of gluteal competence.

Eventually (almost “a while” later) I felt able to hobble—yes, I mean literally limping and cussing my way in the true tradition of the authentic Old West Hobble—down the bank to the edge of the river.

“Well, at least it’s not muddy.” I grumbled and patted Epi, letting her drink first. Slowly, I straightened up, listening to the musical cracking of my spine. Epi lipped the water and took several noisy gulps, saying “tastes good” in horsey language. I gimped upstream a couple of steps and crouched (amidst much creaking of knees), bending forward to wash my hands.

“Oh, baby, that’s cold!” I was expecting the river to be a nice room temp, because the climate was so warm, but the river was icy, which told me it had to originate in the distant mountains. Hey—I’m a college graduate; you can’t slip anything by me. Cupping my hands, I sucked the cold, clean water into my mouth.

It was like Grandma’s well water. Nothing quenches a thirst as completely as cold water straight from the well. As a child I used to think that my grandma’s well water was the Fountain of Youth. I’d pump like mad and then run around to the front of the spigot and slurp handfuls of the clear liquid. My creaky knees proved my Fountain of Youth theory wrong, but the taste still quenched and refreshed like a spring rain. And I was suddenly not quite as hungry as I had been.

“Well, old girl. How about I walk and give you a little break?” I smoothed her forelock and rubbed her broad forehead while she explored the front of my shirt and lipped my chin with her wet muzzle. God, horses are incredible animals. Being alone with her made me realize how much I’d missed owning one. Their smell, their equine beauty and intelligent kindness are things unique to them, not replaceable by a dog or even a thinking-it-has-no-owner cat (although cats are cooler than dogs—they’re the haughty bitches of the animal world, and I can’t help but appreciate that in them). But I’ve always adored horses. They are truly noble animals. Remember the scene in True Grit when Little Blacky allows John Wayne (Rooster Cogburn) to run him to death so that Baby Sister can be saved? Sob. What (sniffle) other animal would (blow my nose) do that (wipe my eyes)?

No wonder I thought ClanFintan was so damn cute—I was in need of a pet and a man. Apparently with him I killed two birds with one stone.

Except he was going to be really pissed when I got back to the temple.

And he thought I was a bitch.

After one more pat to Epi’s neck, I turned reluctantly away from the riverbank, looped the reins over my shoulder and started back to find our scraggly, fading trail. Epi followed me like the polite girl she was, occasionally grabbing a mouthful of grass and chewing contentedly.

I started to whistle the “Hi-Ho” tune from Snow White. Epi blew through her nose at me, which I took as a commentary on my whistling ability, and I laughed over my shoulder at her, still whistling. Yeah, we were having fun now.

The trees were decidedly more dense, and I could glimpse fewer and fewer homes between the thick foliage. I tried to remember the layout of the land from my dream, but my spirit body had been moving so quickly that I hadn’t gotten any landmarks more clearly defined than the river, the lush lands around it and the fact that it flowed from somewhere northeast of the castle and ran all the way down past my temple. I felt like Maid Marion lost in Sherwood Forest. Except I was pretty damn sure Robin Hood wasn’t going to come rescue me (and, quite frankly, I’m no maid).