She glanced skeptically at me. “You wanna bet?”
I didn’t. We picked our way down the rocks to the tree line, and eventually emerged onto the crest over which the crowd had disappeared. And we saw where they went.
A small village, hidden by the hills until you were right on top of it, awaited us. A dozen homes and some obvious common buildings circled a large central well. Each structure was in a similar style, bordered by either a small livestock pen or household garden. Neat stone paths connected them. In fact, the whole vista was so damn neat it raised hackles on my neck, because it was completely empty.
“Where is everybody?” Cathy asked.
The valley forest bordered the far side of the village, and a dark opening indicated a wide trail into it. The grass appeared trampled in that direction, as if many people had entered the woods. “Must’ve gone in there.”
“ All of them?”
“Maybe.”
“Then we can at least go down and look around,” she said, and started forward.
I grabbed her arm. “Hold on. This whole thing is creepy. We’re outnumbered, on unfamiliar turf and not even sure who we’re looking for. That’s not the best time to be caught snooping. I think we should just sit down here and wait for them to come to us.”
She glared at me, then down at my hand, until I released her. “I know it’s weird,” she agreed. “That’s why I want to get this over with and get out of here. But you have a point.” I could tell admitting it was difficult for her.
So we sat on the top of the hill, clearly silhouetted against the sky. We both kept one eye out for the rampaging wild horses, but they did not reappear. I also belatedly noticed that none of the livestock pens held anything larger than a goat; nor, I realized, could they. Even taking into account the odd ceremony we’d witnessed with the child, it seemed strange that an isolated settlement would allow a herd of such monumentally useful animals to run wild.
Hey, I thought. That’s it. It wasn’t a near-accident, it was a ceremony. But what did it signify?
The sun passed midday and descended, blinding us since the village lay to our west. Cathy yawned and stretched out flat with her arm over her eyes. “Wake me if anything happens,” she muttered, then began to snore. A big butterfly landed on her knee, basked there for a while, then flew off.
At last, near sundown, the people we’d seen earlier emerged from the forest trail. It was a bastard to see through the glare, but they appeared to have returned from a community picnic or party. Many of them seemed a little drunk, young couples walked arm in arm, and fathers carried weary children. Most reached their homes without even glancing in our direction, but at last, one very tall man pointed at us. Several others joined him, and finally a dark-haired woman strode out of one of the houses. She looked in our direction, listened to something the tall man said, then started up the slope toward us. The tall man followed.
I lightly kicked Cathy. “We’re on.”
She awoke instantly. We stood, drew our visible weapons and placed them on the ground at our feet. Cathy stepped slightly in front and crossed her arms. “I’ll do the talking,” she said. “You just look mean and keep your eyes open.” That was fine with me; I could watch more closely if I didn’t have to be charming.
The woman was in her late thirties, dressed in a low-cut purple gown. Festive flowers dotted her straight, thick hair. She had a strong face, and when she got close enough, called out neutrally, “Hello.”
“Hi,” Cathy said as they stopped before us. “We have a package to deliver. We’re looking for an Epona Gray.”
“Then lucky for you we have one.” She smiled, and the seriousness melted. I got no bad vibes from her at all; although she bore an unmistakable air of authority, she seemed earthy, self-assured and, at heart, kind.
The tall man, however, was a whole different story. He stood over six and a half feet, wore his hair military- short and had the knack of watching without appearing to be. His arms were bare and, like mine, bore a network of fine pink scars from sword cuts. We both knew fellow soldiers when we saw them.
He nudged my sword with his foot. “Zuberbuhler Warmonger with a weight-balanced hilt. Big knife for a delivery boy.”
Nothing clever came to mind, so I let it go. Cathy said, “He’s just hired muscle, tough guy. There’s no need for a pissing contest.”
“There never is,” the woman agreed. “Mr. Carnahan’s old habits die hard.”
“That’s how they get to be old habits,” Carnahan said. He slipped his boot under my sword’s blade, then kicked it up into the air. I reflexively caught it without breaking eye contact, a feat I was never able to manage again in my life. But at least the one time that I got it right, it counted. Carnahan’s eyes widened in surprise, but so slightly only I noticed.
I slipped the weapon back in its scabbard. “Thanks.”
“Come on, you two,” the woman said patiently.
“Yeah, don’t forget who’s paying you,” Cathy added, but I saw from her glance that she agreed this Carnahan bore watching.
“Sorry,” the big man said. “Guess that’s not very friendly.” He offered me his hand. His grip, even restrained for politeness, could twist off a crocodile’s head.
Cathy cleared her throat and he turned to her. “Cathy Dumont,” she said as she shook his hand. “Dumont Confidential Courier Service.”
“You’ve picked a fine day to visit,” the woman said. “We’re finishing up a celebration, and it’s almost time to open this year’s sacred wine. Why don’t we go down and relax a little.”
“Is Epona Gray celebrating?” Cathy asked.
The woman looked at her carefully for a long moment. “She surely is,” she answered enigmatically.
We followed them down the hill into the village. Giddy people milled about, watching us but not making a big deal of it. One little boy fell into step beside me; I noticed that he mimicked the way I walked.
“Get outta here, Randy,” Carnahan told the kid. His voice was gruff but not mean. The boy instantly ran off.
The woman led us to one of the larger common buildings. On the closed door was a white horse head symbol identical to the first marker we’d encountered. The woman stepped onto the small porch and opened the door, then stepped aside in a formal, practiced way for us to enter.
We both stopped. Cathy said, “Just so you know, we’re not planning to stay for church,” and glanced back at me. I saw the tense, suspicious look in her eyes, and wished Carnahan wasn’t directly behind me, blocking any quick retreat. But we had no real choice. I followed Cathy into the temple with every sense straining for danger.
SIXTEEN
Inside was a quaint little temple big enough for perhaps twenty people at a time. A huge white horse head silhouette in mosaic tile dominated the far wall, with a low altar before it. A cauldron, charred from much use, sat over a fire pit in the center of the room. Half-moon benches circled the cauldron. The woman closed the door from the outside, leaving us alone in the room with Carnahan.
Then another woman emerged from a side entrance carrying a fresh bundle of grain, oats by the look of it. She placed it on the altar then turned to us. She had long wavy hair streaked with gray, and wore several symbolic necklaces. “Hello,” she said. Her slight accent identified her as Ginstrian, from the far west.
“Epona Gray?” Cathy asked, all business.
The woman looked carefully at her, just as the other one had done on the hill. “If I am… what happens?”
“If you are, I give you a package, you make your mark on a receipt and we all go our merry way.”
“What sort of package?”
Cathy sighed impatiently. “Ma’am, I am tired, and frustrated, and really just want to be rid of this thing, okay?” She pulled the small box from her pocket. “This is it. I have no idea what it is, or even who sent it. I just got paid to put it in your hands.”
