Bondage and Other Tales

The following day, we left the inn, not without a final delicious meal and some regrets.

The wizard Enzaneth found us camped on the short green grass a bowshot from the gate. I was sitting on the ground, polishing my long knives, watching Sylvael fussing over the horses.

One would have been enough, really, but the two geldings were half-brothers and had been raised together; Syl had been miserable at the thought of separating them, and I’d been able to rationalize it as more power over rough ground. Since swapping the single-horse shafts for the pole that ran between the team meant that we couldn’t switch easily to just one pulling if the other came up lame, we couldn’t actually see it as having a spare, but since both were actually broken to ride, it did give us the option of parking the caravan and riding bareback if necessary.

Both were chestnuts, but one was more golden, the other a deeper red; both had manes and tails several shades paler than their bodies. The red one had white socks on all four feet; the gold one had a broad, asymmetrical white blaze down his face. Both were stocky and strong, with feathers of longer hair at their feet, but their shoulders were no higher than mine—smaller versions of the immense draught horses used to haul heavy wagons of goods long distances. They were good-natured and patient and hardworking, and it took a lot to spook them.

Sylvael loved them dearly, and spent more time than really necessary petting them, brushing them, sneaking them little treats... I’d even caught her reading out loud to them when working on something outside. She’d objected to their previous names as bland and demeaning, and gave them elaborate ones in some ancient language, although they had quickly been simplified to the nicknames Jem and Rav.

The wizard, who was in possibly the same robe but who had added as an accessory a staff with a glassy orb at the top, raised an eyebrow as he regarded Sylvael. Shopping for clothes had been interesting. Syl had been drawn to an ankle-length full skirt that shaded from pale azure at the top to a much deeper blue at the bottom; we’d left that stall with the skirt, which she was currently wearing with her usual blousy shirt and a belt tied over it, and a pair of loose flowing trousers dyed the same mysterious way but in rose-pink instead.

It honestly was an utterly adorable image, Syl murmuring to the two geldings while currently running a hand under golden Jem’s bridle to make sure it was sitting comfortably, her own hair neatly braided, the wind wrapping the skirt around her legs so she tugged distractedly on it now and then. Personally, I had no idea how she could stand all that extra fabric, but she seemed to be enjoying the sensations, so I wasn’t going to argue.

I got up, slid my knife back into its sheath at my hip, and strode over to intercept the wizard.

“You’re a despicable human being,” I informed him.

“How so, specifically?” he asked, unruffled.

“You can’t figure that out? Blackmailing us into theft, and then using an artefact to change my husband into a girl, without warning or consent?”

“It can be reversed. It’s the only way he can enter the valley. And he hardly looks terribly angry or distressed.”

“Not the point. Yes, we got that. It doesn’t make me despise you any less. You had better plan on reversing that as soon as we get your damned cat.”

“I always had every intention of that.” He tossed something at me; I caught it reflexively. It was a small bone whistle. “Blow that when you are done. No one can hear it but me. For obvious reasons, you will need to blow it in a place I can actually reach.”

“Fine. Contract?”

He produced it; I read it, and we both made use of the side of the wagon to sign it in the ink from a small jar Enzaneth produced. I called Syl over to sign it as well, although she promptly returned to the horses, which would calm her. We didn’t have much to lose, since we were cornered, but at least the contract should prevent him from forcing us into future jobs.

Being a proper magically-binding contract, it triplicated itself once all parties signed, so we each had one. I took mine and Syl’s and shoved them into the storage box under my seat at the front of the caravan.

“Now,” Enzaneth said. “If you are satisfied, the sooner you go...”

I nodded, tucking the whistle into one of the small pouches at my belt. “Syl? Time to go!”

Sylvael gave each a final pat, and climbed agilely up to one of the seats flanking the door of the caravan. When he clucked to them and gave the reins a small flip, they started forward without hesitation. I swung myself up to the other seat.

The wizard drew a line in the dirt of the road with the end of his staff, and slammed the base into the ground at each end and in the centre, while his free hand twisted into contortions that didn’t look comfortable and he intoned a string of syllables I didn’t recognize. Honestly, I have no idea how much of that is actually necessary and how much is to put on a show of just how complicated wizardry is.

The line began to glow blue, and the blue inched its way upwards until it formed a luminous curtain that rippled in the air, as tall as the caravan.

Being asked to walk into that was just too much for Jem and Rav. They balked.

Syl handed me the reins, jumped down, and circled around to their heads. Cooing soothingly to them, she took one bridle in each hand and backed into the blue curtain; the cobs followed her, snorting and unhappy, but obedient to their favourite human.

Once the horses were about halfway through, they sped up, possibly trying to get away from the wizardly weirdness that was now behind them. I couldn’t help it: I closed my eyes as I crossed it.

I felt the caravan stop, and the air felt different on my skin, so I opened them again.

We were still on a road, but it wasn’t the same one. Rather than the packed-gravel one we had been on, pounded smooth by countless wheels and hooves and feet every year and broad enough for two wagons to pass easily, this one was simply worn dirt, scarcely wide enough for one cargo wagon, though comfortable enough for us. We were at a crossroads, in fact. One of the four roads, behind us, led down to a ford across a river.

There were trees on all sides, huge ones, about half of them broad-leaved types and the other half evergreens, so we must be farther north. The terrain wasn’t flat, that was clear, but I couldn’t make out much more from here. The sun was in a different place in the sky, though I couldn’t tell whether it was rising towards noon or dropping past it with no idea which direction we were facing. “Not far away” clearly meant something different to a wizard than it did to me.

Sylvael patted both horses, praising them for being brave, and then scurried back around to climb up next to me, one hand holding her skirt out of the way as naturally as if she’d been wearing one forever. She didn’t sit down, though. Instead, she opened the door and ducked inside the caravan. I hoped she was looking for the compass.

She returned with both that and the map. She handed me the compass, while she took a look at the map.

“We’re facing... north-east,” I reported. That meant the sun was past noon.

“Right. So we must be at... this crossroads here. According to this, we’re headed in the right direction. Just go straight. There will be a simple pole gate on the left, the kind any farm could have, and we need to go through that and follow the lane.”

I urged the horses into motion, which they did with alacrity.

“It’s really gorgeous around here,” Sylvael observed. “I wonder how far north and east we’ve moved. We could even be up in Ifsarieth, and in the general area of the old Tansim territory. Wouldn’t it be amazing to find one of the Tansim outpost towers? No one has ever found anything intrinsically valuable in one, but they sometimes have some beautiful finds that are in high demand to historians as long as they get details about where and how it was found.”

“It’s beautiful,” I agreed. “Do you happen to know what kind of wildlife we might run into? Anything that might fancy the taste of human or horse, in particular?”

“Um... bears are very common in Ifsarieth and Tansim iconography. So are wolves and owls. Not many snakes, mostly just in decorative styles since snakes are good for that sort of thing, so probably there are no significant venomous ones, because the imagery would either be taboo or more visible like the bears and wolves. Oh, and some sort of big cat. Probably pumas.”

“Lovely. I hope we find this valley before any of them find us.” We had paid dearly for a charm on the caravan that deterred predators from it and from the horses when they were tethered close to it, and it had more than proved itself worth the price, but it didn’t work while we were moving.

“Jem and Rav aren’t smelling or hearing anything. And it’s the middle of the day. We should be okay.”

Worrying about predators wasn’t much better than worrying about what we were going to find once we reached our destination.

“Syl? Did you figure out anything more from the info he gave you?”

“Not really. I tried comparing it to every ancient culture and sect that I know and it doesn’t match properly with any of them. I can find a parallel for every single point, but not for all of it together.” She sighed. “I really don’t like that we’re stealing this cat figurine from living people. If everyone has been dead for a long time, then no one gets hurt, and I keep notes and all and I give whoever hired us a copy, so even the historical context is still recorded. But actually stealing it feels really wrong.”

“I know. I hate it too. But we don’t have a choice. Look at how easily he sent us here. If he sent us to the middle of Covingnor where Caulsey could get us, we’d both be dead. Probably not in a very quick and merciful way.”

“I don’t want to be dead. But I want to be able to live with myself, too.”

“I know. We’ll figure it out somehow. Maybe they’ll turn out to be bad people that steal from others and we won’t feel so bad about it.”

“Maybe. Hey, that looks like the gate we need.”

I passed her the reins and hopped down from the caravan so I could open the gate. Sylvael drove the horses neatly through the space, and I closed the gate. It was easier on the horses not to stop and start a lot, so Syl just kept going and I had a short run to catch up.

The tree-shaded lane was even narrower than the road, and it curved gently, first one way, then back the other.

It led us directly towards a modest arch of pale limestone; on either side, I could see nacreous walls forming, starting as just a faint rippling in the air but gradually solidifying. In the centre of the arch, however, there was nothing but a filmy shimmer.

“I hope this goddess doesn’t mind about the horses being boys,” Sylvael said worriedly. “Or ex-boys, or sorta-boys, or something.”

“Let’s not worry about that unless it happens,” I said. “Remember the story?”

Sylvael nodded. “Almost the truth. We’re explorers and we heard a rumour about them and we wanted to see what’s up here for ourselves. We’re basically just going to be ourselves but not mention that carnelian cat or the wizard.” She glanced at me and grinned. “Or that I’m not exactly a girl.”

“Right. Well. Here we go. I guess we get to add another entry to the list of places we’ve been that very few other people ever have.”

Quite possibly, the horses couldn’t perceive any sort of barrier at all: despite their reaction to Enzaneth’s portal thing, they just kept straight on along the lane without breaking stride, up to and through the archway.

I couldn’t help reaching out to take Sylvael’s hand for a quick squeeze, as we crossed into the Omphalos.