I went back to work on his cuts. He stood quietly, and soon I was able to lather in the salve. That done, I reluctantly moved to the rear of his body.

“You’re too matted with dirt, and, uh, stuff, for me to tell. Are the cuts on your rump the only big wounds on the rest of your body?

He turned at the waist, looking up and down his horse body as if it didn’t belong to him.

“I believe so.”

“Okay, well, you’re too tall, so you’re going to have to lie down for me to take care of these.”

With a sigh, he folded his knees and dropped to the ground.

Warnings from my memory file titled Stuff You Don’t Let Sick Horses Do flashed in my mind. “You will be able to get up, won’t you?”

“I hope so.”

Great. Where the hell is a veterinarian when you need one, anyway?

The cuts on his rump were terrible. It looked as if the claws of a giant bear had raked him. Three L-shaped gashes, huge flaps of skin and muscle, had been gouged out, then laid back down. I pulled one of the flaps up a little, and heard ClanFintan’s sharp intake of breath.

“I think these are going to have to be sewn up.” Just the thought of it made my head feel faint.

“Do what you need to do,” he said quietly.

“I’m going to clean them first.” I wet another strip of linen with more wine, trying to use it sparingly, but it was hard not to just douse his entire rump in wine. The wounds were deep and scary. After I worked as much of the grime as I could out of them (I would’ve given all of Rhiannon’s jewels to have a big bottle of peroxide and a syringe filled with penicillin), I applied a thick layer of Sila’s ointment, and was relieved to see his face relax as the numbing salve took effect.

“Just rest, I’m going to go talk to Vic.” I patted his shoulder and handed him the wineskin.

Vic and Dougal were talking amiably. I noticed his wounds looked clean, glistening with yellow salve, and his skin had returned to a more normal color.

“Vic.” I sounded like I was having an anxiety attack. Probably because I was having an anxiety attack. “I think the wounds on ClanFintan’s rump need to be sewn up.”

“That is very likely.”

I spoke tightly under my breath. “I can’t sew up his skin!” I felt like I was going to cry, which really made me mad. “I could sew up your skin. I could sew up Dougal’s skin. But I just can’t friggin sew up his skin.” I paused in my tirade. “No offense meant.”

“None taken,” Dougal’s sweet little self assured me.

“I can do it,” Vic said, as if she was talking about driving down to the corner to pick up pizza.

“Good.” I grabbed her hand and pulled. “Come on. I’m sure the longer we wait, the more swamp dirt and crap will fester away in it, and his butt will probably fall off in the morning…or something.”

“I hope you realize I can hear you quite well.” ClanFintan’s amused voice carried across the few feet that separated us.

“You didn’t hear anything,” I said as Vic and I approached him. “You’re probably delirious.”

“Or you will soon wish you were,” Vic said sadistically as she began threading one of the needles.

I was horrified, but ClanFintan and Dougal shared a big belly laugh.

“I’m glad you three are having a good time.” I crossed my arms, and felt a serious teacher leg-tap coming on.

“Come here, love.” ClanFintan held his arm out to me.

I stepped into the shelter of it, even though he was still covered with all sorts of scabby unmentionables.

“The worst is over now.” He kissed my cheek.

“Is it?” I asked as I watched Victoria head toward his rump, needle in hand.

“I will need something to cut this!” she yelled, and Dougal unsheathed his sword and moved quickly to her side.

“We are together,” he said simply.

His words made my heart beat more regularly, so I shut my mouth and peeked over his shoulder at Vic.

“Brace yourself,” Vic said.

I watched her jab the needle through the flaps of his skin, and I heard the distinctive pop sound every time she poked through one side and the other—then I listened to the shuuuuuu sound the thread made as she pulled it taut, tied it off (with the help of Dougal’s sword) and started anew.

I thought I was going to be sick.

“Do not forget to leave room for the drainage.” ClanFintan’s voice sounded remarkably calm.

Victoria threw him a look that said, “I know that, dummy.”

“Rhea—” my husband’s voice was soft in my ear “—the salve has numbed the wounds. She is not hurting me.”

I looked into his face, wanting to believe him, but seeing the film of sweat over his upper lip made me have my doubts.

“I just don’t like needles.” I snuggled into his shoulder, watching Victoria as she sewed up my husband’s flesh.

It seemed like hours had passed before Victoria tied off the final suture and asked me to hand her the salve, which she applied generously all over the freshly sewn-together skin.

“I believe you will have a scar.” Victoria sounded jealous.

ClanFintan grunted, and acted as if he was starting to get back to his feet.

“Oh, no!” I pushed down on his shoulders. “You need to rest.” I looked over at Dougal. “So do you. The creatures can’t follow us in here. You two have just been through a major battle. You need to stay put.”

“Rhea.” ClanFintan’s voice sounded strained. “I have to gather the centaur survivors, find the women and get back to Epona’s Temple. Quickly. The Fomorians have not finished with us.”

“You can’t do anything if you don’t get some rest.” I glared at him.

Before our own little private war could begin, Vic cleared her throat and said, “Does anyone have any idea how far we are from the river?”

The centaur know-it-alls were silent.

“Nope, doesn’t look like any of us does. Centaurs don’t like the swamp, and I sure as hell have never been in here before,” I said.

“Then I propose I scout and find out where we are. It might be a simple thing for us to cross the river—and it might not.” Victoria had turned into Centaur Barbie In Charge.

“Sounds like a great idea, Vic,” I said. “Just be careful.”

“I am Lead—”

“Huntress,” we said together, and smiled at each other.

“I will accompany you,” Dougal said.

“No, I hunt alone.” But as she passed by the young centaur she touched his cheek gently, which took the sting out of her words.

Nimbly, she leaped from the island with a splash, but soon the thickness of the swamp swallowed all sound of her passage.

Dougal sighed and took a position near the edge of the island, peering into the distance after her.

ClanFintan shifted his weight to his other side so he could lean his torso against the craggy edge of a cypress tree. He patted the ground next to him.

“Come, I need you beside me.”

His words made me feel a rush of warmth for him, and I sat down, nestling against him on the soft ground. He tucked me under his arm and rested his chin on my head.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked, trying to get another look at his wounds.

“Be still. As you have already said, I need rest.”

“Oh, sorry.”

His chuckle vibrated through his chest and I felt his warm lips on the top of my head. I pressed myself against him harder, trying to be careful of his wounds but needing the comfort of his body to reassure me that he was truly here and alive. He seemed to understand my need, because he laced his fingers with mine, pulling me against him.

“I was so afraid you were dead.” I couldn’t stop the words from coming.

“You would have known.”

“Let’s not test that theory, okay?”

He squeezed me, and I was pleased it was with enough strength that I felt the air rush out of my lungs.

“I watched from the roof of the temple.”

“We could not hold them—there were too many.” His voice was suddenly hollow.

“I should have known there were too many of them. I saw them coming. I just didn’t realize.”

“It would not have mattered if you had known.” His voice lowered, and I wasn’t sure he knew he was speaking aloud anymore. “It would not have mattered if the human forces had joined us. There are too many of them.”

A chill crawled down my spine. Too many of them? For even our combined armies? Then what the hell were we going to do?

18

The gloom of the cloudy day gave way easily to night. Dougal and ClanFintan slept fitfully, and I stayed awake, listening to the hum of what must be a zillion cicadas, and a symphony of mewing, chirping and croaking frogs mixing in gross harmony with other unseen slimy, crawling things.

And I swatted mosquitoes. I’d thought Oklahoma had a mosquito problem. This place must be Insect Heaven.

And I was starving.

And it was really dark.

I kept feeling ClanFintan to see if he was feverish, but his body was always so hot that I couldn’t tell if he had a raging temperature, or if he was just “normal.” Plus, he had started getting annoyed at me for waking him up every few minutes. So I sat back and tried to rest, without actually falling asleep because I really, really, really didn’t want to go on another one of those spirit-dream things. I just couldn’t handle seeing what I was sure was happening back at the Temple of the Muse.

Rest, Beloved drifted through my tired mind.

I felt my eyelids droop in response, and I breathed a silent plea that I would, please, be allowed to stay in my body…and sleep enveloped me.

The thrashing sound of a large body sloughing its way through water made me come suddenly awake. I sat straight up, wondering for an instant just where the hell I was. Then the smells of the swamp registered in my foggy brain.

“It is Victoria,” ClanFintan’s deep voice rumbled against me.

There was little light. It seemed the marshy landscape soaked the moonlight up, but the silver-blond of the Huntress’s coat glimmered ethereally.

“It took you long enough.” My worry came out as bitchiness.

“It was—” she paused, and I realized how hard she was breathing “—more difficult than I had imagined.”

“Tell us,” my husband said as he moved me gently to the side, then rose stiffly.

“I traveled into the east, attempting to find the edge of the river. This lake goes on for quite some time before it gives way to a field of tall, sharp grass.” Her voice drifted in the darkness. “There are dangerous bogs within the grass—I was almost trapped in one.”

I remembered ClanFintan’s comment, centaurs avoid swampy ground. No wonder.

“It is slow going through the bog, but when it finally gives way it is bordered by a thick growth of trees, much like we saw at its beginning. Only the grove that runs along the swamp’s eastern edge is probably twenty centaur lengths in width. Then that ends at the edge of the Geal River.”

I felt my heart flutter. All we had to do was get across the river. Then it would be a straight shot south back to Epona’s Temple and home, where we could regroup and come up with plan B.

But Victoria wasn’t done.

“The Fomorians have stationed guards along the perimeter of the marsh so that they can catch anyone who tries to flee from the swamp to the river.”

“He’s looking for me.” They knew I meant Nuada.

“He is looking for all of us,” ClanFintan assured me.

“Okay, how about going toward the Loch instead of the river?” I asked.

“Loch Selkie is even farther away than the river. And if Nuada has creatures posted between the swamp and the river, he will certainly have them posted between the Loch and the river,” ClanFintan reasoned, “and we would only be safe as long as we were in or on the Loch. Crossing it is out of the question, its width is too great to swim, even if its waters were not icy.”

“Bad news,” I said.

“Exactly,” Vic replied. I could hear her rummaging around in what I assumed was her quiver (since she wasn’t carrying a purse). Then she began searching the island, gathering what sounded like loose leaves and twigs. I heard her crouch down, striking two sharp objects together—from which sparks flew. Soon she was breathing life into a spark, which she fed into a friendly blaze. The fire reflected off her white teeth as she smiled at me.

“Males never have flint. When you need a campfire, call a Huntress.”

“I’ll remember that.” I stood up and moved closer to the warmth of the fire. My stomach let loose a mean-sounding growl. “Now, if only we had something to roast over it.”

“How about this?” Victoria had moved from her spot by the fire, over to the leafy side of one of the cypress trees. She reached out and plucked a golf ball–size thing off one of the leaves, then returned to the fire.

“What is it?” I asked, studying the thing that lay in her hand.

“Apple snail.” She grinned as she searched the ground around her. Finding what I supposed was the appropriate twig for the job, she grabbed a stick and jabbed it up into the brown shell, fishing out the soft-skinned creature. Impaling it like a snail shish kebab, she held the squirming thing over the fire.

“Does it taste like chicken?” I gulped.

“No, more like oysters.”

Well, oysters were cool with me. So I swallowed my squeamishness and joined the centaurs in the Great Apple Snail Hunt and Fry. Thankfully, the little island seemed to be some kind of snail vacation spot—probably snail Florida—there were zillions of them. And Vic was right—if you discounted their little eyeballs and antenna-thingies, they tasted a lot like oysters. I wished I had some crackers, Tabasco and an icy Coors.

Later, we were contentedly picking snail guts from between our teeth and swatting mosquitoes, and I, for one, was feeling full and sleepy.

“They will be watching for three centaurs and one human,” ClanFintan said suddenly.

“Yes,” Victoria said.

“Then we split up. Separately we will have a better chance of getting past their line.”

“I’m not being separated from you!” I said.

ClanFintan put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “No, you and I will not be separated.”

Dougal remained silent, looking miserably at Victoria. The Huntress’s gaze rested on the ground while she said, “Dougal and I should stay together, too. Two couples would still have a better chance at getting past their line than one group of four. Besides,” she continued, “there are alligators in this swamp and we each need two sets of eyes to watch for them.”