Of Blood and Bone (Chronicles of The One #2)(62)

“You’re not even good at making things up.”

He popped out of the rock and straight up to swing on a tree branch. “It makes as much sense as a horse living in the woods like a deer or a bear.”

“Mallick says he’s here. Mallick doesn’t lie.”

“So he’s here one day a year. That could be it,” Mick said as he dropped back down, and they began to walk again. “Maybe only on the summer solstice. That’s not too far off. Why don’t you just do a spell or something?”

“Oh, why didn’t I think of that?” Sarcasm dripped. “Which I did, but it’s not the way. I didn’t find Taibhse or Faol Ban with spells.”

“You’re the one who wants a bathroom so bad.”

She started to snap back when realization struck. “It’s not about that anymore. I guess it was never about that for Mallick. He just used it to give me the quests. And now it’s not about that for me, either.”

“What then? You’ve already got a horse. She’s a nice horse.”

“Grace is a great horse. This is different, this is …”

A slant of sunlight struck her. She stopped, turned.

“There are three spirits. And they are pure and powerful. They are one, and they are separate. They choose to give their loyalty and allegiance or withhold it. Is there faith, is there courage, is there compassion? These, too, are one and separate.

“When the three spirits join together, when the three spirits join with The One, they are a hot, flaming sword to strike the dark, a bright, shining mirror to bring the light.”

Mick said nothing for a moment. “Okay. You get really weird when you talk like that.”

The vision faded off but left her skin tingling. “I feel really weird when I talk like that, but it’s true. And there’s more. They’re three, and it’s like Mallick and his symbols. The owl’s wisdom, the wolf’s cunning, and the horse is heroism.”

“What’s that make you?”

“Someone who needs them.” As she spoke, she felt. And put a hand on Mick’s arm. “Slow,” she warned.

She wound through the trees, and knew when Mick caught the scent as she had. The scent of horse, the scent of flowers and horse and leather.

He stood, not in a meadow on a mountaintop in perpetual summer, but in a small clearing. Flowers grew wild to cover the ground.

She’d walked over that ground countless times, and there had been no carpet of flowers. There had been no magnificent white stallion with deep green eyes, with its mane fluttering in the spring breeze.

The saddle was gold, as Mallick had told her, but not the hard, heavy metal she’d imagined. She could see—and smell—the soft, supple leather as well as the glint of the bright stirrups.

“Holy shit.” Mick breathed it out. “He’s really real. And he’s really, really big. I never really believed he’d be that big. Like twenty hands.”

The farm girl took her own measure. “Twenty-two.” And likely, she thought, over three thousand pounds. “Laoch.” She tried a bow. “I’m Fallon Swift. Mallick the Sorcerer gave me three quests. The first to find Taibhse, the white owl, and his golden apple. The second to find Faol Ban, the white wolf with his golden collar. And the last to find you, the magnificent Laoch and his golden saddle.”

She started to step forward, and Mick grabbed her arm. “Just wait. If he charges—”

“Why would he? I’m not his enemy.”

When she stepped into the meadow, Laoch swished his long tail, shifted on his great legs. And reared back, lifting his forelegs to paw the air.

Mick moved in a blur, snatching Fallon back, putting himself between her and those powerful, slashing hooves.

“Try to hurt her, just try it! And you deal with me.”

The ground shook when Laoch brought his hooves down. Fallon swore the trees trembled on their roots.

And he lifted his right foreleg, favored it by leaning left.

“He’s the one who’s hurt. It’s all right, Mick, it’s all right.” She shoved past him. “I can help you. Let me see what’s wrong. Let me help.”

“Damn it, Fallon, he’ll crush you like a bug.”

“No, he won’t. Because he sees me, and he hears me.” She looked into Laoch’s eyes as she laid a hand on his leg. “And he knows me. Let me look. Let me help. You showed yourself to me so I could.”

She lifted his foreleg, running her hands gently over it. “I don’t feel a sprain. Ah, here we go,” she murmured when she examined the hoof. “He’s picked up a stone. A big one. It has to be painful every time he takes a step.”

She looked up into those deep green eyes. “I can fix it. You see me,” she said as she slowly took out her knife. “You know I’d never harm you.”

“Fallon.”

“I’ve got this. I need you to trust me—you, too, Mick. I need you to be very still. I can get the stone out. I want to get it out without hurting you, so you have to be still. It’s bruised, so it may hurt a little. Just a little.”

She took a breath, then another, then with great care worked the tip of the knife around the stone. “You’ve worked it in deep. I’m sorry it hurts. I’ve nearly got it. Stay still, stay still, just another minute.”