User:Posti/Gypsy Gold
{{#ifeq: User |User| Gypsy Gold | Gypsy Gold}}[[Title::{{#ifeq: User |User| Gypsy Gold | Gypsy Gold}}| ]]
{{#ifeq: | |
{{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Bob Stein | Bob Stein}} | |
{{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Posti | Posti}} | ||
Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Posti | Posti}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Posti | Posti}}]] [[Author::{{#ifeq: User |User| Posti | Posti}}| ]]
}} |
{{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Posti | Posti}} | |
Author: {{#ifeq: User |User| Bob Stein | Bob Stein}} |
Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Posti | Posti}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Bob Stein | Bob Stein}}]] [[Author::{{#ifeq: User |User| Bob Stein | Bob Stein}}| ]]
}}
}} |
{{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Bob Stein | Bob Stein}} | |
{{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Posti | Posti}} | | Authors: ' |
Authors: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Posti | Posti}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Posti | Posti}}]]
}} |
{{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Posti | Posti}} | |
Authors: {{#ifeq: User |User| Bob Stein | Bob Stein}} |
Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Posti | Posti}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Bob Stein | Bob Stein}}]]
}}
}}
}} {{#if:| — see [[:Category:{{{category}}}|other works by this author]]}}
‘Gypsy Gold does not chink and glitter. It gleams in the sun and neighs in the dark.” – Old English Saying
Trevor glanced around the dark woods one last time before driving his shovel blade into the dirt. The ancient rose bush he was digging up had obviously been forgotten for decades, grown into a wild tangle that he’d spent a half hour cutting back. However, whoever owned the property might not appreciate his attempt to preserve a bit of horticulture – not to mention saving himself the fifty quid a rose bush this size would command from a greenhouse.
He worked his way around the plant, hitting stones or sticks in a couple of places. Even so, it took a couple of healthy tugs to yank the rose bush free. Off-white chunks of old tree roots or branches were caught up in the dirt, and he knocked them loose with his foot.
“Bloody Hell!” Trevor dropped his prize and jumped back when he recognized the smooth contours of bones. Hopes that they belonged to some long-departed animal were dashed by scraps of rotting fabric that still clung one of the larger pieces. “Oh, bugger me!” What to do? It was obvious that the bones had been there a very long time – had he stumbled on some ancient burial site? He eyed the glorious rose bush, weighing practicality against superstition. Finally, he kicked the bones back into the hole and used the shovel to cover them as best he could before beating a hasty retreat – the rose firmly in hand. Whoever had been buried under the ancient bush was long past caring.
Actually, the owner of those bones was quite grateful to the departing thief. Alexi Gurbeti’s spirit had been trapped by the rose bush planted by the same man who had murdered and buried him here. One time friend and smuggling partner Dimitri Listova had compounded his crime by taking all of Alexi’s possessions instead of destroying everything as dictated by Gypsy custom. Without the spirit traces of his wagon, tools, and most of all, his horse, Alexi would have been forced to enter the afterlife as a pauper. So he had waited, ignoring the light that beckoned him to leave this world.
Now that wait was over. He rose into the night air, a barely discernable cloud of mist . How long had it been? He reached out with new senses, trying to find ethereal links to any possessions of his that still remained. Despair filled his ghostly heart. Was there nothing? There – faint, very far away, but undeniably part of his former life. Alexi felt a surge of joy – a life force bound by his wagon harness and protected by the horse brass he’d paid two spring lambs and one of his best knives for. It had to be Kham, his piebald stallion.
Of course. Dimitri would have taken the most precious possession far away in an attempt to escape his victim’s wrath. There was no distance great enough to protect the bastard now. Alexi focused on the horse brass, by far the strongest link. It was time to seek revenge, and reclaim what had been stolen.
{{#if:|{{#if:|
|[[Image:Separator {{{1}}}.png|200px|center]]}}|
}}
“Damn, Listova! You should have a fucking vulture on your belt, not a horse.” The heavyset, sweating shop manager scowled as he looked over the invoice . “This is outrageous! I can buy a new crankshaft grinder for this price!”
“This one might look a little rough, but it works like new. All rebuilt.” Ron Listova smiled evenly. “Besides, this one is available right now. It will take six weeks to get a new one. Can you afford to wait a month and a half?”
“No, dammit!” The man spat on the ground. “I’ll have Mary run to the bank. You still offer a discount for cash, right?”
“Ten percent.”
“I’m sure you report all that to the IRS like a good citizen.”
Ron raised an eyebrow. “Of course! Just like you reported that nice truck over there that Hudson Marine swapped you for machine work last month.”
“How the Hell did you…? Never mind!” Still scowling, the man pointed at the main building. “Back up to the shop and I’ll have my men unload it.” Then he turned and headed for his office, muttering loudly about dealing with thieves.
“Takes one to know one.” Ron spoke under his breath as he climbed behind the flatbed’s steering wheel and backed up. For all the manager’s complaints, this was the third time he had dealt with Sun Stallion Limited. Ron’s fingers absently brushed the polished brass emblem that the man had been referring too. It had been made from the actual tack of a great stallion his great-grandfather had brought with him to America, an animal whose sale had financed the beginnings of their business.
Though nearly a century old, the harness leather was still strong and the intricate horse brass that had been made into the buckle showed very little wear. The belt was a family heirloom, always worn by the head of the company. Ron’s father had made quite a show of presenting it last year, just before he and his latest girlfriend took off for Florida. Happily, the former surcincle had enough holes to accommodate both his rotund father and Ron’s slender frame.
Which reminded him – he’d have to hurry if he wanted to make the gym today. With the exception of his mother’s bright blue eyes, Ron was a match to old photos of his father. And while he rather liked the wild mane of black hair and dark skin provided by his Romani blood, he was determined not to end up matching Dad’s current pictures.
{{#if:|{{#if:|
|[[Image:Separator {{{1}}}.png|200px|center]]}}|
}}
Alexi stared out at the blue-green water of the Atlantic, frustrated and angry. It had taken weeks to make his way out of New Forest, struggling not only with his own ethereal state, but the ghost’s eye view of the world around him. Nature remained clear, trees and earth as solid to him as they had been while he was alive. However, the structures of man were another matter. The shadowy images of long-gone buildings and roads coexisted with blurred shapes of their own replacements. Towns were a bewildering maze of old and new, populated by other spirits that he could see, but not communicate with. It was as if he were a ghost to the ghosts themselves.
But not to everything. While following the tenuous link to Kham, he had come across a much stronger thread that led him to some sort of shop. Drifting through the chattering blurs of light that he’d come to realize were living beings, Alexi discovered a vest that stood out in sharp detail in a world that was out of focus.
It was faded and worn almost past recognition, yet there was no denying the connection that drew him to it. This had been one of his favorites, beautifully embroidered by Old Karla with animals, stars, and trees. Curiously, the actual fabric had crumbled to dust the moment his essence touched it, leaving a shimmering ghost of itself that was suddenly rich with color. At the same time, his own wispy essence assumed a more man-like shape that was actually able to pick up the ethereal garment and put it on.
As he continued to track his stolen horse, Alexi had come across other belongings. A knife, an odd bit of metal that must have been part of his wagon, and the earring that should have been buried with him had found their way into odd shops in different towns. In each case, taking the ‘spirit’ version destroyed the original item and gave him more substance.
Now, standing on the rocky beach of Land’s End, he found that the one belonging that truly meant something to him was out of reach. His murderer had obviously fled to America, taking the piebald stallion thousands of miles away. And though he was willing to walk across the ocean floor, he could not. Movement over land had been unrestricted, but an invisible barrier prevented him from moving over the water.
Facing the water, Alexi concentrated on Kham. The stallion must be very old now, given the changes to everything else. Still working, for the harness was removed and replaced each day. No doubt Dimitri was driving the great stallion to the limit long after he should have been allowed to enjoy retirement to a pasture. It was possible Kham would die before Alexi’s spirit could reclaim him, and thus be lost forever.
There had to be a way to rebuild their bond. Even now, with the connection so tenuous that he could barely detect it, he could feel traces of his own essence within the animal. It was a different type of connection than he sensed with the harness, which was much stronger, but still only a thing. However, he might be able to use that link to reach Kham.
Alexi reached out again, this time trying to work through the animal’s tack. It felt incomplete – most of the leather must have been replaced. Ironically, the horse brass he had paid so much for to ward away evil when he was alive now provided the focal point he needed. His essence flowed through the intricate charm and found the stallion’s soul.
Picturing the magnificent horse in his prime, Alexi strained to feed energy into Kham’s essence. The sun moved across the sky, and still he stared out towards the unseen New World, desperate to restore the animal. Then a sudden break in the connection hit him like a physical blow. Frantic, he searched for and found the leather and brass, but the life force was no longer within it. The harness must have been removed for the night.
Sick, Alexi started to withdraw, only to freeze as he felt the tickle of something else, a sensation so insubstantial that smoke would be like rock compared to it. Yet he knew it to be the life force. Kham’s life force. A separate connection had been formed, too faint to do anything with by itself. Still, he had caused a change, restored at least a fraction of the great stallion’s spirit and the bond between them. Hope blossomed, even though the effort had drained Alexi to exhaustion. If he could strengthen the link, he might be able to reclaim his horse’s spirit and leave Dimitri with a rotting carcass.
{{#if:|{{#if:|
|[[Image:Separator {{{1}}}.png|200px|center]]}}|
}}
“What’s with you tonight, Ronnie?” The waitress frowned as she cleared away his barely-touched dinner. “This is top sirloin. Any fresher, and it would moo. You know I wouldn’t serve you anything but the best.”
He shook his head. “Smells bad to me. I don’t know, Dianne. Been feeling sorta off all day. Could be coming down with something.”
“There’s a flu bug going around. You should see a doctor.”
“Maybe.” Ron dropped a twenty on the table and stood up. “I’m gonna take a walk, see if some fresh air will help.”
“You do that.” Dianne grinned. “How are you gonna make love to me all night if you’re sick?”
“In your dreams, as usual.” He winked at her, going along with the playful banter they exchanged at least a couple of times a week. Too bad the woman wasn’t about 15 years younger. As it was, however, Ron had all the female companionship he wanted in the form of a young stock clerk named Tiffany. She had red hair, big tits, a nice-enough face, and was great in the sack. Unfortunately, she was starting to show signs of wanting a ‘real relationship.’
Leaving the restaurant, Ron decided to check out the old neighborhood. His muscles were still stiff, but the mild nausea that had hit him at dinner was already easing up. If this was a flu bug, it was probably a mild version. He should probably go home and hit the hay, but it was pretty early. Besides, some exercise might do him good. He’d ended up missing his normal workout at the gym today.
Although he still came by Salino’s to eat a couple of times a week, it had been years since he actually took time to check out the old apartment building where he’d grown up. It was smaller and dirtier than his memories, and the occupants were much more racially mixed now. Back then, this had been almost all Romani – a Gypsy encampment in the middle of the city.
His father had been one of the first to move out, taking great satisfaction breaking into a restricted neighborhood over on the West Side. It had been a status ploy, and one which Ron’s mother had bitterly opposed. She moved back here after the divorce, and stayed until cancer claimed her three years ago.
Ron wrinkled his nose. Any inner-city street stank, but this one seemed ranker than most. He could smell piss, sweat, exhaust fumes, rotten garbage. The area didn’t look all that bad – probably a lot of the problems came from squatters in some of the boarded-up stores across the street. Even the few businesses still open looked shabby. The old Pool Hall was a Korean grocery now. He slowed as he passed, noting the wilted lettuce and limp celery still left in the produce bins.
The sight of food brought a gurgle from his still-empty stomach. Figured. A $15 sirloin made him feel sick, yet stuff most people would clean out of their refrigerators was making his mouth water. Damn. He was hungry. Maybe he could pick up stuff for a salad – that would be easy to digest.
With some work, he was able to pull out a couple of heads of lettuce that were still pretty crisp, a bag of carrots, some turnip greens, and almost as an afterthought, a bag of mixed apples. A lot healthier than his usual steak and fries, though he didn’t usually go for fruits and vegetables like this. After paying, he headed back for the restaurant parking lot, only to stop halfway down the block when a shrill voice called out.
“Armayo!”
He turned to see a wizened figure staring at him from in front of one of the still-open shops across the street. The faded, hand-painted letters in the dirty window read ‘Madame Rosario – Fortunes Told.’ Obviously a leftover from the Romani days. Had she been there when he was a boy? The Chovexani, or witch women, had been respected and feared in the old days – now they were almost comical, the stereotypical Gypsy woman hunched over a crystal ball.
When he did not respond, she pointed a finger at him. “You suffer armayo! Come! Madame Rosario help you!”
How had she managed to keep that thick accent? And what was armayo? Ron hadn’t spoke Romani since he was a boy. Something bad. Of course, fortune tellers always told you something bad. Great evil or terrible disaster was always heading your way – only they could tell you how to avoid it – for another $25. They were like psychiatrists, stringing you along for yet another session. He shook his head and turned back to the restaurant.
“Foolish Shav! The old woman shouted after him. “Bar armayo. Beng! Come here! Stop before it too late!”
Ron almost gave in. He was probably the only Romani she had seen all day, a prospective customer for her magic trinkets and hocus-pocus. And it had been a long time since anyone called him a Shav, an unmarried youth. Beng. That was evil. What great calamity was about to befall him? It might be fun to… he was saved by his stomach, which rumbled loudly to remind him of the vegetables he was carrying. Turning abruptly, he walked quickly away.
{{#if:|{{#if:|
|[[Image:Separator {{{1}}}.png|200px|center]]}}|
}}
It took several days for Alexi to regain enough strength to try reaching Kham again. After nearly losing the horse’s soul completely, he was afraid that the almost imperceptible link might have faded again. But no – he could still detect the faint connection to Kham’s soul, though it lacked the sharp definition of other objects from his life. Perhaps because it led to a life force, rather than an inanimate object.
However, the stallion and tack were separated, and he needed them together so he could work through the horse brass and leather. Alexi used the time to follow some of the other traces left by old belongings. There was so little left from his life – the great vurdon that had been both home and business should have been burned so that his spirit would have comfort. Instead, his thieving partner must have claimed it, leaving only the small part of the wagon’s hardware to be reclaimed.
But what of his clothing? Surely more than just the vest had survived. A couple of his best tools existed, though it felt like one might be buried. Granted, he’d never cared much for anything but the vurdon, and of course, Kham. Though the name meant ‘sun’ in Romani, many of his friends laughingly referred to the piebald stallion as Alexi’s ‘O Rom O Nevo’ – his ‘new man’, or more to the point, his baby boy – his son. Even Dimitri, curse his black heart, had called Kham the ‘Sun Stallion,’ with a grin.
In truth, the animal was the closest thing he had to family. Alexi had few regrets over his life, save the fact he had never taken a wife. He’d come close, just before the last journey. Tshaya, a wild woman in bed and a good cook. Unfortunately, his bastard partner had brought a violent end Alexi’s branch of the Gurbeti family. And worse, denied him those few things that would have brought comfort and prosperity in the afterlife.
The treachery actually surprised Alexi. He and Dimitri had been friends since childhood. Not that they didn’t have their quarrels – each had more than one scar inflicted by the other’s knife. Still, those had always come over arguments about business. The last fight had come out of nowhere. The little weasel was bemoaning his lack of material possessions he needed for marriage, and Alexi had made a joke about also needing a desperate girl. The next thing he knew he was underneath a rose bush.
A twinge in his senses brought Alexi’s attention back to the distant horse and harness. The two were merging again, and he could touch Kham’s soul once more. Still smoke, but his astral fingertips could almost feel something. Clearing his thoughts of all but the proud black and white animal, Alexi worked to rebuild the Sun Stallion’s soul.
{{#if:|{{#if:|
|[[Image:Separator {{{1}}}.png|200px|center]]}}|
}}
The doctor glanced over the chart. “You might have bug. Temperature’s up a little, but nothing serious. Still, your blood pressure is good, maybe even a little low. Same thing for your pulse. Do you normally work out a lot?”
“Well, yeah.” Ron frowned. “No this week much, because I’ve been feelings sorta weird. What about the weight thing? I’ve gone up 20 pounds in the past week! Is it water retention or something?”
This prompted a grin. “Afraid not. You’re what…?” He glanced at the chart. “35? All part of getting older, I’m afraid. You’ve probably been putting it on slowly and just didn’t notice until now. And you can try dieting. If it helps, you seem pretty solid.”
“I’ve been eating nothing but damned rabbit food all week! That’s another thing. Meat smells bad, and my favorite bourbon tastes terrible. My taste buds are all screwed up, and my nose has been really sensitive. Normal stuff smells really strong. And I feel weird. Not really sick or anything, but different. It’s hard to describe.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow. “There’s a dozen viruses out there – people react differently to them. I can’t find anything other than a very mild fever. There’s no sign of infection, and your vital signs are excellent. If the symptoms persist more than another few days, come on back and we’ll try some more tests. And I’ll let you know what the lab results are – I’ll contact you if anything looks suspicious.” He paused on the way out of the examination room and grinned. “And try working a little harder on that diet. Less hot fudge on that rabbit food.”
Ron glared at the door as the man pulled it shut, and then started to get dressed. Damn Quack! He’d had the flu before, and he knew what that felt like. If anything, he had lost weight when he was sick. This was different. And there were some things he hadn’t said to the doctor. Like the sudden growth of body hair, and problems with coordination. They had already started calling him ‘Boss Klutz’ at the office, at least behind his back.
Hitching up his pants reinforced the weight problem. He’d bought a couple pairs of size 36 pants two days ago when he could no longer squeeze into his 32s. They were already snug, and the belt buckle was four notches out. His shirt was tight as well – it seemed like his whole body was thicker. Even his feet were pinched in the soft sneakers that were the only shoes he could get on now. He frowned as he bent down to tie them. The cuffs of his pants were a good two inches over his ankles. Hadn’t he bought the right length? People didn’t get taller as they got older.
He sighed and finished dressing, then stood and looked at himself in the full-length mirror. Damn! Although he’d shaved this morning, he already had stubble showing. Then his eyes widened and he turned his head slightly. A patch of hair by his right ear was pure white! He hadn’t seen that this morning! Alarmed, he twisted around and discovered another splotch of white on the back of his head. No wonder the Doctor had made all those cracks about age.
Except that he’d never seen hair go white in patches. It looked like he’d gotten some sort of bleach on his head. Leaning closer, he realized that the patch by his right ear actually extended down his cheek well into his beard. He grabbed his keys and left suddenly, unnerved by his reflection. This was no damn flu bug.
He decided to go to Salino’s and pick up an early lunch. They had a good house salad, and Dianne always cheered him up. By the time he got downtown, however, the place was already busy. He had to park down the street and walk back two blocks. Pulling on a ballcap, he stuck his hands in his pockets and shuffled back to the restaurant. A couple of women were talking on the steps of one building, and they didn’t give him a second look. While that was good in a way, he was painfully aware of how unattractive he had suddenly become.
Lost in self-pity, he almost walked into the fortune teller when she popped out of her shop suddenly, directly in his path. She peered up at him and nodded. “Bar armayo. Very bad. Very powerful. You believe Madame Rosario now? Come!” She pointed towards the opening to her shop.
“What are you talking about?” Ron felt a mix of annoyance and curiosity. “What’s armayo?”
“Curse! You cursed. Madame Rosario feel it inside. Not so bad before. Bad now. Worse later.” She grabbed his hand and tugged him towards her door. “Come now!”
Jerking away instinctively, Ron took a step back, feeling an unreasoning surge of fear. Then he cursed himself silently for being so stupid. He was easily twice the size of this little old woman. Besides, she was talking the stuff of superstitions and legends. A curse? Did she think he was a Gajo, some stupid tourist who believed in her dried toads and mumbo-jumbo nonsense?
Shaking his head firmly, he stepped around her and began striding purposefully towards Salino’s. He heard her snort and mutter “Dili.” Then she called after him. “Kham! The sun!”
That stopped him dead in his tracks. Kham? That was the name of great-grandfather’s stallion. And the namesake of the business – Sun Stallion. He’d forgotten it until that moment. Turning, he peered at the old woman. “Do I know you?”
“No. Read curse. Ancestor spirits. Very angry. Very strong. Not feel so much power before.” She smiled slightly. “Shav not believe. See Gajo doctor for cure.” The old woman spat on the sidewalk. “Faugh!”
Ron flushed. “It’s just a flu bug or something.”
This time, Madame Rosario cackled. “Flu bug bring hair? Turn manhood black? Dili! Idiot!”
If possible his cheeks burned brighter. Even if she was lying about not knowing who he was, how did she know about that? He hadn’t even mentioned his genitals to the Doctor. They weren’t actually black, but had darkened suddenly in the past few days. Still, he did not say anything.
“Go. No help for dili.” Shaking her head disgustedly, the old woman turned and hobbled back into her shop, slamming the door behind her.
Ron stood there a moment, logic battling superstition. He knew better than most how easy it was to play on someone else’s needs and fears. Madame Rosario had to be one hell of a salesperson to get to him. Reason won out in the end, but as he turned and continued towards lunch, he couldn’t quite shake a lingering uneasiness.
{{#if:|{{#if:|
|[[Image:Separator {{{1}}}.png|200px|center]]}}|
}}
Kham was getting stronger. Although progress was slow, Alexi could feel the animal’s renewed vitality. He still needed the harness to affect changes, but there was a bond between them now as close as any blood kin. Soon, the great stallion’s spirit would join his, and they would journey to the next world together. And that bastard Dimitri would have to walk alone and afraid into eternity.
During the long rest periods after each contact with Kham, Alexi often pondered what fortune had befallen his murderer. His crime would be suspected the moment he showed up with Alexi’s horse and vudron. The tribe was not as close as it had been when they were children, but a killer would not be tolerated. Dimitri was probably driven away, hopefully stoned or beaten by those that were his only family. That was a warming thought.
Other times he thought of Tshaya. He was sure they would have become married. Where was she now? Kham was probably very old for a horse, but it was doubtful the animal could survive more than a quarter-century past Alexi’s murder. That would still put her in her fifties. It was hard to imagine the passionate, raven-haired beauty he had shared a bed as a gray-haired old woman. He had no doubt she had found a husband – many men of the camp had sought her hand.
In order to escape the distractions of the spirit world, Alexi had sought out the most remote location he could find. Even this tiny spit of land had a hazy structure that might once have been some kind of shelter. However, it was mostly free of the shimmering blobs that indicated living souls.
It was hard to tell for sure, but he thought he could identify some of different animals by the way their life lights moved. He’d been right about a rabbit and fox – if only because the rabbit’s recognizable spirit self emerged from the spot where its light vanished after the fox had caught it. The newly-dead animal did not seem to notice him. It moved slowly around the area at first, then headed away with apparent purpose. About a hundred feet away, it faded suddenly and vanished.
It had obviously found the way to the next world and taken it - animals had no fears, no ties to this earth. It also explained why he had seen only human spirits here. There were millions more animals dying each day – their ghosts would have filled the land a mile deep. Would Kham walk into the next world so quickly if he died before Alexi could claim his spirit? Surely the stallion felt the connection now, knew his old master was trying to bring them back together. Or did this link only become detectable after death?
For the first time, Alexi thought about what he planned to do from the animal’s perspective. What would the next life offer a horse? Was there an astral herd cropping sweet grass in an eternal pasture? For that matter, what did Alexi face? Afterlife beckoned invisibly, always close by. He ignored it as best he could, knowing that the portal lay just a few steps away in any direction once he gave in.
This was all so strange. Alexi wished he had paid more attention to the old stories when he was younger. Most of the tribe had already begun to stray from traditions even then, as the old ways became harder to follow in a shrinking world. Some families had actually traded their horse and wagon in for one of the noisy, rattling motorcars that were finally old and cheap enough to be affordable. Even he had strayed from established custom, ignoring old taboos that would have kept him from Tshaya’s bed. A man had to be practical sometimes.
Although he wasn’t fully recovered yet, Alexi stretched out his senses to find Kham. The stallion’s presence was the only point of comfort in this non-existence. He was a source of strength, of companionship. Those who had laughed about ‘O Rom O Nevo’ did not know the sense of family that the animal instilled in Alexi now. Perhaps it was a pale imitation of true blood kin, but he was grateful for what he had.
There – the animal was out of harness again. Alexi frowned, picking up some emotional distress. Something or someone was bothering the horse. Concerned, he tried soothing the beast, hoping that their connection would allow a sense of well-being to be carried over. Then he jerked back suddenly as something else touched him back. No, not some thing - some one. A person with power, tracing the link back from Kham.
Who could do such a thing? A chovexani, most likely. But why would one of the witches be lurking around his horse? Any changes to the horses would be more psychic than physical. Would Dimitri have hired some sort of spectral guard to prevent Alexi from reclaiming his property? It seemed unlikely, given that his former partner paid even less homage to Gypsy tradition that Alexi had.
Regardless of the reason, this intrusion filled Alexi with fear. It took all he had to complete Kham – he had no strength to resist the interference of chovexani magic. For now, at least, the exploring tendrils did not pose a direct threat. He could feel only curiosity behind them, but the fact they existed at all was dangerous.
What could he do? The time was close where Alexi could call Kham’s spirit to him, but he wasn’t there yet. It would take more contact to cement the ties, to forge a link strong enough to rip the horse’s soul from his still-living body. He glared across the open water. Even witches needed to sleep. He would make sure he was at full strength, and bide his time until the connection was clear.
{{#if:|{{#if:|
|[[Image:Separator {{{1}}}.png|200px|center]]}}|
}}
“Mommy, look at the funny man!”
Ron flushed slightly at the little girl’s comment, made worse by her mother’s frantic shushing. Although he was getting used to odd looks and outright stares, it was still painful to hear the shocked whispers and gasps of people around him. His body had swollen and distorted to the point that he could barely recognize the reflection. Jamming dark, misshapen hands in his pockets, he hunkered down and walked faster towards the relative privacy of his office.
Not that there was any improvement over reactions there – if anything, it was worse, for the handful of employees at Sun Stallion, Limited added pity into the mix. He was considering shutting down until this was either cured or .. he stilled that thought. No one had mentioned the possibility of impending death. At least not yet. He snorted, something that came a lot easier these days. If all the medical tests were to be believed, he was healthier than ever. So what if he looked like something out of a bad horror movie?
Karen was out again. His secretary was taking this hard – she’d called in sick yesterday, as had Mike and Danny from the warehouse. He went out of the office and checked out the loading dock where the crew usually gathered. Empty. Sighing, Ron shuffled back to his office and plopped down awkwardly in the old leather chair. The decision to shut down had been taken out of his hands. He couldn’t blame them – the doctor had told him whatever was doing this wasn’t contagious, but then, the same quack had told him this was a flu bug last week.
Now they were talking the big ‘C’ – cancer. Naturally, it would take a couple of days to get the tests back. His regular doctor and the two specialists were in a hot debate over that. One was sure he had some sort of thyroid disorder, another was looking for signs of some chemical or poison. Which meant that the assholes didn’t really have the slightest idea what was going on. It was enough to make a grown man cry – and had, for a couple of days.
The phone startled him with a shrill, piercing ring, and he struck it suddenly with his right hand. It exploded into plastic fragments, the force of the blow leaving an impression in the wooden desktop. He stared at his clenched fist, half-expecting some kind of injury. However, the dark, thick skin was as hard as it looked – he might as well have used a hammer.
Why was this happening? He couldn’t recall ever getting exposed to hazardous materials, and besides, the dock workers had more content with their merchandise than he did. No one in the family had ever had problems like this. His grandfather had died of a heart attack at 87, but then, he’d been overweight for years. Dad was also pretty hefty, but as far as Ron knew, had no serious ailments.
The weight issues caused him to glance down at his belt. The stay holes stretched out by years of his father’s belly were already on the wrong side of the brass buckle. If it was just a case of a pot belly, he wouldn’t be so worried. But his whole body had expanded, bones getting thicker and longer under skin that was splotched with lighter patches. He’d gained a good 6 inches in height over the past week, and more than 70 pounds. Worse, his hands and feet had gotten dark and stiff, making even every day activities difficult. Between growing trouble with grasping things and the changes to his bones, he’d had to stop driving.
And then there was his face. The white patch had spread down his right cheek, bleaching the skin to a pale pink that contrasted sharply against the rest, which had darkened to a gray-brown. Combined with his swollen lips and nose, he looked more African-American that Romanov.
Ron’s stomach gurgled loudly, another common problem these days. This morning’s breakfast would have filled a good-sized salad bar, and he’d topped that off with two entire loaves of bread. He had tried to stop eating so much, giving in only when he began to suffer weakness and real hunger pains. That almost none of the new body mass appeared to be fat was small consolation.
That was the most bewildering part of all this. He felt good. No, he felt terrific! There was no physical pain associated with any of the changes – even his stiff joints simply didn’t move the way they had before. If anything, small aches and pains he had gotten used to in recent years had vanished, and he had more energy and was certainly stronger than ever.
His nostrils flared reflexively. Strong applied in more ways than one. He was aware of his own body odor, not really unpleasant, but not something he was used to. Smells in general had gotten more intense, as had sounds. Ron glanced morosely at the shattered phone, then abruptly pushed back away from the desk. Wallowing in self pity would not accomplish anything. He needed to get out of this damned depressing office, find someplace he could think things through. Pausing at the entrance for what he suddenly realized might be a last look, Ron shut off the lights and started walking.
God, the city stank. Noxious fumes from passing cars, garbage rotting in the streets, people either doused in perfume or after-shave strong enough to make him gag or reeking of sweat and cigarettes. And the noise! Traffic was a thundering roar behind the constant babble of voices all around. He tried shutting it all out, scrunching in on himself and walking faster. The buildings were closing in on him, there were dangers here. He accidentally sent a man sprawling, but didn’t stop even when the guy started yelling. Anger. Fear. He could smell the emotions around him. Had to get away, had to…
Ron dove into an alley and pressed himself into a corner, trembling. Shit! What was wrong with him? Was his mind going now? He’d grown up on these streets – there were no dangers out there he couldn’t handle. Whatever plagued him came from inside, something that no one could identify.
Except the old fortune teller. What was that she had called him? Dili. Perhaps he - was - an idiot for not hearing her out. Odds are she was a shyster and a cheat. But what if she did have an answer hidden somewhere in all that mumbo-jumbo? Doctors sure weren’t helping.
It took a few minutes to calm down and brace for the noise and stink again. Focusing on his destination helped a lot, and he settled into an easy jog that covered the 28 city blocks to his old neighborhood in a surprisingly short time. However, before he could get to the old woman’s shop, the welcome smell of food in the grocery grabbed hold of his attention.
A small cluster of customers scattered as he grabbed for lettuce, carrots, anything edible. The owner came out and started yelling at him in Korean, but Ron’s sudden hunger was in command. He finished a whole head of lettuce before he could think enough to fumble out his wallet and throw a handful of bills at the man. It must have been enough, for his shouting stopped. Unfortunately, the shoppers he had displaced weren’t so easily silenced.
Grabbing as much produce as he could, Ron turned and ran, stumbling across the street to an old driveway that was blocked with the stripped and rusted remains of a long-dead sedan. There, he crouched out of sight and began stuffing his mouth again. Hunger flared into a desperate need that blocked out all else. Someone or something moved near the street, but did not approach. He watched warily, but did not stop devouring the vegetables until the emptiness was sated.
“The dili is back.” The intruder moved closer. It was Madame Rosario. She shook her head and smirked. “Where Gajo doctors now, dili? Maybe give aspirin to fight armayo?”
Ron was suddenly aware of where he was and what he was doing. Mortified, he reluctantly dropped the last few carrots and celery stalks and stood up.
She backed away a step, eyes widening and mouth falling open. “Beng! Devil!” But she did not run away. “No listen to Madame Rosario. Dili listen now?”
Pushing aside his doubts, Ron nodded. “Please! I don’t know what’s happening. Help me!”
A faint smile played around the old woman’s lips, and she stared at him a moment before nodding once. “Come. This very bad armayo. Maybe too late, maybe not. We see.” She turned and hobbled back to her shop around the corner without checking to see if he followed.
Although he knew what to expect, Ron was still taken aback by the Fortune Teller’s place of business. The front was taken up with shelves of old books and bottles, most covered with a thin layer of dust. Dead animals hung from the rafters, along with cloves of garlic and bundles of weeds or flowers that he didn’t recognize. The air smelled of death and decay, and it took a lot of willpower to step inside.
Pushing through a curtain of faded plastic beads, he found himself in a small, windowless room lit only by flickering candles and what little sunlight leaked in through the opening. She was already sitting down at the small round table that occupied the center, the only decoration being a chunk of what might be quartz. Ron stifled a nervous giggle. At least she wasn’t using a crystal ball. The remaining chair creaked as he sat down, but held his weight.
“Your hand!” She peered at him intently, then grabbed his fingers as soon as he complied. It was shocking to see the comparison of her spider-like, deeply-veined hands against his huge dark paws. Instead of examining his palm, she continued to stare into his eyes. It was uncomfortable, yet Ron could not look away. After several very long minutes, she nodded and released him. However, it took another couple of minutes before she spoke.
“Mule. Evil ancestor spirits.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Tshorav grast. Kham. Stolen horse. Stolen sun.” A frown crinkled her forehead. “Trushalo odji – a lonely soul. Tshorav sumadji. Mortsi. Stolen family treasure. Old leather. Yet not stolen.” She gasped suddenly and snatched her hands away from him. “Beng armayo. Evil curse. Very strong. Very bad.”
“By who? What is this all about?” Ron leaned forward, knowing he was being a fool and not caring.
“Ten thousand dollars.”
“What?” He blinked, wondering if he had heard her correctly.
“You give Madame Rosario ten thousand dollars.” She leaned back in her chair, regarding him calmly. “Armayo bad for you, very bad to touch. Angry spirit do this. You pay ten thousand dollars or go away.”
Ron didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “That’s insane! Ten grand for a palm reading? Anyway, I don’t carry that kind of money with me!”
“Go back to Gajo doctor, then. Wait and see.” She smiled grimly. “Wait for armayo to finish?”
“But I don’t have it! Not with me, anyway!” He knew he was being manipulated, but some of her comments were beginning to make sense. Though it had never been mentioned outside the family, there were some stories about his great-grandfather being a horse thief and a murderer. He remembered hearing Grandfather and Dad laughing about it once after someone had called Grandfather a bastard. But that was almost a century ago - why curse him?
The old woman reached over to a small shelf on the wall by her chair and picked up a box that she dropped on the table. Flipping the lid open, she pulled out a credit card imprint machine and a blank form, which she lay between them. “You have credit card. Big man, big business. You pay now.” Her eyes narrowed. “Cheat Madame Rosario is very, very bad.”
She was thinking ahead, obviously. A threat to prevent him from paying now and canceling the charge when they were done. The idea had crossed his mind, actually. Well, if she succeeded, it was worth all he had. If she failed, then what could she do to him that was worse? Still, it rankled him being jacked up like this. “Fine!” He fumbled with his wallet again, but couldn’t get the credit card from its tight pocket. She snatched it from his hand and pulled the gold plastic rectangle out and dropped it on the imprinter. In less than a minute, she had the form filled out and ready for his signature, even producing a pen.
He scrawled his name across the bottom of the form, which she snatched back and inspected carefully. Then she tore off his copy and tossed it at him, and put her copies and the blank forms and imprinter away. Once the table was cleared, she pulled the hunk of quartz to her and placed her fingertips lightly on either side. “Be silent. Be still. Spirit strong. But maybe Madame Rosario stronger.” And with that, she closed her eyes and began to chant.
{{#if:|{{#if:|
|[[Image:Separator {{{1}}}.png|200px|center]]}}|
}}
No! Not now, when he was so close! Alexi felt the chovexani’s touch, working back through his own connection. This time, however, he did not recoil from the intrusion. Kham’s spirit was strong now, almost clear enough retrieve. She had power, this witch, and her soul felt old and strong, but Alexi had been preparing himself.
He focused on the distant horse with grim determination, tapping all of the spectral energies available to him. That included his spirit self, which wavered slightly as he stole from his own essence to accelerate Kham’s renewal. What would happen if he used up too much? Would he cease to exist even as a spirit?
The bond with the stallion was achingly clear now, promising companionship that went beyond anything he had known in life. Kham’s spirit felt like an extension of his own soul, the animal shape imposed over his own flesh and blood. Alexi would not abandon the great animal again – oblivion was better than facing the next world alone.
But how to fight her? He still did not have the strength to complete Kham and battle a chovexani. So far, her efforts implied only curiosity. It occurred to Alexi that he might have been wrong about Dimitri trying to interfere. There should have been little outward sign of the stallion’s revitalization. Perhaps this chovexani had sensed the link and was simply checking it out.
That was an encouraging thought. Most of her kind valued tradition and custom – it was all that maintained the position of respect they enjoyed in their tribes. If she understood what had been done, and what Alexi was trying to do, she might even assist him. For a price, of course. There was little choice but to try – if he had to fight, he would probably lose everything.
Easing his concentration on Kham a little, Alexi extended a tiny wisp of his essence to touch the chovexani’s probe. There was an impression of surprise on her end, and then a clearer link. He waited a moment for some sign of attack, ready to tear away from her. When none came, he decided to ask for help.
{{#if:|{{#if:|
|[[Image:Separator {{{1}}}.png|200px|center]]}}|
}}
Ron was getting irritated with the old woman’s nonsense. They had been sitting here for almost 20 minutes while she rocked and mumbled incoherently. Did she honestly think he was paying ten grand for this third-rate Carny act? He was close to canceling the whole deal when she suddenly jerked upright in her chair, falling silent.
Eyes wide and staring straight ahead, Madame Rosario clutched at the quartz with her bony fingers. She remained frozen like that for several minutes, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. Finally, she blinked and turned a puzzled gaze to Ron.
“Spirit seeks that which was stolen. Grast and Mortsi. Horse and leather.” She closed her eyes. “Kham. Sun stallion. Who is Dimitri?”
A cold hand closed around Ron’s gut. If this was a put-on, she had at least done her homework.. “Dimitri was my great-grandfather. And Kham was the Gypsy piebald stallion he sold to start the business when he first came to America.”
“Not Dimitri. Not Kham.” The old woman frowned. “Give me your hand!” She groped for it, gripping his fingers with surprising strength. The frown eased into a look of puzzlement, and then sudden amusement.
“What? You think something is funny?” Ron felt his temper start to burn. Was she playing some sort of game?
The smile vanished, her face suddenly grim and cold. “Silence! Spirit is strong. Madame Rosario must know everything.” She opened her eyes then, but kept her hand on the quartz. “Kham. Great horse?”
“Uh, yeah. I guess so.” He was a little confused by the question. “He brought a lot of money.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know! It was a century ago!” Ron thought a moment. “My Dad looked in to buying one like him a few years back – I remember they wanted almost twenty grand.”
“And such a horse worth even more now?” Madame Rosario was looking at him with a curious, hungry expression. “Stallion like Kham?”
Exasperated, Ron nodded. “Yeah, I guess! Look, the damned horse is dust or glue now! If great grandfather stole it, why not curse him? What has this got to do with me?”
Instead of answering, she released his fingers and placed both hands back on the quartz. She closed her eyes, but thankfully, did not start with the verbal gibberish again. He watched her carefully, keenly aware that he was probably dealing with a con artist.
{{#if:|{{#if:|
|[[Image:Separator {{{1}}}.png|200px|center]]}}|
}}
The chovexani wanted to help him! Alexi could hardly believe his luck. With the added power and focus of her talisman, he could fully restore Kham with ease. He could sense the stallion’s fear and anxiousness – the sooner he could reclaim the horse’s spirit, the better.
Some of the images from the witch were confusing, though. She could not clearly visualize Kham, sending only flickering impressions of something that seemed too small and poorly shaped to be the proud horse. Alexi felt a sick dread. The Romani had many secrets to prolong a valuable animal’s life, sometimes far beyond the point where death would be merciful. If this thing the chovexani saw was indeed his Sun Stallion, then Dimitri had a far greater crime to pay for than Alexi’s murder.
Yet Alexi could sense the vitality that surged within Kham’s withered, deformed shell. It seemed incredible that so many years had not diminished either the animal’s soul or the bond to his former master. Kham’s spirit felt so similar to Alexi’s that they might have been brothers. Maybe there was more to the old jokes about the ‘son stallion’ than anyone had realized.
Communication with the distant witch became easier as the two tendrils of astral energy became entwined. He felt her strength reinforcing his essence. Focused through her talisman, there was no telling what so much power might accomplish.
Finally, the woman let him know all was ready. Alexi forced himself to be calm, clearing his mind of everything but the image of Kham.
{{#if:|{{#if:|
|[[Image:Separator {{{1}}}.png|200px|center]]}}|
}}
“Bullshit!” Ron couldn’t decide who was crazier – the old lady who had just told him he was turning into a horse, or him for having come here in the first place. Pushing away from the table, he stood up awkwardly. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play, lady, but I’m not paying ten thousand for this kind of crap!”
“Crap!?” Madame Rosario leapt up, her eyes blazing. “Dili! This most powerful magic Madame Rosario ever see! Very strong. Very evil! Very dangerous to Madame Rosario!” She grabbed the credit card receipt from her box and threw it at him. “Go! I no risk life for dili! Maybe when you walk on all fours and crop grass, you believe! Then it too late! Almost too late now!”
He was taken aback by the ferocity of her reaction, but what really caused him to reconsider was the signed credit slip lying on the floor. Not so much because she had tossed it back at him, but because when he looked down at it he saw that his feet had swollen out even more. His toes were little more than indentations along the edge of what very well might be the beginnings of a horse’s hoof.
The idea was impossible – some long-dead victim of his great-grandfather changing him into a stallion? Yet it seemed just as impossible that his body could change so much in a couple of weeks. Or a couple of hours. Ron felt a chill as he realized the belt was tight around his gut again, even the clothing that had been at least a moderate fit this morning pulling uncomfortably in all direction. Whatever was happening had accelerated. His symptoms baffled the doctors. On the other hand, the weight gains, odd swellings, hair growth, even the changes in his diet all suddenly made sense if he accepted what she was saying.
Dammit! His gut instincts were screaming to beware this old bitch. At the same time, there was something about her, about this whole situation, that made he feel like she was telling him at least part of the truth. “So I’m becoming this Kham, the horse my great-grandfather sold a century ago? Why? What good does turning me into an animal do this ghost?”
“Fah!” Madame Rosario wrinkled her nose, and dragged her chair off to the side. “Traditions all forgotten. Customs ignored. Ancestor spirit is thirsty soul - trushalo odji. Kham his greatest treasure. More than gold to him.” She paused and shook her head. “Spirit is blind, feels only connection to leather and brass that were his and life force within. Spirit thinks life force is Kham. Life force is you.”
“OK, let’s say I believe this and he finishes turning me into his stolen horse? What good does it do him?”
The old woman shuffled over and grabbed his chair next. “When Kham is complete, spirit call horse’s soul to him, and they go to next world together.”
“Call horse’s soul…?” Ron’s eyes widened. “But if I’m turning into Kham, then that means…?”
She smiled grimly as she slid the seat to the wall. “Your soul will be called. And your body here will die.”
As incredulous as he had been, Ron felt that cold hand again. She had him, and she knew it. No matter how preposterous it all was, he couldn’t take a chance that she was right. So far, this explanation made more sense than anything else. “What can you do to stop him from turning me into Kham?”
“Nothing.” She had moved to the table, apparently planning on clearing that away as well.
“What!?” Ron felt like he had been slapped across the face. “Then what is all this hocus-pocus about? Why the fuck should I pay you ten thousand dollars?”
She dragged the table next to the chairs, then picked up the chunk of quartz before answering. Holding the jagged stone up, the old woman stared directly at him. “You must touch talisman. Open mind to spirit. Accept all that is Kham. Much magic, much power. Only when stallion is complete, just before call, can Madame Rosario break bond between you and spirit. Without bond, spirit cannot call soul.”
He was confused now, fear getting control of his thoughts. “But what about me? Won’t I be stuck as a horse?”
The old woman was obviously afraid herself, but held the talisman up to him. “May be horse. May be man. Cannot say until done. You must choose now. Touch talisman and open mind. Take chance to save soul. Or be dead horse here and slave to spirit forever.” She closed her eyes. “I feel ancestor spirit.” The quartz began to pulse with a soft, purple-blue glow. Madame Rosario arched back suddenly, thrusting the stone towards him. “Now! You must do it now!”
Terrified of what he was doing, yet even more frightened of what might happen if he did not, Ron grabbed the talisman. And the moment he did, he knew the truth of it and screamed.
{{#if:|{{#if:|
|[[Image:Separator {{{1}}}.png|200px|center]]}}|
}}
Alexi was startled by the sudden surge of strength in the bond to Kham. Channeling through the talisman would have been enough by itself – the chovexani had woven her own power into the connection as well, creating a force of magic that exploded around the distant animal. He could sense Kham’s fear and initial resistance that fell away as the stallion allowed himself to be consumed.
Allowed? A curious thought for an animal. Or was that coming from the woman? Her essence was so closely tied into the connection now that he could sense some of her thoughts. Fear, of course, but something else. A hidden emotion that felt oily. Alexi could not investigate yet, for he was focused on reshaping Kham.
Curiously, the beast’s aura of family began to lessen as he absorbed the last swirls of power. Their bond started to feel more like that Alexi felt with the harness and the vest. A belonging, a thing. Why? Kham was complete, his body strong, his soul nearly restored. What was turning their special bond into nothing more than ownership? Alexi traced the feeling back to a small part of the horse’s mind that still carried that promise of companionship. It was hard, for the chovexani had not yet withdrawn from the link. If she didn’t let go…
He broke through suddenly, and saw what was in the woman’s mind. She was about to sever the tie between them, and keep the newly remade horse for herself! It had been a trick, a con worthy even of Alexi. But she had waited too long. He seized the combined link and prepared to tear the animal’s soul free, regardless of what it might do to the old woman. But in doing so, he touched Kham’s fading identity. And the moment he did, he knew the truth of it and screamed.
{{#if:|{{#if:|
|[[Image:Separator {{{1}}}.png|200px|center]]}}|
}}
Ron arched back as the horse exploded around and through him, tearing at his mind and body and warping his soul. There was no fighting this astral vortex – he might as well have tried stopping a tidal wave with a sand bucket. His identity was eroding away so quickly that there was no time for grief – only a stunned realization that when this was over, all that existed would be Kham.
A ghost-like image of the stallion formed around him, reared up to match his stance. It dwarfed him at first, but then he began to expand within it. Toes and fingers fused, his face pushed out, arms and legs telescoped. The equine shell solidified as he filled it, sensations of mass and weight building. Clothing tore and crumbled, except for the belt. He could still feel it around his middle, not only stretching to fit but sending out new straps that snaked around his forelegs and neck.
The horse was clear in his mind, black and white hide glistening as brightly in the sun as the polished black leather harness it wore. Ron’s father had dragged him to many stables in search of a worthy successor to Kham, and none had provided anything like this. In other circumstances, he would have been impressed. However, as his mind crumbled and that shining coat became his own skin, Ron only knew despair.
He wavered as balance shifted. Madame Rosario was still holding her quartz talisman against his forehooves, and leapt back with surprising agility as he fell to all fours with a jolt that shook the building. The delight on her wrinkled face told him was sickening proof that she had been lying all along. Being conned by the old witch was almost worse than becoming an animal, and he tried to lash out at her in revenge before Kham’s identity settled over his mind. At that moment, Ron felt the vengeful spirit’s grip tighten around his soul and knew it was too late.
For a moment, the two of them were connected so closely that they could have been a single consciousness – he felt only need and love from the distant ghost, a promise of companionship that touched both emerging horse and fading man. Then a wrenching sense of shock and anger obliterated all else.
Silence.
The stallion snaked his head around, ears back, trying to find the danger. His heart was pounding, and the air was thick with the scent of his own fear. Yet nothing moved in this cool, dark place. His nostrils flared, searching out some hidden predator. There was only a faint sweet stink of death that came from a large, still thing on the floor. Fear gave way to confusion, and then curiosity, and he took a step closer.
Wrinkled and ugly even in life, Madame Rosario was a grotesque horror in death. Her face was frozen in a terrified scream, eyes, nose, and mouth fallen in like a centuries-old mummy. The horse did not find her carcass ugly or terrifying, only a source of bad smells. Yet there was something in the back of his mind – satisfaction? Snorting, he shook his head and turned toward a spot of light in the otherwise dark place. Although the air wafting through the opening stank of strange things and unknown places, Kham sensed that there were better things awaiting him outside.
{{#if:|{{#if:|
|[[Image:Separator {{{1}}}.png|200px|center]]}}|
}}
Damn Dimitri. Bad enough his former partner had murdered him and stolen his worldly possessions. The little weasel had also married Alexi’s woman. At least he understood why Dimitri had been so angry that night. Tshaya wouldn’t have given him a second glance. Unless she knew she was pregnant. An unmarried mother was unclean in the eyes of the tribe. If Alexi had come back and married her, it would have been no problem. But when that didn’t happen, she would have been desperate. Perhaps going so far as to lay with Dimitri and claim the child was his.
But no. As easy as it would be to keep hating his killer, Alexi realized that Dimitri had actually followed through as a friend. Kham and the verdon had been kept for Alexi’s son. A child he raised as his own. And he had sold the horse to provide a better life for that child. It was difficult to believe that Dimitri had finally developed a business sense – more likely, Tshaya had stepped in there as well.
The horse brass must have been fashioned into a pendant or belt, using leather from Kham’s harness. A family heirloom passed down to Alexi’s son, grandson, and finally, the great-grandson whose life force had been detected. Alexi had turned his own flesh and blood into a horse. The chovexani had known. Worse, she had almost succeeded in conning them both, leaving Alexi alone forever and the boy’s soul annihilated.
He reached out and touched the distant mind. Their connection was strong and clear now, and would remain so forever. His great-grandson’s essence had survived, but almost entirely as Kham. Although some bond of family remained, he would remain a horse in the mortal world and any that lay beyond.
Yet it was hard to feel sadness, for Alexi sensed only contentment within the equine mind. The new Kham was young and healthy, and of such obvious quality that a long, pampered life was almost guaranteed. And if it took another twenty or thirty years before the stallion was ready to be claimed, so be it. For Alexi did not have to wait alone.
He turned to the blank-eyed piebald mare that stood motionless behind him. The chovexani had entwined herself so deeply that Alexi was able to snatch her soul instead, using the power she had helped create to shatter her essence. All that remained was a blank spirit that reflected the equine form intended for his grandson, turning her treachery into a boon for both those she would have cheated.
Kham would now have two companions waiting when he finally joined them – a loving master and willing mate. And Alexi would enter the afterlife with double the Gypsy Gold.
end