What if they reproduced, though? What if they respond to me? So I softly call out all the names I can remember as we cross the meadows, from all the stories that come to my mind, and there are many. One of the horses wanders by, a mare, but she’s probably only curious. A symbol glints on her side, somehow visible through the long hide, and it looks like a shield and a spear.
“What is that symbol about?” I ask Ardruna. “What are these symbols every creature seems to have stamped in their flesh?”
“It’s a symbol of the book they escaped from. It’s a way to identify the books to which they need to return.”
“And what happens to the story in the book while these creatures are out of it?”
“I haven’t thought much about that,” Ardruna admits. “I suppose the story… stops?”
“Or falls apart,” I mutter. “It’s an impossibility. A paradox. Unless they are returned to the pages. And these horses definitely escaped from a book. So…”
Names. Think of more names and stories.I recall Diomedes’ mares who ate human flesh and were so beautiful that everyone felt drawn to ride them. And what about the horses of Hades, pulling his chariot through mist and darkness?
Oh, and also Ares’ mares, led by the stallion Arion, the star-fire horse, winged and eager to do battle…
“Hippi Arei,” I say.
At the sound of that name, the horses lift their heads and scream, rearing up, stomping their hooves.
“May the Gods help us,” Ardruna breathes. “What’s happening to them?”
“They are changing.” A sharp breath escapes me as they shake their long manes and coats, as they shift, subtly at first, then violently—huge wings springing from their backs, their coats shrinking even as their manes and tails become pure light.
“How did you do that?” Ardruna growls. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t… know.” And yet I do.
In truth, deep inside, I’ve been trying to convince myself that changing the river was nothing, a trick of the mind, an illusion. But these horses are proof it’s real. I pinpointed their story, found their names and brought them back to their original form.
“The longer you live in this in-between world,” I say, working this out step by step, “the more you change. The way others perceive you influences the way you look, even your very nature. Your role is lost. Your place in the story is gone. You can be anyone.”
“You can lose yourself,” Ardruna says, horror in her voice. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“Or you can become someone new. It doesn’t have to be all bad.”
“It’s bad. I wouldn’t want to be anyone but myself.”
She’s right. Again, I wonder where she came from. “Do other animals slip through the cracks and enter this world? After all, I managed to enter.”
“You opened the door,” Olm says. “Animals generally can’t. They can’t speak or reason.”
“In theory, dragons could,” I counter. “If they had any interest in entering.”
“I’m sure other animals have entered,” Ardruna says. “Talton did, for instance.”
“True. Do you know how?”
“No,” she huffs. “I never asked him. Why didn’t I ever ask him? Why didn’t I wonder where he and I came from?”
But there’s no more time to ponder that as the now winged horses take to the sky. We watch them fly higher and higher, over the trees and hills, until they vanish in the distance.
“Well, that was a sight to behold,” Ardruna says. “Not something you see every day.”
“No,” I agree. “Not every day.”
Glancing one last time in the direction the winged horses have taken, I follow her through the plain.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
