The Fault In Reality

Chapter Twenty-Eight

There's no way this is going to work.

I'm telling myself this over and over, clinging to the empty words because they offer some tiny sense of rhythm and in that, security. And despite it all there's this wild hope brimming in my chest. Spilling over the edges, it would seem, and running a lather over my palms and neck.

Sun filters in through the leaves, yanking flickering shadows into play all across the forest floor. My fingers are red, raw with the constant knot they've been made to tie. I step back and survey the fruits of my trouble.

Devany is standing rigidly, coat painted white in the sun's reflection. At his chest is a sturdy stick, held in place with the hem of my shirt. I now flaunt an extremely ripped-style crop top, whose future date with the trash can has already been arranged. The firefighter's top is probably facing a similar fate, considering its torn state. I've worked it into strips and knotted these - as my fingers know only all too well - into two fabric ropes. These are tied to either end of Devany's stick "harness", which hangs in place only with the tension from the attached stretcher.

Okay, so it's not ideal. But considering what I've had to work with, I'm feeling pretty pleased. A strange calm has snuck up on me, gingerly pried the control of my brain from the grips my formerly panicked self, and coaxed my bodily functions onto the spectrum of "sane human".

Devany is none too pleased with my idea. He paws at the ground and tosses his head, sending a bristled arc of mane through the air. It's quite a task to keep him from bolting, but I manage. He pushes at me with his nose, a quivering mess. Time to put his nervous energy to work.

I look over at the firefighter, who's hovering over the stretcher with anxiety plain on his face. At my look he gives a tense nod. I bunch Devany's reins right under his mouth and apply a light pressure. His response is every bit as wild as I expect. He lurches forward and pain sears through my arm as my grip is forcefully readjusted. The stretcher clips the edge of a root, catching some air before landing back on the trail with a thud. I watch in horror as Chase slips to the edge, sides folded over and ready to fall. At the last moment the firefighter lunges forward and hooks an arm through Chase's, tips himself off balance but saves Chase from any further injury.

Devany is prancing now, hooves chipping away at the dust and sending great smears of it into the air. His mouth is a tight wrinkle, twitching under his upturned nostrils and whirling eyes. I don't know how much more of this he can take.

I smooth his sweaty neck under my sweatier fingers. His coat is velvet and strange to touch, and an utter relief to my aching hand. A stray breeze peels hair from my forehead. I look down the path; we still have a ways to go. Trees lean into the snaking trail. Their summer foliage limit my view to a brief length before the next turn.

I close my eyes and silently beg Devany for another few minutes of courage. I can feel his presence beside me, loud and scared and messy. I take a deep breath. As air fills my lungs, calm floods my body. Devany responds kindly to my relaxed posture, and I hear his jittery movements pause. Alright, he seems to be saying, what now?

I give him my answer by pulling the reins. This time he moves off with fluid steps, legs raining over the ground like liquid. I'm amazed at the sudden extinction of fear in his body, the sudden certainty that replaces it. His muscles bend and bulge, clicking into place and tracing the effortless plunge and pull of his feet.

The stretcher quarrels with the leaves, sticks, and every stone in our way as it slides noisily through the forest. I'm surprised when Chase stays on at all, what with all the jagged bumps and jostling that ensue. But he does.

At some point during our nerve-racking journey I notice Devany's ear swivel to cup the distant hint of voices ahead. A minute later I glimpse the coats of three paramedics patched through an array of greenery. In another second they emerge from the undergrowth and, after seeing us, jump to Chase's side.

Words of warning leave my mouth a second too late, and they hang in the air as their reality rears to life. Incidentally, so does a large black horse.

It starts with a telltale plunge of Devany's head, steep and sharp. Then his writhing chest rises out to meet it, legs flashing forwards. He lands his little jump with his hind hooves planted firmly in the dust, and suddenly his spine rolls up and he springs straight from the ground like a jack in the box, forelegs bent to the sky. For a terrible moment I think he'll fall on his back all over again, but at the last second he scrabbles backwards a step and regains balance.

Fortunately my knots aren't strong, and the stretcher only hisses a meter or so up the path before the 'rope' snaps. Devany is still an explosion in the air, tail swinging like a pendulum, legs folding overhead, mane flying in all directions...

When he finally falls back to earth the impact of his hooves reverberates through the ground, so that I can feel it ringing in my feet. I throw a look over my shoulder, long enough to see Chase being rolled safely onto a real stretcher.

Devany's coat is alive with ripples, as though there's a thousand flies he can't get off himself. I press my hand to his shoulder and some of the shaking stops. Almost of its own accord the world swings by, is pushed underneath me as I find myself settling onto Devany's back. I feel his spine, his warmth. He's slippery with sweat from the sun and his fear.

"Follow me," I tell the paramedics. Both must be experienced in their job, because their faces betray no hint of panic as they nod solemnly and hoist the real stretcher into the air. Bits of Chase are poking out from under a brick red blanket. I catch a glimpse of his sallow fingers. A lump forms in my throat, but I swallow what I can and wipe from my eyes any evidence of what I can't.

I look ahead, and somehow the trail seems less daunting when seen from between the black points of Devany's ears.

"Good boy," I say, and he is.