She nodded, her own pulse still racing. It hadn’t exactly been an orgasm, but it had been close enough that she felt in vague need of a shower and a nap. “Did it work?”
Aodhan tilted his head in answer, indicating the saplings—or rather, where the saplings had been.
The trees were gone. In their place, two creatures now stood, shifting a little as though uncertain about their new legs. They were shaped like giant elk, with spreading antlers and humped backs higher than Cathy’s own head, but their bodies were intricate lattices of living wood, formed from twining branches and slabs of bark. Leaf-covered flanks heaved in and out, as though they were breathing. One of them stamped a gnarled hoof, pale roots flexing like tendons.
Cathy caught her breath. “They’re beautiful.”
“Of course they are.” Aodhan straightened his robes, some of his usual composure returning. “You made them, after all.”
“We made them, you mean.” It was hard to believe that she’d helped to create these graceful, impossible creatures. “That was definitely a joint effort.”
“Hmph,” Motley muttered. He eyed the wood-elk, still looking disgruntled. “Shiny, and a step in the right direction. But still.”
Cathy held out a hand to one of the wood-elk. Its eyes were soft pools of ever-changing light, the color of sunbeams through leaves. That glowing gaze regarded her for a moment, aloof and enigmatic. Then it dipped its head, the moonstones strung from its antlers swaying on their silver chains. Warm, damp breath blew across her palm.
“Do they have names?” she asked Aodhan.
“As individuals, you mean?” Aodhan was studying their creations with a rather critical air, as though searching for flaws. “No. You can name them, if you like, but it won’t mean anything to them. They’re still trees at heart. Magic can transform something’s shape, but not change its underlying nature.”
Cathy stroked the wood-elk’s rough neck. The bark was warm and flexed under her touch, like an animal’s hide.
“They’re marvelous,” she said. “Did you invent them?”
“No, it’s an old spell.” Aodhan ducked, peering at the wood-elks’ broad, splayed hooves. “They’re called osses. One of the more complicated forms of magical construct. Some high sidhe mages favor them as mounts, since they’re a good way to show off one’s power and they can be shaped according to the whims of fashion. These particular ones will be considered rather unstylish, I’m afraid.”
“Why?”
“Because the current trend among fashionable mages is to ride oss unicorns.” He gave her a thin, tight-lipped smile over his shoulder. “And I didn’t much fancy sawing off my own horn.”
Ice ran down her spine. “That’s horrible.”
“So are high sidhe. Fortunately, there are plenty of elk living in this valley. I gather a few cast-off pairs of antlers every spring, since such things are useful for quite a few spells.” He straightened, brushing off the knees of his robes. “I think they’ll do. It doesn’t look like they’re likely to unravel at the seams and dump us on our backsides straight away, at least. Let’s get mounted up.”
He clicked his tongue at the osses. Both constructs obediently settled to the ground, long legs folding.
Cathy approached the nearest one, tentatively laying a hand on the creature’s bark-covered shoulder. It snorted, leaves fluttering around flared nostrils, but didn’t flinch away. Bracing herself, she swung her leg across the broad back. It was surprisingly comfortable, smooth as driftwood.
Aodhan, already atop the other oss, clicked his tongue again, and the constructs lurched up. Cathy had been worried about falling off, but the oss held her as securely as a cradle, its wooden body adjusting to match her own.
Aodhan whistled. As Noodle bounded over to join them, the crow-cat let out an indignant caw. She launched herself from Motley’s shoulder, swooping around the head of Aodhan’s oss. The construct shied as the little griffin tried to land on its gleaming antlers.
“Absolutely not,” Aodhan said to the griffin. He pointed an imperious finger back at Motley. “The last thing we need is to have you attempting to steal the buttons off the shirts of every seelie we pass.”
Giving up trying to grab onto the oss’s antlers, the crow-cat landed on Aodhan’s shoulder instead. She rubbed her feathered head against his cheek, making a soft, worried sound.
Cathy could see Aodhan fighting to keep a stern expression, and losing. He glanced her way, then gave the crow-cat a quick, embarrassed pat.
“I’ll be back soon,” he murmured, gently disentangling the griffin’s claws from his robes. Shooing her away, he looked down at Motley. “Look after her, and yourself. You remember where we need to go?”
“Bright lands, yes.” Motley hesitated, his pale hands twisting together. “Would come with you, but… can’t. Can’t get too close. Too many memories.”
“It’s all right. Keep hold of my call stone, just in case we need to contact you.” Aodhan glanced across at Cathy. “Ready?”
I am a powerful sorceress, Cathy told herself. Letting her hand rest on the pommel of her iron sword, she lifted her chin, doing her best to adopt a regal, haughty pose. I am a powerful sorceress, and I am going to rescue my son.
“Ready,” she said, and was surprised by her own calm, certain tone. “Let’s go.”