Faeted

by ReGi McClain

  All sacredness about the place vanished. Terror alone filled the forest. She stuffed the candy back in her pack and bolted. Behind her, a throaty growl confirmed her fears and the noise of the bear grew closer. She ran. When her legs started to tire, she dropped her pack and ran harder.

  Her pace slowed despite her determination. Her legs refused to move any faster. The hunter behind her would not lose any of its speed, she knew. In desperation she launched herself at a birch tree. Muscles straining, she pulled herself onto the first branch, then the second. Hope rose in her as she stretched to catch the third.

  Pain streaked across her leg. She screamed and looked down. A grizzly bear stretched its paw to take a second swipe. She pulled her legs up and reached for the third branch to pull herself higher. The bear swiped again. She dodged but this time the effort proved too much. Her arms gave out. She fell.

  She closed her eyes and waited for death to rip her apart, silently sending apologies to Jason for breaking her promise and leaving him alone.

  A roar shook the forest floor. Human arms caught her, swaddling her. Whoever carried her ran her away from the noise. She opened her eyes. Zeeb. When he saw her looking at him, he stopped running. The familiar sensation of losing blood washed over her.

  “Seraph?”

  Zeeb adjusted his arms to support her neck and cradle her against his chest. “She’s fine.”

  “But, the bear…”

  “Don’t worry. Not much can hurt Seraph when she’s angry.”

  She closed her eyes, content to take him at his word. As she drifted into sleep, anticipation of a visit to her dream sea tickled her consciousness with twisted appeal. To her disappointment, she didn’t find herself sinking into water. She felt herself lifting off the ground. An orange blur floated above her. Seraph’s red hair, perhaps. The wind seemed to whistle past her. A whoosh-whoosh , like distant waves, marked the slow beat of her heart. Whatever surface she was lying on wrapped itself around her. Too tired to puzzle through the sensations, she let herself drift into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 11

  Voices first, this time. Then the comforting sensation of lying on a soft surface and being covered with a cozy blanket. The pain Harsha’s mind had deadened while she slept crept back. It started mild, with splitting sensations reminiscent of an almost-healed papercut reopening. She felt blood oozing from her wounds, hot, sticky, and tickly where it beaded up and trickled down. Cruel irony clawed at her. Twice now, her quests for a cure had led to near-fatal blood loss. Worse, they had been long shots to begin with. Her anxiety spiked and her leg lit on fire before she could plunge herself back into the blessed numbness of sleep. It sizzled like a hot oil burn, or lanced like Ashley Rice’s scalpel, or sawed like a serrated knife carving out a chunk of her calf, or all of those. She couldn’t define the pain. She could only sob at the intensity of it.

  “Sounds like our girly is awake.” The deep voice reverberated between her ears. “Open up those little eyes for me, girly. I need to take a peek at your pupils.”

  She ignored the command and shrugged further into the blanket. Pain, frustration, and self-pity warped themselves into petulance and she refused to correct it. “I don’t wanna.”

  “I don’t blame you. Here. Take this and I’ll check your leg first.”

  A pill tapped her lower lip. Harsha opened her mouth to accept it and the little bit of water that dribbled in after it, grateful for the mere anticipation of relief. Her blanket disappeared and enormous, calloused fingertips prodded her leg. Each press felt like a blow. Harsha clenched her teeth to keep from howling like a child. In her head, she knew her caregiver was being as gentle as possible, but the examination made her want to kick and scream at him.

  “Hmm… I better get Doc Brown on the line. Seems neither of you’s been too up-front about your medical history. I can’t figure out how you got whatever caused those nasty scars on your wrist and ankle to heal up, but this leg ain’t gonna without some extra special help.”

  The unknown medic walked away, mumbling, “Maybe Ralph has somethin’ that can help.”

  Harsha curled into a ball, wishing he’d remembered to replace the blanket but unwilling to move to get it herself. Her leg throbbed where he’d prodded, each pulse like an outward ramming, as if her blood was fed up with being stuck inside her and wanted out. It exhausted her with its efforts and, mercifully, she drifted off for a time. Eventually, the burning, lancing, sawing, throbbing agony subsided to a pounding ache, giving her space to feel a chill working its way inward from her extremities. Unable to bear both the pain and the cold, she rolled toward the edge of her soft surface, which she realized must really be an overstuffed couch, grinding her teeth against dizziness and pounding veins while she felt for her blanket.

  “Oh! You are awake. Here. Let me get it for you.”

  The gentle soprano voice spoke with a thick accent that tossed Harsha back to faint memories of her great grandmother. She remembered sitting in the lap of the only old person in her family, eating biriyani and listening to a story about an ugly white giant who took an untouchable as his wife. With a vague expectation of seeing her great grandmother inviting her to join the rest of the family in death, she opened her eyes.

  She caught her breath and bit her tongue to keep from screeching a rude word. A tall albino humanoid dressed in a flowing red sari walked into the room with a basket of laundry propped on one hip. Her platinum hair twisted away from her face into a neat, side-swept braid, framing large, almond-shaped, sky blue eyes. Snow white curls about two inches long covered all but her face, the padded palms of her hands, and the soles of her bare feet. Her belly, draped with the elegant cloth of her sari, protruded several inches beyond her breasts, forcing her to widen her knees in a squat for the blanket.

  Another hair-covered individual appeared behind the first one, took hold of her arm to help her up, and spoke in a familiar voice. “Now, now, Gauri. You let me do the bendin’ for a while.”

  Harsha shifted to get a better view of her caregiver and suppressed a whole string of curse words. He towered over her, taller than most basketball players. He wore a pair of khaki cargo shorts but no shirt. The hair covering his body, a salt and pepper mix, was shorter than Gauri’s and lay straight instead of curling. A beard plunged to his waist and covered the entire lower half of his face, leaving only his eerie black eyes available for scrutiny. They offered little insight into his thoughts or feelings.

  Gauri patted Harsha’s caregiver on the cheek and left the room. “I hope you feel better soon,” she called.

  With no experience to help her in such a situation, Harsha defaulted to her mother’s old advice and tried to press her grimace of pain and shock into something resembling a smile. She was sure she failed, and the little cheeriness she managed to shove into her tone of voice sounded cold and hollow. “You must be Don.”

  “Hey! How about that! You’re the first human to greet me with somethin’ politer than a scream.” His hand engulfed hers, but his shake was slow and careful. “Of course, you might not count.” He winked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I called Doc Brown. Let’s tuck your blanket in. There. Tucked in nice and cozy. He gave me some fascinatin’ details about your physiology to pass on to Ralph. For treatment purposes.”

  Harsha’s heart sank. She dropped all attempts at pleasantness and growled. As if her circumstances weren’t bad enough on their own, Doctor Brown had told his crazy fish-faerie theory to an utter stranger, who’d gone on to tell it to another stranger, who’d probably go on to tell it to another. At this rate, she’d be the queen of the tabloids within twenty-four hours and every alien conspiracy nut would be knocking at her door with a scalpel, trying to get at Jason, before she could get home to fend them off.

  Her mind halted, belatedly jarred by the knowledge that a creature she’d hitherto relegated to legend and overactive imaginations was, in fact, not only real, but able to speak and reason. If sasquatches existed, why
not faeries and mermaids? Why not space aliens, for that matter? Maybe Ashley was right and Harsha’s body contained all the secret cures for the world’s most horrifying diseases. Maybe magic itself lurked in her fragile veins. And maybe, just maybe, she was looping around Jupiter on painkillers concocted from the available plant life.

  Don handed her a pill and a glass of water. “Look away.”

  He kneeled to look at her leg while she studied the pill. It looked legitimate, with a score down the middle and numbers printed on one side. She decided she preferred being high to agony and swallowed it down with a gulp of water. She intended to keep sipping the water, aware she needed to rehydrate after her ordeal, but then Don started cleaning her wounds and she slammed the cup down on a nearby coffee table, splashing water everywhere. She clenched her teeth and balled her fists. It took all her determination to keep from squirming and kicking.

  When she lifted her head to look, Don put a hand on her forehead to keep her down. “Trust me.”

  Several horrible minutes passed before Don finally stopped cleaning and started wrapping her leg with a clean bandage. Harsha took several deep, controlled breaths through her teeth to help banish the irrational desire to inflict punishment on Don for hurting her. He didn’t cause the injuries , her brain reminded her. Still, her primitive fight or flight instincts screamed for retribution against her caregiver.

  To reestablish him as a helper in her brain and to keep her mind off the pain, she decided to start a conversation. “Where are Seraph and Zeeb?” Remembering a detail from before, she added, “And who’s Ralph?”

  “Ralph is Zeeb’s dad. He’s a doctor. Seraph’s pickin’ up your medicine from him and Zeeb’s out in the game shed. I didn’t tell him you’re awake yet.”

  Another detail came to mind, bringing with it shame and embarrassment for not remembering sooner. “Is Seraph okay? The bear didn’t hurt her?”

  He chuckled. “A bear? Hurt Seraph? No, girly. Seraph won that fight. There’s one gal you don’t want to upset.”

  Harsha could well believe that, though Seraph didn’t come across as threatening or mean to her. The redhead simply was as she was without apology or pretention. Harsha imagined Seraph marching up to the bear, crossing her arms, and glowering it into submission. The picture made Harsha smile. She let it linger where she could enjoy it for a little while, then asked, a little too hopeful, “Are there others like you?” She didn’t mean just sasquatch, but she didn’t want to add what she did mean without establishing a little rapport.

  “Not many. There’re about five hundred of us left and most of us are related in some way. I got eight brothers, six sisters, and about sixty aunts, uncles, and cousins.”

  Yipes! “Quite a family.”

  “Yeah. My folks felt obligated to increase our numbers.”

  “I guess holiday get-togethers are crowded.”

  “Not anymore. We all spread out, lookin’ for marriables. I was lucky. I got my Gauri from the Himalayas. No chance of blood relation. Her brother and I found each other online. We both needed wives, so we traded sisters. My little sister went over there to marry him. Gauri came here to marry me. Seems to be workin’ out well for all parties concerned.”

  The idea of being traded for someone’s sister and shipped halfway around the world to marry someone she’d never met before set her skin crawling. Maybe it’s different when you belong to a rare species. Or maybe just a rare species that doesn’t blend in well with humans. Which begged the question: Was she a rare species that did blend in well with humans? She was mustering the courage to ask if Don had ever seen a faerie or mermaid when Gauri poked her head around the corner.

  “Dinner is ready.”

  Harsha stopped gathering her moxie and concentrated on breathing to manage her pain as Don helped her into a sitting position and propped her up with several throw pillows. The shift in weight put pressure on her bladder and suddenly the pain didn’t seem nearly as bad as another problem. “Um, Don, may I use your bathroom, please?”

  “You won’t make it alone. I’ll get Gauri.”

  Tending to necessities elicited humiliation and pain-riddled grunts such as Harsha planned never to admit to anyone, ever. Gauri promised not to tell.

  Back in the living room, bundled in her blankets on the couch and propped up on pillows, Harsha sucked in the fragrances of cumin, coriander, and ginger that saturated the air. Their flavors danced across her palate long before Gauri set a plate heaped with rice and sauce-smothered spinach on a TV tray for her.

  “I hope you like squirrel.”

  Squirrel? A wave of nausea forced Harsha to press her lips together. She considered eating the rice and ignoring the other dishes, but between her desire to be polite to her hosts and having no idea when she last ate, she decided to eat the food set before her, squirrel and all.

  When in Rome… She took a bite before she could change her mind. Not too bad.

  Zeeb walked into the room carrying his own plate. “You’re up!”

  She smiled at him. “Sort of.”

  “Sort of is better than not at all . Don was worried for a while.”

  Don raised his eyebrows. “Was Don? I didn’t realize you’d changed your name. I won’t be able to keep us straight. I’ll have to call you the-Don-formerly-known-as-Zeeb from now on.”

  A hint of pink touched Zeeb’s cheeks. Harsha smiled at him, touched to know her tour guide took an interest in her personally and not as a mere client. She hoped. For all she knew, his worry stemmed from the potential pecuniary loss and not any concern for her. But if that were the case, he wouldn’t pretend not to be concerned. People who only care about the money do the opposite.

  He placed his dish on the coffee table and sank onto the floor with his back to the couch. “Is Seraph back yet? This curry is amazing.”

  Gauri patted Zeeb’s shoulder before she took a seat in an easy chair. “Thank you. No. I hope she eats a caribou on the way back. I don’t think there’s enough squirrel to feed her.”

  Zeeb choked on a spoonful of rice. He started to speak but lost his words in a fit of coughing.

  Don shifted, looking nervous. “Yeah. Seraph sure does like caribou stew. ”

  “She likes it better raw.”

  Don cleared his throat with gusto. Gauri gave him an irritated look. He flicked his eyes toward Harsha. Gauri looked from Harsha to Zeeb, who widened his eyes at her. She mouthed a drawn-out, “Oh.”

  Don smiled at Harsha. “She’s quite the joker. Isn’t she funny? Raw caribou.” He shook his head at the preposterous idea, chuckling.

  Zeeb joined the laugh. “Raw caribou. Haha!”

  Gauri wiggled flustered fingers in front of her face. “I’m always joking about meat. Yeti humor.”

  The three of them joined in the hehes and hahas, building intensity. Their embarrassment seemed out of proportion with the situation. Didn’t some Alaska Natives eat their food freeze-dried instead of cooked? Harsha scrutinized her food, hoping Gauri had cooked the squirrel and wondering if it wasn’t coriander she smelled after all.

  The laughter ceased at the sound of a thump outside. Startled by the sudden noise, she bounced in her place, and grimaced at the pain of the movement. “What was that?”

  Silence hung over the living room. When she looked at Don, he jumped up. “Well, dear, thank you for the nice meal. I’ll go, uh, tend the garden.”

  Gauri followed, gathering up dishes. “Of course, dear. I’ll put the dishes in some soapy water and join you.”

  That left Zeeb. “How’s your leg?”

  “What made that noise?”

  His smile wavered for a split second. “It’s late. You should sleep.”

  She decided not to argue. The noise couldn’t be important if no one else thought it was worth bothering about. She wiggled down into her pillows, trying to find a comfortable resting position, and closed her eyes. Her body longed for the sweet numbness of sleep.

  A noise startled Harsha. She pulled herself up fa
r enough to see out the window. Blinds fell to within an inch of the sill, hiding anything higher than a grown man’s waist from view. At first, she assumed the painkiller or blood loss had caused her vision to blur.

  Gauri and Zeeb stood in the garden talking to someone. Or something. Their companion towered over them, too high for Harsha to see its head, and looked to be made of bronze plates. She couldn’t see enough of it to be sure, but she thought she recognized the spade-tipped tail curled around the creature. The idea sent a jolt of adrenalin through her, urging her to run or hide. For half a minute, she considered the possibility of her suspicion being correct, but then dismissed it. Sasquatch might exist, but some creatures simply could not be. Once upon a time, perhaps, but not anymore.

  She shook her head and covered her face with her arm, mumbling to herself, “This painkiller is some good stuff.” She rested her eyes for a minute before looking out the window again, expecting to see a normal scene. Like a nice sasquatch couple working in their garden.

  Or maybe it’s bad stuff. The scaly bottom half of the apparition remained. Harsha watched while Zeeb and Gauri talked to it, waiting for the beast to fade away as the momentary delusion of a sick woman. After several minutes, she decided either Jason had guessed right and she had, indeed, set the record as the first ever member of the family to suffer from insanity, or she was dancing on Saturn’s rings. A moment later, she heard someone enter the room.

  “Got your medicine, girly.”

  “Don? What kind of painkiller am I on?”

  “Just Percocet and clove oil. Nothin’ too heavy.”

  “And my bleeding? Is it under control?”