by S. E. Smith
Not that it’d matter if I was the type to run, trouble always seems to find me wherever I go, he thought as he looked up at the long line of steps to the top of the cliff.
3
Twenty minutes later, Ross was cussing up a storm again, this time very loudly. He was hot, unbearably thirsty, and his thighs and calves were killing him. This cliff was like a Stairmaster from hell. He looked up and released a long wheezing hiss. A low groan slipped from him when he realized he was only about half way up and still had a long way to go before he reached the top.
Maybe I’ll be lucky and there will be a water fountain at the top of the cliff; or better yet, a beer kiosk, he thought with a bitter sigh of frustration.
Turning and pressing his back against the rough rock, he gazed out at the ocean again. His eyes widened in trepidation, and he forgot about everything when he suddenly realized that he really wasn’t on Earth – at least not any Earth that he recognized. The evidence was so overwhelming he could barely speak.
“Aw hell, Ross. You really are in deep shit this time. The question is – how deep a pile will it be?” he murmured to himself as he studied the edge of this world.
From this vantage point he could see the water from the ocean as it poured over the edge like Niagara Falls, not that he had ever seen the Falls in person, but it’s what he imagined it would look like. Beyond the well-defined edge was sky – blue, radiant sky filled with large, white fluffy clouds. Wiping a hand down his face, he clutched his jacket and sweater against his side as his legs gave out and he slid down the rough wall. He sat on the stone steps and took in the mesmerizing scene for a moment as his mind grappled with what he was seeing. The one thing that he kept coming back to was that what he was looking at was stunningly beautiful.
“Maybe this is Hawaii. They’ve got waterfalls and cliffs. That’s it!” He snapped his fingers. “I had some kind of meltdown, developed amnesia, thought I was on my boat, and went for a swim. I’ll get to the top of the cliff and discover I’m really on Waikiki. Bars, babes, and palm trees will surround me, and I’ll be living the dream. Yeah, and maybe I’m not really having this conversation with myself,” he muttered before he looked at the edge of the world again.
He didn’t want to think about the fact that he knew he wasn’t really having a mental holiday from reality, that he’d seen two moons last night, that he could feel the hard stone under his ass, or that he knew damn well that he had been off the coast of Oregon in the middle of the day.
He looked back up to the top of the cliff. If he was going to find answers, he needed to start somewhere, and at the moment, going up was the best solution. With a shake of his head, he wearily rose to his feet and began climbing the staircase again, thinking that this had better be a one-way trip because he sure as hell didn’t ever want to see these stairs again, much less climb them!
Three-quarters of the way up to the top, he stopped for a moment, rested his hand on the rock face, and moved his right leg to work out the cramp in his calf. Rubbing his hand on his jeans, he suddenly remembered the shell that Magna had given him. He’d been holding it when the world had turned crazy. Maybe there was a link between the shell and his unexpected trip. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the contents. There was no shell, only a pocketful of change.
Returning the change to his pocket, he patted his other pockets to see if the shell was inside one of them. He looked out at the water with a growing sense of dread when he didn’t feel it.
“Shit a gold brick,” he cursed, knowing that he must have dropped the shell when he fell overboard.
He clenched his jaw in determination. If there was one witchy-mermaid who could give him a magic shell, then there had to be another one somewhere. That is – if he wasn’t dead and in one of Dante’s levels of purgatory. The only other explanation he could come up with was that he must have been transported to Magna’s world.
“Ha ha ha. When I find my way home, I’ll let that Sea Witch know that her little joke wasn’t very amusing,” he muttered with a bit of snark.
He ignored his protesting leg muscles and returned his focus to the last section of steps. If there were stairs, there had to be people, he reasoned. Someone was sure to know where he was and how he could get back. He just hoped they didn’t turn him into a frog or some other disgusting creature before he had a chance to ask them.
It took Ross another ten minutes to get to the top. He leaned over and placed his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. He stiffly straightened and wiped a hand across his sweaty brow.
God, I hate stairs, he thought.
Placing his hands on his lower back, he looked around. There was a path that led into the trees. He winced when he turned, his aching muscles protesting all of his recent physical activity. From the view at the top, he could see that beyond the water falling off the edge of the world, it looked like the whole damn world was floating on a cloud.
“Where the hell did she send me – the top of the beanstalk?” he muttered.
This was crazy! He ground his teeth together and adjusted his sweater and jacket. He scanned the path ahead of him. He would follow it, but he sure as hell wouldn’t do any singing and dancing. There would definitely be no skipping.
“I swear if I run into a tin man, a scarecrow, and a cowardly lion, I’ll use the tin man as a stove, stuff the scarecrow inside him, and cook the damn lion for dinner – and don’t even get me started about the flying monkeys and the green bitch with a chip on her shoulder,” he loudly warned the gently swaying palm trees. “I’m about done with all this fantasy crap. ”
He almost told his imaginary audience to give him a good Stephen King plot but thought twice about it. What if this place did give him what he requested? Did he really want some psychotic clown over a bunch of singing Munchkins? He absently patted the pocket of his shirt.
“I wish I had a cigarette,” he said.
He waited for one to magically appear. When it didn’t, he sighed. He hoped that his lack of a wish-granted cigarette meant there wouldn’t be any magically appearing serial killers either.
He ran his hand along the curved, intricately carved stone handrail at the top of the staircase. While he appreciated the artwork, he knew he was really procrastinating. He sighed again, rolled his shoulders, and stepped onto the narrow path that led away from the cliff.
“So much for that nice Waikiki bar filled with beautiful wahines and lots of nice ice-cold beer,” he muttered, still hoping against hope that there was a water fountain nearby because his throat was sore and his mouth felt like it was filled with the pebbled-sand from the beach. So far things weren’t looking too promising. The path leading into the woods looked more like the ones at the State Park back home.
He walked along the narrow path, turning in a tight circle at one point to stare up at the trees. His eyes warily scanned the canopy above for any sign of danger. He swallowed hard when he thought he saw one of the trees move – like really move! He shook his head, deciding that he must be so dehydrated he was beginning to hallucinate. Surely trees – even fantasy ones – couldn’t walk?
He shook his head and refocused on the path ahead of him. Beautiful flowering plants in a rainbow of colors lined each side. He stopped to examine one that had dark red leaves and brilliant yellow flowers. In the center, a light mist floated up like the little misting fountain he had given his mom last Christmas.
He waved his fingers through the mist. A startled yelp slipped from his lips when tiny white filaments greedily reached up to wrap around his little finger. He jerked his hand free and shook it when he felt his skin begin to tingle. Rubbing his hand on his shirt, he warily stepped back onto the path.
“You’re definitely not in Yachats, Ross. Keep your hands and feet away from the man-eating plants,” he muttered, turning in a circle before making sure he was in the center of the path.
He continued along the leaf-strewn track until it suddenly forked. One way narrowed and led deeper into the forest. It l
ooked dark and menacing while the other widened and seemed almost welcoming. He frowned and tilted his head. Through the thinning trees along the wider path, he could see some kind of man-made structure in the distance.
“Dark and scary, or bright and airy – now that’s a hard choice,” he chuckled with a wry grin.
Turning to the right, he followed the wider, brighter path. He slowed down when he noticed that the trail had become a series of stepping stones. Curious, he knelt, brushing some of the leaves off of the first stone.
He lightly ran his fingers over the surface of it. He rose back to his feet and moved to the next one. He repeated the process for each stone when he noticed that they all had a different pattern on them. The first thing he noted was that each stone was a piece of art with complex designs chiseled into them. If they had been gold, he would swear he had landed in Oz. The second thing he noticed was that each one glowed a different color. The one he was currently standing on was emitting a soft yellow light.
He stood up and stepped back and forth on the stones. An amused grin curved his lips as the colors changed each time he stepped on them. The colorful display moved across the spectrum – from yellow to blue to orange, and more. The changing colors kept him captivated for several minutes before they faded and didn’t reappear when he stepped on the stones again.
He glanced back, half-expecting them to have disappeared before he looked up. The pillars of a large stone gazebo stood in front of him, set out on a cliff ledge. But it wasn’t the gazebo’s ornately carved pillars or even the beautiful view that captured his attention this time.
What captivated him was the stone statue of a young woman – a beautiful young woman – that was situated in the center of the gazebo. She had been partially hidden by one of the thick pillars.
She looked fragile as she held out her hand in a silent plea for help. The expression on her face conveyed horror, fear, and sorrow. In a small way, she reminded him of the ash-encased figures from Pompeii that were frozen forever in their final moments of life.
“What happened to you?” he whispered, slowly walking forward until he stood in front of the statue. “Why would any artist want to leave you here?”
He slowly walked around the statue. The finely carved detail had to be up there with Michelangelo’s work, though he couldn’t help thinking it would have been better if she was unclothed like the Venus statue his high school teacher had on his desk. He’d never cared much for Michelangelo’s David, but damn, if the artist had sculpted this lovely lady, he was pretty sure he would have gotten an “A” in art class.
Unable to resist, he reached up and touched the tip of her outstretched hand. He jerked slightly when he felt a strange and powerful electrical zap. It was similar to the static shock he got at the grocery store when he was in the freezer section and wanted to get something out of the case. He started to pull away when the statue’s fingers suddenly moved and clung to his hand.
“Holy…” he bit off what he was going to say when he felt warm skin against his.
He instinctively reached out and grabbed the falling figure when the statue became a warm, supple woman in his arms. He gaped in disbelief as the woman took a deep, shuddering breath. His arms cradled her as he carefully guided her to the ground when her legs gave way.
Breathing deeply, Ross carefully turned the soft body in his arms so that he could see her face. Dark eyelashes lay like crescent moons against pale, almost translucent cheeks. The sudden urge to run like hell swept through him as he stared down at the serene face. For some crazy reason, he had an intense, insistent feeling that when she opened her eyes, he might be well and truly ensnared. As if with one look, he would belong to her.
Just when he thought that she might be asleep, she opened iridescent eyes of pale lavender. It felt like he was drowning all over again, only this time it was in the lavender depths of the woman’s eyes. He idly thought that he had never seen eyes the color of hers before, and he wondered if she was wearing colored contacts. He focused on her lips when she licked them.
I should have run while I could, he thought when he felt a consuming jolt of attraction and a strong desire to kiss her.
Pushing that crazy thought to the side, he steadied her when she struggled to sit up. He was trying to think of what to say when she suddenly twisted around to face him. His gaze was still glued to her lips. If it hadn’t been, he might have seen her fist before it connected with the tip of his nose. His head snapped back as pain exploded through his face. Before he knew it, he was lying flat on his back.
A loud groan and a string of curses poured from him as he grabbed his offended nose and glared up at the woman through watery eyes. She now stood looking down at him with wide, furious eyes. He pulled his hand away to see if there was any blood. There was none, but it still hurt like hell. Fortunately, he didn’t think she’d broken it.
“Why did you do that?” he demanded, tentatively touching his abused nose. “You know what? Just forget it. I don’t know who you are or what you are, but you need to work on your greeting style,” he snapped, climbing to his feet.
“Are you a minion of Wayman or that black shadow?” she hissed, raising her hands out in front of her.
He looked at her with a confused expression. “Listen, lady, I don’t know who this Wayman or black shadow is, or even where I am! All I know is I was thrown off my boat, washed up on the beach down below, and I’ve climbed a shitload of steps to get my nose busted by some fancy mannequin or whatever you are. You were a piece of rock not more than a minute ago, for crying out loud! What’s with that? Can someone please just tell me what the fuck is going on?” he shouted, glancing up at the sky as if expecting an answer.
Muttering a string of curses that would have drawn a rebuke from his mother for their creativity, he warily kept an eye on the woman watching him with a suspicious expression while he rubbed his aching nose. Finally he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and slowly counted until he felt more in control. The only thing the yelling and cursing did was remind him of how much he needed a drink.
Screw water or beer, I could use something with a little more kick to it, he silently groused to himself.
Opening his eyes, he took another deep breath and prepared himself to listen – and believe – whatever fantastical story she would probably tell him. Turning to face her, he blinked, his mouth dropping open in shock, when he noticed she was completely transparent now. He shook his head, and closed his mouth, running his hands down his face. He patted his cheeks a few times to make sure he was awake. He even opened and closed his eyes several times to clear his vision.
“Ah, do you know that I can see through you?” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “Like right through you... and are you floating?” Just when he thought this world couldn’t get any weirder, it did.
The woman smiled in disbelieving amusement. Ross swore that if she started laughing at him, he wouldn’t be responsible for doing something crazy, like jumping off the cliff. Hell, if he was dead, it wouldn’t matter anyway.
“Yes, I am aware that I am not in a solid form,” she replied, tilting her head and staring back at him with continued suspicion.
“Are you…,” he swallowed over the lump in his throat. “Are you a… a ghost?”
She scowled and shook her head. “Of course not! I would have to be dead for that,” she replied, pursing her lips together.
Rubbing a trembling hand along the back of his neck, he swallowed again. He hadn’t thought ghosts could fold their arms and look so superior, but…. Another feeling of dread coursed through him, threatening to put him back on the ground.
“Am I dead?” he asked.
Ross took a step back when she floated closer to him. He warily watched every movement that she made. Her nose wiggled, and she licked her bottom lip. Of course, that unconscious movement caught his attention.
Damn, but she has some sweet lips on her, he distractedly thought.
He wondered what she would do if h
e leaned forward and traced the movement of her tongue with his. It might almost be worth a broken nose to find out, he mused. He was so focused on imagining kissing her that he was startled when she materialized and pressed one of her slender fingers against his shoulder.
“You don’t feel dead,” she observed before she leaned forward and sniffed. “You don’t smell dead, either, so I guess you aren’t,” she added with a wry smile.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Ross snapped, suddenly feeling like a fool. “Can you please tell me where I am?”
The woman raised an eyebrow at his question and took several steps back. He returned her unblinking, suspicious gaze. She wasn’t classically beautiful, but there was something about her that irresistibly pulled his eyes back to her face. Of course, he had never met a living statue before, but he had never met a mermaid before either and look where that had gotten him – a one-way ticket to Fantasyland!
“You are on the Isle of the Elementals. How did you get here?” she asked with a frown. “My father enchanted the Isle in an attempt to protect us from the Sea Witch and the black shadow that resides inside her, but she and the creature still found us. ”
“Your father enchanted…,” Ross started to say before he shook his head. “I can’t even begin to tell you how weird all of that sounds. Like I told you, I was on my trawler. The sea was calm, and I touched this shell a mermaid gave me – now I sound as weird as you do, I know – but all of the sudden I was tossed….” His voice faded as his eyes widened and then narrowed. “This Sea Witch, her name wouldn’t by any chance be Magna, would it?”
The woman’s eyes turned a darker shade of purple, and her expression was absolutely livid. This time he saw the blow coming. He instinctively ducked her swing to wrap his arms around her.