By the Horns

by Jeanette Lynn

  There was a knock at my door as I rummaged through my meager belongings, wondering what the bull headed male thought would be good attire for a village trek that might actually offer my fragile human skin a measure of protection from the elements. Furs and itchy blanket aside, I really had nothing.

  “Addie?” Vachel called softly. “May I... May I come in?”

  She sounded nervous, worried.

  “You may enter,” I called over my shoulder, trying to figure out how many layers of the thin stocking like foot covers the Taurans with feet-feet used would keep these little piggies of mine sufficiently warm. Bending, I grabbed my boots from beneath the bed, the heat from the temple’s stove coming through the slit of a vent in the ceiling overhead. Their inventions were so similar to humans’ yet different it boggled the mind.

  “I, uh, brought you some things. Thought you might like them?”

  Spinning around, I smiled at the thick bundle in her arms. “Every time you bring me something I feel like it’s a holiday.”

  Vachel started to smile but grimaced. Her arms shot out and she thrust the pile at me. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken it but it- I- I don’t know.” Her head shook. “I can’t explain myself. I knew it was wrong, but then once I took it I couldn’t bring myself to admit what I’d done. I-It was like I was compelled to keep it after that. It has a hold on me.”

  My eyes widened, lips parting, gaze darting from the neatly folded pile in my arms to her distraught face. “Vachel, I don’t- Whatever it was you think you’ve done, I-”

  “Not think, did. And it’s been killing me! I tell you,” she continued, “killing me!” Hands wringing, she blew out a deep breath. Her eyes grew bright with emotion and she huffed and puffed little clouds of white smoke. “Any time I tried to speak of it I felt hushed. Like if I did something bad would happen.” She shook her head, upsetting the curling strands set over her brow.

  “What?”

  “In the bunch there, with the pawwww-nts ye told me ‘bout. Made them meself, way of apology, eh? A peace offerin’, woman to woman.” Her accent, strange yet lyrical, a wisp of Puck and Oberon’s, watered down, that thickened when emotions were high, was so thick and she was speaking so fast I could barely keep up.

  “Vachel...” I spluttered, gaping as she tossed her hands out as if to hold me off, rushing back to the door.

  “Heard you were going to the village today with Adel. Didn’t want you going emptyhanded. You’ll find a bit of coin I’ve been savin’ in there, too. It’s only a bit, but it’s half of all I have and I-”

  “Vachel!” I barked out, startling the poor thing so badly she squeaked, jumped, and took off. “Wait! Where are you going?” I called after her. “I don’t... I don’t... What’s just happened...?”

  Muttering under her breath, smacking into the walls as she got caught up on the ankle length k’h se she’d donned in favor of the colder season, she was gone in a stumbling flash.

  Shaking my head, I went back to my room, slamming the door shut with my foot. Tossing my stack of material to the bed, a shiny bit caught my eye.

  Knowing they traded in sparkling black gem stones when there was nothing of good, usable value available to trade—like what passed for chickens to them—ugly, scaly beasties called caspwops—for a length of woven material, for example—and not actual coins, I paused.

  “No,” I whispered. Couldn’t be. Picking up a pair of crudely constructed pants to toss them over my shoulder to put on, I found a thick, crocheted, boxy sweater—something I’d taught her to do with the wool they deemed too thick or thin to weave—and lying there amongst the shit brown and puke green sweater, nestled between the material and a small pouch I assumed were Vachel’s coins, was one of my daggers.

  Snatching up my shiny hilted pretty, I squealed, dancing around, shrieking with joy. The dagger’s blade was a weird bone white, flushing black as I clutched the hilt to my chest. I should be shocked to see it shift colors like that, but I was far too gone, ecstatic, to care. Magick. Nothing surprised me much lately.

  Grinning like a fool, I reverently set my find down, a true gift indeed, and, dropping my blanket, yanked the gown I’d slept in over my head.

  In nothing but doubled stockings, I picked up the pants, shaking them out, then the sweater, laying them out on the bed.

  Yhem, who liked to whittle, had presented me with a bright pink comb he’d made out of a creature called a sarpsin’s backbone, claiming he was tired of having to see the barely contained caspwops’ nest atop my head. When I should have been affronted, I was delighted, tugging the giant lug down to me by his beard to press a smacking kiss to his cheek in thanks.

  Smiling at the memory, sniggering as I recalled Yhem’s pink flushed face beneath all that fur and Adelric’s displeased rumble, I picked my comb up off the small end table by the bed. Pulling my hair over my shoulder, humming as I went, I worked out the bedhead knots matting my unmanageable locks from their twisted tangles.

  The door shot open all of a sudden and Adelric stormed in. Dull looking sword he kept mounted on his wall in hand, a snarl on his lips, eyes a vibrant gold, his chest heaved, a battle roar on his lips.

  “Can I help you?” I shouted, grabbing up Vachel’s handmade sweater to cover my nudity, spinning around.

  Adelric froze at the sight of me butt naked and just brushing my hair, regaining his composure when I wasn’t standing there in the buff staring at him like he’d lost his mind.

  “Thought I heard a scream... What in the gods’ name is that?” His arm slowly lowering, taking his sword with it until the tip almost rested on the ground, he shook his head.

  “Vachel made it, special.” My chin lifted, eyes narrowing defensively.

  “Special, alright. Looks like a bachnar vomited on it, after it ate its own shit.”

  “I’m assuming a bachnar is an easily upset creature? Sensitive bowels?” With a long suffering sigh I dropped the material, unashamed in my nudity, picking up a clean gown to pull it over my head.

  Pretending I hadn’t an audience, I slipped on my pants, wiggling into them, tucking the hem of my gown inside. The sweater was next, then the layers of socks awaiting me on the bed amongst my pile of goodies. I was working on crocheting a really thick pair of socks to wear, not that I was any good at it, about as talented as Vachel, I’d say, but had yet to finish an actual even pair. I’d feel lopsided only wearing the one. The thinner pairs Vachel’d donated to me would just have to do.

  Sat on the bed, sliding my boots towards me, I was about to put them on when I couldn’t stand the eyes boring into me a moment longer. “Can I help you?” I muttered, raising an expectant eyebrow.

  When he only stared, I stood, stepping to the middle of the room to do a little spin. “Well, how do I look?”

  “Like you’re wearin’ brachnar vomited shit made by my blood, hair’s in a tangle,” he gestured, “comb’s still stuck in that mess.”

  “But do I look warm?” I persisted.

  “Like a Tauran’s backside over hot coals.”

  Lips pursing, ignoring the teasing note to his voice, I clucked my tongue, motioning him out. “Right. Lovely. Thank you kindly. Now, be gone with you. Still much to do before I’m ready to go.”

  “What else have you do to? Add a smell to that getup to complete it?” He motioned to my tangled mane. “Unknot that bit there, slip on yer boots, and we’ll be on our way.”

  When I didn’t take the bait, he frowned. Scratching at his chin, his sword hand slumped a little, the clang of the tip of his sword hitting the floor clanging loudly.

  “Right. Wonderful advice. Brush the hair, stink it up. Be out in a bit. Off. Off with you! Want to be getting going soon, I’m sure.” Shooing him out, pressing between his thick shoulders as he slowly turned, looking so confused it was endearing.

  The second he was over the threshold I slammed the door at his back, not bothering to give him a chance to spin around and have the last say, latching the door to rush back to
the bed. Picking up my knife, I grinned, squealing silently. Flopping back on my bed, feet kicking up into the air, I felt like I’d just been reunited with an old friend.

  Yes! Power flowed through my palm, a pleasant tingle of a welcome, muted but prickly. The gold to my scars flashed, brightening to a golden glow, to fade. Hello, old friend, I thought in welcome, sitting up to slip my boots on. Kissing the hilt, I tucked my precious into its rightful place on the side of my boot.

  Was this to be a sign, I asked the fae up wherever he was.

  ˜˙˜*˜˙˜

  Thick braid slapping at my back, ugly cap one of the temple maidens had felt inspired to make, presenting me with it when I spotted Vachel in the foyer, tittering nervously, deep in conversation with her mother, and launched myself at her, latching onto the unsuspecting youngest of Suzaela’s with gusto in thanks.

  The maiden, Lashi, upon spotting me in my cold weather getup, had asked me to hold, rushing back to her room to return with the malformed gift. Her first attempt at my crotch-shay-ing, a hat, was my luck.

  “Look ridiculous, ye do,” Adelric grumbled, tromping through the snow alongside me.

  “Ridiculously warm,” I countered smugly. “How far is it now? Been mucking about in this slushy white stuff for... for forever. This isn’t a bit of a walk, it’s a journey. Did someone really carry me here?”

  My companion, keeping at a steady pace ahead of me, barely winded, snorted. “Almost there, and barely a journey. A short jaunt if the body’s willing. Carrying you to temple’s no more strenuous than deliverin’ the grains.”

  Grains. Right. That was a compliment, somehow, I was sure. “Thank you,” I muttered, eyeing the breadth of his shoulders, “I think.”

  Those thick shoulders were bare, no fur to drape about them for this one. The woolly headed bully was built for this kind of thing. Me, not so much.

  Stockings on my hands for mittens, kicking myself in the bum for not working harder at those socks that would’ve come in handy right about now, I glanced around. Stopping to adjust my itchy blanket/makeshift cloak, my horns, poking through my cap, horribly hidden, I wondered just how much a fright I looked.

  “Do your horns get cold?” I wondered aloud. Mine were fine, but barely nubs, and not even the least bit sensitive.

  “No,” my companion muttered, as if I’d just said the silliest thing he’d ever heard.

  “It was a legitimate question,” I grumbled, grunting as I raced to catch back up. Almost stumbling as I reached him, this became our norm. We walked on in silence like this, until I ended up having to stop for whatever reason, while he went on ahead, until I found myself huffing and puffing, thighs burning, racing yet again to catch up.

  We kept up like this, until the cold had long lost its snowy charm, my body sore, achingly so, my lack of physical exertion obvious.

  “Just on up ahead,” Adelric said finally.

  “Really?” I mumbled doubtfully, eyeing him, curious if he was having one over on me.

  “Yes,” he said simply.

  “Good. I’m starved. Can we stop and eat before then?”

  “We’ll be grabbin’ pies from the bakery.”

  “Do I have a say?”

  “Not really. Be thankin’ me later for it. Damsar makes the best meat pies.”

  Hmm. He had me at pie. “Do I have to share?”

  “Hand pies, one each,” he elaborated.

  “And warm cider?”

  “Of course.” He grunted as if I’d just said the second most ridiculous thing he’d heard today.

  “Goody,” I murmured excitedly, tempted to hop about in place. “May we stop by a butcher? You have those, yes? We’re all out of caspwop bones. They have a tiny hooked bone in the leg, perfect for crocheting.” It was easier than using our fingers, the stitches more tightly worked.

  “I shall see,” he said as he spared me a quick glance. His eyes were scanning the area, always on the lookout. He’d always be a warrior first, villager second.

  My first trip anywhere since we’d been safely ensconced in the temple, and it was showing. “Thank you,” I told him happily, and I meant it.

  Without thought I took off my stocking mitten, slipping my hand into his, three of my much smaller fingers hooking onto his doubly thick ones. His skin was warm, comforting.

  A grunt left Adelric and he shook himself out, shaking me free in the process. I missed the loss of contact, no matter how small, immediately.

  Frowning, I stopped, standing in place, staring off after him as he continued on. Was he embarrassed of me? That worried about being seen in public attached to me?

  It took him a moment to realize he’d lost me.

  “Come,” his deep voice grumbled. He didn’t spare me a glance or bother to slow down. “Keep up.”

  Staying put, rooted in place, my eyes narrowed, arms folding across my chest. “Woof,” I muttered on a huff.

  “Not a dog,” he replied easily. “Heard tell of what you think passes for one. A dog would listen.” A small snort issued from the great beast when I gasped. Another left him when I growled, groaning, scrambling to catch up.

  He was goading me. It was working. He couldn’t hear me if I just stood there pouting, and he knew it.

  “Hey, wait up, Ferdinand. You can’t just leave me. I’ll die out here!”

  “You’ll tell me of this Ferdinand, or I just might.”

  “Oh really?”

  Gold eyes met mine as he glanced over his shoulder, cocky confidence embodied. “Really.”

  “Had a bull named Ferdinand,” I shot back, huffing the words breathlessly between pants, “was a mean old bastard. Bit ya before he’d accept any kind of affection. Brown like you, too.”

  Adelric made a noise in his throat and paused, but I kept on. He wasn’t particularly fond of where this was headed.

  Rushing up to him, I reached out, gripping the agitated appendage flicking away noisily, peeking out just below his loincloth-covered rump—as Adelric had called the barely there material he’d been wearing much more often than my sex starved brain could handle—slapping the backs of his upper thighs, and gave it a tug.

  “We ate him!” I shouted gleefully, right as I gave his tail a sharp jerk.

  Adelric flew back with a bellow, almost tumbling to his arse, a shocked, very bovine low of displeasure renting the air.

  Cackling, I ran ahead.

  “Demon pixie!” he snarled out angrily. His fists slammed the snow and he shook his horns. “Get back here!”

  One glance over my shoulder and I was treated to seething amber and bronze swirling eyes bleeding to a simmering gold, and steaming nostrils.

  Ferdinand was mad.

  Grinning, ignoring how badly my inner thighs burned, I ran faster.

  ˜˙˜*˜˙˜

  My legs swung back and forth in the warmth of the tent at the table I found myself cozied up inside, the patron who’d brought me a crusty hand pie, this supposed miniature pie a smidge smaller than the size of my face. It was folded in half, a folded over crust, tender meat and stewed vegetables tucked away inside. There was a creamy gravy in that thick crust I couldn’t get enough of.

  After we’d been served Adelric wolfed down his pie, instructing me as I gulped down my second mug of cider to stay put. Warm and toasty, I nodded, following his finger as he pointed to the weapons booth Yhem’s kin owned.

  “Be just right here. You call if you need me, aye?”

  “Aye-aye, cap’n,” I called back with a jaunty, pie-handed salute.

  With a shake of his head he was off, leaving me to my meal.

  No one approached, passersby and patrons eyeing me warily, if they dared watch me for long at all. The owner of the shop, a weathered bull with deep orange fur, one eye, and an accent so thick I had no clue what he was saying when he spoke, kept a sharp eye on me.

  It’s my horns, I decided, or maybe Puck had been spreading some rumors about the strange human? Who knew. Not me, and with this bit of heaven crumbling in
my mouth, I thought with a satisfied sigh, and the lummox and the lummox’s one-eyed friend watching my back, I was more excited, just happy for the opportunity to be out and about, than anything.

  The steady clink-clink of metal on metal had me glancing around as I polished off my feast, wondering if Adelric would think me a pig if I requested another, when I saw them. The blacksmith and his sibling. Kerberos and Cephonie, Vachel had told me. They worked well together, those two, in sync. The pair looked to be working on a set of daggers, not unlike the pair I favored.

  Without realizing my intentions, wanting a better look, my feet were moving before my brain could catch up.

  Once right there in front of the blacksmith’s shop, a pit of a place set in the ground more than anything, with a wide overhang with sides that came off to accommodate the elements, I smiled in greeting when they paused to stare at me. “Beautiful,” I complimented. “Fine pieces.”

  When they only stared I held my hand out. “Riadne. You’re Cephonie, right? Vachel speaks highly of you.”

  Neither made a move to accept my proffered hand in a friendly shake. Cephonie relaxed slightly at the mention of Adelric’s sibling, giving a swift nod and a jerk of her chin. “This is my brother, Kerberos. I just call him Ber.” She left after that, making her way towards the back. Not much for talking, that one.

  “Really is nice,” I told her brother, who’d paused to stare down at his handiwork. He was a giant of a male, one thick horn broken, cracked, but still attached, metal looking, thin black bands holding it in place, the other twisting at the end.

  Feeling I’d used up as much welcome as I was going to get, I made to turn.

  “Does she- Did she mention me?”

  “Hmm?” I swung back around to face the giant of a bull.

  The dark-eyed male shifted, bowing his wide head to glance down at me. “V-V-V-Vachel. D-d-d-does she m-m-m-m-m-mention m-m-m-me,” he stuttered out determinedly.

  “You know, I’m pretty sure she did,” I lied. “I’m horrible with names, though. Forgive me.”

  A small smile tipped dark, thick lips. His ears flicked and his tail started slapping at his thighs in a happy puppy wag, peeking out from beneath the small loincloth that showed much more of the male than it covered.