Wyst

by J. A. Hornbuckle

“About an hour outside the ranch according to the GPS thing. But we heard you and Wyst are coming. Or will be after you get the car fixed.”

  Shit. Another thing about the hotter-than-hell Picari warriors, they didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘private’ and gossiped more than any gaggle of girls I’d ever been around. “Yeah. That’s the effing plan anyway. Are you feeling okay?”

  “Wonderful,” she breathed on a contented sigh. “All three of us are…perfect.”

  Get off the phone, little pixie.

  I didn’t bother to respond to him but the truth of the matter was, I was too miserable to find any enthusiasm for the happiness Leah was experiencing. Not that I wasn’t over the moon she’d found her bliss, I just didn’t wanna hear about it at that particular moment. “I’m glad. I’ve gotta go, but I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

  “Sure, honey. Take care,” she replied before lowering her voice. “And try not to pick too many fights with Wyst. I know you two don’t get along very well but go easy on him. Remember all this is new for these guys.”

  Rather than answer, I ended the call with an, “Love you, Ley.” And I couldn’t help but zip out a huge mental blast Wyst’s way. Don’t ever fucking do that again, asshole.

  He had the grace to turn my way, walking backwards, even as his feet maintained their pace. We do not know if the Committee or the Searcher are able to trace our communications but if they did have the capability, I am certain they would zero in on yours or Rykhan’s mate. Or is just you don’t care if they find us?

  I hadn’t considered that aspect of it and realized he hadn’t told me to get off the phone out of spite but to protect me. And all at once I got a sense of the responsibility Wyst was under in trying to keep me, Leah and her baby safe from all harm. Not just of the bad-guy human variety but the alien ones as well. Sorry, Wyst. She said they should be at the ranch in an hour and they’re all doing perfect. So I think we can give ourselves a break since our journey hasn’t gone as good as theirs.

  Flashing me a look I didn’t understand, he turned back around and continued to walk.

  But there was something in the way he held his shoulders that made me think he was considering my suggestion of a room and a hot shower. Whether he was or not, I still wasn’t going back to the car that night nor in the foreseeable future, if I had my way. And just about the time I was rallying behind my next set of arguments on why I was right, we arrived at a gas station on the farthest edge of the small town.

  We will stop to refresh ourselves and learn where to order our part from the human watching us from behind the counter, Wyst advised. I followed his eyes and saw an older man staring at us through one of the large windows of the convenience store. As we got closer, I tried to determine how the man felt about our arrival but his face remained completely and totally neutral until we stepped inside. Then his weathered visage broke into an ear-to-ear grin as he yelled, “Welcome, strangers!”

  I affected a thin-lipped grimace I hoped passed for a smile, accompanied by a tiny wave as I made a beeline for the refrigerated drinks while Wyst stepped to the counter. As I pulled out four large waters, I became aware we were his only customers. Cradling the bottles against my chest, I grabbed a handful of granola bars and went to join the two chatting men at the front.

  “…well now. We don’t get a lot of traffic out this way except in August,” the old man was saying. He was dressed in a blue uniform shirt with a red and white patch which gave his name as ‘Pete’. “You know, for the whole Sturgis thing-a-ma-bob. Maybe a few die-hard bikers looking for one last run before they put their machines up for the winter, but between now and the first snowfall this is about as busy as it gets here.”

  Wyst blinked and then turned to look at me, confusion riding front and center on his face.

  What’s going on, babe?

  I only asked him for directions to the automotive parts store and he started talking about how we are the first customers of the day. Shall I try again or do you think we should go somewhere else?

  Placing my groceries on the counter, I attempted a more natural smile that Pete returned. Which I took as the okay to restate the question at hand. “Our SUV broke down about fifteen miles back and we’re hoping you can direct us to the nearest parts store, Pete.”

  His smile dropped a bit and his eyes took on a shade of suspicion as it shot between me and Wyst. “How’d ya know my name?”

  “It’s…ah. It’s on your shirt, sir,” I stammered, using a forefinger to point at the patch on his chest. Then I got it. We were strangers to the town and the first customers of the day. Two sweaty, dirty unknowns in a town that was full of them for a couple of weeks once a year. And if those other people came to attend the Sturgis Run then it stood to reason, good ol’ Wayward was party-central for those fourteen days. Therefore, I surmised the residents of the small town were privy to their fair-share of strangers at their strangest. “I’m Pam and this is Wyst. We’re from Arizona.”

  Pixie, I’m not sure it’s good to give him our names…

  Let me see if I can get him to trust us a bit, okay?

  The three of us stood in silence before Pete put out a hand towards Wyst. “I’m guessing you’re the West portion of the intros, huh? Because you don’t look much like a Pam.”

  Shake his hand, babe. Just like you’ve seen people do on TV.

  “Yes, I am Wyst.”

  Before the two men had even disconnected, I put my palm out as well. “And I’m Pam. Nice to meet you, Pete.”

  With his warm palm against mine, I watched as Pete’s face again creased into a smile, one which finally met his eyes. “A pleasure, Miss Pam.”

  “About the auto parts store…,” Wyst started but I quickly added my two cents.

  “And the nearest motel.”

  My traveling companion dipped his chin and scowled at me as his voice erupted in my head in what was clearly a warning. Pixie…

  I only had one response, since I truly was on my last legs. Please, Wyst?

  Hearing him sigh, I pressed my advantage by turning back to Pete. “And if you could just point me towards the Ladies room?”

  *.*.*.*.*

  How did she do that?

  When they’d first walked in, Wyst knew the old man was uncomfortable and the tension within the dusty store had increased bit by bit until the Picari warrior was willing to grab his charge and move on to the next place of business.

  But in less than a few sentences and with only a couple of smiles, Pam had turned the whole encounter around—from suspicious to friendly—in just a matter of minutes.

  And talked him into staying in town for the night with nothing more than sad eyes and using the word ‘please’. Had she always had this power over people? If so, it explained a lot about the immediate regard he and the other warriors held for her, Bronsyn most of all.

  As she strode towards the back of the store, Wyst heard Pete give a soft, two-note whistle. “You are one lucky son of a bitch, Mr. Wyst. She’s surely something special.”

  Wyst looked at the man and considered his words. He’d often thought the pixie was a lot of things but never as special. For another man to point it out was more than a little irritating. “If you can direct us to the parts store and the motel?”

  Leaning his elbows on the glass counter-top, Pete rubbed his chin. “That’s what I was trying to tell you before. See, this is a small town. If folks need new tires or windshield wipers, I’ve got those in stock. Need an oil change or tune-up, I can do those too. But we ain’t got no auto parts store here since 2013 when Ed Newman closed his place and moved to Cheyenne.”

  Wyst felt his weary hopes fall as he tried to figure out what his next step needed to be.

  “But I can order whatever you need and can have it here as soon as it ships.”

  Buoyed by the new information, Wyst smiled at the other man. “How soon is that?”

  “Dunno until I call in the order. Why don’t you tell me what you need and I’ll st
art calling around?” Pete’s eyes were twinkling as he perched a pair of reading glasses on his nose as he brought out a well-worn sheet of grease stained paper covered in multiple scrawls of letters and numbers.

  And only a few calls later, the old man winked and held up his thumb as he spoke into the phone to someone named ‘Shorty’. Covering the mouthpiece, Pete looked up at Wyst over the top of his readers. “Says he can get it here in eight business days and it’ll only run you fifteen hundred.”

  Wyst swallowed so hard it was audible as he thought it through. Eight days and costing half the currency Tyshar provided seemed excessive. But what choice did he have? “Agreed.”

  “That’ll mean you need to give a security deposit of a thousand,” Pete cautioned on a somber note. “Shorty won’t place the order until the deposit is received. History has proven the man’s stubborn as hell and can’t be talked out of it.”

  “Fine,” Wyst replied, trying to overcome his hesitancy by speaking with more confidence than he felt inside. Was he making the right decision?

  Pete opened a laptop the warrior hadn’t noticed before and clicked a few keys while speaking into the phone. At the same time, a small, soft hand slid up the inside of his elbow and he glanced to see the pixie standing next to him, looking and smelling much more like herself.

  Reaching for one of the water bottles, she handed it to him before grabbing one for herself. How’s it going, Wyst?

  Staring into her warm blue eyes, he gave her a recap of what transpired while she was in the cleansing unit. The soft smile she’d been wearing when she handed him the sweating bottle of water slowly slid off her lips and her eyes took on a chillier hue by the end of it though. What did Bronsyn say?

  Wyst blinked, totally thrown off-kilter by her question. Bronsyn?

  Yeah. What did he say when you told him about the part?

  It had never occurred to him to call his Quest Commander and discuss the issue. In the Protectorate, senior warriors didn’t confer with their leader on the mechanics of how to succeed in a mission. Decisions were made on the fly and only communicated during debriefing. Something every warrior knew as they carried out their mission. Only the lower ranks of the untried recruits looked to their commander for resolution on the minutiae of problems encountered at every turn. I didn’t contact him but told Pete to go ahead and order it.

  Ripping her hand from his arm while shaking her head, Pam pulled out her tresl as she strode out the main door, her boot heels giving evidence of her pique. And his eyes continued to watch her while she emphatically spoke to his commander, using her hands to gesture wildly in her retelling what they were facing. But Wyst knew when Bronsyn set her straight on how a warrior behaved in the field, of the accountability he shouldered in the mission’s success or failure.

  He knew the minute she understood and began to accept the idea by the way her tiny chin jutted and her cheeks bloomed pink before she removed the device from her ear.

  Seems like we’re on our own here, huh? Was all he got from her as their eyes met and held across the expanse of the shop and forecourt.

  Yes, pretty pixie. We are. Although once the part is received, I can call for help if I need assistance in installing it.

  Pete caught his attention and he turned back to the older man wondering at the bleakness of her face in light of what she’d been told. Did the peoples of Earth, their military do things differently? So dissimilar to the Picari way, she found it hard to accept?

  He didn’t know but tucked the question away in the hopes they’d get a chance to talk it through, because somehow he knew it was vital she understand the concept. Come inside, leca purvya. Pete needs money for the deposit on the car part.

  *.*.*.*.*

  “I know our ways are not your ways, jain tisha, but you must try and understand. Learn to trust the Protector by your side.” Bronsyn rubbed his eyes before reaching for the back door to the main house. “Rely on his skills just as he relies on you to help him properly navigate the human world.”

  “But Bronsie—”

  He couldn’t help but grin at the affectionate nickname she so often called him, although it was very disrespectful. “I have every faith the two of you will be successful in the end. What you’ve experienced are simply setbacks, ones you resolved together. Trust yourself, beautiful one and the strong warrior who vowed to keep you safe.”

  A sigh came down the line and Bronsyn knew while she didn’t like his words, she’d follow them to the best of her ability. That was just the sort of female she’d proven herself to be—and one he’d come to think of as a daughter. “Okay, Bron. I’ll give it a go. But can I call you sometimes? You know, if I, like, need to talk or whatever? Not to report in or give you updates or anything, but just to—”

  “Call me any time, jain leca pixie. I am here if you need me.” As they ended their call, Bronsyn reviewed all that she’d told him and her confusion when he’d explained the autonomy a Protector on mission. Her reaction more than told him it was a new idea and he wondered at how the militia in America functioned. Did their level of command encompass each and every male in all their movements and decisions?

  Rounding the corner from the hall to the kitchen, he saw the four remaining warriors silently preparing food. When she was in residence, Wyst’s mate had prepared their meals, teaching Laxon and Arbrynt how to cook the human food in ways the Picari men found delicious.

  “Can I fix you something, leader?” Arbrynt asked, stirring at something liquid in a pot.

  “Scarbled eggs and browned bread sounds good,” the leader replied on a sigh as he sat in one of the tall chair at the bar.

  “You mean scrambled eggs, sir. Not scarbled, scrambled.” Luckily each of them had trouble with completely different English words so they could correct one another when they mispronounced something. “Coming right up.”

  As the warriors concocted their own meals (sandwiches for Gyard and Tyshar, breakfast foods for the others), Bronsyn gave a recap of his conversation with the pixie. Up to and including her phrases and speech patterns which had everyone in the room chuckling.

  “I miss her,” Gyard said when their laughter died out. “Rykhan’s mate too.”

  “They made things easier somehow,” Laxon admitted, with a soft note in his voice.

  Arbrynt nodded in agreement. “Meals just aren’t the same without them. It’s kind of like we eat because our bodies need the nourishment, but when they were here sharing our food…”

  Bronsyn knew exactly what the warriors meant and he too mourned the loss of the females who brought so much joy to the house and their group. Without them…the residence and their lives felt lonely.

  As usual, it was Tyshar who turned the conversation to something less gloomy. “Commander, in light of what Wyst’s mate said, perhaps we should rethink the protocols we have in place.”

  “How so?” Bronsyn took the plate from Arbrynt’s hand and dug in the his food.

  “I think the situations we are facing are not something any of us have trained for or have any experience in handling. Yet we are using the same procedures, the same set of rules to overcome each obstacle as we encounter them. Perhaps we need to determine new ways of operating going forward.”

  Bronsyn considered the seasoned warrior’s words as he chewed. “Such as?”

  “Only recounting the problems of a mission during a debriefing, for one.” Since Tyshar replied to quickly, Bronsyn was sure the male had already given this subject some thought.

  The commander looked to the other men and saw Laxon and Gyard nodding in agreement. “Why don’t we all think on this and meet later to discuss our ideas? How are we doing with our other plans?”

  “I left a message for my cousin this morning,” Laxon replied. “As of yet, I haven’t heard back.”

  Bronsyn made a mental note to connect with President Allwyne’s secretary to set up an appointment as well.

  “I think I’ve figured out a way to emulate both Wyst’s and Rykhan’s t
resl signals in case Captain Pryntal is ordered to find them and report of their whereabouts if Stege so orders. I’m even playing with the idea of creating heat signatures within the house if Stege wants to take it that far, as well.” Arbrynt was a warrior first, but there was no denying he was a fracking genius with technology and machinery. Bronsyn wondered why the man had chosen to become a Protector instead of going into the ranks of engineering.

  “Here’s something interesting,” Gyard started, as he loaded the unit the females called a dishwasher. “I received a communication from one of my former teammates from the university. He was chosen for the second quest and asked if the sleep tapes would actually help him learn English. Because in the two weeks he’d been using them, he was still having trouble speaking the language.”

  “Fracking posket!” Arbrynt roared.

  “They lied?” Laxon’s shocked tone echoed what all of them were feeling. “Why would they lie about when the Seeker launched?”

  Bronsyn’s fork stopped half-way between his plate and mouth as he caught Tyshar’s dark-brown eyes. He only hoped his own didn’t reflect the same anxiety.

  But then again, why indeed?

  Chapter Ten

  Without a word both Wyst and I stopped at the intersection of the sidewalk and driveway, directly underneath the neon sign proclaiming the L-shaped building before us as ‘Myrtle’s Motor Lodge’. The one Pete told us was the only motel in town.

  I didn’t know what my companion thought of it, but I could guess. Especially after his assessment of my apartment building. All I know is any hope my heart held in staying in a warm, welcoming place were dashed by the shoddy and unkempt grounds and building. The only nice thing to be said about the place was the price on the sign and that each room was advertised to have king-sized beds as well as kitchenettes.

  Manning the registration desk was Myrtle herself, a fifty something redhead who wore too little clothes and too much makeup. And she knew her worth as evidenced by the way she’d milked us for almost a grand for a seven night stay at her motor lodge, I would’ve rated as only a half-step up from a flop house for crack-heads.