Chapter Two
“Life in the fast lane!” Sable sang at the top of her voice as she bent low into a turn.
The green and brown scenery of the passing road blurred, as the wind whipped past her visor, distorting everything but the road ahead.
It was a warm Scotland summer day, which meant that it was around seventy degrees. A watery sun broke through the gray clouds in the sky. Life was good! The birds were singing, the road was open, men were falling from the sky.
Falling from the sky?!
Sable slammed on her brakes, tightening her grip as her monster bike slid to the side with a loud growl of the engine and the loud grating of the tires as they left a black trail on the paved road. As soon as the bike screeched to a halt, she dropped her stand and was running towards the fallen body.
“Oh my God!” she nearly screamed. “They’re throwing bodies around like litter!” Then she took a second to think about who they could be, before she sprang into action.
She raced to the body. She could see by the build that it was one hell of a big woman, or a nearly naked man who had just been tossed…from somewhere!
Paying no attention to the jeans that were getting covered in muddy grass stains, her best jeans, she fell to her knees beside the man—she decided after a closer look—and began to try and revive him.
“Hey mister!” She patted his still cheeks, trying to wake him up. “Mister? Are you alive?”
It was a stupid question, but her brain was not exactly functioning at its peak. For one thing, she had never seen a body pop out of thin air. For another, she didn’t know if she was touching a corpse.
“Ewwww!” she gasped as that thought crossed her mind. She jumped back, scrambled to her feet, and then stepped back a few paces for good measure.
“Okay, Sable,” she whispered to herself, giving herself a little pep talk. “He might be alive, girl. You have to go and see.”
“Mister,” she called again, stepping up to him again and bending over him, her steel gray and black leather biker jacket parting to reveal the thin T-shirt she wore underneath. “Miiiissssterrrr.”
She took another cautious step closer. “Mister?”
“Nello!” he gasped suddenly as his eyes snapped open.
“Eeekkk!” Sable shouted as she jumped back, totally involuntary on her part, but his sudden move had frightened her…a little.
“Nello?” he gasped again, then groaned as he tried to raise a shaking hand to his forehead. Never had he felt such an ache. His head was pounding, he felt cold to freezing, and there was a tiny woman screaming at him.
Where was he? Had he died after all and this was the next dimension? He turned his head towards the woman, and blinked at her startled expression.
“Your eyes,” Sable cried, her eyes going wide. “You have lavender eyes!”
She had never seen a human being with those colored eyes before in her life! They had to be contacts. But then that mass of tangled silk he had for hair drew her attention, too. It nearly covered him like a blanket. Who was he? He had to be a foreigner, well, more of a foreigner than she was.
“Mister,” she began again, suddenly wondering if she made a mistake in stopping to help him. “Maybe I should go and get some help.”
“Nier. Neoow?” he asked, as he struggled to rise.
“No!” Sable called out quickly as she saw the color leach from his face. “Don’t move! You might have broken something.” With her hands, she gestured that he should lay still.
He looked at her oddly for a moment, then with a small groan dropped his head back to the grass. Wherever he was, the people were smaller than the tiniest person from the Magic Realm.
The small woman had short red hair and wide brown eyes. He assumed that it was a female because of the two small breasts that pushed out against the front of her funny tunic. That and her very feminine sounding voice.
But no matter how hard he tried, he could not understand a word she said.
“Oh, gosh, you are hurt!” Sable sighed as she watched him weakly drop his head back to the grass, uncaring that he was covered in leaves and dirt.
Leaves! He must have been up in the trees! That explained his falling.
“What were you doing in the trees?” she asked as she took another cautious step closer to the wounded man. She had to do something to help him.
She noted that he was wearing some type of leather strips that may have once been pants, and that his boots were torn and frayed. But it was those boots that caught her attention.
“Are you a biker?” she asked, wondering if she had found a wounded but kindred soul.
There had been a big festival near Glasgow this past weekend, and there had been tales of rowdies. Attracted by the lure of fancy custom-made bikes and the riches those bike owners were sure to possess, the local rowdies were beating up lone travelers and stealing their bikes for parts.
“Is that what happened to you?” she asked, concern and regret filling her heart. “Were you coshed over the head and left in that…tree?” Well, she had heard of worse ways to stash a body.
And big as he was, someone would had to brain him with a steel beam to get him out of commission long enough for anyone to steal his motorcycle. His chest, she noted as his dark hair parted, was extremely wide, extremely dark, and extremely bare. Did they take his clothes too?
“Inipo opt Nello,” he said as he again turned to her, Where is Nello? Couldn’t she speak normally? The only thing coming from her mouth was childish gibberish!
“Inipo opt Nello?” he asked again, as he cocked his head to the side and examined her.
At his gesture, Sable exploded in laughter. “You definitely aren’t from around here, and I have never heard Gaelic spoken like that. You must be from the festival. Stay here, and I’ll go get some help.”
“Inipo apee yo kota?” he asked. Where are you going?
“Stay here.” She motioned with her hands, lifting hands up, palms spread and gesturing to the ground. “Stay here.”
His head cocked ever further to the side, reminding her of a curious child. She smiled and nodded her head reassuringly. “Stay here. Here!” she repeated the gesture slowly and his eyes lit up in understanding.
“Stay here,” he repeated, slurring the words a bit.
Maybe he was Italian? But no, that dark skin said that he had some African in him. Maybe he was both.
“Right!” she smiled at him, making the gesture again. “Here!”
Torn examined the woman, his senses reached out to envelop her, to examine her inner self. He found no hatred there, no taint of evil, no darkness, only a desire to help.
“Stay here,” he repeated as he tried to roll over onto his knees to rise to his feet. Stay Here was not comfortable and was quite damp. His body began to shake with chills. Where had Nello sent him?
Ah, he suddenly remembered. Nello, in trying to save his life, had altered her father’s magic on the collar. Instead of taking him far away in death, it just took him far away.
But how far away was far away? Did he have to remain on Stay Here? Would he ever see his beloved home again?
He tried to rise, but groaned softly with the movement. Changing into the Reaver always drained him and sometimes left him as weak as a newborn babe. But never had he felt this painful body ache before.
“No!” the female was crying out now. “Stay here!”
“Stay Here, Stay Here!” he grumbled as he felt the cold penetrate the remaining leather from his tattered garments. There goes his ceremonial suit, he thought in disgust. Now he would have to hunt more range beasts to make more. “Stay Here,” he gestured to the ground.
“You don’t understand,” she muttered, finally understanding what was happening. “How can I make you understand?” Sable spoke in her frustration, looking up into the sky for answers.
But the big guy had struggled to his feet, and Sable took another step back, not out of fear, but out of awe. That man had looked big while lying pro
ne on the ground, but standing tall, he looked gigantic! He had to be seven mother-loving feet tall!
“You are one tall drink of water!” she said with awe as she watched him raise his hands to his head and try to pull some of those curls off of his face.
“Tall drink of water?” he said, rolling the “R”s around his tongue.
“No! I mean…never mind,” she sighed, rubbing her forehead with her fist.
“Never Mind?” he added wrinkling his brow. Her words made no sense! How was he to exist here if he couldn’t understand the natives?
“No, no!” she sighed, shaking her head.
“No,” he said repeating the gesture.
Well, shaking your head no was kind of a universal expression.
“Sable,” she finally decided, pointing to her chest. “My name is Sable.”
“Sable,” he repeated, trilling the “L” in her name.
“Yes, Sable!” she said excitedly. “My name is Sable.”
“Sable,” he repeated. Must mean female, he decided. And she must have figured out that he was male, from the pointed looks at his groin that she was trying to disguise.
“Yes, Sable. And you?” she pointed to his chest, trying to stop her eyes from dancing below his stomach. But the man appeared to be hung like the proverbial horse! How could she not take a peek or two?
He looked down, and then it dawned on him what she was trying to do! Sable didn’t mean female! It was her name.
“Your name?” she said again, pointing to his chest.
Standing to his full inadequate height, he replied, “Torn sa Terror za Nello.”
“Pardon me?” she said, her forehead crinkling in confusion. “Run that by me again?”
She pointed at his chest and tapped her ear.
Cocking his head to the side, he thought for a moment, them repeated his name. Maybe she had problems with her ears.
“Torn sa Terror za Nello,” he repeated again.
“What?” she asked, looking more confused that ever. He must be from one of those eastern or northern desert tribes in Africa. “Again,” she said pointing to his chest then to her ears.
“Torn?” he offered, hoping that she wasn’t simple. He needed someone to tell him where he was, and it looked like she was it. And it just wouldn’t do to be led around by the insane. It would get him in more trouble than he currently found himself.
“Torn!” she replied smiling at him.
“Sable,” he replied pointing to her.
“He understands!” She wanted to scream and laugh, but settled on a loud whoop!
Instantly, he dropped into a fighter’s stance and began looking around the area. With one strong arm, he pulled the obviously afraid and screaming woman behind him, stepping defensively in front of her. Was there some wild animal about to attack, some fierce tribe of thieves?
He looked through the scattered trees and short grasses, searching for a clue. His hand went instantly to his waist belt, reaching for his sword, but it was not there.
Hand-to-hand then, he decided as he closed his eyes to concentrate on pulling in all of his power. But then he heard her laughter.
Sable was nearly doubled over shivering in amusement as she watched Torn drop into a fighter’s stance. What had he thought, that they were going to be attacked by something? Did her whoop of joy scare him that badly?
“Nizo Ferntia?” No enemies? he asked in his lyrical language as he realized that the woman was in no danger. He relaxed his stance, raising again to his full height, and pulling the hair from around his face, tucking the long strands behind his ears.
“I have no idea what you just said, but…oh my God!”
Again, Torn turned to look behind him, wondering what she had seen now? Her face had blanched pale and her eyes grew wide. Fear, shock…what was troubling her?
“Your ears!” she all but shrieked, pointing to the side of his head.
Torn noted her gesture, and felt a part of him began to deflate. He had realized that he was actually beginning to enjoy this female, but now she was obviously shocked and repulsed by his mixed heritage. So much for starting over. It seemed that he would be subjected to the same prejudices and fears that he faced at his home.
Sable suddenly regretted her hasty outburst as she watched the light dim in his eyes. But hell! The man had pointed ears! She was talking elongated, Mr. Spock ears.
“Torn,” she said as she reached out for his hands as she watched him visibly withdraw from her. Had she hurt his feelings? Was he ashamed or embarrassed by his ears? “Torn.”
Her gentle touch on his arm shocked him. No one had ever touched him! Not his father, not his mother, his joining partner obviously touched him to seal his doom, but this woman showed no fear of him. She reached out and she touched him. She touched him! Never had any contact felt so…warm.
“Sable?” he began again, noting how unbelievably small she was. A man, even one of small stature like himself, could easily hurt her. But it was her eyes, those luminous brown orbs that spoke to him most. They were filled with compassion and self-pain. She had not meant to hurt him, he realized as he cocked his head to the side.
With this revelation came joy. And uncontrollably, his lips spread into a full smile of happiness.
“Oh my God, you have fangs!”
Sable stared at his mouth, noting the two sharp incisors too long to be considered teeth.
He had real fangs! Real mother-loving fangs! Purple eyes, fangs, her mind struggled to understand. Falling out of thin air and landing on the ground bigger than life. Her mind reached and attached to the only thing that she understood. That tangle of hair and muscle that stood before her could be only one thing.
“Faeroe!” she fairly shouted. “You are of the fey folk!”
Chapter Three
“You are real!” Sable squealed as she backed away from him slowly, her hand covering her mouth in amazement. “You are real! You exist!”
“Sable?” he asked confused, watching as she backed away from him. Funny, but he got no sense of fear from her, only amazement and a bit of awe. It was a look that he was not used to and frankly made him a bit uncomfortable.
One moment he thought that he was making headway with the pretty, small creature, then she did something so completely unexpected that she made his head hurt. It was confusing to say the least.
Giving in to the desire to gather his thoughts, he sat on the cool damp green grass that seemed to be everywhere.
“Oh no! What did I do?” she suddenly cried as she saw the big, powerful, fey man sink to his bottom. Did she have to believe in him to make him stay? Did her disbelief harm him, like in the Disney Movie?
“I believe in you,” she chanted as she closed her eyes and lifted her head to her heavens. “I believe in you! Please don’t be ill! If I made you ill… I’ll never forgive myself! I believe, I believe!”
“Sable?” he asked, puzzled as he tilted his head to another angle and watched as she performed some strange sort of ritual.
Was she from the Realm of Magic after all? “Stay here?” He rubbed his temples in an attempt to alleviate the pounding as he glanced up at her with hazy, pain-filled eyes.
Her eyes snapped open and, again, she took in his stance, the pain in his eyes, and she felt her heart break.
“Oh, I hurt you!” she cried out as she reached down and took his hands. “Torn? Are you in pain?”
The only thing he understood out of that whole episode was his name, and that was not promising at all. He wished he could communicate with her to find out where he was, where his mother had sent him.
Then he noticed the weight around his neck. That damned collar.
With tentative fingers, he reached up and felt for the metal restriction, cursing silently as he still felt his mother’s magic running through it.
“Ouzi ghima lantif eiza whien ba zot!” he hissed in a rare fit of temper, but he was losing patience with this whole situation. You could have at least given me a trans
lator!
“What?” Sable asked, reading only despair in his voice. She had hurt him. So it was up to her to make it right. How did one make it right with the fey? she asked herself as she observed the giant seated in front of her.
“Torn,” she called as she came to a swift decision. “Torn! Can you stand? Stand?” she pantomimed rising to her feet by bending at her knees and moving to her full height. “Stand.”
“Stand,” he repeated, forgetting the band around his neck as he watched her movements. “Stand.” That was simple enough. Maybe she was trying to get him to move somewhere.
He slowly rose to his feet, watching her for her next command.
“Come,” she said, motioning forward with her hands.
“Come,” he repeated, mimicking her motions.
“No,” she shook her head, using that universal gesture. “Come with Sable.”
She backed away, making the same movements.
“Come with Sable,” he repeated, taking a step, following her.
This speaking game was growing wearisome, but if she took him away from this cold, wet grass, he would happily follow. Besides, she seemed to now be over her shock at his Magic Realm blood.
It took some people months to get used to his appearance. Too bad he was so short and unattractive. She was a rather pretty creature, and he could only hope to garner her interest.
But then he censored his thought.
Hadn’t a red-haired woman caused all of his grief, even though this one hated her hair so much she cropped it from her head? He was through with women. He would spend the rest of his time alone if he had to deal with another one. At least there was no chance of him falling in love with this tiny creature. But maybe they could cultivate a friendship. She was, after all, short like him, and therefore an object to be ridiculed.
“Yes!” Sable crowed, as the giant Torn took a step forward, then another. He was following her! Now was her chance to get him onto the back of her bike and… Oh hell no! That wouldn’t work at all! She needed a car, a truck, a tank to get him over the narrow paved roads to her house, because his big butt would not fit on the back of her bike.
Reaver of Souls Page 4