Her only alternative was Troy’s tent. If she’d had a few more seconds to think about it, she probably would’ve gone for the Chimera. But the years had honed her instincts so that she feared the rain more than anything, and those instincts drove her to dash for the tent. She dove in just as the deluge came, and in her haste she nearly trampled Troy and Achilles. But she made it.
Troy was only a second behind her, and his hair and face were wet. Achilles was right behind him. The scruffy moistened dog shook himself dry, and Helen turned away to avoid the deluge.
“Hel, it’s OK,” said Troy. “It’s just a little rain.”
A thunderclap belied his words. The storm beat down on the tent with a steady staccato rhythm. Like thousands of little demons clawing at her shelter. She stifled her stupid panic. She knew it was stupid. She was cursed by an exiled god and in a forest full of dragons. She’d fought a cyclops. She was probably going to die on this quest.
But nothing filled her with dread like the sound of that rain.
The faint odor of wet fur filled the tent, but it wasn’t her. It was Achilles. Her fur smelled muskier.
The tent was big enough for all of them but just barely. Helen lay on one side. Troy lay on the other. The blue light of the sanctuary stone was bright enough that they weren’t completely in the dark, despite the storm. Though it probably sounded worse than it was, she was surprised at how well the tent was holding up. He’d even been smart enough to build it on the high ground so none of the water came in.
“Gone camping a lot?” she asked.
“No. First time,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”
She snarled in the gloom. “No reason.”
Helen’s shoulder brushed against Troy. She was getting bigger. Not now, right this moment, but slowly over the hours since she’d given away her bracelet. She couldn’t prove it, and she wanted to believe it was paranoia on her part. But she was convinced that she was half an inch taller and wider than she had been yesterday. She hadn’t weighed herself, but she was willing to bet she was heavier too. The Chimera seemed to sink a little lower when she rode in it.
She wished she had something to take her mind off of this. Something, anything, to distract her from the rain outside and the cramped quarters.
“Why don’t you like the rain?” asked Troy.
This was not a distraction.
“It frizzes my hair.” It was her default excuse whenever she was asked the question.
A thunderclap shook the ground. In the darkness, something roared.
She shifted, and her right breast brushed against Troy. Maybe his shoulder. Maybe his arm.
“Sorry,” she said.
“You don’t have to keep apologizing.”
“Yes, sorry about that.”
She closed her eyes and willed herself to keep her mouth shut. She liked nothing about this situation. That made her tense. That made her likely to say stupid things.
“I meant I’m sorry about the apologizing,” she said.
“Yes, I understood, Hel.”
She concentrated on her breathing. She could feel herself growing even now. Not the sudden burst from Bruce Banner to Incredible Hulk. This was worse because it was something only she noticed. Something irreversible.
“Your hair always looks nice,” said Troy.
She was caught unawares. It took her a moment to absorb the sentence.
“What?”
“I just said your hair always looks nice. You shouldn’t be self-conscious about it.”
Helen rubbed a few strands between her fingers. It was true. She did have nice hair. She might have had problems with the fur and the hooves, but she had no problem with her hair. She found the horns inconvenient, but they were easy to work around. But the fur was a pain in the ass, and the hooves robbed her of shoes. She couldn’t imagine enjoying shopping for shoes, but she’d never had the chance to even try.
She actually kind of liked the tail. She’d always thought it cute. It did tend to swish whenever she was mad or nervous. As it did now. It made lying on her back for long periods difficult. This was why she was on her side, facing Troy to avoid smacking him with her flopping tail, brushing her chest against him whenever she drew in a deep breath.
“Troy…”
“Yes, Hel?”
The patter of the rain lightened.
“Never mind.” She rolled onto her back. “It’s nothing.”
“No, what is it?” he asked. The faint blue light highlighted the left side of his face.
“When you told Ginger Cheney you were going on this quest with me, how did she react?”
“Why would I tell Ginger about this?”
“I thought you two were dating.”
“We went out a couple of times. It wasn’t serious.”
“Oh. My mistake. I thought you two were an item.”
“No. Not an item. She’s cool, but we really don’t click. Aside from being popular. But it was more like everyone expected us to be perfect together. It works good on paper, but none of the pieces match up.”
“Like a bad instruction manual,” she said.
“Like that. It’s like you and Pablo Vasquez.”
Helen groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
Pablo Vasquez had haunted Helen, in one form or another, for over a decade. Because Pablo Vasquez had antlers. He hadn’t been born with them. Until the age of eight he’d been antler-free. Then one year he’d returned from summer camp with two three-point projections growing out of the top of his head. The details were sketchy, and Pablo never talked about how it had happened. From then on, a lot of people had assumed Helen and Pablo belonged together. Heck, she’d even believed it herself for a little while.
Dating him had put an end to that.
“Don’t get me wrong,” said Troy. “Pablo is a good guy. But anyone could see you didn’t have much in common.”
“Not anyone. And we both liked comic books. Though he was more DC, and I was more Marvel.”
“He didn’t like the Hulk, huh?”
“Said he was stupid,” she replied.
“Philistine.”
They chuckled.
“How’d you know I like the Hulk?” she asked.
“You might have mentioned him once or twice. It’s called paying attention, Hel.”
Helen bit her lip. That urge to say something, anything, came to her. Otherwise, it was just the two of them stuck in tight quarters listening to each other breathe. He beat her to the punch.
“Why would you think Ginger would care?” he asked.
“It’s not important.”
He pushed himself up on his elbows, and there was just enough light that she could see his eyes. She wished she could turn away, but her tail was twitching under her leg. She couldn’t afford to free it.
“Forget it, Troy. Don’t even know why I brought it up. You wouldn’t understand.”
She almost got up and walked out into the rain. Better that than to sit here in the dark, in the awkward silence. She closed her eyes to shut out what little light was coming in.
“Hel—”
“I said forget it.”
He put his hand on her shoulder.
She sat up and pulled away. “Y’know what? Think I’ll sleep in the car.”
She was up and out of the tent before she had time to think it over. The shock of the rain hitting her face startled her back to her senses. Too late to turn back, though. The storm wasn’t as bad as she’d imagined. It had only sounded like it from inside the tent, fed by her fear. It was less a storm, more a cool shower. It might have even been refreshing if she’d been a different girl.
Troy emerged from the tent, standing in the rain too. Achilles stuck his head outside, but with a whimper retreated to the dry sanctuary.
“Go back inside, Troy. I’ll be fine. It’s my problem. I’ll deal with it.”
He didn’t move. “Hel, you’re great. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I’m great. I’m the
greatest seven-foot-tall girl with horns in the world.”
“You do that too often,” he said.
“Excuse me if I have body issues.” The rain soaked her, and she could smell her musky moist scent, somewhere between an odor and a stench but certainly not anywhere good within that range. “I was born with a tail.”
“We all have issues, Hel.”
She wanted to be annoyed, but he spoke with such sincerity.
“Do you want to know the real reason I stopped dating Ginger? She was only dating me because she had a thing for Asians.”
Helen cracked a smile despite herself. “Oh, come on…”
“It’s true. Oh, it didn’t hurt anything that I’m handsome and popular and generally an awesome guy. But the Asian thing was the topper. Except she liked China. Was into kung fu and warrior monks and Jackie Chan movies. But I guess a Japanese guy was the best she could do. Although, honestly, I’m not sure she understood the difference. It was all one big cultural heap to her.”
He chuckled. She didn’t. Not because she didn’t find it amusing, but because it wasn’t the same thing.
“I know it’s not the same,” he said, as if reading her mind. “But it is similar. It’s still stuff we all have to deal with. You’re great, Hel. And you’re beautiful. And I don’t mean that in a generic everyone is beautiful kind of way because what the hell does that even mean? No, you’re smart and funny. You can punch a cyclops godling and get away with it. Maybe you’ve got fur, hooves, and a tail. But one day you’re going to meet someone who sees past it. Or maybe you’ll meet someone who is way into it. You’ll know they’re the right person because you won’t care why they want to be with you. You’ll just be glad they’re there.”
He came closer. Her first instinct was to retreat, but she was soaked. The stench of her minotaurism was unavoidable. He smiled, and she couldn’t resist it even if she’d been trying.
“We should probably get out of the rain,” she said.
“What’s the point? We’re not going to get any wetter.”
They were soaked. Their clothes clung to them like second skins. In Troy’s case, it only highlighted his chiseled physique. And his hair, even moist and flattened against his head, looked as if it’d been styled that way.
She sat on a rock and gazed into the dark sky. He sat beside her and put his hand on her arm. Just for a moment. And in the blue twilight, she could see the swirls in her wet fur left by his fingers.
“Sorry about the smell,” she said.
“Hadn’t even noticed.”
He had to be lying. She believed him anyway.
“And for the record, Hel, I’ve always thought the tail was cute.”
The rain fell harder, and she found she didn’t care. She wondered why she ever had.
19
The Wild Hunt had neglected to bring camping gear, and this was just fine. Their ancestors had spent their nights under the sky. It wasn’t that orcs hadn’t known about tents. It was that seeking shelter against the elements had been deemed a sign of weakness in ancient orc society.
It was a very stupid thing to believe, as every modern-day orc knew. Many a great overlord and king had perished of pneumonia, frozen to death in the dead of winter, or perished from dehydration under the desert sun. Yet this had been their way, and most historians agreed it had worked out well for everyone else since orc machismo had kept them from achieving the numbers and organization to conquer the rest of the world in more savage times.
By the time common sense became an orc virtue, the time of conquest was mostly over. The world had been partitioned off into nations and the glory of war had become something ugly. Nigel suspected it always had been, and that if he’d gotten the chance to know his ancestors, he would see them as a bunch of morons with not enough sense to put on a jacket when it snowed.
But tonight, in the dragon preserve, the brisk air did his lungs good. Just chill enough to cause the hair on his arms to stand up, but not life-endangering.
According to Peggy, it was too dangerous to hunt for their prey in the dark. They found a sanctuary stone. She used her shamanic gifts to summon a minor fire elemental, and the Wild Hunt sat around the flame and waited for the dawn. They played cards by the light of the fire and drank beers.
Nigel didn’t participate. He found a spot off to the side, lay on his back, and studied the stars. Orcs had once believed that each star was a sun unto itself, and that the universe was filled with worlds, most of them lifeless failed experiments of the gods above. This world was fated for much the same destiny, as their prophets had foretold. Just a tiny, insignificant speck in a grand cosmos, doomed to inglorious death when the sun burned out.
Orcs had ever been a cheerful lot.
There were still those who rejected firmament theory. The world was full of nuts.
James Eyestabber sat in the dirt beside Nigel. “Nice night.”
“Looks like rain,” replied Nigel.
“Looks like.”
Nigel said, “Something on your mind, James?”
“No. Just enjoying the night. Want a beer?”
“Got one.” Nigel held up his bottle.
James sneered. “Don’t know how you can drink domestic.”
“Beer’s beer.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. You should try this. It’ll change your life.” He handed Nigel a bottle of something with a strange name written in glyphs. “It’s brewed by Swiss gnomes. It’s expensive as hell, but once you have a taste, you’ll never go back to that swill you used to call beer.”
Nigel had no interest, but James wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Nigel popped the cap with his tusk and drank it all in one extended swig. He wiped his mouth, ran his tongue across his teeth.
“Plummy.”
“You’re supposed to savor it,” said James.
He had always been a questionable orc, though everyone knew the answer to that question. Imported fruity beers and a splash of fuchsia on his bike’s gas tank left little doubt in most club members’ minds. It didn’t help that Nigel knew it was fuchsia only because James had nearly throttled Travis Bladebiter for mistaking the color for purple.
It was an unfair assumption built on stereotypes, and even though Nigel knew better than to jump to those conclusions, he hadn’t seen James so much as glance at a woman. He did have a lot of stories about his longtime roommate Gary.
It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that two straight single men could go sofa shopping together, but it wasn’t something Nigel would be willing to wager on.
“Try another,” said James. “This time—”
Nigel bit the top off the bottle, chugged the whole thing, spit out the broken glass.
“Plummy.”
Franklin walked up. “Hey, James, these imported beers are awesome.”
A fuzziness crept around the edges of Nigel’s senses. It started as a wobble in his ears. The stars grew incredibly bright, yet he still stared at them while they burned his eyes. He smelled chocolate.
“Hey, what’s in this Swiss beer?” asked Franklin, his voice vibrating in Nigel’s ears. “I feel weird.”
Peggy Truthstalker spoke up from behind him. “It’s not the beer. It’s the vision weed I put in your sandwiches.”
Their pale shaman smiled. Her face split in half and a rainbow of colors spilled forth, painting the sky like a canvas.
“Why would you do that?” asked Nigel. Or he hoped that was what he was asking. It felt as if his tongue was squirming against his will, and the words sounded like garbled radio signals. But Peggy seemed to understand it.
“We’re in a magical land filled with dragons,” she said. “It seemed like the right place for it.”
Franklin and James stared off into space, drooling and mumbling to themselves.
Nigel tried sitting up, but his body refused to move. Peggy’s headless specter bent over him and traced a symbol on his forehead with her finger and some red paint.
“Ju
st go with it. Fighting will only make it worse.”
Starlight devoured the world. He blinked, and it all faded. The fuzziness vanished, replaced by sensations so sharp he could hear the trees growing and count the stars, cataloguing them by brightness and their placement in the firmament.
He stood alone at the campsite or its closest spirit-realm equivalent. It was all so entrancing, marred only by his pessimistic assumption that he was really convulsing in the dirt right now, possibly eating rocks or about to walk off a cliff in his reverie. His face felt vaguely wet. Either it had started raining, or he was facedown in a puddle of water (or worse) and about to drown.
A figure stepped out of the forest. The plump orcess dressed in a burlap gown that hid very little, save for her face under the shadow of a hood, glided toward him. Freckles covered her bright orange skin, and her hands ended in blue claws.
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Naturally he assumed she was here to devour his soul, and he grabbed his ax.
“There’s no need for that.” Her soft voice filled his body and melted away his paranoia.
She lowered her hood to reveal a face filled with golden eyes. So many eyes that her skull had to be four inches taller to fit them all.
“Oh, you’re a goddess,” he realized aloud.
She smiled. “What gave me away?”
“All our gods are hideous. So which one are you?”
It was understood by his people that they had more gods than they generally acknowledged. They didn’t waste a lot of time keeping track, though there was probably a holy book somewhere that had the complete list.
“I am Thuzia, goddess of wisdom.”
Nigel grabbed a beer and took a drink, wondering if he wasn’t actually sucking on a stick in the physical world. “Wisdom? I didn’t know we had one of those.”
“I’m a relatively new addition to the pantheon,” she admitted. “But I have been sent to offer you succor.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m a married man.”
Thuzia turned toward the woods. “Have it your way. It’s your vision. If you want to waste it being a smart-ass, who am I to argue?”
Helen and Troy's Epic Road Quest Page 14