Woman of Silk and Stone

by Mattie Dunman

  Then the voices began.

  Soft and murmuring, gentle whispers slid through my ears into my brain like cooling water, filling me up and then somehow stretching me, making me more, telling me secrets. I didn't understand at first, but after a while the words lost their lyrical unfamiliarity and became intelligible, though muffled as a conversation coming from another room.

  Suddenly I was yanked back into my aching, misery-laden body, feeling heavier than before, like I had gained a hundred pounds while being bashed against the walls of the void. I stopped knocking against things and my descent picked up speed, hurtling me through a swirling mass of colors and light, beautiful and terrifying, wild and shocking.

  And then it was over.

  And then I was here.

  Chapter II

  The Lunatic is on the Grass

  The first thing I noticed was that I had managed to hang on to my wooden plank. This struck me as odd and slightly funny until I realized that it had somehow fused to my hand.

  I stared in horror at the way my skin now meshed with the wood, as though it had simply grown out from my palm as a natural extension. My breaths started coming in sharp waves, black spots dancing before my eyes, and I shoved my head between my knees, squeezing my eyelids shut, hoping beyond hope that when I looked again my hand would be back to normal, that there wouldn't be a four-foot long wooden plank attached to my skin.

  Strangely enough, despite everything that had just happened to me in the void, the excruciating pain I was still feeling twinges of, my plank-hand was bothering me the most. It just didn't seem like something from which I could come back.

  And there went my career as a speech writer. I mean, how was I supposed to use a laptop now? And giving a speech? If I gestured with that appendage, I'd end up knocking somebody unconscious.

  Eventually I made myself look. And lo and behold, it was still there. I tried lifting my arm and was surprised to find that it didn't really feel any different, although there was some imbalance thanks to the huge hunk of wood hanging off the edge.

  Looking at it more carefully, I saw that it no longer looked like the plain piece of wood I had absently picked up by the warehouse, but was slimmer somehow, more condensed. It glittered with threads of green and amber, as though streams of precious jewels had been woven into the grain. Frowning, I placed it in my lap and bit my lip to stave off the wave of dizziness crashing over me.

  This was definitely not the same piece of wood.

  It was smooth and cool to the touch, more reminiscent of stone or maybe petrified wood than of a cheap two-by-four. After my initial disgust, I found myself thinking it was kind of pretty, the sort of thing I would buy from an oddities shop and display on my mantel.

  Just not something I wanted attached my hand.

  Curious, I tapped it on the ground, shivering slightly at the mild vibrations that ran up my arm as it landed with a muffled thud. Again, more like knocking a stone against the ground than a thin piece of wood.

  Though I was tempted to continue experimenting, it belatedly dawned on me that I was no longer in the void, or on the endless street of the warehouse. All around me was a shimmering blue sea of what looked like tall grass. Reaching out my good hand, I trailed my fingers along the grass, startled by the silky strands that gently bowed beneath the pressure. My brain felt thick and sluggish, and for the first time I wondered if I had somehow ingested some new type of LSD or other hallucinogen. Apart from the incongruence of my brand spanking new appendage, I appeared to be sitting in the middle of a field of grass entirely the wrong color and texture. I had no doubt that if I had any crafty abilities, I could easily weave these leaves of grass into a garment of some kind, something soft and airy, the sort of thing I would've paid hundreds for back home.

  Back home.

  Apparently my mind had moved ahead of the rest of me, because I was pretty easily accepting that, like Dorothy, I was no longer in Kansas. Or D.C. Or Earth.

  Unless I was on one hell of an acid trip, I had somehow managed to wander into a portal of some kind, or fallen through a wormhole. For the first time, I wished I had paid more attention to those episodes of Doctor Who my college roommate had forced me to watch, thinking that my lack of interest in all things sci-fi was now coming back to bite me in the ass.

  I've always been more of a cozy mystery kind of girl. I favor books with plucky heroines and cat detectives in them, but somehow I didn't think that was going to help me out here.

  A shout in the distance had me jerking around, peering over the beautiful lapis landscape underneath a...was that violet?...sky to seek the source. Another answering shout, unintelligible, split the quiet of the field and I started to get to my feet, joy and relief pumping through me.

  They appeared over the blue horizon, sitting atop what at first glance appeared to be horses, but instead of a lovely chestnut or palomino, these steeds were spotted like snow leopards, long white manes hanging down to their knee joints.

  My mouth dropped open, and I stared slack-jawed as they approached, the riders cloaked in heavy furs with hoods that obscured their faces. They were huge, or at least appeared to be so, and at long last my survival instincts kicked in.

  I ran.

  It was awkward, since my right hand was now weighted down by the petrified baseball bat attached to it, but I moved through the silk-grass swiftly, each step seeming to propel me twice as far as I was used to. After a moment, I realized I was moving at a rate no human could be capable of, least of all me, the girl who had managed to fall off of three separate treadmill machines.

  My pursuers exclaimed and then I heard the thunderous hoof beats of the strange horses on my heels. No matter how fast I managed to run, or how endless the ocean of grass seemed to be, they were gaining on me. My heart pounded in my chest, my pulse thrumming in my ears as I pushed harder, forcing my abused body to the absolute limit.

  Amazingly, my pace quickened and now the blue grass was nothing but a blur, a flash of color and then abruptly there was nothing and I flew, hovering for a brilliant, exhilarating moment over empty space.

  And then I fell.

  ***

  I was way too warm and I couldn't move my arms or legs. Something shifted and rolled beneath me, and I was pressed against something broad and unyielding. My head pounded and there was a dreadful ache in my lower back. It felt like someone had shoved a railroad spike in the base of my spine and then forgotten about it. Moaning, I blinked my eyes open only to be greeted by a wall of fur. Panic froze my limbs as I realized that somehow I had ended up with my furry pursuers, and I couldn't move.

  "Oh God, just let me wake up! Just let me be home, let me wake up at my desk! I'll never dump coffee on Grant again, I swear, just please, please..." I begged, tears stinging my eyes as my potentially life-threatening situation dawned on me.

  "Peace, beleti, do not harm yourself," a deep, baritone voice rumbled at me. Feeling the vibrations against my ear, I realized the reason I couldn't move was because his arms were wrapped tightly around me, shielding me.

  "Oh, thank God, you speak English," I whispered gratefully, thrilled beyond measure that wherever I ended up, at least I wouldn't have to face any language barriers.

  "What is English?" the voice asked. I tried to move my head so that I could see my new friend, but he held me steady. When I felt the sharp shock of pain in my neck as I strained, I understood. Somehow I must have run off a cliff or a ravine and then fallen, probably doing yet more damage to my already battered self.

  "Uh...the language, what we're speaking?" I said questioningly, wondering if maybe it was called something else here. Unless I was having some sort of psychotic episode, and I resolutely chose to believe in my own sanity, there was no doubt that I was in some other world. And it was perhaps a bit unlikely to think that English was the native language.

  "Beleti, we speak the common tongue."

  Swallowing thickly, I cleared my throat. "Tell me, where am I, exactly?"

  His
chest hummed pleasantly, massaging my aching head as he answered. "You are in the Kingdom of Solis, the land of the Horde. We are taking you to the Golden City, where you will be healed and cared for as you deserve."

  That could be taken several ways, depending on what these strange leopard-horse riders thought I deserved, but I decided to be optimistic. One thing I learned on my college debate team was to never let my opponent know that I had no plan of attack, or in this case, no plan at all. So I merely smiled and made an agreeable noise before subsiding into my own worried thoughts once more.

  I had never heard of a place called Solis, and the only Horde I knew of was the Barbarian one. Somehow I doubted they were lurking around empty warehouses in D.C. Which meant I had several options.

  1. Close my eyes and pray I'm dreaming.

  2. Freak out completely and turn into a weeping, hysterical mess.

  3. Play along and hope for the best.

  I like to think I am a practical person, and after managing potential PR disasters and calming down overexcited business executives who spent too much company money on expensive dinners for girlfriends, I have some experience dealing with chaos.

  Granted, landing in some alternate universe with a piece of petrified wood fused to my hand didn't really fall within the scope of my job description, but I am nothing if not adaptable. So I chose option three, hoping that if I just braved it out, eventually I would come up with a strategy, or maybe find a way back home.

  With this in mind, I decided that I wasn't in any immediate danger and gave in to the overwhelming urge to nap. Safely ensconced in my new barbarian friend's arms, I closed my eyes and let the world go for a while.

  Chapter III

  I always feel like somebody's watching me

  Someone was murmuring in my ear. It was in a language I didn't understand, but it was lovely, soothing; the voice was masculine and familiar, and it seemed as though his name was on the tip of my tongue. A hand caressed my cheek, and I smiled, turning toward my hidden lover, but when I reached out, all my fingers grasped was a wisp of black smoke.

  I awakened with a jerk to the sound of my rider talking. As the remnants of my uneasy nap faded, I wondered again how I was able to understand and apparently speak his language, but figured it must have been some kind of side-effect of all the battering in the portal/wormhole. I remembered hearing many whispered voices just before everything got really bright, and decided there must be some connection to my new linguistic skills. I wondered if it would translate all of this world's languages or just the 'common tongue' as my rider had mentioned.

  "Are you certain that you wish to turn her over to the royal house, brother? We could bring her home with us. You know the Horde would welcome her." Although the voices were muffled by the fur warmly tucked around me, I could make out the rough cadence of the other rider's voice, deeper and somehow less pleasing than that of my rider's.

  "Brother, look at her. She does not belong with the Horde." He paused for a moment and I shifted slightly in his arms, trying to work my way out of the too-warm furs. "Besides, you know the prophecy as well as I, and she must be delivered to the Royal House." My rider sounded resolved, if slightly reluctant.

  Though I was somewhat relieved to hear I was going toward some kind of authority figure and not the ambiguous and vaguely menacing "Horde," I was startled to find that I was not thrilled at the thought of leaving my be-furred rescuer behind. In a weird way, he was an anchor in this strange new world. He had been kind to me thus far and I didn't feel in danger from him. The unknown Royal House, however, could be a completely different story. My freshman year at college included a brief obsession with history courses, and I knew enough stories of the English Crown and the machinations of the court to be more than a little concerned about my destination.

  "The prophecy...oh, I know the prophecy, but are you sure she is the one?" the other rider asked, his voice rising slightly, the tone sounding slightly off. I listened avidly, keeping my eyes closed and hoping that whatever prophecy to which they were referring had nothing to do with me.

  "Khenti," my rider said impatiently. "You are a fool if you think differently. She appeared in the sky in a flash of light, she has a sword of some sort that disappeared when we tried to touch it, she is lovelier than the loveliest maid, and she was swifter than the sisu. She is a goddess come to save Solis. We have no choice."

  I really didn't like that sound of that. Not that being mistaken for some kind of "lovely" goddess was an ego-killer or anything, but throughout history, people who were thought to be saviors have usually gotten a raw deal. Deciding to nip this misapprehension in the bud, I opened my eyes and squirmed around until I could look up at my rider.

  At first glance I thought his face was blue, but I realized he had simply painted it so that it was the same shade of the grass surrounding us. Possibly a cultural thing. He had strong, heavy features that reminded me a bit of the Easter Island sculptures, primal and ominous while strangely appealing. He was not handsome by any stretch of the definition, and was undoubtedly alien in appearance, unlike any blend of cultures I had seen back home, but he had the requisite two eyes, one nose, one mouth thing going for him, and as he looked down at me, his thick lips curved into a reassuring smile. He wouldn't win any beauty contests, but he made me feel safe, which, given my situation, was saying something.

  "Do not fear, beautiful goddess, we will be at the Golden City before nightfall." His voice was gravelly and bottomless, the way I imagined a stone would sound if it could talk.

  Blinking up at his strange countenance, I smiled hesitantly. "Listen, it's sweet of you to call me that, but I'm not really a beautiful goddess. I'm a speechwriter. From D.C.," I explained. "And again, although it's very nice of you, I don't really think I'm here to save your country. Or planet, or whatever. I mean, I can't even keep my snake plant alive and they're supposed to be impossible to kill," I laughed nervously, watching his heavy brows draw together in confusion.

  "Where is this D.C.? Is it where the gods live?" he asked, of course only focusing on that portion of my little tirade.

  Sighing, I shifted slightly, relieved to note that although I was still generally sore, the stabbing pain in my back had subsided and I was feeling stronger than the last time I woke up. "No. Again, not a goddess. Just a normal woman who somehow ended up here after getting fired."

  "You were set on fire? Cast out by the gods?" he demanded furiously, running his eyes over me again, presumably checking for burn marks.

  "No! NO GODS! Just me, I fell through a...a...hole, or something, and ended up here! I don't know where I am or why you're riding horses that look like leopards, or why the damn grass is blue! None of this is right, so please believe me when I tell you I am not a goddess, okay? Not a goddess!"

  I was breathing heavily by the time I finished and didn't immediately notice the dangerous narrowing of his eyes or the tightening of his grip. By the time I did, I couldn't help but wonder if maybe the whole goddess image was a good idea after all; I mean people were pretty nice to goddesses, right? Less likely to eat them or sacrifice them to giant sea monsters and stuff.

  "Brother, perhaps she speaks the truth! If she is not the Awaited, then we should take her home with us! She can be a concubine, perhaps bear children with her fairness and small size!" Khenti suggested excitedly.

  Abruptly I changed my mind on the whole goddess thing. Running my gaze over the huge monolith of a man who held me, wondering nervously about the anatomical proportions of real-life Easter Island statues, I decided that I'd rather face my fate as a fallen goddess destined to save some alternate reality than as a brood mare to huge men in fur.

  "You know what? It's all coming back to me! I am a goddess! The goddess of...ah...speech, and maybe long-term crisis management." I chewed on my bottom lip and watched my rider carefully, hoping he would buy it.

  He gave me what I thought was an amused expression before turning to Khenti and shaking his head. "You hear her, brother
. She is the Awaited, and she must be taken to the Golden City."

  Khenti gave a disappointed grunt and then snickered. I looked up at my rider anxiously, suddenly not feeling quite so safe in his arms. "So, uh...this prophecy thing. What's it say?" I asked, hating the quaver in my voice.

  He stared down at me incredulously. "You mean that you don't know? An all-powerful goddess sent to fulfill a destiny she doesn't know?"

  I bit my bottom lip and darted a glance around the empty landscape, wishing vainly for a bus to drive by so I could get off this crazy train. "Uh, right. Of course I know the prophecy! But...I want to be certain what your, uh, people believe it to be. You know, so I can make sure we're all on the same page," I stammered, digging a hole so big I was surprised I didn't fall into yet another alternate reality.

  "Of course, beautiful goddess. The prophecy speaks of the goddess who journeys to the Golden City and dances naked through the streets, calling down the rain of fertility so that our people may once more bear children and our race may survive," my rider explained, as though he was telling me how to take the red-line to Grand Central, not how to fulfill some insane, perverted prophecy.

  I stared up at him in shock, a million thoughts running through my head, dominated by the overwhelming one that said 'No. Freaking. Way.'

  There was an explosive sound that mellowed into hearty laughter and then my rider lost his serious expression and grinned down at me, his teeth sharply white against his blue-painted skin. He began to chuckle, his barrel chest rumbling and vibrating against me.