Dimension Shifter

by T. M. Nielsen

  “Yes, it has. She has a flask of water, two gold coins, and a dagger that looks ceremonial to me.”

  “Not many possessions. That again points to Qualsax. She couldn’t have been on the run for long.”

  “The Qualsax Warriors claimed they hadn’t seen her before,” Dewell told them.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Trox said, shaking his head. “If she was in Qualsax, her owner would have shown her off to the others.”

  “She’s scarred. He may have been ashamed.”

  “Even scarred she is beautiful though.”

  “My Lord?” one of the priests said. Alric turned and saw that the girl was now lying on her stomach. Her back was as covered in scars as her front, most of them indicative of lash marks.

  Alric walked over to her and looked down on a beautifully tattooed wolf on her right shoulder, “Qualsax does not tattoo their women.”

  “I wonder why a wolf. They are unpredictable and violent.”

  “When she wakes, we’ll get answers,” Alric said. “Why is she still not waking up? She is mostly healed.”

  “I forced her into a trance. She will heal faster if she is resting,” the closest priest said.

  “When she is completely healed, clean her up and restrain her hands at her sides.”

  “Sir?” he asked, looking over at his King.

  “Magic user’s hands must touch to activate their power.”

  “So you think she may use magic?”

  “I don’t know. The stories of the magic users spoke of evil old men and withered, haggard women.”

  “Evil wears on the soul,” Trox said. “The use of magic aged them before their time.”

  “Still, restrain her hands. Even if she doesn’t use magic, she obviously knows how to fight.”

  The priest nodded and began to warm water over the fire to clean her with.

  Alric went back to her belongings and held the flail in his hand, “This weapon is weighted improperly.”

  “Shoddy craftsmanship probably,” Finn said, and walked over.

  “Don’t be so sure,” Trox said. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Why go to this amount of trouble to make such an ornate and deadly weapon if not to do it correctly?”

  Alric gently set it down beside her things, “I am going to retire. Keep her unconscious through the night and I will come in the morning to talk to her.”

  ***

  When Alric arrived at the temple the next day, the girl had been moved to a bed in one of the rooms on the first floor. The priests had put a simple white nightgown on her, and her hair was out of its braid and softly lying beside her. Her wrists were bound with soft leather, and she was deep asleep.

  Dewell was waiting for Alric in her room, “Good morning, Sir.”

  Alric looked down at her, “Is she completely healed?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “How old do you think she is?”

  “Not quite 20 I would guess.”

  “Wake her.”

  Dewell put his hands over her head and softly began to chant. A blue glow emerged and covered her head for a few seconds before he stepped back and she began to stir.

  Alric moved up to the bed and watched as she slowly came out of the healing sleep.

  Kyrin could see light, but was finding it hard to open her eyes. It seemed strange. She wasn’t asleep on the ground or the hard cots used by the Shadowmere. The bed was soft and she felt the heaviness of blankets on her, something she’d never felt before.

  “You are safe,” a soft voice said from beside her.

  Her eyes flew open and she sat up and immediately reached for her flail, only to find her hands restrained. She looked around the room quickly and pulled against the restraints, fighting to get free.

  “Please, do not struggle. We won’t hurt you,” Alric said to her.

  She filled with panic. If she couldn’t get her hands together, she couldn’t use magic, and her flail wasn’t near her. Kyrin reached down and tried to bite at the leather restraints on her wrist, but wasn’t able to get near enough. She briefly saw the soft white nightgown she was wearing, but forgot it when she realized that she couldn’t easily get loose from the binds.

  Kyrin looked up at Alric with an icy glare, “Let me go.”

  He smiled softly, “We will soon. I promise you. For now, you are restrained for our protection.”

  Her arms ached at the odd angle sitting up put them, but she pulled anyway.

  “Please, stop before you dislocate your shoulders,” Dewell said, stepping closer to her.

  “Who are you?” she asked, studying them.

  Alric waited for her to stop pulling at the restraints before speaking, “I am Lord Alric from Valhara.”

  “What dimension?”

  He frowned slightly, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  She had run across a couple of dimensions that didn’t understand the vast universe. They thought their dimension was the only one.

  Kyrin looked around the room, “Where’s my water!?”

  Dewell turned to a table with her things, “Your flask is here for when you require it.”

  “I’m sure the flask is, but my water damned well better be there too.”

  Alric studied her, “Are you thirsty?”

  She turned angry eyes to him, “Do not even try that on me.”

  “Try what?”

  “If one drop of my water is gone, you’ll have to pay for it.”

  Dewell picked up the full flask and handed it to Alric. Kyrin watched it carefully and then struggled to get loose when he opened it and smelled the water.

  “What’s so special about this water?” he asked her after putting the lid back on. “It smells stale and maybe even poisoned.”

  “Why am I here? Are you mad I killed your little warriors?”

  Alric put down the flask and then returned to the bed, “Those were not from Valhara.”

  “Then why am I here?”

  “We nursed your wounds and erased the signs of battle from your body.”

  She gasped, “You did what?”

  “The injuries have healed and the scars are gone.”

  She inhaled slowly and glared at him, “The truth is out then, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “What am I to be? Your bride or are you selling me?”

  His eyes narrowed, “You have misunderstood our intentions.”

  “Oh, I know your intentions!”

  “I think we have gotten off on the wrong foot.”

  She simply scowled at him, but again pulled against the binds.

  “We haven’t taken anything from you, and we healed your wounds to help you.”

  She shook her head, “You haven’t helped me! You’ve made me a target.”

  “How so?”

  “Don’t treat me like I don’t know what I’m talking about! I’m not stupid, and I’ll die before marrying you.”

  His eyebrows rose and he smiled, “I’ll remember that in the future.”

  “Let me go.”

  “First, talk to me,” Alric said, sitting beside her on the bed. “One of the Priests claims to have seen you use magic.”

  “Magic is illegal.”

  “I wouldn’t call it illegal, dead maybe.”

  She frowned slightly, “Where did you say I am?”

  “Valhara”

  “No, I did not use magic.”

  He smiled, “I thought not. Where have you seen battle?”

  “I won’t allow you to punish me for killing those warriors.”

  “Again, those were not mine, and I don’t care that you killed them.”

  Kyrin pulled against the restraints, “Let me go! I cannot run. I’m indebted to you.”

  “For what?”

  “For saving my life. I remember the fight. I was stabbed through the stomach, a life-threatening wound.”

  “We don’t require repayment for that.”

  She smiled and shook her head
, “Nothing comes free. I’ll pay my debt and then leave.”

  Alric nodded at Dewell, who walked over to Kyrin and untied her binds. She flew to her feet and put her back to the wall, watching them.

  “Will you sit and talk?” Alric asked, moving to sit in a chair beside the table.

  Kyrin moved quickly and picked up her flask. She watched them carefully while she opened the top and smelled it. She took a small sip, and then put the lid back on.

  When she kept a tight grip on the flask, Alric called for a glass of water to be brought in. Her eyes narrowed as a priest came in with an empty glass and a large pitcher full of crystal-clear water.

  Alric poured a glass and then pushed it toward the seat across from him, “Sit, please.”

  Kyrin’s mouth seemed hopelessly dry as she saw the clean water in the glass. She swallowed dryly and then looked down at the flask in her hand. The water was murky and tasted awful, but it was wet and wasn’t poisoned.

  Seeing the conflict in her eyes, Alric called for another glass and poured himself some water from the same pitcher. She watched as he drank it and then motioned again for the seat, “Sit.”

  She reached down and picked up the flail before walking over to the table and sitting down. She couldn’t take her eyes from the water, and couldn’t remember when the last time was she’d seen that much water, or water that clear.

  “You are thirsty. Have some,” Alric said to her.

  Her hand tightened on the flail.

  He fought the instinct to unsheathe the sword at his side, and finally smiled at her, “It’s safe to drink.”

  She reached out and lightly touched the cool glass, “How much?”

  “For the water?”

  “Yes”

  “No charge.”

  She frowned at him, “I won’t drink until I know the price.”

  “Why would we charge you for water?” Dewell asked her.

  She absentmindedly tapped her fingers on the wooden table as she watched the water.

  “You said you are indebted to me?” Alric asked her.

  She nodded, and her body tensed.

  “Then I order you to drink.”

  Kyrin hesitantly picked up the glass and cradled it in her hands. She met his eyes and then took a small sip. The water felt amazing against her dry mouth and the taste was unlike any she’d had before. No longer able to fight the thirst, she tipped the glass back and drank deeply, quickly finishing the entire glass.

  When she put the glass down, Alric poured another glass, “You may have more if you’d like.”

  She shook her head, “Name the debt that I must pay to leave.”

  He smiled, “You name it. I don’t hold you to a debt. You are free to go when you like.”

  He was playing a dangerous game, and she had done it before. Name a price too high and you were taken advantage of. Name one too low and you could be punished for it.

  “One year in your service,” she said to him.

  “That seems a steep price.”

  She glared at him, “As a slave, not as your wife.”

  He couldn’t help but grin, “You’re pretty concerned I want to marry you.”

  “I won’t be your property, but I will work for a year.”

  “That sounds like a deal then.”

  “Where do you want me to start?” she asked, still gripping the flail.

  “You need to rest first. We healed the wounds that we saw, but there are injuries we cannot see.”

  “I’m ok to work.”

  “I’m sure of that. However, you will rest.”

  She hesitated and then placed the flail on the table, “You will want that.”

  He simply looked at it, “Why would I take your weapon?”

  “Slaves cannot own weapons.”

  “Interesting”

  She reached out and touched the glass lightly, “May I have more?”

  “Yes, drink all you like.”

  Once the glass was empty, she stood up, “Where are my clothes?”

  Dewell picked up a stack of neatly folded clothes and held them out to her, “Yours were destroyed. We brought you these.”

  She looked down at the soft, beige fabric and winced, “Not a dress, correct?”

  “Well… actually yes, it is.”

  “Part of my servitude is to wear a dress?”

  “I wouldn’t call it part of your servitude, no.”

  “Then I will make my own clothes,” she told him.

  Alric was finding her thoughts and actions amusing, “Just put it on. A dress isn’t going to kill you. I’ll talk to the tailor and have another tunic made if you’d like.”

  Kyrin walked over to the table with her belongings on it and pulled out the tiny leather bag. She opened it and dropped two gold coins into her hand.

  “What are you doing?” Alric asked when she turned and held them out to him.

  “My belongings are yours as long as I am your servant. This is all I have.”

  “I do not want your coins.”

  She looked down at them, “They are a bit worn.”

  He smiled, “Keep your coins. If you’ll get dressed, I will have some breakfast delivered.”

  She looked up at him quickly, “Food?”

  “That’s normally what we have for breakfast, yes.”

  “What kind of place is this!?”

  Alric looked questioningly at Dewell, who simply shrugged.

  “Are you not hungry?” Alric asked her.

  “Who feeds a servant?”

  “I do.”

  Understanding that the food would be poor quality and most likely cause her stomach pain, she nodded and then walked behind a dressing curtain to change into the dress.

  Alric smiled at Dewell and then watched as another priest came in and put down two plates full of sausage, biscuits, and thick gravy. The priest left and came back carrying a bowl overflowing with fresh fruit. Four forks were laid out beside each plate, and placed on top of purple and gold napkins bearing the Valhara crest.

  When Kyrin walked out from behind the curtain, she was obviously uncomfortable with the clothing. Alric tried not to look at her for too long, but he couldn’t help but notice again how beautiful she was. The long sleeved, floor-length dress fit her perfectly and a thin gold belt hung low across her hips, giving it a more feminine touch. She was busy braiding her hair when she appeared.

  “Breakfast is here,” Alric said, turning to his plate.

  Kyrin sat down and then her eyes grew wide at the food on the plate. She looked at his plate and was astonished that his held the same thing hers did.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked as he laid the napkin across his lap.

  She looked around the room nervously. Alric smiled when she met his eyes, and then he took a bite. Kyrin had never seen food like this before. Most food was barely edible and often led to what was known as the stomach disease, the worst of which caused a painful death. The only ones who ate like this were the Consortium’s leaders. She heard rumors about it but had never seen anything close to it.

  Alric motioned to the plate in front of her, “Eat, please.”

  Her stomach growled as she smelled the aroma from fresh food, and she watched longingly as Alric took another bite.

  “Do I need to order you to eat?” he asked when he noticed she was watching him.

  Kyrin looked down at the plate. She had often been tortured with food, and one such way was to be offered a meal that was then removed before a bite could be taken. One night they allowed her a single bite of an exquisite dish, only to have it taken before she could have more.

  Alric jerked slightly when she dove at the plate and began shoveling food into her mouth with both hands. He became amused and sat back to watch her as Dewell went to find a bucket she could wash up with when she was finished.

  When her plate was clean, she looked up at him and waited to see if a punishment would follow. Without a word, he took his fork and began on his breakfast again.
He chuckled when she reached down and wiped her hands on the skirt of the dress.

  Dewell came in a little while later with warm water in a bucket and a soft towel. He set it down in front of her and then stepped back.

  Kyrin looked into the bucket and gasped at the amount of water inside of it.

  “It’s to clean your hands,” Dewell told her, though he saw she had already cleaned them off on her clothing. “Maybe clean clothes are in order too.”

  She looked up at him and frowned, “You want me to clean my hands in water?”

  “Yes,” he said, sounding unsure.

  “Then what will you do with it?”

  “Then I will dump it out back.”

  She frowned, “Dump water?”

  “Yes, it will be dirty.”

  Kyrin stood up and looked around the room, “Daemionis, am I dead?”

  “Who is Daemionis?” Alric asked her.

  She nodded, “That’s it then. I died in battle.”

  “You are not dead, my Dear.”

  “No one would pour out something as precious as water.”

  “Is your country in a drought?”

  She looked at him oddly, “You could say that.”

  “Well we have unlimited water here.”

  “You do?”

  “Is Daemionis the reason you have a ‘D’ on your wrist?”

  Kyrin looked down at the small burn scar, and then clenched her hand into a fist and looked up at him without replying.

  “I, myself, am a follower of Sithias.”

  “I’ve never heard of her.”

  “She is a he… and I am one of his Holy Knights.”

  “He keeps you fed?”

  “Well, not exactly. We have livestock that we eat from and gardens to feed us.”

  She slowly nodded, “Yes, I am one of Daemionis’ followers.”

  “It’s odd that I haven’t heard of him.”

  Kyrin simply watched him.

  “How old are you?”

  “Why?”

  “You seem very young, almost a child.”

  “I am 17.”

  “Yes, very young. Where are your parents?”

  “I don’t have any.”

  He nodded, “So you are a roamer?”

  “Maybe”

  “Who raised you?”

  “Does my servitude include divulging a past that I don’t wish to speak of?” she asked him.