by M. L. Ryan
“Got me.” He shrugged. “But the phrase they keep repeating—ovhailey tl sagaxijy—means ‘The Hailey will provide’.”
I thought between sleeping together in a cramped, musty barn and sharing any number of odious tasks, the Jyryxahal had gotten over their obsession with me as their personal deity. How anyone could still view me as divine after watching me shovel wood ash into the outdoor privy was beyond me.
“Please explain to them that I am most definitely not ‘The’ anything and shouldn’t be worshipped,” I begged.
“We’ve had this conversation before, but I’ll try,” Alex said, looking none too convinced of his ability to succeed. He spent the next few minutes trying to reason with them, they nodded enthusiastically, and when Alex finished, promptly resumed their chants extolling my omnipotence.
“There is no point, my dear,” Sebastian advised. “As with most belief systems devoid of reason, there is, by definition, no reasoning with them.”
Raised by a mother to whom the church held the answers to everything, I experienced more than my share of religious excess, but this was maddening. “I thought the Courso were so logical. What the hell is wrong with them?” I shouted, pointing toward the Jyryxahal, who continued to repeat rhythmically, “Ovhailey tl sagaxij.”
My harsh tone accomplished what rational dialogue had not, and they finally shut up. Unfortunately, my outburst had other, unintentional consequences: W and Z hung their heads and Bex took a step backward. I thought V’s eyes welled with tears, but it was difficult to tell because she’d covered her face with her hands.
Horrified, I turned to Alex. “I just wanted them to stop; I didn’t mean to scold them like puppies for pooping in the house.”
I threw my arms around V and blurted, “Dichnix fi.” I hoped that meant, “Forgive me,” although I worried I might be telling them instead to “bite me.” I always had trouble remembering the correct translation of dichnix versus the similar sounding ditnix.
I must have chosen correctly, because rather than sinking their teeth into me, the others gathered around and enveloped V and me in a group hug. When I managed to free myself, which took a bit of work given the gusto of the embrace, I implored Alex and Sebastian to make yet another attempt to dissuade them from their misplaced fanaticism. As with all the other tries, their devotion would not waver.
Sebastian exchanged a few words with Bex. “She says you are a compassionate and magnanimous woman,” he reported. “Obviously, she has never driven with you during rush hour.”
Every few days, I’d spend an hour or so zip lining. It didn’t completely cure my urge to bend, but muffled it enough so I didn’t worry about losing focus and auto-transforming. I still worried we might be permanent visitors to the third dimension, but the pseudo-flying made me less of a wigged-out harpy.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t go alone—since Alex sensed the lurker at the creek, no one went anywhere by themselves—plus, unless I found a way to grow arms behind my back, I needed a helper to attach my harness. I preferred Alex or Ulut as my safety buddies, but Agnes’ schedule coincided with mine, so most often, she accompanied me. When she wasn’t sulking in silence over spending so much time together, she communicated her displeasure with a barrage of indignant sighs.
Normally, I’d only feel some perverse satisfaction that she hated the arrangement as much as I did, but Agnes’ unrelenting petulance just ticked me off. As we trudged back from an excursion, I could stand it no more.
I wanted to say something along the lines of, “What’s your fucking problem?” but heeding Alex’s admonitions to stay classy, I led instead with, “Have I done something to annoy you?”
“No,” she said curtly.
Using the most non-confrontational tone I could muster, I replied, “Really, because you seem angry with me.”
“I’m not angry.”
Still trying to quell any undue spitefulness, I continued with, “It’s okay, I’d just like to know if there’s anything I can do to make you less adversarial.”
She smirked “I’m a cop. I’m always adversarial.”
“Alex and Sebastian are basically cops, and they aren’t bitter and hostile.” Or assholes, I thought to myself.
Agnes pulled up and narrowed her eyes. “At least I’m not Miss Uppity Know-It-All.”
“Real witty comeback. You’re calling me an uppity know-it-all?” I was dumbfounded. Sarcastic and snarky, okay. Maybe even impertinent. But uppity? “I don’t have a snobby bone in my body,” I fumed.
She closed the space between us and puffed out her rather ample chest. “That’s what you think. Only a snob would say, ‘Real witty comeback’.”
“No, dumbass, a snob would say, ‘You’re a humorless halfwit with a self-aggrandizing quest for control over others’.”
Moving minutely closer, she spat, “You think you’re better than me with your graduate degrees and your fancy, rich boyfriend?”
“No, I think I’m better than you because you’re a humorless halfwit on a power trip!”
Her hands clenched at her side. “Take that back.”
I smiled, but there was no mirth involved. “Make me, bitch.”
It occurred to me that goading someone in law enforcement wasn’t the brightest move, particularly one with anger issues to begin with. As I’d already baited her, I tried to recall all the hand-to-hand combat tricks Sebastian taught me when she struck.
Agnes dove into me, lifted me up, and threw me to the ground using a move that would make a linebacker proud. I was now in the position one should never be in, on my back pinned by an irate attacker. She straddled my waist, trying her best to punch me, and managed to get in a few glancing blows before I reacted. Fortunately, the wily Xyzok had often hit me with a similar style of takedown in training.
Avoiding her fists, I grabbed around Agnes’ back and pulled her to me, sort of like a big hug, except instead of affection, my intent was to prevent her from having adequate space to continue pounding me. She wasn’t thrilled about her current position, but before she could try to wriggle out of the hold, I trapped her left foot with my right leg and hooked my right arm over her left. In one swift motion, I propelled my hips upward while swinging my left arm over her body. Agnes must have had forty pounds on me, but with the strength that came from being incredibly pissed off, I flipped us over. Now I was on top.
Had she been some unknown assailant, I’d have gone all MMA on her without giving it a thought. But, as much as I disliked the deputy, I didn’t really want to hurt her. Not permanently, anyway. Instead of belting her, I tried reason.
“What the hell is your problem?” I panted, still winded from both the initial contact with the hard ground and the exertion of grappling with Deputy Don’t-Eat-That-Last-Donut.
Still trying to wriggle out from under me, Agnes spat back, “Get off me, and I’ll show you what my problem is.”
Once again, the ridiculousness of the conversation was undeniable. No clever dialogue, just two incensed women trying to verbally one-up the other, with neither succeeding. The fact we were adults acting like schoolyard bullies was equally absurd, but while I contemplated the social ramifications of our behavior, Agnes decided to use my mental dithering—and the momentary let up on her arms—as an opportunity to strike me.
I’ve never liked getting hit in the chops, and this was no exception. Sometimes Sebastian’s practice punches left my jaw bruised and sore until Alex healed me. As luck would have it, Agnes didn’t have enough distance to land a truly powerful shot, but the blow made me bite my tongue. When I tasted blood in my mouth, any sense of propriety or restraint vanished.
In the movies, head-butting is a viable option during a fight. The star grabs the face of their nemesis, knocks foreheads, and the bad guy is rendered unconscious, or so woozy, the fight is over. In reality, as I soon discovered, the smacker got as good a wump as the smackee, and both ended up a bit dazed.
Shaking off the post-cranial-impact cobwebs in anticipation of
Agnes’ next move, I felt myself lifted off her. That’s weird, I thought. I’m human. I shouldn’t be able to fly, when I noticed the deputy being pulled upright by Ulut and Sebastian.
Alex’s handsome, but blurry face appeared in my line of vision.
“Hey, Blondie,” I drawled, “when did you get here?”
He didn’t answer, just peered into my unfocused eyes. For some reason, his earnest examination of my condition made me giggle. This must be what they mean by “punch-drunk,” I thought absentmindedly.
As he continued to assess my condition, Alex held out what looked like fingers and demanded, “How many, carisa?”
Given my deficient visual acuity, it could have been a single fat one or four, so I split the difference and guessed three. It must have been the right answer, because he said, “Good, you probably don’t have a concussion, but you do have some blood on your chin.”
The reminder rekindled my wrath. Dizzy or not, all I wanted was another piece of Agnes. I did my best to lunge at her, but Alex wrapped his arms around me to prevent my advance.
“Can the two of you not be left unattended for even a minute?” Sebastian scolded, keeping a tight hold on the deputy. “If you cannot play nicely, you will be sent to bed without supper. Although, it is always invigorating to see women fight,” he admitted with a smirk.
Agnes fought against Sebastian’s restraint. “You are a pig, Kess.”
“Not at all,” he replied, handing the still-struggling deputy off to Ulut. “It is well documented that men become aroused by women brawling because they imagine breaking up the scuffle and engaging in a sexual encounter with both.”
The explanation made me roll my eyes, a gesture I immediately regretted as the movement made my head throb. “And how does that make you not a pig?” I asked, rubbing my temples to ease the discomfort.
“Simple biology, my dear. War and sex give males the same glorious high, a rush of adrenaline, increased blood flow… everywhere,” he said, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. “Put the two together, and, voilá, instant erection.”
“That is such bullshit,” Agnes argued. “I’ve broken up my fair share of catfights and the male cops always crowd around, hoping clothing will be torn and they will get a free flash of boob. There’s no biology involved, just horniness.”
With smug elation, I noticed our fight had caused a small clump of hair to dislodge itself from its usual bun-entrapment.
“Isn’t that really the same thing?” Ulut asked.
I pulled myself away from Alex. “Yeah, you know what they say, men have two brains: one in their skull and one in their pants. And I’d argue the little one rules over the other.”
“Exactly,” Sebastian concurred. “You women think it is easy being a man; it takes a concerted effort to teach oneself to heed the head and not the hard-on.”
I had neither the energy nor the focus to continue the ridiculous argument. “Whatever. Let’s just get back.”
Ulut eyed Agnes and me with suspicion. “Can we trust you two can return to the farm without a repeat performance?”
Agnes muttered, “I can be civil if she can.”
I glared at her but replied, “Sure, no problem.” I still didn’t trust the annoying tramp, but I didn’t feel an uncontrollable urge to rip every bleached blonde, freakishly restrained hair out of her giant, annoying head.
That could always wait for another day.
18
By the time we reached the farm, the vertigo had vanished. My chin still hurt like hell, but my mood brightened when I realized Agnes already had the makings of one big-ass black eye. If nothing else, I could console myself with the fact she looked more beat up than I did. And the super bantamweight title goes to… Hailey Parrish!
Thrilled as I was over my victory, she’d given as good as she got. Upon closer inspection, I realized I had bruises in places I didn’t know were involved in the skirmish. I was sitting on a bench outside the barn, examining a particularly nasty-looking one on my shin, when Sebastian came by. Gently poking at the large red and green discoloration, he tsked and shook his head.
“She got you on your back, didn’t she?”
“How did you know that?” I wondered, glancing away from my battered leg into his disapproving eyes.
Sebastian pointed to the multiple contusions scattered across my lower right leg. “This pattern could only result from you using an upward lift escape, to which you would only resort if you were flat on your back.”
“But I flipped her over.” I beamed.
“I surmised as much, as you were in the dominant position when we arrived. How many times have I told you…?”
I raised my hand in concession. “I know, never let your opponent get you on the ground.”
“That, along with never underestimate your opponent and never let down your guard.” He raised one eyebrow and inclined his head. “She surprised you, yes?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “All in all, though, I think I did a pretty good job.”
He patted my knee. “That you did, my dear. That you did, indeed.”
I was shocked. Sebastian hardly ever complimented me, and when he did, it was usually soon followed by some arrogant, patronizing qualifier that negated the original praise.
“Wow, thanks, Sebastian. Coming from you, that means a lot.”
“Of course it does, my dear.”
His unrepentant arrogance forced me to chuckle, and also to recall how I wanted to chastise him for his earlier chauvinistic remarks. “What was with all that crap about men getting boners watching women fight?”
“Did you find my position on the matter offensive?”
“It was an affront to womankind. I didn’t think you believed in such stereotypical nonsense. Even Agnes was appalled.”
“Really? Imagine that,” he quipped, cocking a single, haughty brow.
Frowning, I couldn’t quite figure out where this was going. “What are you up to?” I asked finally.
“My assertions about men’s reactions to pugilistic females were meant to show that despite your animosity toward one another, you ladies share some common ground.”
“So you said all that just to bring Agnes and me together in feminist outrage?”
“It worked, did it not? Your fury dissipated, as did hers, and we were able to proceed back to Gera’s without further incident.”
Seemed like a lot of effort on his part when a simple, “chill out, or you’re in deep shit,” would have done the job, but I’d learned long ago the pointlessness of assigning meaning to most of Sebastian’s quirks. If nothing else, this restored my somewhat tenuous faith that he wasn’t a complete swine when it came to male-female relations. Or did it? He never actually said he didn’t believe it, just implied he did not.
“Let me get this straight. Do you or don’t you think women fighting make men horny?”
“It is most definitely arousing to most males.” He wagged his index finger when I gave him a dirty look. “I am not a misogynist, my dear. If you remove your preconceived notions, you will see that my original comparison of similar masculine physiologic responses to war and sex has merit.” He touched the largest bruise, and it vanished almost immediately.
As much as I admired his healing juju, I couldn’t let the difference of opinion go. “Like it’s praiseworthy that men are so visceral that they can’t keep the two stimuli separate?”
“It is neither estimable nor dishonorable, it is biology,” he answered, while mending the rest of my wounds. “Males are simple creatures, really. Territory and propagation are their main concerns. I’m not saying we cannot control these urges—this is what separates us from other species—but it does not negate the evolutionary foundations of these impulses.”
When I pushed aside my womanly indignation, I realized he might be on to something. I still wasn’t clear how watching women fight factored into the overall picture, and as I continued to ponder the dilemma, a disturbing thought came to mind.
“Were you turned on?” I sputtered.
Sebastian clutched his chest. “I am wounded, my dear. You are like a daughter to me. I could never become aroused by you.”
“Well, I had to ask.” He still gawked at me, so I added, “You didn’t always have a problem in that regard.”
“While that was true when I first inhabited your body, once I began to know and appreciate you, all such thoughts evaporated. Why, when you and Alexander were engaged in a romantic encounter, I intentionally distracted myself to afford you some privacy.”
“And we appreciated your discretion,” I acknowledged. In truth, while Sebastian was inside me, Alex and I never went further than some minor groping. I was a modern woman, but I drew the line at having two men inside me at once. “Regardless, it’s nice to know while Agnes and I duked it out, you weren’t fully torqued.”
“Oh, I was aroused, just not by you.”
“You don’t even like her!” I snapped. “You said she was strident and reprehensible.”
“She is,” he said as he stood to leave, “but under these circumstances, nonetheless stimulating.”
I was still shaking my head in disbelief when strong hands settled on my shoulders. “Who is stimulating?”
Engrossed in the gross conversation, I hadn’t heard Alex come up behind the bench. “Sebastian had a stiffy over Agnes.”
He smiled knowingly. “Over the deputy, eh?”
“You don’t find that odd?” I inquired.
“Not really.”
“Even though Sebastian despises her?”
A sly grin spread across his face. “I was a bit aroused by the action myself,” he admitted.
I pulled back, appalled at what I was hearing. “That’s, that’s gross.”
He laughed. “Not over Agnes. You.”
“While I’m relieved to hear Agnes didn’t give you wood, I’m having trouble wrapping my head around you getting hot and bothered watching me get thrashed.”
“I didn’t really see that part.” He leaned down and nuzzled my neck. “When I got there, you were already on top, and quite the badass, I might add.”