by Joey W. Hill
As he’d put down his pack and set up his camp above the high tide line, he’d sensed an attentive presence. Not close, but he expected she had a clear view from an elevated vantage point. Her home wasn’t readily visible, but he was trained to look for the hidden.
Based on the wreckage on the beach, he’d deduced she’d set her abode where she had a scout’s view of the best approach from the nearby populated land masses, several of which could be seen in hazy silhouette from shore. After some intent study of the island topography, he’d found it. A small stone and wood structure, carefully embedded in the surrounding rock formations and screening forest. It was at an elevation almost impossible to reach…unless one could fly.
He approved of her tactical skills, though it would present him some unique challenges if this went how he hoped it would.
After he’d figured out her location, and before he’d set up camp, he wrote his message to her in the dry sand, using a bucket of water to darken the letters. He’d made it large enough a plane would see it, like an SOS.
Returning to the present and the dying daylight, he smiled, thinking of it. What would she think of a plane?
I’m here to serve you, my lady. That’s what he’d written on the sand. Time to start proving it.
He’d find beauty and color through his other senses.
But gods above, he was truly going to miss sunsets. Not that he owed any loyalty to the gods. They’d pissed him off the first time he’d read her story, and he owed them nothing. His loyalty was to her. Which was why in about a minute’s time he was going to blind himself.
As he knelt by the fire, he pushed all other thoughts away but what tasks needed to be done. He had the necessary aftercare items, including antibiotics, a stack of clean dressings, and several bottles of fresh water. He’d taken careful note of where he’d placed all of them, but he wasn’t worried about being blind in unfamiliar surroundings.
JP had spent months blindfolded, training himself to not rely on his eyes as his primary sense. Him and Luke Skywalker, using the Force. Or rather, JP’s covert ops discipline and Maddock’s magic mo-jo.
He could have had Maddock take his sight before he left his world, in far more optimal and less painful conditions, but JP knew it had to be done here, where she would see him do it.
Or maybe his motives weren’t that noble. Maybe he’d hoped to have a chance to see her before losing the opportunity altogether. He’d brought a shield whose convex back offered blurred reflections, because Maddock had said an actual mirror wouldn’t work. The reflection would be too clear and JP would end up a lawn ornament. He’d take that blurred reflection, though. Any glimpse at all of her.
JP didn’t need to see her to confirm his decision. That was a decision of the heart, not the eyes, and he’d made that choice some time ago. No, he’d merely wanted to absorb her with every sense he’d ever possessed or ever would.
Taking a steadying breath, he laid his hand on the handle of the branding iron.
“What is this you do?”
He froze. His sword was staked in the sand next to the shield. A miscalculation on his part, since he couldn’t reach for the shield, no matter how carefully, without her thinking he was going for the sword. Not only was she supposedly in possession of a headful of snakes, but every scrap of information he could find about her had convinced him she could move as fast as one. She’d whip around an opponent and have him staring into her deadly eyes before his brain had a chance to tell him to shut his own.
“How will you serve me if you cannot see?” she asked, telling him she’d already figured out what he was about to do.
He wanted to answer her promptly, but he was caught up in hearing her voice for the first time. It sounded younger than he’d expected. He could deduce her age based on historic information about priestesses in Athena’s temple, though sources on that were often dubious. In truth, everything he’d researched was somewhere between educated guesswork and pure speculation. But thanks to Maddock, suddenly he was getting a whole lot of firsthand detail.
In the same way he’d been loaded up with vaccinations before he went on overseas assignments, Maddock had loaded him up with spell work to prep for this one. One of the things had been a translation spell, so he would hear her and respond in a common language, and they’d both be a little less lost by colloquialisms relevant to their respective worlds. The second was augmentation of his additional senses, to compensate for the loss of his eyes. Hearing, smell and taste, as well as proximity awareness, were enhanced threefold.
She had a melodious voice, as female as a dew-kissed flower with silken petals so delicate they’d bruise at a touch. He paid close attention to all the information a person’s voice could offer, but Maddock’s craft took him further, so he could hear even deeper nuances.
Her syllables were strained and flat, filled with suspicion. The former told him she wasn’t used to raising her voice, and the latter said she was prepared for him to attack. He didn’t hear fear. He was glad she wasn’t afraid of him, though that was far more likely due to her confidence in her own skills, not the belief he meant her no harm. She would have stopped trusting that sense a long time ago.
“I have taught myself how to do many things using my other senses,” he said, realizing he hadn’t answered her question. “I do not need my eyes to serve you, my lady.”
“A trick, to get close enough to take my head. With this.” The rasp of his blade being drawn from the sand made battle-ready muscles tense. He forced himself to remain still as metal heated by the afternoon sun notched against his throat. He could imagine her standing behind him, silent and imperious. There was no tremor in the weapon. She was more than capable of using it. His best play was to stay still and talk them away from that.
But sometimes you had to take the stupidest risks to prove yourself. Or to impress a girl. He could hear Lot’s tongue-in-cheek observation without him being here to make it. It didn’t matter. JP had spent so much time around the guy, it was as if their brains had been mashed together like two handfuls of ground beef.
Shutting his eyes tight, he ducked, spun. Her lightning-quick back step and shift of weight impressed him, but he was pretty damn good at this himself. He came up under her guard, clamped down on her wrist and wrested the blade from her hand. A hiss, and he jerked to the right. A snake scored his ear as it shot past his head, narrowly missing the likely target of his face or eyes. In the same unbroken motion, he released her wrist, pivoted and went down on one knee, the blade planted firmly and harmlessly beside it, his hand clasped on the hilt and his head bowed.
Eyes cracking to a slit, he saw he’d landed where he’d intended, at her feet. The skirt of her tunic fluttered against his shoulder. It was short, like a Greek soldier’s would be, revealing long slim legs, golden-hued from the sun. Inked drawings on her flesh showed serpents twining around flowers. The work was detailed and deft, perhaps a way to pass the time in her solitude. She had a silver toe ring on her right foot.
He’d smelled several different fragrances on her skin as she moved. Flowers, fresh fruit, earth and the sea, and a woman’s warm flesh. Despite its advantages, Maddock’s augmentation spell could also be a tempting distraction.
“I can hardly be of service to you if I’m missing my head, my lady,” he said, proud that his voice was steady, since his stomach had done a serious half gainer with a twist during their short scuffle. So much could have gone wrong there, causing this to be over before it started. But if he second-guessed himself like that, he’d fail.
“Indeed.” Her voice cracked. He’d startled her with a fight that was over before it could begin. Then her tone steadied. She had a warrior’s temperament, finding her center again quickly. “You have skill with a blade, but I wonder to what purpose, if you intend me no harm. There is nothing to fight here, except me.”
She paused. He wondered what she was thinking, seeing. At best, a nuisance; at worst, an enemy. “There is gardening and harvest, and minor
repairs to maintain my home,” she continued. “Beyond that, there is the watching of tides, and the rise and set of the sun.”
Did she realize she spoke like a poet, measured and rhythmic like the rise and fall of waves? He could almost feel the caress of the syllables against his skin.
Focus. This isn’t like being undercover in a cartel, but she’ll still chop you up for hamburger if you keep daydreaming about her rather than talking.
He was channeling Lot again, obviously.
“So you need a gardener, a cook and an occasional carpenter,” he said mildly. “I can be or do any of those things. I’m not without those skills. My fighting ability is just what’s always been most in demand from those who need me.”
Another silence, as if the straightforward answer had surprised her, and he expected it had. When was the last time she’d had an actual conversation with anyone? “I did not say I need any of those things,” she responded at last. “I take care of myself sufficiently without help.”
“No doubt, my lady. But I am here to serve you, and can take some of those burdens off your hands.”
She made a dismissive noise and moved on from that. “You have fought in wars.”
“In a sense. I worked on special missions to secure peace, aid in ongoing conflicts, catch criminals. Seems I’ve always been in that kind of work, even in past lives.”
That was according to Maddock. Your soul was born to protect and destroy, JP. The guardian angel or the boogeyman in the closet, whichever one’s most in demand.
The ancient Greeks knew the theory of reincarnation, even if it wasn’t a common part of their spiritual philosophy. She proved it now by not inquiring what he meant. Or perhaps she just had bigger priorities.
“I see no boat. You walked onto my shore at dawn. Where are your reinforcements?”
“I came to you through a portal in time and space. Not by sea.”
Additional silence. She was probably wondering if she should put this poor crazy bastard out of his misery with a one-shot from her lethal gaze. Or, more likely, she’d assume he was telling her a wild tale to cover the reinforcements coming from a different invasion point.
Part of the prep he’d done for this had included extensive think tank sessions with the other team members. They’d postulated what her life must be like, based on the data they had, so that he might be better able to anticipate her needs and help her lower her defenses with him. It had been strange for JP at first, working with a team on ideas that normally he had only himself to develop and hope he was on the right track.
Since Lot was the one in the group with the heavy military background, it wasn’t surprising that he’d looked at her life from that perspective.
“For however many years she’s been on the island, she’s had to stay aware of any threat and meet it. She’s going to mistrust everything you say, and frame everything in terms of threat assessment. If, as we suspect, there have been repeated attempts to take her out, she’ll be hypervigilant.”
JP thought of the wrecked boats and the crumbled stone. It angered him that she’d had to deal with any kind of threat, let alone so often. She might think he was crazy, talking about portals and past lives, but he was going to stick with bald honesty. If she mistrusted everything he said, the truth was the only way he’d get a leg up, if he was going to get one at all.
He opened his eyes to stare at her feet and the silver toe ring. While her soles had to be callused to go shoeless all the time, the shape of her feet and toes was pleasing and delicate, her nails neat and surprisingly clean. The only nod to her rustic environment was that the deep blue ink she’d used to draw the serpent coiled around her ankle was smudged over the joint bone. Perhaps she’d scraped her leg against a rock or tree, for the skin around it looked abraded.
She might be alone on her island, but she cared for herself as if she were in more civilized surroundings. She hadn’t lost herself to the animal-like instincts that could take over in extended isolation and from perpetual threats of violence. Which was probably another reason he was still alive.
“I can swear a hundred oaths that I intend you no harm,” he said. “That I’m here to do what I wrote on the sand, but words are meaningless when you know nothing of me. I ask for an opportunity to change that. If it is your pleasure I keep my eyes, I will stay blindfolded in your presence, and unarmed unless a threat comes against you. You need only to pull the blindfold away to gain the advantage over me.”
Something like braided rope worn smooth slid over his knuckles where he clasped the sword. Realizing it was a snake, he stayed still as the creature coiled around his wrist and the hilt, a loose figure eight that effectively hampered his use of the weapon. Clever and intriguing, the evidence of a communication link between her and her snakes.
He mentally thanked Delia, another of their team, for her suggestion that he volunteer at a serpentarium as part of his training. The typical kneejerk reaction to treat a snake as a threat had been overcome with a far deeper understanding of the reptiles’ nature and behavior.
While there was no doubt that the snakes physically attached to her had some differences from their counterparts in the natural world, he’d proceed on the assumption that they would have some qualities in common.
Medusa shifted, and something sharp and hard touched his knuckles. A claw? Was it part of her, or had she donned an ancient Greek version of a bear claw brass knuckle? The snake drew back, so perhaps the touch was a wordless command to bring the creature to her. Regardless, that small strip of skin where she’d made contact tingled with awareness. Skin was the largest sensory organ there was, and Maddock had augmented that, too. Again with the blessing and curse.
“What you call my advantage is more deception,” she said. “You’ve proven your quickness and prowess with a blade. More time here gives you more opportunities to achieve harmful intent.” She sighed.
“I’m too weary for this. Begone, however you came. If you are not off my island when I seek you again, I will carry you out to sea and drop you. It will not matter to me if you are close enough to land to reach it before you tire and drown. If you swim at all.”
She’d just confirmed what her choice of home site had told him. She had wings. She could fly. There were so many accounts of what she looked like, only meeting her would allow him to verify anything. Once again, he longed for that one quick glimpse, to verify wings and claws, to see how she matched what he’d seen in his dreams of her.
Yet his interest in that was overtaken by the emotions he was picking up from her. She was being as honest with him as he was with her. He could hear the truth of her fatigue. She had no energy set aside to play games with an enigmatic stranger. Any natural urges for companionship were buried beneath a dump truck load of necessary defenses. He had to figure out how to remove some of them. Fortunately, he was experienced in winning the first vital scrap of trust from criminals, warlords and dictators who trusted no one. The only difference was that he had to win their trust with lies or modified truths. For it to work at all here, he had to be completely honest with her.
“My lady, you say you have no need for a warrior,” he said slowly. “I’ve no doubt you’re formidable. But maintaining a constant defense alone takes its toll. If you did have one other person here that you could trust, that burden could be shared.”
“I will not debate the improbable with you. Whatever your motives, I want you gone.” That strained quality in her voice had increased.
“Could you give me a day to prove myself?” he persisted. “I could familiarize myself with your living arrangements and show you the things another pair of hands might do. I don’t think you’ll kill me without cause, my lady, and I pose you no readily identifiable threat.”
“Why do you think I want any company?” she said coldly. “Let alone yours, a strange man who tells wild tales. I do not fear solitude. It has been the best of company since I came here.”
“Solitude is as necessary to the mind and soul a
s company,” he agreed. “I won’t impose on your solitude when you truly desire it. But when you don’t, I can be company.”
“No.” Her feet moved out of the range of his vision. She was walking away from him. “Heed my words. Leave before I look for you again.”
“I’m not leaving, my lady.” He set his jaw. “I’m going to do as I said. So if you’re determined to be rid of me, you’ll have to do it now.”
His pack was close enough he could snag it with one long arm. Removing the black lined eye mask from the side pocket, he began to lace it securely about his head. As he did so, it molded to his forehead, his eyes, the bridge of his nose and cheekbones. Hearing the friction of sand, and no further footsteps or wingbeats, he suspected she’d pivoted to watch him. Good.
He’d moved away from the sword to make it clear he didn’t intend to use it, even though he did intend to defend himself if necessary. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he adjusted to a crouch, flexed his hands and cocked his head. “Do your worst, my lady, or give me permission to learn how to be a help to you.”
“You are not listening,” she ground out. “I did not ask for your help. I do not want your help.”
He ducked and rolled, but not fast enough. He’d hit a nerve, a deeper one this time. He might consider that progress, except he was airborne. Those hard claws clamped on his legs, pinching cruelly, and he was tossed into the air, landing on his back in the water with a resounding splash. He should count himself lucky she hadn’t carried him out to sea. Instead she’d dropped him in water shallow enough he thumped uncomfortably on the sandy bottom. He rolled, sloshed back out. “Impressive, my lady. But—”