Storms Over Open Fields (Life of Riley Book 2)

by G. Howell

  “Apparently not,” she noted. “You’ve had them before?”

  “A.” I shuddered.

  There was a pause, as if she were expecting me to elaborate on that. I didn’t. Eventually she stood and just said, “Come on.”

  I looked at the extended hand. “Ma’am?”

  “You’re tired. That’s obvious, and a bed’s a stretch more comfortable than the floor. Come on.”

  Bed. A bed sounded very good. I was aching, in my shoulder and in the scar across my cheek and I staggered when she hauled me up. So did she, just about coming down. “Hai, you’re a weight,” she growled and then touched my back, just guiding me as the room slowly steadied. Had I had too much on an empty stomach? That drink? What’d been in it? “Here. Come along.”

  And we were at the door before I realized what she’d meant. “Ma’am? That’s your bed.”

  “More than big enough for two,” she said. And that took me aback enough that we were a bit further before I realized the blanket was on the floor back there somewhere. Hell with it.

  Moonlight filtered through the windows, through the balcony doors I’d entered through. I saw my bag and my gun were gone. Couldn’t expect them to be left lying around, although I hoped I’d be able to get them back.

  She was right about the bed; it was more than queen sized. A small patch of sheets away on the far side were already rumpled around a depression where a body had been laying. The other side of the bed was smooth linen and it was there she let me collapse and stepped back as I laid back and sank in: Whatever the mattress was stuffed with, it was deep and soft. The sheets were cool, fresh linen. After a week sleeping under trees and in barns it felt strange.

  Her ladyship cocked her head. “Are you all right? Do you need more blankets?”

  “This is... comfortable,” I said.

  “Better than the floor,” I heard, her voice moving around the room. There was a movement through the moonlight, then I felt the bed shift as she settled, curling up. On the bed, but not too close.

  “A,” I laid back, trying to relax again. There was plenty of room, but of course no pillows. I lay under the crisp sheet and stared up at the ceiling, the shadows and darkness. The bed smelt of dry grass; of potpourri; of musty Rris. Outside, in the fields and grasses, choruses of insects buzzed and chirruped; wind blew, the moonlight changing as clouds crossed the night and the drapes stirred gently. Adrenaline was still twitching nerves, singing in my head.

  It’d been a dream. A nightmare. A bad one. Chihirae wasn’t here and Chaeitch was alive. It hadn’t been him who’d died, but was my subconscious going to insist it was and keep dredging that up? She’d told me that it wasn’t him, and I wanted to believe that.

  What she’d said... I remembered what she’d been talking about, back before I’d just flaked out. And in the darkness in the middle of the night it made some weird sort of sense, for a species that seemed so much more... pragmatic than human. I’d mentioned the Church, and in a way the Mediators were the church; a concept that would be as strange to Rris as their system seemed to me. An institution that people followed because it was there; it provided security and explanations and thinking.

  Was that what Mediators were? No. Saying they were the same thing, that wasn’t correct, and was a risky way of thinking. It was an analogy, that was all. But the Rris seemed to believe in them, enough to give them jurisdiction over their own government in matters of law. Was that like the human faith in the church? But faith is simply unwavering trust. Following blindly in other words. I couldn’t see Rris doing that, not without a good reason.

  Was that the problem? There was a reason they wanted to follow the Guild? Or had to?

  And I’d seen Mediators fighting Mediators. What did that herald? A schism in the Guild? How would Rris governments react if their overseers were bickering amongst themselves? What effect would dissention in the church have?

  Ask the Irish. The English. Ask most of the Human race.

  I sighed. Quietly, I thought, but there came the rustling grass-quiet sound of fur brushing on cloth beside me and then an alien voice in the dark: “Mikah? You’re still awake?”

  “Oh. I… sorry, Ma’am.”

  “I thought you were tired.”

  “I… A, but... I was thinking about what you said, about the Mediators.”

  “Huhn, that put you to sleep before. Not this time?”

  I think she was joking, but I cautiously said, “Umm, I think I was more tired than I thought.”

  “That and you put away enough Haisa for four on an empty stomach,” she said, sounding a little reproachful. “It was supposed to be mixed with water and citrus juice. What you drank would have laid most people out flat.”

  “Oh. That explains why I’m feeling a little... dizzy.”

  A soft sound of amusement. “But what were you thinking about?”

  “I think perhaps I understand now. I think...” I tried to articulate the tenuous connection I’d made. “They have authority over even governments, but the price of that power is their credibility. If that credibility were to be brought into doubt, so is their authority. A line from an old play, ‘with great power comes great responsibility’.”

  “Trite, but...A,” she murmured. “That is the essence, in a way.”

  “But, it would have such an effect?”

  In the darkness was a low sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl. “I could tell you the terms of the charter and what dissolution of the Mediator Guild would mean, but it might send you to sleep again.”

  I felt my face heating. “Apologies, Ma’am.”

  “That was a joke, Mikah,” she said and I felt the bed shift. She was propped up on one elbow, watching me. Her face was in shadow but highlights glittered on the sheen of her eyes. She’d helped me; broken Mediator law, deceived her staff... why?

  “Why’re you doing this?” I asked. “Why didn’t you just turn me in?”

  Her ears flicked. “Just because tradition requires us to acquiesce to the guild, doesn’t mean we have to do it blindly. Because I wanted to hear your side of the story; and the story you told is a whole lot more believable than the tapestry of discord I’ve been receiving from the Guild; and also because I like you.”

  “Oh. Thank you.”

  A soft chitter sounded in the evening. “And you might have such advanced knowledge, but I think when it comes to matters of politics you are actually quite naive. Honesty can be a rare trait. It’s quite endearing.”

  “Oh.” I wasn’t sure if that was entirely flattering. “I don’t know how I can repay this.”

  There was another movement, another stirring of the bed, and then she said, “Well, there are a few more questions I would like to ask you.”

  I hesitated. “Is that a good idea? His lordship might be upset if I tried offering deals outside the specified trade parameters. Going behind his back...”

  “Not that sort of question,” she quietly interjected. “No, there are some other things I was wondering about.”

  “Umm... you asked me last time.”

  Another muted chitter of laughter and the bed moved. “No, Mikah. No. I couldn’t. Not then. It was business. No, you showed me pictures of your world. From your home. I never had the chance to ask you: do you miss it?”

  I lay still, feeling the cool sheets against skin, hearing her breathe.

  “Mikah?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” I swallowed. “Yes, every day.”

  “Oh,” the Lady said, and I thought there was a trace of disappointment there. Then she said, “Anything in particular? Can you tell me?”

  “Miss?” I stared up at the ceiling for a while, gathering my thoughts. Images - memories - flickered. “So much,” I murmured. “My family, my friends. The comforts and convenience. The city at night, th
e lights and sound. Central heating in winter. Pizza and bad movies. Fast cars. Fast food. Coffee, tea, Dr. Pepper. God, I miss that. Proper wine. The latest films and music. To be able to be alone in a crowd; to be normal. To smile properly without frightening children. I miss women. I miss her. I miss my mate... the woman I was with before this all started.”

  She was quiet after that babble; most of it meaningless to her. Then her low voice said, “I know a few women who might be amenable.”

  “Women,” I said. “My kind of women. Not so much fur and claws and teeth. Softer. More... “ I grinned in the darkness and lifted my hands, describing an hourglass figure. Was I drunk? I felt like I had a bit of a buzz on. Not much, just enough. “I miss breasts,” I sighed.

  “Breasts?”

  “A. Breasts.” No, Jackie hadn’t been overly endowed. But perhaps my imagination overcompensated sometimes.

  A pause. “Pregnant females?” the voice in the darkness sounded puzzled and I had to wonder what mental images were going through her head. “Their breasts are quite prominent.”

  “It’s different,” I said.

  “Ah. Mating habits?”

  “Yes.”

  “That different?”

  “In some respects, yes. Very.”

  Another silence, then she said. “You know, there have been some very interesting rumors lurking in the undergrowth regarding that.”

  “Oh really.”

  My defensive tone must’ve been apparent even to her. I heard another chitter. A hand touched my shoulder, just patting gently. “I was wondering just how much is true. Suggestions that sex with you is a very interesting experience indeed. Stories that you are quite... unique?”

  “Huhn,” I sighed, grimaced. “Those stories.”

  “Huhn?” she made a little querying noise. “You know them?”

  “’of them’,” I corrected. “I’ve heard of them. And just where did you hear these stories?”

  “Ah... sources,” she chittered gently.

  I guessed what that meant. “How drunk did you have to get him?” I asked dryly.

  “Ah,” her hand touched me again. Not patting this time; not a transitory brushing of her against me, but actually laying on this time. Studying the moment. There was the oddly-familiar sensation of a leathery fingerpad against my shoulder: touching, pressing gently, stroking as she watched the skin distorting slightly beneath her exploration; the clawtip just tickling slightly. “Not just him,” she said and I’m sure she was amused. “But he was concerned for you. Worried. Don’t blame him. But are they true?”

  “What did he tell you?”

  She told me. She told me in specific, unrelenting detail. And if I’d had ears like her’s they would have laid back flat against my head. As it was, I felt a glowing heat climbing there. Obviously Chihirae had filled Chaeitch in on more than just the broad picture. There were specifics. There were details. There were personal details.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised: they’re far more open about bodily functions of all types and their idea of privacy is considerably different from mine, so Chihirae had probably never seen anything wrong with a bit of gossip. That material was embarrassing enough, but her ladyship obviously also had sources that were either not so reliable or were just a great deal more imaginative. A great deal of what she related there in the darkness was utterly... preposterous. But there were enough kernels of truth there to tell me someone had been quite a blabbermouth.

  “You know,” I said to the ceiling when she was done, “perhaps I will shoot him after all.”

  “Mikah? What?”

  “That was a joke. Sort of. I am… annoyed. Stories like that complicate things.”

  “Then they’re lies?”

  “Ummm. Some of it... or exaggerations might be better.... I wish it was true, but I think your sources are a bit fanciful. To say the least. I’m not... built like that. Biting doesn’t really do anything for me and that thing with the honey is... strange.”

  “Ah?” she laid a hand on me, fingers spread and laid splayed on my chest. I could feel the cool leathery pads of her palm and fingers pressed against me. The skin under her fur was warmer than human, almost hot. One of the few patches of skin on her body touching mine and I knew she could feel my heartbeat drubbing with a rhythm that wasn’t like her own. “All lies?”

  I moved slowly to take her hand. She didn’t pull back, letting me hold it, stroking and exploring it in turn. The fur on the back of her hand and the fingers wasn’t as dense as on the rest of the body but was still soft and the bone structure in there wasn’t anything human. Short fingers, missing a joint by my standards. There was a reflex which made the claws partially express when I pressed the pad of a fingertip. “Not all. But they don’t tell everything.”

  “Such as?”

  I sighed, stroking her wrist. “Milady, it’s not sex. Not as you would know it, nor as I knew it with my kind. There are physical differences - not as…as extreme as they say, but they are there. It’s like… it’s like clothes that are the wrong size. I think would be close to describing it. And what’s normal for one can be strange for the other. I think I’m learning what Rris women enjoy, what I can enjoy with them, but I can’t treat them like a Rris male would, and I can’t treat them like a woman of my kind. That, I think, is not something they consider. And they tend to treat me like a Rris male. That can hurt. I mean physically.”

  Her ears tipped back. “Hurt badly?”

  “I still have scars from… from the first time I had sex with a woman… a Rris. You tend to use claws and teeth, even without intention. Your term ‘scruff biting’... I can’t really do that.”

  “Huhn,” she leaned in, a bit closer still. “I think I can understand that. Your skin is quite delicate, isn’t it.” Her hand moved again, slipping from mine and resuming its exploration. “Soft, smooth. Like vellum. Scars though. A lot of scars. And yet you persevere. Why?”

  I shrugged against the sheets and gazed up at the ceiling as I considered that question. “Because it can be enjoyable,” I said eventually, and then for some reason added, “And because it means that for a while I can be close to someone who is willing to be that close. I don’t... do you know how rare moments like that can be here?”

  Her hand wandered across my chest and she watched intently as she toyed with and tugged at hairs here and there. She was sniffing the air and her ears twitched slightly in time to a rhythm I couldn’t hear. But I could feel it. It was my heartbeat.

  “Ma’am,” I ventured, “honestly, do you find me attractive? Attractive in the same way as a you might find a Rris male?”

  A pause. “You have startling eyes... and what fur you have is quite exquisite. Your hide is... intriguing, being able to see the body heat like that is quite fascinating, but otherwise no; not like that.”

  “Then why are you doing... this?”

  “Huhn, curiosity,” she said quietly, the mattress dimpling beneath her weight as she leaned over. Her eyes were all iris, glimmering like light on oil, her breath washing against me; as harsh as a predator’s. “Very much so. I like to think I’m a connoisseur. Of the rare, the exotic things in life. Sometimes that can be fine wine, or rare art, or perhaps an experience. And from all accounts,” she growled softly, “you can be quite an experience.”

  “You wouldn’t just be happy with a signed picture?” I swallowed.

  There came a soft sound of amusement and then she said, “You don’t consider this an honor? I am a Queen, you know.”

  “Milady, yes, I... I know.”

  A pause, and then she said, “And I could call out, you know. That would be easy. There could be guards in here.”

  I felt a lurch inside; a clench and stutter of my heart. And with her hand on my chest she could probably feel it also. “Would you?” I askedr />
  A hesitation as the thin ice creaked. “I could.”

  I met the abalone-shimmer of her night eyes. “Is the bed big enough? It’d be a bit crowded. They’d have to wait their turn.”

  Another pause, and then she laughed again. “Amusing,” she said, patting my scraggly beard and then stroking my chest, watching her hand pressing against my bare flesh. “And you don’t find me attractive? Perhaps in the same way I regard you, a?”

  “Similar, I think,” I hedged, still aware the subject could turn again. “You are quite... you are beautiful. But you aren’t a woman... I mean, a woman of my kind.”

  “Huhn,” she mused with a soft, meat-eater’s growl. “I can’t offer you bare skin and breasts. I can’t offer you a woman of your kind. But perhaps I can offer you some time with someone who is willing to be that close to you, a?” She stroked my chest and shoulder gently, touching the smooth skin around the puckered scar tissue there.

  I was tired. I was nervous and in uncertain surrounds, but my body reacted to the touches. After these few years and some other experiences alien hands were no longer so strange that the sensations were unbearably eerie. There’d been time for me to learn them, for some sensations to become interpreted as arousing. And the dim moonlight and lightweight sheets weren’t enough to hide it.

  “Just touching can do this to you?” She was amused, I could see that, as she hooked the blanket with a finger and slowly pulled it aside. I could also see it change. Even in the dimness I saw her expression change, saw it freeze in place as she stared.

  “I said different,” I said, a little defensively for some reason. She’d seen me in the bath earlier. What’d she expect? “The stories don’t really convey it all, a?”

  “A,” she replied quietly, her ears quivering as if they didn’t know whether to flatten or not. “A. I hadn’t thought... They said you were... unusual, but... you’re... Well, I’d thought you might be more like a normal male when erect.”