Lackey,Mercedes - Serrated Edge06 - Spiritride.doc

by Spiritride [lit]

  "She's reading a book. Sideways," Japhet observed.

  "That's not a book," Mort informed them. "It's a laptop. She's probably on the Internet."

  "Which means?" Nargach asked, saving Japhet the trouble.

  "Which means," Mort said, brightening, "the phone is unplugged, and she can't call 911. How convenient."

  "Well, where are the rest of them?" Japhet said, annoyed. Everything the demon said was gibberish.

  "Off somewhere else," Mort replied. "There is only one elvensteed."

  "That conveyance?" Nargach asked, squinting at the space next to the room.

  "Do you know the Seleighe to use anything else?" Japhet replied shortly.

  "As a matter of fact, I do. That's a motorcycle… No, wait. That is an elvensteed, in disguise. How clever of them," the mage said sardonically. "Too bad it won't do her any good."

  "Does she suspect anything?" Japhet said before thinking.

  "Of course she doesn't," Nargach replied shortly. "Can't see that?"

  Japhet held his tongue, focused instead on the task ahead of them. Capture the Seleighe, take her Underhill. I wanted a bargaining chip, now I have one.

  Presently Rochad returned from his brief recon around the other side of the motel. "I had to negotiate a gate of cold iron, but I was able to observe the far side of yon dwelling. There is indeed an exit, a large wind hole with panes of glass over it. The frame is cold iron, which any elf might overcome if desperate enough."

  And she would be, to get away from me, Japhet thought with grim satisfaction. "And the wards?"

  Rochad looked down, as if afraid to relay the news. "As Nargach said, they surround the inn."

  The mage waved the observation away. "The wards are not a problem. I can eliminate them rather easily, I just can't do it without the Seleighe's noticing."

  Japhet shrugged, "Then, what is the problem? I think our concerns were of giving advance warning to a party of three." He spied the dim figure, still sitting at the book "We will not have a better chance. What have you in your bag of tricks to make this wench more manageable?"

  The mage's eyes furrowed, more a look of concentration than annoyance, which is what Japhet was after. Well, perhaps later. "A version of the trap I set back at the cabin."

  While Nargach summoned the forces for his work, Japhet dispatched the others to cover the rear exits, in case the wench tried to get out the back way. The prospect of a real female prisoner seemed to add spring to everyone's step. So be it. If it helps morale, then all the better. Provided she doesn't become a liability, if we are overestimating our bargaining power with her… then it's execution time.

  She had hoped to catch the King on one of the chat lines, where he often lurked as a matter of course, but there was no sign of him there tonight. Could well be it's daytime, or he's preoccupied with other matters. The time difference between this world and Underhill had never been constant, and that the two realms could communicate in this manner was a miracle. Wenlann made do with a detailed letter describing what was happening.

  She had removed the wolf tooth necklace and set it next to the laptop, its white teeth shining brightly in the lamplight. Still, it fascinated her. Or was it the previous owner that had her interest? Whenever she thought about him a chill ran down her back and other places, this humble, fragile human with the power of a mage lurking just beneath the surface of his thin defenses, the shields of a child. Granted, his rounded ears and strange eyes were at first a slight turnoff, but everything else about him compensated for this threefold. His immunity to iron added to his alien appeal, and to see him on a motorbike, a real motorbike, in leather and boots… Well, this was not something one saw in Underhill. But it was something a maiden might dream about.

  You're being ridiculous! she chided herself. An elf and a human? What about the inlaws!

  Wenlann pushed the thought aside, a bit annoyed at herself for such silly thoughts. It just isn't done!

  But the moment she turned off the laptop and closed it, she knew something else was wrong. Her steed seemed to be spooked by something. She went outside to check on it. There, there, she soothed, but the 'steed was not being very communicative.

  She noticed nothing amiss in the darkness, except for a nearby streetlight that looked like it was about to go out. Odras' wards were still firmly in place. If anything unfriendly tried to get past those wards, I'd know in an instant. After all, they were among humans. Perhaps one of them was considering ripping them off.

  Wenlann laughed at the prospect of a thief trying to steal her steed. Now that would be a rude surprise. They'd be lucky if they got away without a pair of hoof prints embedded in their forehead.

  Frayed nerves, that had to be it. She returned to her room and locked the door behind her, then opened the front window a crack before pulling the curtains all the way closed. The one small window in the back afforded a cool breeze, a little stronger now that the front window was open. Wenlann suspected the little air conditioning unit, which looked to be about a hundred years old, would blow tainted air.

  Perhaps her anxiety had to do with Petrus and Odras, but no, she would have realty sensed something then. The old mage was somewhat of an enigma, and while parts of his past were a bit blank she trusted him implicitly. It was rather sly of the King to make sure Odras came along, she thought with a half smile. No matter what kind of trouble Petrus got into, the mage would likely be able to compensate for it.

  Whatever she was sensing, it was real, and it was close. Just as long as the human isn't wielding a cold iron blade. The possibility made her shudder.

  Maybe I should shut all the windows after all, she thought, getting up.

  In mid stride to the front window, the universe froze for perhaps a second. It was as if a pulse of negative time had been sent through the land, holding everything in place for an instant, then moving on.

  Then, beyond the thin curtains, she saw and heard the wards scream in alarm. This is no human, she thought. Some yards away, beyond the front window, a circle of light reminiscent of a Gate formed momentarily. And when it went out, so did the ward on that side. Indeed, they were Unseleighe.

  Something scratched at the rear window. She turned, saw a dark Unseleighe face gazing back at her, the tip of a bronze sword scraping the glass.

  There were what, five of them? She had to assume they were all out there. Too many to fight, especially when one's a mage.

  Act now, or you're done for!

  She made a run for her elvensteed, the only thing at her disposal that would put her at any kind of advantage. The second I'm on her, we could be out of here, her thinking went. She ran outside, reaching for the steed which was only a few feet away. Her body hit something magical, like an invisible glue, or a strong, unseen spider web. She tumbled over on her side, unable to move anything, not even her head so she could see the bastards walking up to her.

  Two towering shadows stood above her, their faces Grinning like skulls. Unable to do anything except observe, she recoiled inwardly as they picked her up, and placed her over another steed-as-motorbike. At one point she caught a glimpse of her own steed, evidently imprisoned by the same paralysis spell.

  She rode draped over the back of the seat. The mage cast some manner of glamorie over her, and when she saw that she was riding through Albuquerque cloaked as motorcycle luggage her resolve to kill each of these rodents solidified. During the ride into the darkness, away from the comforting if garish electric lighting of Albuquerque, she caught herself fading into unconsciousness, and back again; while awake she probed the working that had immobilized her, but found herself unable to break through it.

  At least I still have my mind, she thought in a frenzy. I have something to work with, some chance to get out of this mess. Listen. Observe. Look for weaknesses.

  The 'steeds decelerated, the simulacrum brakes even emitting a faint, scorched rubber scent. Beyond her periphery was the unmistakable vibration of a Gate, its yellow light reflected on the sand around
them.

  "Just carry her," someone ordered as he climbed off the bike. "She's a weak, light thing. You should have no trouble with her."

  We'll see about that, she considered, careful to keep her thoughts to herself.

  "Take her to the place," the voice said, the vaguely familiar face drifting in and out of her limited view as the other slung her inelegantly over his shoulder. Even though they had dismissed the luggage glamorie, she still felt like a sack of stolen goods. "I will go and gather Wolf."

  Wolf? Have they captured him too? She pushed vainly against the paralysis, her determination now fueled by her need to help Wolf.

  As the Gate's field closed in around her, she saw that the Unseleighe were already riding away; the motorcycles' roar sounded like a large hornet in a long hollow tube. Then, sudden silence as the Gate closed in around them.

  At the dream's edge, Wolf was in full wolf costume, face whitened with chalk dust, eyes blackened with charcoal. He wore a large wolfs hide, the flap of its skinned head hanging over the top of his face, and the rest reaching all the way down his back.

  Grandfather was there too, with the circle of Chaniwa, pounding on drums and shaking turtleshell rattles, the beat rising in power and speed. Wolf danced around the fire, alone but not alone. There was the spirit of his soul's mate, the she-wolf his ancestors knew who had come to the circle. Then there was the soul of the white witch, wearing the Hand around her neck on a leather thong. Above was the Moon Goddess, looking down on the fire with the loving expression of a mother. The Horned God lurked in the woods, his naked flesh reflected briefly as he stalked the forest.

  Wolf was not alone as he danced around the fire, the white witch and she-wolf following him as he went deosil. He walked barefoot on the few coals that dribbled off the intense fire, feeling nothing but the Homed God's warmth…

  The dream disserved in an instant as he flashed to wakefulness.

  I'm a prisoner.

  On a cold cement floor in a strange room, he lay with his hands and ankles in what felt like handcuffs. Moonlight from the window was the only illumination. The cuffs had been clamped tightly around his boots, and the resultant folded leather crimped painfully against his legs. A rag tied around his head covered his mouth. From somewhere beyond the four walls he heard a truck or a van driving away, with the rattle of gravel announcing its departure.

  He smelled blood, lots of it, intermingled with the stench of rotting meat Something went dunk, then rustle, on the other side of the wall. He listened for more, sensing someone else over there, possibly in the same mess he was in. Whoever it was they weren't talking.

  Then he felt it, far beyond the walls.

  First was the awareness of something dark, out there. Wind blew against the building, poking through the narrow window, bringing with it the scent of… cat.

  He remembered grandfather's woodcarving, now sitting on his altar, at home. Ha- his mind began, but he dare not even think the name. With imminent danger at his doorstep, this was easier to do than he would have otherwise thought.

  Not unless I'm looking into the Hand, he thought. How things have changed; a few days ago, he was laughing at the concept of the cat spirit. Now, the cat spirit was here.

  Cat spirit, cat spirit, cat spirit, he thought frantically, forcing her true name out of his head. Cat spirit, begone…

  But the cat spirit was still out there. It screamed, loudly, like a mountain lion. Like a woman in pain.

  It's out there. It's coming here.

  Then it began to happen.

  The first wave hit, bringing nausea, cooling quickly to a heightened alertness. He closed his eyes, praying he didn't vomit with the gag in his mouth, and saw the wolf spirit within him. It burned like a bed of white hot coals. It was starting to happen, but he was hanging onto his human body. Let it go, the wolf spirit said. Let it happen.

  Then, Let me rise. I can fight Ha-Sowa. It is my purpose, and I have done it for a long time.

  With one, loud exhalation through his nostrils, he relaxed on the concrete, closed his eyes, and let the spirit take over. The nausea came again as his insides shifted, making a squishy, wet noise. Across his skin, from head to toe, something wriggled and stuffed itself against his clothes. He ventured a peek out of one eye; he looked down a long, brown snout, growing longer and furrier. With his now overly long tongue, he licked the long teeth that had sprouted from the top of his mouth. The scents around him became razor sharp, as if all along he'd been smelling in two dimensional black and white, and his senses had suddenly become three dimensional color, with surround sound; the odor was about to knock the wind out of him. But the blood and the other stenches were the loudest of all, and he now knew with certainty this was human blood, human meat. People had died violently in this place.

  The change continued with a vengeance throughout his body, and he felt his arms and legs grow thinner. Feet and ankles slid easily out of the handcuffs, and the shackles fell with a loud rattle to the concrete floor. He looked at his hands, and as he watched the fingers became shorter, the ends morphed into tough pads, and fingernails became round, long and pointed. He watched the hair grow rapidly across the surface of his darkening skin, reminding him of a high-speed movie of flowers growing in a field.

  The change was not happening in his clothes, which were becoming tight in certain places, and about to fall off in others. Something told him to take them off, while he still had the dexterity to do so. The gag had fallen off on its own, but his thick, canine shoulders were squeezing through the collar of the't-shirt, painfully. The jean jacket had slipped off with the cuffs, and he reached around and pulled off the t-shirt bunching around his shoulders. As he worked the shirt and jeans off, he felt the heart pendant Wenlann had given him, hanging around his neck. Once he had all garments off he stood on all fours, panting.

  I am here, I am the wolf, the spirit said from within, joining with his own thoughts symbiotically, the human part of him now taking a back seat in the situation.

  Fur and muscles thickened, his vision sharpened; he lost some of the color of his human eyesight, but gained much more definition. But while exploring his new senses and shape, a loud scream, along with the stronger scent of cat, drew his awareness away.

  Ha-Sowa. He was no longer afraid to think the word.

  Wolf was all wolf now, and he let his new self have control. His vision turned red, and he growled deeply with the rise of his hackles, seized with death-fever, the soul of the hunt. Wolf lunged at the door. It broke under his weight, and as he forced his way through it splintered into a dozen pieces.

  Ha-Sowa crouched before him. Wolf landed on all fours, back arched, teeth bared. The cat hissed, and turned loose another scream, then the two animals were upon each other.

  Wolf went for the throat, missing the huge claws by a heartbeat, but the cat was too fast. Both swirled around one another like a cyclone, Wolf nipping but not gaining purchase on anything, until a hind leg came into view. With his huge jaws, he clamped down, hard. Something went snap between his teeth, just as fanes sank into his rear haunches. Locked in this mutual death grip, the wolf spirit within fought against pain. Finally, the cat released, and Wolf pulled away.

  The two beasts regarded one another in mutual hatred, pacing back and forth, not in the desert but on a wide plane, with darkness on one side, and light on the other. Pacing, pacing, circling each other, wolf and cat tested the other's motions, Wolf noting the limp the cat had. His failure to break the bone enraged him, and he crouched for another attack.

  Wolf had been here before, he knew the scent of the place, which was a total absence of odor, save for the musky cat scent, the smell of a wounded, angry animal.

  Wolf made ready to leap at the cat again, finding a split second when the cat's neck was partially exposed toward him; Ha-Sowa turned its massive feline head toward him, her eyes now brilliant white orbs within the black skull. The light spread through the body, and the body changed like he had changed, only instantly. The
light faded back into the eyes.

  The eyes were still that of the cat. The face was not.

  The cat eyes were Wenlann's eyes, staring back at him seductively.

  No! Wolf thought. It's an illusion, it's trying to trick me! Ha-Sowa had become the beautiful chi-en of his dreams, dressed not in motorcycle gear but buckskin, like that of a brave. But this was no Chaniwa brave; her beautiful, rounded breasts filled the buckskin nicely, the twin nipples announcing their pointed presence. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall, longer and deeper brown than he'd remembered.

  This can't be he thought, but his resolve to attack the cat dwindled, replaced by a longing in his loins.

  Wenlann looked down at his excitement, turned her head delicately, and laughed piercingly.

  At the moment of maximum humiliation, Wenlann turned her head back, her eyes now orbs of light again. Their eyes locked, and Wolf was caught in an instant of indecision.

  In that instant, Wenlann vanished, replaced by the angry black cat, in mid-leap.

  Wolf dodged out of the way, finding himself again in the desert. Ha-Sowa! he thought, looking around; the cat had vanished, but no, wait, there she was, silhouetted by the rising, full moon. Some distance away, she stood and shrieked at him, turned, and dropped behind the rise.

  No, she's not getting away I he thought, the animal rage filling him again. He caught sight of Ha-Sowa again, moving at a slow lope, the limp in her hind leg much more pronounced now. She was apparently more injured than he'd first perceived. Again, another illusion. Wolf bolted after the cat, ignoring the pain in his right paw.

  You are not getting away! his thoughts raged on, but as he ran after Ha-Sowa, her image faded, until she was no more. He wanted to chase her into the spirit world, where she had certainly gone, but try as he would he didn't know how to reach it. That she was able to pull him into it, and discharge him from it at will, lent a disturbing advantage to her.