Immortal Protector

by Ursula Bauer

  ———

  He walked a barren landscape in the charcoal grey light that characterized predawn. In the distance, upon a hill, were the remains of a dwelling. Smoke belched up like chimney spit, darkening the sky above. A burning pain erupted in his chest, buried on the left side beneath his ribs. It felt like his insides were cooking at an infernal, unbearable temperature. His mouth was dry and tasted of ash. He walked on towards the burning ruin, his steps slow and heavy. A mist enshrouded the rising hills before him, and when he entered its thickest part, he realized he was in some sort of military encampment.

  Soldiers meandered about, setting up cookfires, drinking from horns and skins, joking with one another. Whores mixed in with them, sharing drink, sliding like snakes against them. It wasn’t long before the soldiers openly fucked them in the camp, bending them over piles of gear, tossing up their filthy skirts and taking them like animals. The smoke of the fires burned his eyes and they began to tear. He moved on through the grotesque orgy, walking a path that led him to a red tent with parted door panels. Two soldiers, probably the only sober ones in camp, stood guard. He walked by them unseen.

  The tent’s interior was warm, the air thick with the musky stench of cheap sex. Two whores were sprawled on the thick, carpeted floor. They were naked, asleep near the central brazier. On the pallet, beneath skins, a muscular man sported with a third. She was on her knees, spread before him. He slammed into her again and again, disgusting invectives spilling from him in slurred, drunken sentences. The girl’s forearms were braced as she absorbed the force of his savage attack. She smiled broadly, her teeth black and in other spots, completely gone. The man grabbed her knotted hair and pulled her head back as he drove into her one last time, then he collapsed upon her and rolled off to his side. His eyes closed, and he passed into a drunken slumber from which he would not wake. Not until it was too late.

  Gideon stared at the man’s familiar face. Even with the long hair, and thick beard, he recognized the fiend. He saw that face every time he gazed upon a mirror, or polished surface. Gideon recoiled, the pain in his chest searing him until he thought he would burst. He shut his eyes and when he opened them again he was inside the remains of a bailey. Bodies rotted as carrion birds feasted on the flesh. The acrid scent of smoke hung in the thick, moist air. He stumbled around seeking a way out, tripping over the dead, knowing all the while there was only one way out. There was only one way for this to end.

  “No!” He held his hands over his eyes, unwilling to see what came next, even as his body moved on. “Wake up, you fool. Wake up!”

  He’d not had this dream since he was mortal. Centuries had passed silently without reliving this nightmare. Now he was trapped in the horrific memories, stark reminders of his failure as a man, as a husband, and a father. Gideon opened his eyes once more and he stood before the ramshackle stables, their charred remains sticking up like burnt bones half buried in a muddy, ravaged earth.

  He was dreaming about the past he buried. His dead were rising. And they were coming for him. There was no avoiding it, so he forced himself to walk around and finish what he’d started. The woman’s body waited, curled on its side, hands bound, stripped bare. Flesh was torn from the bones, maggots writhed upon the corpse. Gideon fought his rising bile, and toughed it out. Until he buried her, he would not escape to consciousness. He stepped closer and a cloud of smoke billowed up from nowhere, obscuring his vision. He rubbed hard at his eyes, and when the smoke cleared, something had changed in a nightmare that never wavered.

  The corpse should have yellow hair, like a field of corn or the glow of the summer sun. She always had yellow hair. This time the hair was red like fire, a molten mass of tangled curls. He rushed to it now, knelt at it, unable to breathe. When he touched the silken strands of hair, the thing came to life, turned and faced him. Near all flesh was gone from the face, and it smiled a death’s head grin. Fey eyes stared at him accusingly. A fatal pain stabbed him through the chest, stealing away his life, destroying all hope, and he knew without a doubt he’d failed her too. Or would, if he wasn’t careful.

  “Gideon…” Meg’s voice floated on the putrefied air, a specter’s call damning him for eternity. “Gideon.”

  ———

  Meg sat up straight in the bed, her head and heart pounding an insistent tattoo like an out of control alarm. Grey light filtered in through the gaps in the curtains, casting the room in uncertain, tentative shadows. She reoriented, and the disturbing dream she’d been having faded into the mist. She still smelled fire and ash, still felt the sorrow of the man she’d watch bury his dead.

  She rubbed her temples and tried to recall her dream. Where had she been? Hell? Purgatory? The land was barren, burned to a crisp. She remembered tending wounded soldiers, then things became blurry. She thought there were corpses involved, and soldiers in a disorganized camp. The taste of fear was bitter in her mouth throughout the dream, but the worst part had been the man. He was dressed like some kind of medieval warrior but she couldn’t recall a coat of arms or anything she could use to identify him. She’d watched from the distance as he and other soldiers gathered the bodies one by one, stacking them in a pyre, burning them. It was hard to see his face with all the smoke and the thick fog, but she could feel his anguish deep in her soul.

  And when he collected the two small bodies that lay near a stone well, and then the woman’s from behind a stable, she’d felt his rage thick and hot, consuming her soul. A haze of fury clouded her own vision as she listened to him curse his God, and then fall to his knees and weep openly. Meg struggled to reach him, to console him, but her steps were mired and slow. When she got close enough to touch him, the scene faded before her eyes, replaced by the sight of her living room, torn to shreds, her personal items destroyed. The safety she once knew, the sanctuary she’d created, was gone.

  No sooner had she admitted that to herself than the walls around her burst into fire. Flames surrounded her in an instant and she couldn’t breathe. She held her hand before her nose and mouth as she searched the inferno for a way out, but it was no use. The fire was a solid, impenetrable wall. She shivered recalling how instead of hot, the flames were ice cold, like the skin of a corpse. Thankfully, the dream ended. Or at least, what she could consciously recall clearly stopped. Meg didn’t want to imagine what came next. It sucked when your dreams were as frightening as your reality. Somehow there should be some relief in slumber, she thought, some escape when your waking world had turned into its own brand of nightmare.

  She took a deep breath, climbed out of bed and headed for the aspirins she kept in her purse. Life wasn’t fair. She knew that in the abstract sense, watching her kids get sicker and sicker and most often die. Now she knew it intimately. Last night the thoughts of no tomorrow had set a part of her free, giving her the courage to explore her wanton desires without any guilt or second guesses. Today, the thoughts of no tomorrow made her more sober, more thoughtful. Anger lingered, perhaps part of last night’s dream, perhaps her own over Gideon’s reluctance to let himself go. And there was a curious restlessness inside of her, as if she no longer fit in the skin of her life, but didn’t know what life she would fit. The uncertain state no doubt contributed to her headache. She itched to do something, to rage against the man, to fight the machine, maybe even do what that soldier in her dream did—curse the Gods. Meg pulled out a travel packet of aspirins and tore it open, eagerly anticipating relief. Luckily, this pain wasn’t like the earlier migraines. She was sure this time the simple application of medicine would provide some much needed help.

  She chewed the aspirins and sucked on the acrid mash until it dissolved in her mouth. It was the quickest way to get them to work even if it did taste like crap. Gideon mumbled in his sleep, and she padded over to where he slept fitfully in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. His burly body overflowed the confines of the tiny retro seat. The muscles in his powerful shoulders and neck bunched and corded with tension. Sweat beaded his brow and soaked t
he front of his shirt. His face was drawn and tense.

  “No!”

  His shout startled her.

  “No! No! No!” He cried out like a wounded animal.

  “Gideon.” She put her hand on his broad shoulder and pushed gently. “Gideon, wake up. You’re dreaming.”

  He stilled beneath her touch, then he roused.

  “Meg?” He sat back and shook off his sleepiness. His black eyes went on instant alert. He cursed and jumped from the chair. “Did something happen?”

  “You were having a nightmare.”

  “Oh.” He looked confused, then embarrassed. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

  “No. I had a bad dream myself. But I think the headache is what woke me.” She put some distance between them now that she knew he was okay. She was unsure of how to talk to him after last night, of how to act. Yesterday she’d wanted him so badly she’d tasted it like a drug. This morning, she wanted to feel comfortable around him again, but she couldn’t. The restlessness increased tenfold now that he was awake, alert, looking at her. He was in her blood, making it pound, and she didn’t know how to get him out. Then again, she really didn’t want him out. Even after his rejection last night, she still wanted him, and she knew she wouldn’t stop wanting him. If she had the chance again, Meg knew with dead certainty, she’d seduce him with every ounce of her being until he was too weak with passion to care about consequence or whatever soldier rules held him back. They shared a potent, undeniable attraction. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt in her life, something she never imagined could exist. And, it was one she wanted to know more fully before they parted ways.

  She went to the cabinet, pulled out two chipped mugs and packets of freeze-dried instant coffee. When she turned to face him, the haunted look in his eyes stabbed her. A timeless, unending pain pierced her soul. And, she tasted fear, the same fear she’d tasted in last night’s dream. Meg wanted to rush to him, to hold him, to drive out the pain and the sorrow. Then he blinked, the wall came up, and he was the stone cold soldier again. Meg clutched the mugs like a lifeline and told herself to get a grip. She forced a smile. “How about some java to take off the night’s edge?”

  “Meg, about last night—”

  “I told you I wasn’t complaining.”

  “Neither was I, and that’s the problem. I need to be alert, ready to protect you at a moment’s notice. I don’t want to lose you, Meg. You know the stakes in this game. Life and death. I’m immortal, so I don’t matter. But you’re not. You’ve only got one life, and if something happens, there’s no turning back.”

  “You’re not a morning person, are you, Gideon? I get it, the whole immortal protector gig. Really, I do. And I get the mortality thing too.” She filled the mugs and stuck them in the microwave. The headache made her crabby as did thoughts of last night. “I know how fragile life is and I know I may not have much in the way of tomorrows, which is why I did what I did. Under any other circumstances, do you think I’d have let you touch me that way, that quickly? You’re not the only one in the room with principals.”

  He stared at her for a long, hot, uncomfortable moment, then nodded curtly. “It’s just physical between us, Doc. If we’re both careful, we won’t get caught up in it again. Right?”

  Wrong. Let the big oaf think what he would. They had chemistry that set the world around them on fire. Short of donning asbestos suits and staying on opposite corners of the earth, she doubted there’d be any other way to avoid getting caught up. He looked so uncertain at this moment it made a part of her wonder what he really feared. Was it loss of his precious discipline, or was it something else? A vision of last night’s horror flashed before her eyes. Fear raced through her, making the room close in too tight, making his presence too large, too close. Meg grabbed the heated mugs from the microwave and set them on the round café table. “I’m going to brush my teeth and clean up. Afterwards, maybe we can see about breakfast?”

  “Sure. Breakfast.” He appeared shaken by her quick change of subjects, but he made a fast recovery. “There’s an all-night diner just down the road. They make great mushroom omelets.”

  Meg shut the door, grateful for the barrier the bathroom offered her from the immortal. She splashed cold water on her face and mentally cursed Gideon for being a man of principal. He was right, of course, he did need to be alert, and on his guard. Sure, she’d fought the creatures who came after her, but they’d caught her the first time, and could catch her again. He did stand between her and an early grave. Still there seemed something more holding him back, something that lured her, dared her to chase it down through the shadowed maze and expose it to the light.

  She sighed and used the rough motel towel to dry off. She was losing it. Life down the rabbit hole was making her nuts. She was just a tourist here, while Gideon was a card carrying resident of crazy town. He was probably used to this whole life and death hanging in the balance thing. He was used to the rush where every second could be your last. She was still too new, too fresh. Maybe she needed to put her own desires in check for a moment and listen to his logic. Maybe it wasn’t a bad thing to leave the embers alone, avoid the deadly blaze. She finished up her morning routine, stepped out into the main room of the cabin, and all hell broke loose.

  There was a loud crash and before she could react, Gideon was on her, taking her to the ground, covering her with his body.

  He was off her the next instant, sword in hand. He blocked her from any attack as he faced the door. “Take cover!”

  Chapter Seven

  Three men struggled to get through the open space of the door but couldn’t pass some invisible barrier. Meg swallowed hard. The magic must be holding them. As Gideon rushed to attack, she got to all fours and started to crawl behind the bed. Almost instantly, there was a loud pop like a dull gunshot. The three rushed into the room and Gideon met them head-on. The moment they crossed the threshold, there was a burst of blinding light, and when it cleared, three of the largest wolves she’d ever seen were in their place. Gideon gutted the biggest as it launched at him from a crouch. The force of the strike sent the carcass flying across the room. Blood sprayed into the air. The creature fell next to her, intestines pouring from its split belly like spilled spaghetti. Meg cried out and backed up against the wall, drawing her knees tight against her.

  The other two wolves charged at Gideon. He shifted to mist and they leapt right through him, then turned to charge again. As she blinked, he became the sleek panther she’d first seen. He growled furiously, and launched himself at them, claws out and gleaming. They engaged, and rolled together in a brawling tangle of beast, growling, hissing, biting. The wolves were powerful, but no match for the certain death of the panther. Gideon as beast moved at a blinding speed, a swirling black shadow of doom tangling with the creatures. Gore spattered in a macabre pattern across the walls, the TV, the mirror, as the wolves were shredded.

  Then, as quick as the attack started, it was over. The panther was gone. Gideon stood, bloody, in the center of the room.

  “Are you okay, Doc?”

  He was breathing heavily, and his eyes glowed with a strange, animal light.

  She nodded mutely.

  “Good.” He walked across the room and kicked the door shut. Then he grabbed his cell and called in the cleaners.

  The wolves began to shift, the hair receding, the bodies contorting as they changed back into human form. Meg suppressed a shudder. These were humans. Not demons. They were real people. So much more real.

  “Meg?”

  She looked up at Gideon. He reached down and gathered her up, holding her close. “It’s all over, Doc. Don’t worry.” He smoothed her hair as she buried her head against him.

  “They’re real, Gideon. Real people.”

  “They’re shapeshifters. Mortal, but fast-healing and long-lived. Bounty hunters if I’m not mistaken.”

  “They look like me and you.”

  “I know. I know.”

  Cold shock stole ov
er her. She kept thinking she had a grasp on the madness, and then it slipped her hold, reached out and sucker punched her. “How’d they find us?”

  “A good shifter can track a target through multiple realms. Magic protected us in here, but it didn’t conceal our scents. They run in a gang, not a clan. They’re outcasts paid to hunt, which means someone is picking up the tab.” He released her with obvious reluctance and methodically searched the bodies. On the last one he appeared to find something. He held up a small scroll for her to see. “Looks like the mage decided to hire out. This is a marker. It will have some link back to the guy who’s after you. We just got our first break.”

  “Can you find him?”

  “We’ll see. Since he hired these guys, there will be a money trail. My people can track that back, though it will take time. The mage mark is distinctive, unique to every mage. Jack may be able to pick something up. Either way, we’ve got something to work with at last.”

  He picked up his cell and made a second call that consisted only of entering a string of numbers, then he hung up.

  Meg stared at the bodies for a moment as a morbid thought took shape in her mind. “If they’re fast healing, how come they won’t heal now?”

  “Shapeshifter attacks, if brutal enough, are fatal to them. Even though Bast gives me the magic to shift, I still pack the same punch as one of the home grown kind. The trick is to deal out heavy damage as fast as possible. It circumvents the rapid healing ability.”

  More of the rules. One day, when she wasn’t being hounded by demons, werewolves, and angry Gods, she would need to study this rapid healing thing they all seemed to have. If magic existed, could it be mixed with the science of medicine to do good for mankind?

  “You don’t happen to have a guidebook for this version of reality, do you?”