Steve turned onto a narrow path and took his time walking amid the night-blooming irises, his fingertips brushing the soft, sword-shaped leaves and silken folds of the flower petals.
And all the while thinking of Sonya.
She will certainly make a great mother, he thought, contemplating her vision foretelling of her twins. Twins! A boy and a girl. He marveled at the very thought of it. But who will be the father? Steve couldn’t think of a single man who fit the prophecy’s requirements of royal lineage and a user of magic. Though perhaps someone of the mysterious Elven race he had heard so much about. Haldorum made mention of them during one of their training sessions back at the Crag, saying they had retreated from all the races with the first onset of the sickness some eighteen years ago, but no one had seen or heard of them since. Perhaps, if they haven’t died off, there was an eligible prince to be found among them.
Steve seated himself upon a stone bench half-circled by an immaculately trimmed, waist-high hedge and shook his head at the staggeringly overbalanced ratio of questions to answers.
Rather than continue to spin his mental wheels to no avail, he changed focus and turned to the beauty of the garden surrounding him. The nighttime shadows played tricks with his eyes and the slow rustle of the wind through the vegetation spurred his imagination. In the midst of so much beauty, it was almost possible to forget the struggles, the cruelty, and ugliness just beyond these borders. He felt Kayliss’s agreement with this. Steve felt the big cat out there, moving unseen through the trees and coming closer. Leaves stirred with only a whisper at his passing, undetectable against the hush of the mountain breeze as he stalked the human. Steve, however, was not the prey.
Before she had even rounded the bend in the path Steve was saying, “I didn’t expect to find you out here.”
“Am I that obvious?” Sonya said coming into view.
Steve laughed. “No, but I don’t think much of anything can sneak up on me when Kayliss is around.” As though summoned, the big cat bounded over the hedge and moved up alongside her. He nudged her hand affectionately until she yielded and scratched him behind the ears.
“You take all the fun out of it,” she teased, not at all surprised by his seeming appearance from nowhere. After a moment, she left the cat to drift back into the shadows and sat down beside her friend on the bench.
Sonya closed her eyes and breathed deeply, taking in the smell of the garden intermingled with the cool mountain air. The rustle of the breeze through the trees above opened her eyes and made her smile. To her right, Steve watched her with an appreciative grin.
She nudged him playfully with her shoulder. “What are you looking at?”
“You,” he replied, still admiring her. “You have a beautiful smile.”
“Well, thank you, but your princess can do it just as well.”
Steve shook his head. “No, hers is practiced. Yours comes naturally.” He looked away from her then and said, “I know I haven’t said as much, but I’m glad you’re here. The whole powers thing aside, I’m glad Haldorum couldn’t send you back.” With a rueful, and somewhat apologetic, grin he added, “Pretty selfish, huh?”
Several heartbeats passed as Sonya regarded him with a puzzled look across her face.
“No, I don’t think so,” she said finally. “At least no more selfish than I am. Though I know I could never leave these people behind knowing what I can do, I do know I wouldn’t want you to leave me here to face it on my own.” Sonya then leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”
Steve was not looking at her, his eyes staring at the ground and his cheeks flush with embarrassment.
“I’d like to try something,” he said, raising his eyes to meet Sonya’s own.
“Like what?”
Steve turned to face her, straddling the bench, and bid her to do likewise. She turned to face him similarly, and then Steve took both her hands in his own. Her soft touch pulled at some cord within him, but he shrugged away the momentary distraction.
“I need you to close your eyes,” he said. “Just trust me,” he interjected when she opened her mouth to speak.
Sonya closed her mouth and, with a slight smile, she closed her eyes. In a moment, the tingle of Steve’s magic moved through their shared contact in a swift, gentle rush. Keeping her eyes closed, she squirmed where she sat and with a giggle asked, “What are you doing?”
Steve barely quelled his own mirth and then centered his thoughts with deep and calming breath.
The familiar singing of the crystal filled the air even as the manner of the magic changed, becoming warm and soothing, pulsing like a heartbeat through her body. The coolness of the breeze faded around them both and the nighttime sounds faded to nothing.
“You can open your eyes now,” Steve said.
Sonya did so, and came to her feet with a start.
“Easy!” Steve said gripping her hands tightly, maintaining the contact. “If you lose the touch, it’s gone.”
Sonya settled back down with wide eyes onto a narrow coffee table that had once been a stone bench in a Jisetrian garden.
“This is my house,” Sonya breathed in disbelief as she looked about the living room of her home.
Every piece of furniture, every knickknack, every picture on the wall remained exactly as it was the day Steve had last seen it. The couch with two built-in recliners sat against the wall to her left, facing the entertainment center, where the stereo was on but no music played. The shades across the broad living room window were open, allowing the brilliant sunlight of early morning to fill the room. The lamps, the discarded newspaper, even a cobweb that escaped thte last cleaning was still there in the corner.
“Is it real?” Sonya asked looking to Steve.
He shook his head. “Only memories; mine and yours. You’ve done so much for me, and everyone here, that I thought I would try and do something for you.”
“Oh, Steve, I love it!” she exclaimed, squeezing his hands. “Where are my parents?”
Steve closed his eyes a moment and the images of her mother, a woman dressed in business casual with high cheekbones and auburn hair, and her father, a strong-jawed, salt-and-pepper haired man in a policeman’s uniform, appeared at the table in the adjoining dining room eating breakfast with her older brother.
Sonya was smiling as she looked at the three of them. “I miss them so much. I wish there was some way I could talk to them—at least tell them I’m all right.”
Steve nodded, understanding her desire very well, for he wanted nothing more himself than to see his family again. Before coming here, he never realized exactly how much they all meant to him. Right now he would give anything to be able to hug his mother, father and his little brother, and tell them all how much they really meant to him.
“That night you came here Haldorum told them all they could know for now.”
“I know,” Sonya replied sounding disappointed. Then her eyes brightened slightly and she gave a sad little laugh. “If I ever see them again, they’re never going to believe my story.”
“What do you mean ‘if’?” he asked her with a friendly little shake of her hands for emphasis. “By my count it’s three uber-magicked Powers against one evil sorcerer. Those are pretty good odds no matter how you slice it. You hear me?”
She looked up a bit sheepishly and smiled. “Yeah, I hear you.”
“All right, that’s the Sonya I know,” Steve said. “Now that that’s done, what say we finish this trip down Memory Lane?”
Steve closed his eyes once again and the scene faded around them as another sharpened into view; one familiar to them both.
“Good old Federal Way High,” Sonya said approvingly.
They sat in the library now, their seat since changed into the narrow countertop separating the librarian’s workspace from the main area. Students dotted the space all around, studying, reading, or just talking away the remainder of their lunch period in low tones as some often did.
“The cool thing about all this,” Steve was saying, “is that it’s all just pictures; I can bring out any place you or I have ever been. Or I can take you to all those interesting places you’ve ever wanted to see without actually taking you.”
“Oh, really, Mr. World Traveler?” Sonya replied with a raised brow. “And exactly what kind of interesting places have you ever been that I haven’t?”
Steve tilted his head as he thought about it. “Well, let’s see…”
“And I’m not talking about monster truck shows or football games. I’m talking about someplace where you have been that I would find interesting.”
Steve winced and feigned as though wounded by her words. “You think I’m a monster truck guy?” He thought about it a moment more, then his eyes took on a mischievous gleam before he closed them once more. The students faded around them rapidly, like lights winking out of existence. Then the library slowly gave way to a gray-white, hazy mist, thick as morning fog. Sonya looked about the obscure nothingness in curiosity but it was difficult to make out any distinct shapes. And then, slowly at first, their countertop changed to a pine, lacquered bench situated between two rows of gray metal lockers. Male voices rose from the mist then.
And the sound of showers.
Sonya flushed with embarrassment as the images sharpened to a scene in the men’s locker room, Steve smiling with his eyes closed all the while.
“Interesting enough?” he asked.
Chapter XXVI
The doors opened. A harsh figure of a man stepped forth from the shadows into the arena and the crowd came to their feet with a deafening roar. He raised his arms and ran to the center of the arena slashing at the air as he went, as though rending apart a dozen invisible opponents. Within the arena, raised circular platforms, ten feet in diameter and positioned at heights varying from ten to fifty feet tall, supported each by a single stripped tree trunk rising up from deep within the ground. From some of these dangled thick vines reaching to lower platforms, along with stout poles fixed in place and reaching laterally from one landing to another.
Scott appeared next, and as he looked out from the alcove he could not help but remember his lessons of ancient Rome and the famous gladiatorial games. Now, like then, two men would battle to the death for the entertainment of the crowd.
And Scott had to admit, he didn’t like his odds.
Gouroth turned his attention away from the cheering masses and smiled slowly, maliciously, at Scott. At the prodding of one of the two guards behind him, the young man marched out to stand face-to-face with the werewolf leader.
“A great day,” Gouroth scowled. “With one bite, I take back what you stole, and rid my kingdom of you.”
“But have you thought about why?” Scott asked trying to reason with him. “We should be fighting on the same side; fighting with the Resistance.”
Gouroth waved the two men away who escorted Scott and they left without a word. To Scott, he said, “Only one side, one law, one kingdom. Mine! We need not the help of humans. Not while I rule.”
Scott reeled as Gouroth’s fist shot out and caught him across the jaw. The crowd, grown quieter during their exchange of words, roared again with renewed fervor. Scott quickly regained his balance and backed away cupping his jaw in his right hand, trying as best he could to keep a safe distance but Gouroth advanced, hungry for sport. He leaped at the youth then, arm outstretched as if to grasp at his throat but, when Scott turned and dodged the obvious attack, Gouroth kicked out with his heel. Pain shot through the small of Scott’s back and he staggered a few steps before falling to his knees. Gouroth closed the distance on him once more.
Scott’s mind raced as he fought through the haze of pain. There was no way he could match Gouroth’s experience and cunning on the ground, but perhaps there was a way in the air.
“You stubborn son-of-a-bitch!” he cried. “Why are you doing this?”
Gouroth did not answer, only grinned as he moved closer still. Scott waited only a second longer and then whirled, his hands unleashing a blinding cloud of sand and earth. Gouroth screamed in rage, his hands covering his eyes, and Scott was up and running to the shortest platform only a dozen feet away. He jumped the short height, landed, and continued to run, his heels thudding on the hard wood, then jumped again to the next higher platform.
Gouroth blinked his eyes clear and peered blearily for his foe. Seeing nothing on the ground, he looked up and found Scott already eight platforms up and thirty feet the air. Scott paused long enough to glance down in the direction of the werewolf leader before leaping to a platform of equal height to his left. Growling, Gouroth followed.
Scott fled, higher and higher, jumping first left and then right, then up, to whichever platform he could reach that would take him farther from the man who pursued him. But he knew he could not run forever, and every jump was taxing his strength. On the very next leap, he barely caught the edge of the landing, and only with great effort did he pull himself up.
Kurella’s gasp was lost amid the shouting of those around her as she watched with fear in her eyes. “I know you can do it, Scott,” she whispered.
With Gouroth perhaps twenty feet below him, the young man paused and scanned one area of the crowd. There, guarded on either side, Kurella sat separated from the masses in a forward viewing box at the edge of the arena. Their eyes locked for a moment, and then Scott heard the heavy thud of a man landing on the platform behind him. He whirled and Gouroth met his gaze, his skin rippling with the onset of the change.
“This is what it means to be wolf,” he said holding out one arm. There the skin had darkened and the hair receded, giving way to dark fur and thickening muscle beneath. “You could never understand.”
“I do understand,” Scott replied cautiously, ready to move on an instant’s notice, “I just don’t know yet how to control it.”
“If understand, you know it never be controlled.” Gouroth then raised his arms into the air and released a howl that chilled his foe’s blood; bones stretching and muscle swelling, mottled brown fur growing; the whole of the man lost in the ecstasy of the change.
Scott watched terror-stricken for only a few seconds before realizing he had to run. Now. Anywhere. He turned and leaped off the platform, falling through the air until catching a vine and swinging to the safety of a lower platform thirty feet away. He landed and swept his gaze left and right. Seeing a possible weapon, he ran to the edge and jumped, rolling as he hit the next platform over. He came to his feet and the wolf that was Gouroth was already there, clinging to the trunk of a tree only twenty feet to the side, his clawed hands and feet holding him to the wood as surely as a fly to a wall. Scott seized the stout piece of deadfall he spied earlier and whirled to face Gouroth just as the werewolf leader leaped across. He landed with sinister grace as Scott faced him undaunted with his makeshift staff held at the ready.
“We don’t have to do this,” Scott insisted. “I’m like you now. The wolf is in me. Even that sucker punch has already healed.” A fact even Scott himself was still amazed to discover. “You’re only doing this out of pride!”
“And the reason you run is fear,” Gouroth retorted, his lips pulling back over his teeth for emphasis.
“Of course I’m afraid!” Scott declared ludicrous. “Even as a man you’re both bigger and stronger.”
Gouroth lowered his stance to all fours menacingly and then stalked him sideways a few steps. For a moment he looked about to pounce, but then laughed as Scott tensed.
“A wolf’s strength is not determined by his body, but by the spirit of the wolf within him. One can never be wolf who does not understand; and one who does not understand will never have Kurella.”
Kurella’s father or no, the very thought this man might take her away infuriated him. Scott charged screaming, swinging the staff with every ounce of strength he could muster. The audacity of the attack looked to surprise even Gouroth; despite this, however, he reflexively stood to his full height and, almost in
differently, raised his forearm as the makeshift weapon descended to strike the bone and break off, leaving a sharp, wooden point. Spittle flew from between the enraged young man’s bared teeth as he reversed his swing and struck Gouroth in the groin. In the next heartbeat, Scott leveled the pointed end and plunged it deep into the werewolf’s chest.
Gouroth blinked wide-eyed several times and Scott released his hold on the staff. He backed away in shock, equally amazed and horrified by what he had done. Gouroth’s hands slowly fastened around the length of wood protruding from his body as the blood flowed from the wound. The roar of the crowd quieted to a dull buzz at the sight, watching.
And then Gouroth began to change.
The mottled coat gave way to scarred and toughened flesh as he slowly returned to his human height. Facial bones cracked and reformed, pulling the muzzle back and shortening his teeth as his claws withdrew and flattened out into fingernails once more. The transformation complete, there was only Gouroth the man. His dark brown eyes looked to the staff buried in his chest for moments more before finally looking up to Scott. The young man shifted uncomfortably under those eyes, suddenly feeling guilty for his deed. Gouroth said nothing, only sank to his knees in a pool of his own blood.
“Why?” Scott demanded of him. He turned his eyes away then, unable to look upon the man anymore.
“Scott, don’t! It’s a trick!” Kurella screamed.
Gouroth wrenched the staff out of his chest with a vicious yank and then swept Scott’s feet out from under him with it.
Kurella’s anguished cry filled the air. She had seen this kind of toying from her father before, and she recognized when his toying was at an end. Though normally forbidden to interfere in a fight between two males of her clan, she could not stand by and do nothing. Scott did not know their ways; had not been given time to commune with the wolf spirit. He did not know how to bring on the change.
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