Into the Storm

by Scott Marcy

  The gray walls of Refuge rose like a monolith. Built from mine tailings, the city reminded Alex of a tomb, dark, foreboding, and having high square towers. Sparse vegetation spread around the single source of water, the Desolation River. This waterway flowed into the parched wasteland, and after passing Refuge, it absorbed so much salt as to make it unusable. This river of death flowed into the wastelands and dwindled to nothing. Thus went the saying, “as hopeless as the Desolation River.”

  This caravan transported supplies: foodstuffs, medicine, tools, mail, and such the like. It stretched over a mile behind Sam, and exhausted horses struggled to pull heavy-laden wagons. Each step the horses took drew iron-rimmed wheels through well-worn ruts and ground salt into dust, dust picked up by the wind that lashed them.

  Sam turned his horse about and took a swig from his canteen. His keen elvan eyes spotted Alex near the rear of the caravan. She appeared no happier than when he assigned her the task: a mile of horse sweat, manure, filthy drivers, and refuse created a foul stench. However, it was the starting position for all junior team members, and she still had much to prove. He tapped his spurs and said, “Let’s go, Pilot. Refuge is still a day’s travel ahead of us.”

  Alex tried everything to avoid the stench, but her elva nose allowed her no respite. Her only solace was that the frigid wind blew away the stench. The view was none better: horse behinds and dirty wagons. Also, the drivers were filthy and boorish. Perched atop their wagons, they relieved themselves in full view of the caravan and spit globs of brown chewing tobacco. Every time she thought she could no longer endure it, she remembered Treetop City and envisioned a home of her own.

  As though dipped in black paint, from the neck down, a slip-suit covered her body like a mirrored black finish. Men found it erotic, leering at her shiny curves, but the suit had far more useful purposes. Their trip began in the humid forests, but the slip-suit kept her cool and comfortable. When they traversed the Great Plains, the insects tried in vain to bite her, and the rain rolled off without even getting her damp. Now the relentless wind swept past her with frictionless ease, and the sun failed to burn her skin — this she appreciated. What she did not appreciate was the way it conformed to her body like a second skin. This highlighted her womanly curves, and beneath her clothes, one could see the clear outline of a maiden’s belt: the silver, flexible, metallic thong attached to a wide belt at the hips, locked to prevent sexual assaults by men and monsters.

  A vest corset permitted only shallow breaths, and while it circled underneath her breasts, to avoid irritation, it caused her breasts to jut out, glossy and black, catching the light and men’s eyes. It served as a harness for most of the weapons, but she only wore a knife on her right hip and a quiver, with a bow slung around it, on her back.

  She wanted to wear a long-line coat, one that extended to her ankles, or perhaps fleece wear, thick layers to warm and to cover her body. Lyra recited the reasons against such clothing to Alex, much to her annoyance. A waistcoat might become entangle on natural obstructions, a branch, a vine, or a sharp rock, and baggy clothing provided the enemy with a lethal handgrip. As a result, she had to make due with a waist jacket.

  A year ago, she was a human male, a resident on Earth. A lesser gate blinked and transported her to Eden, after that she transformed into an Elven female. Men enjoyed leering at her, and that made her feel strange and a little threatened. When she sensed the weight of someone’s stare, her idle mind went on alert status.

  She turned this way and that in the saddle. The panoramic view of purple mountains to the west and the Salt Flats revealed no hint of danger. However, a nagging feeling of vulnerability whispered for her to run. When confronted with instinct, Alex did what most people do: she ignored it.

  Life clung to this to this waypoint and refused to die. A tent city surrounded and spread outside Refuge’s walls. Red with gold stripes, blue with green, a kaleidoscope of tents dazzled the eye. Herds of sheep and goats flowed around them, shepherds taking their flocks to the river. Men and women selling goods shouted the praise of their wares; children scurried about, eager to join in the chaos, and everywhere trade abounded.

  Lyra — Alex’s best friend, fellow elva (a female elve), and warrior — led their caravan to the outskirts of Tent City. A wagon traffic jam ensued, and tempers flared. As the horse teams trudged into camp, angry shouts erupted and a few bellowed threats. However, they soon broke free of the heavily trafficked main thoroughfare and turned right onto a lesser traveled road.

  The closer one got to the city, the more expensive the real estate, so wishing to save money, Sam selected a campsite near the southeastern perimeter of the camp, just on the other side of the razor-wire barriers. One by one, they found their assigned plots, and by the time Alex arrived, the camp was in full swing: horses skittered about, glad to be free of their harnesses; men gathered in small clusters, discussing the trip and weather; trail mothers prepared meals, and apprentices groomed their horses.

  When she approached a group of men, she kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, and her body tensed. They paused from their debate to watch her pass. Some of them stared at her pelvis. Her tights molded as if vacuum-sealed and displayed every nuance of her maiden’s belt. Others stared at her chest as if mesmerized, licking their lips, rubbing their weathered faces, and flashing toothless grins. However, the few that stared at her necklace bothered her the most. The silver choker included a D-ring and an oval in front, but the oval remained blank, unclaimed by a master or mistress. They imagined themselves taking possession of her, branding her choker with their crest, and attaching a leash to their property.

  All of the men, however, noted her long knives, bow, and full quiver strapped to her back. She was a warrior woman, and a reckless grope would return a bloody stump. However, leering was socially acceptable.

  Pain from a day in the saddle compelled her right hand to slide around to her backside and rub. Lyra crossed her arms and smirked. “A bit sore are we? I’m sure there are plenty of men who would rub it for you.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Alex said and pouted. “I don’t know why we can’t wear something less body conforming.”

  “Because our customers pay to look,” Hank Lutz, the trail boss, said. “We charge 30% more than any other team, and we have a waiting list. Provided they don’t touch, let them look to their heart’s content. Some pay generous tips to their favorite girl, so get out there and flirt. You can double your pay.”

  Before Alex could reply, Sterling Cook strode past them with a sway of her hips and an impish smile on her face. The callow young man they knew transformed into a blonde goddess: golden hair, eyes that sparkled like deep blue waters, peaches and cream complexion, a beauty that beguiled, the body of a temptress, but all this combined with youthful innocence. No one knew why she did it. There were plenty of theories, but she deflected all questions regarding her transition. However, she appeared to embrace being a woman and relished men’s attention. She palmed her breasts and adjusted them. “My vest-corset pinches a little. I think I made my bosoms too large.”

  Kaylin screwed up her face and asked, “Can’t you just alter them. You know, make them smaller?”

  “In the first place, the magical energy I used to transform was considerable, and the ingredients for the potion were costly. While I can make small alterations, it would use up too much energy while we are on the trail. I may need it for self-defense. Second, bigger boobs beget bigger tips,” she said and slid her hands slid around her wide hips. She smiled at the men and waved, “Hello, boys.” With a vixen strut, she walked toward them and said, “How is your trip so far? Is there anything I can kiss and make it better?” The men roared with laughter and offered her a drink.

  “She’s already earned twice as much as the rest of you.” Hank took the reins of Alex’s horse from her. “Now get over there and flirt.” When he gave Alex’s bottom a sharp smack, she scampered forward, protected her backside with her hands, and the men snick
ered. She spun to glare at Hank, but he already moved onto another task.

  Sterling flicked her blonde locks, batted her long eyelashes, and smiled. She traded lewd comments with the drivers and encouraged them to leer. Her brazen boldness put her in control. After a while, she shifted the topic to home and loved ones. The men traded stories as if in group therapy, and a somber mood settled over them.

  Alex envied Sterling’s ease and effortless grace. She shifted from man to woman as though changing clothes. Alex wanted to dismiss her transition from man to woman as unimportant, but the proverb is true: “truth resists simplicity.” The changes were profound and life altering. When she spotted Sam leading Pilot through the camp, she left the group and hurried to him. When she walked by his side, she said, “Hank said the drivers pay more because of the girls ….”

  Sam listened with patience as he tethered Pilot to a wagon. After he had removed the saddle and blanket, he worked on the feet, picking out stones lodged in the hoof. When she paused to take a breath, Sam said, “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but Hank’s right. Men pay extra to look, and that earns higher fees. However, I hire only the best, and you are more than window dressing. I expect my girls to defend the caravan, but it doesn’t pay to fight the wind.” He released the horse’s leg and moved to the next hoof.

  Sam’s comment deflated Alex’s ego. She expected him to rebuke Hank and establish a “no sexual harassment policy,” one with real punishments. Sam was a man of the 19th century, an American Civil War veteran, so he viewed the relationship between the sexes in a much different way. He continued grooming his horse and turned his back on her. The silence that followed fueled her disillusionment and created a rift between them.

  Alex turned toward the setting sun as it fell across the Barrier Mountains. To the southwest, a great storm swept across the Elysian Forests, but it would never arrive. The westward winds deflected off the Barrier Mountains and drove it southeast. Thus was it ever on the Flats, endless thirst and storms without rain.

  Sam glanced up at her while he picked at another hoof. “I can see your wheels spinning. No man knows what a woman’s thinking unless she tells him.”

  Her arms crossed, Alex shrugged and said, “I keep forgetting this isn’t Earth. My life back in the U.S. seems like a dream, and I woke up to my true reality.”

  “No don’t go getting all dumpish. We all have parts to play.” He stood upright, stretched his back, and joined her staring at the sun sinking into the west. His gaze grew distant as his thoughts drifted backward in time. “’All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts ….’ I learned that as a boy. I watched my poppa go from hero to drunk.” Sam began to clean the next hoof. “We don’t choose what role we play, but we choose how we play it.”

  Sterling threw back her head in laughter and hooked her arm through a driver’s arm. She held him close and made him feel like a king. “She’s comfortable in either role,” Alex said with a pout. “How does she do that?”

  Sam tipped back his cavalry hat and wiped the sweat from his brow with a kerchief. “I can’t speak to it.” Alex hoped from some pearls of wisdom, but Sam returned to grooming Pilot. “You should ask her. And while I’m thinking of it, you need to arm yourself. Despite the name, Refuge is a dangerous place, both within and without. We’re in perilous country from here to Midway City. Tell Lyra that I want guards posted by day and night.”

  Alex made her way through the camp to a private changing tent. The other girls were already in various states of undress: bathing and changing clothes. When she entered the tent, the other girls glanced at her and continued dressing. No screams, no desperate grabs for clothing, no shouts to “get out,” as one would if a man entered, they accepted Alex with a shrug and continued dressing. This wounded her male pride. I may be in a woman’s body, but I am still a man. The void between her thighs protested that conclusion: she was one of the girls, and her masculine identity was a mirage.

  The girls helped one another don their armor: scale-mail tunic that resembled a long sleeve mini-dress, thigh-high black boots with built-in sabatons, breastplate, backplate, pauldrons, gauntlets, and greaves. Next, they donned their weapons — a panoply of lethality. “Where’s Sterling?” asked Lyra. “I hate chasing after her like she’s a school girl. She’s supposed to arm herself for battle and put on her armor.”

  “Wizards wear armor?” asked Alex.

  Lyra said, “Yes. Battlemages do. Well, it’s not armor we would wear, but it is armor … sort of. It kinds of reminds you of a silver and diamond mini-dress with silvery knee-high boots.”

  “She carries a really pretty silver staff topped by a fire diamond,” Kaylin said. “And the dress comes with special silver panties: they act like a maiden’s belt. I wish we wore them.”

  “Yes, her armor is beautiful.” Lyra rubbed her temples and squeezed her eyes shut. “Will you please find her and get her back here?”

  Alex grumbled and wandered the camp. It seemed they assigned her every unpleasant or demeaning job. As far as she was concerned, Sterling could go without armor. A group of men congregated near a wagon, and when she asked them about Sterling, they smirked and pointed to a tent. Their mischievous expressions gave her pause, but she had a job to do, one that she wanted to be finished.

  A burnt red tent lay next to the wagon, providing easy access to the necessities, and it had the flaps untied, a sign that one may enter. Alex pulled open a flap, opened her mouth to speak, but instead gaped in stunned silence. The driver lay atop Sterling in the midst of lovemaking. Alex snatched the tent flap closed and scurried away from the tent.

  The men roared with laughter as she sped past them, and Louis Gardner shouted, “If you want to join her, I’ll pay real silver.” Alex chewed on a thumbnail and ignored them. After she had circled around a tent, she stopped and debated what to do. She turned around and peered around the tent. When Ned exited, Louis entered.

  “I can’t believe this,” she whispered and wrung her hands.

  “Did you find Sterling?” Lyra asked, causing Alex to jump and spin.

  “I … um … well,” she stammered and tugged at the hem of her scale-mail tunic. She screwed up her face and pointed at the tent. “She’s in there, but she’s busy.”

  Lyra cocked her head, and after a few seconds, her face lit up with comprehension. A moment later, she glared at the tent as if it was an enemy. Fists clenched and scowling, she marched into the tent. “GET OFF HER!” Louis stumbled out of the tent, pulling up his trousers. “We are not whores,” she shouted. “Put on your clothes and get over to the equipment tent. NOW!”

  Chapter 4

  Tent City spread out for miles around Refuge. Besides the buildings belonging to the merchants, travelers stayed long enough to complete their business and then departed. Wagons rolled entered and exited by both day and night. Heavily laden wagons drove into the streets and flowed into the center of the camp. Some of the wagons unfolded and rose up, supplemented by canvas walls and ceilings, into two-story structures. One could find anything for sale, and on the frontier, there was no law to set things right if it all went wrong.

  Rows of tents, some new and some old, stretched out around them, and the setting sun shed its last light upon the flats. The aroma of stewpots and roasting meat made their stomachs rumbled. Weary men perked up with the girls passed them by and gave them long sideways leers. Two men started counting their coins, hoping the girls were for hire. Kaylin said, “I’m going to get a good four hours sleep tonight. I am so tired.”

  “See that you do,” Lyra said. “We’ll spend a few weeks here than then head north for Midway City. Maybe we will get lucky and team up with another caravan on its way to Midway. There’s strength in numbers.”

  “I’m never that lucky,” Alex said.

  Sterling nodded and said, “Me neither.”

  “Let’s get some sleep,” Lyra said and cra
wled into her tent. “It’s been a long day” Still clothed and wearing armor, the women crawled into their pup tents and passed out. They fell into a deep sleep and dreamed of stars. However, after only a few hours, a shrill screech ripped them from their slumber.

  They scrambled out of their tents and drew their weapons. The camp was in disarray: the silhouettes of men and women rushed to defend their wagons. The twin moons and behind them a swath of stars provided ample light. When their eyes adjusted, turning the world into monochrome brilliance, they searched for the source of the danger.