“Two, I am curious to see why the skry answered as it did. I am a sucker for riddles, and that is a great mystery. But I will never get an answer if you don’t return to marry her.”
“It’s a mystery to me too,” Floyd said. He saw nothing about himself to make him better than any other village lout.
“Three: Amelie purchased my service. So we made the deal, and I am here. If I do not succeed in safeguarding you, I will not get paid.”
“But Amelie has no great money,” he protested. “None of the villagers do.”
She made a gesture as if spitting to the side. “I have no need of gold; I have plenty, which I can conjure at need. It is a mere medium of exchange. No, I will require something more fundamental and enduring.”
“Like what?” He was really curious.
“I haven’t decided yet. It might be her soul; we fantasy creatures lack them and crave them.”
“Her soul!” he exclaimed, appalled.
She put her fine little hand on his. “Peace, Floyd. It can be collected only after she dies of natural causes, probably several decades hence. A soul can’t be hurried, or it loses validity. You could have a happy lifetime with her.”
“What else?” he asked grimly.
“Maybe her firstborn son. We Fee don’t have many males in our number, and they are valuable, especially when properly trained from birth. We can’t bear our own, of course; immortality has its price.”
“But that would be my firstborn son too!”
“She might bear you only girls. Then you would escape that sacrifice. I am ready to gamble on a boy. He would grow up to be no lout.”
“Is there a third option?” he asked, hoping to find something less strenuous.
“I might require the services of her husband every night of the full moon, for the sabbat.”
“But the sabbats are notorious! They are orgiastic affairs no decent person would touch. I wouldn’t agree to that.”
“As if you would have a choice,” she said seriously.
Floyd remembered her kiss, and the fact that she was telling him the truth. As he gazed at her in her nakedness, her body seemed to glow enticingly. She had turned him off, sexually, at least in the purely physical sense; she could turn him on. Indeed, he would not have a choice. But if that was what it took to save his life, and fulfill Amelie’s dream, how could he decline? Anyway, it was far away from now. Much could happen in the interim.
“Like your death,” she said, as if reading his mind. As if? Could she—?
Slowly she nodded. Well, if he had to be nursemaided, she was surely competent. It was probably a fair deal, all things considered. And she nodded again.
“So I guess we’ll be keeping company for three years,” he said. “But I still have questions.”
“To answer them,” she said. “You may call me Faux.”
“Fo? Fo Fee?”
“Fee fo fi fum,” she said, smiling. “No, that word is spelled F A U X, for false, pronounced Fo. I resemble Amelie, by no coincidence, but I am not her, so I am false in that respect. I look as young as you, and that is a monstrous falsity too. I seem to strangers to be innocent, and that may be the greatest falsity of all.”
“Faux,” he repeated, this time mentally spelling it correctly. He realized that because she could read his mind, she had picked up on his error. He was indeed ignorant.
“And no, Amelie need not be concerned about my seducing you, as I could readily do. I am not interested, at least at this time, no matter how coquettishly I may act on occasion, and of course I can prevent you from ever getting serious about addressing my body.” She glanced meaningfully at his midsection, which remained completely passive despite his aroused thoughts.
Still, there was one more question.
“And that one could be a problem,” she agreed, reading his thoughts again. “Suppose I were to actually get interested in you, perhaps because I get to like your qualities, or because I figure out what it is that makes you so highly marriageable, and want to take you for my own? I could take you for your lifetime, and move on thereafter. I have done similarly before, in the course of eons. Amelie would not like that. I would forfeit the payment, of course, but still it could be awkward.”
“Awkward,” he agreed somewhat ruefully.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Let’s hope,” he agreed again. But he wasn’t sure, and the knowing twitch of her lips didn’t help. He nearly wondered if there was a way to make himself appear less desirable, but decided to stop that thought in its tracks.
“And the question you didn’t think to ask,” she said. “How did Amelie come to make the deal with me? And the answer is that she found one more spell in the volume, on how to summon a supernatural creature. I was in the vicinity, on call as it were, so I responded, and we made the deal. Then your folks sent you out, knowing that I would intercept you. Now there’s merely the chore of keeping you out of mischief for three years, and making sure you see enough to have good tales to tell upon your return. I believe I have a convenient route. Now go poop; it’s time for us to rest and sleep, preparing for the morrow.”
“Go—” he began querulously. Then his gut kicked in, and he practically leaped for the privy pot before he exploded. She had known, again, before he did.
She merely smiled.
“What for the morrow?” he called as he performed, no longer caring what she saw. He had no secrets from her anyway.
“That ship the press-gang serves,” she answered. “It sails for far ports. We’ll take it.”
“I don’t want to be a galley slave!”
“Of course not. We will travel in style as the Dowager Queen of Lyonnesse and her wastrel nephew, whom she is taking to Xanadu to make a man of him, so that he will be ready to assume the throne when the time comes. It will doubtless be a long hard haul, physically and emotionally, but it will be accomplished in due course.”
Floyd completed his toilette and returned to the table. “Xanadu—isn’t that rather far away?”
“Half around the world, in Mongolia. It will require months to get there, if we don’t take shortcuts.” She indicated a pile of straw. “Put on your shorts and sleep here beside me. There is room for two, and I don’t want to have to conjure more.”
He balked. “That’s too far. I don’t want to go.”
She pursed her lips as for a compelling kiss. “We will go. I have long been curious about Xanadu where Kublai Khan made a stately pleasure dome beside the sacred River Alph. There are said to be marvelous caverns, and a sunless sea.”
He put on his shorts but did not lie down. “No. I want some say in where we go. It’s my Journey, after all.”
She stepped toward him, lips leading. “I will not argue, Floyd.”
“You’re bluffing,” he said, though he was uncomfortably nervous. “You don’t want to kiss me into submission, because then you’d be stuck for three years with a lovesick village lout forever trying to beg your slightest favor like a hungry puppy, and that would be an impossible pain in the posterior. You want me to agree to do your bidding so you don’t have to waste magic on me and can sleep beside me without having to constantly remove my fumblingly eager hands from your body.”
Faux paused, assessing him. “Not just your hands. So there’s a bit of a spine there after all. What do you really want?” She did not seem angry, surprisingly.
“Just a hint of respect. You’re not my mother or my lover, just a creature hired to keep me safe. You won’t dictate terms to me.”
She nodded. “Agreed. Where do you want to go?”
It had worked! He had established his domain, as it were. He lay down beside her. But then he realized that he had no place in mind. “Xanadu will do.”
She smiled. “So it will.”
“What about Old Blackie? I don’t want him to suffer.”
“He can come too. With enough gold anything is possible, and I’ve got enough. Now sleep.”
H
e opened his mouth to protest being dismissed, but suddenly he was deep in slumber. Fortunately his dreams were sweet. In them she didn’t mind if he touched her body with hands or whatever.
Chapter 3: Fade Out
Floyd was certain it had all been a dream. The Dusky Elf. The magical tree. The breasts. My God, the breasts. And Amelie, too. Ah, sweet Amelie. Although it had all been a dream, it had been nice to know, however briefly, that the fates had something in store for the two of them.
But, alas, she was on the other side of the village, and he was here, in bed, in his family’s simple cottage, with another day of feeding chickens and showing Old Blackie to look forward to. Oh, and pining after Amelie.
The Journey.
Always, The Journey had been at the back of his mind. Always he knew his time would come. And it had come. Yesterday. When his mother had roused him from in front of the central fire, where he had fallen asleep listening to yet another of his father’s own stories, and been told it was time. Time for what, he asked. Your Journey, she had answered. I packed Old Blackie for you. There’s clean underwear too.
He had stumbled out of the cottage, pushed along by his father, with his kid sister weeping in the doorway, a smattering of neighbors to see him off. He was certain he had seen Amelie back there, too, in the shadows, and then he was too far away to see any of them. And then it was too dark to see even his village. And then the rains had come and the forest had closed in, and he had been one miserable camper, as his dad would say.
But that had all been a dream, right? Because shortly after he had heard the slave traders coming—or what he had assumed were the slave traders—and that’s when the little elf had appeared in the form of Amelie. Amelie!
After that, well, after that had been the stuff of dreams. Of which he was emerging out of now, surely in the comfort of his own bed.
Except...
He touched the mattress with his fingertips, then patted it. This wasn’t his straw mattress with its quilted cover. This was soft. So very soft and heavenly and—
He bolted upright.
And not his bed!
***
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” said a voice from above.
Floyd blinked and rubbed his eyes and seemed to be having a hard time adjusting them. After all, what his eyes were reporting back surely didn’t make sense. A woman was floating above him, legs crossed. And naked.
Now, as his eyes came into focus, Floyd found himself conflicted. Firstly, he had never quite seen a view such as this. Second, he didn’t want to disrupt such a view either, except he needed answers.
“No, you did not dream last night, you dolt.”
Floyd propped himself on his elbows, still looking up, knowing he was being impolite, but unable to tear his gaze away. Then again, maybe this was all part of the dream, too? Maybe he hadn’t really woken up? Maybe he was still back in—
“Ouch!”
“Snap out of it. This is no dream, strange as it might seem. You are awake, as evidenced by my slap, which, by the way, I enjoyed entirely too much.”
He rubbed his heated cheek. “Speak for yourself.”
“It had to be done.”
“You could have, you know, pinched my arm or something.”
“Nothing like a sharp pain to knock some sense in you.”
Floyd stopped rubbing his cheek. It was, after all, more of a shock than anything. “Why are you floating up there?”
“Because Fee don’t sleep, silly boy.”
“Why not?”
The naked creature unfolded her compact frame and settled in next to him, much like a feather coming to rest. “I don’t quite know. And if I did know, I have forgotten.”
“Just how old are you?” he asked, fully aware that, although she lay on her side with one arm propping up her head, her breasts hovered as if floating in water.
“Put your tongue back in your mouth. And I told you last night. I’m older than the hills.”
“But how old is that?”
She scrunched her face. Her pointed ears twitched. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know a lot,” he said, all too aware that he was still naked. His clothes were surely dry by now, even though Faux hadn’t made a fire. He suspected the elf had something up her sleeve when it came to drying his clothing. Even though she wasn’t presently sporting any sleeves. Or anything, for that matter.
Breasts, he thought. She’s sporting breasts.
“Hey, wake up little boy.”
“I’m not little. I’m eighteen. A man in my village.”
“A man who had been turned away and told to return only when he had enough stories.”
“You know the ways of my village?” he asked.
“That, and you talk a lot in your sleep. And you are a little touchy-feely.”
Floyd thought back to his dreams of the night before. Yes, they had, in fact, been very pleasant dreams. “So you just floated up there all night?”
“No, I dried your clothing.” She pointed at his trousers and tunic and boots, all of which were thrown over crystals that he hadn’t noticed before, crystals as big as his chickens back home. They glowed from within, seemingly radiating heat. “And sometimes I lay next to you.”
“Why did you lie next to me?” he asked.
“I get lonely. I hope you don’t mind.”
He blinked. That perfection was lying next to him? Of course he didn’t mind.
“Enough of that,” said Faux rising again into the air. And this time, as she rose, he watched something he still wasn’t entirely prepared to see: clothing appeared over her curved flesh. And as it did, her face and figure changed too. Before his very eyes, the Dusky Elf had turned into the great love of his life, Amelie.
“Now, are you ready?” she asked.
“For what?” he asked, already forgetting their conversation from the night before. There was a lot that he wanted to forget, admittedly. Like his own parents sending him out into a driving storm, to be kidnapped and sold into slavery. Or worse.
“Your adventure, you dolt!”
“Perhaps we can stay here, in your home—and dream up stories for the next year?”
“All while you fall hopelessly in love with me?”
She had him there. Her Amelie impression was perfect enough to confuse him to no end, even down to the voice and hand gestures. He shrugged glumly.
“But we’re safe here,” he said.
Her motion was faster than he expected. In one instant she was standing before him, hands on hips, and the next she had flipped backwards, retrieved his clothing, and flipped back to present him with them. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
“Wrong?” His clothes were wonderfully warm.
“Get dressed. We’re not safe here.”
“But—”
“No buts, hurry.”
“I don’t understand.”
And just as he pulled his leg through his trousers, hopping on one foot, he saw what she meant. The magical room was fading before his eyes. Just beyond the forest was coming into view. The soggy, dripping forest. And perched against trees here and there, their backs pressed against them and heads lolled to the sides, were half a dozen men. The press-gang, surely, waiting them out. One of them knew a little about Fee magic.
“Oh, bunk,” she said, pointing.
He saw it, too. One of the men wasn’t sleeping. One of the men was floating above the forest floor, similar to Faux’s display earlier.
“A Dusky Elf?” he asked, pushing his head through his tunic and yanking on the first of his boots. The room was rapidly dissolving. More of the forest came into view.
“A Hunter Elf,” she said through pursed lips.
“Why is he here? What does he want with me?”
She didn’t answer at first.
“Faux?” asked Floyd. He had pulled on his boot and the magical room was nearly completely dissolved.
“He’s not after you,” she said. “He’s after me.”
/>
In that moment, the shield went down and somewhere a horse neighed. Nearly all the men jumped to their feet. The Hunter Elf lifted his head, looked at them, and smiled. It was not a nice smile.
Floyd didn’t know much, but he knew how to run. He leaped upon Old Blackie and grabbed Faux’s hand and yanked her up behind him. The nice thing about an elf, Floyd thought as he heeled his horse, is that they are nearly light as air.
They dashed off into the forest, riding hard, with the sounds of their pursuers close behind.
Chapter 4: Innocence
It was great having Faux virtually glued to his back, and he was highly conscious of the soft parts of her body touching him. But Floyd soon realized that the press-gangsmen had faster, fresher horses than tired Old Blackie. They were gaining, and they were already way too close for comfort. Worse, the Hunter Elf was unmounted. He floated ahead and slightly to the side of them, his intense gaze fixed on Faux. He could not be escaped no matter how fast the horse ran.
“What does he want with you?” Floyd asked as they charged through the forest.
“What does any bull want with a cow?” she asked in return. “Or a buck goat with a doe in heat?”
Floyd had seen such animals in action. She was right: that was the look the elf was firing at her. He could appreciate why: she was as luscious a female as he had ever seen, clothed or unclothed, active or in repose.
“Willing or unwilling,” she finished his thought. She took a deep breath, which he felt at two delightful spots on his back. “Ravisher has lusted after me for what seems like eons. I have held the brute off magically, but he regards it as a challenge. If I make any slip at all, he’ll bind me spread-eagled with a spell and nail my flinching pelvis to a tree trunk for hours before he even warms up his member, let alone exhausts it.”
Floyd shuddered. A supernatural man would not have mortal limits. “But you’re not in heat,” he protested weakly. Animals did not breed when not in heat.
“True. I can take it or leave it. But he is in chronic heat and cares not whether his target is ready or unready. He is a mean male.”
The Journey Page 2
