Guardians of the Portals

by Nya Rawlyns

  Trey stared back at Caitlin. How in the worlds could anyone show such kindness? Especially after the way he’d belittled and punished her, inflicting pain at every opportunity, tearing down her self-esteem to keep her off balance and completely dependent on him for their survival. He was not unaware of her attraction to him. Her eyes gave her away, softening when the lust and longing over-rode good sense. It was those times he needed to slap or pinch, to grapple and hurl her to the ground and drive the air from her lungs, anything to smash the conduit of energy that threatened to swamp him. Only when the bile and the sweet tang of hatred rose like a red haze in her eyes could he relax and deal with his tottering monument to self-control.

  Even now, with his manhood only partially healed, the bruising ugly and sore to the touch, he could barely restrain the rush of hot blood and desire. There was no understanding the link between them. She could not possibly comprehend how bizarre their situation was. He had no other word for it. She would only understand it as an attraction, and mercifully her ability to toggle from one emotion to another would save her from the crystalline-sharp ache that had become his every waking moment. He knew the inexplicable bond to be so much more than simple feelings.

  The woman moaned and turned over, leaving the thin blankets and saddle pads bunched behind her back. Though the air rapidly warmed, there was enough of a chill that she shivered. Trey grabbed the can of fruit and stood unsteadily. The stasis demanded every ounce of energy for the healing process to succeed. He felt weak and disoriented, partially from his damnable eyesight putting everything into soft, fuzzy focus. He wondered where his glasses had gotten to and if they were still intact. If he lost them, they would be in deep shit for he’d not be able to see any danger until it was directly under his nose—and that would be far too late.

  He wanted nothing more than to cradle her thin body and will her better, but his own needs to answer nature’s call dictated otherwise. Besides, he needed to scout the ledge and confirm that his brother’s body still rested at the bottom of the cliff. He set the can of fruit aside and drew the blanket over the woman. His hand encountered the worn denim of his jeans. He’d forgotten he wore no clothes, so high had his temperature soared. He gathered the pants and his cotton shirt and staggered outside.

  It promised to be another searing hot day. This world oscillated between blast furnace temps when the sky cleared or dull chill when the frequent inversions cloaked air and lungs with stinging particulates. The only benefit to daylight was that you could see the predators coming when it was clear—and they didn’t fly when it wasn’t. The pterodactyl-like reptiles therefore preferred the extended moonrises for hunting prey. That they had successfully avoided becoming meals was due mostly to vigilance and not a small amount of dumb luck. Last night he’d feared their luck had finally run out.

  Trey gingerly pulled the jeans over his still-swollen cock. He would need to gather what few energy reserves remained and deal with the achiness. There was no way he’d parade naked in front of the woman and risk having lust kick-start her powers. Even skinny as a rail, weak and debilitated, if she wanted to, she could knock him into next moonrise. That thought made him smile. For some reason, a grappling match with a woman who could take him, mano-a-mano, appealed immensely.

  Trey wondered why he thought of her as “the woman” now? Why couldn’t he use her given name? At first, he’d rolled it on his tongue, savouring the click in the back of the throat, allowing the ‘aaay’ sound to vibrate and massage the roof of his mouth. It had been strangely sensual—it still was.

  He slipped his shirt on but left it unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up, all the while scanning the ground as best he could. The glasses seemed to have gone walkabout, probably over the side of the cliff. He paced to the edge and peered over, then cursed profusely as it occurred to him that he’d never be able to see that far without the spectacles.

  For the briefest second, he thought about his brother, Bryn. They had been inseparable, despite the difference in their ages, Bryn being nearly ten years older. Bryn changed once the rite of passage forever altered their relationship. From his defender and confidant, Bryn became his severest critic and harshest disciplinarian. Even their father had puzzled over the changes; but, as was the way with the warriors, everyone eventually accepted or ignored the new reality. What it did was, finally and forever, isolate him from the rest of his family. When the final break came, and he made the fateful decision to follow his uncle, the choice was easy and uncomplicated. He’d not looked back since.

  “Hello?”

  Trey tensed and spun, annoyed that he’d been caught out in his reverie, not paying attention. That could, and would, get them both killed.

  He snarled, “Don’t ever do that.”

  “I-I’m sorry. I thought you might need these.” She held out his glasses.

  He grabbed for them but missed by inches, his vision so badly compromised from the bright sunlight, he might as well have kept his eyes closed. He held out his hand, relief flooding his face when the woman carefully laid the wire frames on his palm. He settled them on his nose with satisfaction.

  She stood in high relief against the dark maw of the cave, her skirt nearly falling off her hips, even with the cord drawn tight. The mule poked his head into the light, but withdrew it quickly. The woman’s eyes widened and she mouthed ‘oh my God’ and pointed to the far horizon.

  Trey grabbed the frail form and yanked her into the cave, hauling her to the furthest reaches. The horses and mule he could do nothing about. He listened as the ‘pfut-pfut-pfut’ of the Dragonflies echoed over the hard granite outcrops as they worked a pattern over the flat. The hydrogen peroxide motors would move the lightweight machines at close to one hundred knots, fast enough that they’d complete the pattern in short order. Then they’d turn their attention to the mountainside.

  “Wait here.” He shoved her against the wall and squeezed her arms, hard. She nodded that she understood. He crept back to the entrance, shielding his eyes, and the glasses, from the direct light. If the glass or metal frame so much as caught a single ray, it would bounce out like a mirror flashing, in come-and-get-us semaphores. It was easy to follow the diminutive single-man craft as they left a water vapour trail in a bizarre skywriting fashion.

  “Damn it to hell,” he cursed.

  He strode to the rear of the cave and stopped in front of the woman.

  “How the hell did they get those machines through the Portal? How?”

  The woman cringed and held her hands, palms out, terror writ on her face. Great, she thinks I think she’s to blame. Look at her. What the sweet gods have I done?

  “Not you, damn it.” It came out harsher than he intended and only served to aggravate the situation. He had to get a grip. They needed each other. He wasn’t strong enough to carry the burden alone. If they were to get out of this alive, he would need her powers to bolster his own.

  “We don’t have time for this. Look, I’m sorry. Deal with it. We need to get out of here. We’re sitting ducks.” He shook her thin shoulders. “Do you understand?”

  Caitlin’s head rocked back and smacked the cave wall hard. Her face slipped into a mask of red rage that said, loud and clear, I’m done taking your shit.

  “Good, it’s about time, woman. Get our stuff together. I’ll saddle up.”

  The woman moved to obey as he grabbed the saddle pads and flung them on her horse and the mule.

  “What...?”

  “We can’t take my horse, he’s spent. We’ll send him down the mountain. They’ll waste time trying to figure it out.” He swung a saddle onto her horse and adjusted the stirrups for his legs to accommodate his lower center of gravity.

  “The panniers and camp stuff?”

  “Leave it. We’re travelling light and fast. Just take the blankets. Wrap the food in them.”

  “There’s only a couple strips of jerky and the fruit.”

  “All right. We’ll eat it now.” He did a final wrap on the bille
ts and turned to find her holding out the tin of fruit. He snatched it from her fingers and took a long draught of the syrup. It had a gagging sweetness and he felt his stomach roiling. He fought to keep it down, knowing it might be days before they found water—if they found water. He couldn’t think about that yet, one crisis at a time.

  He handed her the tin and ordered, “Finish the fruit. There’s enough syrup in the pieces. The jerky’s too dry, I’ll eat that.”

  He went back to saddling the mule but listened to be sure she ate as directed. He thought, briefly, that it was such a waste to let the horse go free. They could have used the carcass for food but that option was long gone. Besides, he doubted she’d have touched the meat.

  He slipped the bosal attachment onto the halter and adjusted it so it sat comfortably, then did the same for the horse. After gathering the blankets, he tied them onto the cantle of the mule’s saddle. He pointed to the woman and barked, “Check where they are. I can’t risk the light reflecting off my glasses.”

  She nodded and skipped to the entrance but flattened herself against the wall and bobbed her head out and back in imitation of a bad cop show on TV. He smiled as she backed with extravagant slowness, right into his waiting arms.

  She ‘oofed’ and tried to move away but he held her close and whispered in her ear, “It’s not okay, do you understand? We likely won’t make it and I’m not going down without a fight.”

  She nodded and murmured, “Me either.”

  He gave her a squeeze and released her.

  Handing her the reins, he said with a flourish, “Saddle up, Apone.”

  The woman smiled and said, “I know that one. Aliens.” She frowned and tilted her head, bemused.

  “I watch movies, you know. I’m not a Neanderthal.” Her look said otherwise, but he was happy to see the flash of a smile. He was less happy at the heart palpitations and rush of blood to his nether regions.

  He led the animals to the ledge and turned right. They would mount up slightly lower down on the slope to avoid becoming easy targets. After that he’d have to assess the climb and see which way would afford them the most cover. At the base of the slope, he flipped the reins over the mule’s head and held the stirrup for her to mount. As before, she gathered the folds of her skirt and lifted her leg. The sight of the still angry bruises brought him up short. There was no way she’d survive a tough climb at speed without protection.

  “Wait. Give me my jacket.”

  She shrugged out of it and handed it over, gulping out, “I-I’m sorry,” though he didn’t understand why she felt the need to apologize. Resignation quickly masked the flicker of fear but he had no time to analyze her unpredictable moods.

  Trey pulled his knife out of its holster and proceeded to slash strips off the garment. He worked in silence for a few minutes, and when sufficiently pleased with the results, he ordered her to lift her skirts.

  “This will work something like a diaper. It’s not perfect and won’t protect your calves or inner thighs. But at least...” He let that hang in the air as her face flamed with the knowledge that he’d had to have examined her up close if he knew exactly what her condition looked like. She lifted the skirts and spread her legs while he fashioned the material into a rough semblance of knickers.

  “These will button ... here, and here.” He was rather pleased at his inventiveness, and even more pleased at the strange look on her face, a mix of disbelief, longing and something he couldn’t fathom. “All right, up you go.”

  The woman put her foot in the stirrup and hoisted herself easily onto the mule’s back. The animal was much shorter than the horse so it was not nearly the struggle to mount. He handed her the reins and then mounted his animal. He looked around, established the flight patterns, at this point moving off to the north and west, and pointed them toward the southeast and up a slight rise. Trey knew that would change quickly. He’d seen this section from an overlook. Had it just been the day before? It seemed like an eternity.

  He anchored his glasses firmly on his nose and set off. The mule, used to being led side-by-side, tried to bull his way forward but the woman eased the creature back and settled him behind the horse. That small effort on her part was like a ray of hope, but he doused it quickly.

  Hope could kill. He’d be better served with anger. He looked back at the woman who sat the mule with determination. He liked that she wore an “I’ve got your back” look. It felt somehow right.

  He turned the horse uphill and leaned forward as the beast scrambled on loose gravel. If they got out of this alive, he’d have one more hurdle, one he was loathe to entertain. He would keep that secret to his grave, if he could...

  Trey slowed his mount when Caitlin paused at the top of the ridge. They’d been climbing hard and fast, taking insane tracks over loose gravel and slick rock. He’d asked her to take point, as the mule was far handier on the steep slope than his exhausted horse, so much so that he finally dismounted and led the hapless creature the final two hundred yards. He had no clue as to the altitude but guessed it to be more than five thousand feet as breathing came hard, even to him. With the woman’s bruised ribcage it was no wonder she sat doubled over in pain.

  Caitlin pointed off to her left. “Look. Down there.”

  Trey took a position to the woman’s right and stared, perplexed, at the strange sight far below.

  “Damn. My kingdom for a sled.”

  The slope looked like a giant had taken a knife and skimmed the surface free of all protrusions. It had a shiny finish and had the sun been in first morn position it would have reflected exactly like a huge mirror. There were no tracks visible, no way to safely negotiate the steep slope. At the base, only a thousand feet or so down lay a small oasis, dark green with foliage but he couldn’t tell what type. He’d never actually seen so much vegetation, live vegetation, on this world.

  He croaked, “Water.”

  The woman nodded and asked, “How do we get down?”

  Trey looked left and right but nothing came to mind. Finally, he said facetiously, “I guess on our asses.”

  The woman made a strange face, as if contemplating that option, then dismounted and flipped the reins over her mule. Settling on the edge of the precipice, she pushed off onto the slick finish.

  “What the...? You can’t!” But it was too late. He stared open-mouthed as she slalomed down the slope using her heels to brake and steer.

  He looked at the mule. “You’re on your own, boy. Good luck.” With that he sat and bounced his way over the lip and catapulted down the hill.

  “Stand him in the water, woman. It will help with the swelling.”

  “How’s the mule?”

  “He’s fine. Certainly better than me,” he complained ruefully. His ass was rubbed raw and he could barely move but he had to admit, it had been the most fun he’d ever had.

  The woman laughed and rubbed her own butt. She patted the horse and examined his rear leg. “We’re lucky they didn’t kill themselves. I still don’t know how they did it.” She wriggled her toes in the glorious water.

  Trey led the mule to a patch of grass and lowered the reins to drag on the ground. He doubted the animal would wander away from such lush pasture. The woman settled his horse and joined him by the water’s edge. He pointed up to a barely discernible path on the far edge of the cliff face.

  “They were smarter than us. Came down that path, such as it is.”

  Caitlin looked around the forbidding enclosure, the walls sheer in every direction. “Is that how we get out?”

  He shrugged. He had no answers for her. The water beckoned, still and inviting.

  “Why don’t you go first ... I’ll wait.” Trey waved to the stand of trees and brush by the horses.

  “Um, I, uh...” Caitlin stuttered, then extended her hand. Trey looked at her, unsure, but he took her hand as she spoke with a clarity that shocked him.

  “How do you do. I’m Caitlin.” She shook his hand once, then backed away and walked towa
rd the pool of water.

  “Trey.”

  Caitlin stopped but did not turn around.

  “My name. It’s Trey.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The water swirled in tepid wavelets, the surface refracting the mirrored faces of the surrounding cliffs. Caitlin waded over the stony bottom, but backed up quickly as her toes encountered a squishy surface, not mud but something else. She gulped back her surprise, unwilling to draw the man’s attention. With a furtive glance over her shoulder, she saw him tending to the animals, his back to her. It seemed odd, this nakedness, as if she were some freak in a sideshow, on display for all and sundry to comment and leer and disparage. She felt along her ribs, too prominent, even for her slim frame.

  She warily tried once more to advance into the murky water. The wind—a light wisp of a breeze—stirred the turgid surface so that light disappeared, absorbed into some inner depths. It had an unnatural look to it, much like the rest of the planet, or so she called it. The idea of an alternate dimension, existing alongside her own, independent of, yet linked to her world was too difficult to get her head around. She’d been left to her own imagination to deal with the strangeness. Her only consolation was that the stranger, Trey, seemed capable, assured. Even though he clearly knew little about the particulars of this world, indeed traversed it as blind as she, he still wore an air of competence, the mark of the seasoned traveler.

  She thought it odd that this object of her desire, this single focus for pain and fear and self-loathing, would still be a stranger after so many weeks and so much intimacy. Yes, intimate it had been, intensely so. She’d only lately, since his injury, realized a relaxation of his hold on her. While she couldn’t comprehend the reasons, she did know that he’d changed and that it had been a conscious decision on his part, not a matter of weakness or familiarity or boredom. They’d moved beyond the bizarre flirting, the push and pull of partners who recognized the music but not the steps, out of sequence and out of rhythm.