by C A Nicks
“Will we not be seen?”
“We’ll not go far.”
“Then it is a good idea. I’ll fetch a shirt.”
“Also a good idea. Cafino needs a run out. If we’re careful we shouldn’t be spotted.”
Oh, to be able to walk free without the need to skulk and hide. Soon, he thought, soon. Become warlord and walk proud and without fear.
Even if he decided to remain here, the challenge would still have to be met. Would Warrington allow a man of his bearing to quietly make happy families with Tig? Not a chance.
Bend his knee and declare his allegiance to Warrington? He poked through the wardrobe looking for a clean shirt that fit him. Throwing in his lot with the warlord would solve so many problems. And throw up a slew of new ones. No warlord would trust a stranger who turned up out of nowhere with some of his past plain-written on his body, in the way he spoke and acted.
No clean shirts. Tig had neglected the washing recently. A quick search through the trunk parked beside the wardrobe revealed neatly-folded knit garments, soft with age and a little musty, but some looked large enough. He pulled out a blue collarless jerkin that reminded him of the oiled sheep-wool tunics worn by the fisher-men in the world he’d left behind.
No longer his world. Resign to that and save everyone the pain that was surely to come. A quick sniff of his armpits told him he did indeed reek of his earlier training-session. Quickly, he wrung out a cloth in the wash-basin on the dresser and made a quick swipe of each. Then he pulled on the jerkin and was unable to resist a quick peek in the mirror. The man reflected looked a little more comfortable with his lowly state. Blue suited his dark complexion and short hair had its advantages, especially when living so primitively. Pity though. It would have been good to feel Tig’s hands combing through the black strands that once reached past his waist.
He finished the ensemble with her father’s best jacket. The Sunday rig required a best jacket.
By the time he made it downstairs, Tig had changed into a no-less shabby, but slightly cleaner pants and shirt over which she wore a light jacket he hadn’t yet seen. She was leading a restless Cafino from the barn. Fabian sympathised with the beast. A bit of freedom would do them all some good.
“Here,” she said, pulling a length of striped cloth from her jacket pocket.“ Wind that around your head and face in case we’re seen. Can’t do much about the size of you but at least they won’t see your face.”
Pushing down the hint of disappointment at still having to hide, he wound the scarf into a d’hash, leaving only his eyes free. The damp earth smelled rich and alive. New leaves on the spindly trees lining the fence quivered under the weight of bright raindrops. Long-winged blackbirds dived and danced against the blue of the sky.
Together they harnessed Cafino and hitched him to the rig.
“You don’t mind riding shotgun?” she said emerging again from the barn with the rifle. “Will look better if I drive. That won’t upset your manly sensibilities?”
“I had little need to ride in carriages,” he said accepting the weapon. “And I always had a driver when I did.”
Tig jumped into the driver seat of the four-seat conveyance with the practiced ease of someone who’d done this all her life. “It’s not likely, but if questions are asked, you’re my cousin over the valley.”
“You have cousins so close?” He climbed up beside her. Hid the gun in the well at his feet.
“No, but Warrington may not know that. Doubt he’s got round to a census of all his subjects yet. “
“He will not get the chance. With the madjina in the picture, I see little need to wait. I aim to challenge him soon.”
The slight slump of her shoulders told him he’d spoiled the mood. Too used to speaking his mind with no thought for the feelings of others. The honesty he’d promised her he must now learn to temper with tact.
With a flick of the reins, she urged Cafino forward. They both swayed at the sudden lurch of the conveyance, and then they were out of the gate and bumping along the dirt-track that served as road to her property, the wind blowing their hair.
He was at a loss as to what else to say to her. So far, everything was going to plan. The bid for power, the discovery of a mage. The chance to realise his dream of going home. All except for the no-small detail of falling in love and giving himself the biggest reason to stay.
By Jopra, of all the things to keep him from home, he’d not expected this.
“That’s the Gerrely’s place over there.” Tig pointed the whip at the burnt-out skeleton of a farmhouse at the far end of the field skirting the track. “Some say the old widower borrowed too much from the wrong people. They killed him and took the children. No one’s seen hide nor hair of them since.”
“I would have done the same.” Fabian inspected the ruin, visualising the screams, the pleas for more time to repay. The cold mercy in the hearts of the debt-collectors. A familiar scene.
“But not any more.”
Tig squeezed his thigh to show she meant it as a statement of fact rather than a question he must consider. To his relief, he did not have to think about his answer.
“No, not any more. What of the protection? Why did Carson allow this?”
“He’d been losing his grip for a while. One of the reasons I petitioned for a divorce. He let me go because he knew a challenge was brewing. He was good like that.”
“I thank him for it.” Fabian looked keenly around, taking in it all in. Nothing like the lush wooded valleys and lake-lands of Anxur. Here were flat, open spaces covered in brown dirt. A few scattered patches of scrubby grassland. The occasional rise of stone forming a higher ridge. Through it all ran the unmade road that appeared to form the main artery joining the farms and population centres. The road they may have taken to Warrington’s camp.
Tig took a left, turning the rig onto a narrower track running at right angles to the burnt-out farm. The warrior in him could not help scanning the ruins for vagrants who might rush them and try to steal the rig and whatever else they could get their hands on. He found himself instinctively touching the rifle with his boot.
“It’s okay. No danger there. Place is deserted.”
“In my world it would have been occupied by at least three families by now. Why did Carson let it lie derelict with land to be farmed?”
“Because everyone thinks it’s haunted, that’s why.”
Her look dared him to challenge the tale. The site of traumatic death often harboured restless spirits.
“I can see why,” he said as they passed. Too still. Too quiet. Even the wind had ceased to blow, as if it did not wish to disturb whatever spirits lurked here.
“You’re a believer then? Some folk swear they’ve seen old man Gerrely sitting on the remains of the porch, others say they’ve heard the squeak of the rocker. Never seen anything myself. Anyway, with all the superstition, this is the perfect place for you to meet your madjina.”
“You would condone a meeting?” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. Nor stop the quick race of his heart at the feeling that events were about to overtake them all.
The rig clattered past the derelict building and made towards the remnants of what must have been the barn. One half lay in a heap of wood and stones, the other was relatively intact. Tig pulled up Cafino and put on the brake.
“No. But since you’re doing it anyway I’m going to do my damndest to make sure the bitch doesn’t take your worth and send you straight to hell. You can meet her here with me at your side and that rifle in my hand. She says anything I don’t like, she gets a bullet right between the eyes.”
Tig jumped down before he could answer, beckoning him to follow her into the whole part of the barn. “Of course, it’ll cost to get her to come out here. Hal’s financing it?”
“As part of his investment, yes.”
Grabbing the rifle, he jumped down after her, feet crunching on the loose gravel scattered about the yard. Tig moved without caution, so, b
arring any undead, he guessed the place must be as safe as she’d implied. He pulled back the bolt, arming the rifle just in case.
This close, the aura of loss and grief seemed amplified. Every corner filled with silent echoes. A sudden shudder shook his whole body and for a moment so brief he thought he’d imagined it, Tig, the barn, the ruins beyond, all faded and then just as quickly came back into focus.
“Are you okay?”
Tig’s anxious face looked up at him. He steadied himself, his mind still trying to make sense of what had happened. Throwing out an arm, he tested the space in front of him, to the side. Everything back to normal. Still firmly grounded here on this plane.
“Yes, I think so. For a moment I was somewhere else.”
“What? Something spooked you. Did you hear something?”
“No.” Pulling the scarf away from his face, he pivoted slowly, trying to pinpoint the anomaly. “For one brief moment I thought I was still falling. And now, nothing.”
Instinctively, Tig caught hold of his hand, anchoring him in place. Had he imagined it and become caught up in the dark atmosphere of this abandoned farm?
“Are you a sensitive? Is that what you were feeling?”
“I was sensitive to places where the veil between dimensions thins and bleeds. All my people are. The Dark Fall is once such place of which we were the guardians. On this world, though I have felt nothing. Until now.”
“Figures you’d pick up the vibes from this place then. Even I can feel them. Want to go back to the farm?”
“No. I must explore this further.” Her hand in his felt solid enough. The ground stable beneath his feet. Had he simply moved too closely to the place where the spirits of the dead showed themselves to the living? For a brief moment he’d seen a figure. The more terrifying thought that he might be still falling made his heart thud in his chest. What if Tig, the interlude on her farm was merely an illusion conjured by the Fall? The final part of his penance?
He took a tentative step forward, every sense tuned to the vibrations. How could he tell when the Fall had felt as real as this? Was Tig about to sprout wings and reveal herself to be one of the conscience guardians who’d plagued him with their incessant nagging for a thousand years?
“Are you real?” he said ghosting his free hand over her face, her hair. “Tell me you’re real.”
“I’m here. Fabian, if this is worrying you we’ll go back.”
“Show me. Show me you’re real.”
Lifting his hand, she pressed a kiss to the back. Turned it over and kissed his palm. “A moment’s panic. Nothing more. You’ve been training too hard, my love. Getting too wound up.”
“You used that word again.” Shaky, his voice didn’t sound like his own.
“So I did.” She frowned now, genuine concern in her eyes. “I’m taking you back. You’ve been out of the world for too long. This is enough for one day.”
So many times during the Fall, he was given things, shown things only to have them torn away as he reached for them. Had he been shown love, the vision of a future with Tig, only to find he was not yet worthy of it after all?
Maybe there were a few ghosts, that was all. She had to physically push him back to the rig all the while reassuring him they were both here, at the Gerrely’s farm. Curse to get him inside when he was rooted to the spot by the thought that here might be a portal. A rift in time the witch-woman may be able to open and point towards home.
With one last worried glance, Tig flicked the reins and shouted Cafino to get the hell out of there. “Don’t look back,” she shouted above the clatter of Cafino’s hooves.
She took the corner from the overgrown farm-drive onto the main track so fast the gig nearly toppled. Once on the main road she slowed and let out a long breath. Turning to him, he realised she was laughing, silently.
“Oh, lord in the heavens,” she said fighting for control. “I haven’t been that spooked since my brother dared me to go into Figgis-cave alone and I thought the spider-woman had got me. I’ll find somewhere else for you to meet your madjina. You don’t have to go back there.”
“I must. Even if only to discover that I felt only the touch of the wind.”
“And to prove you’re not a scaredy-cat?”
“I am not afraid, merely intrigued.” Now, away from the place, he couldn’t recall whether fear had been involved. Surprise, yes. Confusion. Why should he fear the chance to go home?
He didn’t bother with the scarf. Covering his face seemed a trivial concern compared to the enormity of what lay ahead. He was ready to show his face to this world. To prove himself more than a displaced ruler who hid in the shadows. Tig made no comment when he pulled it away and stuffed it into his pocket.
A sudden rush of gratitude for her tolerance and patience had him reaching for her as she drove the rig back into her own yard. Sex had a way of making the world go away for a little while and tonight he wanted to leave the puzzles and questions behind and think of nothing but her.
Practicalities intruded as they always did for those without slaves and servants to do their bidding. Cafino, the hens needed bedding down. The dogs required feeding - the poor beasts had nearly fallen under the wheels with their enthusiastic welcome home. And he was hungry, too, an unfamiliar feeling that was proving hard to master with grace. They worked quickly and efficiently, stealing the odd glance, smiling in anticipation of what was to come.
He loved the way that no matter how tightly she braided her hair, her face would always be framed by a tumble of curls that refused to be tamed. How she nibbled on her bottom lip when absorbed in a task. How she got on with life no matter what it threw at her. How desirable she looked in her ragged, baggy clothes.
But most of all he loved her steadfast refusal to give up on him. Her loyalty and understanding. She’d taught him how to be human; a debt he would be forever owing.
He loved her, plain and simple. It was a good feeling.
* * * *
No high passion tonight. He’d taken her slow and easy, giving her a glimpse of that legendary staying power he’d boasted of during their first time. Seemed like such a long time ago. He now lay pressed to her back, tangled in her hair, an arm thrown over her waist. Warm breath tickled her nape, her jaw stung from the rasp of his unshaven beard. The scent of their love-making surrounded her.
She’d made light of the incident at the Gerrely’s. Hidden her shock when Fabian had started rambling about portals and holes in space and time. She had no trouble believing in ghosts. Although her kin had never seen fit to do so, she could well believe the dead lingered and visited those they’d left behind.
Fabian’s reaction had been more than a man rattled by ghost stories. He’d clung to the tale that he was from another dimension, another time and finally, she believed it might be true. And if it was? Oh heaven, could she watch him disappear, never to be seen again? She’d thought so, when the possibility remained the mad ramblings of a man who’d been robbed and left for the Frey in the desert. Touch of sun and a man would believe anything. Never going to happen.
But now? For a split-second he had appeared to blink out. There, gone, there again in the time it took to draw a single breath. And she knew at that moment she could never let him go so easily. Not without first showing him what he could have if he stayed here with her. Whoever, or whatever, was trying to grab him away had a fight on its hands.
There was her problem. Apart from undying devotion, what did she have to offer that he couldn’t get tenfold elsewhere? Certainly not wealth and beauty. Nor the power he seemed to admire and crave.
“I can only offer you this,” she whispered into the dark.
“Tell me,” the dark whispered back.
“With me you’ll always know who you are.”
“I would treasure that more than all my coffers of gold.”
“Would you?”
The arm about her tightened, pulling her against the solid wall of his body. A woman could get lost in a man like t
his. Be overwhelmed by his strength and his will and never have to think for herself again. Snuggling into the crook of his arm, she indulged the fantasy wondering if she could ever be that surrendered woman. Smile and nod and fade into the background while her man told her how to live her life.
Not a chance in hell.
“I would, Tig. What’s so amusing?”
His lips on her neck made her squirm, sending a delicious pulse racing over her skin. Opening his mouth, he grazed her with his teeth, growling softly. His cock, hard and ready prodded her thigh. She only had to move a little for him to be inside her.
“Was thinking about what a terrible surrendered woman I’d make. Let me put a condom on you.”
“I would never ask that of you.” Throwing off the covers, he rolled onto his back, legs apart, half in shadow, half-lit by moonlight streaming through the open curtains. Darkness and light met in the set of his mouth, the hollow at his throat, the ridged muscle of his abdomen. She knew so much about him yet some shadows remained. Things she would rather not know, if she were honest with herself.
“We’ve nearly used them all up,” she said shaking the few remaining condoms from the box. She ripped the pouch open with care, treating them like something precious because they were.
“And that still concerns you? I thought you braver than that.”
She bent to kiss the silk of his skin before covering it with the barrier that would take the edge off the sensation as well as do its damndest to ensure no pregnancy resulted.
In one smooth movement, he tipped her onto her back and fell over her, weight supported on his elbows, seeking entrance which she gladly gave. Now came the passion. After the first, almost violent thrust, he stopped and dipped his head to take one of her aching nipples into his mouth, suckling insistently until she clenched around him and let go a deep moan.
And then he was battering into her, insisting she go with him to that private place they’d made between them. He wanted her surrender? She could give it, for now. Closing her eyes, she cut out all sensation but the slick feel of him reaching deep inside her with every thrust, the sound of his harsh breath as he took them both to the edge of pleasure and beyond.
