What Do You Say to a Naked Elf?

by Cheryl Sterling

“All I know is that there is something better planned for you than death at a wizard’s hands,” he said firmly, an intensity to his voice that almost convinced her. “Why else would you have these strange powers?”

  Why indeed? But Jane had spent too many sleepless nights thinking about them to believe they might be for the best.

  “Maybe King Garmade does want me to overpower Blacwin and end the Dymynsh,” she confessed. “But if I don’t, I’m condemned to die anyway. Tossing me at the wizard loses nothing. Except my life,” she ended softly.

  “Oh, Jane.” Charlie drew her closer, kissing the top of the head. “There’s more to it than that.”

  She laughed harshly and stepped away, overwhelmed and depressed by her out-of-control circumstances. “Yeah? I’ll show you what good it is, what I was doing when you came. It’s so damn hot that I was using my ‘powers’ to cool down.”

  She raised her arms with a flourish. “Lowth, do you hear me? Step up the wind a notch. No, make that six notches. I want to see Charlie’s hair blow.”

  A gust of air tore around the trees, whipping small branches and rustling leaves. It hit them full force. Jane, who’d had time to brace herself, tilted slightly at the impact. It pushed Charlie back a step, against the tree he’d been leaning on earlier. To her satisfaction, his long blond hair streamed out behind him.

  “What are you doing?” he shouted, reaching for her. “Are you insane?”

  “This whole freakin’ world is insane,” she yelled over the roar of the wind. She looked up at the night sky and said one word. “Enough.” The gale died to the gentle, cooling breeze she’d ordered earlier.

  “If I wished for the sun to come out right now, would it?”

  He grabbed her arm. “Don’t.”

  The fear in his voice sobered her. “You don’t seriously believe I could do it?”

  “Do you want to try?” he countered.

  No, she didn’t. That would be too weird.

  Jane shook her head. “Some things are better not known.”

  “I agree. Please don’t do that trick again. If you want to make a small breeze to stay cooler during the day, fine. Bringing a high wind is not a good idea. You’ll draw attention to yourself with such antics.”

  “It’s a little late for that,” she muttered, her mind on her past “antics,” namely the party she’d hosted yesterday morning. She had no doubt that the past night’s boisterous celebrating was due in part to her toys and the women of Malin’s enjoyment of them.

  “Jane,” Charlie said in that tone of voice she dreaded. She felt as if she were seven and caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

  “Ummm, yeah?” She wanted to scrunch to the size of a bug and hide under a leaf.

  “What have you been doing? Have you already been drawing attention to yourself?” The moon had edged over the hilltop, and she read the annoyance on his face.

  “Confession time?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Definitely confession time.”

  “Hugh didn’t say anything about last night?” She knew the brothers were close but hoped it didn’t include boasting about their sex lives. Eww. How humiliating if it did.

  “Should he have?” Charlie narrowed his eyes. “I assume you don’t mean our last night, but last night in general?”

  Jane nodded.

  “Something to do with the celebrations?” he guessed.

  “I kind of enhanced them,” she admitted, ducking her head.

  “And how,” he asked evenly, “did you do that?”

  She took a deep breath. “Do you know what I did on Earth? To make a living?”

  He furrowed his brow. “You were some kind of scribe?”

  A scribe. An unusual way to explain being a secretary-clerk-gopher to an idiot insurance agent.

  “Yes, you could say so. That’s what I did during the day. It didn’t pay well, and to make extra, I hosted Realm of Pleasures parties.”

  “I’m afraid to ask,” he said under his breath. “What is Realm of Pleasures, and why do I not want to know?”

  Selling the products involved some explicit explanations. Holding the toys occasionally made her blush and stumble over the words, but she’d always plunged ahead. Jane had given over a dozen parties, sometimes in mixed company, but she’d never had a more difficult time than now. When she’d finished telling Charlie what she did during her free evenings, and how her merchandise just happened to be in Lowth, she could barely talk. Her throat had closed from a major case of humiliation.

  Halfway through her story, Charlie found a log and sank onto it. During the last few minutes he watched her, mouth open. Disbelief and outrage joined the shock on his face.

  “Is this a common habit on Earth, to boast of sexual inadequacies and buy aids for them?” he asked when she’d finished.

  Jane wished to take back the last three months of her life. Had the little bit of money been worth his disgust?

  “We’re a liberal society, Charlie. I admit I was reluctant at first, but everyone has a good time—”

  “I bet they do.” He rose to his feet. “Gossiping about such matters. You’re no better than the village women when they get together . . .” He paused at her sharp intake of breath.

  “Jane,” he said in a dangerous tone. “Please don’t tell me you had one of your parties here.”

  She held one hand in front of her face and peeked at him through her fingers. “Sort of.”

  “Sort of?” He was calm, too calm. She liked him better when he acted all prudish.

  “Yesterday,” she admitted, taking a backward step. “While you were down at the tavern, before Blacwin’s message was found. I kind of had a Midsummer’s Eve clearance sale.”

  “A sale,” he repeated. “You had a sale.” He shook his head, as if trying to understand a foreign language. “I suppose all of the village women were there?”

  “I don’t know,” she confessed, taking another step back. He was ready to erupt, and she wanted a running start. She’d rather face Eagar than have Charlie upset with her. “We probably had thirty or forty. How big is the village?”

  “Thirty?” he sputtered. He groaned and held his head. “I’m ruined. Utterly. Completely. Forever.”

  “Sorry,” she said in a small voice.

  He looked up. “You’re sorry? No, I think you have that wrong. I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t want to defend you, but I did, and probably saved your life in the process. What do I get in return?”

  He was building to a climax of epic proportions. In a sick way, Jane admired his technique. If she had been the one ranting, it would have been her best performance. For Charlie, who didn’t let go often enough, this was a major breakthrough.

  “I get,” he continued, ticking off the items on his fingers, “a woman who opens stone walls with her bare hands, is found in the king’s bed the first night she’s here—”

  “I never touched him!” she blurted.

  His gaze drilled into her. Jane shut up.

  “A woman with Elven tattooed on her arm. My brother’s house almost burns down within two weeks of her arriving. She starts rainstorms, controls the wind and seduces gullible lawyers. Did I mention that she gave away sex toys to most of our female population?”

  “I didn’t give them away,” Jane protested. “Mara traded for them.”

  “Wonderful. You’ve corrupted her as well. It makes it easier to bear, knowing my brother is away from her side, escorting you and the man who tried to kill you to your deaths. At least she’ll have new curtains and fresh meat in exchange.”

  Jane’s anger burst forth, rivaling his. She’d never seen him in this sarcastic mood, and she didn’t like it.

  “Listen, buddy,” she said, closing the distance between them and poking him in the chest. “This is who I am. Half the stuff you’ve listed I had no control over. I was kidnapped into this sorry little kingdom, and it’s been doing everything it can to crawl into my flesh and possess me. Not a nice feeling, let me tel
l you. I’ve had better times.”

  “So have I. Most of them involved not risking my life.”

  She let out a sound of exasperation. “When? Now? There’s no one around for miles.”

  “Except a swamp full of sandobbles. And goblins on the loose between here and the nearest wizard. But no, I was referring to three weeks ago.”

  Three weeks? She could barely remember three days ago.

  “When I and five others went through the portal into Earth,” he said harshly.

  “Old news,” she spat. “Tried and sentenced for that crime. Get on a new kick.”

  “You and your ‘toys’ risked our lives, Jane.” Fury enveloped him. “We were in a strange land and had tenuous contact with the portal. After the explosion, we needed to get you through as fast as possible. You burdened us with six boxes of rubbish. We could have easily been trapped.”

  “Okay, you have a point, but how was I to know I’d be forced to come to this freakin’ world?”

  “You’re the freak,” he said, echoing her gesture by prodding her on the shoulder. She had to step back from the pressure he applied. “You’re so different from everything I hold dear that it scares me.”

  “Everything you hold dear is going to go poof! if I don’t do my freakish voodoo and get rid of the Dymynsh.” Tears stung her eyes. “How do you know I wasn’t sent here for a purpose?” she continued. “Maybe the Dymynsh isn’t caused by a wizard, but because you guys aren’t having enough sex or having it the right way. Maybe my ‘toys’ are the spark needed to jolt you people into a sexual revolution. I’m your answer. Did you ever think of that? Huh?” She punched his shoulder.

  He caught her wrist. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Use it or lose it.” She felt suddenly drained. A spirited discussion with Charlie was one thing. This hurt.

  “We no more need creativity than—”

  “What? Than you need to fly? Why not fly with me, Superman? Birds and bees do it in the air. Why can’t a Whelphite and a mortal?” It was a last attempt to find and recapture what they’d shared.

  “Ridiculous,” he said, spinning away from her, solidifying her opinion of his pigheadedness. “Last night and this morning were mistakes. Blame the effects of Midsummer’s Eve. Blame too many hours spent in each other’s company. I don’t know or care. We’re forced to spend the next few days together. Stay away from me, Jane. I want nothing more to do with you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Two miserable days later, Jane stood on the banks of the East Malin River, surveying the desolation of Magwrosin Swamp. Its appearance fit her mood exactly. A low-lying fog, burnt orange and slate gray in color, writhed at the feet of spiked ferns. Bronze, copper and metallic green, ten feet in length, they shouldered their way above the mist, as if anxious to pull free. Branchless, misshapen trees poked overhead, battling for sunlight. A wet plonk-plonk sound, mixed with a Hitchcockian bird screech, assailed her ears. It looked like the perfect place for the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse to hang out between jobs.

  “This has to be the most dismal place on Lowth. Strip mining would only improve it,” Jane commented. Perhaps a wizard isn’t such a bad punishment after all. Feeling hot and sticky despite Lowth’s attempts to keep her cool, she looked at Hugh. The merciless sun burned down on them as they’d followed the river over the dry scrabble rock where little grew.

  “It’s been a prison for fifty years,” Hugh replied. “Since King Garmade and the Dwarves defeated King Rodom of Malik and the sandobbles. He split the river, one arm on each side of the swamp, and increased the depth and breadth until it reached the ocean, leaving no way out.”

  The mud had a greenish-gray cast, and the consistency of brownie batter. Jane imagined it rising up to form a creature that would swallow her whole.

  “Why don’t the sandobbles escape?” The river didn’t look deep or dangerous.

  “If they try to enter the water, it thins them out. They wash away with the current.”

  I’d find a way to get out, Jane thought.

  “How will Eagar get Capp’ear to the other side?”

  “I think we’re about to find out.” Hugh indicated the steward, who beckoned the group together. Jane, Hugh and Muttle joined the others.

  Charlie stood to one side, watching her. He’d silently trailed behind her the past two days, at a distance but close enough that she could see his glowering stares.

  Jane felt as if she’d betrayed her best friend in the fire-and-brimstone-plagues-of-locusts kind of way. It hurt doubly now that she knew she cared so much for him. Before, she’d baited him, egged him out of his stodginess in an amusing game with no consequences. Looking back, she saw things through his eyes and realized how her actions had damaged his trust.

  She should have told him about the contents of the boxes. But how could she have explained such intimate objects when she slid dangerously closer to him every day? The appearance of Randolph’s body and her sentencing had precluded a “hey, by the way” confession afterward.

  Circumstances fortified her excuse of reluctance. She’d have to find another way to apologize.

  “Fellow citizens,” Eagar called, snapping her attention back to the present. “A judgment has been made against one of our own, Capp’ear of Malin.” He turned to the weaselly man who’d been heavily guarded during the three-day journey. “For the crime of attempted murder against Jane Drysdale of Earth, you have been sentenced to the Magwrosin Swamp. If you survive a full day, you will be freed. If you do not—may your death be swift and painless.”

  Eagar looked at Jane, his gaze piercing. The triple layer of bags beneath his black eyes contrasted with the leanness of his body. Dressed in his habitual dark wardrobe, he looked more demonic than ever. He conceded to the sun by wearing a scarf on his bald head. He only lacked a mask and a cape to enter the Zorro look-alike contest.

  “Do you have anything to say to the prisoner?” he asked.

  She panicked. What was death row etiquette? “Good luck”? “See you on the other side”? She looked at Charlie, who stared back, his expression blank.

  “No,” she told Eagar, directing her words to Charlie. “There is nothing I can say to change things.”

  The steward nodded. “Very well, then.” He looked at the prisoner and raised his hands in the air with a flourish. “Your sentence commences now.”

  Capp’ear levitated off the ground.

  Several people gasped in surprise. Jane grabbed Hugh’s arm, her mind whirling in fright. What other powers did Eagar have? She’d been so flippant with him at times. . . .

  The prisoner leveled off at a height of about ten feet. The group watched his progress as he moved across the river and into the swamp. He hovered several moments over the swaying leaves of a fern, then the mist swallowed him.

  Jane felt cold. Of all the things that had happened to her since her arrival, this had to be the worst. Because of her, a life was about to be snuffed out.

  She turned her head, afraid she’d cry or be sick. Hugh put his arm around her in comfort.

  “Don’t think of it,” he said. “The man’s not been right since his wife and child died last winter. If not you, he would have tried to hurt someone else.”

  Jane hiccupped. Her voice wavered. “But he picked me. You all must think I’m terrible, turning your world upside down the way I have. Murder trials and rainstorms, your house almost burning to the ground. I’m sorry, Hugh.”

  He patted her arm. “It was upside down before you came. The Dymynsh has ruined our lives, robbing any normalcy from them. Perhaps you’re here for that purpose.”

  Jane lifted her head. “Do you really think I’ll be able to stop it?” Until now, she’d been consumed with getting through each day and, somehow, going home. Others’ opinions of her effect on Lowth and its scourge hadn’t much entered her thoughts.

  “Some do. We’ve gone so long without hope.” He glanced around. “Of course, some, such as Eagar, think
you’re worse than the Dymynsh. You’ll have to do more to prove yourself to them.”

  She stepped back. “I’m not your savior. I don’t want to die to make your world right again.” As always, when she allowed herself to wonder about the possible negative outcome of this journey, she shivered.

  “Charlie won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “Even though we’re off to see the wizard?” The unknown specter of Blacwin haunted her dreams.

  “Many people of Sylthia trust my brother. I trust him. Maybe you should as well.”

  Would Charlie’s feelings be strong enough to bind them together? Except for the one night they’d shared, which Jane highly suspected he felt ashamed of, he acted more as if she were a nuisance than anything he cared about.

  Hugh turned her away from the swamp. “Let’s help make camp. It will ease your mind, having something to do.”

  “Is it safe here?” She looked at the sight, high on the banks, a copse of wood to one side.

  “Safe enough,” he replied.

  She touched the knife strapped to her leg to reassure herself. She’d protested when he’d given it to her at the start of the journey, insisting she wear it and not tell Eagar. The blade might not cut through a sandobble, but other creatures roamed Lowth.

  Later, around the campfire, Jane spoke to Muttle. By accident, she’d found out that the Belwaith regularly communicated with his mate, Calme, and could give accounts of what went on in Sylthia. Several times a day he zoned out, his eyes whirling a deep purple.

  Jane ached to ask if there’d been any repercussions from Midsummer’s Eve, but figured it best to keep that topic off-limits. Instead, she inquired, “How is King Garmade?”

  “He sleeps. He sad.” The Belwaith answered so quickly that Jane had the feeling he’d tuned into the monarch directly.

  The news disheartened her. The king had made a rare public appearance the morning they exited Sylthia. Dressed in a faded blue dress, he leaned heavily on Wesant’s arm. He spoke only to Eagar, giving his blessing and then retiring to his chambers. He said nothing to Jane. She expected at least a glance from him, some indication that they’d spent time together, but perhaps he didn’t remember. Dementia acted in strange ways.