by Ginn Hale
Grover recalled the quick glimpses he’d caught of terrible and tortured forms in Lawrence’s sketchbook. It must have been hell.
“After that we traveled with a party of merchants, gathering information. That’s when we learned the full extent of the damage we’d done and that Tucker had placed all the blame on Cixi.”
“But you all knew he’d been behind it,” Grover commented. “Didn’t you try to tell anyone?”
“We were the ones who actually cast the spell. We were as much to blame as Tucker. And it wasn’t as if Tucker wasn’t on the lookout for us. He sure as hell didn’t want any of the three of us showing up alive to implicate him. There were still plenty of mercenaries and warlords more than happy to hunt us down for him.” Lawrence stared up at the sky. “Exposing Tucker didn’t matter nearly as much to any of us as closing the rifts did. So we decided to remain dead to the world and out of Tucker’s grasp. We sailed north and thankfully Cixi found us—”
“The enemy rescued you?” Grover’s mind boggled at the notion.
“Well, it wasn’t pleasant at first, but eventually Honora convinced her of our good intentions. We are all mages after all. And we all knew the rifts had to be closed. After we sealed the rift in China, Cixi provided us with funds and supplies to get us back to Europe where we closed the second rift. That was when Tucker found us. He was with a party of dignitaries and generals, so he couldn’t just have us shot and kicked into anonymous graves.
“Honora and I played dumb, as if we really believed that the rifts had been Cixi’s doing and not part of the spell he’d concocted. Considering the state of communications, it wasn’t unreasonable to claim that we hadn’t known the fate of our regiment and had simply taken it upon ourselves to undo Cixi’s spell. After that we were guests of Emperor Napoleon III, and he handed us off to President Lincoln.”
“That’s when you got all them medals?” Grover asked.
Lawrence nodded, his expression ashamed.
“There are thousands of other people more deserving of them than me,” Lawrence replied. “But I couldn’t refuse them without causing an outrage or rousing Tucker’s suspicion. So…”
Both of them remained quiet for a little time. The fire crackled and bats flitted through the darkness.
“I don’t think many folks would have gone back to put it right, though,” Grover said at last. “Takes real courage to face up to something like that.”
“It isn’t courage. I just couldn’t live with myself any other way.” Lawrence drew in a slow deep breath and released it. “No matter what, I have to do everything I can to close this last rift. That’s all there is to it.”
Grover leaned back, resting his head on the bedroll. His hand brushed against Lawrence’s cool, ivory fingers. He wondered if Lawrence could feel his touch through the spells, clockwork and gold.
Above them stars blazed bright and clear while the crescent moon hung back, faint and wan as a wallflower.
“I was so afraid that I had killed you,” Lawrence whispered. “I can’t even tell you how overjoyed I felt when father told me you were fine. And when I finally saw you alive and well standing under that apple tree last night I… You looked so different. And you were wearing dinosaur leather. I’ve been all over the world and never seen another man like you.”
“You think I’m a sight now, you should have seen me six years back. Pine needles in my hair and mud caked about everywhere.” Grover said it teasingly but Lawrence shook his head.
“I’m not joking, Grove. You’re the most handsome, upstanding man I’ve ever known.”
“I…I wasn’t…” Grover felt the flush rising across his face like a sudden fever. “I suppose I’m just trying to tell you that six years back, when they sent word that you’d died. Well, it knocked me down pretty hard.”
“I’m sorry, Grove. Truly.” Lawrence turned on his side to face him. “But I didn’t know that I would survive closing the remaining rifts. How cruel would it have been to put you through thinking me dead, then discovering I was alive only to learn that I’d actually died in England? Only a heartless bastard would play with someone like that. So, I didn’t contact you or my father, not even after Tucker discovered us. I just assured myself that you were both still safe and well and that I would see you again. That kept up my courage to close the rifts.”
Far in the distance, the calls of coyotes rang out in dissonant quavering notes. Strange harmonies rose and fell. Grover supposed each member of the pack knew their own, recognized their voices calling out in the darkness. They didn’t croon a pretty song, but he reckoned it wasn’t meant for him. Maybe to the ones it was for, it was the most beautiful melody they could hear—one they couldn’t keep from answering to.
Lawrence closed his ivory fingers around Grover’s, and Grover thought he could feel the whir of tiny gears fluttering like an excited pulse.
“Well, we’re both alive and here together now.” Grover spoke quietly, though there was no one to overhear them for miles. “I don’t see any reason we shouldn’t unroll these blankets and make ourselves more comfortable, do you?”
Lawrence’s hand tightened around his, and for an instant silence hung between them. The firelight lent his skin a golden sheen and lit his eyes like polished silver.
“None at all,” Lawrence replied. Then he leaned closer. Grover reached out and pulled him into a deep kiss.
It wasn’t quick and easy like it had been.
They kissed long and deep, tasting and teasing each other, then parting, breathless. Grover toyed with the buttons of Lawrence’s shirt, but Lawrence stilled his hands before he unfastened the second button. Grover wanted to assure him that it didn’t matter what scars he bore, that he was still the one man Grover wanted more than any other. But so much tension played in Lawrence’s expression that Grover relented, simply stroking the hard warm bulk of Lawrence’s left shoulder and tracing the wiry muscles of his left arm.
“The sky’s beautiful tonight. The stars, so bright and clear.” Lawrence slid his hand up Grover’s stomach and chest. As Grover allowed Lawrence to push him onto his back, he easily read Lawrence’s relief.
“It’s a lovely view,” Grover murmured. And it wasn’t any hardship, running his hands through Lawrence’s hair or caressing his head while Lawrence opened up the front of his trousers and sucked him like he’d been starving for this all his life. Grover gave himself over to the glory and joy of that hot mouth and slick tongue. If it was better than he remembered, he didn’t trouble himself just now, worrying who Lawrence had learned those lovely tricks from.
After he’d arched and spilled out his pleasure, Grover took his turn showing off the fancy and flattering lip service he’d picked up himself. Hearing Lawrence moan his name as he bucked and groaned went a great way to soothing Grover’s hurt over the eight years he’d felt so alone and abandoned. The way Lawrence gazed at him afterwards, it made Grover feel like his heart had become a wild, fluttering thing, beating at the cage of his ribs.
Grover settled down alongside Lawrence, and for a brief time they watched the stars shining against the black night sky. Studying the vast milky spill, with the taste of Lawrence on his lips, Grover couldn’t suppress a grin. He didn’t say anything, but Lawrence gave him a sleepy, conspiratorial smile. Then he laid his head on Grover’s chest and Grover pulled a blanket over them both.
“If only things could stay just like this,” Lawrence whispered.
“You don’t reckon you’d get bored of laying on the ground after a few days?” Grover teased him.
“I don’t know, I might just be happy to have that long to rest.” Lawrence shifted slightly, and Grover wondered if his arm didn’t pain him a little.
“But it’s enough, isn’t it?” Lawrence asked. “Snatching this little bit of pleasure even if it can’t last?”
“Sure it is,” Grover replied, and it was for now. Tomor
row he could wonder why Lawrence seemed so certain that they would not share a future together. Tonight, he felt too contented to disturb this fleeting bliss with questions.
Chapter Six
Over the next five days they traveled quickly and grew more at ease in each other’s company. Their conversation and quiet times began to feel like they had years ago. At first the sight of Lawrence’s ivory arm and the leather harness that held it in place disturbed Grover. It struck him as a symbol of all that Lawrence had endured and suffered—all they had lost—over the last eight years. But observing how naturally Lawrence moved the limb when he relaxed and the care he took in maintaining and exercising it, Grover began to realize that for Lawrence the prosthetic represented accomplishments—both his survival and his capacity to recover something of the life he’d left behind. Looking at it in that light, Grover found himself appreciating the feel of those polished fingers and even admiring the beauty of all the fine gears and spells. He welcomed that faintest of hums that passed from the ivory palm to his bare skin when they lay naked together.
In response Lawrence shed enough of his self-consciousness to allow Grover to see him without his shirt in the morning sunlight. Grover suspected they might have laid in late and indulged in some fun if it hadn’t been for Romeo attempting to sneak into their camp and causing a wild commotion when he stepped on a hot coal in the fire pit.
While screeching and fleeing, the ridingbird managed to overturn and scatter just about everything. Grover and Lawrence’s sleepy, sultry morning turned into several hours of repacking while playfully bantering about Betty’s taste in males.
Despite himself, Grover felt a secret sort of relief when he sighted Romeo trailing them with his normal spry step. The embers hadn’t done him any real harm aside from making him hotfoot it when he wanted to be courtin’.
He’d never admit it, but the ridingbird’s determination sparked sympathy within him. After all, here he was traipsing through the wilds at Lawrence’s side hoping, silently, that somehow this time Lawrence would stay here with him.
Sometimes, Lawrence’s smiles and affection offered him hope, but other times he’d glance over when Lawrence wasn’t looking and catch that forlorn countenance. He’d only seen one other man wear so desolate and despairing an expression, and he’d been standing on the gallows, with his hands already tied behind his back and a rope around his neck.
The moment Lawrence noticed Grover watching him he instantly hid his stark sorrow, but the thought of it troubled Grover more deeply than he wanted to admit.
Their sixth evening riding, the air remained still and nearly cloudless. Miles of forest spread behind them, looking clear and precise as a picture. Grover spied no sign of the Tuckers’ airship. Though far in the distance, thin trails of campfire smoke rose in straight lines, completely undisturbed by wind. Grover guessed that Weeminuche Utes hunted in the hills south of them. The smoke of so many fires made him wonder if they hadn’t located a large herd of surviving buffalo. Calves would be plentiful this time of year and hunting easy.
“The smoke looks like streaks of rain,” Lawrence commented. “Only rising up into the clouds, instead of falling down.” Grover nodded, liking the idea. Smoke rising, rain falling, the earth and the sky reaching out to each other.
They rode a little farther into a protected valley and made their camp on a rise overlooking a meadow. All around them spikes of purple lupin and gold sunflowers shot up over a patchwork of wildflowers. Lawrence’s horse grazed on verdant oatgrass and ricegrass while Betty snapped up the little critters the stallion startled from the ground cover. Grover pretended not to notice Romeo creeping up between mounds of sagebrush and wild rose bushes, though it took some doing. Between the ridingbird’s brilliant plumage and hulking size, he might as well have been a bejeweled stagecoach slinking through the meadow.
Quite a sight actually.
Lawrence sketched the scene while the light lasted. As the moon began to climb through the brilliant colors of the setting sun, Grover secured Betty for the night. Lawrence hobbled and picketed his stallion then he joined Grover in preparing dinner—a grouse Grover had caught earlier. While they worked they sang their own randy versions of “The Old Bachelor”.
“I’m an old bachelor, of twenty and three
And nary a maid has lain with me
I know little of women, little at all
Still, I and the lads have us a ball.
I am an old bachelor, of twenty and six
Carousing with men, I’ve learned some tricks.
I can ride any horse and drive a hack
Found many warm welcomes round the back.”
They went on, improvising lyrics and laughing between bites of their supper.
After they’d eaten, they cleaned up and made their bed, still laughing and singing to each other. Lawrence allowed Grover to help him with the buckles of the harness that held his ivory arm in place. Free of the harness, Lawrence drew in a deep breath and rolled his shoulders as though they ached. Then he placed his prosthetic arm atop his folded coat with great care and lay down beside Grover.
They were both tired. Still, they made the short time before they fell asleep pleasurable.
“This is what I want to remember,” Lawrence whispered, sounding on the edge of sleep. “When it’s all ended, just this…”
Grover stroked a damp lock of hair back from Lawrence’s face, and for a few moments he studied his gaunt, scarred beloved in the faint glow of the moonlight. He wished he had the words to express the tenderness, fear and longing that churned through him. Or at least some way to temper the sorrow that haunted Lawrence. Grover just shook his head. He wasn’t a man of great words, and in any case, he could tell from Lawrence’s breathing that he was past hearing him. Already fast asleep. Moments later Grover joined him.
He dreamed of the night that surrounded them. Its darkness was like the surface of a still lake, hiding countless hungry, restless bodies. They flitted and prowled through Grover’s mind. Some scampered and played. But one presence steadily grew in Grover’s dream. A belly raw from hunger, and a spirit seething with the frustration of aching joints and old, dull teeth drifted over Grover like a warm wind.
It hated the smoke in the air but also smelled freshly spilled blood and flesh. Through the darkness, its eyes picked out soft, warm bodies lying exposed and asleep. Excitement surged through aged muscles, making it feel almost young again. Its heart raced as it stalked closer through the grass, muscles trembling with tension.
Close now, so close.
The disconcerting image of two men lying under a blanket washed through Grover’s mind. He felt predatory hunger even as he recognized his own hat balanced on a stone and Lawrence’s ivory arm draped over a folded coat.
Grover jerked awake, throwing his blanket back just as Betty let loose with a wild crow. He caught up his rifle. Next to him, Lawrence gave an inarticulate groan and rolled to his knees. Grover fired. The boom of the rifle rang through a mountain lion’s grating, furious snarl.
Then all at once orbs of golden light rose from Lawrence’s lips, illuminating the meadow. Hardly five feet from Grover, a big tawny mountain lion swayed on its feet. A dark stain of blood colored the pale fur of its throat, but its gaze remained locked on Grover. He gripped his rifle ready to swing the butt hard when the big cat pounced. A blue light crackled from Lawrence’s right hand.
The mountain lion staggered.
Suddenly, Betty lunged from the shadows with a wild cry. She kicked the huge talons of her right leg into the mountain lion’s side and sent the cat sprawling sideways. Its body just missed the smoldering embers of the campfire. A second powerful kick tore open a huge gash in the mountain lion’s belly. Its body flopped across the ground like a sack of rags. Betty kicked and pecked at the creature farther out into the gloom of the meadow.
Grover recognized that the moun
tain lion was far past feeling any hurt. It had already been dead when it stood staring into Grover’s face, with a bullet hole punched through its neck. It just hadn’t known as much.
Lawrence clenched his hand around the spark of blue light, and it died out. The gold orbs floating over them continued to glow but not so brightly. Standing at the picket line, Lawrence’s horse appeared to have only awakened at the tail end of the commotion. The stallion stamped a few times but settled enough to sample a mouthful of flowers.
“What the hell just happened?” Lawrence stared after Betty then turned his attention back to Grover. He looked as shaken as Grover felt. His eyes wide and his hair sticking out at unkempt angles.
“A mountain lion. I reckon he was old and relied on hunting newborns calves. But with the Weeminuche so close to the buffalo herd, I think he hadn’t had much luck. So he took a chance on the nearest thing that seemed easy.” Grover frowned at the embers of the campfire. “The smell of our fresh grouse probably drew him. He must have been desperate, near starving, to chance coming so near Betty. Wolves and mountain lions both tend to keep clear of her now that she’s full grown.”
“But how did you know it was there?” Lawrence asked.
“I heard Betty crow.” Grover sat back down amidst the bedding but didn’t set aside his rifle. He doubted that he’d be able to return to sleep anytime soon. Briefly he wondered if he ought to attempt to hitch Betty back to the picket that she’d broken free from. Probably wiser to let her be for a little time. She was still worked up and tearing at her dead foe.
