RESURRECTION (RIBUS 7, #5)

by Shae Mills

  Terig only smiled as he continued to watch her interaction with the animal.

  Chelan’s hand slid along the side of his muscular neck, and then up to his withers. “He’s huge!” she exclaimed; her hand was barely able to reach his back. She stroked his sides, his flesh twitching with each feathered touch. As she reached his haunches she went to glance back at Terig only to find the horse’s eyes staring into hers, his neck craned right around. He almost seemed to be smiling. Then Chelan noticed Terig as the man’s sides shook with silent, unrestrained laughs.

  “What is it?” she asked, suddenly a little uncertain.

  “Oh, nothing. It’s just that Shabby’s not used to being touched so intimately by one so beautiful. He says, at least not by one he has yet to be introduced to.”

  Chelan snatched her hand back and took a step away from the giant. She looked into his eyes, and they glinted. Chelan held her hand to her chest as if it had been wounded. “What do you mean, ‘he says’?”

  Terig cleared his tears and regained his composure. “Shabby isn’t exactly a horse. Well, he is and he isn’t. He’s known to the Empire as a Centurion.”

  Chelan took another step back, looking over the heavily muscled beast. He outsized a Clydesdale by a significant margin, yet his body was more that of a thoroughbred. He was a gleaming black with beautifully flocked hocks. His mane extended well past his neck and his tail just brushed the ground. And those eyes—they were so expressive! “He looks like a massive Friesian,” she said. “What is a Centurion?”

  “Well, he’s a relative of your world’s horse. He is to your world’s equines as we are to our apes. They share the same genetic ancestors, yet they’re a very different branch.”

  Chelan stared at Terig in astonishment. “You mean he speaks?”

  “He communicates, my Lady. If you watch his ears, you will find that he can converse with the best of us using a modification of the Iceanean battle language. He understands our language perfectly, as well as several others, including our English as ordained by his Lordship.”

  Chelan finally edged her way all the way back to Terig, Shabby’s eyes never leaving her. “I... You said... or he mentioned my touch. Uh... did I offend... or I mean, I’m sorry.”

  Terig chuckled. “Don’t worry, my Lady. He is not offended. He knows you mistook his identity. But he does find you very beautiful.”

  Chelan’s gaze traversed the Centurion’s densely muscled body. Suddenly she remembered watching a stallion mount a mare that had been brought to be impregnated at one of the stables she frequented. Her skin flushed and she looked away, instantly rendered uncomfortable by the chalcedony eyes upon her. Finally, she looked up at Terig. “Maybe you should introduce us formally.”

  “Certainly. Shabby, this is the Lady Chelan.”

  The massive beast lowered his head in reverence and then straightened himself regally.

  “And Chelan, this is Shabby.”

  Chelan’s smile faltered a bit but she managed a shaky curtsy. “Shabby,” she whispered. “I am pleased to meet you.”

  He bowed his head again, and Chelan almost melted. She touched Terig’s arm again. “But why do you call him Shabby? He is far from that, my Lord.”

  Terig laughed, and Shabby’s eyes glistened. “Shabby is short for Shabizar, my Lady—a regal name for sure.”

  “Yes, it is,” she returned.

  Terig glanced between the two. “Any questions before we leave?”

  “Hundreds...,” she whispered. “Ah... but you mentioned transportation?”

  “Oh, yes. Shabby is that. And he is a beautiful way to see the country.”

  Chelan almost stepped behind Terig. “Surely, you jest. If he is as intelligent as you say he is, he would not lend himself to being a beast of burden.”

  “Well, he’s not exactly that, my Lady. He does provide many services to us and the people of the Empire, and we in turn supply him with many of our services and comforts. But come, we’ll ride and I will explain much more later.”

  Chelan reluctantly approached the potent-looking animal, but only after Terig urged her forward almost forcefully.

  Shabby automatically turned sideways to them and then knelt. With Terig’s help, Chelan slipped up onto his back. Then Shabby rose smoothly, arching his neck around, where he nudged her boot reassuringly.

  Terig reached up and grasped Shabby’s mane at the Centurion’s withers and effortlessly vaulted upon his back just behind Chelan. “My Lady,” he said, “would you grant me permission to hold onto you? Though Shabby is large and his gait is smooth, I would not wish to be brought before his Lordship if you were to take a tumble.”

  Chelan smiled. “Permission granted. I would not want to see you in any form of trouble, kind sir.”

  Terig’s arms automatically encircled her waist, and he pulled her tightly to him. But Terig’s solid embrace was lost on Chelan, who was spellbound by the mount beneath her thighs. The Centurion was nothing like her world’s horses. As she and Terig sat quietly upon his back, there was no flinching, no swishing tail, no fidgeting of any kind. The beast was stock-still, obviously highly disciplined.

  Terig’s voice finally stirred her. “Ever ridden before?”

  “Oh, yes. Many times. Most of my life, in fact.”

  “Oh! I wish I had known. Shabby could have brought a friend for you. I just assumed riding was unfamiliar, so I thought riding double would be more comfortable for you.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t mind. Besides, I must admit, he is a tad intimidating. And I am only used to riding with a saddle and bridle.”

  “Well, being intimidated by his size is more than understandable. But here there is no need for any kind of tack. We simply tell him our plans, which he may or may not follow.” Terig chuckled as he pointed to Shabby’s ears. “Or, he may just tell us his plans. Either way, we usually get to where we are going... eventually.”

  Chelan grinned. “I take it the two of you don’t always agree?”

  “Ah, rarely agree would be more accurate. He is as pigheaded as me. But I do enjoy our sparring matches.”

  Shabby started out at a smooth, fast walk. Chelan held onto his mane instinctively, though it was hardly necessary. Terig’s grip on her waist was immovable. She wasn’t going anywhere.

  Finally redirecting her focus, Chelan watched in silence, the awe-inspiring scenery revealing itself. The moor quickly gave way to a beautiful glen, and there Shabby stopped momentarily.

  “Well, what do you think so far?” asked Terig.

  “I think it is all wondrous. But how do you maintain all this on a desert planet?”

  Shabby started again and Chelan felt herself stiffen. She wasn’t sure if it was in response to the powerful muscles sliding between her legs or the feeling of Terig’s thighs as they tightened about her.

  Unaware of her temporary distraction, Terig answered. “A weather machine, actually. I had worked for the Cleosans for many years, proving my value to them beyond a shadow of a doubt. But life underground for me was unbearable. And since most of the planet hovers at a balmy 50 degrees Celsius, living on the surface was out of the question. However, the high north here remains at a moderate 35 degrees. That I could tolerate, but the desert had to go. The Cleosans were experimenting with some weather technology so that they could vary their surface crops and better manage their water resources. So, with a little help from the Telesians, voilà! A near perfect, indispensable weather machine for the taking.”

  “Where is it?”

  “There are several of them, actually, and they are all in geosynchronous orbits about the planet. Many areas on this world are maintained by them, this one included. With an abundance of manufactured rain and a few trips to Earth for some indigenous species, the environment I dreamed of was created. And so here we are, the Highlands of Scotland.”

  Chelan shook her head. “How large is this area?”

  “Oh, it fluctuates. The planet is known for its unpredictable and very nasty sandstorms
that at times manage to swallow most of this up. The weather machines are no match for the power of the storms. However, with some brute force and heavy rains after the storms have receded, I can usually reclaim most of it back. In total, though, I’d say there is about four to five thousand square kilometers here.”

  Chelan’s eyes widened. “Wow! That is some weather machine. You definitely have your own little empire.”

  “That it is, my Lady. And with none of the annoyances of Earth.”

  Chelan glanced back at him. “Maybe with none of Earth’s usual annoyances, but by the sound of the storms you mentioned, that is one major annoyance.”

  Terig laughed. “Aye, I’ll grant you that, my Lady. But when my paradise is intact, I have few visitors, and no one to question my governance over my domain. When I’m in need of technology or basic supplies, the Cleosans, the Telesians, or the Empire rise to the task without argument. There’s no bureaucracy, no meddling, and very few interlopers. For the most part I’m surrounded by peace and tranquility—when not working, of course.”

  Chelan turned her head and looked up into his handsome face once again. “And Shabby—he lives here, or in the desert?”

  “He and his family and friends live here on my land. It’s a whole lot more hospitable.”

  “And where exactly do you live, Lord Terig?”

  Terig remained silent as Shabby scaled the ridge of the glen. As they reached the crest of the rise, the Centurion stopped.

  “Oh, my...,” she breathed.

  Terig smiled. “Home, my Lady.”

  For the longest time Chelan could only stare. Before her, high on a bluff overlooking the ocean, was the most magnificent castle she had ever seen. Towering stone walls, battlements, and towers abounded. “You built this?” she blurted out incredulously.

  “Well, I designed it. Believe me, I had a lot of help.”

  Shabby started to move again. As they approached the castle walls, Chelan felt herself press back into Terig in order to take it all in. Soon, the colossal structure loomed over them, the scale of the entrance rendering her almost disoriented.

  Terig looked over his home with pride and then glanced down at the woman tucked into him, her warm body against his chest and surrounded by his thighs. As she took in all that was his, he took in all that was her. She was an alabaster beauty like none he had ever encountered. Her golden brown hair glittered in the morning sun. Her dark brown eyes were as large as saucers as she absorbed her new surroundings. But then his attention was reluctantly drawn back to their destination when they entered the central courtyard via a huge archway.

  Shabby headed directly for the far end and then stopped. Terig slipped from his back and then raised his arms to Chelan. She swung her leg over the Centurion’s neck and allowed Terig to ease her gently to the ground.

  Chelan smiled as she looked into Shabby’s eyes. “Thank you. I enjoyed that immensely.” Then her brows rose as she watched the Centurion’s ears move.

  Terig touched her arm, gaining her attention. “Allow me to translate,” and Terig spoke to her directly as Shabby signed.

  “The pleasure was all mine, my Lady. As long as you are here, you may call on me at any time.”

  Chelan smiled. “I would love to learn more about you and your kind. I find you fascinating.”

  “Well, my ancestors are tightly woven into your Earth’s history in both fact and fable.”

  Chelan’s eyes widened. “Fable?”

  Shabby stirred, his eyes never leaving hers. “You have undoubtedly heard of unicorns, and even Pegasus?”

  Chelan glanced at Terig. “I don’t know if can handle many more surprises.”

  Terig nodded. “You’ll enjoy the story, if you wish Shabby to continue.”

  Chelan looked back at the black beast, and she could feel her excitement heightening. “By all means. I would love to hear all that you have to share.”

  Shabby nodded and continued, using Terig’s voice. “Well, you have heard the myths surrounding the elusive unicorns, the ones that, by some accounts, were supposedly too busy frolicking to notice your world’s flood?”

  Chelan nodded.

  “Most myths are based on fact, and that one is no exception. Your world was home to a few of our cousins, not the unicorns mentioned in the bible, but separate ones, and they did support a lone spiral horn.”

  Chelan spoke. “But you don’t.”

  “No, not anymore. My branch of ancestors evolved on another planet, which is our namesake, Centurion. My predecessors at one point were hunted nearly to extinction for our horns by a race of beings who felt the horns possessed some sort of magic.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Chelan muttered with disdain. “How did you survive?”

  “As natural selection would have it, there was always a small percentage of us that were born hornless. We established our own breeding program out of desperation. It took many generations before the horns were mostly eradicated, but we succeeded. Thereafter, whenever one of our offspring was born with one, even a residual one, we managed to remove it by force, damaging the horn’s bed so that it would not regrow. Soon, there was no reason for the offending beings to return to the planet to hunt us, and from that point on, we lived in peace.”

  Chelan studied his noble face. “So, no more horns, ever?”

  “I’m afraid not, my Lady.”

  “What were they used for to begin with?”

  “Like many creatures, the males used theirs to spar with over females. But as we advanced as a civilization, we abandoned such shows of aggression.”

  “But your females also had the horn—at least I believe so, in our Earth folklore?”

  “Oh yes, but usually it was much finer in nature.”

  Chelan felt her breath catch in her throat. “You mentioned Pegasus, a white horse of our Greek mythology. That beast was not horned.”

  Shabby smiled as he backstepped a few paces. “No, he wasn’t, but the planet my ancestors inhabited was extremely hostile. We capitalized on genetic adaptations to shield us against the elements.”

  Chelan felt excitement bubble up through her very being. “You adapted how?”

  Shabby braced himself, his neck arching in the most regal curve.

  Terig stepped behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. And then it happened. From Shabizar’s heavily muscled sides unfurled the most spectacular set of ebony wings imaginable. He reared back on his hind legs, his front hooves pawing at the air as the massive wings flexed several times, forcefully buffeting Chelan.

  Then, in all his glory, his front feet hit the ground just as he threw his head back, his thick mane sailing through the air. Finally, he stood very still.

  Chelan could only stare as she studied him closely. His wings were beautifully shaped, just as inky black as the rest of him, but they were not like anything in her Earth mythology. There were no feathers, not a single one. Instead, they appeared to be of the same flesh as his skin, covered with the same glossy hair. Then, with grace, the wings folded and settled back to his sides, blending seamlessly into his body.

  Chelan was almost trembling. Shabby stepped up to her, nuzzling her hand and bringing her out of her stupor. “My Lady,” he began, still speaking through Terig. “I hope I didn’t frighten you?”

  Chelan could feel her heart racing in her chest. “No, no. I’m fine. A little stunned, perhaps—awestruck, definitely—but frightened, no.”

  Shabby smiled, his eyes sparking. “For the most part, our winglike structures are a highly vascular, muscle-dense appendage. We can surround ourselves with them to warm ourselves and protect. When they are extended, like an elephant of your world uses its ears, air flowing over them serves to cool ourselves when necessary. Unlike your mythological creature, obviously, they are not meant for flight, nor are they vestibular remnants of such. They are an evolutionary adaptation that provides for us what your shroud provides for you. Someday, if you wish, I’ll take you back to the moors for another tour and I’
ll explain it all in much more detail.”

  Chelan nodded. “Yes! I would enjoy that.” Then, tentatively, she reached for his face, stopping just short. “May I touch you?”

  “You may, my Lady, at any time. You do not have to ask.”

  His eyes closed in response to her soft touch. Her long slender fingers traced up to his forehead, and then suddenly, she stopped. Shabby opened his eyes. “You feel it?” he asked quietly through Terig.

  Chelan’s fingers moved over him, probing slightly, and she gasped. “I do!”

  Shabby nodded almost imperceptibly. “That’s the ring of hard bone—the root, if you will—the last remnant of our long-lost horn.”

  Chelan finally retracted her hand, still gazing at him in awe. “I look forward to our trip to the glen, Shabizar, very much.”

  “As do I, my Lady.” Then he nodded to Terig. “I will now take my leave if I’m no longer required?”

  Terig smiled and nodded. “Thank you once again, Shabby. We’ll talk soon.”

  Shabby took a step back and then bowed deeply to Chelan, the tip of his velvet nose touching one of his powerful front legs. Then he rose and left at a canter through the front gates.

  Terig and Chelan watched him go. Then she turned to Terig and ran her hands through her disheveled hair. “Wow! Oh. My. God. That was... He was spectacular!” She gazed up into Terig’s eyes. “So, my Lord. Any other surprises for me?”

  Terig grinned, almost mischievously.

  Chapter 19

  TERIG LED CHELAN INTO the great hall, where he stood and watched her as she explored.

  For Chelan, it was as though she had been hurled back over four hundred years into her family’s history books. Large tapestries adorned the stark rock walls, and wooden tables and benches spanned the area, waiting for the masses that would quite likely never attend. At the far end of the hall was a spectacular fireplace, harboring the cauldrons that would be used to cook if ever the need arose.

  Terig beckoned her to follow him. He ascended a large spiral staircase that seemed to rise forever before reaching the second floor. There, he allowed her time to wander the darkened hallway, peering into each room as she came upon them. Each chamber was decorated differently, some in English motifs, some in French, but most distinctly Scottish, each room sporting the colors of a different clan.