ALLEVIATE (The Portals of Time Book 2)

by Jackie Ivie

  Cedric yelled it. Good thing he possessed such a large voice. The skiff re-righted with a shudder as his orders were obeyed.

  “Shove that trunk to the middle! You! And you! Start bailing!”

  Morrigan heard the sound of the first trunk sliding across wood as he grabbed for the second one. This one was larger. Heavier. He had to use both arms. He grunted loudly as he heaved. The trunk made a thudding sound as it landed behind him. He heard them sliding it away, too.

  “How many are there?” someone asked.

  “Six!”

  Someone answered. Morrigan pulled on the net again. One of the oarsmen from this side of the boat was at his shoulder, assisting. That fellow pulled the third trunk aboard. Morrigan snagged the fourth.

  “Nae! Seven!”

  “More!”

  “Oh. Holy Mary, Mother of God.”

  Morrigan didn’t know who said it, their voice reflecting shock and reverence. It sounded like a prayer. Or homage.

  “Balance the weight! Shove them in the center. Move your arses!”

  Cedric was still spouting directions. Someone spoke up.

  “We cannot take many more aboard!”

  “Well! We are not leaving any!”

  Cedric yelled it. Morrigan’s shoulders ached. The muscles in his belly burned with effort. His teeth were gritted tightly together. The trunks kept getting heavier and larger. A third man was assisting now, his weight at the side counter-balanced by the trunks already aboard.

  “We may...need to head...for shore!” Morrigan’s announcement was broken into thirds due to lack of breath. It was a chore to yell, but he had to shout to be heard above the elements.

  “And leave a bounty? Are you crazed?” Cedric yelled back at him.

  “We can...tow them!”

  “Oh! Right! Hook the net, lads! We’ll start for home!”

  Morrigan watched the length of sodden rope slide away. Several men wrapped it about the mast, securing it. The net settled atop a mass of trunks in the center of their boat, molding and defining them. He wasn’t the lone man looking. Morrigan nearly whistled in disbelief. The trunks hadn’t been heavy enough to contain silver, but they might contain all sorts of marketable goods. Merchandise.

  But his gut was still giving him trouble. That was odd. They had a good haul. And that’s why he was out here.

  Wasn’t it?

  Exhaustion hit without a shred of warning. With it, the elements. He was wet. Cold. And shaky. Morrigan sagged onto his knees before his legs dropped him.

  “Come on, boys! Row for home! Everyone! Back in your places! Morrigan? What are you doing? Get to your oar!”

  A muddled cry stopped any answer.

  “Madre de Dios! Ayuda! Ayuda!”

  “Wait! There’s somebody out there!”

  One of the men pointed. Morrigan looked. There truly was someone out there. Hooked in the net. Waving an arm.

  They had a survivor?

  Strength instantly returned. He didn’t even wonder at it. Morrigan stood and started hauling at the cargo netting again.

  “Ayuda!”

  “Who speaks Spanish? Anyone? What does he say?” Cedric demanded.

  “I think he says ‘Help’! That’s Spanish for help!”

  Morrigan didn’t need the translation. He recognized the plea by the man’s tone. It was definitely a man. Thin. Dark-skinned. He clung to a trunk edge. Morrigan grabbed for his collar and pulled.

  “No! No!” The fellow shimmied out of his grasp, fighting removal.

  “Come...aboard!”

  “No! Es mi amante! Es me amante! Por favor!”

  The fellow was spouting gibberish. Morrigan reached for him again. The man pulled farther away.

  “Will someone translate...while I can still feel my arms?” Morrigan shouted.

  “He says he can’t leave without his mistress. Says she is attached to him. With a rope!”

  The poor man had a corpse attached to him?

  “I’ll get him free. Tell him.”

  And if he could feel his fingers, he’d have done it already. Morrigan pulled out his dagger. The fellow moved back again, screaming more words.

  “Now, what is the problem?” Cedric yelled.

  “He says his mistress needs help! These are her belongings.”

  “Not anymore, they’re not! They’re ours!”

  Cedric’s announcement was met with a disjointed shout of approval. Then some cheering. The interpreter spoke again. The survivor was spouting more words, in an even quicker fashion.

  “No! Wait! He says she spoke just moments ago. She is not dead. He begs us.”

  “Cut the bastard loose!” Cedric ordered.

  Morrigan didn’t waste another moment. He dove outward, grabbed the fellow’s shoulders and twisted them, breaking the fellow’s grasp on the trunk. Someone had snagged Morrigan’s legs as he lunged. He was hauled back into the boat, dragging the man, a lot of water, and even more netting. He groaned as he hit the deck. The surface was hard. Unforgiving. Hitting it hurt worse because cold was seeping into every experience. The man definitely had something about him. It started dragging him back toward the sea. Morrigan struggled to his feet, grabbed the rope about the fellow’s waist, and started pulling.

  Whatever was attached to the man was heavy.

  Morrigan slid. His body smacked against the side of the boat. It took every ounce of strength to continue. Not one man came to his aid. The rope slid more than once, burning his palms as if it fought him. A mass of hair came into view finally, resembling seaweed. The body was face-down. Morrigan flung the rope down and jumped atop it, preventing it from moving. All so he could reach out. Grab a shoulder. Roll her over. Even in the feeble light of their lantern he could tell it was a woman. She was a beauty. And she wasn’t breathing.

  He looked back over his shoulder at the others. “Tell the poor man, it’s useless. She’s dead.”

  And that’s when the bolt of lightning hit them.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Brilliant light filled her vision. Elena watched it in wonder. It was imbued with color as if a watercolorist was at work, using every shade in the paint box. A thunderous boom filled her ears on the heels of the light, sounding as if the drummer was right behind her with a megaphone. Her body should have jerked involuntarily.

  It didn’t.

  Shock held her spellbound. Awe kept her entranced. The world still spun uncontrollably, but it had turned into a kaleidoscope of color and light and sound. But then it changed. Something about her waist started tightening, cinching her nearly in half. The spiral about her slowed, the colors turned into strips of light. Elena started sliding downward, going ever quicker, as if caught in an immense water slide without a hint of definition. It got darker. The colors faded to a charcoal shade. And it was filled with what sounded like a squeal of rusted equipment. Her heart turned into a pounding entity in her chest. A huge knot lodged in her throat. Each breath was a chore, and her pulse moved as rapidly as an operatic aria.

  And then the thing that had held her evaporated, dumping her body into ice-water.

  If she had breath, Elena would have screamed. Freezing water encased her, sending liquid pain. Water filled her mouth. She inhaled and choked. Tried to breathe, but coughed. A sodden mass encased her limbs. Struggling only made it tighter. Everything hurt. But the restriction about her waist was the worst. It felt like she’d been grabbed by a vise and it kept ratcheting tighter.

  And tighter...

  “Listen! She breathes!”

  The speaker sounded like he’d spent too many hours screaming at a rock concert. He also spoke with an odd accent. That was weird. To her knowledge, nobody on the river rafting tour was a foreigner.

  “Someone help me!”

  The hoarse voice yelled words again. She was gripped about the shoulders, relieving some of the pressure about her waist. The relief was instantaneous. She really needed to open her eyes. Get her brain in gear. Figure this out.

  “W
ait!”

  Another foreign-sounding voice shouted the word. The reason for his volume was obvious. She could barely hear him above a huge whining sound. That was odd. It didn’t sound remotely like the waterfalls in Cataract Canyon somewhere in the Grand Canyon of Arizona.

  Wow.

  This was worse than waking up to bright sunlight.

  Without a drink.

  Her eyelids were leaden. Her joints locked. Her muscles were active, but they weren’t under her control. Every limb was experiencing uncontrollable spasms. She might as well have fallen through a skating pond in Upstate New York. Cold permeated everything. Elena had her teeth clenched tightly to keep them from chattering. While all around her a storm raged. And men argued.

  No.

  She was losing her mind.

  That had to be the sound of the boatmen calling out. They yelled because they needed to be heard over the Colorado River as it turned into waterfalls. Smashed against obstacles. It could be the sound of their boat as it got ripped apart by churning water. Might even be noise from the area of river she’d fallen into – appropriately called Satan’s Gut. Perhaps, if she were supremely lucky, that was what river water sounded like as it smashed against the sides of a canyon. If she could just reach it, she’d be safe. Able to get out of the wet. Dry off in the sun. Get warm. Somewhere there had to be warmth.

  “No! You wait!”

  The hoarse man yelled it. He sounded closer. So did the other guy when he answered. And if the freezing sensation that was sucking at her life force would just back off a little, she could figure this out. Decipher things. Ready a strategy.

  “Let her go! Now!”

  The other voice was difficult to understand, as if English wasn’t his first language...or even his second. He sounded commanding, though. She recognized that even as his words filtered through. Surely, he didn’t mean her?

  “No!”

  “This is not her treasure! It’s ours!”

  She heard a yell. Followed by a shriek. A huge swell of water washed over her again. Elena choked. Sputtered. Something smacked into her. And then it was gone.

  “What have...you done?”

  “It is not his treasure, either!”

  Elena got yanked upward, despite how the water sucked at her, unwilling to release its hold. The instant sensation of air was actually worse. It wrapped her in a blanket of frost. Freezing cold infiltrated her frame. Found every inch of skin. Elena moaned as she slammed into a solid mass. That hurt, too.

  “Cedric!”

  “What is one less Spaniard to the world?”

  The pressure about her waist was back worse than before. She needed to get her eyes open. Guzzle down a really stiff drink. No. Two of them. She wished she’d never come on this trip! She’d rather deal with holiday crap. So, she had to deal with depression. Loss. Apathy for Donald, the ex-husband...and by extension, men in general. So what? At least all of that was normal.

  On that thought, her eyelids finally worked. Elena forced her eyes open. Glanced upward. And if she hadn’t had her teeth clenched, her jaw would have dropped.

  Oh.

  No way.

  It was a movie version of the Norse god, Thor. The guy was large. Long-haired. Blonde. Had a scruff of beard. And he was absolutely gorgeous. His left arm had her pinned to his side. And everything felt a lot warmer all of a sudden.

  “Put down your blade, Cedric.”

  Elena turned her head to see who Thor addressed.

  Wow.

  This was like watching a play. Her man had a long knife in his other hand. Light glinted off steel as he brought it upward, slicing through what looked like a thick rope. It took a second to recognize that one end was tied about her waist, while the other end slithered out of sight over what looked like a balcony edge. The instant easing of the vice-like pressure was pure heaven. She’d have thanked Thor, but he wasn’t paying any attention to her. He was facing an adversary, the knife now out between them.

  Hmm.

  If Cedric was the man facing them, the poor guy was seriously outgunned. Even dressed in a fur hat, with another animal hide over his shoulders, he looked diminutive. But it was hard to be certain. The scene was chaotic, poorly illuminated, and constantly moving. The floor rocked upward with huge surges, before dropping with a sickening motion. Thor must be as strong as he looked and felt. They swayed back and forth with the movement, but otherwise, didn’t shift much. She didn’t know for certain, but it really looked like...

  Now, wait just a minute here.

  She was aboard a ship?

  Out in the ocean?

  In a storm?

  As incomprehensible as it seemed, listing things didn’t change anything. The world outside the immediate vicinity was a boiling mass of water. Heaving waves. A lot of darkness...

  It was night, too?

  This wasn’t possible. None of it.

  “You challenge me, Morrigan, and you’re no longer welcome in my village.”

  Ah. Her man had a name. Morrigan. Hmm. Nice.

  “If I challenge you...you’re a dead man,” Morrigan replied.

  Wow. That was a great line. It gave her goose bumps. This was quite the dream. She was locked into something resembling a historical movie. She couldn’t tell the era. Clothing wasn’t helpful. Everyone wore fur. There were a lot of actors on the set, most sitting on long benches in rows. One guy stood atop a ledge, holding a lantern aloft. Another stood in the back holding what appeared to be a big drum. The rest of the men rested muscled arms onto long oars as if re-enacting a Viking scene.

  Was she dreaming of Vikings?

  Could be.

  The men all watched the tableau without interfering...except for one guy. He was beside Cedric. He looked even smaller than Cedric. And then both men started dancing back and forth, as though compensating for the waves.

  No. That’s wrong, Elena.

  They weren’t dancing. They were grappling. And yelling in that hard-to-understand English. Both had long knives out. This was insane.

  “Cease this, Cedric!”

  “I will kill you, too!”

  “Who will translate...then?”

  “It’s a woman. Who cares what she says?”

  Oh. She had historically-accurate misogynists to deal with, too?

  Elena narrowed her eyes. Watched the battle. Silently rooted for the translator fellow. Hated it when Cedric flung the other man off. The fellow crumpled to the deck. Dark water in the bottom sloshed against him. Cedric stepped over the body.

  This was an incredibly realistic movie set. Fraught with intensity. Imminent danger. The set designers were fantastic. She could swear she was aboard a boat, a large boat. Seventy foot yacht-size. It was the dark of night. A hurricane-strength storm swirled about them.

  And these two males were about to have a knife fight?

  She hadn’t seen this much overacting since she’d watched her grandmother’s soap operas. The translator fellow was even starting to stir. Get to his knees. He didn’t know enough to stay dead until the scene was over?

  Elena snorted. Cedric couldn’t have heard it. Morrigan looked down at her. A surge of fire rocketed through her as their glances touched. He turned back to the smaller man while she tried to absorb all kinds of sensory signals.

  Holy crap.

  That was amazing. Morrigan was the sexiest thing she’d ever envisioned. He sent vibes that scorched. His look sent a solid sensation of warmth, heating her through sodden layers of...

  Stop the action for a second here. She needed to check wardrobe. What on earth was she wearing?

  Elena lifted an arm. It was covered in some strange shiny fabric, impossible to tell color in this light and with the amount of saturation. Whatever it was, the material molded to her like a clammy outer shell. Water sluiced off of it in rivulets. And there was something more. Tendrils of dark hair clung to her arm. Long hair. She could feel it pulling at her scalp as she moved. She had hair again, too?

  Wait.

/>   Did that mean she also had...?

  Elena looked down. She definitely had breasts! Large ones! They rose and fell with each breath.

  Oh! This was an awesome dream!

  “Well, Cedric? What’s it to be?”

  Morrigan slashed the air with his blade, grabbing her attention as he restarted the scene. The ship rocked up and down. Cedric skidded and pranced to one side. Returned. She and Morrigan had barely moved. It occurred to her then that Morrigan’s words were easy to understand. Even with his accent. It was a really cute accent. She’d heard it before. In other movies, maybe. It could be Scottish.

  Cedric pranced sideways again. Returned to face Morrigan. Went the other direction. That was really funny. Elena caught the smile, but didn’t quite stifle the chortle. Morrigan’s arm hardened about her, sending more heat. A lot more sparks. And all kinds of sensation that stopped every hint of amusement.

  “What...should it be?”

  Cedric managed to stay in one place long enough to spit the words at Morrigan. The light hit his face. The casting director had done a great job with the villain. He looked about twenty-five. He was a ginger, his hair as red as his beard. A snarl contorted his face. And he was missing two front teeth. Elena only got a moment’s look before he was on the move again, stumbling sideways as the ship continued rocking.

  Morrigan waited for the man to return before he answered. And that’s when she nailed his accent. He had a really thick Irish accent. And it was very cute.

  “You’re their leader. Cease this.”

  Cedric was the leader? Oh. No. No. What group of men would follow him? Somebody needed to rewrite this entire scene.

  “Aye! That I am!”

  Cedric slashed at the air with his long knife. It looked pitifully weak against Morrigan. Elena watched in surprise as Morrigan lowered his weapon.

  “Start the drummer. Head for shore.”

  ‘No! Take his head off!’ Elena inserted silently.

  Cedric went dancing off again. Swooped right past them with his return. It took two or three motions before he stood before Morrigan again. Most audiences would have burst into laughter. Elena glanced up at Morrigan. Back to Cedric. Chewed on her lower lip.