Instantly they felt some release and both had a slight headache, but they were terrified. Right now, either one of them would do whatever he said rather than be subjected to that thing again, although Sam, in particular, felt disgusted. Not even in the midst of the storm had she ever felt as weak and small and helpless as she did here. And this was supposed to be the good guy!
"Hold hands, do not look at me, and stare at the center of the disk," Zenchur told them. "Just keep staring. He might not be immediately available." Not all the fight was out of Sam. "Who's he?" "My employer."
Sam took Charley's right hand in her left and squeezed it and -they both stared at the center of the funny diagram carved into the wood. He was apparently on hold; things happened almost immediately.
There was a sudden shimmering just above the center of the disk but not touching it, and then it thickened and took on a definite shape outlined first in golden sparklies, but it soon became the form of a man, slightly transparent but in full, realistic three dimensions. The image was a living hologram of the green-robed wizard from the maelstrom, perhaps ten inches high.
"About time," the sorcerer snapped, the voice a bit thin and proportionate to the image, yet very clear. "I dare not risk keeping this open any longer than I have to. Ladies, we have several problems and we must deal with them quickly. I know you have a lot of questions but the answers to most will have to wait, perhaps until we can meet in person. All you need know is that you, with the short hair and the deep voice, are a target here just like you were. The fellow with the horns is very powerful both in magic and in temporal power. I'm also powerful-maybe his superior in magical power but I don't have much of a temporal base. In this case Satan has the army and the Pope has none. Nevermind. He was too gutless to try me back there, so he's lost track of you and unlike on the old world he can't just whip up a spell of location. If he tried that in Akahlar he'd risk whipping up a changewind even he couldn't handle.
"He knows I've got you, so he'll put all sorts of temporal and magical tails and shadows on me. I can probably get to you and protect you but then we'll be back where we started because he can follow. If he finds you, Short Hair, he'll kill you .without hesitation or mercy. Believe that. Oddly, that's an advantage since he has strict orders to his minions that they are not to harm you but merely to capture and summon him. That's because only he can tell if it's really you. I could run some interference in the tunnel but that wouldn't have fooled him for long if I hadn't been there in person. As such, he's put out a very high reward for you, alive only and held until he can come to you. Every damned crook and politician in the business will be drooling over it, even his enemies. Trust only Zenchur. He is the only one who knows that the greatness of his reward will be matched only by the horror if he sells me out. What is your name, anyway? I can't keep calling you Short Hair."
"S-Sam. Samantha Buell," she managed. "And this is my friend Charley-Sharlene."
"You're not even related? Remarkable. Sam and Charley. Huh! Who'd have thought it?" He sighed. "All right, Charley, I don't know if you are here by accident or choice but you are here and you are stuck and as such you are going to be useful to me and to your friend. You might have noticed old Horn Head and his beasties both got confused, a common occurrence with them. That's why I had to alter your voice. I was afraid you'd say something and give the show away. The fact is, he doesn't know a damn thing more about you than I do and only what he saw. He knows what Sam looks like if Sam's looking like a young woman. I need Sam alive. Not only for now but for the far distant future. Alive and physically unchanged by magic or any other forces. He thinks Sam was a boy, possibly your brother. He'll be looking for an attractive young lady with a deep and distinctive voice. They all will. Sam must continue to be a boy to all outward appearance and that leaves you, Charley."
"You're gonna make her the Judas goat! They'll kill her!" Sam protested.
"Perhaps-but remember that everyone hunting for you knows there is no reward and perhaps some punishment for killing you, and if Horn Head comes without me running interference he'll know it's not. That gives you a chance, which is more than you have on your own. I can't fill the countryside with Sam clones. For one thing, it takes a small part of Sam to do it right and there's only so much of her. Understand, though, I don't want him to catch you, Charley. If he does he'll catch on fast to who the real one must be. We will protect you all the way as if you were the real quarry. In the end, not only your friend's life and future but your own as well will depend on you carrying it off. I can help a little now. Interlock the fingers of the hands you are now holding. Go on-do it."
They did so, although it was a bit awkward.
"There is feminine in the most brutish male, and there is masculine in the most gentle and beauteous female. Sam, I can't change you physically-I wish I could but I cannot and he knows it-but I can make some temporary mental adjustments and Charley stands right next to you now. Put your clasped hands into the center of my image. Go ahead-I'm not . going to turn anybody into a toad."
Hesitantly, they both did as instructed. There was a sudden tingle and the image of the sorcerer seemed to mix with and grow out of the two hands clasped together. There was suddenly a sharp and painful shock through both hands that made them cry out but they could not pull their hands away from his image. Sam felt a wave of nausea and dizziness and would have fallen to the floor if not frozen there; Charley felt the same sensation but in addition a thin, burning sensation that started at the top of her head and went slowly and methodically down through every part of her.
"Okay," the sorcerer said with satisfaction. "You're probably both going to pass out when I break the contact, so I'll say the rest of my piece here. I've been able to get away with this because Horn Head doesn't know where I am yet or where you are at all, but since I have to be public shortly that will end. Within a few days he will have narrowed down and figured out the rough area where you had to land, so you will have to move. Zenchur will take you to a place where you can be safe and be taught something about this world and trained in what might be needed of you in the future. Horny can't touch you there but if he learns of your presence there he sure as hell can make it hard to get out again. When it blows over and the hue and cry is yesterday's news to all but your enemy and us, then we must meet. We must do what he fears most. I do not understate this. If we fail, it is entirely possible, even likely, that it will mean the destruction or total domination not only of this world but every world-your old world, too-by the blackest of evil. The odds of our survival, let alone success, are quite small, but the alternative is far worse than death. But if we succeed the prize, your prize, will also be great, and Charley will share.
"Zenchur-one last thing. I have now done the calculations and the clumsy and heavy-handed attempt on this pair by my adversary has triggered the largest and deepest changewind in a decade. I have calculated it will penetrate the Malabar District just beyond the Brothers. It might well proceed a great distance before going Outplane-it's that bad. Sit tight a full day and night more before moving and take its aftermath into account when you go. I go to alert those I can-or care to. Farewell, and may the winds be with you."
The image flickered out, the hold was released, and, as the sorcerer had predicted, both of them fell unconscious to the floor. With Ladai's help he got them apart and to the other tent, where they were laid side by side on silk-covered rugs and silk pillows. Looking down at the pair, Ladai could only shake her head in wonder. "It is incredible. And at such a distance! What power he must have!"
Zenchur nodded. "And that is why we must do as he says even though our hearts are not in it. I knew I should never have done that job for him, Jewel of Omak or no Jewel of Omak. It was payment for services rendered but the bastard now owns my soul. He knew about this! He knew even then! That is why he threw in the spell that allowed me to learn his accursed tongue."
Ladai nodded sadly. "Still, they seem quite nice, if very shy and very frightened girls. In a
sense, they are more victimized than we. Their shyness in front of you was actually quite touching. They took me as an equal, yet were embarrassed and frightened by you. It would be well if they continued to fear the Akhbreed and showed no hatred or fear toward the other races. It shows what this world might become. See them now. They look so tiny-so helpless. What in the name of the Five Netherworlds would cause two such powers to go to such lengths to have them?"
"Just the one," Zenchur told her. She had understood none of the English conversations and was very curious. "That one. The other is the decoy. I have no idea what this could be about, but I am not certain which I envy least-the one they want or the decoy." He sighed. "At least they won't need the Jewel of Omak with us anymore. Our employer has seen to that."
The pair left them to their dreams, and they were vastly different dreams, many in number and vivid in their realism. For Sam, the dreams were adventure stories with, for her, an odd perspective. Time and again, through many variations, she was the hero; a small but handsome man in sword and cape, battling various monsters both human and inhuman, saving the innocent and the helpless and rescuing the fair damsel in distress who then threw herself at "him" in gratitude and love. They were a boy's dreams, romantic dreams, of brave knights and muscled warriors vanquished by power and skill and guts.
And through it all ran a thread that somehow her mind; sorted out, and she understood and she believed. You are a man, born heir to a kingdom that only males can rule, but a great sorcerer stole your soul one day to advance the cause of a greedy rival to the throne and placed it far away, in another world, in the body of a girl. Now you are back in the land of your origins but still in that alien female body but your soul rebels. Henceforth you will let your soul guide you; you will look, act, talk, think like a man and all things womanly you must put aside or you will remain trapped in that body forever. None who do not now know your secret must ever know. You must put aside all womanly things and convince everyone, even yourself, that you are male. Only that way is redemption.
But for Charley, the message was quite radically different, as were the dreams.
For Charley, the dreams were exotic and erotic, almost a 1001 Nights scenario, in which she was the beautiful slave girl coveted by all, or an exotic and mysterious femme fatale desired by all men and using her charms to twist them to her will. They were romantic fantasies of the power of beauty, of being so alluring that men would risk their lives and their honor over her and for her while she risked very little. They were curiously mixed, with dreams of power intermingling with dreams of subjugation and domination, but they were all intensely erotic.
And, deep inside, she knew that this was what she wanted. To be glamorous, sexy, uninhibited, erotic, in all ways totally feminine, totally female.
Charley awoke first to find herself extremely turned on. She had awakened turned on quite a few times since puberty, but never this intense. She just lay there and felt herself up, mentally pretty well switched out. The same girl who was so shy and terrified the night before of even revealing her naked self would at that specific moment have been unable to resist the ugliest nerd who might have walked in.
Charley's active moaning awakened Sam, who for a brief moment had that flash of utter confusion when, opening your eyes and seeing strange surroundings instead of a familiar room, you did not immediately remember where you were.
Then, abruptly, it all came back and she sat up, and as she supported herself on her hands she felt a slight dull hurt on the left palm. She looked at it and saw a tiny, odd-looking cross-shaped cut just below her thumb. It wasn't very much, but it was slightly bruised and not yet quite scabbed over.
She looked down at her body and hated it. It was a prison, a shell that kept her trapped. Still, a rush of hope and possible power went through her. She was a man, damn it. She would behave that way and let no one know the secret shame. She heard Charley moaning and chuckled. The new Sam could give her what relief was possible, but somehow the thought was no longer attractive but seemed rather like kissing your sister. Well, time to get her up, anyway. But when Sam turned and looked at her companion all such thoughts drained from her along with some of her color. It wasn't Charley there beside her! It wasn't Charley it was-Sam!
"Wake up!" Sam snapped. "What's going on here, anyway?"
Charley opened her eyes and smiled. "What's the problem?"
"Charley-that is you, isn't it?"
"Yeah, sure. What . . . ?" Sensing that something was definitely very wrong, she jumped to her feet. "What's happened, Sam? What now?"
"Your face-your hair, your eyes, your build ... We always kinda looked like sisters, but, Charley-you're me!"
Sam pointed to a scar on Charley's abdomen. "That's even my appendix scar, and my birthmarks. A few of the freckles. Holy shit!"
Charley grabbed her hair, which was uncharacteristically trailing down her back, and brought it forward. It was nice, thick hair but it was straight and black and down almost to her waist-like Sam's had been before she'd cut it and run.
Hearing them, Ladai entered carrying a fairly large but manageable hand mirror. She had anticipated the problem again, as usual. Charley almost grabbed for it and looked at herself in the mirror, then all the way down. She stared in the mirror, then at Sam, back and forth, unable to believe it. Other than hair, they were absolutely identical, twins in every way except that one. Body hair was similarly missing; Charley's underarms were smooth and her legs even smoother, white Sam's underarms were fairly bushy and she had never shaved her legs.
"Well," she sighed at last, "he said I was the decoy, didn't he?" She looked at her right palm and saw the small cross-shaped cut similiar to the one on Sam's left hand. Something-. something had been exchanged. Blood or whatever from Sam had gone to Charley and triggered the marching orders. "At least I got your figure, and it's the easiest diet I ever been on. I wonder if it's permanent?"
"Well, at least we still talk different," Sam noted. "You got my voice but you still got your accent."
"And you have yours," she retorted. "But you are talking at your low end normally, in your most male voice. Are you doing that deliberately?"
"No. I hadn't noticed until you said something. But it's- convenient. Charley, once we get some proper clothes and get moving I'm staying a man. You're gonna have to think of me that way, too. From this point on I'm Sam and I'm your brother. Okay?"
"Uh-sure. If I got to look like you I guess one of us ought'a be safe."
"You know you're talkin' high and a little whispery. I never knew it sounded that way. It's still real low but it's kind'a sexy and definitely female. You suddenly got the moves, too. Just standin' there. Jeez-I never knew I could look that sexy in the old days. Well, that's the old days." She shivered. "It's kinda damp in here. I wonder if we're ever gonna get any clothes?"
Zenchur took the cue to enter as Ladai left. He had pants and boots on but no shirt, and did he ever have hairy arms and legs! Somehow his presence no longer elicited in them any embarrassment at all. It wasn't that something had changed that they recognized; they simply didn't even give it a thought.
"I see you have found what your sorcerer has done," the mercenary noted. "I will not ask you how you like it because it makes no difference. Charley, you can still be Charley-the enemy knows only the looks, not the name and family history. I received explicit instructions before you had your encounter. Ladai is fixing a light breakfast; while she does, come in to my tent and we will find you suitable clothes and adornments."
They followed him and again were in the larger tent, this time at the two trunks. "The one on the left has typical Akhbreed male garb. The one on the right is similar but female. Select what you like-there is a large mirror over there in the back. Dress comfortably-we cannot leave today."
Sam looked through her trunk and found it an odd assortment. She wasn't sure what she expected-Peter Pan outfits or whatever-but the pants were mostly loose but leather, the shirts very thick wool or cotton with l
arge wooden fasteners, the boots mostly high-top range-type or chukka boot height. Clearly whoever assembled the grouping had in mind disguising the female figure; much of it was stiff and reinforced in the places that would conceal the breasts and blur the body shape while still looking natural. Most if it looked fairly worn, although it all smelled clean and new. An interesting touch, actually-anybody out looking for her would naturally look for brand new-looking outfits. All the stuff had a handmade look.
Several things were immediately obvious when sorting through the pile as well. There was no real mass production of clothes, no big machines to make them, and nobody here had invented zippers, underwear-at least for the men-or opposing shoes. There were no left and right boots, for example. The harder fabrics had some cotton or wool lining in the seat to cushion extremities on leather, but it was still gonna take some getting used to. She picked a cotton outfit and low chukka boots to start-no socks, either, but they had a soft fur lining. It was clear, though, that if she couldn't tolerate the stiff stuff or it wasn't appropriate she was going to have to create a makeshift minimizer to tie around her breasts, and as for pissing-well, she doubted they had stalls around here so it was gonna have to be real circumspect.
Charley's trunk contained a far different assortment. It was , quite a bit tighter, for one thing, and maximized what Sam's assortment minimized. The pullovers were mostly cotton and cleverly stitched to give some breast support, and the lone pair of pants was of similar material and would never be in danger of falling off her hips no matter what she did.
When The Changewinds Blow Page 8
