by A. L. Knorr
"If anyone comes after me, it'll be you I come for," she continued. "Next time, I'll take one of these…" She squeezed his balls until he choked and turned a shade of green. "…with me."
The barmaid had disappeared into the crowd somewhere, but Jordan could hear her yelling, gathering her forces. Jordan let go of the man’s bits and strode down the road, right past the old man whom now sat on his cart holding his gut. He glared at her as she passed by. It took all she had not to break into a panicked arm-flailing sprint.
The falling of footsteps followed by the raised voices of a scuffle sounded behind her, making her glance over her shoulder. Half a dozen men were talking with the red-bearded man, who had a hand cupped over his genitals. They seemed to be having an argument and gesturing in her direction. Four of them broke into a jog after her. Jordan took off like a shot, dodging a cart and passing two riders on horseback. The horses whinnied and tossed their heads as she sped by them, her booted feet thundering on the dusty road.
As she ran, Jordan's hand drifted down to the blade Sol had given her. She was both thankful to have it and terrified to use it. Why didn’t I sign up for weapons training all those years ago? She was confident in self-defense against one other person; it didn't even matter if that person was bigger than her. Against four big men? She looked back over her shoulder. Well, three–it seemed she'd lost one–but they looked mad.
Jordan sprinted around another wagon and stopped short as a man on horseback, with a second horse in tow, came galloping up the road toward her. They were too close for her to dodge; their flying hooves were upon her. She dropped to a crouch and covered her head, hoping they'd go around or over her. When the hoofbeats stopped just in front of her, she looked up. Sunlight flashed brightly behind the rider's head, blocking out his face, but it didn't matter; she'd recognize Sol's silhouette anywhere.
"You came back," she cried. Dust clouded up around her from the stomping hooves and she coughed.
"Let's not go on about it," said Sol. "Can you ride?" Without waiting for a response, Sol tossed the reins of the second horse, a gray mare, to Jordan.
Jordan snatched the reins and, grinning, told him, "I love riding." Sol's dark brown horse had a saddle, but the gray one didn't–only a strange looking bosal around her nose. Jordan mounted the mare as three men from the village skidded to a halt in the road.
One of them yelled, sending spittle flying. He was addressing Sol, but pointing at Jordan.
Sol looked over the heads of the men towards the small crowd of peasants, farmers and merchants who were now gathered at the edge of town, watching. He caught a glimpse of a big, red-bearded man with dark blood clotting on his chin and in his beard. He was massaging his genitals with one hand, as though ensuring they were intact. The barmaid from Nishpat's Folly hooked a hand under Red-Beard's elbow, but he yanked his arm away. He turned his back to the barmaid and disappeared into the crowd.
Sol ignored the yelling townsmen, wheeled his horse around and took off down the road at a gallop. Jordan followed on her gray, kicking up dust behind them.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"Where did you get the horses?" Jordan asked, patting the mare’s neck once they’d slowed to a walk, matching each other stride for stride.
"I relieved their former owner of them," Sol said, jaw tight. "Some people shouldn't own animals." The gelding gave a blowing snort as though he agreed.
Jordan's eyes skimmed the legs of the horse under Sol. A cloth bandage had been wrapped around the ankle joints of both front legs. She frowned and leaned over enough to peer down at her own horse's legs. The same kind of wrapping had been administered to her gray. "They were hobbled?"
Sol gave a nod. "With chains."
Jordan's face heated with anger. "Are you sure they're okay to ride?"
"They are now. I put a nyopsis poultice on them. The stuff fills every ditch in this place."
“It’s a healing herb?"
“It’s a magic herb,” explained Sol. “It’ll close up their wounds and numb any pain. I’ll have to apply more tomorrow.”
Jordan nodded, making a mental note to learn what this amazing herb looked like. “Do you think they'll come after us?" Jordan asked glancing at the road behind them.
"Doubt it. Any reward they might get for turning you in wouldn't be worth the trouble."
"Turning me in for what? And to who?" The barmaid had admonished her for talking about portals, but surely talk wasn't enough to condemn someone.
"Maybe to a local magistrate who has a connection to an enforcer," Sol shrugged. "Going through portals is illegal. Happens anyway and getting away with it isn't very hard if you know the right people. But, every once in a while, someone has to go to prison for it."
"You said it was dangerous," Jordan reminded him. "That people can be killed that way."
Sol was quiet as they passed a woman on horseback going towards Nishpat. She had huge saddlebags packed with metal goods that rattled with an endless cacophony. The woman grimaced at them apologetically as she passed. The clanking was sharp enough to make Jordan wince.
Sol waited until the woman and her metal clatter was far enough behind them that he could be heard before he answered. "They can and are. Passing through portals can be risky business."
"We seemed to manage it okay."
"We were lucky," Sol said. "I don't know where that locket came from, or how it got charged up with magic, but we are very lucky it had enough power in it to take us both through all the way. You remember those whispering voices you heard on the way through?"
Jordan nodded grimly, remembering.
"Those were the ones caught in-between. Now that the locket is back in Oriceran, it'll charge up again. But while it was on Earth, it would have slowly drained of power. That's when it’s at its most dangerous."
"So, it should be able to take me back?"
Sol shrugged. "Maybe yes, maybe no. Like I said, it’s not very sophisticated."
"Could the Elves tell me?"
"Probably."
Jordan was satisfied with this for now. It seemed like her whole life was hinged on getting to the Elves of Charra-Rae. She and Sol fell into a companionable silence for a time as they rode over hill and dale. They passed endless picturesque farmland.
The sun was reaching its peak and Jordan found herself wishing for sunglasses. All the squinting was beginning to give her a headache.
Sol retrieved a lump of something black from his satchel. He steered his gelding closer to Jordan and handed it to her. "Put this under your eyes. It'll help with the glare."
"Like a football player!" Jordan took the kohl, delighted. She did her best to smudge the kohl neatly under her bottom lids. "This okay?"
"Perfect." Sol tried not to grin at the uneven smudges under her eyes and took the kohl back.
"How do you know all this stuff?" Jordan straightened and dusted off her hands. "You knew how to speak whatever language it is these valley people speak. You knew where we were as soon as you saw The Conca. You know that my locket only has," she made air quotes with her fingers, "’rudimentary magic’. You even know my shoe size."
"I'm an Arpak courier," Sol answered, as though that should be enough.
"Do they teach you how to explain yourself to an Earthling in courier school?"
Sol cracked a grin, showing the dimples in both cheeks.
"Sweet jaysus on a pony," Jordan said. "He does smile."
"Actually, they do," Sol said, relaxing. The sound of the horses’ hooves against the hard-packed dirt road was comforting. Birds twittered and scuds of clouds moved slowly across a blue sky. The day was warm and Jordan felt her cheeks absorbing the sun's rays. At this rate, her face would be brown as a nut in a few days. She wondered if Oriceran's sun was any different from Earth's.
"Arpak couriers are among the most broadly educated of Rodania's citizens," Sol stated matter-of-factly. "We aren't specialists in the way a doctor or a lawyer is; we’re more like a jack-of-all-trades."
> "Good at a little bit of everything." Jordan nodded.
"Except geography. We're great at geography," Sol said, nudging his gelding around a pothole filled with rocks. "Couriers are made to memorize the geography of Oriceran."
"How big is Oriceran?"
Sol raised his eyebrows and a dimple appeared in one cheek. "Bigger than your Earth."
"What?" Jordan's jaw dropped. The idea of memorizing the geography of America was daunting enough. "How can you memorize that much territory?"
"They break it down into zones over four years of University. We have more water than you, but we still have a lot of land. We start with the local zones, as they're most important. And after we pass the test for that zone, we move outwards in concentric circles."
"Place names and terrain?"
"Yes, as well as local dialects, vegetation, animal inhabitants, any magical predilection, history all the way back to before the Great War, local militant groups, if there are any, treaties, established trade routes, cultural norms," Sol's voice was beginning to drone. "Magical species, inventions-"
"Inventions?"
"Political leanings, prejudices and minority groups..."
"Holy moly."
"Local slang, religions, the evolution of warfare in the area..."
Jordan was staring at Sol like he'd sprouted another head.
"Negotiation techniques, economics, architectural styles and practices..."
"Stop, stop, stop." Jordan put a hand out. "What!" ‘Jack-of-all-trades’ is right. How can anyone retain that kind of information?
"That doesn't include what we have to learn about Earth," Sol added with a smile.
"You have to study Earth, too? You should run for president," Jordan joked. "Our presidents seem to be great at lying and schmoozing these last few years, but not much else. We could do with an insanely overeducated, flying bird-man to shake things up."
"We don't have presidents," continued Sol as the horses slowed for a steep downhill descent.
Getting an idea, Jordan held onto her horse with her thighs to free her hands and untied the cloak. She shook it out and folded it in half. The mare skittered to the side and Jordan's left knee bumped against Sol's calf. "Sorry," she said. She lifted herself up by bracing against the mare's withers and pushed part of the cloak under her butt.
"What are you doing?" Sol reached a hand out to steady her by the shoulder.
"Just trying to make a bit of a saddle to protect the mare’s spine."
"Oh." He was watching Jordan, who had managed to stay on a rocking bare back, going downhill, while tucking the folded cloak beneath her. She had most definitely ridden before. Sol's face warmed at the thought that frolicked through his brain following that one. He blinked and looked away from Jordan's thighs.
"What's the matter?" Jordan settled herself again.
"Nothing. Why?"
"Your face is all pink."
"It's hot out." Sol made a show of casting his gaze over the crops on their left.
"Sure is," said Jordan. She looked down at the leather vest encasing her torso and found herself wishing she could take it off. "So, if I were to ask you who Abraham Lincoln was-"
"An American president," said Sol, without hesitation. "One of your more beloved ones, I think. I couldn't tell you which number he was exactly, but I'd hazard somewhere around fifteen or sixteen. He was assassinated in a theater, right?"
"Bang on," Jordan said, then caught herself. "No pun intended. How about Nikola Tesla, do you recognize that name?"
Sol squeezed an eye shut. "An... inventor? I think."
"Wow." Jordan was genuinely impressed. "Do you speak any French?"
"Quel plaisir de faire ta connaissance, mademoiselle," said Sol with a near perfect accent.
"You're scary."
Sol laughed and waggled his eyebrows in the first real playful expression he'd ever made. "You should see me with wings."
Jordan smiled. "I can't even imagine it." She liked this new, relaxed Sol; now that he'd made the decision to allow her to come with him, he was a lot less of an asshole.
"It doesn't seem fair," she said, gazing off at the rolling green horizon that disappeared between the blonde cliff walls in the distance.
"What?"
"You know everything about us and we know nothing about you."
"Some Earthlings know," said Sol. "And I am a far cry from knowing everything. What I have is theoretical knowledge, taught from history books brought through a portal illegally."
But Jordan's mind caught on the first thing he said. "Which Earthlings know about Oriceran?"
Sol shrugged. "Whoever might benefit the most from trade with us. We have a saying in Rodania: 'Follow the magic'. I would imagine your elite families and higher-up politicians would know about it."
"Huh." Jordan went quiet. The saying on Earth was to ‘Follow the money,’ but she supposed magic might even be more valuable than money to some. Wouldn't it be nearly impossible to keep something like an alternate universe full of magic a secret?
Her mom was more than likely here. Jordan felt sure of it. So why had Jaclyn never told Allan about it? Jordan's skin prickled. Or does he know about it, too and is keeping it from me to protect me? Her dad was a politician. Not super high up, but a state senator was nothing to sneeze at.
"How many portals are there?" Jordan asked.
"Oh, I have no idea," Sol shook his head. "I don't know if anyone knows that. I suppose someone might be trying to map them, but it wouldn't be easy. New portals could be made and old ones could be sealed off." He shrugged. "I couldn't even begin to guess."
"You didn't study portal geography in school?"
"Not in such detail. Arpak couriers don't ever need to leave Oriceran."
"What if someone wants to deliver a letter to someone on Earth?"
"They wouldn't get an Arpak to do it," Sol answered dryly with a jerk of his thumb towards the slashes in the back of his vest. "Look what happens to us when we pass through a portal."
"Why does that happen?"
"Same reason that makes your locket dangerous: our wings are magical," said Sol. "Magic fades on Earth."
"But your wings didn't just fade," pointed out Jordan.
"No, they didn't." Sol remembered the sickening pain and then the blackness after he'd hit the tree. "Gone in a second, but they’ll take years to grow back."
"Years?"
Sol nodded.
"How come you can't just magic them back yourself?" Jordan asked, swirling her fingers over her shoulder as though trying to conjure her own wings.
"As I said, Arpaks aren't particularly good with magic."
Jordan bent her head to peer at his face. "You sound unhappy about that."
"Well, it would be nice not to have to make a deal with a damn Elf every time we needed something," he grumped. "Arrogant sods."
The descent flattened and a cloud moved across the sun, casting them in shadow. Jordan closed her eyes as a cool breeze blew across her damp forehead. She looked straight down the valley and ahead of them. Jordan marvelled at how well she could pick out the moving creatures on the vista before her. "Do you have any idea why my eyesight is so much better here on Oriceran than it is on Earth?"
Sol blinked at her. "Your eyesight is better here?"
"Way better," said Jordan with emphasis. "I need pretty strong glasses or contact lenses just to get around normally. Doesn't seem to be the case here. I can even see all the men and women working in the crops down there, even though they’re little."
Sol frowned and followed her gaze. "I don't know why. That's strange."
The two of them mused separately about this as the rhythmic hoofbeats of their horses carried them deeper into the gorge.
***
When the sun descended, withdrawing its light and warmth from the valley, Sol negotiated a patch of grass in a farmer's yard for them to sleep on. The farmer, a jovial man who spoke no English, gave them firewood for the pit in his yard and buck
ets of grain for the horses. He even welcomed them to the water troughs that his own animals drank from; though Sol offered extra money for food, the farmer held up a hand and shook his head.
After Sol and Jordan had settled themselves in front of a fire for the night, the farmer's portly wife came waddling across the grass carrying two steaming bowls. She bobbed her head as Sol thanked her and waddled back inside their little thatched cottage.
"They are very sweet," said Jordan around a mouthful of stew. It seemed to be the flagship dish of The Conca.
"Most of the people in The Conca are," agreed Sol. "They just want to be neighborly and live a good, simple life.
They filled their bellies with the warm food and Jordan delivered the dishes back to the house after rinsing them in the trough. She wrapped herself up in her cloak and hunkered down by the fire. Things always looked better with food in the stomach and a fire to cozy up to. Her eyes flicked to Sol, who sat cross-legged with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. He had no jacket to cover his arms, nor a cloak.
"Will you be cold?" Jordan asked, lifting the corner of her cloak, offering to share.
Sol shook his head. "I'll be fine."
Jordan nodded, but found herself feeling disappointed. That's interesting, she thought as her chin drifted onto her chest.
It seemed she'd only just closed her eyes when Sol was jiggling her shoulder to wake her. The sun was a mere suggestion on the horizon as Sol saddled his horse and Jordan fixed the bosal and cloak onto the mare. They splashed their faces in the trough and refilled their waterskins. They were back on the road, rubbing sleep from their eyes and yawning widely enough to crack their jaws, before the lights were on in the farmer's cottage.
Sol produced an apple and handed it to Jordan silently. She took it, but felt too sleepy to eat. The horses plodded on into the still-deep shadows of early morning.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Noontime found Sol and Jordan entering new terrain. Farmers’ huts and fields of crops grew sparse and the towns dwindled to nothing. The horses carried the travelers deeper into wilder, drier territory. The cliff walls narrowed. Sunlight shifted and danced across the cavern walls and a brisk wind drove the clouds across the sky. Deep shadows congealed beneath overhanging crags.
