Far-Sight

by Kevin L. O'Brien

Now, quit stalling! Nothing can go wrong, and we three will be the only one's who'll know what happened."

  She shook her head. "Doctor LeClerc will find out the next time he examines me."

  "Well, of course it'll come out eventually, but by then there won't be a thing anyone can do about it. Come on, this is a golden opportunity here! And I think you'll like it if you give it a chance."

  "Oh, shut it, you git."

  "Now, now, there's nothing wrong with being nervous. I was too the first time, can you believe it? But I know what will calm you down, and put you in the proper mood. Are there any spirits we can get a hold of?"

  She felt her gut clench. "I don't want to get drunk."

  "No, of course not, not for your first time at any rate. You just need enough to take the edge off. It'll help with the pain, too."

  "Pain?"

  "Yes, when your hymen breaks. Don't worry, a paper cut's worse, and that's nothing. Surely a brave monster hunter like yourself can tolerate a little discomfort."

  "Hmph. It's still no good. The only alcoholic beverages I know of are in the buttery, off the butler's pantry, and Aelfraed has the only key."

  Margaret look at Vlad. "What about it, Dracs? Care to nick a bottle for us?"

  "Alas, that is one thing I cannot do."

  Margaret's eyes bulged with surprise. "Why not?"

  "Aelfraed placed garlic in the buttery, and Vlad hates garlic."

  "That's no problem." Margaret jumped off the bed and sprinted towards the chifforobe that contained her clothes. "We'll get it ourselves." She reached in and pulled out her purse, then went to the play table and opened it.

  Differel watched her with a sense of growing concern. Margaret wasn't a bad seed, but she had been so privileged all her life that, even if not quite spoiled, she still expected to have everything her way. Her visits were no exception. Though they could socialize without clawing each other's eyes out, Differel wasn't particularly eager to do so. They had only seen each other fourteen times in the past couple of years, but most of them were sleepovers like her current visit. Margaret had just called her up out of the blue and asked if she could spend the weekend. Differel had agreed only because that usually meant Margaret needed someone to talk to about a problem, and she was the only person she trusted.

  Truth be told though, sometimes she needed someone to talk to as well, and Margaret was the only person she could trust, despite her bullying manner. She sometimes wondered if their mutual antagonism lay at the heart of that, but that seemed contradictory.

  Margaret dumped the contents of her purse on the table and sorted through it. "Aha! I knew I had them." She turned around and held up a small packet.

  "And pray tell, what is that?"

  She came back to the bed and opened the packet. Inside were a dozen long, thin metal instruments. Two looked like torsion wrenches; the rest had oddly-shaped ends, such as tiny hooks, round knobs, half-triangles, or S-curves.

  "It's a set of lock picks."

  Differel raised her eyebrows in surprise. "What are you doing with lock picks?"

  "I've had them since I was thirteen. One of the servants gave them to me and showed me how to use them. They're very handy for getting into places I'm not supposed to." She flashed a conspiratorial grin.

  For a moment, she felt a devilish urge. "You could actually get in?"

  "It doesn't have a combination lock, does it?"

  "No, just a regular key lock."

  Margaret grinned. "Then it'd be a doddle."

  Then, maybe we could, she thought, but then squelched it and shook her head. She glanced at the alarm clock; it was well past eleven. "Even at this late hour there would be servants around at work, not to mention the guards."

  "I could reconnoiter," Vlad said.

  "What about the guard in the hallway?" Ever since she could remember, an armed soldier stood stationed outside the bedroom whenever she was inside.

  "I can deal with him." And he turned to shadow.

  "What? No, wait!" The shadow dwindled in size and coalesced into a rat. It ran for the door that led into the nurse's room and vanished through it in a puff of black fog.

  "Oh, bloody hell! See what you've started? Come on, if we're going to do this, now's the best time."

  From "The Peril Gem"

  Eile Chica looked down past her feet at the pit of lava. It was maybe ten yards beneath them, but she knew they'd get a lot closer real soon. Looking up, she examined her restraints. Her wrists had been well lashed with a thick cord made of fibrous vines, and slipped over a hook that hung from a rope. The rope had been thrown over a cross-pole high above them, from which she and White-Lion dangled. She couldn't twist her body around far enough to see, but she heard the creak of the winch as it was turned, lowering them towards the lava at a tedious pace. She looked out in front of her. The tribe had gathered around the lip of the pit, and they danced, screamed, and gesticulated in a wild orgy of religious ecstasy, as others stood off behind the crowd pounding on hollow log drums.

  "Uhh, Braveheart, I think we're in trouble."

  Irritated by the inane comment, she scowled and gave White-Lion a dirty look. "Brilliant deduction, Sherlock," she growled in a sarcastic tone.

  White-Lion jerked her head around, her eyes and mouth opened in large startled O's. "Oh, my! What brought that on?"

  "Whaddya think, ya ditz?"

  "You sound upset."

  "Now, what makes you think that? A bunch of murderous savages want ta immolate us as a sacrifice to their god in punishment for trying ta steal their sacred jewel. Why the hell would I be upset?! Gaaah, sometimes you can be such a space-case!"

  "Well, getting mad at me won't help."

  White-Lion's words triggered an idea for how to escape. She realized it was a long shot, but she didn't see that they had any choice.

  "Geeze, get a clue, will ya? We wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't for you and yer hair-brained schemes."

  "Hey! You can't blame this on me."

  "Oh, yeah? Whose idea was it ta steal the Eye of the Devourer?"

  "Well, it certainly wasn't my idea to sneak through the village at night."

  "Yer the one who set off the alarm!"

  "Only because you were about to step on that sleeping guard!"

  "Ya didn't have ta yell!"

  "How else was I supposed to get your attention? You were too far away to hear me whisper."

  "You were supposed ta be right behind me."

  "You were moving too fast!"

  "I was tryin' ta get through the village before we were discovered, ya bimbo! Why couldn't you keep up?"

  "I was trying to be stealthy!"

  "Dammit! I thought we agreed ta move fast!"

  "I didn't agree to anything, you decided for both of us!"

  "I thought it was the best thing ta do!"

  "I'm the senior partner, I'm the one who's supposed to make the decisions!"

  "Hah! You couldn't decide what shoes ta wear this morning, you idiot!"

  "I'm the idiot? You're the one who thought we could scare the natives with a simple trick!"

  "How was I ta know they'd seen matches before?!"

  By that time they were within ten feet of the lava. Eile could smell the foul gases and feel the heat rising up from the surface.

  "I knew yer obsession with adventure would get us killed some day, but I never thought we'd go out like this."

  "Son of a--stop blaming me!" White-Lion kicked her legs in frustrated anger.

  She smiled. That's it, she thought, get good and mad. "Who else am I gonna blame? It's no one's fault but yers!"

  "Ooohhh! I can't believe I chose a poopy-skull like you to be my partner!"

  "God, I can't believe I fell for a self-centered butthead such as you. I thought I had better sense!"

  White-Lion screamed in rage as she twisted and bucked her body, but it soon turned into a guttural roar as light exploded from her eyes. It echoed through the jungle, scaring up flocks of birds and flus
hing animals out of hiding as they fled in terror.

  Yes! Now we're getting somewhere. The only problem was, White-Lion's magical ability was erratic. Eile had no idea what would result. She could only hope it was something productive.

  Read the rest of the story [https://www.goodreads.com/story/show/338142-the-peril-gem].

  From "Gruff Tolls"

  The three women paused as they topped the crest of the ridge. The other side of the pass ran down-slope to a narrow but deep cleft between the two mountain ranges. The sides of the ravine were sheer vertical rock walls some thirty feet apart, and even from where they stood they could hear the muted roar of the cataract deep inside the fissure.

  Medb hErenn watched as Morgiana crouched and examined the vista with her experienced thief's eye.

  "You were right," she remarked in a casual tone. She was addressing the Zoog Conaed, called Runt, who sat on one of the three pack yaks behind her. He was only about half the size of his race, but his verdigris-tinged bronze fur was darker and the tarnished silver facial stripes were bolder.

  He declined to answer, but the former queen replied, "You should know by now he is very seldom wrong."

  Morgiana gave the massive woman a look that mixed amusement and exasperation on her lovely Arabic face, then turned her attention back to the ravine while Medb followed her gaze. As Conaed had predicted, the gulf was spanned by a footbridge suspended from two pairs of rough-hewn stone spires, one on either side. The planks of the deck appeared to be made from ordinary wood, but the ropes that supported them did not look like hemp or metal wire or any other recognizable material. They almost seemed to resemble cobwebs.

  Mephitis walked up to