"What happened?" cried George and Ringo, gaping at
the delicate crystal hairs on Paul's crystal head, crystal wrinkles in
his crystal pants; even the stains in his shirt were noticeable. And his
face—they couldn't look at his face.
John sank wearily to the ground. He had scratches where Paul's sharp
edges had bumped him. "It's complicated. When that fuckin' bitch Aurion
got me, she took me way out and set me to guardin' this hollow tree.…"
*
"Ah, John." Aurion stroked his chest, and he shuddered in
delight. "Gift of the gods, best of my slaves."
The compliment thrilled him. "I love you, Auri," he whispered.
"I love you." He caught her hand, kissed it, dared to tongue
it.
"Why do you taste me?" she asked, puzzled, pulling her hand
away.
"Because I love you." The words were so sweet! He could repeat
them all day.
Aurion shrugged. "John, what did I tell you to do?"
Snapping to attention, he thumped a hollow tree behind him. "Kill
anyone who tries to steal your treasure!" He caught up in one hand
the greatsword she'd given him and waved it around inexpertly, shearing
off a thin branch on another tree and scattering leaf-bits everywhere.
Her laughter was every bit as musical as her touch. "Sharp! That
sword be two-handed for any other wielder." Then her face grew serious,
and ducking under the sword—which John hastily set down—she stuck her hand
in the tree and came up with two small drawstring bags. "These be
my treasures. I'd keep them with me, but the gods do want you to be entrusted
with them. You will prevent them from being taken by anyone except myself."
"I'll carry them in my pockets!" John exclaimed. "No
one'll ever get through me to them!"
She smiled—a ray of sunshine!—and gave him the bags. He put the flat
one in his pocket and the lumpy one in his food pouch. Then Aurion wound
a strand of her lush brown hair around his wrist and looked into his eyes.
"I thank the gods for leading me to you," she sighed, resting
her head on his chest. "Would that they hadn't told me to put you
so far away! When we leave, you'll be my closest guard."
John almost fainted with joy. "Yes, yes, yes, oh, yes!"
She stepped back, whipping her hair from his wrist, and with a final
wink she disappeared between the trees.
John's heart broke, watching her go, but at least he could listen to
her beautiful body slipping between the trees, and if he closed his eyes
he could imagine her standing in front of him. But he snapped them open
again; how could he watch for thieves while dreaming? Plastering a scowl
on his face, he listened. He quickly learned that the noises behind
him were nonthreatening, because that's where Aurion and her other men
were. (Oh, was John jealous! But he'd show them, he was her best slave,
and he was never going to lose that distinction!) Her sweet voice
outlined her plans to enslave Ta'akan's men one by one, until she had a
force big enough to attack Focan. John puffed out his chest at being enslaved
to a woman of such ambition and power (even though he didn't need the added
competition that so many new slaves would bring).
But what was this? Listening to her, neglecting his duty again! He forced
her voice to tune out and concentrated on the rest of the world, alert
for suspicious noises. "No one gets by me," he muttered, digging
the point of his sword into the ground. When hunger poked his stomach,
he stripped leaves from a tree and ate them, swallowing without chewing
so as not to distract himself. His glasses were dirty; he whipped them
off, breathed on them, and wiped them on his pants, hoping no one challenged
him during this vulnerable period. But no one did.
For a while the forest was quiet. Noises that might have meant something
proved harmless; rabbits, leaves, a deer. He grew slack, leaning on his
sword and dreaming of Aurion, wondering what she looked like naked. Her
breasts were small, but they suited her; she was perfection. Her eyes,
rich blue-green, could have won prizes by themselves. John sighed. Surely,
as her favorite slave, he also had concubine duties?
-crack-
John snapped alert, yanked his sword out of the ground. He listened...
-crack- from the right. Something was approaching! The sounds grew and
grew in volume, until he heard breathing and a human cough.
A thief! At last John could really prove himself to Aurion! Rubbing
mental hands together, he brought the sword up to point in the direction
of the villain, readied himself for a killing thrust -
Paul stumbled into view.
"Hi, Paul," John said, dejected. He let the point drop. Paul
couldn't possibly be here to rob Aurion. A faint smell wrinkled his nose.
"Phew, you need a bath."
Paul apparently wasn't feeling companionable, because he just stared
at John without replying. He crept forward, and John found himself forced
to lift the sword again. "Are you here to rob Auri?" he asked
apologetically. "I can't let you if you are."
Without saying anything Paul stopped. Taking this for a "no,"
John let the sword fall again, pleased that he didn't have to kill a friend.
As Paul stood doing nothing, John ignored him and listened for real
intruders. He was not going to be caught napping again.
"You selfish bastard," Paul mumbled.
John hadn't been paying attention. "Huh?"
"You son of a bitch. I hate you. I hate you. I hate your bloody
wings." Paul's face twisted into a ferocious, furious mask. "I
hate you flying! I hate Ringo when he sits there and he—he—God damn
him! I hate George, I hate you all! I hate you!"
Paul ran at John and battered at his chest, but he was so weak that
John barely felt the blows. Astonished, John just stood and absorbed the
punishment until Paul fell back, exhausted. Then he said in a kindly voice,
"I think you'd better go home now. This is a dangerous place,"
and he hefted the sword for emphasis.
"Piss off!" Paul shouted, his eyes bright with moisture. "I
can take care of meself!" A tear welled up from his left eye, trickled
down his grimy cheek; then he erupted with sobs, bending almost double
as he hugged himself and shuddered. "Damn! Damn! Damn! Oh, damn!"
John felt sorry for Paul, but he was more concerned with the thieves
he wouldn't hear through all the noise. "Paul - " he began.
Still convulsing, Paul hit him with a wet fist. "Shut up! Leave
me alone like you always do!" But his sobs did fade in volume.
"Thanks," John said gratefully. He closed his eyes and channeled
his full concentration to his ears.
Suddenly, a great big roar! A thump, another roar, and then As'taris's
calm, hateful voice. The frantic shout "Kill As'taris!" John
almost drew his sword back and plunged it into Paul's stomach, catching
himself at the last second. He whirled around, straining at the mental
chains that kept him imprisoned by the tree. How he hoped As'taris would
come by! He would cut the elf into many small pieces!
Hoofbeats, and Aurion galloped into view, bleeding up and down her legs,
reeling in the saddle. She pulled up to John long enough to shout "Kill
my pursuers!", then clapped her heels to the horse's flanks and thundered
away.
"Auri!" John screamed after her. How much blood had she lost?
She might grow faint and fall off! But he had his orders; he leaped into
the space she had just vacated, inarticulate with fury, awaiting the villains
who would die most painfully for what they had done to her. But there were
none! The path she'd taken was silent; the only people John heard were
moving in a different direction. Perplexed, he lowered the sword and gazed
over his shoulder at the trees she'd passed between. She was well out of
sight, but her horse's hoofbeats rang clearly. He chewed his knuckles.
He had to be with her, staunch her wounds, protect her all the time, not
just now! But she told him.…
A loophole! She said kill her pursuers—but she didn't say where! He
ran after her, calling "Auri, wait, I'll protect you! Here I come!"
"Where're you going?" demanded Paul as John whipped by him.
He had stopped crying, and was now rubbing his arm under his nose.
"Can't stop!" John bawled over his shoulder. "Gotta be
with Auri!"
"No!" Paul joined the chase, wrung out though he was. "Dammit,
come back! You're not leaving me alone again!"
But John paid no attention. He ran forward, heedless of things underfoot,
tripping on roots and rocks and nearly twisting his ankle when he stepped
into a hole. His sword slapped the trees, slowing him badly. "Fuck
this!" he screamed, leaping over a bush. The hoofbeats were leaving
him behind even faster now.
("I know, I saw all this," said Ringo.
George glared at him. "I didn't.")
A thin, hoarse cry followed him: "Don't leave me alone!"
The trees thinned out. Joy! John tossed his sword away and accelerated,
and was rewarded with hoofbeats that remained at a steady volume. Then
the trees were behind him and he was racing through open field with only
air and clouds overhead. The sky tugged at him, and he thought: I can
catch up to her if I fly! Surely he could muster enough strength for
her to make his first successful launch from the ground. He jumped and
flapped like a maniac, but fell to earth again, barely keeping his feet
and losing all his forward momentum. Undaunted, he ran even harder, jumped
higher, beat more wildly. For an instant it seemed he had caught the wind,
but he hadn't, and tumbled back down. Yet he was elated as his feet struck
the ground; I can do it! I can feel it! Just a bit harder, a bit higher,
and I'll make -
His legs locked! With a cry he pitched forward and slid through the
grass, skinning his chest and knees and staining them green.
("That was me," Ringo interrupted.
"That was you?" said the others.
Some moments passed before John continued with his narrative.)
John was too startled to rise for a few moments; and in those moments
the hoofbeats died away. He almost vomited, knowing he'd never catch up
to Aurion, never see her again. He'd failed her. Tears welled up and spilled
freely; he pulled his glasses off and cried into his arm.
A shadow fell on him, followed by a body. Paul, and whether he'd still
been crying or John's tears touched him off again, he too was sobbing when
he landed. John paid no attention to him, though. The world had ended.
Hey! John lifted his head and looked around in astonishment.
What the fuck is going on? Where am I? Why am I crying? Rubbing
his arm on the grass to dry it, he raised himself up on hands and knees;
Paul rolled moistly off. "What the fuck?" John repeated aloud,
as a headful of fuzzy memories shouted at him. With effort he pieced together
the events of the last hour, and when they were complete he seethed with
fury at Aurion. Nobody fucked with his mind! The humiliation of
obeying her every whim, abandoning his strongest beliefs just to please
her! Is this what rape feels like? Being made to want to kill? Christ,
I almost killed Paul!
Paul.…
Like Ringo, John found himself momentarily unable to assimilate the
wreck that was heaving in the grass. How long had Paul been like this?
Why hadn't John noticed? Then he crawled over and put his arms around Paul
and hugged him, hugged him, whispering "I'm so sorry, Paul, oh God
am I sorry, how could I let this happen to you?"
Paul just shuddered with dry sobs, and John began to cry again, especially
when he felt Paul's ribs through his shirt. "Shh, shh, it's all right,
Macca, I'm here now, I'll never leave you again... I love you, man."
("You know, schmaltz like that." John smiled thinly.)
Gradually Paul's convulsions lessened, his gasping quieted. His nose
dripping hugely, he pulled over one of John's wings and used it as a tissue;
I deserve this, John reflected. His own nose dripped, and he had
to release Paul to dry it on his arm. Feeling wet and sticky, he waited
until Paul had finished and then asked gently "How d'ye feel, Macca?"
"You actually care?" muttered Paul, sniffing.
"Shit, man, I'm sorry," John said, feeling terribly inadequate.
"I let you go through hell and I didn't even stop to look."
"No, you didn't."
John rubbed his forehead. "I wish I knew what to say to you. Is
there anythin' I can say that'll make you feel better?"
Paul seemed on the verge of saying no, but he caught it before it came
out, and, without looking at John, said "Just keep talking to me."
("I don't think anyone had talked to him in weeks," John
explained. "I mean, who was he gonna talk to, As'taris?")
That was unexpected, and hopeful; John crossed mental fingers and said
"Look, man, somehow we are going to get you magic. I don't know why
you didn't get any—" Paul flinched "—but I'm gonna break me ass
to get you somethin', make you—" he almost said equal with us
but censored those words and substituted "—magical."
"Don't do me any favors." Paul plucked a few blades of grass
and tossed them down again. His stomach chose that moment to growl so loudly
that John winced in sympathetic pain.
"Here, let's feed you up a bit," John offered, unslinging
his food pouch. At first Paul wouldn't budge, but as John piled dried fruit
and hardtack-like drybread on his thigh, he broke down and tucked into
the food with enthusiasm.
John also pulled out the lumpy little bag of Aurion's. "Eh, I forgot
about this."
"What's that, then?" Paul asked through a mouthful of drybread.
"It's that bitch Aurion's treasure. I guess it's mine now. I've
got another one in me pocket." Soon both bags sat in front of John,
and he sat cross-legged and enjoyed the sight of Paul eating.
When the food was gone and Paul had turned the food pouch inside out
to get the crumbs, he poked the treasure bags. "What's in 'em?"
"Dunno. Rocks or gems, I should think. Why don't you take one and
I take one and we'll open them up and see?" Then he looked sideways
at Paul. "You can have 'em to keep if you like."
An interesting expression crossed Paul's face, and John heard his pulse
quicken. "Okay."
("I was thinkin' the same thing he was." John shook his
head. "It was such a coincidence, me gettin' them...")
Paul studied the two bags, weighed them in his hands, decided on the
lumpy one. "You sure?" said John, hand poised over the other.
"I won't choose the wrong one," Paul said confidently. "George
didn't, did he?"
John wasn't aware that George had had a choice but withheld comment
on the subject, as he was going to give the contents of his bag to Paul
anyway. On the count of three, they poured their prizes onto the ground.
John's was a flat blue teardrop of a gem, about two inches across at its
widest point and two inches long. It was well-faceted and probably worth
a small fortune. But Paul had drawn an egg-shaped diamond of the first
water, four inches long and so brilliant they could barely look at it.
It was the most magnificent gem they'd ever seen.
"Wow!" Paul breathed. "That's a bit of all right!"
"Not half!" agreed John, sounding jealous with little effort.
For a moment he genuinely regretted his hasty offer to Paul.
Paul grinned for the first time in many, many days. He flicked his fingers
at the blue gem. "Here, you can keep that tiddler, this one'll do
me."
John quickly put the blue gem in his pocket so he could continue to
look at the diamond. The light flashing through it was almost hypnotic.
"It must be magic," Paul said gleefully, picking it
up. He stood and held it up to the sun to see if there was anything inside,
like a pink panther. The jewel became a rainbow torch in his hand. "It's
- "
The diamond flared.
Paul's expression changed to one of surprise. "Hey, it's—hey!"
he screamed. "My hand!"
It had turned to diamond.
As John watched in helpless horror, the change raced up Paul's arm like
a flash fire, engulfed his shoulder and spread in every direction, swallowed
his chest and head before he could make another sound, ate up his other
arm and waist and legs. Seconds after his scream, Paul was cold and brilliant,
a shining skeleton with his flesh burned away.
*
"I just sat there," John finished. "I didn't move
for a whole minute, I was in that much shock." He looked up at As'taris,
who was tapping Paul's outstretched arm. "Can he be changed back?
Is he still alive?"
"Yes," the elf said casually. "Sar's lifeglow still burns."
Sure enough, when properly shadowed Paul gave off a faint light. "Those
caught by trap gems are not killed, just transformed."
That relieved more than one worried soul. "Trap gem?" asked
George, staring at—but not touching—the gem in Paul's hand.
"A gem that turns the toucher into whatever the gem is. If the
toucher is alone, the trap gem's owner gains a valuable statue. I knew
sars who were so caught and sold by their friends." With a malicious
smile, As'taris added "I know a gemcutter in Ta'akan…."
John was in no mood for such jokes. He leaped to his feet angrily. "You
bloody cannibal!" He dug into his pocket for the blue gem, held it
out. "Right, you want a gem? Here, take - "
The elf's eyes widened. Every trace of mirth vanished from his face.
"The Kansael!" he shrieked, lunging at John to grab the
gem. Startled, John jerked back, and the elf's grabbing hand slammed into
his wrist. The gem flew from John's fingers and bounced into his chest
and stuck!
A waterfall that John had been standing in and never noticed poured
into and over him through the blue gem. Thunder and waves crashed in his
head, and a voice said I like you. His awareness exploded outward;
for a moment he was everywhere in the clearing, within George, Ringo, As'taris,
the grass, even the tent (but not Paul). Then the feeling faded, and he
snapped his mouth shut and stared down dazedly at his new ornament. It
had centered itself neatly, pointed end up, rounded end down, very much
a drop of water.
"Are you okay?" asked George.
"The humidity is fifteen percent," said John. Then: "Why
the fuck did I say that? I mean, it's true, but..."
"It's true?" repeated Ringo, staring at the gem.
"Yeah." John looked up at the sky. "It's gonna rain tomorrow,
not hard, just a nice spring shower. Jesus! What is this rubbish
I'm spoutin'? No, sorry, it ain't rubbish, it's true, I mean it's comin'
out on its own. Integration period. Oh, for fuck's sake!" He slapped
the gem, then recoiled; it felt exactly as if he'd slapped his skin. My
aim ain't that bad, he thought, touching the gem. He shuddered; it
was warm, not soft but somehow fleshlike, part of him. "Why am I always
getting new surfaces?" he complained. Then a fact bubbled up, and
he blurted "Water is two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen. Hard
water contains in addition dissolved calcium and magnesium. Right,"
he sighed, "this must be Fuck With John's Mind Day."
There was a short silence.
"So what is it, now it's made you very happy?" asked George,
who glanced at his ring as if it might start him babbling about animals.
The information leaped from John's lips. "It's the Kansael
of Wirale, the godsar of sea and storm. Thanks, George. Before sars counted
years, Wirale took the waters of the Tamrharhen, that's an ocean,
and pressed them in godsar's hands until they were squeezed into one drop
of water, and before the drop could run out godsar froze it into a gem.
Is it over? No. Wirale then gave the gem, now called the Kansael (water-charm
in Old Elvish), to godsar's sansars, that's a mouthful, so that they might
honor Wirale by imitation. And that, " said John, bowing with
a flourish and an ironic grin, "is the Gospel according to John."
But he wasn't smiling when he straightened up, looking at Paul. "Right,
I'll worry about this thing later, let's get Paul fixed up, we've got more
to do than just -"
"I could have had the Kansael," As'taris interrupted
behind him. John turned. The elf was red-faced with rage, his fists clenched.
He pointed a long, delicate finger at John. "I could have had
the Kansael," he repeated, hissing the words. "It was here.
Unused. Unchosen. But you took it. A tirin. An olyrr-tirin! I can't
even attack you for it because of my curse!"
John regarded him with as much sympathy as he might have given Hitler.
"Oh, bugger off, Asshole. It's not my fault I got the fuckin' thing.
I certainly didn't know what it was. You knocked it into me, remember?"
He batted away As'taris's finger and pointed his own finger at the elf
for emphasis. "If you hadn't jumped at me like that - "
A little stream of water jetted from his finger and squirted As'taris
in the face.
"Hey!" John's train of thought derailed immediately. He gaped
at his finger, examining the tip to see if there was a hole in it. There
wasn't, it was whole, but he squirted himself in the face. "Fuck fuck
FUCK!" he bellowed, jerking around like a spastic until the water
stopped. For a moment he just stood there, dripping and fuming—yes, literally
steaming—his mouth working, while Ringo and George broke into startled
laughter. Then John started to laugh himself, and the steam dissipated.
"Well, how about that, then?" he said to the other two, who fell
against each other laughing (until they realized what they were doing and
sprang away from each other in dismay). To the sodden As'taris, who was
emphatically not laughing, he offered a snickered "Sorry, didn't
know that would happen."
Suddenly Brox's Kiss was tickling his chest, and As'taris was snarling,
"Will the curse let me cut it out of your chest? Yes, it will!"
And almost as suddenly the elf soared backwards and landed on his butt
halfway across the clearing. "Try that again," said Ringo, his
voice shaking with fear and excitement, "and I'll drop you in the
sea." Then he fell silent, and the pink sword yanked itself out of
As'taris's grasp and flew to Ringo's waiting hand.
Next to him, George had belatedly become a tiger; he *ping* changed
back and stood up when he saw that things were well in hand. "Guess
you didn't need me to do that," he said, impressed and rather shaken
by the speed of Ringo's reaction.
"Guess not," said Ringo, also startled by his quick defense
of John. He hefted the sword in his hand; he had a nice little collection
going, except that he'd left the first one in the forest.
There was a slight haziness to John's features, a faint shimmer that
vanished as he tenderly felt his chest. "I think I just did somethin',
but I'm not sure what it was." A spot of blood came off on his finger,
but no real damage had been done. "I'm glad you lads are on my
side."
As'taris got to his feet, brushing himself off. He was doing the last
thing they would have expected of him—smiling broadly. "You fought!"
he cried, trotting over. They eyed him warily, but he seemed to have had
a religious experience and had no hostility left in him at all. "You're
skahs now!" he proclaimed Ringo and George, and he held his hand out,
obviously expecting the sword back.
Bemused, Ringo looked at the other two for help. John said "You
don't need another penis, do you?" while George murmured, "May
as well, you've never had a problem getting girls," so Ringo handed
the Kiss back, reflecting that he could always take it away again—a thought
that had an oddly disconcerting sound to it.
The elf touched the hilt of the blade to a ring he wore on his right
hand. A small snap, like a large spark, sounded in the quiet air.
Then the elf dropped the blade, and it vanished, just like his previous
one had. "Sword ring," he explained. "I prefer it to a sheath."
Next, he clapped his hand on Paul's diamond shoulder. "To commemorate
your change from tirin to skahs, I'll douse this spellfire. Carry my tail
to my house." He threw his arms around Paul and tossed his head back.
Silver light flared, outlining their locked forms;
The three jumped back in delayed reaction. George said "I hope
he doesn't make a career of that, I'll never get used to it."
Now, alone and together for the first time in weeks, they eyed one another,
so familiar and yet so alien: George, who could become you and it, this
and that, shaping himself to fit the occasion; Ringo, whose thoughts were
his deeds, and who knew things; John, the winged tanned Hercules
who ran like Mercury and wore a gem that made him spout water and information.
A pretty trio they made, angles on an invisible triangle separated by a
distance that, though not as great as it had been once, was still formidable.
Yet who else did they have here? No one, as Paul had so miserably found
out. So they were going to have to step closer to one another a lot more
quickly.
"Well, skahs," said John, breaking the uncomfortable silence,
"we'd better get back before that crazy Ass makes earrings of Paul
or sells him to Liz Taylor or somethin'."
"You, um, didn't wanna go back the way you came, did you?"
an embarrassed George asked Ringo, who shook his head violently. "I'll
go on ahead, then." *ping* George was a hawk and winging his way home.
John laughed lightly and ran his hands through his hair. "Oh, Christ,
who's makin' a career of what around here?" He took a deep breath
that caused his wings to spread a little. "I'll ask you what he was
talkin' about tomorrow. I'd rather not know right now. Right!" He
slapped his fist into his palm a couple of times. "Let's get started,
it's a long walk back. How long is it, anyway? It never seems like much
up there." His gaze traveled wistfully to the sky.
"About three miles." Ringo had closed his eyes and presumably
was tracking George or keeping tabs on As'taris. "Aren't you gonna
fly?"
"If I couldn't get it up for Aurion, I sure as hell can't do it
now. Anyway, d'ye really wanna walk all that way by yourself?"
"I'll be okay. I'd like to be alone for a bit. Here, man, I'll
give you a boost."
Before John could reply, he was rising, held by nothing he could discern;
it was as if his body had suddenly decided to defy gravity. Though hardly
afraid of heights, he was unnerved by the sight of the ground dropping
away without his participation, and it bothered him still more that Ringo
wasn't even looking at him. He swallowed. Guess I'd better get used
to this. I've a feeling it's gonna happen several times.
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form (AND THAT INCLUDES DOWNLOADING) or by any means, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the written permission of the author. Permission may be obtained by e-mail from D. Aviva Rothschild.
E-mail comments or suggestions to
kwwayne@sprynet.com
[With Strings Attached main page][Writer's
Cramp main page]
This page hosted by
Get your own Free Home Page
This page updated on June 15, 1998.
You are currently at http://www.oocities.org/athens/6954