Lady of the Rings
by Brandy Dewinter and Ellen Hayes
(All rights reserved)
Chapter 2 - "Prepare," He Said
Build: 11
I guess this was the sort of thing that came from being different.
I'd asked Andreas why he had picked me. He'd mentioned a quick,
adaptable mind and a good ethical sense, and an interest in learning
about the world. Not to mention the latent magical talent.
My "quick, adaptable mind," and my "interest in learning" had
gotten me in trouble before, but not like this. I'd been gifted - or
cursed, depending on your point of view - with a mind and a thirst for
knowledge that bordered on the psychotic.
My parents were proud when I learned to read by the age of four.
They were a bit stunned when I learned Spanish from one of the neighbor's
families at the same time. They'd figured, correctly, that I had a
language gift so they got me a French tutor. I'd had the speaking
ability of a French ten year old by age six, and the tutor said there
wasn't much more she could do. Luckily, I guess, Mom also spoke French
so I continued to learn until I left home.
They thought I would do superbly in school. They were shocked when
I rejected their chosen, hideously expensive private school as "dull"
and "boring." It wasn't feeding my ravenous mind fast enough. Still,
they'd kept me in school for the social benefits. I just got used to
bringing my own set of books to school and worked on whatever I wanted
in addition to the couple of hours a day of make-work they gave me.
The other kids didn't like me so the socialization plan that was
all that kept me in school didn't really work, which was fine with me.
I much preferred to bury myself in a book, or just run around by myself.
It did force me to learn to fight early on, since even private school
snobs resented someone who actually cared about learning.
I wasn't completely alone, though. I had some kind of a knack with
animals and it was as if the word passed around to all the strays in the
neighborhood. My mom drew the line at snakes and rats, which was one
reason to keep her out of my room (I liked Otto Rattus), but we always
had a few dogs and cats running around. Sometimes Mom and Dad would
give them to friends or something, but there was always another one to
add to the pile. They never tried to make me stop, though. And the
animals loved me for some reason. I loved them back, of course, all of
them. They never tried to make me into something I wasn't, which of
course made their friendship much preferable to any of the jerks in
school.
My parents had great hope for me when I got to college, so it was
an additional shock to them when I demanded to travel first. We'd gone
to England on one vacation and I'd been fascinated by the stuff I could
learn in a foreign country. So there was nothing to do, in my opinion,
but travel for a while before I figured out what I was going to do with
the rest of my life.
My options had seemed rather dim, otherwise. I could go into
business and deal with the same kind of idiots I'd always done with my
entire life. Or, I could go into academics and have the same problem.
The one thing I had seriously thought about was music. I'd learned to
play the flute and found it relaxing and focusing both. But musicians
didn't make enough money to support my other intellectual habits.
I'd run through the traditional geek diversions over my childhood
and adolescence and had grown past most of them, though a bit of computer
hacking now and again could also find information I couldn't get else-
where, so I kept up with that.
When Andreas had said, "Prepare," and no more, I took it to mean
that I should be prepared for anything. This was apparently correct,
or what he wanted, or something, because he fed my appetites almost to
satiation, which I hadn't thought was possible.
I'd had no idea what he intended and he didn't tell me at first,
so I researched the idea of quests and exploration in general. That
evolved into history, and navigation of a more primitive sort than the
electronic wizardry of satellites(not that I gave up my GPS).
Most quests involved a fight, so I brushed up on my martial arts.
I'd been practicing off and on since I was six and very small and weak.
When I started, the dojo my parents picked for my training taught Jeet
Koon Do, which I thought was really neat. It took me years to believe
the rumors that it was started by Bruce Lee, the action movie star. I
kept at it since it worked out the kinks I got from reading so much.
After I was twelve, no one picked on me more than once. That was the
year I decided I didn't care if my opponents got hurt.
They invariably started the fight, figuring that I was an easy
target since I was skinny, so it didn't bother me a bit if they regretted
their attack. Some would-be tough guy would come swaggering up, looking
for someone to abuse. I'd warn him off, then he'd take a punch at me.
His reward would be a neatly broken arm. I already knew better than to
inflict any maiming injury so I stayed away from joints, but a clean,
simple fracture of the ulna would heal well enough and made my point.
It made my point well enough that I only had to do it twice.
Andreas had created a couple of sparring partners for me out of a
large heap of scrap iron (I'd wondered what the pile of junk in that room
was for). They looked like the T-1000 out of the second Terminator
movie, but they were softer and not as invincible. They also made good
sensei. I learned a lot from those hunks of iron.
Fighting against metal made me think about weapons, specifically
edged weapons. I wasn't suited for big sword stuff, but a quick thrust
could take out anything short of plate armor so I studied lighter weight,
thrusting swords. My omnivorous research had taught me that most Euro-
pean heritage swordplay had gotten too stylized to be truly lethal. It
was either slug-it-out styles which I couldn't handle, or dueling styles
where the goal was an honorable wound, not death, or horseback styles
that focused on one-handed swords and freed the other hand to control the
reins. In the orient, though, personal combat was to the death and had
resulted in the perfect killing sword, the katana. I loved it with a
passion that had previously only come from my music and studied the
weapon as diligently as any academic skill.
The beautiful samurai sword was a little long and hard to conceal
though, so I also learned some knife work which came in handy for those
little surprise attacks the robot sensei were always springing on me.
In case I DID run into someone in plate armor, I'd also studied
quarterstaff, like Robin Hood. It's amazing what a six foot long pole
can do, especially when you know how to use it.
I'd started treating my own injuries early on and that led into
first aid, which led into deeper study of medicine.
As a "break", I read almost everything Loompanics and Paladin Press
had to offer, from lockpicking to guerilla warfare to running an entire
intelligence network from the top down.
And so on, and so on.
When I got mentally fatigued, which happened more often than I'd
like to admit, I worked on the purely physical. I'd built myself up to
a level of endurance and strength that I'd never even dreamed of in my
life. My body had consisted, at the end, of hard muscles covering rubber
bones. I could walk, without stopping for anything other than the
minimum of toilet breaks, for fifteen hours, or run a marathon and still
have enough for an end sprint. I'd practiced acrobatics and tumbling
until I could take a dive from any angle and end on my feet running away.
And when I was tired of everything, I'd get my flute out of my room,
find a place I wouldn't disturb Andreas, and play until I felt better.
I'd been working almost twenty hours a day, sometimes more, and
I've never been happier in my entire life.
Andreas just smiled when I told him what I was doing, but he
supported me like I wouldn't have believed possible. All I had to do
was ask for a book and it showed up the next day. He'd also created my
iron sparring dummies and the swords I asked for, which impressed the
hell out of me and was one of the things that enticed me to stick around.
When I wanted a horse, he made one appear. Likewise the helmet and
padding I asked for after I fell off twice. I challenged him with a
camel, and got one of those, too. I was thinking about asking for an
elephant when I got an even better idea.
I asked to be taught how to fly. He laughed and pointed at all of
his books, knowing I couldn't even read them. Then I explained I didn't
mean magical flight like a bird, but how to pilot an airplane. I figured
that was fair game but I couldn't see him putting in a runway anywhere
around his mountain hideout. He looked at me with that annoying smile
that usually indicated he had some particularly unpleasant surprise in
mind for me, but said nothing.
The next day he showed me to a door that I KNEW had contained only
weird clothing. When I opened it this time, though, it was into a small
barracks and a British sergeant ordered me out to the runway. I looked
at Andreas, who just grinned and motioned me to follow him. Somehow,
Andreas had turned an inner room of his residence into a WWII era British
training airfield complete with instructors and planes and a brilliant
blue sky. I guessed it was something like a holodeck. It was at least
as realistic as the ones I'd seen on Star Trek. That took nice big gobs
of time, although I wasn't allowed to fly more than four hours a day. I
found out that was a good thing when I got tired on a landing, forgot to
put the gear down, and experienced the first few seconds of a plane crash
before I got knocked against the panel. I woke up outside the room with
Andreas bandaging my head. He just grinned a lot, which I wanted to
scream at him about. On the other hand, it was a much cheaper lesson
than I would have gotten in real life...
Finally, I got to the point that I could take off, navigate some-
where, dogfight, and land again with less than a 100% chance of death. I
possibly could have fought in the Battle of Britain. I also knew how to
stand at attention and salute crisply, though I'd been spared the rest of
the boot camp BS. I still didn't know what some of the words the ser-
geants had used on me meant, but I got the hint real quick.
About the time I thought I had that part down, (give me a Spitfire
and bring on those Messerschmitts!), I walked into the holodeck and saw
a modern aircraft with a whole new slew of gauges and radios. The stick
and rudder part was about the same, but instrument flying was as tough a
challenge as all the rest of the flying combined.
However, I'm a child of the computer age (you know, comes after
Aquarius and before Armageddon), so I had an advantage. It took a lot of
mental discipline but I had that in spades, and it wasn't long before I
could have qualified for a commercial license with multi-engine and
instrument ratings. Of course, the friendly Feds hadn't blessed Andreas'
flying school, so none of it really counted as far as someday getting a
license. Still, it was fun. Every kid should have a holodeck.
Other than preparing for the mysterious quest, all he'd wanted me to
do was run a household for two people. I'd spend a couple of hours a day
doing laundry or cleaning, and another couple fixing meals in between
chapters of one book or another. Truth be told, I probably would have
gone scuba-diving in sewage for the chance to stuff my head like I had
been, so it wasn't that bad. Especially since he had enough canned and
frozen food at the "castle" to cover my early mistakes.
I'd almost begun to think I was prepared enough, which is when he'd
sprung the quest on me without warning.
The one thing I'd never studied, of course, was females.
I could toss one into a wall in three different fighting styles, or
deliver a baby if there weren't any problems, and say lots of things to
one if she spoke any of the languages I spoke, but the whole concept of
BEING one had, not surprisingly, passed me by.
I'd preferred the girls to the boys, but they didn't prefer me.
Nobody really did, though it was amazing how many "friends" I had when
there was some "hard" schoolwork to be done. Bizarrely enough, I'd been
called "queer" by the boys because even at a young age I preferred spen-
ding time with girls. Sometime about fourth grade, I'd had enough abuse
from both sides and gave up social relations for a long time.
That changed when I got to high school and puberty, not surpri-
singly, but the girls still preferred more traditional males. I looked,
of course, and talked to some, and even had a couple of girlfriends, but
that was as far as it went. Neither of the girlfriends had lasted longer
than a couple of months, either. Too many years of isolation hadn't
taught me how to be properly social and I suffered for it.
I dreamed sometimes of finding one that I could live with, or that
would live with me, but I figured that I shouldn't hold my breath.
So of course the bastard had made me into the one thing I had not
prepared for. "Prepare," he said. Right, like anyone prepares to lose
his dick as part of a quest.
A gust of wind whipped the long black hair into my face, and I
clawed at it as it got into my eyes and nose and mouth. I finally got
it all out and stuffed it down the back of my shirt. It was time, I
figured, to stop dorking around.
I had a ring to find.
(
geocities.com/b_dewinter)