VirtualHeaven (8 page)

In strained silence, they moved to the fire’s side. Maggie
knelt and spread her underwear on a smooth rock. She fussed with her
arrangement to avoid speaking to Kered, who crouched at her side.

Kered lifted a hank of Maggie’s wet hair and placed it
gently over her shoulder. “I have shamed you. My only excuse is…surprise. I
have never seen such a garment. But ‘tis no real justification for my
behavior.”

“I forgive you,” Maggie murmured, then she looked up at him.
Tears glistened in her eyes. “It’s not this.” She gestured to her steaming
underwear. “It’s not being trusted.”

“Not trusted?” Kered reached out and traced a finger along
her cheek.

“Forget it. I’m just tired.” She shook him off.

“We must speak of this. We may not go on a quest with rancor
between us.”

“
We
are not going on a quest.
You
are going on
a quest. I am along for the ride. You don’t speak for hours. You march like a
madman. You disappear on me. You won’t trust me with my gun.” She stabbed the
fire with a stick. The fears of being in a strange world crashed down on her.

Kered snatched the stick and tossed it aside. He manacled
her upper arms with his large hands. Slowly, although she resisted, he drew her
to his chest, drawing her into the vee of his thighs. They knelt together,
their bodies as close as lovers, Maggie’s face against Kered’s heartbeat.

When Maggie relaxed against him, he spoke. “
We are
on
this quest together. The omens are strong. You are as important as I on this
journey. I do trust you, for you could have used your weapon on me whilst I
slept in the cave. If I had not trusted you, I could not have rested. ‘Tis just
that at all times, I think and choose—alone. I have command of an army. I make
every decision; I lead. It is not something I am used to—this having someone
question me. My pack? I have no answer. It is my nature to horde my things.

“It is customary for the man to carry the weapons. I know of
no women who go armed. Yet perhaps it is possible to change. You are unlike any
female slave I have ever met. Perhaps you should be granted different rules.”

Maggie snuffled against Kered’s chest. His words brought her
tears rushing back, and it was important to her that she not show him what he
would consider a female weakness. She rubbed her face on his shirt; the fabric
was so fine it was like rubbing her face on his bare skin. “I am not a slave.”

Kered was smart enough to remain silent, but his right hand
betrayed him, sweeping along her upper arm. Maggie pulled back in anger. She
pounded on his chest. “You must believe me. I am not a slave! I’m a metalsmith.
There are no arm rings beyond the ice fields.”

He slipped his fingers into her hair, drawing her forward,
his mouth crushing down on hers. For long moments he heard nothing, saw
nothing.

Maggie’s body molded itself to his. The thin fabric of her
dress hid nothing of his aroused body from hers. She moaned softly. When he
parted his lips, she thrust her tongue into his mouth.

“Nilrem’s knees!” Kered flung himself back on his heels. He
gripped Maggie by the shoulders, holding her off and staring at her in
bewilderment. “This…I…by…what?” he stuttered.

Maggie reached out and pressed her fingers to his lips.
“Don’t you kiss like that, here on Tolemac?” she whispered.

“By the sword, no!” Kered said against her fingertips.
Covering her hand with one of his, he pressed his mouth to her palm. He drew
her forward until only a sheet of paper could have separated them. “It is
spoken that some pleasure slaves are taught special wiles to tempt a man…to
betray his duties. Are you tempting me to forget my quest?”

Maggie frowned. “You think I am deliberately tempting you
from your mission?’’

“I-I-I do not know. One moment you are like sweet innocence.
The next…artful.”

She began to shake in his arms. “No.
No
. I wouldn’t
do that to you. I’m not artful; I’m not tempting you to anything. You started
it.
You
kissed
me
.”

Kered nodded. He pulled her so close she could feel his
breath on her mouth. “Aye. I began this.” He lowered his head. “Again, Maggie.
Taste me, again.”

Maggie froze. First his distrust, next the humiliation of
having her ragged underwear inspected, and now he thought her an artful
temptress, luring him from his quest.
And still, he wanted a kiss
.

She pushed him away and rose, shaking out her skirts and
avoiding his smoldering turquoise eyes. “No. I won’t be accused of tempting you
from your sacred mission. I have no desire to kiss you, Ker. One kiss was quite
enough for me.”

Maggie roused herself from the languor created by Windsong’s
pace. “Kered! Look! Over there!” The ground erupted in a cloud of dust. A
miniature dust devil whirled along before them. Maggie stifled a scream. Kered
slowed Windsong’s pace as the dust devil coalesced into a child—a ragged, tiny
being flying across the ground.

Escaping, Maggie thought, but not from them.

Charging across the red plain to their right came a mirage.
Or, Maggie hoped it was a mirage. The creature’s green, plated body and huge
haunches rippled as it gained upon the child.

Windsong balked. He pawed the earth and flagged his tail and
refused to move.

“By the sword!” Kered swore and leapt from the saddle. In a
moment, his long legs carried him across the flat land in pursuit of the child.
It was a foot race Maggie thought he couldn’t win.

Maggie groped in Kered’s pack for her gun. She held it
firmly in her right hand and took up the reins. “How dare you betray your
master?” she hissed into Windsong’s ear. She kicked the horse in the flanks. He
whinnied a protest, but broke into a shambling trot. Windsong’s gait changed
again as he approached the beast, finally faltering to a halt. Nothing she did
would budge him.

Maggie’s throat dried. Her palms gushed with sweat. The
creature, taller on all fours than even Kered, weighed at least a ton more than
the man it pursued. It opened its huge jaws and let loose a fountain of viscous
liquid, spraying Kered and the ragged child.

Kered slipped. He fell on one knee, recovered, and turned to
face the dragon, whose flailing tail ended in a sharp three-pronged spike.

And it
was
a dragon—as ancient and reptilian and
frightening as any painting she’d ever seen. Kered and the child were almost
under its snapping jaws.

Maggie tried to control the agitation of her mount, forcing
Windsong to stand steady. Perhaps she could get off a shot and put the beast to
sleep. Another stream of venom spewed across Kered’s path. He slid and slipped,
barely maintaining his footing. The child screamed and fell in the liquid
patches spreading around him.

“Ker!” Maggie cried. The dragon made a quick snatch. The
child eluded the clawing limb, rolling in the viscous liquid, almost swimming
along the ground.

Kered used the slick surface to slide between the beast and
its tiny victim. He stood his ground beneath the frenzied claws, sword in one
hand, knife drawn in the other. An iridescent fountain of slime arched and
fell, coating him. With a shake of his tangled hair, he parried the attacking
talons.

Maggie shrieked as Windsong reared. She fell off the back of
the saddle, striking the ground. Her breath whooshed from her lungs.

She lost her grip on the gun.

Quickly, she leapt to her feet and looked about. Just as she
snatched up the tiny black gun, the dragon turned its liquid eye in her
direction.

Maggie stumbled backward.

The slime hit her like the heavy drops of a summer storm. A
rotting, acrid odor stung her nostrils. The liquid coated her face and
shoulders, clung to her arms and hands. The dragon turned back to closer prey.

She raised the gun, wiping the slime from the stock. In a
reflex taught long ago in childhood, she sighted on the creature and fired.

Nothing happened.

Maggie gasped and turned the gun, peering into the tiny hole
that made the gun resemble a water pistol more than any other kind of weapon.
She scrubbed the surface on her skirt, cleaning it again. Taking aim, she
pressed the blue button.

Nothing.

Again.

In silent fear, she watched the dragon rear up on its huge
haunches and throw back its head.

“Dear God, help them,” she prayed and threw the useless gun.
The dragon paused for an imperceptible moment and clawed the air as if to swat
a pesky fly. The gun struck its head.

Kered leapt at the dragon, his sword swiping its throat and
his knife blade plunging deep into the exposed breast.

In a thunder of limbs, the dragon collapsed. Maggie turned
to Kered as he pulled his blade from the dragon’s chest.

She sidestepped the twitching limbs, then bent over the
sobbing child. Kered knelt at her side and plucked up the shaking bundle of
rags.

“‘Tis over,” he said, handing Maggie her gun after wiping it
on his sleeve. She stuffed it into her boot, then pulled the hood from the
child’s tiny head.

Maggie stared down at the dirtiest face she’d ever seen. The
chance that water had ever touched the urchin was about the same as her chance
of going to the moon.

The ludicrous nature of her thoughts, considering her own
situation, plus the narrow escape from becoming dragon bait, made her laugh.

Kered smiled and pressed the child into her arms. “He needs
a female to soothe him.”

“Yikes,” she gasped as an odor of excrement wafted up from
the child. “Him?”

“Aye. Him. Thank you for distracting the beast.” Kered
patted her shoulder and rose, bellowing across the field to Windsong. “Come
back, you cowardly knave!”

A warmth flooded Maggie’s insides. Her gun might not have
worked, but the satisfaction of having assisted the warrior was enough.
Gingerly, Maggie tried to comfort the child, whose chest heaved in silent sobs.
She crooned to him as she did to her brother Jason’s youngest child when
teething kept him awake. “Hush, hush, the bad dragon is dead.”

Something in her voice got through and the shuddering sobs
eased to sniffles. When Kered and Windsong trotted up to their side, she handed
up the child and then, with great difficulty and less than ladylike dignity,
she scrambled up in front of Kered. “We have to wash off this goop. This kid
needs a bath,” she said.

“Over yonder ridge is The Sacred Pool. We can bathe there.
‘Tis a he, I said, not a goat.” Kered kicked Windsong’s flanks, and they flew
across the ground.

Maggie swatted at some little bugs that hovered about the
child’s head and stifled an impulse to cringe when yellow, grime-rimmed nails
dug into her forearm. She breathed through her mouth and tried to decide
whether to explain a “kid” to Kered or just let him think she couldn’t tell the
difference between a goat and a child. Her skin began to itch in a maddening
manner, but she couldn’t scratch. The child squirmed and wriggled. His slimy
garments made holding him a two-handed job.

“You know, Ker, I thought you were teasing me about the
dragons,” she said, rubbing her itchy chin against her shoulder.

“Common as dust. I told you.”

“Still, I thought you were teasing me.”

Maggie wondered if there were any animals on Tolemac she
would recognize. “What’s your cloak made of?”

“Wool. From a sheep. ‘Tis a docile animal, soft. But ‘tis
also a dirty beast, stinking in fact.”

“I’m familiar with sheep. And your shirt?” Maggie could not
prevent her hand from touching the fine cloth on his encircling arms. It had an
unusual luster despite its wrinkled condition.

His body rippled through a shrug. “‘Tis some plant. A woman
would know.”

“Of course,” she muttered, renewing her grip on the child.

“My britches?” he asked softly against her ear.

“Your britches?” Maggie felt her cheeks heat.

“Have you no interest in my britches?” he asked, then roared
with laughter.

Maggie did not deign to reply. The terrain changed abruptly.
Over one low hill the red rock changed to verdant fields dotted with small
groves of trees. Here and there the red rock still showed through the long
grasses. Pink clouds marched overhead, painting splotches of gray across the
hills. A glimmer caught her eye. The Sacred Pool lay like a silver skin between
two folds in the hills. Kered drew Windsong to a halt and slid off the back of
the saddle. He reached up and took the child, marching to the edge of the pool
and dunking him like an old dust mop.

A frantic wail rose anew from the bundle of rags, and Maggie
grinned as Kered swished the child back and forth. Scratching her forearms and
neck, she walked into the shallows to stand at Kered’s side. “Why don’t I do
that? You might drown the poor little guy.”

“Boy. A him.”

“A guy is a him—in my place.”

“In this place, he is a little beggar who is certainly far
from his tribe.” Kered laughed, relinquishing his hold. The child fell back
with a splash and came up screaming.

“Beggar? Tribe?” Maggie stepped back as the child shook
himself like a dog after a bath.

“Aye. ‘Tis unusual to find a little beggar separated from
his elders. They are most watchful of their young.” He straightened and looked
over Maggie’s shoulder.

She turned and followed the direction of his gaze. A cluster
of black dots swarmed down a distant hill like ants escaping an ant farm. The
little boy shrieked with joy and took off in their direction.

“Are they dangerous?” she asked, mentally estimating the
group at greater than fifty.

“Humpf. Enough, if one is not on guard. They have been
outcasts from Tolemac for generations. A scavenger people, more content to take
what is not secured than hunt or plow themselves.” Kered fisted his hands on
his hips as he surveyed the approaching band of beggars.

As the motley band drew near, Maggie realized that even the
tallest was not much bigger than a large child. She smiled when a figure
separated from the group and swooped down on the boy, snatching him into her
arms and hugging and kissing his little face. Then a scene unfolded like many
played out each summer on Ocean City’s boardwalk. The mother held the child
away and smacked his bottom, her shrill admonitions readily understandable.
Much loved, the child had scared his mother nearly out of her mind. The child
hung his head, then tugged at his mother’s arm, drawing her to stand before
Kered.

Kered bowed stiffly to the mother. Tears ran down her face,
making tracks on cheeks as dirty as her child’s. The boy jibber-jabbered and
gestured. The rest of the beggars encircled them in a wary ring.

The child began to act out the drama of his rescue. He
swiped and stabbed the air. In the best Shakespearean tradition, he clutched
his hand to his heart and collapsed on the ground as if dead. The beggars went
wild with joy. They closed in on Kered, hugging him and kissing his hands.
Maggie found herself cut off from him, an onlooker.

Kered took their adulation with great aplomb, bowing and
nodding. They chattered in a patois Maggie didn’t understand, but their
sentiment was loud and clear. Kered was now their hero.

“Enough.” A loud voice bellowed. The beggars parted and a
tiny man approached Kered. They bowed to one another in respectful silence. As
if commanded, the other beggars backed off, distancing themselves from the old
man. His wrinkled skin and gnarled cane spoke of great age.

“Tolem,” Kered said, bowing deeply at the waist. The
incredible distance between Kered’s height and Tolem’s made Kered’s obeisance
almost ludicrous. He could have crushed the old man in one hand.

“Kered? Leoh’s chosen one. Am I correct?” Tolem’s gravelly
voice sounded as if he hadn’t used it for years.

“You have an excellent memory.” Kered hunkered down on his
haunches before the old man and still the old man needed to tilt his head to
look up at the warrior.

“I remember the ones who matter,” Tolem said. “You have
rescued my namesake. How may we reward you?”

“I ask nothing.” Kered gestured in Maggie’s direction. “We
came upon the child in a timely manner, ‘tis all.”

“Many would say ‘good riddance’ and watch the sport.” The
old man spat into the dust.

“And many others would have done as we did,” Kered said.

The old man grunted, then turned to stare at Maggie with
open curiosity. His scrutiny made her itch all the more, and she rubbed her
upper arms.

“For what reason do you journey through the Forbidden Lands?”
Tolem asked, shifting his attention back to Kered.

“I make the ancient quest.”

The old man leaned forward precariously on his cane. “‘Tis
said in legend one must bear the sign to make the quest. Do you?”

“Aye. Or so Nilrem says.”

“Nilrem.” The old man spat again. “Show me this sign.”

“No.” Kered said it softly, but a ripple of unease swept the
band of beggars.

A tiny hand crept up and clutched Maggie’s. She looked down
to find the little beggar at her side. He shot her a worried look as if to urge
her to do something.

Tolem shook his head at Kered. “You are a brave man to
refuse me. One against my many.”

“I have dealt honorably with you and yours each time our
paths have crossed.” Kered stayed in his relaxed position, crouching before the
indignant elder. The two men considered each other in silence.

“You do not play upon the saving of the child. ‘Tis what
most men would do.”

Kered rose to his full height. “I am not most men.”

The old man nodded and an audible gasp swept the beggars. He
chattered to his band in their strange tongue, then turned back to Kered. “Camp
on our land in peace, Kered.” He pointed to the pool with his cane. “Take what
you will from yonder water. ‘Tis welcome you are.”

The boy hung on Maggie’s arm until his mother dragged him
away. He stared over his shoulder, calling out in his language until his words
were lost in the winds as they crossed over the ridge.

“What was the boy saying, Ker?” Maggie asked, scratching
vigorously now that the company was gone.

Kered strolled to the water’s edge and splashed water on his
face. “He wished to mate with you.”

“What?” Maggie cried.

Kered cupped the water and took a long drink, then rose and
shook his wet hands. “Aye. He wanted Tolem to barter for—” He broke off and
stared at her. Then, like an anxious bridegroom carrying his bride over the
threshold, he swept her into his arms and ran to the water’s edge. With a
mighty heave, Kered flung Maggie into the Sacred Pool.