The Call: Part 2: Waking Dream

The Call: Part 2: Waking Dream

She woke up under the oak, stiff and sore. She sat up and blearily watched the sun struggle to come free of the horizon. She shook her head to clear it of her dreams. She remembered the boot tip and snorted. She stood and stretched, feeling like she’d been beaten with sticks. She turned to pick up the shirt she’d been pillowing her head on when something at eye level caught her attention. A boot tip was sticking out of the tree. Slowly, she straightened. She wondered if she should run away, but couldn’t seem to get the message to her feet to begin moving. She’d always wondered why the idiots in horror movies just stood there and let the monster eat them; now she knew.

The boot tip became an entire foot while she watched, then a leg. Whoever it was had big feet. The boot was thick, dark leather with sturdy metal buckles. Her mind spat out the minutia at her while she still struggled to move. It was no good. The pants were also durable leather, though they were dyed a very deep shade of brown, almost black. In slow motion, a man stepped fully from the tree.

He was very tall, almost 6’7”, though she might have been overestimating under the circumstances. His build was slender and willowy. His fingers were long, smooth, and tapered. He wore bowman’s gloves and a thick, heavily engraved signet ring. His shirt was well-made, but archaic with billowy sleeves. His skin was the lightest shade of bronze, pale in the way that only those who avoid the sun’s rays are. His hair was golden, not merely blonde, and fell in curling waves about his broad face. His cheekbones were high and prominent and his lips were wide and full. His eyes, upturned at the corners, were almost metallic gold. He wore a wide brimmed hat with a long feather in the band at a jaunty angle. He had a sword at his hip and a bow and quiver on his back. He strongly resembled a lion. She wondered if he were as dangerous. He smiled. Yes, she instantly decided, more dangerous by far.

The woman shrieked in triumph and danced around the table as the two men were lost from view in her mirror. “Wake up! Wake up! It’s time lazybones,” she cried. Another woman slowly sat up on the dais she’d slept on for so many years.

“This had best not be another false alarm…”

“Oh, someone’s awfully cranky first thing in the decade. It is not. The Heir of Airgead and a Marhanen went through the Gate not fifteen minutes past. You’d best get cracking or the Crone will Have Words with you.” She paused a moment, her finger tapping her lip. She added thoughtfully, “Again.”

“Thank you so much, Mother,” she replied dryly. She sat for a moment to let the enormity of what had been said sink into her mind. With a start, she leapt up, pushing mounds of curly red hair out of her face. With a Word, she reached the Gate.

She was the shortest woman he had ever seen, perhaps 5’7”. Her short, slightly curly hair was the same gold streaked red as Brian had. It hung to just past her shoulders and was pushed behind strange, blunt ears. The sun at her back turned it to a glowing halo. Her eyes had only the slightest tilt and her cheekbones were high. Her skin was winter pale and creamy. Her lips, tinged the delicate pink of a rosebud, were shaped like a cupid’s bow. She smiled nervously, revealing perfect white teeth. She was wonderfully, perfectly lush and he could not help but stare a moment at her hips and thighs. In his homeland, women padded their gowns to look like this.

Then he noticed her clothing and blinked three times in quick succession. She wore a man’s shirt with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows. It was forest green and the top two buttons were undone. He could not stop staring at her swan-like neck, thin wrists, and the tiny bit of chest that the shirt revealed. Then he saw that she wore a truly scandalous skirt that showed her ankles. It was obvious that she wore no petticoats beneath the midnight blue fabric. Her boots, buttoned up the sides, were black with short heels. She jumped and her gaze darted behind him. He glanced to see what had startled her and saw that Brian had emerged.

A Crone sat drowsing before a cauldron. She threw off the edge of sleep with a cackle as an image formed above the boiling liquid. “They’ve come! They’ve come!” Lightning crashed outside and all across Earth, fault lines trembled ever so slightly. She declared contentedly, “The End is in sight!”

The second man was not as tall as the other, perhaps 6’5”, but he was broader through the shoulders. His skin was darker, a little tanned. His face was rounder, softer, so that all that saved him from being pretty rather than handsome was his jaw line. He had a small nose that turned up at the tip. He was dressed similarly to the other man, though he wore no ring or sword; he held a stout staff, however. His eyes were silvery grey and his hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck. His eyes widened as he saw her and he flushed scarlet red. He stared at her ankles.

Half way across the globe, a group of women sat in a circle, gossiping and sewing. Abruptly, one woman swayed in her seat and then sat up as straight as a rod. In a voice far deeper than her thin frame should have accounted for, she spoke, “Prepare! The time of the Prophecy is upon you. Beware! Old things are waking and new ones are rising. Behold!” Her finger pointed past the window to the large, lonely mountain their town sat at the foot of. The women gazed in astonishment as a light only they could see kindled near the top for the first time in living memory. The woman slumped, and then shook herself. Smiling slightly, the women picked back up their sewing and began a new pattern.

Oisin shook himself out of his shock and held out his hand, smiling as non-threateningly as possible. She slowly gave him hers and gave him an odd look when he kissed it. He tapped his chest. “Oisin, Vi’dastia Airgead, Ora an’Doove Llyn, Vi’dastia’de Anu Ora Ahmahnanda Gris…” He trailed off as an expression of blank incomprehension stole across her face. He tried again. “Oisin. Oisin Airgead,” he said, giving his name in the manner of commoners. He motioned to his friend. “Brian. Brian Marhanen.” She repeated their names a few times, stumbling over his the most. He couldn’t stop staring into her eyes; he’d never seen anyone so unguarded. And they were such a warm green, with tiny flecks of honey brown and gold.

“Anastasia. Anastasia Smith.” He gave her a formal bow, confused as to how deep it should actually be. She had a bit of a tan, though not nearly enough to be a farmer’s daughter. The quality of the cloth hinted that she was merchant’s daughter, and a rich one, at that, for the ring on her finger was gold and the diamond far too bright to be paste. Yet she wore earrings, two in each ear, just as he did. But what nobleman would allow his daughter to roam so freely? He thought of his father and nearly broke all etiquette by snorting. She attempted what he assumed to be greetings in several languages. He understood none.

He tried in Dryad, Common and Low Sidhe, Faunish, and Boggan to no result. Despairing, he tried the single language of this land he knew, “Valete.”

Her eyes brightened immediately, “Valete!” She smiled widely and motioned for them to follow, her stride purposeful. He looked past her at last and saw a lovely manor sitting at top a small hill. He supposed she could be one of the maids. He wondered if something were wrong since he saw no other servants bustling about and no smoke rose from the chimney. Brian was still too busy staring at the flash of her ankles to notice anything else, though he had begun to get the tiny line between his eyes that spoke of disapproval.

Oisin stumbled over a branch, reminding him not to be so fascinated himself. Though her ankles were ever so lovely… She led them inside and he nodded to himself. The glass in the windows was perfect, so obviously this was a rich lord’s Summer home. It was too small to be anything else. If she were a maid, then things made more sense. She was here to look after things until the main body of servants arrived to prepare for the Lord’s arrival when the days grew long and hot. She walked too quickly for him to get a good look at the odd objects scattered about, but he assumed she was wasting no time in taking him to her superior. She stepped into a dark room and he had just enough time to catch the scent of books before she gestured and light bloomed in a sphere near the ceiling. He gasped and Brian stumbled backwards. She was a sorceress! It was his turn to be frozen in place.

Ana did not notice her guests’ reactions. She whipped her Introduction to Latin book off the shelf, certain that now she would be able to communicate. She flipped it open and blurted out the first sentence she saw, “Amor est magis cognitivus quam cognito. We know things better through love than knowledge.” Only then did she notice that they had paled, a significant feat given that they were already white-faced as Goths, and stared at her like a viper.

Oisin blinked, as her words penetrated. They made no sense, even though he understood what they meant. It seemed such an odd thing for a sorceress to say. He shook his head in confusion. Her smile wilted and she stared at them, apparently worried. “Um, are you ok?”

He understood the intent, if not the words themselves. Besides, curiosity had always been his undoing. He took a deep breath and bowed low to her. He approached hesitantly. She passed him the book very slowly, moving like she would with a frightened animal. A dangerous one. He recognized the manner and signaled to Brian behind his back. She carefully turned the pages and pointed at a random word. “Vita. Life.”

He repeated her words, glad that her Latin was as shaky as his own. She chose others and gradually he relaxed enough to be thirsty when she offered to make tea. She had never seemed to notice when Brian came to stand behind her with his hand on the hilt of his dagger, just in case. When she left, Brian followed her and watched silently while she made the tea.

-----

She was uncomfortable, knowing he did not trust her. Then again, she did not particularly trust them. She had been aware when the second man circled to stand behind her, but had pretended not to be. She placed everything on a tray and added bread, cheese, butter, and a sharp knife. She had every intention of staying close to the tray and playing the perfect hostess. She knew it was rash to bring them in here, but something deep inside her said these men wouldn’t hurt her. But just in case…

An hour later, she could carry on a very basic conversation with Oisin, though getting him to understand word order in English was difficult. She noticed when Oisin began twitching and it slowly dawned on her that he needed to use the bathroom. She took him to the room and pointed at the toilet. He lifted his brows in an are-you-sure motion.

“Yes, watch. This is the handle.” She flushed the toilet and he stepped back quickly. She shook her head and smiled. “Plumbing.” She opened the reservoir so he could see how it worked. Understanding dawned quickly.

“Brian! Irime! Irime’u!” His friend was fascinated. She showed them how to work the sink and left them to playing in the water while she went to make lunch.

-----

“Well, so what do you think?” Oisin asked as soon as he heard her footsteps retreat.

“I am not really certain. If she is an evil sorceress, then she definitely does not fit those in the stories.” Thoughtfully, “She is far too short.”

“And she smiles too brightly.” He urinated and flushed. He had spent too many days splashing on trees to be the least embarrassed in front of Brian. Indeed, as his manservant, it was no breach of etiquette. “They have plumbing like this in the Palace. They even have baths that fill with hot and cold water like this basin. This isn’t magic.”

Brian took his turn at the toilet while Oisin washed his hands. “No. Do you think it possible that there is an explanation for the light she cast, as well?”

“I think it likely. I have a feeling that she is not a danger to us.”

“I learned long ago not to trust your feelings, Oisin. I remember the wild dog…” He stopped and grinned as Oisin rubbed at a small scar on his hand. “But this time I do agree. I have a feeling. She reminds me of your mother, what with fussing over the tray so that she could stay near the knife.”

He smiled, “Think she could use it?” He shook his head. “I cannot place her station, though. At first, the scant clothing threw me off, but there are portraits in the hallway. It seems to be the fashion here. But she seems to be educated and no lady’s maid would be left here alone. She does not appear to be distressed, so I think it unlikely that there has been some accident to deprive her of companionship. Also, the books! I’ve never seen so many outside the Library in the Capitol!”

“This is excellent soap,” Brian commented offhand, drying his hands with a practiced expression of boredom. “Does it really matter?”

Oisin snorted and drew himself up taller. “Of course it does. If only because we shall eventually have make our way to meet the Duke of this place and learn all we can.” He paused, eyes wide. Brian saw the expression and groaned. Oisin was about to be creative. This was never a good thing as the man had read far too many of his mother’s books from when she was a girl.

“Perhaps… Perhaps she is a lady and her family has passed away, leaving her here alone. Or perhaps her father has placed her here with no servants to hide her! Some terrible man, surely his liege, wants her. Of course!” He carried on, his voice growing faster and more excited with every melodramatic turn.
Brian tuned it out and continued to flip through a picture book of wildlife. He presumed they had some sort of technique with paints to make the pictures so very clear and lifelike. He was content to let Oisin prattle on without him, so he snuck out to see what the lady in question was doing. He had seen the kitchen, but had not paid attention to much beyond watching for poison. She was cooking.
He stared, noticing first that the fire on the stove was small and controlled. He would think it magic, but she did not seem to be chanting or anything. Everyone knew magic took incantations and hand waving.

He moved closer, unaware. Then she opened a large, white box and he felt the cold inside. She took a jug of something he recognized as milk out. He cautiously opened the box himself and stared at the array of fresh vegetables and meats. Much of it was packaged strangely in some sort of clear material. He saw more of it in what was obviously a trash bin and decided that the clear substance was not magic. She chopped carrots with a knife like any in his mother’s kitchen. He was vaguely disappointed. Then she peeled a potato with an odd instrument, but nothing the blacksmith could not fashion. She let him peel the others and he took careful note of the design so he could have one made for his mother. It was certainly quicker than a knife.

Seeing his interest, she opened a drawer and began to demonstrate the uses of the tools within. Many, like the whisk, he was quite familiar with. She showed him how to set the flame on the stove with a little knob, and also demonstrated why she was so careful to make sure the knobs were set to OFF, whatever that translated to. He was suddenly more comfortable. It was some sort of flammable gas. He’d read about such forming in swamps and knew that the alchemist used some in his experiments. The man had almost burned down his shop during one such misadventure. It was one example of why, by King’s Writ, alchemists were not allowed to set up shop within city walls. He was not certain of the cold box, but assumed it was not magic either. Despite the lack of a common tongue, they seemed to have no problems communicating. Indeed, the amount of food grew at an alarming rate as he grew familiar with the ‘gadgets.’ Soon, they had enough for a small army baking, boiling, and frying. He began to have the slightest feeling that he just might like it here.

Oisin wound down, “Do you think I might be…” His eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. He wondered how long he had been left talking to himself. A savory scent hit his nose. Quite some time, apparently. Trust Brian to find the kitchen in any place he might be. He following his nose, he could soon hear them laughing and a tiny trace of jealousy shot through him. Somehow, without trying a bit, Brian always had the attention of females, even ladies who should know better. He leaned against a wall, watching.
They stood side by side, arms covered in flour. She was teaching him numbers with the little balls of dough they rolled up. His stomach growled loudly, but no one noticed. He did wish they would stop giggling so much. He set his mind to figuring out how he could regain the lady’s attention without actually having to help cook. God knew that the few times Brian had let him try his hand at it over the campfire, he had burned the bottom out of the pans. He went to look out the windows and saw a large, metal contraption. He shrugged and went to the other side of the room. The gardens took his breath away. At last, she noticed him. He felt her hand lightly brush his sleeve. “Beautiful,” he said, cursing his limited vocabulary.

She smiled and said slowly, “Do you want to see?” He nodded quickly. Brian came to see what they were looking at and sighed. They finished up the food, packing most of it up into the cold box. It held little interest to Oisin. The rest she placed in a large basket and took with them. They ate in the center of the gardens and then wandered in the hedge maze for a while. She took them inside and showed them the shower and gave them towels. Oisin was absolutely in love from the first moment the water sluiced over him. He stayed in until he began to wrinkle, loving how well the soap lathered. And the shampoo made his hair the softest it had ever been. He finally dressed and went to sit with her in her library to work on vocabulary and pronunciation. Even he was astonished at how quickly he was learning. Understanding came too easily, and his retention was too good to be entirely natural.

When he could, he asked after her father, still concerned that she seemed to live here alone. A shadow passed over her face. “You mother?” She shook her head. “No family?” he asked, disbelieving.

“No,” she answered softly. He felt terrible suddenly. No wonder she lived alone. She wore no pearl in her ear, so she was not married, but as wealthy as her books and windows indicated she was, he could not understand how that could be. And where were her servants? He knew this had to be her house by the way she touched things. He let the subject drop.

He stayed awake long after she had retired for the night. She had taught Brian the rudiments of reading her language and given him primers. Oisin helped as he could. “Brian, are you learning too quickly as well?”

“Yes. But if it is magic, I cannot think it anything but benign.” He paused, “Oisin? How in the world does one pronounce that?” Subject forgotten, they fell asleep in their chairs near dawn.

A woman stood outside, watching them. She glanced down at the Raven beside her. “The spell should hold for about a week. That should give them enough time.”

The Raven nodded, then asked, “What is it like? To see this house again after so long?”

“Very strange. Rooms have been added and the Gardens have long since grown into what I made them to be. More than I had intended.” They looked over the sleeping men for a time. “He looks so very much like…” She trailed off, unable to speak his name even now.

The Raven cawed harshly, “Come now! Let’s not stand here brooding. We’ve still work to do. The other is close; I can feel him.”

“Yes. And then we must find his brothers. They’ll need Waking, I’m sure.” She tossed a mound of red curls over her shoulder and left to finish what they had started so very long ago.

Ana’s eyes popped open and she bolted out of bed. She’d felt something, like a tingling at the base of her skull, a shiver up her spine, or an itch she couldn't scratch, yet none of these things. She remembered her guests and immediately forgot what woke her. She found them sprawled in their chairs, surrounded by little piles of books. She went to the study and called her classmates to find out what she had missed when she had skipped the day before. She studied until she thought they would wake soon, and then made breakfast. It occured to her that for the first time since September, she did not feel utterly exhausted and had at last gotten a restful night's sleep.

“Good afternoon. Sleep well?” Oisin nodded, rubbing at his eyes. “Tea, coffee, or milk?” They tried coffee, and only a lifetime of etiquette lessons saved Oisin from spewing his all over the table. Once persuaded to try it with cream and sugar, he developed the taste for it. Brian, like her, preferred it black as night and sweet as love. What conversation there was boiled down to “What is that?” and “How does it work?”

She spent the day teaching them more English vocabulary and answering any questions they had from reading her old history text books. “I need to get better clothes for the two of you,” she muttered half to herself. Oisin looked terribly offended, so she continued smoothly, “The ones you have are quite nice, but they will stand out too much.”

Oisin nodded, mollified. “Yes. I would like that. I want to see your cities without drawing undue attention to ourselves. Please, do.”

She laughed, “It’s going to take more than clothes for the two of you not to be noticed! Your language is too formal, you are too tall, too handsome, and too… lots of things. Physical appearance aside, unless you learn modern history, then you will still stand out.” He agreed and applied himself more studiously to his book. He made it to the Industrial Revolution before he finally fell asleep. This time he took the book to bed with him.

Friday, March 22, 2002

Ana drove to town while the men still slept. She was glad that unlike in some stories, their ears were only slightly longer than normal, though they were quite pointy. As long as their hair was long, it would easily cover them. She bought them baseball caps, just in case. She also picked up a soft, extra-snuggly puppy for Brian. She peeked in on them before she left. Brian had been adorable with his sheets pulled up to his chin and a tiny smile on his peaceful face. He’d looked about eight.

She put a teddy bear in the cart on the general principle that it would look odd if she bought something for one and not the other. She bought toiletries, hesitating over razors and shaving cream. Did Sidhe shave? She debated over underwear as well. If they even wore any--her mind instantly veered towards the gutter. Quickly, she thought of puppies, butterflies, anything but Oisin. She succeeded until she got to her car. Her pulse picked up and her face flushed just remembering.

His smooth, lithe limbs had been almost artfully posed, one thrown over his eyes and the other resting lightly on his hard, flat stomach. His body was nearly hairless, only a slight trail leading from his navel to what the sheet had barely covered. He had kicked off all but a tiny corner. A light sheen of sweat had glistened in the morning light. His head had been thrown back, lips parted as if for a kiss. She had almost slammed the door shut, but had caught herself just in time to close it quietly.

“Figures,” she muttered to her car with a wry grin. “I would have the luck to see him in the middle of an erotic dream.” She sighed. “I just wish I knew if I meant that luck part sarcastically or not. Ya know, car, maybe Bethany and Lisa are right. If a single gorgeous, mostly naked man is enough to get me this way… Who am I kidding? B and L would be just as hung up over it. Any straight woman would be. I haven’t even kissed a man in over a year.” She sighed again. “I haven’t had a boyfriend in three years. That bastard.” But the curse sounded mechanical even to her own ears. She still thought of him sometimes, but it had stopped hurting a long time ago. She cursed again, this time with more fervor. “Birth certificates. They don’t have any kind of ID. They’ll need it if they are going to be here a while.”

She would ask how long they intended to stay when she got home. “Great Goddess,” she prayed, “please give me the strength not to leap upon an unsuspecting Sidhe-boy.” As soon as she pulled in, the men tumbled out of the door, fighting over something Brian clutched to his chest. They halted on the steps, looking like children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Brian shoved it behind his back and Oisin rolled his eyes and muttered something that made his friend blush. She shook her head and forbore to ask. They would change clothes after she had eaten lunch. She zoned out, too caught up in listening to their lilting accents to pay much attention. “So, where exactly are you from?”

Oisin blinked. “Oh, I suppose you wouldn’t know. In what I have read so far, my people are not mentioned except as myth,” he spat. “Our world is called Arcadia here, and is also called myth. We are from the Borderlands in the northernmost part of the Kingdom. We are from the County of the Watchtower in the Duchy of the Great Grey Mountains. Our Township is the Dark Pool. Of all of the aristocracy, my family lives the furthest North. Even my Uncle, the Duke, and cousin live further South.” He had drawn himself up ramrod straight. “None but the Airgead’s dare live so far from the Heartlands. And only those of us from the Borderlands are prepared to defend the pompous, preening prigs to the South,” he growled, growing pale with anger.

Brian said something sharp in their own language. Oisin’s jaws clicked shut on whatever he was about to say. He sat silently a moment. He blurted, “Shall we try on our new clothing?” Brian sighed in relief.

-----

“Tristan Carnahan? Like, you’re the guy that owns Alternate Realities aren’t you?” The brunette burbled. Her blonde friend rolled her eyes and tried to pretend that she did not know the girl to her left. “Ohmagod! I’ve, like, heard so much about you at scho—”

The blonde stepped on her foot, hard. Or so he guessed, he could not see because they stood on either side of the counter from one another. “Hi! I’m Theresa Thatcher. Please forgive my friend; she’s a moron.”

“Hey! I am so--” Theresa dug her heel in warningly.

Tristen smiled, wondering how many sales he’d be able to talk them into. High school girls flocked to him, never understanding that really was after only one thing: their money. Not that he minded the attention, but they looked more like children every year. These two still had baby fat. He gave them both a perfect smile with just the right touch of mystery. He knew that by the time he was done, they would walk out and profess their undying love, preferably with their arms full of merchandise. “Oh, you should try on this necklace.” He paused a moment, then proclaimed, “It’s perfect for you! It brings out those lovely chocolate eyes.” She demurred, not —quite— willing to spend that much. He leaned over close enough that she could smell his cologne and whispered conspiratorially, “You must have it; I’ll give you a discount if you swear to never tell another soul.”

His assistant manager, Lola, once asked why he spent so much time flirting with teenagers. His answer: she bought the necklace. He had at least a month of infatuation during which she was certain to be a regular customer. She would inevitably buy something each time she came as an excuse to see him. These girls were an investment. They shuffled out the door whispering and giggling just in time. His posture and expression changed into something the young girls would have avoided. He looked cold and dangerous; the woman entering zoomed in on him like a moth to the flames. She was a twenty-something without a doubt. “Hello,” he purred. “How might I be of assistance?” She smiled hesitantly and he was in like Flynn. Lola grimaced at her back. A few minutes later, she began to scowl. Silently, she added another line to the tally sheet behind the register. They had a bet going as to what percentage of the women who came in here that he could get a date with in one day. He’d passed over one, immediately spotting the pale line on her ring finger. He didn’t touch the married except in special circumstances. He was running out of times to put a date.

When he was younger, he would juggle several dates in a day, but he’d lost interest and hadn’t been dating much at all recently. He was beginning to worry that something was wrong, but hadn’t gone to the doctor for fear of feeling like a ninny. Another woman passed in front of the window on the way from the shop next door and he stared. Lola shook her head and started to laugh until she saw Tristen’s face. “Tristen? Do you know her?” He nodded silently. As much as she hated his ranting and raving, it was his silence that she feared. “Who…?”

“Anastasia.”

Her brows knit. She had never heard the name before, but she knew from a long dark tea-time of the soul there had only been two women that he had ever had any strong emotions about. His baby’s mother and… “Oh! She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.” He scowled. She rolled her eyes. “Hey, when you won’t give a name, what else is she going to be called?” She rubbed her large belly, quieting her son. “Enough with the ribs,” she muttered to him. “I expected her to be…I don’t know, more impressive.” He glared at her, but she only laughed at him. “We’ve seen her in this shopping center and you’ve never gotten all quiet about it before,” she said, serious again.

“She’s going into the Men’s Outlet.”

“So? She could be buying something for her dad or brother. Or a cousin.”

“Her family is like mine.” She didn’t know what to say. She knew he was an orphan.

“Tristen, I hesitate to remind you, but you’ve been split up with her for how long? And you’ve had how many girlfriends since then?”

“So?” He began to twist his lucky horseshoe ring. “She was single last week.”

“How do you know that?” She paused. Slowly, “You’ve been keeping tabs on her haven’t you?” When he said nothing to the accusation, she shook her head. “Tris, that’s just creepy. Why would you do that?”

He shrugged. “I just like to know, that’s all. I like to know that she’s alive.” He fell silent and she knew not to push him when he was like this. She set the creepiness of it aside and focused on the other parts. “Damn. You’re still that hung up on her?” He shrugged.

Fifteen minutes later, he replied in his usual cocky manner, “No. But we always want what we can’t have.” She wasn’t surprised when she won the bet; he was too distracted to play the game. She wondered if he knew he had been lying.

-----

Ana whistled long and low. Brian blushed and tugged at the neckline of his pullover, trying to hide the bit of chest that it revealed. Oisin met her gaze boldly and challenged, “Will the fairer sex fancy these?” He held his arms out and turned in a circle. He gave her a brazen smile and demanded, “Well?”

“So he wants to play at that game, does he?” She thought. “Oh, yes,” she responded, her voice deeper. She raked her eyes from his boots to his eyes. “Very, very nice.” She swayed forward, idly toying with a strand of hair to draw attention to her neck and cocked her shoulder so a glimpse of bare skin would be revealed.

He leaned back against a table, so far unaffected. He crossed his arms, flexing a tad more than was really necessary. His eyes glittered and he got a cocky grin, thinking this was the worst she could do. He shrugged, “Does the color suit me?”

“You know it does.” She leaned on a table with her arms pressed together in front of her, giving him a not-quite cleavage shot. He very carefully kept her eyes pinned with his, unwilling to look lower. The tension in the room skyrocketed. Brian quietly left the room, unwilling to watch them further disgrace themselves.

Oisin turned, asking over his shoulder, “Are these trousers not too tight?” They were hardly skin tight, but hugged all the right places.

She enjoyed the view a moment, shrugged. “It’s the fashion. The phrase is, if you’ve got it, flaunt it. But I truly had not meant to get such for you.” His eyes narrowed, flashing slightly in the sunlight from the window.

She sauntered around the table, lightly sliding one finger across the silky wood. “You have the shirt on wrong.” He faced her, lifting a brow curiously. She came close to him, purposefully invading his personal space. She reached up and his eyes widened slightly before he gained control of his expression. “The buttons at the top aren’t meant to be closed.” She slowly, deliberately unbuttoned the first. His nostrils flared like a fine stallion’s. The second went and he swallowed hard. As she began the last, he stepped back quickly and did it himself, blushing faintly. She grinned impishly. She shook her head, “Don’t play games like that with a woman born after the sexual revolution and free love. You’ll lose, O Prudish One.”

“I am not a prude!” He objected stridently.

“Oh. Really?” She asked flatly. She twitched her skirt to show her calf and he flushed crimson. “Prude,” she sang. Giggling, she darted away. He followed, arguing the whole way. Once they’d settled down for some tea, she asked, “Are the words Elf and Sidhe interchangeable? I’ve heard you use both.”

“Not exactly. It is like Humans and Dwarves, really.” She blinked and he grunted. “That’s right. I had forgotten that they fled to my world to escape the other species of Human. All Sidhe are Elves, but not all Elves are Sidhe,” he replied mysteriously. At her tightened lips, he continued, "Sidhe, Nixies, Bansidhe, and so on are all Elven species.”

“Oh, I see. But Dwarves… You aren’t serious are you?”

“Yes. But that was so long ago we barely remember it. And from what I have read about how you have treated the different races of your own species, no doubt your kind did not recognize them as very close relatives.”

She sighed sadly, “You are probably right. Even the Southerners and the Yankees don’t get along all the time and that’s just a slight geographical difference.”

“Yan-kee?”

She blushed. “Um, it’s a derisive word. I apply it only to rude tourists, usually. But even I have a few bad things ingrained that I really wish I didn’t.”

“We also have issues between the North and the South because of a war.” She gestured for him to continue. “When my grandfather was a young man, hordes of Hobgoblins poured out of the mountain passes. The North, needless to say, took the brunt of the damage. It was our lands lost, our homes damaged, and our people killed, and we lost status at the Court.

“It was our blood spilled, and the Southerners leapt at the chance to take every concession they could. They barely accepted that they were in danger in the far South. And despite the fact that there could be another invasion at any time—we’d never know until too late—the King will not allow us to drill troops. Not even the town militias. We are allowed only the House Guards, and their number is strictly limited. So when there is another, then we shall be unprepared and unarmed.”

“Why are you so certain that there will be?”

“The Dwarves live Northwest of my County and they have reported to my father that there have been a number of various scouting parties. There are even a few tiny settlements cropping up here and there.” He shook his head. “It’s coming. If not in my life, then my son’s. If we are very, very lucky, then my grandson’s.”

She patted his hand to ease his worried expression. He stared at her in shock. She’d touched him! Without a chaperone in the room no less! He babbled something about looking up a bit of obscure history and scurried to the library. He knew his face was flaming. “Irime!”

Brian heard him and came at a trot. “What?”

“She touched my hand!” Brian restrained a chuckle at his friend’s star struck expression. “With no warning, either, she just did it.”

“Did you rub your thumb on her ring or did you squeeze her hand?” At Oisin’s stricken expression, he did laugh. “I see, your mind went blank as fresh parchment and you did not do either. Did you run?” Oisin glared at him. “So which would you have done?”

He took a deep breath and blurted, “Her ring. I’d have rubbed the ring.” Brian gaped at him. He gave him a strained grin. “You know, Mother would scream and Grandmother would just die.”

Dryly, “No, Oisin, she’d kill you to save the family honor. You have not so much as seen her guardian, after all.” There was no mistaking his own disapproval.

“I’d never take advantage of a lady,” he protested, sounding injured.

“But do you think she is a lady?”

“Yes,” he answered with dignity, “I do. Seeing this house, can you doubt that she is less than a baroness? More likely a margravine, though. Perhaps even a countess.”

Brian shook his head and took the opportunity to use a new word. “Snob.”

Oisin shrugged, “I’m the Viscount.” As if that explained everything. To Brian, it did. “She’s certainly leagues better than that bony sparrow Mother introduced me to last swing through the Capitol.”

“You just like her curves,” he accused.

“So I do. And so do you, even if you are too hidebound to admit it. She is also intelligent, and not afraid to show it, like Mother.” Brian nodded sagely. Inside, he was terrified. His Mother had once told him that men tended to look for young women who were similar to their mothers. He’d scoffed that their mothers simply arranged it that way. Here was proof, meaning… It was too terrible to think of today.

Saturday, March 23, 2002

She had discovered at supper that they had to spend at least a year due to the nature of the Gate. Oisin had very sweetly requested her permission to remain until they were suitably prepared to deal with the rest of humanity. She had agreed readily enough once they had promised to allow her to judge when that time had come. They were not yet certain if they would be staying longer, but wished to be prepared for that eventuality. After all, there was so much to learn here that would be terribly useful in their homeland.

She sighed, dreading what she would have to do to get them fake papers. But she thought that it would hurt nothing to put it off for a little while. With that easing her mind, she spent the rest of the week teaching them, somewhat to the detriment of the paper she had due. She took them on a drive around town to look around. They took a childlike delight in things that she usually found utterly mundane. With them in tow, the sunshine seemed brighter, the colors more vivid, and everything was as shiny and new as it was before she understood death.

“Your world is amazing! Look at all these things you take for granted! Fresh meat in clean packages, medicines readily available at any store for things that can kill in our home, prosthetic limbs that work almost like a real one, books, education. All these wondrous things you simply expect, we have none of them. Everything is so clean,” Oisin had gushed, growing more excited with every word.

“Clean? There are places where you can barely breathe the air. And don’t you see all the bits of trash by the road?”

“Yes, but I also not see stray pigs leaving their waste in the road, or dogs gnawing upon offal. I see no one sloshing through mud even though it rained this afternoon. Believe me, the cities are cleaner. And the library!” He went on, listing all the little miracles he’d seen during the entire drive home.

Oisin had fallen in love with the technology of this world. So much so that, after a full twenty four hours in front of Ana’s TV, he had felt the need to walk in the woods to ground himself. He took to wandering about in them for at least an hour everyday lest he forget the wooded slopes of his village. He quickly learned to come back inside well before dark, however. He was certain that Brian and Ana would not believe him, but near dusk, he heard things moving in the forest. He was an accomplished hunter, enough so that he knew immediately that he was either losing his mind or something decidedly unnatural stalked Ana’s woods. He’s caught flashes of something, but had never managed a good look. After the third day of this, he went out only at noon, and only if the sun was bright in the sky. It came out on rainy days. No matter how often he wondered about it while outside, the moment he stepped into the garden, he began to forget about it as thoughts of the next thing he must learn intruded.

Thursday, March 23, 2002

Tristen woke up with his ears itching furiously. He’d had the same dream three nights running now and it had begun to greatly annoy him. Each time it started, he was clambering up the side of either a very steep hill or a mountain. He was chasing after someone, but could never catch more than a glimpse of the person. He would follow her up a crack between two slabs of rock. The crack would angle up into the rock of the mountain itself until it narrowed to close around him entirely. Then he would see her standing at the top of what seemed to be the stairway of giants.

He could never see her face for the shadows. “Fulfill that which you were born for,” she would order. At the top of the broken rock that formed the stairway, he’d struggle into the cave entrance that was only a small hole in the rock above his head. Inside, he would see that it was a perfect dome and turn to gaze in the center. Then he would instantly wake up with his ears burning at the tips. He snarled as the crows that had taken up residence in the tree outside his window began to caw. Slowly, he opened his eyes, then smiled. It was his favorite time of morning. He was not often awake for it when he was not nursing a hangover.

He crawled out of bed and into a pair of old jeans. He flipped on his coffee maker and wandered out to the porch for his morning smoke. It was light enough for the birds to be waking, but the streetlamps were still on. He loved watching the world come awake around him; it was like watching Spring come. The colors were soft and the shadows velvety. It was quiet enough to think, but not so quiet as to make him feel lonely. He fetched a cup of coffee and sat on his steps.

Across the street, a woman came out to get the paper with a baby cradled to her chest. It made him think of Ana. Then again, most things made him think of her for the last few days. It was time to figure out why. He had loved her. He had wanted to marry her. He had even bought a ring. It had bugged him during moments of weakness that he still didn’t know why she had left him. Well, didn’t know exactly what it had been. He’d done plenty enough to have pushed her away. At years’ remove, he could be honest enough to admit that she’d had some good reasons. But she’d stuck with him even though he’d had a coke habit, even though he’d accused her of seeing someone behind his back. He’d been genuinely mean and couldn’t help it; she was the only one who made him feel uncertain. But she’d stayed with him.

He snorted, despising himself for dwelling on it. Again. So what if she was seeing someone. But in the back of his mind, a voice growled that she was his, no matter what. “And did I mention jealousy Issues?” he thought. It had been years and she hadn’t seen anyone. Not really. He knew about Les, but hadn’t worried about someone who had probably never even seen the inside of her house. He had spoken to David again last night. His sister was one of her two best friends and Lisa had not seen her for more than a moment in a week. It wasn’t like Ana to hide from her friends, so something was afoot. He wondered if he should call her. Shook his head. It was his favorite time of day, but the sun was coming up and he had no wish to undergo its scrutiny. Let the shadows keep his secrets.

From the deep shadows under the spreading boughs of a tree, the woman watched. This was the third day she had stood thus. She had so much to do and so little time, but she paused a moment to cast a small spell. The man she watched paused a moment in his door with the manner of one who thought he’d heard something. She waited for him to go in before she let out her breath. “He’s Waking faster than you said he would,” the Raven cawed proudly. Now if the others would be so obliging.” She sighed, wondering yet again if he’d be better served as soup or braised in white wine with leeks. “Ha, they haven’t all been gathered up, so you can’t try it yet,” he cried, eyes glinting brightly.

Deep in the earth, something stirred. There was a flash of egg yellow as it cracked an eye. It shifted slightly, disturbing the one next to it. Others began to twitch in restless sleep none were yet close to waking. It slid back to sleep. It wasn’t—quite—time for it to seek the surface.
[end transmission]