Kinked

ELEVEN

As they walked the rocky, uneven passageway, she craned her neck, trying to look everywhere at once. She saw out of the corner of her eye that Quentin did the same thing.

The canyon walls that rose high on either side of them obstructed their vision of any surrounding landscape, but halfway through the passage, the snow disappeared, along with the pale wintery sky that had canopied the Bohemian Forest. The temperature grew much hotter, so much so that they had to pause to shrug out of their jackets and sweaters before they continued. The overhead sky turned a brilliant, deep blue crowned with the intense yellow gold of a summer sun.

The scents came next, wafting down the canyon corridor on a breeze, tantalizing and rich with the promise of abundant growth, and spiced with the perfume of strange flowers. Among the old tales of Numenlaur that Aryal had heard were stories of fruits that were so delicate and flavorful they could bring tears to one’s eyes.

In those stories, Numenlaur was a rich, fertile land with olive and eucalyptus trees, a land that other ancients described as flowing with milk and honey, a paradise lost that held palaces, groves and temples more ancient than those found in Egypt and Greece. One, called the Temple of the Gods, supposedly housed statues of the seven Elder Races’ gods that stood several stories high, interspersed with heavy, massive pillars of white marble.

All in all, the place was going to have a pretty tough time living up to the hype.

They reached an area where the canyon floor was bottlenecked. The passage was so narrow they had to walk single file. She gestured for Quentin to go through first. He hadn’t revealed much reaction about their journey in, except for a quick flash of something that looked like real hunger before he managed to shutter his expression. He ought to be the first one to see what was a very important part of his cultural heritage.

Cultural heritage—it was another concept that fascinated her.

They passed around a curve. The passageway opened up, and so did the view.

The canyon ended in profuse greenery. She moved to walk at Quentin’s side. He nudged her and pointed, and that was when she looked at the canyon walls. Two massive, ancient pillars were carved into the bedrock on either side of the canyon’s opening. They rose four or five stories in height.

“They face inward,” said Quentin. “They were not meant for anyone on Earth. They were meant for the Numenlaurians.”

Not placed in an entryway, created to impress the newcomer, but at the exit.

She said, “It used to be important for them to travel out to the rest of the world. It must have cost them a great deal to close the passageway.”

“When I hiked through this area about thirty years ago, I couldn’t sense that anything was here. It was as if the passageway never existed. Somehow they cloaked it. I don’t know of any spell that could have done that, but whatever they did would have taken tremendous Power. If Amras Gaeleval was the guardian, did he maintain the cloaking so that people couldn’t enter? Or did he guard the way so that people couldn’t leave? Maybe he did both.”

Unease trickled down her spine. “That’s a creepy thought.”

The look on his face was cynical. “I’ve got a talent for them.”

They walked out of the passageway, into what was either a hot summer morning or evening. Sunshine slanted at an angle through the nearby trees. She studied the bushes and the long tough grass around the canyon’s entrance. The foliage was too rich for a desert climate, and none of it bore signs of any moisture from morning dew. It was evening, then.

Quentin squatted and ran his hand lightly over the grass as he studied the ground. “If the four Elves passed through here, they did it some time ago. There aren’t any footprints, and there’s no scent.”

She put her hands on her hips as she looked around. “What did Gaeleval do, live like a wild man in the trees? There isn’t anything here except for the pillars carved into the cliffs. Which makes sense since this place wouldn’t have been a priority for any Numenlaurian for … however long of a time has passed in here.”

In Other lands, the lands did not necessarily correspond with the geography that surrounded the passageways that led to them. The sun shone with a different light, and time moved at a different pace. The phenomenon was called time slippage.

Millennia had passed on Earth since Numenlaur closed itself off from the rest of the world. That did not mean that the same amount of time had passed in Numenlaur, although since the event had happened so long ago, the passing of time here had to have been significant in some way.

The length of time was certainly significant enough to leave the entrance to the canyon looking natural and overgrown. If there had been a road or a path through here once, it had disappeared long ago.

She spun backward in a circle, giving the area a second, closer look, and because she was who she was, that meant she looked up.

Set into the cliff beside one pillar, there appeared to be a long ledge. From the ground it was difficult to tell for sure, but the line looked too even to be a natural break in the granite. She tapped Quentin on the shoulder and when he straightened to his full height, she pointed to the ledge. “There. And I think that line that cuts to the left might be a narrow path. See how it goes down gradually?”

“Okay,” he said. He glanced at her. “I don’t suppose you can lift my weight into the air.”

She tapped her foot as she tried to decide how to answer him. Just how sort-of friendly and kind-of cooperative was she feeling toward him today? She was not one of those females who got all gushy just because she had a little fun and a guy gave her a climax. Especially if that guy was someone she had been determined to murder not that long ago.

Finally she admitted the truth. “If we were just going from here to there, I might be able to manage it. Want to give it a try, or do you want to follow the cliff along the ground to see if you can find where that path meets the ground?”

If he annoyed her on the way up, she could always drop him. The thought made her feel better about herself.

“You don’t need to strain yourself for something this unimportant. I’ll see you at the top.” He loped away, his head angled to study the cliff as he went.

She shapeshifted and flew up to the ledge. Once she had landed, she shifted back and looked around with satisfaction. The ledge was much larger than she would have guessed from below. It was wide and spacious, and cut into the cliff itself where there was a finished facade with a door and shuttered windows. The line she had noticed was indeed a narrow path that led up the side of the cliff.

She shrugged out of her pack, let it fall to the floor and tossed her jacket and sweater on top of it. She was tempted to go into the dwelling without waiting for Quentin to catch up, but as she turned her gaze to the view that was visible over the treetops, she lost the impulse and stared.

The landscape rolled out in a downward slope from the passageway area, and a large lake or a sea sparkled a silvery blue in the distance. The edge of land curved around to a promontory where a long, white-pillared building dominated the scene.

The building’s proportions were perfect. It was a monument of graceful simplicity. She shaded her eyes with one hand. Her avian eyesight was especially suited for long distances, and she clearly saw the outline of tall figures in between the pillars.

Other buildings of marble and limestone dotted the coastline, tall beautiful structures of classic design, not quite Greek or Roman—these had been built much earlier—but somehow they were evocative of both.

Along the visible part of the shore, slender piers held graceful Elven ships of ancient design. The sight of ships like these had all but disappeared from Earth itself, where the Elves, along with everybody else, had adopted ships with modern technology and design. On the horizon of the silvery blue water was a dark blue silhouette of land. She squinted, trying to discern details, but she couldn’t tell if the land was an island or another promontory. It was possible they were in the bowl of a very large bay.

Quentin came up the narrow path with sure-footed, confident grace, and he joined her to look out at the view. If he hadn’t come to stand right beside her, she would have missed his quick, quiet intake of breath.

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s stunning. When the Elves break away from hiding everything in the landscape, they really break away in style.”

After a long moment, he turned to glance at the face of the cliff. He gestured to the door. “You didn’t peek inside?”

“I got distracted by that.” She waved in the direction of the temple.

“Yeah, that’s a hell of a distraction.” He gave the view another long look. “I could look at it all day.”

She turned away and walked over to the door. It had an ornate metal handle. She held her hand over the handle, checking for magic. There was none. She tried it, and the door opened easily.

A waft of cooler air from the interior brushed her face. It smelled stale and vaguely exotic, like some kind of Elven spice. Curiosity was goading her forward, but she forced herself to be pragmatic. “Nobody’s been in here for a long time.”

Quentin approached and stood at her shoulder to breathe deeply. After a moment he said, “There’s a whisper of old Power, but it’s very faint, like dissipating magic, and it doesn’t feel active in any way. Exploring here can wait. We should move on toward the coast.”

She had known he’d had some kind of magical training in his past, and wasn’t surprised that what he said confirmed it. Mixed-race creatures who were “triple threats” were relatively rare and tended to have high concentrations of Power.

She said slowly, “I want very badly to take to the air and fly over the land just out of sheer curiosity, but I don’t think I should quite yet.”

He gave her a quick glance. “What’s your thinking?”

“If the Elves abandoned their post and came in here, they had a compelling reason to do so. That compelling reason might not be very … friendly. We don’t necessarily want to broadcast our presence right away.”

“Can you cloak yourself?”

“Yes, from most creatures.” She held his gaze with hers. “Could you sense me?”

“Probably,” he admitted. “But I’m pretty sensitive to magic.”

She shook her head. “We don’t know what happened. But they didn’t leave anybody at their post.”

He said slowly, “Which means that, if they came here, they were dealing with something that took all of their combined strength and concentration.”

She lifted a shoulder. “I just think until we know something, we’d better be wary.”

“Good point.” He turned away from the open doorway and looked across the scenery again. “Let’s see how far we can get before the sun sets.”

It needed to be said. She told him quietly, “You know they might be dead, right? I mean, there’s no recent sign of them anywhere that we expected them to be.”

His jaw and body tightened. He didn’t look at her. “Anything’s possible. Including that.”

After a moment, she sighed. “Well, hopefully we’ll discover a much less catastrophic explanation for what’s happened. Ready?”

He nodded. She took a few moments to repack her things, and he did the same. Guns and ammo went into the special side pocket created just to carry them. Combustible technologies didn’t work in Other lands, and guns were worse than useless. They were downright dangerous.

They strapped on short swords at the hip, stuffed sweaters inside the packs, and tied jackets to the outside. As soon as they were ready, she followed him down the path that wound down to the lower surface some distance away.

Nearby, a path led into the trees. The ground looked like it had been well trodden, but fronds of leafy, delicate greenery had grown over it. After considering it, they looked at each other.

Quentin shook his head. Following it was too obvious.

She agreed. She nodded.

They stepped into the forest about twenty yards away from the path and moved quietly through the underbrush. For a long time they remained surrounded by a silence that was heavy with the lingering heat of the day.

The sunlight faded as full night approached, deepening the shadows on the forest floor. Her sharp hearing caught the furtive sounds of rustling in the distance, but nothing moved anywhere near them. The wild creatures that lived here sensed their presence.

I want to hunt, she said in Quentin’s head.

He hesitated. Fresh meat sounds good.

He didn’t need to explain his hesitation. Lighting a fire to cook a meal would broadcast their presence more loudly than using the overgrown path would. She could eat raw meat, but she had lost her taste for it many generations ago. It was one of the things she had lost to civilization.

She sighed. Maybe tomorrow.

Definitely tomorrow, he said. Either that or we need to harvest more food supplies from any living quarters we find. We’ve eaten almost everything we brought with us.

How they acquired food might very well be dictated by what they found. It made sense for them to go quickly and quietly into Numenlaur as an initial approach, but if they didn’t find anything unusual, there would be no reason to remain quiet. Then they could hunt, cook and harvest food supplies in any way they liked.

Okay.

After that they didn’t speak for some time. They kept moving until she could see glimpses of the moon through the branches of the trees. While the temperature cooled with full night, the constant breeze that sighed in the trees overhead rarely reached the forest floor, where the air remained close and warm.

They came to a stream where the streambed itself was much wider than the modest flow of water that currently ran down the middle. The abundant foliage spoke of plenty of rainfall, so the land wasn’t under a drought. The stream probably carried the snow runoff from higher ground during the spring, then shrank in size during the summer months.

It created a widened area, much like a clearing. To their left, the path that they had been following led to a long stone bridge that spanned the entire streambed.

When they stepped out from underneath the trees, the air felt much cooler. They both moved to drink their fill of the delicious, pure liquid, scooping it in handfuls. When Aryal had finished, she dumped a handful of water at the back of her neck. The cold trickle of water on her sweaty skin was both a shock and a relief. She wiped her mouth and sat back on her heels to look up at the night sky.

The stars were so sharp, clear and bright, they looked as though she might be able to pluck them from the sky if she flew as high as she could. The moon was massive, appearing three times larger than what could be seen from Earth, and it was partially obscured by the top of the trees.

“We might as well take a break,” Quentin muttered.

“Works for me.” Aryal moved to the edge of the forest where she found a dry, grassy place. She threw down her things and sprawled beside them, loosening the sword buckled at her hip.

Quentin padded over to join her, setting his pack alongside hers. She noticed all over again how he moved silently, despite his size. He levered himself down to the ground beside her with his usual cat’s grace. He hardly ever lost his footing, and when he did, he recovered himself quicker than almost anyone else she knew.

His body and his face might be in deep shadow, but she knew better than ever just what he looked like. Not only what he looked like, but how the most private part of him tasted.

The image of him, tied and spread out in front of her like a feast, flashed through her mind, and she reacted physically, hunger flaring again in a sharp, urgent pulse. Gods, he had been perfect in every detail, golden tanned skin, lean-muscled body, and an aura of danger that was to her as intoxicating as catnip. He really hadn’t liked it when she tied him down. She could tell by the muscle that bunched in his jaw. But he had submitted, and that had been an epic moment.

And when she had taken that gorgeous, succulent penis of his into her mouth, he’d hissed between his teeth, a quick, inward drawn breath. It made his long abdominal muscles tighten into a rippling cascade that bunched and flexed underneath his golden skin.

She took in deep, even breaths. She didn’t need to be able to see him to know that his long body had tightened. She could sense it, like the crackle of electricity in the air. He rolled onto his side, propped his head in one hand, and growled very softly, “We’re going to enact that bargain soon.”

Part of her catalogued just how romantic the scene was. Starry night, oversized full moon, and that long, arched stone bridge stretched out as a backdrop for the dark silhouette of one of the sexiest men she had ever seen.

She didn’t have a romantic bone in her body, and she was not affected by any of it. Well, not much. Sure, maybe the sky. She was always a sucker for a beautiful sky, especially when she could fly up into it. And the scene was pretty enough. Certainly the man was sexy, especially when she had him hogtied to a table.

None of that led to romance.

She scowled and told him, “Our bargain is null and void at the moment. No electricity, no clocks, no way to time a half hour. And I’m not trusting you without some kind of an independent timekeeping device.”

He laughed under his breath. The deep sound was witchy and wicked. It wound its way into her mind, like the brush of a black cat along her bare skin, and it enticed her to do things she would never otherwise consider doing, like twisting to mirror him, drawing him close and kissing him.

She almost did it, but then she pulled back at the last moment.

“We can amend the bargain. I’ll bet we could find an hourglass in some kitchen when we raid for supplies.”

“I had no idea you were so interested in me,” she mocked.

“My interest in you is purely pornographic.” He reached out to trace her mouth with a finger. “Your tongue is very talented when you stop using it to talk.”

Laughter threatened to shake through her. She stifled it. She didn’t want him to think she found him amusing, and he sure as hell wasn’t charming. “Remind me to tell you that you say the nicest things—when you start saying them. Maybe that’s what I can use my half hour for, to compel you to compliment me.”

His teeth flashed in a shadowed gleam of a smile. “You think I couldn’t compliment you without being compelled?”

“I don’t care about the compliments,” she told him. “I just want to watch you struggle.”

He slipped his forefinger between her lips and penetrated deeply into her mouth. Not only did she allow it, she sucked him. His breathing deepened.

“You’ll have to find some other way to do that, then,” he whispered. “I’ve hated you, and you’ve pissed me off more than anybody else I’ve ever met. You’re also one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen. I watched you every time you were in the Arena during the Games. And I was too mad to admit it at the time, but what you did back in Prague, when you pinned me against the metal door, was crazy awesome. And of course then there’s your mouth. Your wet, warm, extremely dexterous, tight mouth.” He pulled his finger out slowly until just the tip rested between her lips. Then he pushed it back in, fucking her in an almost leisurely way. “See how much better things are when you shut up?”

She had known hate sex with him would be hella good. It was even better in this … place they had come to, this not-quite-hate-but-something-else place. If you find an hourglass, I’ll consider it. But next time I go first.

“What if I don’t want you to go first?” he murmured, sliding his finger along her tongue in a slow, intimate stroke. “What if I want to bargain for something else?”

Behind the silhouette of his head, something moved on the bridge.

It was a quick black streak of—something.

She rolled to her feet and drew her sword in the same motion. In one lightning-fast, fluid motion, Quentin sprang upright and whipped out his sword too. He spun to put his back to hers, and only then asked telepathically, What is it?

Whatever else she might think or feel about him, his instincts as a fighting partner were dead-on accurate. She approved. She said, I saw something move on the bridge.

What?

She could feel him at her back through the thin material of her T-shirt. His body heat radiated against her skin, and the back of his shoulders brushed hers. She said, I don’t know.

They watched and listened. Nothing moved except for leaves in the wind. The only noises she heard were normal night sounds. She scented the air and smelled nothing out of the ordinary, and, because she was who she was, she looked up. There was nothing in the sky that didn’t belong there.

All the while, Quentin stayed at her back, hot as a burning ember and steady as the earth underneath her feet. She had the time and the space to think, all of that coiled danger at my back, and for once it’s on my side.

It felt strange, good and even exhilarating.

He didn’t relax, but after a few moments, he asked, You’re sure.

Yes, I’m sure I saw something, she told him. No, I don’t know what it was. It was a streak of something black. It didn’t look like it was connected to anything, and it moved independently of everything else. It was almost like—

She looked up at the night sky again. The entire scene radiated normality. She didn’t trust it. She stared at the bridge, and studied both ends where it disappeared into the darkness under the trees. It was empty.

Quentin spoke out loud. “It was almost like what?”

“It was almost like a shadow, except there wasn’t anything physical attached to it,” she said. “Or it wasn’t attached to anything else.”

She grabbed her pack by a strap and strode for the bridge. Leaving behind any belongings was a rookie’s mistake. Quentin followed and they leaped onto the bridge. Throwing their things together, they moved to opposite ends of the bridge.

Aryal stopped just before stepping off of the bridge and going under the tree line. She still held her sword. She bent and sniffed at the stone, running her fingers lightly over it. It was dry and still held a lingering warmth from the heat of the day. There was no scent of any creature that passed by recently, just the faint odor of dirt, recent rain and mildew.

She straightened and retreated to the packs without putting her back to the dark, shadowed forest, and she didn’t stop until she came to Quentin.

Full moonlight fell on them. It was almost as clear and bright as daylight. It emphasized the strong slash of cheekbones on his face, and that lean, stubborn jaw. He sheathed his sword and stood with his hands on his hips. “No magical residue,” he said, still speaking quietly.

She sheathed her sword too and told him, “If you say anything about disbelieving me, I’m probably going to punch you again.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. “Remember, I saw how you reacted. You’re one of the oldest creatures I’ve ever met. You’re also one of the most combative, and yet you’re still alive. I give your instincts and reactions full credit for that, because my gods, the total number of people and creatures who must have tried to kill you over the years must be mind boggling.”

She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. “I think I’m going to take that as a compliment too.”

A quick grin flared and died on his face. “You would. So, what we have is something very dark and quick that moves independently, and leaves no footprints, no scent, and no magical trace behind.”

“That sounds right.”

He walked over to their packs and handed hers to her. “That sound like anything you’ve ever run into before?”

She shrugged her pack on. “Nope.”

“So what we really have is an anomaly.”

“That’s about the size of it, although it’s only an anomaly to us,” she pointed out. “It might be a perfectly natural part of the environment here.”

After donning his own pack, he belted it at the waist. His head bent, he said, “I don’t like anomalies.”

“I don’t either.” She looked at the shadowed forest ahead of them. “In my experience, there’s almost always an explanation. And it’s hardly ever a good one.”