Patricia White, page 10
Taking just enough time to grab her big purse and hang it on her shoulder, Jane was right behind Will when he stepped out of the wagon and into the cloud-speckled sunlight of Farrel's front yard. It really was just an open space with hitching rails and weedy grass. And bare patches of sandy dirt like the one she landed in after gingerly stepping off the folded down step at the rear of the bright red Wizard Wagon.
The dirt cool and damp under her feet, she was looking at the large rancher when he introduced himself to Will, or maybe staring describes her act better.
Well over six-feet-tall with shoulders broad enough to give Atlas world-holding lessons, Max Farrel was too handsome to be believed. He had dark blonde, shining clean, shoulder-length hair, a cleft chin, piercing blue eyes, snowy-white teeth, and a body, judging from the way his tight pants and open-throated blue shirt displayed it, to incite envy from 99% of the men in the known universe. And instant, unadulterated lust from the same percentage of women, give or take a couple of percentage points.
If the story Will had told her about Cordelia's insane love for the man was true, Jane could certainly see why the blonde wizard had gotten palpitations and a panting urge to indulge in the act of procreation. He was what was commonly referred to, on Jane's world and by the younger members of her gender, as a hunk, but he certainly was not common. No indeed. Max Farrel was probably close to being unique.
Physically at least, the man was the answer to every maiden's prayer. Jane wasn't above a shortened breath or two herself. But all she wanted to do was look; and maybe not do too much of that. He was trouble, and she already had an over abundance of that, far more than she could actually handle. However, that was one bit of weakness she wasn't about to admit to anyone; not even to herself.
Straightening her thin shoulders, lifting her chin high, she reminded herself that she was Jane Murdock, and she could handle anything.
Anything except being ignored by all and sundry.
Will didn't even have the courtesy to introduce her to Farrel. Farrel wasn't too eager to introduce himself to her either, as far as that went. He was too intent on his own problems to even see, except perhaps vaguely, Jane.
His tanned hand on Will's shoulder, the rancher said, sounding too damned piteous for words, "Wizard, you have to help me. That...that love-crazed female is driving me out of my mind. You have to get rid of her. I don't want her hurt or anything like that. I'll do anything you want, pay whatever you ask, if you'll just feed her a potion or zap her or do something to her that will make her quit loving me. I can't stand it."
For just an instant, Jane thought he was going to begin weeping, but, of course, he didn't. He just stood there, looking drawn and haggard and wan and all the rest of the words that describe a man driven to the edge. The edge of what Jane didn't know, or even care. She had a different agenda, and the rancher's love problems didn't come close to being included. He wasn't even on her top ten list.
But, as far as she could tell, her list didn't seem to be of any importance to anyone except herself. Will and Farrel ignored her presence. Will just stood there, like he wasn't sure what to say, looking off into the distance, toward one of the multitude of flat-topped table mountains that surrounded the lush green of a very large, irregularly shaped valley.
And Jane, after her own quick survey of the surroundings, decided the ranch was far tidier that she would have expected to see on this backward world. Neat fences-- board not barbed wire-- divided corrals from pasture. Several barns were dotted about, intermingled with several other outbuildings of various types. One of which, a long, low building with a porch running the entire length of one side, Jane thought had to be the bunkhouse for the waddies.
And Farrel's house was a sprawling one-story log structure with rock chimneys, a shake roof, and all the rest of the rustic doodads. It looked like it had been imported straight out of the best of western movies; even if it did have that rather seedy, unkempt, neglected look, the one that begged for a woman's touch.
Not that Jane knew anything about that; she didn't do windows, arrange flowers, or any other of the woman-touchy things; nor did she have any leanings in that direction. She was just making a mental observation, not applying for a position.
The sun bright and warm on her shoulders, Jane took a deep breath of incredibly fresh air, and started to say something. She wanted to demand that Will attend to her problem first and then brew up an anti-love potion or whatever it was Farrel wanted him to do.
Almost as if he could read her mind, the wizard forestalled any protest on her part by saying, "I'm sorry, Mr. Farrel. I know the Wizard's Oath requires that I help those in need, and you certainly are that, but there are those in even greater need that I have an obligation to aid first. Especially since it was my bungling that placed them in their current danger."
There might not be any telephones or TV or radios, but news certainly seemed to get around fast. Farrel knew more about what was going on than Jane would have thought possible-- and she didn't know, or really care, how he had found out.
"The off-world brides? Has that she-devil got her witchy claws on them, too?" The fury in Farrel's voice was real, real enough to flush his tanned face, narrow his pale blue eyes, and thin his mobile lips into a narrow slash.
"I'm afraid so," Will said softly. "Cordelia is... She tripped the transport spell before it was quite ready and the brides vanished. They didn't arrive with me and...
"Mr. Farrel, I don't even know if Maggie and the others are still alive. But, I do know those women trusted me to keep them safe, and I failed that trust. So now, I have to find out what has happened to them-- and save them if they are still alive-- but what with everything that's happened, there hasn't been time to..." Will shook his head.
"Maggie?" Farrel picked out the one word, looked at Will with what could only be compassion, and asked, "Wizard, your voice tells me much. This Maggie, is she your intended, the bride you would claim..."
Will's answer came too quickly to be entirely believable. "I guess I just know her better than the others, but Maggie is just one of the brides."
Always a little slow to recognize relationships, Jane came to the rather belated realization that Will had more than a casual interest in her secretary. And, she suspected, remembering Maggie's attitude and words before they had gone to the brownstone, the feeling was probably mutual. That complicated things, but not much. As soon as they found Maggie, Jane would ask her. If the young woman wanted to stay with Will, Jane wasn't going to try and talk her out of it. But why would anyone want to stay in a world where microwaves and probably flush toilets and showers weren't...
"Jane?"
Will's voice penetrated her thoughts, brought her back to the present, made her say, "What?" a little sharper than she intended.
"Mr. Farrel has invited us to stay here, in the main house with him, while I seek out the exact location of the brides. He has promised to go with me to free them if I find them whole and unharmed-- even if we have to go to Cordelia's castle and do battle. Do you have any objections to staying here until I am free to send you back to your proper place?"
Still caught in the throes of her fit of pique, Jane wasn't about to give in easily, so she took a final swipe at the wizard. "Did you tell him about the rope-toting posse that wants to measure your neck?"
Will looked pained, slightly embarrassed, and maybe even a little miffed.
Max Farrel looked at her, seemed to actually see her for the first time. What she was came as an obvious shock. His eyes widened, and he said, "You're a... A woman? How in the name of... Does Cordelia know you've evaded the interdict? She'll hurt..."
The memories pummeled him, beat him with whips of fire, and Sojourner fought them, tried to force them away, but he was too weak; and they were too many. And it was the night-eyed woman who had called them out of hiding, made him face what could never be.
She was the one, the One Love, the True Love, the one foretold that would bring him all happiness, ease the torment of his soul, make him whole-- but it couldn't be. It was too late; he had destroyed what should have been, torn the very fabric of destiny, and now he had to pay. But she didn't.
Jane. Even her name was a caress, a soft hand on his heart, and he loved her with a passion that took all strength from his muscles, left him bereft. He loved her, had always loved her, since the beginning, since Old Derna had conjured Jane's face in the fire, since Jane had looked at him with those beautiful midnight eyes and smiled.
But that was before. Before a kingdom had fallen. Before a people had been ripped from their homeland and set adrift in an unkind world. Before a crown had been stolen and a wee babe shattered in death.
Before. When Sojourner had a name and a future. Before. When Sojourner was still a man.
Despite the pain in his wounded shoulder, the fever that burned fire-bright in his body, the great cat's every thought was of Jane, the need to send her away, to know that she was safe. He crawled off the bunk inside Will's wagon. He stood for a moment or two, trying to drive the memories out of his head, to do, just once, what was honorable and right, to save his love before she could be a part of his destruction.
But it was so hard. Jane saw him in all truth. He knew that, knew she saw a man, felt a man, and it had been ages since anyone had seen him thus. Not even Will, whom he loved as a son, knew him beyond his cat seeming.
But Jane was his love and love saw true.
Staggering, fighting a battle with his physical weakness and own terrible need, Sojourner padded to the door and out into the sunshine. He was determined to win, to save his love from his own terrible fate. And, he didn't care much if he died in the trying.
Before Jane could answer Farrel's astonished questions regarding her gender, he asked another, "Is she one of the brides?"
Will shrugged and started to give a simplified version of what was a very long, very complicated tale. One that Jane preferred he not tell, especially the part about her short stint as the town's two-bit whore, so she said, "No, damn it, I'm an interfering idiot. I just came along for the ride."
Sojourner chose that moment to stagger through the back door of the wagon and down the step, halting at Will's side. Tail lashing ominously, rumbling deep in his throat, he looked like the original cat from hell. His eyes were glazed and burning, feral, his fangs were exposed, and his fur was rumpled, dead looking.
Jane looked at him, and for just an unbearable instant, she thought her heart was breaking, literally. Her chest hurt so damned much that it had to be that; or a heart attack that was going to kill her within seconds.
Drawn by a force that was beyond time, beyond space, beyond understanding, she took a step toward the snarling cat.
Farrel, ever the gentleman, leaped in front of her, prepared, obviously, to defend her with his bare hands. Jane wasn't used to being defended, and she discovered, rather rapidly, that she didn't like it one little bit.
"Damn it, get out of my way," she said, her snarl equaling the cat's.
"Ma'am, he'll tear you to..."
"Move!" Reason had no part in her reaction, nor did logic, or any of the other intellectual functions that had ruled her life for years. This was a primitive need, one she couldn't have fought, even if she had wanted to; which she didn't. All she wanted to was to get to Sojourner, to put her hands on...
"Better be listening to her, boss. She be the wizard I be telling you about," the sage advice came from the mustached ranch foreman as he stepped close, but not too close, to warn his boss of all the possible dangers Jane, Will, and Sojourner posed.
Max Farrel wasn't eager to accept the warning, but he moved, albeit reluctantly, when Jane put out her hands, shoved him, and practically shouted, "Stop acting like an damned fool and get out of my way." He didn't move far, just far enough to grab a saber from one of the waddies, and head toward the cat.
Both Will and Jane beat him there, stood in front of Sojourner like a shield. Jane's fingers scrabbled in her bag for her spare canister of pepper spray. Will got some small magic up and running. It provided a wall of shimmering light, prismatic light of green, blue, red, pink, and all hues and combinations in between, that circled and swooped, but was shockingly hot to anyone who dared to enter its field of protection.
Any other time, the pulsing light, appearing as it did out of nowhere, would have frightened Jane into a fit. But now she had other things to worry about and didn't really notice-- except to hope that it gave the big cat some measure of protection.
Jane wanted to keep him from all harm, but was scared to death to touch Sojourner. It wasn't because she thought he would hurt her, she knew he wouldn't, but because her mental state couldn't process what her fingers would feel, her eyes would see.
But careful as she was, Jane's free hand inadvertently brushed Sojourner's ear and, once again she heard his deep voice, a very human, very male voice inside her head. "Love of my heart, keeper of my dreams, you have to go back to your home world before it's too late. There is nothing for us now. Make the young wizard send you back...cannot... I want..."
And then the great cat's strength seemed to melt away. He wavered, swayed, crumpled to the damp earth-- and only the rapid rise and fall of his chest told her he was still alive, if only barely.
Jane Murdock, vice president of a Fortune 500 company, a woman well aware of who and what she was, didn't agree with the great cat, didn't demand to be instantly repatriated.
No indeed. She sank to her knees, reached out, her hands hovering over Sojourner, and whimpered, deep in her throat, holding back what wanted to be a keening wail of loss, a loss beyond mortal bearing.
* * *
Chapter Twelve
The protective shield, hastily erected, built, in the main, of scant magic and ample despair, was fizzing and snapping and sputtering, sparking across from strand to strand, glowing faintly red, sickly orange, and fading far too fast. Will, to use a cliché from Jane's home world, was clutching at straws, trying to keep himself afloat in a whirlpool, or some such nonsense.
Above all else, he had to keep Sojourner safe from swung sabers and other life-threatening objects until the great cat could look to his own safety. It wasn't easy. Weariness, hunger, and worry and all the rest of Will's troubles had taken too much out of him, leaving a very little more than an empty husk.
One final straw tickled his brain, hoping it would work, would save the cat when the shield fell, he put it into action. "Don't let them touch him, Farrel," Will shouted, or, to be more accurate, croaked like a terminally ill raven. "He's my familiar. If you kill him, I'm finished and, sooner or later, Cordelia will have her way with you."
"Don't touch the cat," Farrel shouted, evidently taking Will's lie as nothing more than total truth, a truth depicting a future that he didn't want to anticipate, couldn't tolerate.
Still fingering their drawn sabers with decidedly nervous fingers, the pack of advancing waddies halted instantly, started to back away from their intended victim at the most fortuitous moment.
The same moment the weak shield fell in a small shower of yellowish sparks. The wind freshened, picked up the fragments, sent them toward a pair of saddled unicorns tied to the southern-most hitching rail, just beyond the parked wagon and its hitch of draft beasts. Will's animals were used to Sojourner, accepted him without question, but the riding unicorns were made of less sterner stuff.
The fiery bits of fallen shield, coupled with the cat's spicy odor, rushed at them on the wind, spooked them soundly, drove them into a fear frenzy. Screeing loudly, sounding like an enormous hawk, one reared up, pawed the air, tried to break its leather tether. Nostrils flaring, ears back, the other unicorn followed the first's lead, succeeded where the other failed, turned tail, and galloped away. The first unicorn, not to be outdone, made his own bid for freedom, found it in a wild, bucking instant, and ran, iron-shod cloven hoofs thundering against the sandy earth, ears back, teeth bared.
Large mustache fairly quivering, the enraged foreman shouted words unfit for a lady's delicate ears, sending a trio of waddies hustling after the totally frightened, and rapidly disappearing, riding beasts.
The fleeing unicorns weren't Will's worry, and he didn't accept that particular guilt. Instead, he said, giving orders with far more confidence that he was feeling, but knowing he didn't dare show any weakness, "Thanks, Farrel. Now, have some of your men carry Sojourner into the house so I can tend him."
Farrel wasn't entirely convinced, or perhaps he wasn't used to accepting orders, "I said I'd do whatever you asked, even to storming Cordelia's castle, but he's an animal and doesn't belong indoors with... He might be dangerous, and I would prefer that you... There are several outbuildings that would be more suitable cages for..."
Jane was kneeling at Sojourner's side, her hands fluttering helplessly, not quite touching the cat, and she was breathing in air in a manner that might have suggested suppressed sobs. Staggering slightly, putting his hand on Jane's shoulder to keep his balance, Will was adamant. "In your house. Now. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to have Cordelia continue to plague..."
The threat worked. Within seconds, waddies had converged from several directions and were, with great care and silent diligence, sliding a thickly woven blanket under the cat. They lifted him with a gentleness and care that gave lie to the narrow-eyed, clench-jawed looks they gave both Will and the cat.
Moving along beside them, Will had scarcely a thought to waste, but he did remember, at last, that Jane... He frowned, paused, looked over his shoulder, and saw Max Farrel helping her to her feet before he dismissed her from his mind and concentrated on Sojourner.
So much had been lost at the changing. So very much. Sojourner wasn't sure what was real, or what were just wishes and hopes of his own making. Perhaps none of the tellings were true, perhaps he had always been a cat, a cat who loved like a man, with his entire being. It went beyond the need to mate, far beyond, into a area of emotions where cats should never venture, an area where love, caring, and enduring devotion were the order of the day.
