Part 1: Chapter 1
I really hate this forest, it doesn’t feel right and churns my stomach. The stench of the humans and their obstinate ways around here normally keep me well away lest I risk their fury.
A chuckle bubbles up in my chest, imagining them attempting to cause me harm. They could try and they’d fail, like many before them. The neighboring villages around here hate my kind and any other magical creature.
I only venture here because a job drew me in and I needed the coin. The road away from here would have been gentler on my senses than passing this close to Norgaard, but this way is faster and will get me respite in a real bed before I move on.
I snap the reins on my horse, Aletris, to encourage her to move faster. To be rid of this place for good.
Thankfully, the borders are easy enough to track. The nearby villages have scented stones placed near them to alert those like me and prevent us from entering. Well, maybe not prevent, but at least make us miserable if we try.
Fuck ’em. Uneducated inbreds.
We’re almost out of range when something in the distance catches my eye. “Steady, girl.” I pat the side of my horse’s neck to calm her. She jerks on the reins slightly, sensing my unease.
A woman is strung up near the road into town on a large tree that has been stuck back into the ground. The branches have all been removed and a second log has been placed perpendicular near the top of the main log, held in place by rope. She is lined up on the road next to six more crossed logs, only two others containing bodies of varying levels of decomposition.
Her wrists are tied to the horizontal log to spread her arms wide at shoulder height. Another rope appears to wrap around her chest, whether it’s there to hold her up more easily or kill her faster, I can’t tell. The final rope holds her ankles together against the main log.
The ropes keep her above ground, so there is no rest for her body.
She will die here.
And they think I’m the monster.
There’s a sign above the head of each body, but it is only hers that is still readable and not terribly weather-worn. Telling me she probably hasn’t been out here for long.
“BEWARE. ALL MAGICAL BEINGS. STAY AWAY.”
I can barely hear the thumping of her heartbeat and suspect she must be close to death.
Poor fool. She doesn’t smell magical. I bow my head to her out of respect as I snap the reins lightly. No one deserves to be treated this way.
“Let’s be done with this forest,” I instruct Aletris as I attempt to blow the scent of the stones out of my sinuses.
“Help.”
It is barely a whisper. Perhaps the wind? I don’t hear it again, so I’m not even certain I heard anything.
But to be sure, I turn my horse around back to the woman to look at her. Inspecting her more closely, I wonder if she could have been the source of what I heard. She is the only other being around, but her head is lobbed forward. Her skin has a slight gray hue, telling me that her time is coming dangerously close to an end. I suspect that in her weakened state she wouldn’t have been able to utter a sound, much less a word.
Her head snaps up and her eyes pop open, startling me. Aletris rears up onto her hind legs and I have to hold onto the reins tighter so I don’t fall off. The color of the woman’s eyes takes me off guard more than the sudden opening of them as they appear to be…glowing. I find myself getting drawn into the deep, vibrant blue of her magical eyes.
So much so that I can’t look away from them.
“Help. Me.”
I struggle to hear the faint request. She blinks, and the glowing in her eyes vanishes just before her eyes roll into the back of her head—unconscious. I decide then and there I have to help her.
Moving Aletris close to her, I unsheath my sword from the holster on my back. The delicate zing of the metal sliding against the sheath is always music to my ears. I put my arm around her waist, cut her ropes, and she falls across my lap onto Aletris. Aletris dances around slightly, adjusting to the added weight. But the woman gives no reaction.
Who is this woman? I wonder, my curiosity getting the better of me. I know I should leave her. Nothing good comes from helping a stranger.
“Fuck.” I can’t bring myself to abandon her, and that frustrates me more than I care to admit.
I know a healer up the road named Mirabela. She lives near the border of the anti-magic villages to catch those who are stuck in predicaments of varying severity. She’s even stitched me up on a number of occasions. The most recent time was me attempting to chase a monster that trespassed onto Norgaardian territory. The militia shot me with several arrows allowing the creature to get away. They ended up dragging me back to the road and leaving me for dead. Thankfully, Aletris was nearby and I was able to get to Mirabela in time.
I should just drop this woman off with the healer and leave.
But as soon as I glance down at the woman in my lap, I realize I can’t. Why? I’ve never cared this much about anyone else before. What is it about this stranger that has me willing to go so off course?
As I ride towards Mirabela’s land, I continuously peek down at the woman, trying to get a closer look without falling off my horse.
She’s dressed like a man—leather pants and a cotton shirt. I haven’t seen a woman not in a dress in many years. Even the warriors of this realm wear skirts, even if it’s over leather leggings.
Her hair is also cut short like a man’s. It is likely more practical for travel, but it is another unseen feature compared to most women I’ve met.
And when I cut her from her restraints, she wasn’t soft like other women I have felt. Even now, I can feel the tenseness of her muscles, the sinew of strength and grace fortified from years of wielding weapons. Everything makes her look more like a warrior than a typical woman. Though, she’s not carrying any weapons but merely a satchel.
Who is she?
Now I’m wondering if the better question is, what is she?
An odd tightness forms in my chest forcing me to rub my knuckles against the leather adorning my torso, trying to undo the knot. There’s something drawing me to her, making me yearn to know more. I have to know who this new, fascinating stranger is and what kind of power she’d yield to make her eyes appear that way.
We arrive at Mirabela’s before nightfall. The small cottage has a large porch on the front and smoke coming from the chimney, offering a welcoming sight. Several barns and outbuildings dot the landscape, surrounded by a split rail fence. The familiar smell puts my rode weary muscles at ease, even though it’s been a few years since I’ve been here.
And there on the porch is a middle-aged woman with frizzy curly brown hair that she frequently keeps thrown up into a messy knot at the top of her head. Mirabela must have heard us coming. She wipes her hands on a pale yellow cloth before throwing it over her shoulder.
“What have you brought me this time, Einar?” Mirabela questions with a curious glare as she walks down the stairs.
“Not what, who. And to that, I don’t know,” I grumble as I throw a leg over my horse and jump down. Glancing down at Mirabela’s more diminutive stature, her amber eyes stare up at me with a level of wisdom and understanding beyond her years.
“Then why have you brought him here?” she asks, placing her hands on her hips. She has pretty features, but years of manual labor have left her more wrinkled and worn down in appearance.
I slide the woman off the horse and into my arms so that her head rests on my chest. The planes of her developed muscles weigh in my arms, confirming my suspicions of her being a warrior. She’s built like one, that’s for sure.
As I adjust her positioning in my arms, I suspect that she may even be taller than me when standing upright.
Mirabela observes the woman in my arms. “Oh, excuse me. Why have you brought her here?” I meet Mirabela’s gaze, unamused. “Okay, okay. Fine. You don’t know. Bring her this way.”
I follow Mirabela into her home and down the narrow hall. I have to turn sideways so I don’t hit the woman on the wall into one of the guest rooms.
Once I lay the woman down on the soft enough mattress, she groans lightly and I find myself not wanting to remove my arms from her body. From here I can smell the mattress is stuffed with hay. It, mixed with the heavy coating of blood and mud on her skin, blocks her scent.
Mirabela clears her throat to tell me to step out of her way.
From this distance, this allows me to fully assess the stranger as Mirabela inspects her. Her legs are partially hanging off the bed, confirming my suspicion of her being tall.
She is wearing a brown leather jacket that goes down to about mid-thigh, a white shirt underneath, and a brown leather bralette wrapped around perfectly shaped breasts. Brown leather pants and boots reach almost to her calf. A worn leather cuff is on her left wrist and a leather gauntlet is on her right forearm. The leather has creases and the color has faded, hinting at frequent use.
“She has a puncture here on her abdomen.” Mirabela lifts the woman’s shirt to show me the wound in her lower right stomach. “There’s another puncture wound here on her left thigh. This one appears to have gone all the way through.” Mirabela moves her leg to show me. “Other than that, it appears she has a few minor scratches and bruises.”
“She was strung up outside Norgaard with a sign as a warning to other magical beings who dared enter,” I inform her, trying to distract myself from the silken expanse of tan skin. Or is that just dirt?
Mirabela turns to look at me, her face distorts in disgust. Shaking her head she mutters, “Sick bastards. No one deserves to be treated like this. She’s lost a lot of blood, but her wounds appear to be already healing. Who is she to you?”
A mystery.
A fascination.
A like creature. Shaking my head, I remove the thought. There is no one like me. I am alone, but I can’t help but feel drawn to this unconscious being in the bed before me.
I shrug, remembering Mirabla asked me a question. “I have told you everything I know.”
“This isn’t like you, getting involved in someone else’s business.”
She’s right.
“She intrigued me.” My voice is low. I am almost embarrassed at this admittance. A weakness I can’t afford in my line of work.
“Intrigued you?” She raises an eyebrow at me. “Can’t really blame you for that. Under all of the dirt, she appears beautiful. I’ll need your help getting her undressed so I can stitch her up and clean her.”
I nod but can’t help feeling a little uneasy for this poor wretch before me. I don’t even know her name and I’m about to see her naked. Although, the idea of seeing this creature’s bare skin excites me.
What kind of spell has she cast over me?
Mirabela removes the woman’s gauntlet while I remove her leather cuff. As soon as they’re removed, we discover that the leather was hiding strange markings on her skin. Mirabela and I both look at the black symbols closely. I’ve never seen anything like them before.
They appear to dance over her muscles as if they have more purpose than just decoration. But the craftsmanship is impeccable, not a slip of the needle or any bleeding out from the main design. Even a mage, who uses magic to stain their skin, doesn’t have the ability to replicate such intricate patterns.
These markings can’t be of this world.
I sit her up and remove her satchel, placing it to the side.
Mirabela disrobes the woman, pulling me in for help as needed to move the woman’s body. I only close my eyes briefly to provide a small semblance of decency. Otherwise, my eyes roam over her long, muscular form trying to piece together the enigma of this woman.
She was strung up and labeled as a magical creature, yet I sense no magic. The glowing eyes should be a dead giveaway that there is some magic involved.
I run through the list of creatures I’ve encountered during my long life. Several with glowing eyes come to mind but none of them appeared human, or even humanoid. Even more have reflective eyes at night, but none of them compared to hers. It was as if there was a source of illumination behind her eyes.
Mirabela sorts through the woman’s clothes, leaving the jacket, boots, and bralette which aren’t covered in blood. The pants and shirt are in need of a wash and repair. Mirabela hurries off with those items.
Without prying eyes, I can more easily get a look at the bared woman.
Her markings, or tattoos, are all over her body. The markings are on both arms, thighs, ankles, and down her entire back. I’ve never seen a woman with so many tattoos, even most men can’t sit still long enough for an artist to complete a design of this magnitude.
The language isn’t one I recognize either if that’s what it is. The layout of them in such an organized line makes me think it must be a language. But to my eye, they look more like delicate swoops and lines.
There aren’t many languages in this world that I can’t at least recognize, even if I can’t read or speak them.
Mirabela returns with a large basin of warm water and a couple of rags. She tosses one to me and I help her wash. I know better than to question her forcing my involvement. It also gives me an excuse to touch the woman. Her skin looks so soft, like butter. I know it is going to be smooth under my callused fingers.
It’s begging for me to stroke it and my cock twitches inside my leather pants. That sensation has me pause my cleaning efforts. No creature has ever called to me in a way that I react so viscerally. I know nothing about her, but she’s already under my skin. In a good way, as if she is intrinsically a part of my very being now and I will never be rid of her.
One corner of my mouth tugs at that thought, but I clear my throat and furrow my brow. I force myself to clean and not focus on how long it’s been since a woman has ever touched me there. Or the fact that I’ve never allowed anyone close enough to bury so deep and she hasn’t even tried anything.
“Ok. You lift and I’ll hold her in place,” Mirabela commands, pulling me out of my dangerous thoughts.
I obey and lift her onto her side towards Mirabela. My eyes roam over the markings as I expose more of them. Fighting the urge to stare at the perfectly round and muscular bottom mere inches from my hands. I find myself appreciating those fleshy globes just a little too much and shake my head to clear it.
This isn’t the time or place.
With the woman all clean, I help Mirabela sew up the two wounds. The one on her stomach is deep and looks painful. It looks like it may be from a dagger that was twisted, but it is so distorted it is hard to tell.
The wound on her thigh is smaller and goes all the way through her leg. This appears to be from an arrow.
Bastards.
I clench my jaw as anger floods through me, wanting to cause harm to those who caused her harm.
With her all clean and sewn up, I follow Mirabela into the kitchen with the dirty wash basin and rags. I clean it while she makes herbal tea. I watch her mash together herbs and expertly place them on two bandages. Together we carry our additional supplies back to the bedroom where Mirabela finishes her work, including gingerly pouring tea into the woman’s mouth.
“How many days payment will you need?” I inquire.
Mirabela doesn’t have much need for money. She prefers her payments in favors. Usually physical labor.
“That depends on how long she’s out.” She thinks for a moment, cleaning her supplies in the kitchen. “Medicines, plus bandages, cleaning, and a room?” She pokes out her bottom lip as she hums as if she is doing math in her head. “So far, she’s up to three days,” she says matter-of-factly.
“I will pay them.”
She snaps her attention to me. Confusion and shock play across her features. “You? Why? Who is this woman to you?”
“Yes, me. I don’t know anything about her, and I would like to stick around to find out. If it’s alright with you.”
She thinks about it a moment before she agrees, “Great!” She immediately puts me to work mucking the stables.
Mirabela isn’t a woman to be ignored or trifled with. Despite her smaller size, she isn’t one you ever want to anger. I very quickly learned just how strong she is after a mishap right away that I don’t like to discuss. So, it looks like I’ve got to earn my keep too if I’m going to stick around and learn anything about the woman.
