She searches my gaze, her beautiful, full lips beginning to turn downward into
a frown.
“We received word in Arktos City that a great beast was terrorizing the peoples of the northern mountain range,” says Virago, raising one brow as she growls out the words.
“So a group of my best fellow knights and myself were asked by the queen to journey and stop the beast in its tracks, before it had cause to reach more populated areas.
You see, we’d received more than one story like this, stories that had come in from many different places, different villages and towns—there was even word that an entire village may have been wiped out by the creature.
So we went quickly, and we engaged it in battle.
But this…”
She pauses for a long moment, searching for the words, her bright white teeth worrying at the edge of her full lip.
“This was a very different creature than any we’d ever encountered before, and it didn’t respond to swords or spears or arrows, not to axes, and not even to magic when we used it.”
I stare at her, my mouth open, as she pauses, clears her throat.
She said the “m” word.
Magic.
“So we concocted a plan…” she continues, raising her chin.
“If we could open one of the portals from our world to an in-between place between worlds and lure the beast through the portal, it would be trapped where it could not destroy or harm anything or anyone, ever again.
We believed, you see, that this was no ordinary beast, but a construct, built of magic.
Dark, evil magic.”
“Magic,” I repeat softly.
“And…and portals.”
Virago is watching me, head to the side, and she nods slowly, thoughtfully.
“So we sought the only local witch that we could find…”
“Witch?” I manage weakly.
She ponders this for a moment.
“They do magic…” she turns her long, graceful fingers in a circle.
“Sometimes, they’re called sorceresses.”
“Oh,” I reply, swallowing.
Sure.
Actual witches.
Sorceresses
.
“…and there just aren’t that many villages in the northern mountain range, so it was hard to
find
a witch.
Thankfully, she was near where the portal was located.
You see, only a witch can open a portal, and—”
“I’m sorry…” I mutter, standing, spluttering.
Virago’s brows both go up, but she watches me quietly from her position, crouching on my living room floor, her elbow on her knee like she’s just been knighted.
“But…”
I splutter again and fall silent, staring down at her ice blue eyes, her set, strong jaw.
I swallow, continue quietly:
“You can’t
possibly
be asking me to believe that you’re from another world,” I tick off my fingers, “that you’re a
knight
from a
kingdom
, that you came here with a
beast
that happens to be a
construct of sorcery
, and—”
Virago stands too, then, her eyes flashing as she spreads her long-fingered hands.
“I am sorry, m’lady, but it is the only explanation that I can muster.
I do not know why it went wrong.
Why I came here.
I only know now that I am here, and that there is a beast that I brought with me that may hurt or kill others.
I will be responsible for this, and I must not let that happen.
I will not let innocents suffer because of me,” she says, her voice low, passion making her words break at the end.
She searches my eyes.
“M’lady Holly…I do not know
why
I came here, but I arrived here…you were there when I came through…”
She trails off, and I’m not certain what she’s going to say next, but my heart’s beating so quickly, I can hardly breathe.
We’re so close to each other.
So close.
I can smell the scent of her, leather and metal and something a little like sandalwood, and the warm, sweet scent of her skin.
She works her jaw, and she stares deeply into my eyes.
She’s waiting for me to say something, I realize.
And I hate myself for what I say next, but it’s the truth.
“How can I believe that?” I whisper, balling my hands into fists.
All of the fight is knocked out of me, but I have to speak the truth.
“How can I believe that you’re from another
world
?
That’s…that’s not possible.”
We stare at one another for a long moment.
Her eyes are wide, pained, and then something comes across her face, and her jaw hardens, her expression hardens, and she grimaces, shaking her head, shifting her weight back onto her heels.
“M’lady Holly,” she says stiffly, standing at attention and staring straight forward, over the top of my head.
“I realize that I have troubled you too greatly.
You have been quite kind in all of this, and I do not wish to further trouble you.
I will be on my way, then.”
I swallow as she turns, taking up her still wet fur capelet—it lays across her arm like a sad, unconscious animal—and her still wet cloak.
“No.
Please.
Wait…”
I mutter, stepping forward, putting my hand on her warm arm, my fingers against muscled skin that’s surprisingly soft to the touch.
“Please…”
She turns to look back at me, her blue eyes a gravity that pulls me down and into them, and that gaze again…the jolt of it goes all the way down my toes and back again.
When she looks at me, it’s as if she can see into the very heart of me.
Her gaze packs a punch.
“Okay,” I say slowly, breathing out.
“If all that you say is true…”
(
Oh, my God, Holly, oh, my God
, I think to myself, but I push through all of the doubt and keep talking.)
“If all you say is true,” I repeat, and gulp, “then how did you end up with that thing…that ‘beast,’ here?”
“Well,” says Virago heavily, licking her lips as she shakes her head, rolls her shoulders down, “the witch was supposed to open a portal to the in-between place between worlds, but she opened it to here…I suppose.
‘Earth.’
And she was trying to change the direction of the portal when the beast—which, unfortunately, our knights could not control nearly as well as we’d hoped—broke through our ranks, and pushed through the portal.
Dragging me with it.
In its mouth,” Virago adds helpfully, patting her leg, and the wound that had sealed in her skin.
A wound from a gigantic mouth and teeth, I now realize.
“And then the portal was closed.
And it still is,” she folds her arms, her leather gauntlets creaking against the fluid motion as she sighs again.
“But it doesn’t
matter
if the portal is closed or not, because I have to find
another
portal, and
another
witch, so that I can do what we set out to in the first place:
trap the creature in the in-between space.
Or it will wreak havoc on your world.
And destroy it,” she says, words weighty and final.
I breathe out, run my hands through my hair, sink back down in the chair again.
“Destroy it,” I repeat, gazing up at her, and she nods, hands on her metal and leather-clad hips.
“So you see, it is quite imperative that I find the creature.
And a portal.
And a witch,” she says, kneeling smoothly down before me again on one knee.
She leans toward me, her bright blue eyes trained on my face, her full lips downturned as she murmurs, beseeching, her low words strong and intense: “M’lady Holly, I beg of you…I am a stranger here.
I do not know the ways of your kingdom, and we are running out of time.
Please help me find these things?”
I splutter, swallow, try to form coherent words.
“But…there just aren’t any witches on my world.
I mean…”
I trail off as she shakes her head, her ponytail moving softly over her metal shoulder, the dark hair drifting over the metal like dripping ink.
I follow the motion with my eyes, mesmerized, but then my gaze is irrevocably drawn back to her own, to her bright blue eyes that seem to burn themselves into me.
I swallow as I watch her lean forward a little.
God…am I actually beginning to believe her?
“
Every
world has witches, I promise you that,” she says with conviction, nodding her head slowly, jaw set.
“Just because this is not Agrotera does not mean that witches don’t exist here.
Every
kingdom possesses them.”
“…Agrotera,” I repeat, tasting the word.
“My world,” says Virago, smiling proudly.
“My beloved world,” she says it softer, her deep, rich voice making me shiver with delight.
“Please, m’lady Holly…”
“It’s just…just Holly.
Please,” I say, and in spite of myself, I’m returning her smile weakly.
I sigh, take a gulp of fresh oxygen, grapple with what I should do, my thoughts racing.
“Holly,” she whispers then, taking my hand in her own strong one, her tan fingers cupping my hand, her thumb tracing a pattern over my palm.
My name on her tongue is electrifying.
She says the word so soft and low that it seems to reverberate deep inside of me.
I shiver, again, in spite of myself and clear my throat.
I sigh.
“Okay.
Here’s what we’re going to do,” I mutter, standing, smoothing out the folds in my pajama pants, suddenly acutely aware that I’m wearing an entire fleece collection of mis-matched, crazy prints in front of this incredibly gorgeous creature dressed in
leather and armor
.
“I’m…I’m going to bring my dog back inside,” I start, because it’s really the only thing I can think of in the face of all of this new—and completely out of this world—information.
I cross the room to the sliding glass door as Virago folds her strong arms, nodding to me.
I pull the door open, clear my throat, and say loudly out into the backyard:
“
Shelley!
”
But, of course, my dog is paying me absolutely no mind as she stands out in the back industriously licking something.
“Just a minute!” I tell my guest with what I hope is a cheerful tone.
I shove my garden clogs onto my fleece-covered feet and stalk out into the wet backyard and the bright morning sunshine.
Just like any other day.
But…not really.
Okay
, I think, as I pace across the backyard, my socks becoming instantly soaked in my clogs from the wet ground as I make a beeline toward my stubborn dog.
So Virago thinks she’s a knight from another world.
That’s…that’s mentally unstable, just a bit.
But, I mean…at least she doesn’t think she’s the messiah or something, right?
From another world we can handle, can’t we?
I’m sure she’s
actually
from the Knights of Valor Festival, and if we go visit them, we can get this all sorted…I mean, she
has
to be from the festival.
Her clothes, the fact that she had a sword…
A sword.
I stare.
What my ridiculous dog is busy coating with slobber is, in fact, a sword, stuck in the ground like a cheap knock-off prop of the Arthurian sword in the stone legend.
But I can tell immediately that the sword itself isn’t cheap.
I’ve seen replicas of medieval-era swords before, and this…isn’t like them.
That’s the thing.
It doesn’t
look
like a replica at all, because most replicas are built of cheap metal with a possibly molded rubber handle or the words “made in China” printed along the blade.
This sword looks like the
real thing
.
Like the swords I’ve seen in museums.
For one thing, real swords have little nicks out of the blade (from actually being used in combat) and have an incredibly sharp edge, or a sharp edge that’s been dulled with time and sharpened over and over.
Exactly like this one.
I take Shelley by the collar and pull her back from the sword (at least she was only busy licking the hilt.
She is
so weird
.).
When I make certain my dog isn’t bleeding anywhere, I turn back to the sword, staring at it for a long moment.
And then I reach forward, curl my fingers over the hilt and yank the blade up and out of the ground.
The blade is so bright that when I turn it, it reflects the sunshine into my eyes, temporarily blinding me.
It’s so
heavy
, that it’s actually hard to lift, and when I can see again, blinking away the spots in my vision, I notice the gem in the pommel, what I thought was a rhinestone when I first picked it up.
But no.
This doesn’t really look like a rhinestone.
It looks, instead, more like a gem, like, an
actual precious stone
.
It’s clear, like a diamond, but it also has this weird blue-green flash of color deep within…