When the driver pulled to the side of the road, Blair bubbled his thanks, eager to get out into the beautiful New England autumn afternoon surrounding them. Gathering his backpack and duffle, he reached for the door handle, throwing one last grateful grin over his shoulder. "Sure you don't want to come up to the commune with me and let them show their appreciation for giving me a ride? Their organic produce is the best, and my mom tells me they had a bumper crop this year."
Checking his watch, the stout man bit overly plump lips and leaned over to look up the rough country lane beside them. "Tempting as that is, I've got an appointment that I can't afford to miss. I'll see them at the Farmer's Market during the weekend, as usual. You're right, their stuff is fantastic; I always pick up a basket full or so. You sure they'll be here for you soon?"
"Yeah, man, though it may be soon by their clock and not ours, if you know what I mean." Blair studied the almost too-picturesque scene, vaguely curious why Mr. Richards was so nervous. "You say it's about six miles to the farm from here? That's not too far to walk, and it's gorgeous out today."
"No!" At Blair's jerk of surprise at his vehemence, Richards settled back into his own space, scrubbing chubby hands over his face. "There've been a few… incidents over the years, with a, a pack of wild dogs running in this area. Sometimes a bear; we do see one now and again around here. It's not a good idea to walk alone, unarmed, in some parts of the county, and this is one of them. Didn't your mother mention that?"
"She wouldn’t have thought to," Blair said with a hint of a laugh in his voice, despite wondering why Mr. Richards didn't seem very sure of what, precisely, he was warning Blair about. "Much as she appreciates Nature, she prefers to do that from a nice, cozy house. On the other hand, I've roughed it more than a few times. I'm working on my masters in anthropology which means weeks or months spent in the field under seriously primitive conditions."
Obviously relieved, Richard nodded. "Good, good. You can take care of yourself, then. Still, some of the people who've been... hurt were experienced hunters, and what have you, so it's really a good idea to stay put until your friends get here." He hesitated, bit his lower lip again, and added, "If it starts getting late and you do decide to hike in, stay in the middle of the lane. Exactly in the middle. It, uh, gives you the best advantage to see trouble coming; harder to sneak up on you, that kind of thing."
It was odd advice, but Blair had received stranger in his time and under far less prosaic reasons. "Thanks, man. And thanks again for the lift; this was my last chance to see my mom this year, thanks to the crazy schedule we both have." He got out of the car, shut the door behind himself, and bent over to look through the glass to wave to Mr. Richards.
Richards waved back, expression still worried, but he caught sight of his watch, cursed, and drove off.
Standing with one foot on the road and one on the lane, Blair watched him until the sedan was out of sight, then sat on his duffle to wait. That particular activity was hardly new to him, and he took out a textbook he'd been reading during his journey, settling in to make use of the time. He'd rarely had such a beautiful setting to study in, or a more peaceful one. Despite the highway next to him, there was no traffic or sound of it. In fact, the only noise was the wind playfully scattering fallen leaves and tossing the still-full branches overhead.
That was a little odd, Blair realized, closing the book, finger marking his place. It was warm enough that there should have been insects, squirrels, or birds, at the very least. He looked this way and that, as if that would give him a clue to the silence, but finally decided the local wildlife simply wasn't used to people, and his presence had scared them into silence. In that case, their normal chatter would resume once they were accustomed to his being there, and he opened his book again.
Before he resumed reading, he spared a moment to take in the scene around him. It really was a splendid, nearly perfect fall day. The sky was that incredible shade of blue that only an October afternoon could achieve, and, as always when he noticed that color, Blair felt a pang of longing, as if it should mean more than a clear, sunny day. Shaking off the feeling, he admired the brilliant golds, oranges, and reds of the woods around him, which only Mother Nature seemed able to mix in such vivid shades without it becoming garish. The most impressive sight was the fiery, glowing yellow of the aspen trees lining the country lane; they seemed to cradle the leaf-covered track, enclosing it as it rose to meet the lands beyond.
Without thinking, Blair stood slowly, staring into the lane, book hanging nearly forgotten from his hand. It wasn't that long a walk, and too nice a day to spend with his nose buried in his studies. Not to mention there was no telling when or if Naomi and her friends would remember this was the day he was to arrive. He could always meet them on the way if they did. It wasn't as if there were side roads or other driveways between here and there; she'd told him the road dead-ended into the commune's farmland. That meant if he got tired, he could sit wherever he was and wait there, just as easily. No way he'd miss them. As quiet as it was, he'd hear a car or truck long before he saw it.
Blair took a step forward, nearly stumbled, then whirled to look behind himself. Nothing was there, but he was willing to swear he'd felt a hand on his shoulder, trying to hold him back. Turning in a small circle, he looked for signs of another person, but he was quite alone. "Okay," he murmured, "Imagination working overtime here. I just tripped over my own feet, that's all."
Slipping his book into the duffle he didn't remember picking up, Blair nearly put it down again, but an insistent breeze nudged him from behind, urging him toward the lane. He took another step, and once in motion, saw no reason to stop. Weirdly, he felt a hand on his shoulder again, not restraining him this time, but as if to make sure, that since he was committed to walking this path, he would know he wasn't on it alone.
However strange the perception was, it was also a comforting one, and he strolled toward the commune, absently staying in the center of the lane because of the subtle steering from the heated strength at his back. For a while he tried to amuse himself with explanations of his invisible companion: the ghost of one of the fallen hunters, an angel summoned by a good-hearted friend who wished him safe-guarded, an alien whose pet was loose roaming the wood, wreaking weird alien havoc. It was all unlikely, of course, though he couldn't convince himself the presence was purely imagination, either.
As he hiked farther away from the main road, his awareness of his escort sank to the same level as his awareness of himself - no reason to think about it unless something called it to mind. The manifestation was that comfortable and reassuring. Instead he enjoyed the peace and splendor around him, sinking into it almost as if it were a meditative state. Minutes and miles slid by him, the way smoothed by the slight chill in the air that offset the heat of the sunlight, and the dappling of brightness and shadow from the canopy overhead. His steps gradually slowed until he was barely shuffling along, the weight of his pack and duffle becoming a burden.
The thought came to him now might be a good time to sit and rest a bit. There was a clear place beside the road, just ahead, layered in sand and with a few late-season wild flowers around it. He could weave a garland for his mom as a gift; the sort she adored. Before Blair could stop, his luggage suddenly lightened, startling heat curling around his hand and at his spine. It also prodded him forward, urgency somehow communicating itself to him in the hint of force at the suggestion that he keep moving.
That provided enough of jolt that Blair looked, really looked at where he was, uneasiness spiraling along his spine as he picked up his pace considerably. It was later, much later than it should have been, and he had no idea how far up the track he had traveled. The commune might be a few hundred yards ahead, over the next rise, or hours away. Directly above, the flashes of sky that he could see through the trees had darkened with the promise of sunset, and the shadows were longer, deeper. Gloom crept in with them, dimming the world so subtly Blair almost inclined to chalk the observation up to sudden nerves.
For the first time he wondered at why such a rarely used lane would be so well manicured, and why it would feel so threatening for it to be so. No branches strayed beyond the edge of the wood; the grasses and weeds were cut flat, all the way to the tree line. Underfoot the gravel was well-packed and level, as if heavy traffic passed this way often. Tempted as he was to chalk it up to the commune's labors, he knew perfectly well they wouldn't waste the time or effort for that sort of maintenance.
That meant that the county was making sure that the lane was well-kept, and Mr. Richards' ambiguous warning came back to Blair, this time raising the short hairs at the back of his neck. Hiking at his best clip, he peered into the dense undergrowth obscuring the bottom of the trees, trying to see movement or a suggestion of shape. He was being ridiculous, he knew, but when he tried to slow to a more reasonable stride to allow himself to breathe deeper and calm down, his unseen companion pressed into him hard, encouraging him to move along quickly.
Was he the danger, Blair worried abruptly? Could he have his own motives for impelling Blair to hurry into the coming evening?
Almost as soon as the thought passed through his mind, he dismissed the possibility. His companion's worry was as obvious as the warmth that marked his presence. Clearly he saw or knew something Blair didn't, which again brought up the question of who or what he was.
Concentrating, Blair tried to create a mental image of him based on the very flimsy evidence he had so far. Tall, he decided, to go by the suggestion of length of arm; long-legged because he was having no trouble keeping up with Blair. As to why he thought of him as male, Blair had no idea. For some reason, he wanted to believe the man had sky-blue eyes and a rare smile, but, calling that wishful thinking, he pushed away the nascent vision of his companion and put his attention back on the road.
He was dawdling again, he realized with a start, but before he could kick himself back into gear, he noticed a swirl of motion just ahead, on the side of the lane. A stray breeze had spun itself into a miniature tornado, catching a flurry of leaves and whirling them along in a mesmerizing dance of color and motion. The gold of the leaves winked and shimmered as they glided gracefully through their measures, dipping and swaying in elegant patterns that Blair could almost, but not quite discern. He had seen such swirls before, come and gone in quick bursts that barely gave him time to understand what he had seen before it was gone. This tiny vortex lasted and lasted, almost as if waiting for him.
Drawn by the rare sight, he drifted toward it, feet leaving the center of the path.
A strong arm closed over his chest in gentle restraint, drawing him back.
Blair dropped to a stand still, refusing to turn and see the nothing that had stopped him. "Why?" he murmured. "What could possibly be dangerous about taking a closer look at such a marvelous thing?"
To his astonishment, a word was breathed into his ear, so softly and carefully he couldn't be sure at first he hadn't simply thought it himself. "Listen."
"Wh... what?"
Again, almost beyond his ability to hear, a word formed. "Feel."
"I don't understand."
"Scent/taste," echoed, nearly silently through his head. "Then see."
The commands, directives, whatever they were, tumbled in Blair's mind, too odd to be from himself. It was on the tip of his tongue to dismiss them, but another arm joined the one around him, enclosing him in a secure hug. "Now, now, now, now..."
The voice seeped away, but Blair did as asked. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the sounds around him - and heard nothing when there should have at least been the quiet shussssh of leaves moving. Mouth sagging open, he sought the touch of the wind on his skin, filtering past his clothes, but it wasn't there. He inhaled, expecting the brisk bite that only fall could put in the air, and nearly gagged at the foulness that coated his nostrils and tongue. Not needing the order to open his eyes, he looked - and saw that the whirlwind cast no shadow, moved no dust or debris.
"Not real," his companion whispered. "Illusion." He leaned into Blair, knees bumping into the back of his thighs to make him start walking again, down the middle of the road.
Unable not to watch the spinning glory, Blair turned his head as he went past, and it collapsed as soon as he was by it. The stench grew stronger, and he absently covered his nose with his arm to muffle it. "My god, what is that?"
Oddly, despite the brief exchange earlier, he was surprised when his companion murmured, "Death. Fresh kills piled on old ones in layer after layer, with no care for warning new quarry of the danger lurking."
"I... I'm being stalked. Hunted?"
"Yes."
"By what?"
Confusion radiated from his guardian. "Whatever it is, it's not physically strong or fast if it's depending on trickery to bring down its prey." Blair could almost, *almost* see him studying the edges of the forest and the careful pruning of it. "The center of the path must be beyond range of its pounce. It comes at you directly, you've got time to get away, which means you can probably outrun it. Gives you the chance to defend yourself, too."
"With what?" Blair asked in exasperation, more irritated by the content of the conversation than the general strangeness of it as he marched along. "I'm going to whack it with my backpack? Smother it with the clothes in my duffle?"
"Man's first weapons were his fists; maybe it's relatively fragile, too. Or just had near-mortal run-ins with other humans." Dry, shy humor snuck into his companion's voice. "Though as overloaded as that pack is, you shouldn't underestimate it as a bludgeon."
Trying to match his tone, Blair said, "Right. So my assets for self-defense are wits, good feet, a pocketknife, one seriously heavy piece of luggage, and a guardian angel watching my back."
As if calling notice to his state disturbed it somehow, his companion faded, becoming just a suggestion of warmth that made Blair shiver. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, come back, please. Please?"
There was no answer, and Blair shivered again, harder. Pulling his jacket closed, he hugged his duffle to his chest both for protection and insulation. Despite the impulse to hurry, run, now!, he walked at a steady clip that he knew from experience he could maintain as long as he needed. Surely he couldn't be that far from the farm now, even with the, the, the *difficulties* he'd had so far.
Straining, he looked ahead for some hint that he was close: smoke from a fire, lights from the farmhouse, the straight edge of a building. All he saw was more trees framing a road with no end in sight. He could have been tramping along in place for all the difference in where he was, where he'd been, and where he was going. Hurrying a bit more, he searched for a landmark of any kind, even resorted to counting his steps to be certain that he was getting ahead.
Bit by bit he became worried that he not only hadn't made any progress, but he was actually going the wrong way. No matter how many times he assured himself that he had always walked straight ahead, the doubt that he had managed to get himself turned around grew and grew. Or his mother had been mistaken about where the road ended and he had already passed the entrance to the commune. That idea was ridiculous for surely the road wouldn't go on forever in its manicured sameness.
Unconsciously he slowed, misgivings dragging at his feet, weighing down his heart until it pounded crazily in his chest, cheating him of air. Panting, he clutched at his duffle, nervously eyeing the road and wood, desperate for a clue that he was going the right way, hadn't passed his destination, wasn't walking on some bizarre Moibus strip that twisted endlessly back on itself. He found nothing but fear and more fear, wearing away at his will until he hesitated despite the pressure from behind to keep moving.
Blair turned in place, intending only to take a few steps to see if he could maybe feel a difference in going the other way. And bumped into a solid, hot male body that promptly wrapped him up in powerful arms that offered shelter and comfort. Closing his eyes in a shock of relief, Blair wound his own arms around a trim waist, hitching the duffle to one shoulder, and leaned his forehead into one seriously well-muscled chest.
"I'm lost," Blair whispered. "I have no idea where I am, how long I've been walking, nothing. This thing has me trapped here."
"No. Illusion." His companion shuffled them on, navigating for Blair as he stepped backwards.
"Doesn't feel like one."
"Trust me. I know illusion; all I have to do is compare it to you. The sun is playing in your hair, you've got the clean scent of a man exerting himself and enjoying it." Soft lips brushed innocently over his, accompanied by a sigh. "You taste like the fresh apples you had for lunch. I can't remember the last time I had a good, crisp apple. Most importantly, for right now, you're about a mile, mile and a half from a farm with four buildings, including one massive barn painted pink." The last word was said with an edge of surprise, as if the speaker had never dreamed of a barn that wasn't properly red.
Like fog under desert sun, Blair's fear and doubt dissipated, and he chuckled in embarrassed relief at the compliments and chaste kiss. Not sure how to respond to them, he said idiotically, "The previous owner, a Wiccan who came out of the broom closet long before it was almost fashionable to do so, had it done that color. She requested in her will that the buyers for the property promise to keep it that way. No one knows why pink, let alone that shade."
"Maybe a polite jab at all the God-fearing Christians who associate Wiccans with black?" his companion asked, letting him change the subject.
"That's one theory that's been put out there." Slitting his eyes the tiniest bit, Blair peeped at the woods creeping past as his guardian propelled them along. "Now I'm thinking maybe it's in response to our stalker out there."
"Smell it?"
"No, not anymore, but that doesn't mean it's gone, right?" Blair shuddered, trying to summon the courage to leave his refuge and turn back around so they could make better time. "So you think it's supernatural, like a demon or something, summoned by a spell gone wrong?"
A snort shook the sturdy body next to his. "More likely it's some animal crippled long ago and forced to hunt as best it can."
"But the illusions...."
"Point." He sighed. "Chief, the what doesn't matter right now. Surviving does, and we can guess enough about the thing to manage that. Explanations can come later."
"Blair. I'm Blair."
"I'm Jim." He cupped Blair's elbows and tugged until Blair was facing forward, subtly pushing until they were walking full speed again.
Much as Blair wanted to ask at least one of the multitude of questions buzzing through his gray matter - such as how Jim knew about the pink barn and where did he get the confidence to deal with danger so calmly - Blair didn't want him to fade again. The sun was low enough now that deep pools of shadow were forming here and there; perfect cover for an attack. Biting his lips to remind himself not to babble nervously, he forced his mind onto his own expertise.
What sort of myths or legends had he read or heard concerning losses in the woods? With some dismay he realized the only one he could readily recall was an early English colony, Roanoke, in what was now Virginia. He'd never been there himself, but he'd spoken with more than one newbie anthro major who'd made the trip to the site and believed a supernatural explanation was behind the disappearance of all the colonists. Supposedly there was a feel or atmosphere to the place, as though evil lingered even after centuries.
It was more telling, to Blair's way of thinking, was how commonplace it was to lose hunters or hikers in the wilderness and simply chalk it up to misadventure, no matter how capable the missing people were. If only a small percentage of them were victims of whatever was stalking him, it still suggested the possibility of an undiscovered phenomenon or perhaps a new species. In fact, it could also explain the multitude of 'haunted' areas, where ghosts were blamed for the air of abandoned desolation.
Intrigued by his own theory, Blair actually lost track of his worries, and was startled into a stifled yelp when Jim suddenly yanked them to a halt. Blair focused on the immediate vicinity, catching a whiff of the telltale stench, but with no idea where it was coming from. Twilight hadn't arrived yet, but the promise of it was there in the cold insinuating itself under his clothes and the rosy change in the sunshine sifting through the canopy.
"There," Jim whispered. "Just ahead, in the lee of that dense copse. The shade has reached most of the way across the road, and we'll be blinded by the change in light when we enter it."
"We're going to have to leave the path," Blair muttered uncertainly.
"It changed its tactics, we change ours. The ground looks solid; we'll skirt the cover by the same distance we've guessed is its pounce range." He leaned into Blair a little, as if straining to pierce the murkiness, but put his suggestion into action. "It's definitely there, but I can't make out anything except what looks like a pile of rags and twigs."
Studying the spot Jim had described, Blair let Jim navigate them around the darkness spilled over the lane, twisting his head as they cleared it. He heard a soft hiss of frustration that could have come from any animal, then a rustle of leaves and grass as it shot past to race ahead. Though he thought he saw movement, he couldn't be sure, and he definitely had no idea as to shape.
"Didn't try another illusion," he said, thinking aloud. "Maybe it's tired? It has to take a lot of energy to manufacture them. Or it learned that it didn't fool us, not completely, so it's falling back on a more direct approach."
"That could depend on how hungry it is. If it's fed recently, it might decide not to waste resources on a meal that's giving it too much trouble." Jim hesitated, but added honestly, "If it's starving, it'll risk at least one more strike, possibly even be willing to go outside its territory. You're not safe until you close the gate to the farmhouse drive behind you. Interestingly enough, they mowed a wide, clear swath, wider than this lane, on both sides of the fence."
Blair considered, swallowed hard, and said, "It went further on; there must be a good spot for an assault. It might be a good idea to abandon the duffle to free up my hands. Better to lose some clothes, you know, and I can always borrow a car or something to come back for tomorrow."
"Good thinking. Did you ever play baseball?"
The question was so unexpected that Blair couldn't help a chuckle. "Yeah, short stop, and no jokes about my height, please. I've heard them all."
"So you've got a good arm… Sport?"
"Har, har. Yes, I do."
"Don't just drop the bag," Jim ordered, but so matter of factly that Blair couldn't bristle. "Stoop and put it down, and pick up three or four large pieces of gravel for throwing on the other side of it where it can't see you get them. No matter how hungry it is, pain should make it think twice about going after you."
Doing as he was told, Blair positioned the duffle just so in the center of the road. He wouldn't put it past his stalker to guard the bag on the chance it could go after whoever stopped to pick it up. "I can't see it. How can I hit it?"
"I can, though I'm not exactly sure what I'm seeing. I'd swear it was a heap of rubbish; more illusion, for camouflage?" Jim tensed, arms tightening around Blair for a moment as he straightened. "Tricky, tricky bastard. It's on the other side of the road now, in a place where a drain under the road narrows both sides for a few steps. It's not much, but not noticeable unless you're really looking for it. Enough to make a difference in whether or not it can reach you."
"Okay, okay, *now* I'm really freaking out. That's smart, Jim. Not canny, not experienced - smart."
"Maybe, but we've still got the edge here, not it. There's two of us, we know more about it than it does about us, *and* this isn't the first time I've been hunted and by far worse than one scrawny, sneaky, creepy whatever skulking in the shadows of a deserted lane." Jim carefully squeezed the hand with the rocks in it. "When I say go, you throw like you've got the winning run heading for home base. I'm going to try to guide your arm the same way I've been guiding your steps when that thing clouded your mind."
Unwillingly walking forward, Blair tried to stop himself, but the questions popped out, anyway. "How do you *do* that? Why are you here at all, let alone how?"
For a second the warmth radiating along his back dwindled away to nothing, then flamed back like a heater fan kicking on against a drop in temperature. "I can't think about that, I can't. If I don't focus on you, feel you like you're my skin, this incredible pain slices through me and I start to black out." Though Blair could sense the effort, Jim still managed to find a thread of humor. "How 'bout we deal with one bizarre thing at a time, here?"
"Only because the first one is trying to have me for dinner tonight. Otherwise I'd be doing my best to work around those limitations of yours until I could make a few educated guesses." Blair stretched, hugely, deliberately pushing back into Jim's presence until he could feel the mass of him resisting his own. "One last thing, though, if you can. Did you know it was waiting for me when I stopped on the road, or were *you* waiting for me there?"
"I was looking for you." Jim blurted the words as if saying them fast was the only reason he could say them at all. "Not you specifically, but what you are, what you will be, sent by, by, by...." He gasped. "No more, not until we're safe."
Daringly Blair petted the arm draped across his chest, doing his best to project serenity and trust. "I'm behind that. We're almost there; I'm switching the rocks so that I've only got the largest one in my throwing hand."
"I'm going to wait until it's on the move. Hold, hold.... Now!"
In the gathering dusk Blair could see a faint glow insinuate itself into his arm as he drew back and threw, his fingers releasing his projectile without any command from him. It was gone in an instant, just as he heard a solid thump and pained cry from the shadows. He quickly tossed another rock into his hand and hurled it as well, solidly finding his target again, from the sound of things.
"Got it!" Jim took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let go. "Blood, fresh blood. It's not moving, and its heart rate slowed. I'm pretty sure it's unconscious."
"Good, let's get the hell out of here." When Jim didn't follow, Blair froze in place until he was against him again.
"We can't just leave it like this. It's been hunting humans here a long time if we go by the evidence. We have to stop it, permanently."
Swallowing hard, Blair spluttered, "Oh, man. I don't think... I can't.... not with my bare hands... or maybe any... I...."
"I'll do it, but you'll have to take us over there. I'm sorry, but you're the only thing substantial to me, and only as long as we're touching." Jim's voice gentled until it vibrated with sympathy. "You can close your eyes while I use your body; you won't be able to tell what I do, I think."
"No, that's wrong," Blair said without thinking. Gesturing as if to brush the problem aside, he added, "Let's just see what damage we've already done; maybe it's already a moot point." Timidly he inched toward where he'd pitched, feeling with his toes for footing as he went into the inky shadows.
"I've got you, I've got you," Jim murmured. "You won't stumble."
"Kay." His eyes adjusted to the gloom, and he spotted the tumble of debris Jim had described to him. Head tilting to one side, fingers patting his lips, he said, "That reminds me of something."
"Gilly suit," Jim said shortly, propelling them forward. "Sniper cover-up. Our hunter is human, Chief."
"Stinking like that!"
"I didn't say sane or civilized."
Cautiously Blair squatted beside the indistinct form, peeling away the protective layer until he could see a woman underneath it. Her hair was long, incredibly matted and tangled, filled with enough debris to be a gilly suit all by itself. The natural color was hidden under the grime, but for an occasional streak of gray, here and there. It was impossible to determine her age from her features; her skin was tanned to the consistency of leather and crinkled as if carelessly laid over her bones. She was about his height, extremely wiry and thin, feet and hands so dirty and calloused it was hard to recognize them for human appendages.
"God, how long has she been living in the wild like this?" Blair murmured to himself, brushing away a few snaky locks to get a better look at her face.
"She hasn't always," Jim said absently, nudging Blair's fingers down to her neck to peel aside several layers of clothes until a top of hospital pajamas - the original white long since grayed from dirt and wear - could be seen. "With her ability, it wouldn't be hard for her to escape an insane asylum. Instinct might have been enough for her to find her way back to her territory." He flicked at a discolored chain and pulled out an old-fashioned locket, crusted with tarnish. "Or, if the trait is genetic, she might have had a parent as feral as she is who taught her, maybe came looking for her to lead her home."
Sitting back on his heels, Blair shuddered and looked around for signs they had company. "She's part of a pack?"
"Not now, I think, or she wouldn't have been hunting alone to start with." Jim pushed aside hair until Blair could see the lumps from the rocks he'd thrown. Queasy in the knowledge that he was responsible for the injuries, he tried to ease away, but Jim didn't yield. "We can't leave her here, and the authorities won't believe you if you explain that she can get away again if they don't take certain precautions." Patting and stroking along Blair's arms, he added, "Sometimes, with a predator, there's no choice: it or your people. How many more victims could she claim before someone else comes along who can meet her on her own terms and take her down?"
"There has to be another way that just cold-bloodedly killing her. I can't do that. I can't. And I can't stand aside, so to speak, and let you do it, either!"
"Chief...."
"No...."
Out of nowhere, Blair heard a third voice, a new voice, "Senitnale, blind her. Take her third eye and she will stay in the care of her keepers. She will find peace there without her power tormenting her."
"Who are you?" Jim demanded.
"The one who guides you for now, while your own shaman grows and learns."
Losing all sense of Jim, Blair groped around to make contact again, reaching with everything he had. "Jim! Jim!"
His fingertips brushed over a bare, muscled arm, and he heard a thread of sound. "Trust our brother, sentinale. Trust his heart, his gifts."
Jim's hand found his, grasped it tightly, and pulled Blair back to him, burying his face in his shoulder. They were both shaking, hard, and clung to each other until the worst of it subsided. Eventually, Jim stirred, sighing in pained reluctance. "I can't hang in here much longer. Whatever we're going to do, it's going to have to be done now. The man with me, where my... my body is - what did he mean by 'third eye?' How can you blind it?"
"I... it's here." Blair leaned over the woman and trailed two fingers down the center of her forehead. "It's supposed to be the source of psychic abilities. Not a real eye, as such, but a way of describing what it's like for the person with the talent."
"Here?" Under Jim's guidance, Blair's fingers made the same journey, but this time, he noticed in an abstracted sort of surprise, they penetrated the skin. "I feel... I don't know... it's not brain matter, that's familiar to me, unfortunately," Jim muttered. Blair pressed in, watching his fingers vanish to the knuckles.
"Cold, slimy," Blair murmured. "Not right." Without thinking he hooked into the center of the wrongness and pulled, hard, ripping a scream from the woman and sending a surge of teeth-jarring something through himself. His hand popped out as he leaped to his feet, and he hastily scrubbed it on his jeans, though it was clean. "What...."
"I think that did the job," Jim whispered, resting heavily against Blair, his weight a burning pressure. "You dug something out that shone for a split second before dissolving, and this other guy hanging onto me sounds pleased and proud of you. Gotta go now, Chief. Sorry."
"No!" Blair grabbed Jim by his upper arms and got the briefest glimpse of him, outlined by branches and the mottled darkness of twilight. Blue eyes stared into his, filled with adoration, need, trust, and a dawning love that took up residence in Blair's heart, aching hungrily. He would search, he realized dazedly, as long as it took, to find the man who could look at him like that. No other would do; no other would touch him the way this one could.
Brilliant beams from a headlight swept over them, the glare erasing Jim completely, leaving Blair standing alone with a woman at his feet. The pain from his eyes struggling to adjust to the brightness was enough to propel him into action. He waved his arms over his head and shouted to get the attention of the driver, running toward the lane. With a honk of acknowledgement, the car pulled over and people spilled out, including his mother.
"Help, she needs help," Blair called, and in short order the four people from the car, including a retired nurse, were gathered around the fallen woman, all talking excitedly. Naomi spared a second to give him a quick hug and once-over, to make sure he was okay, then began issuing orders.
Tuning her out, Blair walked a few steps away, and stood staring sightlessly, trying to commit his sense of Jim's presence to memory. He couldn't. It was, he realized unhappily, part of the price for maiming one of his own, no matter how strong and true the need to do so had been.
The details of his long walk slowly vanished, much as the man had, leaving him lonely and cold, longing for what was already nearly forgotten. A single word echoed in his head, the persistence of it giving him something to cling to.
"Sentinale," Blair whispered to himself, to make the idea, the concept real. "As in sentinel? Like in that monograph I read. Who was it? Burton? Watchmen, guardians with enhanced senses?
"Sight (pink barn, a male voice said in Blair's mind). Hearing (heart beat slowed, said the same voice). Scent (fresh blood). Taste (apples, real apples). Touch - oh, touch. (feel you like you're my skin). All five. All five. A tribal warrior. That's perfect for my work; another archetype to measure civilization by. Burton can't be the only one to have noticed them; at the very least there should be myths or legends. My god, maybe a few are around still. Wouldn't that be great? A real, live sentinel to study."
Naomi summoned him, and Blair turned unwillingly from his musings to lend his aid, already wondering how to find his sentinel and claim him.
And half a world away, the Shaman of the Chopec, muttered in approval as he washed away the sweat beading on the face of the tall, pale stranger lying on the floor of his home. The fever had finally broken, and the power of the young shaman his patient had spirit walked to find had healed the ugly wound stretching across the sentinel's belly, leaving no trace. "I envy your people for the good you and your guide will bring to them," Incacha said quietly. "And fear what trouble your stay with mine heralds. Why else would the spirits bring an untrained sentinel to me for teaching; why else could you travel so far to find your other half, who is as in need of training?"
Incacha looked into the darkness falling outside, and wondered at the price of the gift he would hold for such a short time.
finis