Kerry Schafer - Wakeworld

She felt his chest heave and tightened her arms around his waist, afraid that he would try to pull away.

“There are things you don’t know—”

“So tell me.” She turned her face up to his, and saw his resolve waver. He was going to kiss her, and everything would sort itself out from there.

His head bent toward hers.

“Are you guys lost over there?”

Vivian might have hurt Weston at that moment if he’d been in range. Zee kissed the top of her head and pulled away.

“That’s not fair!” she protested. “You can’t just throw something out like that and not tell. What don’t I know?”

“We don’t have time.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. And then the old smile broke out, full of mischief. “Besides, when I tell you I want to have plenty of room to run away and lots of shelter. All right? Ready to put those shoes on?”

She looked at the ledge and shook her head. “Why can’t Weston just come here?”

“Because Weston is where we need to be. There is actually a path of sorts that will get us down into the valley.” He untied the rope from around his waist and knotted it around hers.

“What about you?”

“I’ll be right beside you.”

“But—”

“The wind is blowing against the cliff. It holds you to the face. It’s not so bad; only the fear is a problem.”

“What about Poe?”

“Questions, questions.” He knelt and tied a second rope around Poe, careful to secure it beneath his wings so it wouldn’t slip. Then he carried the bird over to the edge of the cliff, and gave the rope a tug. “You ready, Weston?”

“Ready.”

“One penguin coming your way.”

Gently he eased Poe over the edge. The little bird swung out over the emptiness below, and then over to the left. Vivian’s heart swung with him, but at once the rope began to shorten and Poe vanished from her view, presumably finding safety with Weston on the other side.

She delayed, slipping into the pants, putting on the shoes, but then she couldn’t put it off any longer. Her hands checked and double-checked the rope tied around her waist as she stood shivering and reluctant to take that first step.

“Weston’s got you. If you slip and fall, worst-case scenario you lose a patch of skin and collect another bruise. You can handle it.”

“I’m a lot heavier than Poe—”

“And he’s got you belayed around a rock. Come on now—we’ve got work to do.”

Right. She was being a coward and there wasn’t time for that.

Zee put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “If I thought it wasn’t safe, or that he would drop you, I wouldn’t let you go. Understood?”

She nodded, feeling marginally better, and managed a feeble smile.

“Ready?”

She nodded, and he put his hand on her waist and steadied her as she edged first one toe and then the other out onto the ledge. Zee tugged the rope as a signal, and it instantly tightened. He was right about the wind, too—it pushed her face-first into the rock. She could do this. If she could bring herself to move her feet.

Don’t look down. Slide one foot over, and then the next. Zee was beside her now, to the right. Doing the same thing she was doing but without the safety of a rope. Don’t think about that. Don’t think at all. Just move your feet, cling to the rock, don’t look down.

Halfway. A few more steps and she should be able to see Weston and Poe and the place she was aiming for.

The rope tugged sharply, setting her off balance and almost throwing her backward off the cliff. Her fingernails scrabbled on sheer rock, found a crack, and caught. Not much, but enough to prevent her from falling away. She clung, not daring to move, breath sobbing in and out of her lungs. The rope slackened, then tightened again.

“Grace,” she heard Weston say. “So it’s true then.”

Vivian caught her breath, in dismay. Grace here was not a good thing. Not good at all. But the thought steadied her. She wasn’t going to allow the old hag to finish off Weston after all of this time. Besides, she wanted her pendant. And the Key, of course the Key and to save the world and everybody in it.

But first things first.

It wasn’t far, not really. She felt the difference in the air, caught the change in light and perspective in her peripheral vision, but didn’t dare to turn her head. Her arms burned with the effort of clinging to the crack; her calves ached. But then the ledge widened, little by little, so that it held her whole foot and not just her toes. Wider yet, and then she was on a level platform as big as a house.

A small house, anyway, not big enough for any sort of comfort. She could see the path Zee had mentioned, winding down the shoulder of the mountain. Steep, but not sheer. And between her and that path, an old woman.

Weston looked like he’d been carved from the stone of the mountain, his face etched in lines of grief. The old woman facing him had a face much like his, softened to the feminine. Her lips curved in a smile as she saw Vivian and Zee.

“And there they are. Unfallen after all. Depending on your definition of that word, of course. Hardly innocents, the lot of you.”

“Give me my pendant.” Deep down Vivian knew that the other things were more important, but the reaction was a primal thing that boiled up out of the depths of her.

“Or you’ll do what? Take it from me?”

Vivian darted forward to do exactly that, but the old woman raised a filthy, gnarled hand in a casual gesture and she bounced off an invisible force field.

“Now, now, young one. That will never do. Remember what happened to your brain when you fought me before.”

And with those words the pain began, Vivian’s skull in a vise, tightening bit by bit; her brain was going to explode under the pressure like a ripe melon. She tried with all of her strength and will to fight back but found herself doubled over, gasping, both hands clutching at her head.

“Release her.” Zee’s voice.

“Or you’ll do what, lover? Have you told her about you and me?”

The pain eased, enough so that Vivian could stand up straight and watch as the wrinkled old face smoothed and tightened. The bone structure altered. Brown eyes turned to gray. Her hair waved and curled and brightened to auburn.

A mirror image of Vivian’s own face and body before the dragon marked her, except that the belly swelled out in the soft curve of pregnancy. Her brain still felt scrambled with the pain, the words and the visual not connecting.

“Don’t even think about using the Voice on me,” Vivian’s own voice said from that other body. “It won’t work now. I’ve got your pendant and your hair and skin. I have the power over you, and you will do as I say.”

Zee had the sword in his hand. “Take whatever form you wish—I will kill you.”

But he hesitated.

“Would you take the life of an unborn baby then? Your own child, Zee.” One of the woman’s hands went protectively to her belly.

“It’s not possible.”

“Blood of your blood, Warrior. Flesh of your flesh.”

Zee’s arm dropped to his side. “It’s an illusion. It has only been a matter of days—”

“Time passes according to its own whims in the dark realms. And there are Dreamworlds where time passes even faster, if one has earned such passage. You’re not going to kill your own child, no matter how you might hate the flesh that carries him.”

Vivian looked up into Zee’s stricken face and knew that it was true. He had made love to this thing and it was pregnant with his child. She shuddered in revulsion, pushing away the inevitable heartbreak for later.

“Stop this,” Weston said. “Enough. This is cruel, Gracie. There’s no need to hurt anybody—there’s been too much of that already. You of all people know this. What do you want?”