Read Jane Carver of Waar Online
Authors: Nathan Long
Jane Carver of Waar (44 page)
He chuckled. “I am a little. But mostly of his happiness.”
I snorted. “Tell me about it.”
“Pardon?”
“Huh? Oh, nothing. Never mind.”
We lay silent again for a while. I don’t know what he was thinking about, but I was thinking about Big Don. Not the big stuff. Not the sex, or the road trips, or the diamond ring. The little stuff—sitting around the kitchen table in the morning, going grocery shopping, taking the dogs to the vet.
Lhan spoke up. “You and I are two of a kind, are we not, mistress?”
“Uh... Whaddaya mean?”
“You come from another place. This is not your home. And though I was born here, I sometimes feel that there is no place for me on this world.”
“I know just how you feel. I’ve felt like that on two worlds now.”
“Then... you must be truly lonely.”
I clenched my fists. “Brother, if you don’t shut up I’m gonna start bawlin’, and that ain’t pretty.”
He shut up, but after a minute I felt his fingers slip around mine.
“Mistress Jae-En, there is a balm for loneliness. ’Tis imperfect and temporary, but while it lasts ’tis soothing.”
I raised my head. He was up on one elbow looking at me with those dark purple eyes as serious as a judge. My heart started thumping like a kick drum. I closed my big fingers around his long, slim ones. That must have been what he was waiting for, ’cause he leaned in and kissed me.
Wow.
I didn’t know how bad I’d missed that until I got it. It felt like Lhan was filling me with cool, clear water from the toes up. I pulled him over to my couch and held him tight and kissed him like I was dying of thirst. It felt so good it hurt.
But after a minute a rotten little thought came up and tapped me on the shoulder. I pushed Lhan back and looked into his eyes, searching.
“If this is some kind of pity fuck, I... I’m gonna throw you out that window.”
He shook his head, solemn. “If it is, mistress, then ’tis you who take pity on me.”
Well, if you think I could resist a line like that you’re out of your ever-lovin’ mind. I took pity on him all right. I took pity on him until the candles burned out.
At some point we moved from the chaises to the bed in the next room. At some point after that I finally wore poor Lhan out and he drifted off.
I wasn’t quite sleepy yet. I stared up at the ceiling, a big stupid smile on my face, trying to remember what the hell I wanted to go home for, anyway.
There was a prison cell waiting for me back in California. If I somehow ducked that, I had a couple years of construction jobs ahead of me before I’d have the dough for another hog. And god knows how long I’d have to hang around in bars before I found another Mr. Goodbike, if I ever did. And where did we go once I got him? I’d been to all the continental forty eight and Alaska too. Sure there was plenty left to explore, but nowhere some Good Sam in his RV hadn’t been before—no place that didn’t have a write-up in some Triple A guidebook.
I was on the lam here in Ora too, but I was guessing the Orans were about as close to inventing extradition as they were cell-phones. Once I got clear of Ora’s borders there was a whole new world to explore. And with Lhan riding beside me, I’d have somebody to share it with, which is all I’ve ever asked for.
Lhan was one hell of a somebody too. I wasn’t sure I was in love. He was no Big Don. Who could be? I wasn’t even sure love was what I wanted right then anyway. It was just nice having somebody to hold now and then.
I looked over at Lhan and smiled. Maybe we wouldn’t go looking for magic stones after all. Maybe in the morning I’d ask him if he’d rather just take a road trip instead.
Somewhere around there I started to drift off. My eyelids drooped and my brain got fuzzy. I rolled over and spooned against Lhan, purring like a cat.
I thought I heard a noise through the fog. Had Sai’s messenger finally come? I was almost too tired to care, but I lifted my head. It felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.
There were shadows in the next room. Candle flicker? No. The candles were out.
I tried to shake off my sleep. I couldn’t. Something was wrong. The room smelled like butterscotch pipe tobacco.
There were shadows over the bed. Shadows in orange and white robes. They reached for me.
CHAPTER THIRTY
BANISHED!
I
woke up on a rock floor with the mother of all hangovers drilling for oil in my head, and an elephant sitting on my chest. At least something was squashing me into the ground and crushing the air out of my lungs. I could hardly breathe. Wherever I was, it was dark, but the way my gasping echoed I knew I wasn’t outside.
I tried to lift my hand to find out what was on my chest. It was heavy as lead. Was I wearing a chain mail shirt? It was an epic struggle just to raise my arm, and when I finally dragged it over my body I touched naked flesh. And there was nothing on top of me. What was this fucking weight?
“What the hell is going on? What the fuck did those creamsicles do to me?”
I got to my feet. It took a while. It felt like I was giving Andre the Giant a piggyback ride. A faint green light was coming from somewhere and after a bit I could make out some details. I was in a high-roofed cave, standing on an uneven stone floor. It was dry and hot and empty.
I turned to see if I could find the source of the green light. Behind me a translucent stalagmite was glowing a pale, lemonade green. By the time my tossed salad brain figured out where I’d seen a light like that before it was starting to fade.
I stepped toward it. I was so damned weak I could barely move. The stalagmite dimmed and went out. I touched it anyway. Nothing. Cold, smooth stone.
“Fuckers! Where the fuck have you dumped me now, you fucking fucks?”
I really shouldn’t have screamed. My head throbbed like a hive full of bees. My stomach headed for the exit.
When I was finished puking I looked up again. Now that the green light was gone, I could just see a dim pink light coming from the left. I stared until the highlights and shadows turned into a picture. A narrow passage. Somewhere down it was the pink light. There was no guarantee that whatever the pink light was would be better than this cave, but people tend to walk toward light and I’m people. I walked.
It felt like I was slogging waist deep in a peanut butter swamp. I clumped along like Frankenstein. The passage led to the mouth of the cave. I peeked out.
The cave was in the side of a cliff, looking over a landscape from a Mars lander photo; sand everywhere, huge skyscrapers of stone all over the place. The sky was blood red and the air was hot enough to curl your nose hairs.
“Hell, they’ve sent me to hell.”
Something moved in the corner of my eye. I ducked back, ready for anything. Far across the sandy plain some kind of weird vehicle with wheels on the roof was racing down a long, straight road. It got closer. I squinted at it.
It was a Chevy mini-van with a pair of kids’ BMX bikes racked to the roof.
I watched the mini-van drive out of sight again.
I laughed.
I couldn’t stop.
I cried.
I couldn’t stop that either.
I was back on Earth.
Now that I knew that, I knew where I was. This was Monument Valley. The weight on my chest was Earth gravity. The blood red sky was an Arizona sunrise.
I was home. I was where I’d wanted to be all along, away from a shit-hole world full of slaves and gladiators and naked sexists and killing, in one of the most beautiful places on the planet, one easy hitch-hike away from a bottle of beer and a Marlboro, and all I could think was...
I want to go back.
AFTERWORD
There were a few more things on the last tape—directions about sending the money, if I made any, to her Aunt Cici in Florida, “The only family I ever had that was worth a shit,” a warning not to try and find her, that sort of thing, but that was all there was of the story. I don’t know where Jane is, if she made it back to Waar, or if she’s still here, or if the whole thing’s just a big hoax, but you can be sure that if I do make any money, I’ll do exactly what she wants. The thought of making Jane angry, even if she’s light-years away on another planet, is not one that appeals to me.
Her last words on the tape were this. “Later, bro. I hope you can do something with this crap. I got a bus to catch.”
Acknowledgements
Ten years ago, I brought a sloppy parody of a planetary romance to a writing class taught by Emma Bull and Will Shetterly. I thought, in my hubris, that it was ready to be published. Emma and Will showed me otherwise, then opened my eyes to what
Jane
could be, if I took her seriously. Without them, this book would not be in your hands.
Nine years ago, I showed the newly reworked
Jane
to my friends Sue and Grey, who both gave me sharp, insightful criticism and kept me on the straight and narrow. Without them, this book would not be in your hands.
One year ago, I dug
Jane
out of its dusty drawer and showed it to Howard Andrew Jones, hoping he would tell me it was good enough to e-publish. Instead, he told me it deserved a proper publisher, and passed it on to his agent, Bob Mecoy, who also saw something in it. Without them, this book would not be in your hands.
Six months ago, Ross Lockhart at Night Shade Books read
Jane
, and... Well, you know the refrain by now. Without him, this book would not be in your hands.
about the author
Nathan Long is a screen and prose writer, with two movies, one Saturday-morning adventure series, and a handful of live-action and animated TV episodes to his name, as well as ten fantasy novels and several award-winning short stories.
He hails from Pennsylvania, where he grew up, went to school, and played in various punk and rock-a-billy bands, before following his writing dreams to Hollywood—where he now plays in various punk and country bands—and writes novels full time.
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