Mine to Take (17 page)

“No worry!” Gruntel piped up. “All nice. Good place. Good people. You like.”

Traed turned to the guide. “Are you sure, Gruntel?”

The guide bobbed his bumpy head up and down. “Much good place. Very comfortable.”

Traed turned to Gian and Jenise. “We can hope it is so.” He sidestepped in front of Gian, saying in an aside to him, “In case he is wrong, I will go first,
taj
Gian.” He removed his Cearix from his waistband.

Gian nodded, grateful for the additional protection for Jenise.

Traed set one foot inside the Tunnel. He pivoted halfway, saying to Gruntel, “Much nice, hmmm?”

“Much nice,” Gruntel affirmed.

Traed stepped through the corridor that joined worlds.

Gian waited a few moments in case Traed sent them a warning, but none came. Which might mean nothing or everything.

“Come, Creamcat.” Gian led Jenise into the maw. Gruntel was close at their heels, sniffing.

If anyone had been in the mining camp, he would have heard the Familiar man hissing at the Wiggamabob.

Followed by the imperative,
“Stop it!”

Followed by feminine amused laughter.

The land before them was starkly beautiful.

Until the cold hit them.

“Did you not say much nice?” Traed pulled his cloak about him, giving Gruntel a skeptical look.

The guide beamed, taking a deep breath in the icy air. He exhaled with great satisfaction, grinning broadly. “Much nice!”

Jenise smiled even as she shivered. “It seems he likes the cold.”

“It would seem so.” Traed replaced his Cearix.

“I wonder which way we go?” Jenise pointed to the three icy paths in front of them. They were standing on a hillock in a forest covered with ice and moonlight. The air, though cold, was crisp and clean and invigorating. It was night on this world.

“Follow path to center!” Gruntel chirped. He bounced to the front of the group and happily led the way.

Gian looked at Traed, questioning if they should follow. Traed shrugged. “It is as good a way as any.”

“True.”

They fell in behind the self-proclaimed guide. Gian brought Jenise under the warmth of his cloak.

“Is this better?” he whispered to her.

“A little.” She nodded, feeling his sultry heat through the double layer of cloaks. “You are always nice and warm, Gian.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “I was thinking the same of you.” His hand under the cloak tickled her side.

She laughed, enjoying the moment with him. A thin layer of snow coated the ice on the path. Their footfalls made crunching sounds in the night and everything around them was bathed in silver light. “Silver and ice,” she spoke softly. “It is almost magical here.”

Gian gazed down at her. “Yes.”

Her breath caught in her throat. The silvery moonlight made him even more stunning, if that was possible. “I am so glad to share this moment with you, Guardian of the Mist.”

Jenise believed in moments. The Frensi taught that ultimately one perceives the reality of one’s life by the moments he chooses to commit to memory. When these chosen moments are strung together throughout a lifetime, their patterns form a mystical helix that the inner spirit climbs. The Familiar belief was much the same.

Her simple words touched him greatly. “I as well, Creamcat.” He brushed her lips with his own.

Gian reached inside the waistband of his
tracas.
“For you.” He handed her a small faceted sliver of red crystal. “To replace the one Karpon took from you.”

Tears came to her eyes at the Familiar’s kind gesture.

She held the treasure in her palm protectively, closing her hand over the tiny gift. For the rest of her life she knew that every time she gazed upon Gian’s gift she would remember the incredible night they had shared in the crystal room.

He had given her yet another moment to vibrate along her lifeline. “I will treasure it always.”

“As I treasure you.” He kissed her mouth, purring against her sweet lips.

Gruntel tugged Traed’s sleeve. “Look! See what they do!” He pointed to the embracing couple.

Traed shook his head at the nosy guide. “Do not look upon that!” he hissed.

Gruntel scratched his bumpy head. “No?”

“No.” Traed turned the wayward guide about to face front as they marched along.

“Hmf! She think he tasty too!” Gruntel complained.

“Not in the same manner.” Traed rolled his eyes, continuing on the path.
Quests!

Towards dawn, they came upon a stone abode next to an icy, flowing stream. They had not seen any beings during their journey through the night and Jenise was starting to wonder if Gruntel had been correct.

“Go there!” Gruntel said excitedly. “Friend. Rest for day.”

“Is he saying we are to find shelter ahead?” Gian asked Traed.

“It would seem so.”

“Are you tired, Jenise?” He hugged her to him. “Or do you wish to go on?”

“No go on!” Gruntel jumped up and down. “Too far to Tunnel. Too dangerous. Must have help!”

“Dangerous? What do you mean by dangerous?” Gian demanded, concerned for Jenise.

“Way too steep. Need help.”

“I believe he is saying that the route becomes difficult to navigate.”

Gruntel bobbed his head at Traed.

“Perhaps we should take his advice,
taj
Gian. He has proven correct thus far.”

Gian glanced down at Jenise. He knew she would not admit it, but he could tell she was wearying. “We will stop.”

Traed and Gruntel went ahead.

“Why does he ask you what to do, Gian? Traed seems like a man who would not ordinarily do such a thing.” Jenise gazed up at him, an inquiring expression gracing her soft features.

Gian paused. “It is his way.”

“It does not seem to be his way,” she responded shrewdly.

Gian shrugged, pretending no interest in the topic. In reality he was astounded by her astute observation. He would have to warn Traed to be more circumspect.

Gruntel pounded on the wooden door with his crooked staff.

High-pitched yipping came from inside, followed by raspy grumbling. The door opened a few moments later to reveal a fur-covered being who stood almost as tall as the two men. He had round brown eyes, a round black nose, and two small, pointy ears sitting at an angle on the top of his head. He tapped the side of his forehead to indicate he had no translator device.

Gruntel took over the conversation for them, speaking to the being in snorts and guttural sounds. They obviously knew each other.

Gruntel turned to them, grinning his two-toothed smile. “Ogga let you stay for rest.”

Traed nodded. “Tell him we thank him for his kindness.”

Gruntel translated. Ogga’s tongue hung out of his open mouth in what everyone assumed was his version of a grin. He ushered them inside into the warmth.

Jenise looked around the main room of the small abode, happy they had decided to stay here. The room was lit by a huge fireplace. Heavy woven rugs covered the floors and there were low cushions scattered about for resting upon. A kettle of soup was heating over the fire, its fragrant herbs filling the room.

She sighed. Shedding her cloak, she sank wearily down upon the nearest cushion. Gian sat next to her. Jenise marveled anew at his feline ways. The Familiar sat very close to her, touching her at various points of her body with his. It was as if he were silently letting her know of his presence and protection while at the same time telling
anyone watching that he considered this person one of his own.

Traed recognized the pose immediately, for he had seen it countless times in the past with other Familiars, both male and female. It was another Familiar enigma—they were fiercely independent and yet they positioned themselves as guardians to those they cared for.

Ogga was a gracious host. He offered them all bowls of the steaming soup, handing the first bowl to Gian. Somehow he knew the Familiar was the one whose approval he had to gain.

Guardian of the Mist cocked his head to one side and examined the brew. Using his special senses, he ascertained that the concoction would not be harmful to them. “It is safe,” he said in a low tone. Even though Ogga could not understand him, he did not wish to insult the generous alien in his home. He handed the bowl to Jenise so that she might refresh herself first.

She gratefully took the brew, for she was quite hungry. She swallowed several times before stopping to inform them that it was delicious.

They all eagerly drank theirs.

After they had finished eating, Gruntel and Ogga carried on a conversation by the fire—much like old friends do. After a time, Gruntel turned to Traed. “Ogga say he take you on to Tunnel with his Wee-chukchuk.”

“Wee-chukchuk…what is that?” Traed was stretched out across several cushions, his hands folded behind his head. Despite the relaxed pose, the Aviaran was, as always, fully alert.

“He say very fierce, very brave. Can go over ice. Wee-chukchuk respected by all. Only take if they like.”

“Hmmm.” A strand of his hair caught under his cloak as he turned on his side. He yanked it out, irritated. “Ask him if he has a leather thong to tie back my hair.”

Gruntel snorted something to Ogga. Ogga’s tongue lolled out in a grin. “He say no. Too bad for warrior who think he not Charl.”

Traed narrowed his eyes. Ignoring Gruntel’s obvious pleasure over the situation, he watched Gian place a sleeping Jenise carefully down on one of the cushions. He idly wondered what it was like to care for a woman that much. To feel that kind of…

The path of thought disturbed him on many levels, so as was his wont, he squelched it.

“She was exhausted.” Gian covered her with his cloak.

“Is she your
tajan,
Gian?” Traed asked bluntly.

“I have said so, have I not?”

“I know you were captured on Ganakari—I saw your physical path.”

Gian was impressed with Traed’s ability. “I did not know you possessed the Sight, Traed.”

A small, ironic smile curved the dark-haired man’s chiseled lips. “No, not many do. I revealed myself to the Guild to save Rejar.”

Gian sat up. “Rejar has been found?”

“Yes.” Traed filled him in on the story. “And he brought back a non-Familiar mate, Gian.”

Gian had to hold back his laughter so as not to waken Jenise. “Rejar always did have to be first when it came to blazing new paths.”

“True,” Traed agreed as he thought of his capricious brother-of-the-line. He was sure the half-Familiar was not having an easy time of Yaniff’s lessons. The few he had taken as a youth were enough to tell him that someone like Rejar must be tugging at the harness. Traed’s eyes gleamed as he pictured how Lorgin must be mercilessly teasing him.

“So you have saved Rejar as well. I owe you much, Traed.”

The Aviaran bristled. “You owe me nothing.” Traed did not like to owe or be owed. Such was his nature.

“Nonetheless…” Gian stated firmly.

A dull bronze colored Traed’s high cheekbones. “How did you get free on Ganakari?”

“Jenise helped me to escape.”

“It had to be more complicated than that.”

“It always is. She is not Ganakari; she is Frensi.”

“Frensi?” Traed looked over at her speculatively.

“What is it?”

“Do you know anything about the Frensi?”

“Not much. Just that they are a nomadic people.”

“There were some Frensi on Zarrain where I lived. They are a passionate people.”

A very male smile crossed Gian’s face but he said nothing.

“Ah.” Traed could just imagine. “Has she danced for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You would not have to ask if she had. They say a Frensi female has one special dance in her and she performs it only once in her life for one person. It is rumored to be a mystical, beauteous thing. She uses no words, just movements, to resonate with the soul of the watcher. The dance depicts the image of pure love. Once seen, the one who has witnessed it is forever moved.”

Gian was stunned. He gazed at her as she lay sleeping. “I did not know,” he murmured.

Traed switched the subject away from love and devotion, wondering what had ever made him bring
that
up. It was unlike him. “The Guild is most anxious to see you.”

“And I them. We have much to discuss. The Familiars are in grave danger, Traed. I will call in every favor owed us by the Charl.”

Traed raised his eyebrows. For Gian to say such a thing, it was serious indeed. “I will get you and your
tajan
safely to Aviara, Gian.”

“Of that I have no doubt. Yaniff has sent only the best to me, for which I am grateful.”

Traed inclined his head at the words of praise coming from a man he respected.

“Let us get some rest. I have the feeling our journey will not be a peaceful one.”

“True. We must deal with these fierce Wee-chukchuks.” Traed paused, saying in his usual bland way, “Perhaps they will like your tasty smell, Gian.”

Gian arched his brow. “Why should they be an exception? It appears everyone else does.”

Traed snorted.

Both men lay down on the cushions to get a brief rest.

The following night when the moon rose, Ogga led the group around the back of the cottage.

A low, raftlike platform rested there on rails. In the center of the platform were two waist-high poles with crossbars. Ogga motioned for Gian and Traed to stand at the poles while Jenise and Gruntel sat at their feet, facing forward.

“He get Wee-chukchuk now,” Gruntel informed them. “Hope they like. Very fierce.”

Gian and Traed nodded seriously.

Loud barking sounds came from behind the shed. By the sound of it, Ogga had his hands full. The two men prepared for the battle of wills that was sure to ensue.

Ogga rounded the corner.

Leading him were eight tube-shaped animals with fluffy heads, lolling tongues, wide paws, and wagging double tails. They stood only one-and-a-half hands high. Gian’s and Traed’s eyes both widened incredulously but neither man said anything. Out loud. Both, however, were thinking the same thought:
This is the fierce beast?

Ogga hitched up the Wee-chukchuks and climbed onto the platform. He waited anxiously.