Adventure

Trevon looked at the amulet he held in his palm, wondering about its true value if this man was so desperate to have it back. Trevon could not believe the beautiful stone held any magical power, but he was sure it was worth more than he had originally thought. He gazed into Violet's beautiful eyes and was taken aback by the raw emotion there. He had an unexpected and overwhelming urge to comfort her in some way.

Comfort was usually the last thing on his mind around a beautiful woman, but looking at Violet, he couldn't help himself. He wanted to make her smile. He could not stand seeing her so pained. His surprising new feelings made him quite uncomfortable. Trevon closed his large hand around the amulet.

He took the map so he could examine it closely with his well-trained eye. He had seen so many maps over the years and prided himself on being able to spot a fake better than any other man. This map looked authentic, but the only true way of knowing was to follow it. You never could tell what you would find at the end of a treasure map, nor its value, until it was followed. A treasure map was nothing more than a promise of adventure to those brave enough to chase the trail.

Trevon's blood began to race at the thought of a new treasure hunt. And having this beautiful woman around was not an unpleasant thought either. It was an interesting proposition for sure. It had been an impulse decision to ask for her in exchange of the amulet. Something about her riled his passions and he was used to pursuing anything that stirred him even half as much as she did. The thought of having her and the map made his blood boil with excitement.

Cupid's heavy breathing jarred his lungs. He'd been on the run for the last hour. Every time his pursuers caught up, a feint here, a dodge there, enabled his escape.

The smell of the wharf assailed his senses as the evening's drizzling rain muted the normal odors of the natural and unnatural. A foghorn from a distant ship on the bay beckoned to the land bound. Shadows leapt forward, vicious creatures seeking to impede his progress. He tamed them, utilized the surreal gloom to his advantage.

A painful throb to his side caused him to bend over where he placed his hands on soaked knees. He fingered the torn right leg of cloth, pulled it back to reveal a battered kneecap. Shit, this is--was my favorite suit. The cold night air inflamed the injury, caused the open wound to sting. A grimace twitched his lips as he recalled its cause. He slipped on a forgotten dead fish in an alley on his last run from the group.

Far off voices and the echo of heavy footsteps forced Cupid to recede into a cavity created by two shipping containers improperly stacked side by side. The narrowness of his cave forced his breathing to slow.

"How did he disappear so fast? We were right behind him," a nasal whine of a voice emanating from a man pierced the night.

"I don't know," a frustrated cultured British accent from another man responded.

A woman's voice, clear and high-pitched, offered a harsh answer.  "Could it be that you're both idiots?"

Cupid knew Mistress Fate had arrived. The Brit mumbled something but Cupid couldn't understand him.

"You're lucky you're good in the sack, Mr. Remington," she snapped in cruel reply. "Otherwise, your markers in Vegas would be due and owing right now."

The cheeky Mr. Remington was silent.  A few minutes after Fate's last comment, only the sound of soft rain against metal and another blast of a foghorn gave Cupid the impression he was alone.

To play it safe, he waited a few moments more before stepping out of his refuge. He peered around him.  His pursuers were gone. Cupid found his bearings and hobbled toward the point where the night's chase began, exhausted, hurt and hungry. "Care to share?" he inquired to a feral cat that eyeballed him with territorial certainty, protecting its rat buffet.

The animal hissed and grabbed its dinner, slinking backward toward the cover of garbage cans.

"How rude," Cupid stated. A shrill whistle broke the night and caused him to stop. It was the kind of attention grabbing sound construction workers used to heckle pretty girls as they walked by their work zones.

Cupid froze. He rolled his eyes and sighed. This night is never going to end. Turning to gaze at the source, despite the weariness pouring through him, his admired the perfect body of his black leather clad captor in appreciation.  She is something.

The thud of footsteps behind him initiated a glance over his shoulder. Two of Fate's Universal Solicitors were fast approaching. He recognized the handsome Mr. Remington's blond blue-eyed beauty and the creepy bugger of a man, Mr. Leach. Cupid shuddered as his gaze landed on the cowlick bald patch with its gray tufts of hair sprouting from the sides of Leach's egg shaped head.  The wiry mess somehow found a way to take root in his ears. Cupid's lip curled in disgust. By Zeus, Leach, will you do something about that?

Cupid turned once more to meet Fate's cobra stare with a grin and nodded politely to the woman approaching him. "Ursula, a pleasure as always." Her smile was dazzling. Eros imagined all the sharks of the Pacific Ocean bowed their heads in appreciation of its toothy cruelty.

"Eros Bubala, hasn't your mother ever told you it's dangerous to play outside after dark?"

"I'm a big boy, I can handle it."

Ursula strutted toward him. The sway of her hips was hypnotic. If they were not on opposite sides, he could show her a few things about hips--his and hers. She had no problem invading his personal space. Standing very close, her spiked hair poking his cheekbone, she sighed. As tall as he, only because of four-inch stacked black leather stiletto boots, she leaned toward his right ear and whispered seductively.

"Do you really think so?"

Cupid's eyes and mouth popped open in startled surprise as the pain of a dagger's blade stabbing through his diaphragm shocked his brain into paralysis. A numbing sensation followed. He looked down at a spreading stain that looked black in the dim glow of streetlights muted by the mist of moisture in the air. He laughed. "You won't succeed," he muttered as the threat of unconsciousness pulled him down to the wet ground. He fought to stay awake as two sets of masculine hands lifted him. One of the hands rifled through his rear pocket and pulled out his wallet. Damn lawyers, always stealing your money.

"Dump him." Fate ordered.

The freezing cold saltwater lay claim to him, the current making a human buoy of his powerless body before a rip tide tucked him under the pier and water filled his lungs. A final thought cavorted through his mind before he blacked out. My tailor's going to kill me.

Getting airborne through the heavy overcast was, as her reluctant pilot promised, a harrowing experience. But once the twin engine Otter broke through the clouds, it settled down and sunlight, now low in the western sky, glistened off the snow-capped peaks that jutted above the cotton-batten blanket below.

Though a break in the clouds Kim saw a tiny lake and thought of her father. He’d said there was great fishing up here. Perhaps she could arrange for them to stay at a place like Baker Lodge. They hadn’t spent any real time together in…she couldn’t remember. But there just wasn’t time. Not yet anyway. The drone of the engine and the long day of traveling caught up with her and she began to feel drowsy.

A knock on the side of her head woke her up. Surrounding the tiny plane was thick shroud and the turbulence was bouncing the aircraft around like a toy. The pilot was sweating as he concentrated on his instruments. Suddenly, Kim had the feeling she was in an elevator with a broken cable.

“Hang on, lady! We’ve hit a downdraft!”

Her first thought was would she survive? Her second was if she did, would anyone find her? With a jolt, the plane leveled out, but before she could congratulate herself for being alive, the pontoons were trimming the tops of huge evergreens. Then there was the flat black surface of the lake rising up far too quickly.

The next thing Kim knew, she was hanging upside down and the cockpit was filling with water. A quick glance to her left and she realized she needn’t worry about the pilot. His face was covered with blood and his head was twisted at an odd angle. The windscreen was shattered where he had made impact.

She unhooked the harness and promptly fell into numbingly cold water that could only be described as glacier fed. Her door had sprung open on impact. Had it not, the rising inky blackness would have made it impossible to budge. Bobbing beside her was the contract- filled attaché case. Kim grabbed it and struggled out of the submerging craft.

Treading water, she turned and watched the tail section of the plane sink out of sight. The shore was a dark silhouette in the dwindling twilight, at least a hundred yards away. If she was going to live, she’d have to swim for it.

She struggled free of the pantsuit jacket that was weighing her down and constricting her arms. A Gucci loafer slip from her foot and she momentarily wondered if she should try to retrieve it.

What am I thinking?

She kicked the other shoe off and pushing the attaché case ahead of her, began to head for shore. With every stroke, she swallowed more water. Water so cold it had already left her extremities without sensation and made her head ache.

After a minute or so, she stopped swimming and looked to see if the shore was getting any closer. It was nowhere in sight. In her confusion, she had turned around and had been swimming toward the middle of the lake. Panicking, she flailed wildly, then stopped exhausted, coughing up mouthfuls of frigid liquid.

I’m not going to make. I’m going to die.

Adrenalin surged through Kim’s body and she swam with renewed energy. But it was no use. She was no longer cold, just numb, and so very tired. I’m sorry I never got back to see you, Dad, she whispered to the black water and relentless wind. Hot tears ran down her freezing cheeks when she thought how devastated he would be.

She’d been too busy. Too busy, she realized, with things that didn’t matter. I want to sleep now, but first, she wondered, will my life flash before my eyes?

It didn’t. Instead, something grabbed her by the collar of her blouse, then clasped her beneath her arms, and pulled up and out of the deadly bath and into a canoe.

Kimberley sat shivering in the bow of the tiny vessel. In the dark, she couldn’t get a good look at her rescuer and her vision kept fading out of focus. He wasn’t a big man, about five foot ten perhaps, and lean—the word sinewy came to mind. He had a mane of long fair hair that was hanging lose around his faced, further concealing his features. There was a no nonsense confidence in his movements and he handled the canoe with skill and agility. She could feel it respond to each strong stroke of his paddle as they slipped through the black water towards the shore.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. His voice sounded rusty, like it wasn’t used much. It was quiet, but distinct.

“I don’t think so,” she replied, her teeth chattering. Her mind felt anesthetized, her limbs sluggish and there was a ringing in her ears that distorted sound. Something wet ran down her face and into her mouth. It tasted salty.

The canoe nudged the shore and he sprang from the stern, pushing it up onto the beach. When Kim got out, her legs were unresponsive and she collapsed. He picked her up without effort and carried her up the beach. She wrapped her arms around his neck and despite herself, began to sob uncontrollably against his chest.

“Frank, the pilot?” she muttered.

“I’m afraid he didn’t make it.”

“I made him fly today,” she moaned. “He didn’t want to, but I was behind schedule and I had all the documents for the signing,” Kim continued, her voice filled with anguish and tinged with hysteria. “The Coliseum Mountain Ski Development will make my career. There’s millions of dollars on the table. I had to be there. But now I won’t and a man is dead and it’s my fault,” she said, convulsing again into choking sobs.

“It’s not your fault. He knew the risks. You’re lucky to be alive.” His tone was soothing as he carried her toward a lean-to, beneath a huge evergreen at the edge of the forest. Carefully, he laid her down in the shelter on a bed of soft moss, covered her with a sleeping bag and knelt beside her. “You’ve got a nasty bump on your head,” he said, parting the strands of her wet hair and examining the cut. His hands were warm as they wiped the blood from her face with a bandanna. “I’m going to find something to put on it to take the swelling down.” He began to rise, but she clutched onto his arm.

“Please, don’t go.” Suddenly Kim was terrified of being alone. “I’m…I’m afraid.”

He clasped her hand in both of his and settled down beside her. “Sure,” he said, and his voice calmed her. “I’ll stay right here.” As the adrenaline wore off and the shock set in, Kim found it impossible to keep her eyes open. The last thing she remembered was her rescuer stroking her hand and crooning, “You’re alright. Everything is going to be okay.”

Later that night, she awoke screaming from a nightmare of sinking into infinite darkness. The blackness disoriented her, but again he was there, stroking her hair and telling her everything was all right. She tried to make out his features, but his face was backlit by the flickering campfire. Again, her mind took refuge in a deep sleep brought on by shock and despair.

In that semi-conscious state before becoming fully awake, Kim fleetingly thought the plane crash had been a bad dream. But when she poked her head out of the sleeping bag and surveyed her surroundings in the weak morning light, it all came rushing back.

She wiped her eyes with the edge of the sleeping bag, summoned up her resolve, and sat up. The sudden movement sent spears of pain through her temples and she felt nauseous. Ever so slowly, she lay back down and the queasiness subsided.

She took a physical inventory beginning with the tips of her toes. Except for her right shoulder, which was extremely tender, and some pain when she breathed deeply, all parts seemed operational and, miraculously, undamaged.

Gingerly she touched the crown of her head. There was not much of a lump considering how much it hurt, but what was this green slime on her fingers?

She heard the crunch of footsteps approaching across the rocky beach. It could only be the man who rescued her and she was eager to express her gratitude to this stranger, who not only saved her life, but who was taking such loving care of her? But as the tarp flap was lifted, she was struck dumb by what she saw. Gazing down at her, with a look of compassion was…

“Jonah Baker!” She winced at the pain the noise of her own voice made reverberating in her skull.

It's dark, and I hear the water lapping around me, pressing on my shoulders like liquid hands. It reminds me of a scene in a film, when the heroine is floating in the icy ocean, waiting for rescue.

Except that I'm not in the ocean, and it isn't icy, and I haven't just seen my boyfriend sink under the waves. As far as I know, Jase, who is the nearest thing I have to a boyfriend, is living his usual life of skateboards, I-pods, pizza and patches of poetry. And--well, come to think of it, my situation doesn't remind me of a film after all. It doesn't remind me of anything much, except the fact that I might be five seconds or a million years from home.

Or have I simply slipped through the cracks of reality?

Here I am, treading water in the dark. I can hear the splash of the Jindabek Foss above me. In a moment, I'll dive back through, and then I'll be home again. I hope. I hope.

Well, it's logical, right? Diving back will be like clicking "Undo" on the computer. Or maybe it's more like clicking "Back" on the Internet browser, since "Undo" makes the original action as if it had never happened. All "Back" does is to take you back to the page before.

The things that have happened to me since I dived through the Foss the first time don't mean much in the global scale of things. I mean, what's one gell… I mean, girl … more or less? The world doesn't depend on my courage, and if my theory is right, I won't even rate a mention in the local paper. If my theory is wrong, I'll rate far too many mentions, and everything will be horrible.

It must be right.

It has to be right.

As I just said, the things that have happened are not much in the scale of things, but they are more than much to me…

So, think, Corrie. Think about going home.

And kick-start your brain and get into some serious recall, remembering all the steps that led you here…

“How long does it take to get there?” she shouted.

“You don’t have to yell. I’m not deaf. We’re almost there.”

“I can’t see a thing. I don’t even see any stars. All I see are huge rocks.”

“Those rocks are your stars. Down on Earth, the moonlight lights them up and they become what you call stars.”

“Is Kelhatmor another planet? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Kelhatmor is only known to us and the children who are fortunate enough to visit it.”

“I’m going to look stupid in my nightie. I wish I could have put on some clothes. What will everyone think?”

“All new arrivals first come that way, either in a hospital gown, pajamas, in your case a nightie, and sometimes only underpants. No one will laugh at you. You’ll be welcomed in our midst with joy.”

“Wow. It must be some kind of a magical place. At home, if anyone would see me like this, they’d all make fun of me, just like some kids at school made fun of my bald head.”

“Children on Earth can be cruel sometimes. They don’t understand. But you haven’t gone to school very much. Didn’t your mother teach you at home?”

“I went to school sometimes. I even started high school, but then the tumors in my head grew again and I had to go back to the hospital.” The memory of those days made her sad for a moment, and then the thought of her parents sitting by her bedside. “I guess they’ll be very sad for a while after my funeral,” she told Rhuntana.

“Funeral? Girl, I don’t want to hear you talk of death again. You’re very much alive.”

“Sorry. Then it’s a dream. Never mind, I’m enjoying all this even if it isn’t real.”

Rhuntana didn’t answer her this time so Polly assumed she was right, she was dreaming. The vast space around her suddenly got brighter and she thought she saw a light in the distance.

“We are approaching Kelhatmor. You’ll see it soon,” Rhuntana said.

Polly strained to see through the dim light and yes, soon she saw something. At first it was just a dot, then as they flew closer, it resembled an island. Long vines dangled from the bottom. It didn’t seem to be attached to anything, just floating free in space. The area around them brightened even more until it became a vivid mauve. Above the island Polly saw a brilliant sun surrounded by a mauve halo sending mauve beams in all shades down to the island. Peeking out from behind the sun was what looked like a very purple planet.

“What’s the name of that planet?”

“That’s Zultfor. We go there on field trips sometimes to study its exotic animals and vegetation.”

“Wow. I’m going to love it here.”

“Pollyanna, no one stays on Kelhatmor permanently, but yes, you will enjoy your visit with us. Get ready to land now.”

At first glance, it seemed that Brough was right. Hartwell’s crew was outnumbered, Brough’s cannons had blown yet more gaping holes in the upper decks of the galleon, and Nani and his followers appeared to be trying to bribe the enemy rather than fight them.

Fortunately, Hartwell’s closer inspection revealed that Madrigal had knocked his opponent unconscious and now had free use of his hands, while behind them, the door to the rear cabins had opened and Madrigal’s brother, Anatole, had stepped through. On his own, Anatole was large enough to give any invading crew pause for thought. Behind Anatole came the second reason for any invading crew to turn and flee. Mechatronic had emerged onto the deck.

The invading crew gasped in horror as the silver woman stalked haughtily through the lines of brawling men. Cries of “It’s a mermaid!” and “It’s a demon!” echoed out over the ship.

“We will take your surrender now,” shouted Hartwell over the mêlée. He would prefer to end the confrontation without bloodshed, especially when the blood in question was that of his own crew. He looked over at Captain Brough, whose bravado had deserted him somewhat.

“Kill them!” screamed Brough eventually. “Kill them all before they curse us!”

Hartwell rolled his eyes in disbelief—why couldn’t anyone just run away or surrender on seeing the silver figure of Mechatronic? Why the innate urge to kill her and all her associates? It was something to ponder over but later, when he didn’t have someone trying to slice his head from his shoulders. “Madrigal, their sails,” he yelled.

Madrigal lifted his hands and pulses of bright green energy slid out from his fingers, burning the flesh and making him yelp. He forced his hands to stay on target as the pulses flowed outward to Brough’s ship, striking the side and blowing chunks out of the deck and rail. The rigging and masts exploded under the onslaught, the sails catching fire as sparks flew left and right.

Brough and his pirates screamed in terror, some running back to their ship, others trying to kill whichever crewmembers they happened to be facing.

One lunged at Mechatronic, who parried the blow and punched the man on the nose, dropping him, while another headed for Anatole, madly waving a small axe over his head. He never made it. Susanna ran out onto the deck and flung her arm out toward the man. A whip of fine metallic strands erupted from her skin, slicing through the pale flesh as it shot forward and entwined the pirate round the legs, tripping and concussing him on the hard, wooden deck. The whip retracted and the skin healed in Susanna’s wrist, leaving nothing but a faint white line.

“I do worry that whip is not entirely ladylike,” murmured Susanna to herself as she rubbed her wrist, feeling the pain quickly ebb away to nothing.

Soon, only Brough was left standing. He watched as his last two men, who had been fruitlessly attacking Hartwell for fifteen minutes, grew ever more despondent and tired until one made an error and Hartwell neatly disarmed him. The second man, seeing that Hartwell was still fresh, dropped to his knees and threw his sword away in supplication.

“What manner of cursed demons are you?” gasped Brough in fear.

“We are not demons,” replied Hartwell.

“Though we may be cursed,” muttered Fitch, darkly.

Back in England after the Great War, Archie Douglas meets a young lady whose beauty takes his breath away. But Cicily Broadbent, student of Egyptology, has sworn never to marry. She believes that Nekhbet the White Vulture, virgin mother goddess of ancient Egypt, can grant women children without man’s touch. Determined to win her hand, Archie awaits the day when she grows out of this experiment with paganism. But when Cicily succeeds in re-awakening the goddess, Archie has more to worry about than just losing Cicily.