WandWpart20

Warning Multiple viewpoints. This always annoys the hell out of me when someone else does it, after starting from a first-person viewpoint. I mean, what nerve! Mark of a lousy writer. Etc etc.

I managed to sweet-talk Jalin into Carson's monster bed, get him off to sleep. He was yawning his brains out, poor kid. We'd kept him way up past his bedtime, me and Carson. And then me again. Even a sixteen year old can only take so much.

Not that he went quietly; in fact he was grouching along pretty good. He was worried about the use of dragon magic in the forest, wanted to talk about it. He was a smart kid, he knew something wasn't right. He wanted to discuss it, analyze it. Understand why it was happening.

I definitely didn't. Because the note it struck in my soul was old pain, awful memories. And it all made no sense. Before discussing it with Jalin, I needed to think about it a little more. Not that I cared to do that, either.

I didn't like it. I'd learned to trust my instincts in this reality. To pay heed to feelings that back in Berkeley I would've passed off as delusional, psychotic or drug-induced. Even if the feelings made no sense at the time.

And this kind of made no sense. I mean, although no one had seen a dragon for ages, remnants of their magic still came to light here and there. I'd learned a bit from Jarone, more from the elf in my head who'd actually known dragons personally.

Although they knew how to use mana, it wasn't really their chosen form of magecraft. Nah, the dragons were fond of devices. Gizmos, if you will. They built things; magic mirrors, time machines. Toaster ovens, for all I knew. The dragons were the ones who'd honeycombed this world with travel-portals, and they still worked too. But since the secret of how to choose your destination was lost, most people avoided them except for the terminally ignorant. I thought of the grim story Jarone had told me, of his arrogant wizard friend who'd stepped into a portal, sure he could master it. He'd come back thirty years later, beaten to a pulp. Had traveled not to the nearest town, as he'd intended. Nah, he'd gone through both time and space, right smack into the middle of the Black Lily Wars. Where mage and priest fought each other, and thousands of mortal people had died in between their holy battle.

Jarone's friend had pretty much assured the success of the mages, in that little brawl. Of course he'd died thirty minutes after returning to his own time, but who's to say that nothing happens for a reason?

What I said now was, "Jalin, chill. It's probably nothing. Dragon magic is more like technology, right? Doesn't even require a real wizard to use it. Probably some bonehead warrior with a magic ring or something. I'll check it out when I have a chance."

He eyed me doubtfully, but yawned even as he spoke in a way that made my own jaw crack like a breaking skull. "It's not so common, though, Hawk! Especially in the North. And you're troubled. I know it. What's wrong?" The last said in such a honey-sweet, concerned way I almost told him the truth before remembering he was just a kid.

'What's wrong is I'm a lousy lover," I growled. Since I pretty much believed it at this point, it came out more convincing than me lying usually does. "Still embarrassed. Hey, next time you get the long slow glide and all the trimmings. Between all that flirting and my pants getting stuck, I went a little berserk there. Not my finest hour."

He burst out laughing, then snuggled obediently into the soft dark furs. "Though admitting none of your opinions, Hawk, I will still hold you to the future promise, if you please."

His eyes were heavy and soft on mine, peeping over the rich black pelts. Totally trusting. I felt like a big fat shit. "I please. Now get some rest. I'm gonna go and plot out our magic. It might be early evening or even tomorrow before we can try it. I was forgetting about sleep and all that good stuff there, when I said this morning."

"Er. Well, Jalin, to tell you the truth, not really." Though after all the activity of the last few hours, you'd think I'd be snoring as I stood there, instead I felt alert. Ready to start accomplishing something. And with a nice little buzz on, like after I treated myself to a depth charge at the Java Shack. Now that was utterly cool. Being an elf was good for something besides sex!

About three hours after dawn, two hours since he'd let me know about the user of dragon magic, I released Jalin's peacefully sleeping body. Pulled some soft tribal clothes from one of Carson's cabinets. Oh yeah, there was all kinds of stuff there in my length now. Did I mention how considerate my bad boy could be?

I slipped out of the Warchief's huge tent, primed to get jumped by some tribal buddies all delighted that the real me was back. It didn't happen. For whatever reason, it wasn't as busy this morning as usual. In fact, instead of the usual bustle at this time of day, the place looked totally deserted.

Oh. Could be, um, that the whole bunch was resting from the orgy the night before. Sharing elven senses didn't mean sharing the big bad elf's recovery time. I felt a little guilty to think everyone was probably flat on his or her ass from backlash.

But I was also relieved. I needed this. I needed solitude, for a handful of minutes. I needed to try and figure this out, even though I really didn't want to. I needed to remember the horror of the past, maybe, but also confirm the wonder of the present. Something maybe I didn't do often enough, a form of saying thanks.

The sun here is a red star; larger than the disk of glaring white light that warms Earth. It's no less warm, but it tints the sky a sleek violet rather than blue. No less bright, yet everything under it takes on a soft warm glow. There were twelve moons here. Each night was different, a fantasy of color and magic. Especially when two or three moons shared the sky. And the stars were not only colorless crystals; sapphires, rubies and emeralds rode the black velvet that roofed my home. Other jewels, in colors I had no name for. The Northern heavens were nothing like the Southern skies. We had real gods here, and they liked a bit of drama and art in their surroundings.

No coffee, no television (dammit!) But this world was strange and beautiful without either one. Carson was here, and we were in love, and no one had a problem with it. Hell, our people were all for us as a couple in fact, "proud as peahens" as Do'nar would say. More comforting than you can believe, for a guy who'd made a career of ignoring other people's opinions.

I'm thankful to be here, in case I never said it before. You hear me, Tyr, Thor? I know I consider gods kinda more like superheroes with delusions of grandeur than as divine beings. But just because I don't worship doesn't mean I'm ungrateful. I know we're here to do a job, though I don't completely understand what it is yet. I know the runesword Sun Killer is part of it. And fighting the Southerners, and now the Easterners too, which would probably be worse since they were sneaky and adapt at magic.

But there was something even more important, just beyond my vision. I knew it. I could feel it with both elvish and human senses. Something huge, cosmic, terrifying. But though I strained to pick out details, there was nothing concrete. Or maybe, it was so intertwined with the more mundane threat of war that I couldn't see it. And the pushy elf in my head was stubbornly silent now, of course. After a week of stealing my body, the fuck, scaring everyone I knew witless, he at least could have dropped a couple hundred more clues here and there.

But I know the Lords of Law considered our job so important that they were willing to break all kinds of rules to keep us from doing it. Like putting us on Earth, in Berkeley. Not only in the wrong universe, but in the wrong personas. Me Warrior, Carson Wizard. Cast into incorrect roles, that should by all rights have killed us or driven us insane. I mean, think of Kevin Nash trying to learn rocket science, while Albert Einstein gets tossed in the WWF ring to be pounded on. Okay, a dumb and imperfect analogy, but you get the idea, a bit.

And that willingness to break rules made me really doubt that what we were here for was as simple as helping the Tribes kick ass on a couple other nations who were trying to prove their mousy worth by taking the Northlands over.

Yeah, I'd been a jock of sorts on Earth, believe it or not. But with an emptiness in my soul I couldn't quite understand. Carson had been a computer geek, the closest you could get to magecraft in a world so thin on mana. And Carson had understood everything that was happening; it was part of the torture, for him to know.

The Chosen Warrior was a skinny nerd on Earth. The Wizard? Well, not a football jock; for some reason team sports weren't my thing, and I guess they hadn't been able to shove me into a tank body. Maybe there wasn't one available at the time. But I did sports, track and field, swimming, Surprised myself, when I decided to major in English and history, go for a teacher's certificate. There was some need for learning struggling inside me, in spite of my father's desire for an Olympic medallist to make him proud since I definitely was nobody's fullback.

And if this all wasn't enough, they'd sent a darkangel to eat Carson's Earthly father. Kind of a backup security system to make sure we never reached Khesh. They did a number on us, the fucking Lords of Law and Chaos.

Choosing to send a soulstealer of magical darkness into a basically mundane world to stand guard, well, that was a blunder on their part. I guess they were trying to block us from our fates with the most awful thing they could think of.

He'd waited quietly in the Hawk's arms. Pretending to be asleep. Really, it was not so difficult, to relax in such a place. To nuzzle into the scent of vanilla and cloves that seemed to fill Firehawk's hair. To press against that silken body, and glory in the thought that he'd been ravished by this dream of flame. Who was still so wonderfully human, his friend and teacher.

But despite his rapture he knew, when the wizard finally pulled free of him. Stood and watched him for a moment. Breathing a bit harder than usual. The Hawk wanted to share his thoughts, and Jalin mentally begged him to do so. Hawk. I know most of it already. I'm not a wimp; you don't need to protect me!

As if the idea had booted him, the wizard sighed, and left. Thinking the wrong things. Not "He's a wizard too, I should tell him everything." Thinking instead, "He's just a kid. Can't handle it!"

Dammit! He'd stop his maudlin thoughts about Keith, he supposed. The man wasn't all-knowing, not even close. Hawk, gods damn you, the elf who stole you away told me more about what faces you than you know yourself!

And once again, despite his promise, Firehawk was running off to danger and leaving Jalin behind. Oh, he was afraid; he had never been a warrior or wanted to be. But for Firehawk, even for the Nightwolf, maybe, he felt he could fight. At least, he had a brain they could use if they found his muscles too feeble! Why couldn't they realize that?

The boy crawled out of the luxurious bed. Then swiftly, into white leather pants, a soft blue shirt. Firehawk wasn't the only person who could stow his clothing in the Warchief's tent. Finally, he pulled his longer hair into a braid of frost down his back, tucking the chin length waves in front behind his ears. He was tired, but he had work to do.

The Hawk would call him later, to do magic. He wouldn't be caught sleeping like a useless fool! No matter how long it took. And now, he needed to think. To prepare his mind, as surely as any warrior donned armor for battle.

He had never been specifically asked not to snoop. Still, he felt like a thief as he rifled the Hawk's belongings. Pulled forth the well-worn packet of images from Firehawk's world. Photos, he'd called them.

A different Firehawk. Handsome still, he felt, yet not the same. Features and body not yet refined by the elf blood. He looked physically stronger, but very human, and at least ten years older. Mostly brown eyes, barely touched with green. And with faint lines in his face that no longer existed. Most of the images of him were somewhat funny, he always looked slightly inebriated, a little goofy. Somewhat like Do'nar on a feast day, he thought amusedly. But in this one, Jalin's favorite, there was no trace of intoxication.

He was smiling straight forward, eyes sparkling and very aware. And just by the look on his face, Jalin knew who had made this picture. He understood that it was done with some kind of a device, but that someone with a degree of care and knowledge must operate the "camera".

From the small amounts of information he'd gleaned, Jalin knew the two had been in love in this other world. But that the Hawk had tried to fight the feelings, because all the rules of his world said it wasn't "right." To love someone of the same sex hadn't bothered him as much as loving someone twelve years younger than himself, though both feelings were considered somewhat wrong. In Jalin's private opinion, the rules of their world bordered on idiotic. Even though he realized that people aged differently there, that someone considered a man by Tribal standards would be judged as a child in this strange place called California. And there wasn't even any kind of decent reason given, why those of either the same or different sex should be ashamed of loving at any age.

The few pictures of Carson were more like himself in attitude, if less so in appearance. By the gods, he looked to be even smaller than Jalin himself by a goodly amount, which filled the boy with a kind of uneasy delight. A scrawny, dark-haired boy with a flat, cold expression. Trusting nothing and no one. As composed as a blade of ice, and just as reachable.

Jalin smiled slightly, not fooled. He flipped carefully, to his favorite group of pictures. Of the two of them, together. Pretending to punch or wrestle, but laughing into each other's eyes. The one of Keith grinning as he tickled the boy. The pictures were innocent, almost childish. And yet, to Jalin they couldn't have been more erotic if the pair had been caught wrapped around each other in passion. What they felt gleamed through the horseplay clearly enough to him.

//What is the task they are here for? You know, don't you?// He'd been as polite as possible to the elf in Hawk's body. By the third or fourth day, when they'd actually started to understand each other, he'd wanted to knife the bastard more than talk to him. There was nothing that annoyed him more than seeking knowledge and being refused it, as if he were a slow-witted child who couldn't possibly understand.

The elf had studied him cynically, though Firehawk's eyes. //I know, naturally. Though it is not a thing I would be foolish enough to tell you about. Magic happens when it happens. Doom arrives, and any misguided attempts to forestall it by those who believe they know better only cause more hurt. Relax, boy, in your ignorance. Be glad of it.//

The Hawk was wonderful, magical. But he was far from infallible. He treated Jalin as a child. Wanting to protect him rather than master him, as his other lovers had done, but still! Jalin sighed slightly, and dropped the photographs into the wizard's backpack. Really, the Hawk's desire to coddle him was more annoying than being bullied ever had been. Though he couldn't help loving the man all the more for it.

But he was partly dragon, or at least linked to them. And the Lord Tyr had given him that spirit guide, the war god himself not some tribal shaman! He felt a fierce pride in this, and knew already that the gift had begun to change him. The Hawk should have spoken to him about the dragon magic used in the forest. Not run away, trying to protect him.

//Much will be asked of your Hawk. Far more, of your Warchief. He will be asked to save the Land at a price maybe too high to pay. Be glad, boy, that you do not know everything. Sometimes ignorance is better.//

The boy stared straight ahead, and slowly his clear grey eyes lost the last shred of dreaminess that studying the images of Keith and Carson in their other world had pulled forth in them. His face was the chill and perfect mask of a young battle-angel.

The exasperating elf may not have been forthcoming with anything but dire hints and threats, himself. But he had indicated curtly, with a gleam in his eyes, that there were books in the uncovered library which would explain the workings of dragon magic, a little. If one had the intelligence to figure it out, and the talent to use it. And dragon magic was all about information, knowledge, and, as Hawk had mentioned, "Technology." Whatever the hells that last word meant. It sounded impressive at any rate.

I have a brain, he thought, and I know how to use it, elf! And I have a name that boasts my talent well, for this magic. I'll probably figure out more on my own than even you can tell me!

He felt the strange, glittering, fierce pride that had always seemed so strange, to the hesitant, scared part of him that was human. A good thing. He needed a way, some magic to keep it with him as he sought for answers.

As he shoved the Hawk's pictures deeply into the pack, his fingers brushed something soft, then got caught in the folds of the cloth as if meant to notice it. Curious, he pulled the garment forth, and smiled faintly as he studied it. One of the black short-sleeved tunics of light fabric that Keith always sported. The weaving work was laughable, compared to Tribal clothing, but that didn't matter. What mattered were the incomprehensible, magical runes that crossed the garment. The eerily life-like picture of some Earth-world magician above the letters, crouching in flame, fierce and defiant.

He eyes tracked the runes beneath with no understanding. And then something seemed to click in the part of his mind that was dragon, and a shudder ran through him like a voice speaking in his flesh.

He turned the garment to the backside, finding more runes as he expected. These were painted on, not woven into the fabric as the designs on the front had been. A bit more irregular, and Jalin realized that Keith had added these runes himself, turning the shirt's magic personal. And raising its power to a height that made the boy feel dizzy.

Jalin swallowed, not noticing the tears that came from the power of the mantra, unlocked and sliding down his face like crystal. "Yes!" he whispered, and his voice was ecstatic. Almost dangerous in its intensity.

By the time he'd stalked ten paces from the tent, his anger had vanished. He wanted only to turn around abruptly and return. Pull his exasperating, stubborn fool of a lover into his arms and never let go. Idiot of a so-called wizard! More warrior in his heart than many who boasted of their strength in battle.

Braver than his warchief a thousand times. If he is willing to fight beside me, can I refuse him through fear he will be hurt? Of course he'll be hurt. Battle is battle, and when has he ever given less than his whole heart and soul? Damn this!

Instead of returning to his tent as he wished, the Warchief trudged grimly to the arena. The Swordmaster was not to be found, and for that he was just as glad. He began to take out his temper on the heavy practice poles, slashing viciously at the sturdy targets as he spun and danced in the battle moves that were so like martial arts.

How foolish they'd been, the Lords of Law and Chaos, to trust their plan to a creature so ultimately corrupt. The angel's job had not only been to make him despair. It was also supposed to keep him away from the one who was truly Wizard. The other half of his numb and broken soul.

The moment Keith had appeared, he'd known who he was. Though since Keith had been trained as Warrior this time, he had not recognized the Wolf. Not through the shroud of a skinny, geeky teenaged computer nerd.

Carson had tried so hard, to drive him away. Knowing that the darkangel hungered for his power. The only reason the Beast had let Keith near was that he desired to take both of them at once in an ultimate feasting. He remembered the creature taunting him, in the mask of his father. The mask that had never fooled him for an instant.

"I'll eat him first, you little bastard. Right in front of you. You fight me, but he won't. He'll beg for sex, he's old enough in this reality to love every minute of it. And then I'll eat his soul even while he's kissing me in gratitude. I'll suck him dry, you little fuck, and you'll watch every minute of it! And I'll drink you down next like the afterthought you are. Why do these fools always think the Warrior is the dangerous one? Doesn't matter, eat you both!"

He'd believed the Thing. And how desperately he'd tried to insult and goad and get rid of that defiant red-haired hippie musician with the strange flecks of green in his dreamy brown eyes. To save him. Only to save him. Because never before or since had he wanted anything, anyone with all his earthly soul.

He'd thought at first it was the Beast's doing. The darkangel, already deep in the meglomania that was the bane of its kind, had encouraged the boy and his new tutor to get close. Going totally against orders, actually wanting the power to rise between them somewhat so that it could consume it. Contemptuously certain that whatever happened, it would be strong enough to take them.

The sixteen year old Carson, despairingly, had believed it too. He had been the Beast's thrall since early childhood, and though for some reason he could not stop fighting back he truly felt the battle was hopeless.

Until Keith had come, like the antidote to pain and darkness. "Hey, kid, fuck this shit of these big dorks kicking your ass, it just ain't right. But I can follow you around every minute, so I'm gonna have to teach you something different than moth-eaten history dates here. Everyone thinks I'm a pussy, too, but check this out!"

Martial arts, fighting skills. It had somewhat astonished him, how proficient the older man was. Keith could be a bit of a bastard in his own way. He dressed like a reject from the sixties, always looked a little high. But he was far from a pacifist. And more likely to flip an opponent the finger than a peace sign. Hand them their own head rather than a flower. And he slyly admitted to Carson that, yeah, he kinda cultivated his stoner appearance to draw in the red-necks and bullies looking for an easy target. It was fun as hell to bust their bubble, not to mention their asses. "Surprise, surprise, surprise!" he chanted gleefully in a terrible Gomer Pyle impression, eyes gleaming during their lessons as if in remembrance of the dumbfounded freak-bashers who'd gone down beneath his skill. "Can't wait to see you kick YOUR first ass, kid! You're good at this!"

And to his stunned disbelief, Keith was right about that. The learning of this alien discipline had not only come easily. It had wakened the Warrior in him. And so when Keith had curiously questioned him about the computer's mysteries he'd smiled somewhat, downloaded RPG games as full of color and sound as he could find. Knowing in his heart where playing them would lead the older man, down a path of fantasy to the doors of enchantment.

Many weeks of this, learning and growing in ways he'd never imagined. And then his "dad" had then been contacted by the Lords, to come and report. He didn't dare refuse, to do so would draw their suspicion, and they might find out what fire he had been playing with. Hiring the True Wizard, to tutor the True Warrior in the high school subjects he was shaky in. Lucky for him that mana was so weak in this world they couldn't monitor his doings by magic.

Oh, the darkangel watched carefully, to make sure no really dangerous teachings went on between them. Or what it would have considered dangerous, anyway. The kickboxing and other training the creature considered as much of a stupid game as the fantasy worlds Keith slogged through on the computer screen. Even in dementia, the angel realized that certain things might be too dangerous, but he considered these pastimes just sufficient to get them where he wanted them. He wanted them somewhat close, wanted some power to rise between them. Enough to make his own strength invincible after he devoured them.

Instead, he had been forced to leave when his Masters called from Europe, his plans delayed. Enraged, he had given curt instructions that Keith was to not go near the boy until he returned. And Keith had agreed with seeming indifference. Even remarked that it would be nice to get back to his music and his babes for awhile, instead of spending all his free time trying to teach history to a bone-head math geek. The darkangel had smirked at this, and truth to tell the comment hurt the young Carson a bit. Even though, unlike the Beast, he had realized the duplicity of it. Watching in a combination of fear and delight, as the flame of green rose mockingly in the usually sleepy brown eyes.

So he wasn't the least amazed, on the first night of his father's departure, to hear a light knock at his window. He had been, well, scared. A little angry at this damn fool risking himself in such a way. His room was on the third floor, the trellis wasn't that sturdy, and for all Keith knew his father might have changed his mind. But he couldn't help laughing a bit when he threw open the window. His tutor was clinging to the sill with leaves tangled in his red-gold mop of hair and a stubborn but faintly panicked look on his face. The third floor of the mansion was way above the ground. A slightly less drunken Keith might have thought twice about it.

This Keith grinned at him maniacally; for some reason he thought of Woody Woodpecker. Damn the man for getting him interested in cartoons! "Well, don't just stand there glaring at me kid, grab the back of my jacket and pull me the resta the way in. I'm too fucking scared to let go here!"

He followed instructions, surprised that he was strong enough to do it. Also surprised, at the rush of affection that filled him to bursting and beyond, even as he swore at the damn fool automatically. No. Something more than fondness, this time.

The older man cracked up, partly from relief that he had fallen inside the bedroom rather than down the forty-some feet to the driveway. Partly from an overdose of beer and pot, judging from his breath. He hugged the boy in sheer delight at the success of his housebreaking attempt.

Carson's amusement had dissolved almost the instant Keith landed on him, pressing him into the rug with his greater weight. And though his grip around his teacher was just as fierce, there was no giddy humor involved. And no innocence left. Between one second and the next, in a sheer firestorm of desire, he knew what he wanted, needed, had to have. And how they could defeat not only the darkangel but his masters as well.

The Nightwolf now smiled gently, remembering. His blows upon the pell had softened, and he drew back entirely as if to rest. He didn't need rest; hadn't even broken a sweat in the twenty minutes of savage exercise. But to batter on a post of wood while thinking of that older, stammering, so-human Keith he had known in the past? Impossible.

He'd cut his tutor's silly squawking off in the simplest way. And though his kiss had been unpracticed and clumsy, sheer surprise had frozen the redhead's struggles. His mouth had opened, maybe to voice more protests. Carson's tongue had slipped inside almost accidentally.

Their tongues touched. Keith had ----- groaned. Oh, he could still hear that sound, deep and helpless and maddened. Could still feel the shock, not only of pleasure although that had been intense enough to actually frighten him.

Power had flared up between them like a storm of wrath. Sweet and pure as summer sunlight. Dark and overwhelming as the undertow of all the world's oceans. The change in their bodies, and minds, and very souls had seemed to the young Carson like the shifting of continents, the birth of suns.

He was far from a virgin. The darkangel had abused his mind and body in many ways since the age of eight, and rape was one of its weapons. This was so different it was almost holy. This was the difference between torture and desire, horror and love. So different he almost couldn't think of it as sexual.

And it happened instantly. With that kiss, which was also an admission, a contract. A recognition between the two of them. They didn't really even need to make love after that, to begin the change into whom they were meant to be.

They might have fallen through into Khesh soon after, except the darkangel had felt it happen. Had come raving back as fast as possible to kill them both for their insolence, breaking a thousand laws of time and space. Still not able to get there instantly, though. And by then, the appalled Keith knew everything that the boy's father had done to him. And what the man truly was, although the concept of "darkangel" left him a bit unbelieving until he saw it for himself.

The Nightwolf smiled a bit, eyes closed. Remembering his lover, wild and fierce, defending the frail sixteen-year-old against the Beast. First with only his body. And then, with the Fire their lovemaking had unlocked inside him.

He hadn't. He was totally untrained, half-terrified at the slavering thing that attacked them in its true form like a bad dream or the lead in a B horror film. But he had defended them both, with all his heart and soul. And with an untamed, righteous fury that had touched godlike in its bright power.