Guardians of the Portals (27 page)

Wolf nodded that he understood. He was going to elaborate on his own experience as his gothi clearly expected something of the sort. But given the residual tension in his groin, he wasn't sure that was the elaboration Eirik was interested in. His face flamed again at the implications. A warrior required cunning, bravery and a certain physical prowess—all traits that if enhanced would be admirable additions—but this,
this
moved him into the whore category, a sexual being consumed with matters of the flesh. He was no stranger to satisfying his needs, but circumstances often conspired to leave him celibate and focused on the demands of his post. He'd never regretted it until now.

If Eirik was trying to interpret whatever he saw on his face, well, he wished him luck. There were too many puzzles in one day for either of them to handle. Hoping for guidance, he'd come away more confused and upset than ever. Denial would have been easy—a clear command of 'do not touch' would have been enough for him to reassert control over himself and his assignment. But in his world, nothing was ever that simple.

Instead, Eirik did what he did best, he prevaricated. "I think we'll leave the task of how best to harness Caitlin's powers to our researchers. With our help, of course." That subtle emphasis on 'our' raised all manner of interesting prospects. His groin tightened at the possibilities.

Giving him leave to explore what had started as spontaneous combustion opened up intriguing avenues for all of them to follow. It put him at risk most certainly, and they could ill afford his distraction to unpredictable circumstances. But, if he could enhance her powers, help her over the hump so to speak, perhaps they would be light years ahead in harnessing her abilities.

Eirik rose from the chair. "I see you understand the implications, Wolf. Time grows short. We fight a battle on many fronts. Greyfalcon continues to abuse their stewardship of the Portals, leaving us all at risk."

Yes, that battle was a clear and present danger to this, and every other dimension accessed by a Portal. How Caitlin and he fit into the mix was a more vexing problem, one for which he had no frame of reference and even less experience.

He was about to press the issue when Eirik spoke. "Please see to our guest's comfort and continue with your duties. I would consider it a favor if you could move your relationship to a less adversarial level."

Wolf stood, feeling light-headed. Gothi had given him leave ... to what? He wasn't sure he fully understood, not on a rational level. But his gut told him he'd just been given a present of inestimable value.

He inclined his head and strode to the door, but before exiting he turned and said, "Sir. Thank you."

"My pleasure, boy." He grinned slyly. "Perhaps I should say this one will be all
your
pleasure." With a chuckle he said, "It's times like these when I wished I wore a younger man's clothes."

****

W
olf took the stairs two at a time, landing with a thud on the wood floor. He needed to get control over his racing thoughts. If someone wanted to know how he felt, the only term that came to mind was 'giddy', as girlish and foolish as that sounded. He sank onto the sofa vacated by the woman, her scent and warmth still lingering, faint but traceable to his heightened senses. He looked out the window, surprised that dusk had fallen. He hadn't realized how long he'd been with Eirik. The skies had opened up, dumping heavy, wet snow. Pellets of ice pinged against the window and the wind had picked up, moaning a mournful tune through the chimney. The flames flickered as the last logs settled and released their energy.

Opening the glass door, he poked at the fire, distributing the ash and creating a bed for new offerings. He added two medium sized split logs and remembered idly how it had taken several swings with the ax to split the hardened wood. He'd heard this species referred to as 'piss oak' in deference to its resistant properties. But it burned hot, leaving a minimum of ash. Aching shoulders seemed a small price to pay in exchange for BTUs.

Noting that the catchment tray for the ash overflowed, he dumped it in the cast iron container. His brain on overload, he desperately searched for simple mundane tasks, something he could do on automatic pilot while his subconscious processed the tantalizing tidbits his gothi had doled out. The sandy driveway had been slick when he'd shoveled away the last coating of snow. Spreading the ash would give him a base when he made his way to check for mail ... and other things. If nothing else, it gave him an excuse to pass through the kitchen. If he were very lucky she might still be there, though the odds were against, given how much time he'd spent upstairs.

He was only vaguely disappointed to find the kitchen empty. He observed with interest that his carving had been moved and the newspapers disturbed. She'd obviously been examining his work and he resisted the urge to fondle the piece, fearing she might have altered its properties somehow. He was seldom a selfish man but about his work he felt strangely territorial, at least in the creation phase. It was a monogamous relationship, a bond where the wood only revealed itself as a matter of sacred trust, a delicate balance of give and take.

Wolf pulled the door open and reached for his plaid wool jacket but instead of the familiar feel of the rough material he gripped slick quilted cloth. He muttered, "Damn," and set the ash container on the tile floor. He hated having things out of place.

"Where the hell did...?" he growled as he stared at empty pegs. The woman had taken not only his jacket but also his watch cap. As he moved aside the tangle of boots and shoes, obsessively lining pairs together in neat rows, he found that her boots and gloves had gone missing. This was not a good time for her to be on one of her rare forays into the open. Even if she stuck to the clearing, being out in that weather with it growing dark was sheer stupidity.

The sleet hit the metal roof like a downpour and resounded with earsplitting, headache-inducing noise. He raced to the garage to see if she were sheltering in there while watching the storm but the area was empty save for their vehicles. Nor was she in the wood shed.

Thinking the woman might have come in through the front door, he ran back through the house. The door remained securely locked and judging from the amount of snow on the deck and steps, no one had come to that door in quite some time. Everything to the front of the house appeared undisturbed.

"Damn it, where are you?"

He took the steps two at a time and checked her bedroom, his and then gothi's. His commander was sound asleep, snoring softly. He looked old and frail under the heavy quilt. Since there was little point to waking him, and even less he could do to help, Wolf opted to let him sleep. No sense in panicking just yet, though that was exactly what his gut was doing. He had the classic 'I've got a bad feeling about this' moment as he raced to his bedroom to find something to wear.

He pulled his light weight tee-shirt off and threw it on the bed, followed by his jeans. Silk Long Johns followed by Goretex insulated pants, and a heavy navy blue Norwegian sweater formed his first line of defense against the elements. He chose a lighter weight Goretex pullover jacket and felt like the marshmallow man with all the layers, but at least he'd stay warm. Instinct told him the weather would only get worse. If she'd gotten herself turned around out there, it was way too easy to get lost. His jacket would be ten sizes too big, leaving her body to blow off heat and risking hypothermia.

He stuffed a Walther PPK into his pocket, along with extra ammo. On a hunch he reached into a drawer and drew out compact night vision binoculars and hung the strap about his neck. He shoved the binos into his sweater to keep the lenses dry and headed down the stairs. One last sweep through the house confirmed the woman wasn't there. At the garage door he assessed the indentations in the snow pack. He could see the path he'd made earlier in the day, slightly widened. He grinned. Perhaps this would be an easy tracking job. He moved back into the garage and made his way by feel to the workbench, the garage pitched in darkness. He didn't want his night vision compromised so he felt around under the workbench until he found what he needed. He shoved the small flashlight and a lighter into an inside pocket of the jacket.

On his way past his truck, he debated whether or not to take his shotgun. It would add unnecessary weight given the conditions he might be facing. He regretted having no snowshoes. Back home where snow and ice were perpetual companions, he was well aware of how nature could overcome all but the best prepared and best conditioned. He seldom traveled anywhere without being armed to the teeth. There was something to be said for tradition. He grabbed the 12-gauge Mossberg pump action and slung it over his shoulder.

Wolf stepped into the tracks he'd made earlier, now only a soft indent and barely visible. At the road he paused to look both directions. No vehicles had been past in the last several hours. He back-tracked and spied a weak trail leading uphill. She'd gone that way for gods-only-knew what reason. With a curse, he turned uphill muttering, "
Fuck fuck fuck."

––––––––

Z
ack whispered into the handset, "Base. Are you there?"

"Give it up. Falcon said it's gone." Kieran made a small adjustment in his position, easing aching muscles, and blinked the sweat from his eyes. The salt burned but he didn't dare let it distract him.

"We can't hold out much longer. It's getting dark."

Kieran clenched his teeth and peered through his scope. The shadows shifted, wavering in the early evening heat. He'd nailed one of the hostiles, maybe wounded another. They'd backed off just enough to stay out of range. He didn't like that they seemed to know his weapon had limits.

His voice echoing his growing concern, Zack asked, "How is it they're so organized, Kier? Hell, it says on the computer they're supposed to be—and let me quote here—'primitive'. They don't act primitive to me."

Falcon skidded down the slope and joined his men. "I have to agree with you, Zack. There's something going on. Our intel might be screwed on this dimension. Maybe we dialed into the wrong place. I dunno."

Kieran sat back on his heels, considering another option. Both Zack and Falcon stared at him expectantly.

"I'm not liking the thought, but what if somebody got through the gate without our knowing? Headquarters hasn't done a good job lately of tracking all these damn jump points."

Zack asked, "You mean, like the Althings?"

Falcon shook his head
no
emphatically. "Not them. There's no way they'd mess with an indigenous culture." He tapped Kieran's shoulder and pointed at movement off to the left. Kieran nodded and adjusted his position. "But I think you might be right, Kier. Somebody's been here. Maybe they haven't armed them but they sure as hell have given them training. That's a well-schooled advance party."

Chuckling derisively, Zack said, "Maybe they didn't have to arm them. Maybe that's exactly what we're doing." He waved toward the stacks of crates.

"Shit, you might be right. All they have to do is wait us out, starve us, kill us, or take us prisoners. Don't matter. They'll have it all and it'll be our fault." Kieran fired off a round, his gut clenching with frustration.

Growling, "I'm feeling a set-up. Zack, come with me," Falcon waved the man to follow. When Kieran looked at him curiously, he said, "I've changed my mind."

The two men scrambled up the hill, leaving Kieran to puzzle over the change in plans. His head still pounded from the auditory assault. Who knew that vocalizations could be used as a weapon, elevating blood pressure to near catastrophic levels? That, combined with the unrelenting heat and lack of water, wreaked havoc with his eyesight, compromising his distance vision. He tried to relax his focus, alternating squinting through his scope with staring at the sea of reeds stretching to the horizon. The straw-colored mass undulated in quantum ripples with illogical frequencies. That seemed wrong but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Kieran wriggled away from his sheltered position, curious if any breeze had kicked up. Given the time of day, there should be updrafts but he felt nothing. He called up to Falcon and Zack, "You got any wind up there?"

Perplexed, Zack replied, "Uh-unh, still as the grave. Why?"

"What about out on the flats?"

"What is it, Kier? Talk to me." He had Falcon's undivided.

"Maybe nothing. You want to fill me in on what you two are doing up there?'

"A little surprise for our friends."

"Well, I hate to put a crimp in your party plans, but we have a situation here." Kieran folded the telescoping supports on the M40A3 and scrambled up the hill to join Zack. "We were right about that being a scouting party."

Zack looked at him curiously, "And?"

"The whole fucking army's moving into position. I expect that as soon as it's dark, they're going to swarm this rock." Kieran paused to stare at Falcon. "What's he doing?"

"Um, said something about calculations. He's been doing that weird shit for a while."

Kieran had seen his friend doing 'that weird shit' before; but he'd had no clue, at the time, what it meant—nor did he right now. It seemed to involve a lot of hand waving and poking at empty air.

"Falcon, whatever the hell you're doing, do it faster. We're running out of light and out of time."

"Hold onto your knickers, ladies, almost there. Yeah, one more. Uh, okay, got it." Falcon rocked back on his heels and swiped his palms on his cargo pants leaving a streak of moisture and grit.

Grousing, "Got what?" Zack stared wide-eyed, then spit out, "Son of a bitch."

Kieran yelped, "Holy sh—! How'd you do that?"

"Give me a hand. We need to shove this stuff through. I don't have much control over stability. This fucker's just cobbled together." Falcon pointed to Zack. "Start with the smaller crates. If we run out of time, I'll blow the rest."

Kieran jumped up to help Zack muscle the heavy boxes toward the Portal. He turned to ask Falcon for help but stopped when he saw the man deep in concentration, his entire being point-focused on the dancing curtains with the appearance of pale blue fluid. Unlike the normal jump points, with their well-defined topography, this one skittered over the rough ground, the energies dislodging small stones and sending them cascading down-slope in an avalanche of sand and grit. If they were very lucky, that would give the scouting party pause to consider what they were up to. Kieran knew, by now, that the scouts would realize he'd moved off position. They'd be advancing, slowly at first, then in full attack mode once they had confidence they wouldn't be cut down. The rest of the army, or horde, couldn't be far behind.