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The following work is the whole property of R. C. Conrad. Posting
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posted to any free site, provided notice is given to the author.
This story contains transgender images and imagery of magic. If
you are easily offended, please do not continue. Persons under
the age of 18 should not view this material.
I had a very vivid dream about this one last night. It turned
into a Sunday afternoon writing exercise. The continuation of the
story depends on responses and the idea factory upstairs.
Handmaiden
By R.C. Conrad
Carl Dubois paused a moment to rest beside a thicket of bramble.
As he scanned the rugged West Virginia terrain his breath curled
away from him in a cloud of condensation. With the ease of a
practiced hunter he shifted his hold on the rifle in his hands.
The department of fish and game had opened a special deer season
to deal with overcrowding. Since his parents were still residents
it was easy for him to get a permit. A few extra days of vacation
before Christmas and a quick drive from Pittsburgh found him in
the mountains he had called home as a boy.
His father had been eager for a chance to hunt with his only son
again. Carl had been busy pursuing a career since graduating from
college. Their once close bond, grown over the years of Carl's
youth spent hunting and fishing, had slowly grown apart. Carl
felt guilty for leaving his home, but there was nothing else for
it. He was his own man and he had a life to lead as well.
Dismissing the stray thoughts Carl turned his attention back to
the hunt. His father was running the brush at the bottom of the
ridge Carl was on. Carl would stalk along the top of the ridge.
Normally his father wouldn't be able to keep up with Carl's
younger legs. But since Carl had to be stealthy and his father
could trounce along, trying to spook the game it was an even
pace. This afternoon Carl would be flushing the game and his
father would be stalking. They had agreed to meet at the end of
the ridge at the old Indian mound.
The mound itself was something of a legend locally. It defied any
easy explanation. Indian lore from the region said it was there
since the beginning of time. The one attempt to get permits to
perform an archaeological dig on the site died quietly after a
lot of generating a lot of press. Carl didn't know the details of
why the attempt was halted, but locals chalked it up to bad mojo
with the mound itself. Carl dismissed most of this as rural
nonsense. He had grown up with this sort of semi-mystical
bullshit and living in the city had opened his eyes to the way
the real world worked. There were unexplained phenomena, but
there was no such thing as magic.
If Carl squinted through the trees he could just make out the top
of the mound through the trees. Something obviously man made, it
had eight sides sloping to a rounded top. It was an impressive
engineering feat. Especially considering the level of technology
was manual labor. It had survived the ages very well. Explorers
over 250 years ago documented it in their journals exactly as it
appeared today.
A rhythmic noise brought Carl out of his reverie. He recognized
the sound of slow hoofbeats on hard turf. Large, four legged
bodies were moving cautiously through the woods. Carl squatted
next to the stand of bramble to break up his silhouette.
His eyes searched the woods in the direction of the sound.
Fortune appeared to be with him today. It sounded like a small
herd; probably a buck and his clutch of does were coming over the
ridge from the side opposite the valley his father was flushing
game from.
Carl put his head lower to the ground. Peering from beneath an
overhang of dead branches he could see the bodies and lower legs
of five deer. The buck was in the lead. Judging by the size of
the body and legs it had to be a buck, and a monster one at that.
Carl estimated he had to be a record setter. No buck that size
had ever been taken in these woods to his knowledge. The smaller
does were taking up the rear. Carl raised his rifle to his
shoulder.
Something nagged at the back of Carl's mind as he lined up on the
buck. Something about these animals did not seem right. Carl
dismissed the errant thought and concentrated on his target.
He aligned his sights. Just behind the shoulder, at an upward
angle. This was a dream shot. If he didn't burst the heart or
lungs he would shatter the shoulder or sever the spine. Again, a
feeling of unease stopped him. Carl checked his foreground and
background for anything he didn't want to shoot.
The herd stopped. Had they heard him? At the last minute Carl
realized his error. This special season was to thin the herd.
Killing a buck would not do that for certain. Only killing a doe
would. Carl swallowed his distaste for killing females. It was
antiquated. This was needed to reduce the population unless more
deer would starve to death for lack of food.
He changed his sights to the last doe in line. He subconsciously
noted the buck shifting his weight to turn toward him. The buck
had undoubtedly spotted him. In just a second the whole herd
would bolt and Carl would lose his shot.
In one of those timeless moments Carl considered letting them go.
Just getting this close to a herd of deer in their natural
environment was rush enough. He lived and worked in a concrete
jungle a whole year at a time just to get a chance to be here.
Why did he need a trophy? He certainly didn't need the meat. The
taunting he would receive at work for failing to come home with a
deer wasn't the issue either.
He realized he wanted to do this for his father. His father had
always preached responsibility to him. Responsible citizenship,
responsible outdoorsman, responsible man. Here was a problem; man
had helped create the problem by killing the predators that
preyed on the deer. Now it was up to us to be wardens of the
wild. It was up to me, Carl thought.
And he squeezed the trigger.
He never heard the shot. The gun kicked against his shoulder and
he saw the doe jump and turn away. That's when he heard the
screaming and he knew someone had been shot. Without thinking he
bolted from cover, running toward the sound of the screams, the
doe forgotten.
His mind raced. He had checked the background. He had not seen
anyone but the bullet must have carried on after perforating the
doe and struck another hunter. Bad luck.
As he sprinted across the lightly wooded field between himself
and the doe he heard the sounds of cloven hoofs charging. He
turned toward them, expecting anything but what he saw.
Carl saw a thinly built man, rippling with muscles but wiry
instead of bulging in weight lifter style. His skin was tan and
tattoos covered his shoulders and biceps. His hair was chestnut,
exactly matching the shade of the four-legged body beneath him.
In one hand he held a large, knobbed stick, about 4 feet long. A
burnished silver-gray disk that was about a foot from Carl's face
concealed the other hand.
Carl's vision exploded and vanished into darkness.
Carl first recognized sounds. Nonsense sounds in human sounding
voices. Groggily, he managed to force his eyes open. Up and down
were oriented wrong. Down seemed to be under his face, but he
wasn't laying on anything. He looked down and saw that he was
floating above the ground, face down. A small pool of blood was
on the ground directly under his face.
As his AWOL body began to report in he realized that he could
barely feel his arms and legs because they were tied behind him.
From the feel of it he was hanging from a pole between his bound
leg and arms.
Somewhere close by someone was crying.
A man's face swam into view to his right. He babbled gibberish at
Carl. Carl gave him a bewildered look in response. The man
frowned and tried a different sort of gibberish. He got the same
response from Carl.
Snorting in disgust he stood up. Carl looked down at the front
set of his cloven hooves. Again the man started in with
gibberish, but this time in a commanding tone that power emanated
from. After a time he finished speaking and slapped Carl on the
head.
"Now, can you understand what I'm saying?" the man asked.
Carl rubbed his head on his shoulder to relieve the sting from
the slap. "Oww, yes."
"We have met most unfortunately young human. How are you called?"
"My name is Carl."
"Very well Carl, you may call me Arter. Know that you can only
speak the truth to us. Know also that we are safe from the
intercession of your kind. What happens here today happens
because you and we are meeting in these circumstances."
Carl didn't like the ominous implications of that statement, but
he nodded his head affirmatively.
He felt the bindings on his legs part and he placed them on the
ground. A moment later the bindings on his hands parted and he
was able to stand again.
"Come with me." Arter said.
Carl followed behind the centaur. For the first time he was able
to get a good look at him. His body was gray with coal colored
patches on his back. His skin was pale white. All around the
clearing the ground sloped away to the tree line 5 yards away.
After a minute of puzzling to himself Carl said, "We're on top of
the old Indian mound, aren't we?"
Arter turned his torso toward him while still walking forward.
"Yes," he said, "we're on top of the mound. But the Indians
didn't build this. This is an ancient site, sacred to your
Indians and sacred to us. We rarely come here, except for when
certain rituals demand it."
Carl contemplated that in silence for a moment.
Arter escorted him to a circle of centaurs. At a word from him
they parted to allow him and Carl access. Inside the circle a
female centaur lay sprawled on the ground. Another female centaur
crouched besides her cradling the human torso of the first.
The first female centaur had light brown fur on the horse portion
of her body. Slightly lighter spots decorated the back of her
equine half. Her human part was naked. The hair on her head
matched the color of her equine portion. The side of her equine
torso that Carl could see bore a small oozing bullet wound right
behind the shoulder. Her face normally would have been described
as pretty except for now it was twisted in pain and bore a mouth
that was a horror of blood and teeth. She looked at Carl with
accusing eyes and cried out, clutching the other female
comforting her.
The other female held her closely and stared at Carl as if she
were viewing a particularly loathsome insect. She was very
beautiful and elegant. Her skin was alabaster white and the hair
on her head and equine portions was jet black. Here eyes were
black in color and in expression. She looked regal, even crouched
there, her blouse stained with the blood of one of her kind.
Arter turned back toward Carl. "We know you thought you were
hunting animals in your woods, but you have done us a grievous
wrong. Normally I could heal Reatha here with a simple act. But
your weapon's bullet had fragments of cold iron on it. Magic
cannot stand before cold iron but there is one way to yet save
Reatha's life. It will require sacrifice on your part Carl. Are
you willing to accept that price?"
Carl's mind raced to understand what Arter was saying. His bullet
normally contained no iron at all, but it must have scraped
enough from the barrel lining to interfere with Arter's magic.
Still, it came back to accepting responsibility. He had wronged
these people, and now he had to balance that, no matter what it
cost him.
"Arter, if there is anything I can do to help Reatha, then I will
do it." Carl said.
Arter smiled. He turned back to the woman comforting the wounded
Reatha and spoke in the gibberish language again. She smiled and
nodded and looked back at Carl, this time not seeing him as an
insect, but perhaps as someone who had just made a tragic
mistake.
"So," Carl began, "what exactly do you need? Blood? Does she need
a transfusion? How about a hospital? They might be able to help
her there."
Arter cut him off with a scowl. "No, your human science is of no
help here. We are drastically different from you, even though we
appear similar, from the crute up. What I will attempt to do has
not been done in a hundred years. I am going to attempt to bind
your lives together. It could only have been fate that had this
happening here, on a high day. At any other time in this realm
there would not be enough raw power to even attempt this."
Carl just nodded, accepting what Arter was saying at face value.
Arter continued, "One thing you must understand Carl, once this
is done, your life here is ended. You can no longer dwell in the
realm that you humans have made your own. There are very few of
the fae that can exist in this realm except for on high days,
such as the solstices and the equinoxes."
Carl absorbed this bitter information. His mind flashed briefly
to his parents. He had been an only child and he worried that his
loss might devastate them. Then he guiltily thought of Reatha's
parents. Might they not feel the same way about her?
Sick to his stomach with the decision he was forced to make he
said, "Let's do this thing Arter. I don't have any choice."
Arter clapped a hand on his shoulder, "I knew many a brave human
long ago. I'm glad to see that bravery hasn't gone extinct in
your line."
Carl smiled at Arter then, taking what comfort he could from the
praise.
Arter tuned away and began shouting instructions to the other
centaurs then. Carl just looked on, feeling helpless. Quickly,
Arter was brought a shallow dish and a hand sickle, both looking
like they were made of bronze. Arter crouched next to Reatha and
began chanting. Carl's hair stood on end as a few wispy strands
of Reatha's hair rose from the back of her scalp to stand erect.
Arter quickly parted these with the sickle and caught them in the
dish before they could touch the ground.
Standing, he trotted over to a spot where a circle had been
inscribed in the ground. Turning back to Carl he said simply,
"You've no more need for those clothes, get undressed."
Embarrassed, Carl began undressing. The other centaurs in the
clearing seemed only mildly interested in his nudity.
Once he was naked Arter directed him to stand in the circle.
Stepping close Arter said; "Carl, the noblewoman comforting
Reatha is the lady Eowyn. Reatha is one of her handmaidens. She
has taken this as a personal matter. She wanted you killed right
away. I was able to intercede, but only because I felt this
ritual had a strong chance of success. Be warned, she will most
likely pursue this after the crisis is over."
Carl merely nodded, more bad news at this point having little
effect on him.
Arter began chanting and making gestures around the perimeter of
the circle. Carl felt the power beginning to gather. There was a
rumble of thunder in the clear blue sky. As Arter began to dance
and wheel about the circle Carl heard the other centaurs
beginning to chant. He didn't understand the words, but he could
feel them add their power to whatever was coming.
Thunder pealed again over the West Virginia sky as the power
began lifting Carl's hair. His arms extended out from the side of
his body involuntarily. Arter was mixing something in the dish
and chanting at the top of his lungs. Powerful gusts of wind blew
through the clearing knocking everyone around except for Carl,
who seemed rooted to the ground.
Arter approached the circle, still chanting. He held the dish
over his head and looked Carl in the eyes. Then he nodded and
threw the dish, contents and all at Carl. As the dish struck
Carl, the lighting bolt crashed down into the center of the
clearing.
Carl remembered trotting out of the gate at the end of the
procession. The other handmaidens were being escorted to the site
for Lady Eowyn's wedding to Lord Kelwyn. The honor guard assigned
by Lord Kelwyn led them through the strange land. They had been
warned that the creatures native to this land were violent and
would attack if they were separated from the party. There was a
powerful glamour over all of them to make them appear as native
animals to the unsophisticated eyes of the natives.
A very loud sound startled her. She turned away from it only to
feel her side explode in pain. A scream tore out of her throat as
she felt the iron burn into her flesh. IRON! She knew that for
whatever reason she had been consigned to a slow, lingering
death.
Consciousness fled then, coming back in brief glimpses of faces
that should have been familiar. Every time she would drag herself
back to consciousness the pain would send her tumbling back down.
Finally she woke to see one of the hideous natives standing
there. Either his skin was mottled brown or he wore something of
that awful color voluntarily. She hated it, not for taking her
life, but for killing her slowly and painfully.
Finally she woke again. People were helping her to her feet.
Arter was chanting still in the background, over and over the
phrase, "Be alike, be one." She looked around at the crowd. She
knew all of these people. Yet, she could not place any names with
the faces. She was very confused. Finally, the greatest shock
possible came when Reatha came out of the crowd to stand before
her. But she was Reatha! No, that was not right, she was Carl. He
was Carl. His mind reeled, close to shutting down.
Arter came to stand beside her then. Grasping her shoulder he
spoke aloud to the crowd, "This one, who was known as Carl, has
given everything to correct a mistake. Since she has no kin, I
claim her as my own daughter. And as we all know that Carl is a
good name, if you are a troll." The crowd laughed at that. "I
gift her with a proper centaur name. Deirdre."
Carl looked down at his chest, where two firm and ripe young
woman's breasts now swung gently. Even further down where his sex
used to rest he saw nothing. Turning around he saw a light brown
back with slightly lighter spots. It felt right, and it felt
hideously wrong.
A woman's voice brought her back to reality. With a start she
realized she recognized it as Lady Eowyn's voice.
"Arter, your daughter is past maturity, is she not?"
Arter paused a moment, and then replied, "A good question milady.
I suppose it could be argued many ways, but for the sake of
simplicity, yes, she is a mature centaur."
"Good." Lady Eowyn smiled a blood-curdling smile. "For I desire a
new handmaiden. As a noble born it is my right and your honor to
submit to my wishes and have her live as a member of my
household."
Carl felt thrilled that Lady Eowyn would chose her to be a
handmaiden. Even though he knew she was doing it to exact revenge
him for injuring Reatha.
Arter turned to Deirdre and stepped forward to hug her. While
embracing her he whispered into her ear; "Remember only Reatha
will see that you come to no physical harm. For what harms you
harms her as well, and vice-versa. However, Reatha may yet
gleefully help to crush your spirit."
With that Arter parted from the hug and held Carl's left hand
extended to Lady Eowyn. Lady Eowyn took it and looked at Carl
expectantly. Arter stage whispered to her, "Kneel!"
Gracelessly, Carl lurched down to a front legged kneel and bowed
her head as Reatha had been taught to do long ago. A titter went
up from the crowd at her clumsiness and Carl felt his cheeks
color involuntarily.
Lady Eowyn dropped his hand and said, "Rise handmaiden, and serve
me."
Carl rose to her feet and was greeted by a smile on the face of
Lady Eowyn that belonged on a viper.
To be continued?
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