Under Her Protection: Stories of Women to the Rescue

UNDER HER PROTECTION

Stories of Women to the Rescue

Edited by

Siri Paulson

Stories by

Kit Campbell

Siri Paulson

KD Sarge

Erin Zarro

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed within are either fictitious or used fictitiously.

Individual stories Copyright 2014 by their individual authors.

Distributed under Turtleduck Press

http://www.turtleduckpress.com

Smashwords Edition

Cover images: "Carlye Wensley 02" by Robert Bejil, licensed under CC 2.0 with attribution, modified from original

Texture_21 by Birgitta Sjöstedt, licensed under CC 2.0 with attribution

All rights reserved.

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

By Siri Paulson

GUARDIAN

By KD Sarge

REAPER GIRL

By Erin Zarro

THE RAJA AND THE MADMAN

By Siri Paulson

DRIFTING

By Kit Campbell

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHIES

SNEAK PREVIEW OF EVEN THE SCORE

By KD Sarge

INTRODUCTION

By Siri Paulson (Editor)

For our latest Turtleduck Press anthology, Under Her Protection, we wanted to do something a little different.

Our previous anthologies have featured a world where the seasons don't change (Seasons Eternal), several different takes on winter (Winter's Night), and the best of the short works we've produced so far (The Best of Turtleduck Press, Volume 1).

This time, we set out to tell four stories about women to the rescue.

We adore stories about strong women – mothers, ex-Marines, widows, swordswomen, queens, girls just coming into their power, you name it. There are many kinds of strength, some involving the sword or the gun, others less obvious but no less potent. Eowyn and Arwen of Middle-earth, Lessa the dragonrider and Menolly the harper of Pern, Tamora Pierce's Alanna, Sansa and Arya of Westeros, Katniss Everdeen, Jane Austen's Elizabeth Bennet, Anne of Green Gables...each of these is strong in her own way. And when they fall in love, they do it without compromising who they are and what they stand for.

Under Her Protection is a fantasy romance anthology starring women like these. When a man's in trouble, sometimes he needs rescuing, and the four women we've chosen are just the ones to do it – though they might not know their own strength at first.

In KD Sarge's Guardian – the story that inspired our cover – a bookish mage trapped in a tower is freed by a swordswoman, but that's just the beginning...

In Erin Zarro's Reaper Girl, an immortal reaper takes the soul of a dying man, but when he doesn't die, she braves the Underworld in a quest to restore his soul...

In Siri Paulson's The Raja and the Madman, a maidservant is hired to work for a mad inventor, but his mountaintop fort holds more secrets than she bargained for...

And in Kit Campbell's Drifting, a young woman steps through a door into a fantasy world that has called for help because its prince is captive, but she's not the first to try...

We hope you have as much fun reading this anthology as we did writing it. And if there's a girl in your life who's floundering, or a woman who needs a reminder of what she's capable of, or a boy or a man who'd love something a little out of the ordinary, pass it on!

GUARDIAN

by KD Sarge

On a chill afternoon when the clouds had come down to creep among the tree trunks, a tall black stallion plodded along a forest path, its head low and bobbing with each pace. On its back sat a rider, small of frame and slouching in the high-backed saddle. The matching gear of horse and rider, scarlet with gold trim, was dulled by the fog, and the chiming of the tiny bells on the horse's reins fell limply to the damp ground covered with last year's leaves. On either side of the path barren branches groped upwards as the silent forest reached for spring.

Faint and far away, a sound came through the fog. The horse's head came up as its ears pricked, swiveling. His rider straightened, small hands taking a firmer grip on the reins.

"Shi, Fuang," Jhi Bo said, giving the reins a tug as she sat back in the saddle. The horse stopped, standing still but for the ears swiveling as the sound came again. Jhi Bo contemplated Fuang's ears for a moment, then reached to remove her horned helmet. Long thin braids of black hair fell over her shoulders as Jhi Bo set the helmet on the saddle's pommel and tilted her head.

Please... A human voice came floating from the grey surroundings. Help!

Please. Help. Jhi Bo knew little of the local tongue, but the tone was urgent.

"Yalyn miñe! the voice called. Lifwe! Wros kudak!"

Jhi Bo frowned at Fuang's ears. That sounded like...Elvish?

"Xye zhin pe!" the voice shouted. Help I beg, in accented Fwenye. Jhi Bo shook her head.

"Zha ti nyen pi," she muttered in answer. Your mother's whiskers. Jhi Bo reined Fuang off the path, bending low over the stallion's neck as they entered the trees.

"Ishtaqlen nalake! the voice called, moving back into languages Jhi Bo didn't know. Salahame!"

Close to the path the underbrush grew vigorously. Briars and low branches left trails of damp on the cloak and breeches of Jhi Bo, on the chest and sides of Fuang. The brambles gave way as they pushed farther into the forest.

...help... came the voice again. Jhi Bo loosened her sword in her scabbard, then lifted her helmet from the saddle. One hand deftly wound the braids around the top of her head before she replaced the helmet. As Jhi Bo prepared herself, Fuang stepped nimbly among the close-grown trees, following the sound.

"...miñe, wros!" came from the mist ahead and to the right.

"Ble ne pye," Jhi Bo muttered. Think of potatoes. It was part of a soldier's saying she'd been told to never use at court – don't think of nuts, think of potatoes.

"Dost mujhey! called the voice. Bahaat shub!" Jhi Bo tilted her head, frowning. That was the language of the fisher – Fuang slipped, recovered, bells jangling.

Bells! the voice shouted in Fwenye. Oh, thank the gods, someone – who's there?

Jhi Bo didn't answer. The voice kept calling, changing languages each time.

Beyond the underbrush that lined the trail, the ground sloped gently upwards. Again in Fwenye, the voice encouraged the bells and whoever bore them to come to him.

From the mist, a spike appeared, a spire of stone taller than Jhi Bo's head and broken in straight lines. Part of a wall, shattered at the joins between blocks. Ahead a lower wall crouched, last year's brambles still draped from nature's summer assault. Jhi Bo shook her horse's reins and the animal slowed. Jhi Bo alternated wary scanning of the surroundings with watching where Fuang walked, while the voice begged her to hurry.

"Ble ne pye," Jhi Bo muttered again.

Beyond the broken walls, a broken tower loomed above the trees, black wet stones stacked atop one another stretching upwards for five rows of windows, then a tree-top springing from the roof. The tower walls bulged and from every window and crack protruded branches. Leaf buds marked the branches, spring's green begun on this tree and no other.

The voice came from beyond the tower, calling in Syntari. Please! Help!

Jhi Bo shifted her reins on Fuang's neck and he turned, going around the tower without approaching it. A wide door appeared, with its own share of grasping branches. The voice called from within. Below the branches that strained for the sky, Jhi Bo caught a glimpse of bright blue. She stopped her horse. The voice shouted in Fwenye once more. Jhi Bo looked around. Looked up. Sniffed. Tilted her head and listened.

"Ishtaqlen nalake! Please! Help!"

How came you here? Jhi Bo called in Fwenye.

I rode a horse now gone! the figure answered in her language. I beg of you! Aid me!

Jhi Bo scanned the ground before the tower. Disturbed leaves, but no evidence – no, in a low bit of ground was a hoof-shaped puddle, and a bit beyond that on a rock, the mark of a mud-covered hoof. Jhi Bo swung down from her horse, dropping one rein to the ground as she did. She drew her sword.

From where come you? she called.

I will tell my life only help me! Please! I will tell a hundred stories!

What is the danger?

The tree eats me!

Jhi Bo looked up at the tower, at the branches tearing it apart. She looked at her horse, his ears cocked towards the voice, alert but not alarmed. She cast a glance back toward the path and sighed.

Jhi Bo Xian comes, she said, and walked toward the tower.

Thank you, oh thank you!

The shadow of the tree was chill. Jhi Bo walked on, watchful. She walked under the stone lintel of the doorway, now tilted by branches straining skyward, and felt the chill grow. Inside she could see her breath, and also the man who had brought her out of her way.

A huge tree trunk all but filled the tower. Patches of virulent green grew about the trunk, and the man stood close to one, his right hand and his left leg stuck in clefts of the bark. His head was craned around but he could not twist far in his position and she thought he did not see her.

Are you still? Are you coming?

I am here. He was dark brown, with sloppy hair brushing his shoulders and a blue cloak. A broken sword blade lay at his feet, and the hilt was in his left hand. His right forearm was scratched and bloody. His right hand was inside the tree.

Where the blood touched the virulent moss, the moss seethed. The tree fed.

Help me!

Jhi Bo looked around at the tree, at the tower, at the fallen leaves, and ducked back out the door.

Don't leave me!

I do not. Jhi Bo took her tinderbox from her saddlebag and walked back into the tower. In moments while the man ranted and begged her to do something, she found a stick of appropriate size and a fallen bit of cloth and poured oil on it and then lit it.

As the fire bloomed on her improvised torch, a shudder ran through the tree. The man cried out in pain.

Unnatural thief, Jhi Bo said in the forbidden tongue, release this prey. Spring comes, and you are mighty. This meal is no loss to you. Release him! This battle is not worth the fighting.

The man twisted, his mouth stretched in a silent scream as a spasm ran through the tree, pulling him in.

Release him! Jhi Bo shouted. She lowered the torch toward the layer of dry leaves that circled the tree. Release him, devourer, or be devoured yourself!

With a snap of breaking wood, the rifts split open. The man stumbled back and fell. Jhi Bo grabbed him by his collar and dragged him out as creaking noises filled the tower.

That amazed! That –

It is not done. Jhi Bo dragged the man to her horse, dropped the torch in a puddle as she went. Fuang, down, she ordered, and the horse knelt. She dragged the man over Fuang behind the saddle as a tremor ran through the trees around them, carrying outward. Fuang, rise! she told the horse and it stood with the man flung over its back. Jhi Bo sheathed her sword and lunged into the saddle. Fuang, flee! she shouted, wheeling the animal with one hand as her other wrapped in the man's shirt. She bent low over the saddle and Fuang leaped into a run. Behind her the man swore in words she knew and words she did not know.

At first all she heard were the pounding hoofbeats and the swearing. Then birds, launching from branches, calling to each other, taking flight. A cacophony of alarm and wings, and then a rustling, as if a wind tossed bare branches. A creaking and groaning as the trees protested. Then a sharp CRACK! and Jhi Bo jerked the reins. Fuang leaped aside, a branch falling through the space where they had been.

Hell of ashes! the man swore. Another CRACK, another dodging twisting leap by Fuang, and the man's voice rose in chanted prayer. The trees writhed as if storm-tossed. Jhi Bo held onto rein and shirt and urged her horse to greater efforts.

Hurtling bodies tore through the underbrush that marked the path, and Fuang turned on one hoof to barrel down the leaf-strewn way. Behind the fugitives a howl sounded, a long raging cry that wailed and wavered to an end and then with a shudder the forest fell silent but for pounding hooves and rasping breath and gasped curses in at least five languages.

Jhi Bo eased Fuang back from a run to a canter, keeping a watchful eye about her as she did. The horse's ears twitched as he obeyed, and the whites of his eyes showed as he rolled them at her. Jhi Bo talked softly and kept him on pace.

Ow – the man behind her said. It stopped – ah – may we – ahh, that smarts – may –

When the sun shines unblocked, Jhi Bo said. And then some. Did he not see the trees all about, leaning to listen and then to whisper? In the fog shadows moved, and Jhi Bo would not rest where they might come on her unprepared.

Ahead the sun shone on muddy fields. Fuang rounded a thick copse of evergreens and burst into bright sunlight after the close and danger of the forest.

~*~

As he jolted along on a horse's backside, Srivasi promised himself he was never going near a forest again. Especially a clearly magical one that wasn't on his maps. Grasslands for miles, and suddenly forest, so he just rode into it, followed the mysterious girl off the path – well, if the warrior who had just saved him was pretty he would not avoid her because of it, but other than that, no more forests and no more pretty girls.

Being eaten by a magically-mutated tree had been terrifying, but it was over. Now he bumped along draped over a horse's rump and his ankle and wrist shot pain with every bounce. He’d lost his sword and his dignity and he had scratches everywhere that burned. But the warrior wasn't slowing down and as Srivasi lurched, sliding one way then the other and in more pain with every length, he could not remember the Fwenye words for please stop! if he'd even learned them.

He might have taken a chance and just fallen from the horse, but below his dangling head the ground thudded by at a terrific pace and he had no wish to break anything more than was already broken.

Please – he managed, "ahh! Please, che fiu – that was it! Che fiu, enxi!"

The horse slowed a little more. Srivasi craned his neck to look at the warrior, but she was looking back and up, ignoring him but for her hand still clenched in his shirt that anchored him as he pitched.

Look, she commanded, the verb definitely in imperative mood. Srivasi craned his neck the other way.

Above the forest birds swirled. Huge flocks of tiny birds, great flocks of medium birds, even hawks and owls wheeled above the forest, winging about in a dark twisting cloud.

The warrior muttered something Srivasi didn't hear, and the horse came to a stop.

Flower tires, the warrior said. Take self down.

What?

Get down. She tugged at his shirt, pushing him off the horse. Srivasi slid towards the ground but when his foot made contact pain stabbed up his leg. He gasped and let himself sag to the dirt of the path.

Landing on his hands hurt his wrist. Srivasi cradled it against his chest and swore in every language he knew.

The warrior muttered something about whiskers and swung down from the horse. In a moment she'd shoved Srivasi back on the animal, this time sitting across the saddle, and she led the horse by one scarlet belled rein.

You are far from home, Srivasi attempted in Fwenye.

Are you not? the warrior countered.

Who are you?

I said. Jhi Bo Xian.

...of? From his reading, he knew she should be telling him her family tree. Or if no one in her family had ever done anything of import,