She rolled over toward him, scooted up a bit, found his head, and lifted hers to kiss him on the mouth. Then she lay against him, her body touching his full length. Of course he was clothed, but she wasn’t; all she had was the flimsy nightgown. With her wickedly bare torso within it, her breasts nudging him with each breath she took.
He put his right arm around her and drew her close. His hand did not wander. She put her left arm around him. They were embraced.
She had intended only to remain for half an hour or so, but this was such dangerous delight that she couldn’t bring herself to break it off. Slowly her heart eased its horrendous pace, and she relaxed.
She woke, and realized that she had been asleep for some time, nestled against Darius. He was warm and she was warm. As far as she knew, he had not touched her even in the “maybe” region. She was almost disappointed. She fell back into sleep.
She became aware of the creeping light. “Ohmigod!” she squeaked. “Morning!”
She scrambled out from under the blanket, startling Darius awake. “My parents!” she said. “I have to get back to my room, so they don’t know where I was!”
He nodded, seeming to understand. She found her slippers, slipped out the door, and almost flew, wraithlike, across the yard to the door.
The door was locked. “The key!” she breathed in anguish. She turned about and flew back to the shed.
A hand reached out. It held her key.
“Thanks!” She snatched it and ran back. The door seemed to make a thunderous noise as it unlocked and opened. She went in, then turned to lock it again. She put the key away.
Then she forced herself to walk slowly through the house to her room. No one was up. She was unobserved.
She entered her room, went to the bed, and threw herself into it. She had made it!
Now she remembered how Darius had given her the key. He knew what it was for and where it was. He could have kept it from her. He could have raped her. He could had taken the contact of his hand on her breast last night as a pretext to go wild. It wasn’t the kind of breast found in macho male magazines, but it didn’t exactly require padding for a formal gown either. She had given him every opportunity.
He was either a decent man or he just wasn’t interested. She cursed herself for her total, absolute, unmitigated folly—and knew she would try to find out exactly which it was. Decency or disinterest. If it killed her. And it just might. Which was perhaps the point.
CHAPTER 2—DARIUS
DARIUS woke as the maiden jumped out of bed in the wan light of dawn. For a moment he was disoriented, but it quickly came back: she was Colene, and she had come back to spend a chaste night with him, warming him with her company. He appreciated that very much.
She hurried out. She did not speak his language, unsurprisingly, but had taught him some of hers. She had made it plain that she shared her domicile with her parents, who would not understand Darius’ presence here. That too was understandable. Certainly he did not want her to be distressed before he could get to know her well enough.
He felt something cold against his ankle. It was her key. She would need that to enter her locked house. He picked it up and moved to the door.
In a moment she appeared, shivering in her pretty nightdress, her breath fogging in the chill morning air. He saw her small high breasts heaving enticingly. He extended the key. She took it and ran back the way she had come. He shut the door.
Colene. She was young, but by the same token fresh and pretty. She had courage too, and intelligence. She seemed eminently suitable. But would she want to do it? It was too soon to tell.
He had time to find out. Unless there was trouble before he did. If there was trouble, he would have to—
Then he remembered that aspect. He couldn’t! He had lost the signal key!
What was he to do? Without that key he couldn’t return. He would be locked in this reality, and he had already discovered that he was not equipped to survive here.
Well, did it really make a difference?
It was pointless, but the knowledge of his likely demise here caused him to set a higher value on his life than hitherto. With renewed interest, he reviewed the events of the last few days.
THE post of Cyng of Hlahtar was an enviable one, but it had its desperate drawback. A castle was provided, fully staffed and supplied. The Cyng’s magic was virtually limitless. As long as he performed.
It was impossible to endure alone for long; every Cyng soon was depleted. The only practical way to survive was to marry a strong, abundantly happy woman, and draw on her resources until she was depleted, and then cast her aside in favor of a new one. Because the post was prominent and the perquisites excellent, many women were willing to endure this, and it was feasible to maintain a chain of marriages indefinitely. But Darius, new to the post, had rebelled after divorcing his second wife. She was not a bad person, and they got along well, but she was depleted. He did not want to marry a series of women for their life forces, daring to love none. He wanted to marry one for love, and to remain with her for the full tenure.
The wiser heads had nodded. It was often thus with newlings; they just had to learn from experience. Once a Cyng came to proper terms with the inevitable, he generally settled down and performed adequately.
Darius went to the Cyng of Pwer. “What are my options?” he inquired.
“If you will not heed the wisdom of experience, you must learn in your own fashion,” the old man said. “You may marry for love, but you can not keep her long. She will die if you do not let her go in time. I think you will find it better to marry for other than love.”
“The Modes,” Darius said. “What are my options there?”
“The Modes are dangerous,” the man reminded him. “Of every ten folk who risk them, three do not return. Of those who do return, half do not achieve their desire. This leaves about one in three who is successful. I do not recommend this course.”
“You would have me suck the joy from endless innocent women instead?”
The Pwer shook his head. “No one forces them. They do it to escape poverty, nonentity, or pointlessness. It is a good bargain for them. They do not die, and they recover slowly after you turn them loose. It is a feasible system.”
“Not as I see it!” Darius retorted. “I see love and marriage as ennobling.”
“You are young.”
“Tell me more about the Modes. What can I expect?”
“You can expect the unexpected. Do you understand the theory of it?”
“I understand only that when I appealed to the Cyng of Mngemnt, to provide me some better way, he sent me to you for the Modes. I never heard of them before.”
“Then I will tell you in capsule what we know of them. As you surely do know, I handle the broadcasting of the magic power that enables all other magic to operate. That power must have a source. The first Cyng of Pwer found the source in the Modes. We have a number of what he termed Chips which enable us to relate to the realms beyond our own, and one of these has limitless raw power. He constructed mechanisms to harness this power and convert it to a form we can use. It is my special ability to channel it, and to keep the mechanisms operative. The Chips still relate to what seems to be an infinite number of other Modes. But we explore these others at our considerable risk. We conjecture that they are alternate realities, and that each Chip attunes to the spot where it would be in that other Mode. In many Modes that spot it empty, without even earth, water, or air, and whoever goes there immediately dies. In other Modes there is something there, but not what we like. We have brought back the bodies of those we have sent through, and they have been burned or dehydrated or mauled, as by some monster. But in some Modes there are worlds like ours, only different. By that I mean they may have a comfortable environment, and people, but those people have drastically different customs from ours. In fact, it seems that even the fundamental laws of magic differ in them, so that much of what is truth here is falsity there.”