Rapture by L.V. Lane
CHAPTER THREE
Winter
ONE NEVER KNOWS what one will find on the other side of the portal. The location is not an exact match, other than a few portals within our world that are subject to a tethering mechanism beyond my understanding. There are rumors that the Chosen created the portals, but I do not believe that is so. There are too many gaps in our knowledge and too many limitations to our power over them. For the other locations we visit, there is no tethering mechanism. Portals come and go, and once used, they relocate.
The thick oily embrace of the portal never gets any easier. It has been many years since I have endured it, and the sensation offers a heady dose of fear. We emerge into a snow covered forest clearing, and I’m relieved to find us alone. When I turn, the portal that brought us here has already disappeared.
A smooth transition.
The calmer you are and the clearer your thoughts upon entering, the less tumultuous the journey. Most people struggle the first few times until they learn to master their reaction.
It’s cold, and I take my cloak from my saddlebag, shivering in the frigid air. My face lifts skyward. Weak sunlight peeks through the trees. It is either dawn or dusk, but my intuition says dawn. Time can get a little skewed when traveling through the portal, and you might lose as much as a day.
Jacob has drawn his sword and is inspecting the immediate area. After emerging, one needs to establish their bearings. All I know is that we are in Blighten lands and within a day of a city where the keystone was last held.
“This way, mistress,” Jacob says, nudging his horse into a walk.
Mistress. How does the man manage to make the word sound like an insult? I cannot even understand what it is about the way he says it that aggrieves me so. Maybe I sense the underlying animosity in him. For all Cecil’s proclamation of Jacob’s prowess and exemplary attitude, I strongly suspect Jacob to be the least subservient warrior I have ever met, and further, holds me in contempt.
I follow, annoyed at myself for not completing the Meld, for it would surely have settled his attitude some. Maybe that is what he is vexed about? I have neither time nor inclination to pander to the male’s ego and will now definitely not give him blood unless he is in the direst need.
The forest is dense, but we soon come upon an animal trail that allows us to move at a trot.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” he mutters.
I offer no opinion. My bad feeling manifested yesterday when the Chosen made their demand. It didn’t improve much after I met Jacob, and I foresee no dramatic change.
We ride for half a day in silence, until finally, as the sun reaches its zenith, we arrive at the boundary of the forest.
Ahead lies the sprawling orc city of Krug. It fills the valley, braced by two snow-capped mountains. It is quiet there, but smoke emerges from the thousands of mud huts, giving evidence of habitation. To the other side of the mountains is Hydornia, a much more congenial, Goddess worshiping land.
Jacob’s eyes, I notice, have strayed toward the mountains and not Krug, which is surely the more significant threat. He has an interesting face, I decide. Not handsome exactly, but pleasing to look at in a rugged, masculine way. His lips are full, his beard neatly trimmed, and his eyes a warm brown.
No, hazel, I decide.
Now I am also not looking at the orc city, for I am studying Jacob’s compelling face and the strange softening in his eyes as he studies the snow-capped mountains.
He turns, whatever caused his moment of weakness gone, and he scowls at me. Caught in the act of watching him, heat fills my cheeks.
“What now, mistress?” he asks.
The man could win an award in skirting the line between sarcasm and respect. So finely does he do it that it is hard to offer a credible rebuke without appearing an oversensitive imbecile.
I do my best to ignore his hulking presence, which is not easily done. “It is no longer in the city,” I say. Closing my eyes, I allow the keystone that hangs between my breasts to center me. My gaze turns east, where the mountains meet the frozen sea. All I can see is endless white. “What lies in this direction?” I ask, pointing.
“The port city of Bleakness,” he says.
“Wonderful,” I say.
Now he turns to me with a smirk on his lips. It would seem Jacob likes sarcasm. “Have you been there before, mistress?”
I shake my head. “No. You?”
“Many times,” he says, before adding cryptically, “All but the first one saw me get a whipping.”
