Charlotte Boyett-Compo - WyndSheer

WYNDSHEER

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

copyright by Charlotte Boyett-Compo, April 2008

Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, April 2008

ISBN 978-1-60394-142-6

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www. newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the authors imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Dedication

To: My husband, the weatherman. My very own Lycant with gentle hands and a warming smile. I love you, Tompe.

AUTHORS NOTE:

The world in which this novel is set is one entirely of my own creations. It does not exist in any real place or in any real world or in any real time. Though the setting may look familiar, seem as though it belongs on Earth, trust me, it doesnt take place here. It is a parallel place that only vaguely resembles our world. The time period is neither medieval nor futuristic but somewhere in between. There might be similarities to our worlds history but such likenesses are only there as reference points and are not to be taken literally.

As you read, you may come across what you take to be references to modern accoutrements, language and idioms. Likewise you may encounter things you are accustomed to seeing in historical novels or even in comic books. In this fanciful world I have created, this is simply the way its inhabitants speak and act and react. The words they speak are their own and not to be confused with the way the people of our world and of our time speak.

This work is a compilation of dreams and fantasies and wishes of my own fabrication. Their world is as I see it and it is peopled with characters who I labored hard to give birth. These characters live in a mystical place crafted entirely from the darker reaches of my very vivid imagination. They dont know about your time or the time of your ancestors. To them, it is the here and now. To me, it is a world I long to visit.

So sit back and detach yourself from your here and now and journey to theirs. Suspend what you think you know and leave your mind open to the mystery of ... what-if?

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Prologue

It was not a sound Jamie MacGivern could have expected and it startled him as he laid in wait for the eight-point white tail buck that had been eluding him for the last two days. It was the unmistakable drone of a small aircraft engine and the sputtering, coughing hiccup of the sound told him the craft was in trouble.

Looking up as the noise passed directly overhead to make the old amalgam fillings in his teeth throb, the Highlander narrowed his pale green eyes, a deep crease forming above the bridge of his straight nose. He caught just a flash of silver underbelly through the canopy as the plane sailed past in the sodden gloom of the late morning. A soft rain peppered his face for it had drizzled nearly all night and showed no signs of letting up. He had to blink away the intrusion of the raindrops, resisting the urge to shake the hair plastered to the sides of his face in an effort to remain as still as he could.

His long fingers instinctively flexed around the stock of the crossbow, his middle finger hovering over the trigger. Even as the noise careened away then grew to a deafening volume--that of an engine struggling hard to stay running--he silently returned his gaze to his quarry. The animal stood immobilized though its sensitive ears were twitching, its head held high. A second or two before the noise ceased to be, replaced by a thunderous boom that made him cringe, he watched the bucks distinctive tail dip and its hindquarters flex, and knew any shot he made would do no more than graze the beast even if he managed to hit it at all.

Reluctantly, he lowered the weapon for his prey made a graceful leap and bounded into the thick concealment of the verdant forest, the rattling of its passing loud in the now silent woods.

Fuck, he spat as the ground around him rumbled, the vibrations spreading out from the point of impact. He could feel the faint tremors along his belly, elbows, and thighs as he lay on the wet mat of decaying leaves with the fecund stench teasing his nostrils. Lowering his head to his forearm, he squeezed his eyes tightly closed for a moment, striving not to bellow with aggravation. He lay there hissing angrily then shook his head at the interruption.

Sighing deeply, he got to his feet in the squishy carpet of detritus in which hed been stretched out. For a moment he hung his head as a muscle ground in his lean jaw, his teeth ground brutally. His grip on the crossbow was so tight the knuckles of his hand had bled of color and his eyes were filled with ferocity. He spat out another expletive then walked to a tall oak and laid his weapon at its base. Furious and frustrated that hed once again failed to bring down the buck, he turned on his heel and headed for the area where he knew the plane had gone down.

Tramping through the hip-high brush, he batted aside the low branches. The region where hed been hunting was thickly overgrown and nearly impassable in places. It was high in the rugged Pions Mountains--an area backpacking tourists avoided since it was well away from the range of high huts. The huts--used to provide shelter and food for hikers and mountaineers--were tended by rotating personnel during the mountain climbing season but the closest hut to where Jamie passed had no croo, as they are called by mountaineers, due to its remoteness. Because of that, he was the closest humanoid to the crash site.

It took nearly an hour for him to reach the scene. The closer he got to the place where the plane had gone down, the smell of burning rubber, spent fuel, and smoldering debris intensified, wafting to him on a quickening breeze. From the volume of the explosion, he did not expect to find survivors so he took his time picking his way. The crash of a small fixed engine plane in this wild section of the mountains was not unheard of, but it was an uncommon occurrence. He had no real desire to see the carnage, the possibility of charred bodies or headless corpses, yet that part of him that still bore some resemblance to humanity urged him on just in case a spark of life remained.

Lightning flared around him as he dug his toes into a steep bank to make his way up the incline. The soft raindrops suddenly became a steady bombardment of icy-cold pellets then a drenching downpour, making it hard to see through the curtain of water. As he crested the incline, the wreckage lay crumpled in front of him like a childs broken toy, a few slender plumes of smoke rising into the gray light. Swiping a hand over his wet face, he surveyed the damage with no hope of finding life in the ruin of the plane.

But then he saw movement off to one side and his gaze narrowed as he swung his attention in that direction--sweeping the scene carefully until he saw a hand rake at the air, claw at it, heard a low, wet groan that set the hair stirring at the nape of his neck.

Hurrying forward, he saw a man and woman lying together, the male scrambling to push himself up and away from the female beneath him, his hand scraping at a piece of twisted wreckage at their head as he tried to gain leverage.

Hang on! Jamie called out as he skirted razor-sharp fragments.

The man twisted his head around to reveal a face streaked with blood. He squinted up at Jamie as though he couldnt see him. I cant get it off, he said in a deep, guttural plea. Please, I cant ....

Once those words left the mans mouth, he collapsed atop the woman, his hand sliding down the jagged metal, the base of his palm snagging on one serrated point.

Jamie knew the man was dead even before he hunkered down beside him and put two fingers to the side of the mans neck. There was no pulse, no movement of his chest as he lay covering the woman with his much larger body. The female was all but hidden beneath his bulk.