"Brother Sun and Sister Moon" by Sandra Leigh Wagner

     It was a cold, heavy night. The sky was overcast by thick, ponderous clouds that threatened rain somewhere, soon. The moon, though full and pregnant in the sky above the cloud cover, was powerless to pierce the stormy veil. The wind rattled through row upon row of ripe corn stalks, turning the verdant fields into a heaving sea of black-green as far as the eye could see. Lightning flashed somewhere in the distance, the following thunder making far more of an impression than its predecessor.
     The only light to break the near pitch-black came barreling down a road between the fields, the headlights of an ancient ford pickup whose tractor red paint had seen better decades. Music leaked out of the cab, drifting on the air behind them like an afterthought. Like the wind over the surrounding fields, the music could not decide on a direction… or a station. It flickered from Rock-a-Billy to Heavy Metal and back again as the occupants waged a two decade old war between them.
     “Fine!” Brian finally snapped, reaching over and shutting off the radio completely. “You win, we both lose.”
     His sister laughed, a free and easy sound that rolled out of her like a summer storm. “If I win, we can’t both lose, Briar-patch,” she teased, grinning as he bristled at her childhood nickname for him.
     He calmed himself, opting for diplomacy. He glanced over her briefly. Layla had changed a great deal since she had gone off to college. They were twins, yes, but beyond a few basic physical similarities, they were night and day. They were both tanned and dark haired, though his loose curls were closer to anthracite whilst she was more a ruddy brunette like their mother. They had the same startlingly blue eyes and a similar shape to the nose. But there the similarities ended. Her lips were a little more pouty and full, her cheek bones slightly higher and her chin more pointed and tended to remind you of some fey thing. He had a stronger face, though softened by a boyish charm. He had what his sister always called “Lancelot-looks”, because he was how she always envisioned Sir Lancelot- pure, sensitive, a little boyish, but at the same time rough and ready: a real prince charming. He was a careful man, a little reserved in his tastes, practically living in his dungarees and flannels. When he wanted to dress up, he put on a denim button-down with black denim jeans. In all, he was a typical farm-boy, born and bred.
     Layla, on the other hand, was wild and carefree, as mercurial as the moon and inconstant as starlight. She preferred harder rock, metal or what the locals called ‘hick-hop’, and the latest fashions, however trashy. On her eighteenth birthday she had gotten a small dragonfly tattoo on her left shoulder-blade, an act of rebellion that had their father hitting the roof. She still laughed about it. On graduating, unlike her brother who had remained on the farm, she went off to Chicago University to study… she hadn’t decided what yet. Her brother had stayed home and taken a few agricultural classes at the local A&M, but otherwise seemed to have no long term plans for leaving their small town.
     In typical, Layla fashion, she had slipped back into town with some friends for a Halloween party without telling her family. She had wanted to surprise her brother, who she knew would be in attendance. And surprise him she had. Granted, their friends were in on it all, but the moment she had laid eyes on the man in the batman suit, she had known it was her brother, without even seeing his face. It was just something she always knew. It had nothing to do with how goofy he looked trying to dance with Gina Manowitz, nothing at all. She had chuckled at the sight, thinking that if it wasn’t square-dancing, line-dancing or waltz, he was hopelessly awkward on the dance floor.
     She had slipped up behind him in her costume of vampire’s victim, her ample bosom valiantly attempting to escape the tightly bound corset of her tattered white gown. She had let her hair fall across her face to obscure her features slightly, sliding seductively up beside him and dancing very close and personal, running her splayed hands across the black, muscled spandex of his chest and noted with mild surprise that none of it was fake. He had hardened over the previous year. He had also blushed from the bottom edge of his cowl to the neck of his cape.
     It had taken him all of four seconds to realize the buxom blonde rubbing against him was his twin. He had flushed almost purple then, jumping back so suddenly he elbowed Gina into the punchbowl, nearly tripping over his own cape in the process. Everyone had laughed, except for Gina, who had stormed off in spite of his profuse apologies. Eventually, even he had laughed, though half with embarrassment as their friends ribbed him in good humor about the whole thing.
     “I’m not sure I like your hair blonde though,” Brian said suddenly.
     She snapped out of the reverie she had slipped into, happy to be home even if it was only for a weekend. She twirled a lock of it around her finger, looking at it in the dim light of the instrument panel. “Hmmm, I was going to go red, but had to bleach it out first. I got a look at it and liked it, so we stopped there. Got some honey-caramel highlights.” She shrugged. “I just wanted a change. You don’t think mom’ll have a heart-attack, do you?”
     Brian gave her his shy, wry grin. “Might be sore disappointed though. Shoot, they’ll just be happy you’re home. Be a nice surprise.”
     She smiled wickedly. “Think they’ll still be up?”
     He glanced at her, starting to worry. “Maybe not. It is almost midnight. Why?” he added with a warning tone.
     She just shrugged nonchalantly, picking up his cowl from the seat between them and playing with the latex rubber earpoints. “Oh, nothing, just…”
     “Just what?”
     She laughed softly, a sure sign she was up to mischief. “Just thinking of sneaking off to bed and coming down to breakfast in the morning…”
     He turned to glare at her, smiling in spite of himself. “You just want to see if you can scare mom into breaking another orange juice pitcher!” he accused. God, it was good to have her home, he thought. Comfortable, like nothing had changed. Like a missing puzzle piece had finally been…
     “BRIAN!” she screamed suddenly, pointing.
     He whipped his head back to the road and the long pools of light in front of them just as he plowed into something that had run across the road. He slammed on the breaks and threw the truck in park, jumping out of the cab and running into the headlights. Layla appeared around her door, her face pale under the white makeup.
     There was blood on the road and on the truck’s grill, but no animal or body to be seen. “What was it?” he asked, trying to still the panicked response of his heart as he glanced under the truck.
     “Not a what, a who!” she gasped. “I saw it. It was a girl!”
     “No way. Maybe a dog?” he muttered, shaking his head as he noted a small dent in the hood just above the grill, but no other major damage. It could not have been a very big animal. Steel frame or not, a couple years back he had seen what a deer could do to the truck. This couldn’t have been a deer, though he could have sworn he saw something like fabric.
     Layla looked along the side of the road, shaking her own head as her brother looked up and down the lonely highway. “No. It was a woman,” she insisted. “French revolutionary, I think.”
     He frowned at her. “I hit Marie Antoinette?” he growled sarcastically.
     She growled back. “You know what I mean. Long dress, powdered hair, the neckline, the sleeves… I saw a girl and she was running scared.”
     He narrowed his eyes. “And how much of Billy’s ‘special’ punch did you have?”
     She slipped down off the embankment into the cornfield on the side of the road, climbing the fence deftly, in spite of her long skirts. “Not enough to mistake a girl for a dog.”
     Getting a flashlight from the truck, he closed the door and followed her. As the light hit the rail fence, he noticed blood and fur on the underside of the bottom slat. He sighed and began to follow his sister’s footprints in the soft ground and the sounds of her pushing through the tall canes in the dark ahead of him. “We’ll need to get it to Dad if it can be saved. Though if it’s gone in this far, it probably has a fair chance.”
     Her voice ground out of the dark somewhere ahead and to the left, “For the last time, Brian,” she snarled. “It’s not a…”
     “Dog?” he finished softly with a smirk as he shone the light over her shoulder on the panting, bloodied white canine trying to conceal itself amid the corn but unable to go any farther.
     “Well,” she began, reluctant to admit he had been right. “It isn’t a dog, if you want to get technical. It’s a wolf.”
     “I don’t,” he grinned, handing her the flashlight. “I guess you won’t be sneaking up on mom tomorrow.” What he didn’t tell her was that for a least a few seconds, he too had thought it had been a girl.
     He crouched in front of the wolf, not close enough to seem a threat, but ready to dodge should it come to that. Layla nervously held the flashlight in position. “Careful,” she whispered.
     He chuckled, was careful not to bare his teeth as he did, “You? Telling me to be careful?”
     Not wanting to startle the wolf by making a sudden move like hitting her brother, she settled for snarling between clenched teeth. “You heard me.”
     He began to softly croon to the animal who watched him with the palest eyes and an almost human expression of suspicion and pain. “Not gonna hurtcha,” he purred, keeping his tones even and mellow, trying to sound soothing and as not like a growl as he could manage. There were some advantages to being raised by the county vet. Approaching and tending injured animals was something they’d been doing since they were nine.
     “She’s not exactly a typical wolf,” Layla murmured, leaning so she could see around Brian’s hunched shoulders.
     “What makes you think it’s a she?” he found himself asking.
     “Chah,” she tutted. “If she’s not then he’s been fixed. I don’t see anything obvious…” she pointed out, aiming the flashlight at the parts in question.
     Brian started blushing. “Not where I’m looking,” he retorted. As if she could understand them, the wolf moved her tail and bloody back leg into a more modest position. He frowned. “Easy, girl,” he crooned. “We’re not going to hurt you any more. I’m sorry about that, but you can’t run out in front of a flying pickup and not limp away. Layla, go back to the truck and get that horse blanket from the bed. Oh, and there might be a muzzle in the toolbox.”
     “I’m not leaving you here without a light,” she began.
     “I don’t think she’s going to bite,” he whispered, feeling a cool thrill run down his spine as her damp, hot nose made contact with the back of his fingers as he held them out to her. “There’s no sign at all of aggression. Might have been a pet, not all wolf, though she’s pretty damn close.”
     “Didn’t Earl Kepler have a half wolf bitch?” she asked.
     “Yeah, but this ain’t one of hers. Either way, we’re going to need the stiffer blanket if we’re going to move her without hurting her more than we have to. If she’s got a cracked rib, just picking her up is going to hurt like hell, maybe make it worse. We’ll have to gurney her. So, go. I’ll be fine.”
     Hesitant, she started to back off down the row.
     Just after he was out of the pool of light, he called softly, “Oh, and if you hear two voices suddenly baying at the moon, you’ll know she bit me.”
     “Ha ha. Keep it up, Briar-patch. I’ve got two whole days to get even, so don’t try nothin’ you don’t want flipped.” Her light and her voice faded into the night as she moved off, cutting over between rows to get back to the truck.
     Brian kept his eyes on the panting figure in front of him in spite of the pitch dark, let her make the first move. After sniffing and touching his hand he felt her head move away, heard the movement of earth as she laid her head on the soft mound of dirt raised between the cornstalks. Though she seemed to have determined he was no threat, he remained careful, not wanting her to snap at him. “All right, lady,” he said softly. “Now I’m not going to hurt you intentionally, but I’ve got to touch you to see how bad you’re hurt and if I can move you.” His hand stretched towards her bloody shoulder, his ears straining for any sound that she was moving, fast or slow. His fingers touched fur, thick and silky, not half as coarse as he had expected. He kept talking as he slowly applied pressure, ran his right hand up to her neck for control and warning should she suddenly object, his left gently working its way over her body. “My father’s a doctor for animals,” was saying as his fingers found a still bleeding wound near the shoulder. Not saying the word ‘vet’ in front of an animal was just habit for him, knowing some animals learned to fear the sound of the word.
     She gave a small whimper as he touched the elbow joint below her shoulder, more a gasp than anything else. He felt her move her head, not toward him, more like an arching of her neck, seeking comfort or showing trust or …he couldn’t be sure what else. Encouraged, he felt her ribs, sensed a change in her breathing, though she did not yelp or gasp as before. When he tried to feel the underside, she made an attempt to roll for him, but her breath caught in her throat as she did. He held her still. “It’s ok,” he crooned. “I think I got it. You’re doing good,” he said, running his fingers through the thick fur of her neck, marveling at the quality of her coat, forgetting for a moment that she was a wild wolf and not the pampered Samoyed she felt like.
     His hand was just reaching her head, finding that comforting indentation at the bridge of the nose when she suddenly moved. Beneath his palm he knew her eyes were open, her ears swiveling and alert. He felt a low growl beginning deep in her belly. He moved his hands back to her neck and just above her hips where it would be easier to control her. “Easy, it’s just Layla with the blanket. Nothing to fret.”
     The wolf would not be consoled. In spite of obvious pain, she tried to get up, move past him. “Naoowow,” she yowled.
     “Layla? Hurry up!” he called over his shoulder.
     From the road he heard a thump and a curse.
     “Layla!” he shouted.
     “I’m fine!” she yelled back. “I just slipped… dropped the damn flashlight under the truck. I’ll be right there.”
     Something was making the back of his neck tingle; the short hairs rise even as the wolf’s hackles rose beneath his hand. Something was definitely not right. The wolf was pushing at him, not so much trying to escape him as to push him toward the road. “Owwp, naoowow,” she growled.
     There was a rumbling like thunder but not quite as the wind picked up. Brian’s first thought was a tornado, but the signs were all wrong. There was a loud crack and a shriek from his sister and without another thought Brian pelted for the road, tearing through the cornstalks in the dark. Layla was screaming his name and something large and heavy hit the truck. Ahead he could see flashes of light through the corn, something large passing before the still beaming headlights. He saw white on black tossed high in the air and a flash of dark purple light. An unseen shock wave knocked him flat just as he reached the fence followed by a loud crack and then sudden silence.
     Coming to his senses, Brian scrambled under the fence rail, ran, desperate, to the truck, yelling for his sister. There was no one there. The road was empty for miles and the only sound was his own labored breathing. The flashlight lay spinning under the front of the truck, and the splatter of the wolf’s blood was smeared on both the grill and the road. There was an acrid, ozone smell in the air that burned his nostrils and a panicked, emptiness in his soul. He fell to his knees on the road, one hand braced on the cold asphalt, the other pressed against his heart. It felt as if it was trying to rip itself from his chest with every beat.
     He could not understand this sudden incapacitation. He had felt slightly disconnected at first when his sister had left for Chicago, a little disoriented being so far apart from her after eighteen years of near constant proximity. But he had slowly grown accustomed to it. Once, back in high school she had snuck off to a party she wasn’t supposed to with a boy she certainly wasn’t supposed to be seeing and gotten herself in a bad situation. The ass had roughed her up when she had called a halt to certain activities and left her in the middle of nowhere twenty miles out of town. He had woken up in a cold sweat with his stomach cramping long before she’d found a pay phone. Then, like now, he had known something was terribly wrong. It was worse this time. This time the effect was sudden and sickening. This time he had seen her vanish in front of his eyes and had nothing to chase.
     A whimper and the soft, shaky tick of claws on asphalt made him look up and over his shoulder. The wolf had dragged herself after him, barely standing on her own paws. Her eyes flashed silver in the stark pools of the headlights. Brian tried to pull himself together, braced himself against the hood of the truck as he levered his body up. His hand found a dent as big as his head. He picked up the flashlight and the horse blanket, checked the hood and sighed with relief that there was no blood at the impact point. He flashed the beam over the fields on either side of the road, both where they had gone in after the wolf and further back where she must have shot out from the opposite field. There was evidence something large had come out of there, a horse maybe, but no sign of it leaving again.
     He called out to her, staring into the dark desperately, getting no response, hearing nothing but the rattle of the corn in the wind and far off thunder. A pressure against his leg drew his attention downward. There was a wealth of sadness and empathy in the animal’s pale eyes and it galvanized him into more useful action. He went immediately to the cab of the vehicle, opening the passenger’s door and leaned in, reaching for the CB radio. Tuning the channel to the police band, he was frustrated to get nothing but static. He tried a different one with no better results. Confused, he checked the antenna and discovered that it had been cut off.
     Swearing, he threw the mike back into the truck and pressed his fevered forehead to the cold metal side. The nearest phone or radio was home, but once there, how could he be sure he could bring the sheriff back to the exact spot? It was a risk leaving, but a greater risk staying put. Thinking quickly, he pulled an old oil rag out from behind the seat and tied it to the fence closest to him.
     Laying the horse blanket on the passenger seat, he went back to the front of the truck to face the wolf who had lain down again in the pool of the headlights, panting, but with her head up and watching him. “I don’t want to do this,” he sighed. “But it’s the only way. I’ve got to get you home to dad so he can fix you up and I can call the police and have the sheriff start looking for Layla… if he even believes me,” he added. “So if this hurts… and it might… don’t bite me, ok?”
     Maybe it was the stress, but he could have sworn she gave him a subtle nod. Not quite reassured, he approached slowly, placing his hands on her body as he had before to make sure she would not object, then eased them around her chest and under her hips. She leaned into him, made it a little easier to lift her from the asphalt. She gave a tiny yelp as her injured shoulder was pressed against his firm chest, but made no move to snap or escape. And if at first you think this is not genre…. In the immortal words of Radar O’Reilly, “Wait for it….!” *cue chopper*Perhaps she’s been through this before?And if at first you think this is not genre…. In the immortal words of Radar O’Reilly, “Wait for it….!” *cue chopper* he thought, hurriedly getting her to the cab and laying her on the seat.
     “Stay,” he said firmly, closing the door and rushing around to the other side. She merely watched him calmly as he climbed in next to her and closed himself in. She flinched as he turned the key and the motor roared to life, looked up at him in fright. “Easy,” he said softly, taking the chance of putting his hand on her head to reassure her. She was shivering. “I’ve got to have both hands now, and we’re going to start moving, so please don’t go wild on me and panic or anything.” He slowly transferred his hand from her head to the gear shift and slipped the truck into first. He knew she couldn’t possibly understand a word he was saying, but the sound of his voice might calm her.
     She was alert and shaking when they first started moving. But after about a mile, pain and weariness took their toll and she relaxed, laying her head down and paying no more attention to the machine and its noise. He kept talking, both to soothe her and to keep himself from losing control. He was frantically worried about his sister and less sure with each passing mile that there would be much he could do about the situation. To his surprise he felt a large furry head sneak into his lap. He glanced down, saw her hope filled eyes glinting up at him in the dimness. When he did not shoo her off, she heaved a groaning sigh and closed her eyes, making herself more comfortable as the first drops of rain began to splash against the windshield.
     “Great. Just great,” he growled.



      By the time Brian pulled in to the driveway of the farmhouse, he had decided not to tell his parents quite yet about Layla. He could see flaws in the decision, surely, but there was no sense in worrying them yet. He wasn’t even sure the sheriff would believe him. Hell, he wasn’t sure he believed himself. He would just have to deal with it as he came to it. This was his mess, he was sure of it, somehow.
     He pulled up to the barn. The moment they slowed and stopped, the wolf raised her head, but he could tell she was weakening. He set his hand on her head, rubbed her ears. “It’s all right, girl. Just lie easy. I have to go get the doctor. Then we’ll get you looked at. While he’s doing that I’ll call the sheriff about Layla.”
     She whined, her eyes pleading. “I’ll just be a minute. Now stay.” He eased the door open and backed out into the rain. “And please don’t eat the truck,” he added under his breath. He closed the door softly, listened to her yowling at him in that peculiar way of wolves that sounds very nearly like words. Without a backward glance he rushed through the rain to the house, trying to outrun her plaintive voice.
     

     “Dad,” he whispered shortly, crouched by the bed in the light from the hallway. He touched his shoulder. “Dad.”
     He stirred, rolled over to stare bleary-eyed at his son and reached for his glasses on the nightstand. “What, what’s wrong?” he stammered, glancing at the clock. “You all right?”
     “I’m fine, dad,” the half lie threatened to stick in his throat, but he felt compelled to bear it up. “I hit something coming home.”
     By this time his father had sat up and glanced his son over, running the facts together in his head. “How big?”
     “’Bout a buck and a half. She’s in the truck.”
     “What’s the damage?” he asked, pushing the blankets aside.
     Brian shrugged. “Not sure. Nothing’s outright broken, though there’s some bleeding and sensitivity. She was conscious when I came in.”
     His father nodded. “Pull the truck into the barn and get her into the exam room if you can. I’ll be out in a minute.”
     Brian nodded and stepped back. “I may need help getting her out of the truck.”
     “All right.”
     Brian left his father to get dressed and hurried back out in the pelting rain. He pulled the barn doors open before climbing back into the truck. The wolf was lying still on the seat, barely breathing, did not even lift her head when he sat beside her. Worried, he pressed his hand against the underside of her throat. She was breathing, and her pulse was weak. Throwing the truck in gear he pulled into the barn and jumped out, crossing between the horse and cattle stalls to the back door of the office to turn on the lights. Two of the four horses looked curiously at him, one whickering in worry at the smell of blood and predator. As he came back to the truck with a gurney-board, his father was already there, opening the passenger door.
     “Good, the blanket will make it easier to … Brian! You didn’t tell me it was a wolf,” he exclaimed, jumping back.
     Brian darted over, looking in on her. “She didn’t try to…” But she hadn’t moved. “Dad, worry about that later, she’s getting weaker. She’s actually quite tame… at least as far as I’ve been concerned.”
     Shaking his head, he took the board from his son. “You’re damned right we’ll talk about this later. Transporting an injured wild animal in the cab without a cage or other restraints? You know better.” He continued his tirade a few moments more as they pulled the horse blanket and the unconscious animal onto the board and took her into the office.
     “First things first,” he began as they entered the brighter lights of the main work room. “We’ve got to stop that bleeding.”
     Brian wanted desperately to slip off to call the sheriff. Even moment the now full fledged storm raged outside was a significant decrease in the chances of finding what happened to Layla. But he couldn’t while his father needed an assistant, not without making him suspicious. There was nothing for it. They worked in silence, stitching the main wound closed and tending to the others.
     It wasn’t until he was checking the X-rays that his father said anything. “Enjoy the party?” he asked.
     Brian knew it was a leading question. “Yes, sir. Ran into… some people I hadn’t seen in a while and we… took some time to catch up,” he evaded. If his father noticed the evasion he made nothing of it.
     “Billy make that ‘special’ punch of his?”
     Here was the meat of it. “Yes, dad, he did. Yes, I had a glass or two and one beer. Yes, I waited at least three hours after drinking them before I decided to drive. It was well out of my system.”
     He nodded, satisfied. “This animal, where’d she come from?”
     “Willet’s cornfield. She just darted out in front of me so fast I didn’t even see what it was until I went looking. She’d gotten across the road and about a hundred yards into the Carrol’s field before she laid down. I followed and was just as shocked as you to see a white wolf.”
     “Wolves themselves are rare in these parts…” he mused.
     Brian continued. “I was even more surprised that she wasn’t aggressive at all. Didn’t even raise her hackles til…”
     His father looked over at him, put the X-ray down. “Til what?”
     He started to tell him, but something held him back. “Some noise back up by the road. Could have been whatever drove her into the road in front of me. I didn’t see it. She actually followed me back to the truck when I went to get the horse blanket.”
     The phone in his pocket rang. He pulled it out and looked at the caller id. “Bill,” he said, as he answered it.
     Brian felt something warm and damp against his hand where he was leaning on the steel exam table. He looked down to see the wolf licking him. He turned back to her as his father stepped into his office looking for a pen on his desk. Burying his hand in the fur around her neck he felt a surge of wild joy as she groggily responded to him, nuzzling him.
     “I’ve got to…” his father began, closing his phone and stopping in the office doorway. “That has got to be the damnedest thing I have ever seen.”
     Brian smiled, keeping his voice low. “I know. She can’t possibly be wild.”
     “Well she’s too full blooded to be a legal domestic. Listen, Bill Weather’s prize quarter horse is breaching and he’s in a panic, which is not helping the mare at all. I’ve got to head out there right now.”
     “You need me?”
     “No, his sons’ are there. I’ll have more hands than I need. You need to get her put away and settled in. We’ll call the Wildlife Commission in the morning, see if we can get her straightened out. Don’t forget to lock up.”
     “Yes, sir.”
     His father headed out the door and Brian selected one of the larger cages on the bottom row, laying down fresh bedding and water.
     “Now we’ll just get you settled and I can finally call the sheriff.”
     “Nooow,” she yowled. “Owan, owp yeaya.”
     He glanced over his shoulder at her, something beginning to prickle the back of his neck. She seemed still too weak and groggy to get up from the table. A hound dog, the only other overnight resident in the cages, began barking and carrying on, threatening to reinjure himself in his excitement. Brian turned back to try to calm him down, to keep him still before he pulled his stitches. Behind him, the wolf continued her complaints.
     “Munon, yoo owp, eeese. Pease… Please.”
     Brian froze. He was crouched in the opening of the hound’s cage, hand held out to the now cowering animal. The voice behind him had gone from undoubtedly wolf to unquestionably human and female. There was a soft rustling of fabric behind him. Slowly he turned, looking over his shoulder as he swiveled. He lurched back and promptly lost his balance.
     Lying on the exam table, slowly sitting up, was a woman. Her skin was almost impossibly pale beneath the halogen lights, though the soft rose of her lips decried her unhealthy pallor. Hair the color of fresh snow fell about her in silky clouds that tumbled past her hips and pooled on the table. She was dressed in pale blue silk, tight at the bodice with elbow length sleeves and long sprays of pearl lace, and belled from the hips. A gown that was very ‘French Revolutionary’. It was torn at the hem, missing part of the shoulder and right sleeve where fresh stitches plainly showed through on her white arm, and stained with earth and blood. Her eyes, beneath pale, arching brows were undeniably those of the wolf.
     “Y…you’re a werewolf,” he gasped.
     Her smile was breath-taking, her voice was soft and airy, but contained a clarity like the moon on a crisp night. “That is the least of my powers.”
     “Bbbut…” he shook his head, trying to get himself together.
     She started to get off of the table, then thought better of it, curled her legs beneath her with a wince of pain and held herself up with her good arm. “I must apologize for what happened to your wife.” At the look of confusion which crossed his face, she added, “Layla?”
     “Sssister,” he stammered. “Layla’s my twin.”
     She tipped her head in a very canine fashion and studied his face a moment. Her sadness deepened. “Ah, I see it now. This makes things much worse. My honor or my kingdom,” she sighed. “But then, without my honor, my people will be tainted by the very service I provide, so there must be a way to protect both.”
     Brian finally found his tongue. “Who are you?”
     “Sister Moon.”
     This threw him enough to by-pass his disbelief. “Your name is Sister Moon?” he asked without thinking.
     She smiled again. “No,” she answered gently, and there was a touch of laughter in her tone. “You did not ask me for my name. You asked who I was, and that is not the same question.”
     He frowned, trying to think clearly, manners forgotten. “Well, then what is your name?”
     “My name is Silouan, Princess Royale of Kerowain.”
     He flushed immediately. He was in the presence of royalty, sitting on the floor like a buffoon dressed in a batman costume and being unbelievably rude. He stood, pausing only to close the cage door behind him. He gave her an awkward bow. “Um, forgive me, you highness. I …” He frowned. “May I ask you a question?”
     She nodded, the expression of amusement never quite leaving her face. “You may ask as many as you like. I am deeply in your debt.”
     “I don’t know about that, but… I’ve never heard of Kerowain.”
     “I do not see why you should have, considering that I had to open a portal to even enter your world, and that was haphazard at best. Tell me, what magics do you bring to bear? I will need to know in order to efficiently plan for your sister’s rescue.”
     “Magic? I don’t wield magic. No one here wields magic. I mean, we talk of it, and play at it, and some even believe in it. But by and large everything we’ve ever called magic is attributed to either clever chicanery, scientific something or other or religious miracles.”
     Her smile faded. “Then I hope your sister has the wit to conceal that fact. Mandayns are not treated well where she is going.”
     His jaw tightened, his expression hardening. Everything he had somehow suppressed on the way home and during the surgery came flooding to the fore. “What the hell happened to my sister?”
     She sat up again, eased her legs over the edge of the table. “Three days ago I was kidnapped by Lord Ranish’s men and taken to his keep. He made several mistakes, not the least of which was absconding with me. But the greatest was allowing me water and moonlight. I escaped his keep by coming here. Mind you, here was not my goal, but an accident. Magic can have unintended effects when one improvises. In fact, I have no idea where I even am. Would you please enlighten me?”
     “Earth,” he answered bluntly.
     Her pale brow arched delicately but she politely did not say whatever it was she was thinking.
     He felt the need to elaborate. “The ancients called it Terra, some of our science fiction call it that too. But it, too, means earth.”
     “Our home world is called Kerowain. It simply means ‘home’.” She gave him a faint smile. “Our ancestors were just as unimaginative.
     “I found myself beside a pond in a sea of wheat and strove to put as much distance between myself and my opening point as I could, in case he managed to send his hunters after me. Either time runs differently here, or the passage between worlds itself distorts the temporal tides I do not know, but I had not gone a whole league when the storm heralded arrival of his hunter. I fled into a strange forest, which took me a few moments of running through it to realize it was a crop of some kind. It allowed me to get some distance before I ran across your path most violently. Instinctively, I shifted to wolf and fled, though my injuries did not carry me far.”
     “So you understood every word we said out there?” he flushed.
     “I am afraid so. But I was not offended. I have dealt with worse in that form, as it is intended for me to walk unknown for who I am, and well suited to that task. I fear that what happened to your sister…” She began to display the first signs of unease he had witnessed in her. “While you were dealing with your …trock was it?”
     “Truck.”
     “Thank you. While you were inside preparing to take me to your learned father, I sniffed the ground, assessed the …battleground. My nearest guess is that your sister’s dress was similar enough to mine in the limited light to have been taken for mine. Her hair, though not quite long enough, might have added to the illusion. That she had slipped in my blood sealed her fate. She was taken for me and carried off.”
     “Wait, when you started to push me, before she screamed…”
     “I had already scented him drawing nearer, I could actually hear him. My senses are far more acute in that form.”
     “So you were trying to get me to stop him?”
     She nodded.
     “So, why did he cut my CB antenna? What was that huge dent in my hood and where did they go?”
     She remained patient with him, which actually served to deepen his embarrassment when he realized he was interrogating a princess royal. “That I am afraid I do not know. Perhaps he sought to intimidate her into not fighting, perhaps he or his mount took your truck do be hostile? We have nothing quite like it in Kerowain. The dent in the front was most likely a strike of the mount’s hoof.”
     His eyes widened. “That was a horse’s hoof?”
     She frowned, suppressing a slight shiver of distaste. “I would hardly call the Hunter’s mounts horses; any more than I would call the Hunters themselves human. They are and something more, in some ways quite a bit less. They cannot be described to those who have not seen them clearly.”
     “All I saw was black on black and her white dress in the air and a flash of purple light.”
     “What you saw and what bore you to the ground was the hunter opening the rift back into our world and taking her through it. So you see that it will do little good to speak with your sheriff on the matter. There is nothing he can do.”
     He sank down into a nearby stool, burying his head in his hands.
     Suddenly her cool white hand was gently ruffling his dark hair. He had not heard her get off the table and cross the tiled floor. “I understand what you must be feeling. I, too, felt that shock when I arrived. Separations of miles are one thing, worlds quite another.”
     He looked up at her. “You’re a…”
     “Twin? Yes. My brother is still in Kerowain, and no doubt in a frenzy trying to find an oracle whose powers still work.”
     “What did this Ranish want with you? And what will he do to my sister when he finds out his Hunter brought him the wrong prey?”
     She drifted over to another chair, sank into it and set her right foot out in front of her other, favoring the injured leg. “Hmmm. It may be some time before he finds out. It could be no time at all. She is very likely at this point already shorn and locked in a tower awaiting his displeasure.”
     He scowled, head coming up sharply. “Wait, she’s going to be raped?”
     Her response was immediate, “Oh no. Lord Ranish is not that type of man. He simply will not allow it. He uses aggression to seduce, but never brute force. She will not be touched in that way.”
     “But his men…”
     “Well know the price of that folly. None in his realm get the chance to make that mistake twice. In that respect at least, he is very unlike his father.”
     He relaxed a little. “Wait, did you say shorn?”
     “Have I used the word wrong? Not everything translates smoothly I’m afraid.”
     “You mean like a sheep?”
     “Somewhat. They will cut her hair, thinking her me, to separate her from her power.”
     “Like Samson?”
     She shook her head. “No, Samsang has nothing to do with this. Though I find it strange you know of him.”
     He suddenly gave a hysterical laugh. “This has got to be some Halloween prank she organized. This has Layla’s stamp all over it.”
     “I do not understand. Does your heart not tell you she is in danger? Does not that thread which binds you to her feel severed? How can you think that this is a joke? Is it not a cruel joke to play on one you love?”
     “It’s Halloween, your highness. It’s a license to scare people out of their wits.”
     “What is this Halloween?”
     He sighed. “It’s an old holiday: Samhain. It is supposed to be when the veils between the worlds of the living and the dead grow thin and the dead can visit us.”
     “That explains much,” she nodded. “Why my spell opened a portal here instead of a moonbridge home. We must go and swiftly then, before the night is over and the veils thicken once more.”
     “Go?”
     “To Kerowain. It is the only way you will get your sister back. And I hope that we both agree that my marching back to Ranish’s keep and offering myself in exchange for your sister is neither wise nor feasible.”
     He frowned. Not that he would be able to do such a thing, not knowing what it was the man wanted with this princess, but that she would mention it begged the question. “And why is that? If he is as honorable as you say and it is you he wants?”
     She gave him an indulgent smile. “Do you really think he would let her go? We haven’t the manpower to force the exchange. He would not even accept the offer. He would simply overwhelm us, kill you and take me, enslaving your sister or killing her as he had no further use of her. With my brother’s help, however, we might be able to rescue her.”
     “Is your brother the king?”
     It was her turn to look confused. “King? My brother is a prince, same as I. He is Brother Sun and very powerful. We do not know this word: ‘king’.”
     “If you have princes, usually there are either kings or emperors over them. Who rules then?”
     “The Mandayns.”
     “I’m confused. I thought you said Mandayns were treated poorly by your people.”
     “No. I said where she was, among Lord Ranish’s people. Perhaps I should explain better. On my world there are two kinds of humans: those with magic- the Ordayn and those without- the Mandayn.”
     “And you’re ordained? A priestess or a nun? That why you are called sister?”
     She laughed. “Heavens, no. Though there are similarities, your verb has no meaning for us. Ordayn is what we are from birth, and the only distinction is the ability to manipulate the magical forces of the world, nature itself. We are what we are. The title of Prince or Princess is a given one, not inherited. The Mandayn make the laws, choose the holders of position. The Ordayn carry them out, and fulfill the duties of the positions to make the world work smoothly. We, too, have a say in the making of laws, but it is small.”
     “The ones with the power are the ones without the power,” he chuckled.
     She smiled. “Our ancestors deemed it wise. I rule by the will of the people. As long as I do as they expect, I hold power. In my office I have several Lords and Ladies under me who govern smaller aspects, such as the animals and the waterways whilst I am directly responsible for much. Everything from making sure we have enough rain to grow the crops to maintaining the wytchlights.
     “There are some, however, like Lord Ranish, who would use their power to change the balance. To wrest the making of laws from Man and take it for himself. In his own country he as already done so in all but name. He has the Mandayn councilmen so afraid of him and what he will do that they do as he asks without question. Mandayn’s are little more than laborers to his needs and treated little better than dogs or mules. If he were to gain control of me, as he seeks to do, then he would be able to spread his darkness. A great many would suffer.”
     “How would he gain control over you? Magic?”
     Now she began to fidget uncomfortably. “There are spells which can influence others. Casting them is forbidden except in the most extreme cases, and even then one must be able to prove that the intent was to prevent another from coming to harm. Casting them upon a powerful Ord is not easy and takes a great deal of preparation and time, something he was attempting to do. With it, he would have forced me to take him as my Dark Side, granting him power and influence through me to gain control over the majority of the country. Which brings me to a confession, which I feel I must make if we are to trust one another completely enough to successfully thwart him and rescue your sister.”
     He could see that what she had to say was painful for her, but he was immediately suspicious, feeling a sense of betrayal growing within him even before he knew what she had done. “Tell me,” he said with more reassurance than he felt.
     “I… cast a spell on you earlier, when we were in the truck I began it. When you left to get your father I strengthened it.” Once she began the words spilled out of her in a rush. “You must understand, I had to stop you from summoning this sheriff. I had to make you keep the news inside yourself or we would never have been able to do what must be done. If you had told even your father that your sister had vanished, we would never be alone and he might never have healed me enough that I could actually do something to help. I had the best interests of you and your family at heart though I will understand if you feel I owe you a greater debt for the spell cast unwillingly upon you. Perhaps it will comfort you to know that casting it weakened me greatly, and I have suffered both physical pain and the guilt of having done so.”
     He stood. “No, it does not comfort me. How long will this spell last?”
     She sat perfectly still, her hands in her lap and her eyes locked on her fingers. “It is broken now.”
     He watched her for a long minute. She never moved. She was behaving as if what she had done had been a hanging offense and was waiting to see if the judge would be lenient. Though he did feel violated in a small way, it was sobering to realize that he was that judge. He was still not quite sure how he felt about the matter, but she was right, unless this was put to bed immediately, there would be difficulties rescuing Layla. “Promise me this will never happen again.”
     Her silvery eyes snapped up, shone with her sincerity. “Upon my honor, I will never cast another spell to avert your will again, save to undo the work of another.”
     He nodded. It was the best he could ask for under the circumstances. And thinking about it, he might want her to ‘avert his will’ if he was about to do something categorically stupid. “Then the matter is settled.”
     “Thank you,” she said breathlessly.
     He shook his head, “Now, how do you open this portal and what do I need to bring?”
     She looked him over, one finger curled over her lips. “Hmm, if your native dress is like your father’s, it may be best that I provide for you on arrival. This,” she asked, gesturing to his costume. “Is this some ritual wear or armor?”
     “No,” he blushed. “This is a silly costume, and flimsy at best,” he disseminated, plucking at the spandex on his arm. “A make-believe of a fictional character we call The Dark Knight. He’s a hero of sorts. What?” he asked as she began to smile.
     “Oh, nothing at all, good sir. I think it shall do nicely for the nonce. With it, few will question your presence with me. What weapons do you bear?”
     He scratched his head. “Well, dad has a shotgun in his office and I’ve a rifle up at the house… what kind of weapons do your people use?”
     “Well, magic of course. Swords, daggers, bows. We have crossbows and trebuchet. Are you versed in any of these?”
     “Not really,” he groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve used a scythe before, but never against a person. I can shoot, but I’m better with the rifle than a bow. I know my way around an ax, but only against wood. I’m a farm boy, your highness. I’m used to riding horses, tending cattle, chopping wood, mending fences and the like. We don’t have field crops beyond the occasional hay, but I suppose as long as I don’t go up against an expert I might stand a chance with a sword after a little practice.”
     She nodded. “That is fine. You have the physical conditioning necessary. My brother has a spell he’s been working on to speed the learning of certain skills. It may work with you if you will submit to it. It will help. Bring what you are used to, though I am unfamiliar with this rifle.”
     He gave a nervous chuckle. “Think of it as a … as a long barreled slingshot, like a dartpipe, but with a lot of noise and a whole lot more damage. A bullet will go right through full plate armor.”
     “By all means, bring it. Clothes I will provide for you there, and other weapons as we find need. We shall need something personal of your sister’s, something she treasures. It will help us to divine her whereabouts. Now, unfortunately I am injured. I am therefore an imperfect channel, so I will need a few things. The first is a body of living water.”
     “How do you mean living?”
     “Something flowing, a river, a lake…”
     “A frog pond?”
     She nodded, “If it is spring fed, it will do. Powdered antimony?”
     “Not a chance. Although…” he stopped, turned to glance through the glass medicine cabinet looking at labels. “We might have some medicines mixed with it. I remember dad saying something about it once.”
     She shook her head. “Not pure. It won’t do. What about rose oil? I can use that instead though there may be… side-effects.”
     “Should be. Mom’s gone on a potpourri kick lately. I think that was one she tried but decided was too sweet.”
     “Very well. An athame… any knife will do,” she added as he gave her a confused look, “I’ll just have to purify it. Finally, fourteen kernels of wheat from the same ear and a metal bowl.”
     “Any particular metal?” She shook her head. “Good. I’ll have to go into the house to get things. Can you walk?”
     She rose gracefully to her feet, tested her right leg. “I’ll be slow for a bit, but I can manage.”
     “All right, your highness. I’ve got to close up in here. Would you wait for me in the barn? There’s a tack bench out there that should be comfortable enough. I’d let you wait in here but I have to take the keys into the house with me.”
     “I shall wait wherever you like. But please, call me by my name. There will be time enough for ‘your highness’, and I feel we should be past that given my debt to you.”
     He flushed as she laid her slim white hand on his arm. “As you wish, Silverwind,” he mumbled.
     She gave a short laugh. “Sill-o-wan,” she corrected.
     “Sillawan,” he echoed, feeling a little uncomfortable standing so close to her. Her scent, now that he had the wits to reflect on it, was intoxicating though hard to identify. She smelled like a crisp autumn night, now with a hint of pine, now something floral, now some unknown ripening fruit. He was in very real danger of embarrassing himself physically, so he began to lead her out of the office, shutting off the lights as he went.
     “Now, what shall I call you? I have heard you called Brian, and Briar-patch, but knowing the way of siblings as well as I do, one of them is most likely a nickname you are less than fond of.”
     “Where are my manners,” he groaned. And, still holding her hand, turned to face her. “Brian Abernathy Valentine, at your service, your highness,” he said, bowed gallantly and kissed the air millimeters above her fingers. Her cool hand grew warm in his, her other drifted to her breast and it seemed to him that her breathing suddenly came a little faster. He glanced up, still poised above her fingertips. He flashed a sudden smile. He had often been the victim of such reactions. It was a treat for once to be the cause. “Briar-patch is a nickname my sister uses to goad me and references a childhood incident involving said briars which I shall not go into now. Brian will be fine. Mr. Valentine in polite company.”
     He guided her to the bench he had mentioned, was kind enough to lay a saddle blanket or two over it for comfort first before easing her down onto it. “You sit tight here. I should be back in no more than fifteen minutes.”
     “I… I shall take the time to gather my strength. Thank you,” she breathed.
     As he turned from her and headed to the open barn doors, he could have sworn he saw a bit of color beginning to rise on her cheeks. He stepped out into the rain and took his time walking back to the house. Good, he thought. I need a cold shower.