The Journey Read online

  THE JOURNEY

  A Fantasy Novel

  by

  PIERS ANTHONY

  J.R. RAIN

  Acclaim for J.R. Rain and Piers Anthony:

  “Anthony’s most ambitious project to date. Well conceived and written from the heart.”

  —Library Journal on Piers Anthony’s Isle of Woman

  “Be prepared to lose sleep!”

  —James Rollins, international bestselling author of The Doomsday Key on J.R. Rain’s The Lost Ark

  “Piers Anthony is a writer of passion. Volk is a masterpiece.”

  —Brad Linaweaver, author of Moon of Ice

  “Dark Horse is the best book I’ve read in a long time!”

  —Gemma Halliday, award-winning author of Spying in High Heels

  “Piers Anthony is one of the more colorful personalities in the SF world.”

  —Science Fiction Chronicle on Piers Anthony’s Bio of an Ogre

  “Moon Dance is a must read. If you like Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum, bounty hunter, be prepared to love J.R. Rain’s Samantha Moon, vampire private investigator.”

  —Eve Paludan, author of Letters from David

  OTHER BOOKS BY

  PIERS ANTHONY AND J.R. RAIN

  STANDALONE NOVELS

  The Journey

  The Worm Returns

  Lavabull

  Jack and the Giants

  Dolfin Tayle

  Dragon Assassin

  THE ALADDIN TRILOGY

  Aladdin Relighted

  Aladdin Sins Bad

  Aladdin and the Flying Dutchman

  The Journey

  Copyright © 2017 by J.R. Rain and Piers Anthony

  All rights reserved.

  Ebook Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold.

  The Journey

  Chapter 1: Inside Floyd’s Mind

  The Journey was stupid. It was also reckless and dangerous.

  But here he was, on his mount, in the dead of night, ducking against the driving rain and wishing like hell he was home, in front of a fire, toasting marshmallows, and sipping hot chocolate, all while his goofy kid sister strummed her lute, and his father yelled at any and all of them, and his mother fussed in the kitchen.

  Hey, a guy could dream.

  And dream he did, as his old war horse plodded ever forward into the darkness.

  In fact, they’d been plodding for hours, and Floyd knew he would soon have to set up camp and sleep. Except he really, really didn’t want to set up camp on the cold, wet ground. He suspected Old Blackie wanted to be dry too. Not to mention he wanted a fire, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t good enough at making fire to start one in the wind and rain. Or even one without the wind and rain. In fact, he wasn’t very good at it at all. Which was why he was certain he would die tonight.

  Which was a damn shame, because he had only just started living.

  Floyd had turned eighteen two days ago, which meant, of course, he had to begin his Journey. Floyd, of course, didn’t want to begin his Journey. He was perfectly happy living in the village, thank you very much. Except from his village, every male or female had set off on their own journeys. His father had done it. His mother had done it. Every adult had done it.

  The idea behind The Journey was, Floyd had pointed out numerous times, stupid. And not just stupid, but reckless. Who in their right mind sent their 18-year-old son or daughter out into the world on their own, for no good reason at all? Of course, the village had a reason. Officially, it was to return with stories. Unofficially, Floyd suspected, it was to cull the weak.

  Well, I have a story now, he thought ruefully. Village boy gets soaked to the bone and catches his death.

  Floyd had, of course, pointed out that there were murderers out there. Cutthroats and thieves. He told anyone who would listen, but no one did. The Journey was the way of the village, and that was that.

  Stupid Journey, he thought again, ducking under a branch a fraction too late.

  They sent him off into the woods, knowing full well that he might not return. Which was probably why his mother had been crying and why his kid sister hugged him and wouldn’t let him go, not until she was pried off him. His father had given him last-minute pointers on how to pitch a tent or field-dress a deer.

  Now, he was on his own, not to return until years later with stories to entertain the village. But Floyd knew they didn’t really want stories. They wanted a man to return. Leave a boy, return a man. Simple as that.

  Now, cold and alone, he regretted not paying more attention to his father’s instructions on how to build a fire. A part of Floyd, a realistic part of Floyd, thought his parents wouldn’t actually send him out on his own Journey. Yes, his friends had all set out, but he didn’t really think his parents would give him the boot. But they had. And here he was. Cold, wet, alone, and miserable.

  He knew they were all sitting around the fire now, sipping chicken broth and wondering if he had already died. Floyd nearly stopped. Nearly turned back. Nearly decided to sit outside his parents’ humble abode for the rest of his life, eating whatever scraps they tossed to the chickens and pigs.

  But he didn’t. He knew he couldn’t. After all, no one came back without stories to entertain the village for days and sometimes weeks on end. He wouldn’t be the first, no matter how much he missed his ma’s cooking. Or his pa’s fire. Or his little sister’s terrible lute playing.

  Or Amelie. Sweet Amelie.

  He sighed. Perhaps he would miss her most of all.

  The Journey had no rules, other than to return with stories. And finding real stories took time. Floyd considered finding a cave high in the nearby Green Mountains and living there for a few years, all while making up stories about trolls and dragons and rock monsters, stories about princesses and fairies and evil wizards. All of which were the subjects of those who returned from their own Journeys.

  That would show them, he thought. I would make up the damn stories, all while living like a hermit in the mountains, growing my beard out—or those few hairs on my chin. I would make up the damn stories and show them how stupid their Journey is. Or maybe I would never return. Yes, that would show them.

  He shook his head and mumbled, “What are they thinking, sending a kid out on a night like this?”

  “Maybe they hope you will return a man,” said a voice. A sweet voice. A female voice.

  Floyd blinked, certain he had made up the voice. After all, it sounded just like...

  “Amelie?” he asked, certain he had already found himself under the spell of a forest witch. Or maybe he had fallen off Old Blackie and hit his head?

  “Of course, dummy,” said the voice.

  And lo! There she was, swinging down from a branch above, and dropping nearly in front of him. Old Blackie neighed and reared back. When he had regained control of his mount, he saw her standing there before him, one hand on her hip. She snapped her fingers and a fireball appeared just a few inches above her palm. Floyd blinked. Had he really just seen that?

  “Amelie... I don’t understand. Why are you here?”

  “Because someone has to keep you alive, dummy.”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “You already said that.”

  “But I really don’t—”

  “Shh!” she said, bringing a narrow finger to his lips.

  And then he heard it too. Voices. Men. Maybe half a dozen of them. Even more terrifying was that some of the voices were speaking his name.

  “This way,” she said, and cast her light in the direction of a side trail Floyd would never have seen in the dark. “Follow me if you want to live.”

  Chapter 2: Fee Faux

  What could he do? Tho
se men seeking him were surely up to no good. The fact that they knew he was coming boded ill. Most likely they were a press-gang, out to capture fresh meat for galley slaves, because the old ones often didn’t last long. It hadn’t been any secret that it was his turn to take The Journey, so they went for the easy pickings. Poor Old Blackie would wind up at the glue factory.

  Yet wouldn’t his folks have known about that danger? So why did they openly send him out? It didn’t make much sense—unless they really did want to get rid of him expeditiously.

  No, he couldn’t believe that. There had to be some other angle. Maybe the men weren’t a press-gang, but friends who meant to protect him from any such threat. But then why not have them accompany him from the start, instead of having to search him out in the wilderness? This didn’t seem to make much sense.

  “Are you coming?” Amelie called, already on the obscure path. “Or do you plan on woolgathering until they find you?”

  She had him dead to rights. He did tend to think too much instead of acting. He was not especially smart, but neither was he stupid; he just liked to make sense of things. Maybe he was a dreamer. Regardless, now was not the time. He hastily turned Old Blackie in her direction. “Follow her,” he told him, knowing that he would do exactly that. He was wise for a horse; it came with age and experience. Floyd regarded him as his friend.

  Amelie moved along with surprising dispatch for such a slip of a girl. He was barely able to admire her flexing tight breeches in the flickering light as gusts of wind blew her cloak momentarily aside.

  Soon they came to an enormous chestnut tree. The path ended at its broad trunk. Amelie touched that trunk, and a door opened. She stepped through.

  What? He stared. This was impossible!

  “Get in here, imbecile!” Amelie’s voice called from within the tree. “We need to be safely out of sight before the press-gang gets here.”

  That goosed him into action. He nudged Old Blackie with his knees, and the horse obediently walked forward. The seemingly small door turned out to be big enough to admit them. He heard the door close behind them.

  Inside was a fair-sized shed and stable, with sweet-smelling hay piled invitingly. Better yet, it was dry and warm. He quickly dismounted and removed the horse’s saddle and bit, then let him start in on the hay.

  But now his inner alarms were sounding. This was plainly impossible. This interior was far wider than the tree trunk, and it wasn’t the way trees were made. He had cut enough wood to know. It had to be magic. And Amelie had magic too, though she had never evinced it in her regular life. All of which suggested that—

  “Get that wet clothing off,” Amelie snapped. “Before you perish from the shivers! I’ll dry it while you wash up.”

  Undress in her presence? Floyd was wet and cold, soaked through to his clammy underwear, but that was not enough. There might come a time, but this was not it. “I can’t—”

  She strode forward, stepped into him, and kissed him firmly on the mouth. It was like getting hit by the punchline of a really romantic story, with him the protagonist. He reeled back, sweetly stunned.

  Then he obediently stripped off his clothing, all of it, and she took it and hung it up by a hot hearth he hadn’t noticed before.

  As he gradually recovered his volition, he noticed something else. “Why aren’t you wet?” he asked. For she was completely dry, from her curly fair hair to her dainty lady’s boots.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  What kind of answer was that? “I do want to know, Amelie. You were out in the storm the same as I was. You should be soaked too.”

  “I have magic,” she confessed reluctantly.

  “I can see that! How did you find this tree-trunk shelter?”

  “It’s not really in a tree trunk. It wouldn’t fit. The door in the trunk is a portal to this private retreat.”

  Floyd’s suspicion burgeoned. “Who are you?” he demanded. “Or should I ask, what are you? Amelie never had talents like yours.”

  “Don’t pester me, Floyd. Just be satisfied that I’m keeping you safe, when otherwise you’d have suffered grievously.”

  She was right, but his dander was up, as it were. “How do I know you’re not some foul witch who has worse in mind for me than the press-gang does?” Like a slow boil in a big kettle, meat for several meals.

  “Trust me; I don’t.”

  But he did not trust her at all. “I’m getting out of here,” he said, lurching for the door. But three things stopped him: he was naked, it was miserable out there, and there was now no door.

  “Behave yourself,” she said. “Don’t make me kiss you again.”

  That shook him. That kiss had had the impact of a soft sledgehammer striking through to his pulsing heart. So he temporized. “Why not kiss me again?”

  “Because each disciplinary kiss has power,” she said evenly. “They are not like ordinary kisses. Too many, too soon, and you will be hopelessly in love with me, completely unable to function without my say-so. You don’t want that.”

  “I’m already half-besotted with Amelie,” he countered. “Only you’re not her, are you? Tell me the truth.”

  “You really must have it?” she asked somewhat wearily.

  “I always want the truth. So I can make sense of things. I’m not making much sense of this. Exactly what are you, and what do you really want with me?”

  She sighed. “I fear you’ll be sorry. You’d be happier in ignorance.”

  “Never. I’m already too ignorant for my own good. Tell me.”

  “I am a Fee.”

  “A what?”

  “A Fee. A variety of Dusky Elf. I normally live in a crystal cave underground. I can assume the form of any female, so for this purpose I became your girlfriend Amelie. I can also become invisible.”

  “Show me,” he demanded.

  She faded out, becoming invisible.

  “I mean, show me your real form,” he said quickly. “Is it monstrous? Or are you one of those elves whose breasts are so pendulous she has to throw them over her shoulder?”

  She faded back in. “I’m not like that. I’m a fair creature in my own right.”

  “Show me,” he repeated.

  She grimaced. “As you wish.” Her clothing dissipated into mist and she stood there as a phenomenally endowed fair-haired young woman, sexy as hell.

  His body started to react. He couldn’t help it.

  “Oh, stop that,” she snapped impatiently. She gestured toward his midsection. Suddenly, his reaction went limp.

  “Uh, thank you, I guess,” he said somewhat lamely. “How do I know you’re really trying to help me, and not setting me up for something too awful to imagine?”

  She sighed again. “If you will agree to behave yourself, and cooperate, I will tell you everything. Is it a deal?”

  Floyd gambled that it would be okay. Maybe her appearance made him want to keep things amicable. “Deal.”

  A steaming platter appeared in her hands. “Eat while you listen.”

  So she could conjure things. He sat on a chair by a small table that also appeared, and ate from the sumptuous repast she had provided. He listened.

  “Your family was concerned that the required rite of passage for your kind, The Journey, would make short work of you, and you would die,” she said, sitting opposite him, not bothering either to eat or to reclothe herself. That was fine with him; he loved looking at her, especially now that he was not embarrassing himself with a visible reaction. “So was Amelie. She had done a skry to ascertain who in all the village was her best possible husband.”

  “A what?”

  “A skry. She has very little magic herself, and most of that she uses to slightly enhance her appearance, as many girls do. But she read in a book of spells how to skry, which is to do a kind of reading by seeing visions in a crystal. Most of the magic is in the crystal, and it doesn’t work for everyone, but if you have the touch and the right question, you can get an answer, and it is always a
true one. She asked it for the man who would be her very best possible partner in marriage, and it formed a picture, and it turned out to be you.”

  “Me?” he exclaimed, pleasantly surprised.

  Now she laughed. “No joke. I admit I really can’t figure why, as you are not rich, strong, handsome, smart, or lucky. But there is something about you. The skry does not lie. She had not paid you much attention before, but now she became seriously concerned about your welfare. So she checked privately with your mother, and learned that soon you would have to take The Journey, and your mother feared grievously for your health.”

  “I knew nothing of this!”

  “It was vital that you not know, lest it queer the skry. The object of a skry can mess it up by refusing to follow the prescribed course. The future is unfortunately malleable. But now you have agreed to cooperate with me, so it should be all right.” She met his gaze. “The skry merely indicated that you were best for her; it provided no guarantee that you would live to fulfill it. At any rate, they made a deal: your family would send you out on this night, and Amelie would arrange assistance for you to guarantee your survival. That is why I intercepted you.”

  Floyd still saw a hole in it. “Why should you, a magical creature, do that?”

  “Why, indeed,” she agreed wryly. “Nursemaiding an ignorant village lout around the world for three years!”

  “Thanks,” he said, as wryly. “Why?”

  “Three reasons. One, I wouldn’t mind seeing the world myself; it gets dull here in the local forest, for an almost-eternal creature like myself.” She saw his look, and smiled. “Yes, I look young, by design, but I am literally older than the hills. So this could be a pretext to explore while doing my job.”

  “Nursemaiding an ignorant village lout,” he agreed. It didn’t really bother him, because of the beauty of her body on display before him, and because her potent kiss had not yet worn off. Who would he rather be nursemaided by?