Chapter 16: Chapter 11: The Sodden Shore

The sun set in the darkwood, and as it did, we made our camp. A silence had fallen over our company, and not the usual sort. There were things unsaid lingering in the air, and as Luran lit a fire and cooked our dinner, I tried to read his and Hemma’s expressions.

The latter seemed to be avoiding my eyes. I felt… that I had shaken her. As for Luran, I found him as opaque as ever. Azareth treated me the same as he had before—after all, it was not his first time witnessing my demon-fire. As for Aryssa… she was perhaps the strangest of them all. She seemed nervous, uncomfortable, but smiled at me anyway. Given her reaction to my reddened eyes, I didn’t think it had to do with the bloodshed. I remembered her teary eyes as I’d cleansed the stray, and wondered if that had changed her perception of me.

Still, the silence was eating at me. So, as the sky turned fully black and stars blinked through the darkwood boughs, I broke the silence that had fallen over the camp.

“You saw a side of me, today,” I said, looking at Luran and Hemma. Only the former met my eyes. “It… was frightening.”

“You won us the day,” Luran said, shrugging. “Does it matter the means?”

Hemma’s apprehension was obvious. She stared into the wood, arms wrapped around her chest.

“Your wife seems to think so,” I said.

Hemma bit her lip, shaking her head. “Valhera, you’ve… challenged many of my beliefs. I was practically raised by the Rising Sun. And, among the many things I was taught, one thing was clear—direlings, and all others who stray from Elthys, are the enemy.”

I watched her in silence. She tucked a stray strand of blonde behind her ear, a grim look taking her face.

“I… don’t know how obvious this is, but the years since I left the order… have changed me. I’ve learned that much of what I was told was a lie, or… a gross oversimplification. That faith can be… complicated. That Elthys can be as fickle a master as any lord or lady. And, while I haven’t met many direlings in my travels, you’ve shown me that old tales of your kind are fiction. You… and Aryssa both.”

“But?” I asked, and she sighed.

“But today, when I saw you, red-eyed, darkness dripping from your bared teeth, it… only reminded me of the old tales, the old songs. That say you’re an animal. Demon-spawn. An enemy of the goddess I once pledged my life to.”

The heavy silence returned to the clearing. I looked to Aryssa, and found that she regarded Hemma with a sort of cold, dispassionate annoyance. “Where does that leave us?” I asked, returning my attention to the warrior-priestess.

She shrugged. “It may be some time before that’s clear.”

I looked down, wringing my hands. Hands… that had so recently been bloody. Not with the rotten gore of an abusive undead, but… the lifeblood of men who had not deserved to die.

My scars burned at their memory. I saw them in the dark and the smoke like ghosts given form. I shut my eyes to close them out, but that could not deter their fire.

I flexed my fingertips, feeling how my clothing rubbed against the subtle wrinkles in my skin. I breathed in deep the smells of the wood… but somehow caught the metallic scent of blood.

Then, in one moment, my unwelcome thoughts burned away. A new sensation shivered my skin—the touch of another startled me to consciousness. Turning, I found Aryssa standing behind me, a hand hovering where I had flinched away. She turned it, outstretched for me to take, the look on her face impossible to decipher.

“Valhera,” she said. “Can I show you something?”

Her hand looked very pale in the firelight. Her tail brushed my own, setting me on edge.

“Show me what?”

“What I saw. Not… bloodshed and terror.” She offered one of her smiles, and I found my heart beating faster.

I nodded, then made to stand. Leading me along, she slipped her hand into mine. It was warm, gentle-warm, and soft… and I did not push it away. As she tightened it around my own, I felt the calluses on her fingers, but they did not undermine the tenderness of her grip.

She had that damned glimmer in her eyes. And, pulling me east, she guided me into the lightless night that had settled over the darkwood.

“There is a place,” she said, once we were out of earshot, “that I like to go whenever I come this far west. It’s a great place to camp, but… I didn’t think the others would appreciate it the same way I do.”

We walked, hand in hand, for what felt like the better part of a half-mile. Glancing over my shoulder, I couldn’t see our camp’s firelight and decided to voice my concern.

“Is this too far?” I asked, but Aryssa only laughed.

“It’s not much farther.”

And, true to her word, we arrived within a few more moments. The ceiling of the darkwood unraveled, exposing the bright, dotted light of Khaldara’s night sky. There was the moon, crescent, dim, a light in the void around which the stars and nebula played. Far from the fire’s light, I was able to appreciate the sky in a way I hadn’t in a while. In front of us, there was a pond, brimming and glistening with starlight. Its still water reflected the patterns of the night sky, giving the impression of a void below, mirror to the void above.

Aryssa released my hand, stepping forward and spreading her arms. She sat in the grass, thicker and softer from the nearby water. She gestured for me to join her, and I sat a few feet away.

“Does the night sky look the same? In Elthysia?” she asked. I turned away from the water, focusing instead on the pale glow of her skin.

I said nothing, forgetting for a moment. I thought back to those nights where my father and I would stargaze. He would teach me the constellations, showing heroes and demon-kings, remembered or imprisoned in the sky. Looking up, I saw Strytha, Elthys’s snow-white steed, immortalized in the stars where it still fought her enemies. There was Plass, the bringer of tides, whose ravenous thirst had once threatened to dry up the seas. Around him was Elthys’s Chain, forged in starlight to keep the demon-king contained.

“It’s the same,” I said, trying to find other patterns in the stars as I laid down in the grass. “Same moon, same stars.”

“I’ve heard it’s different. In the day, at least.”

“It’s blue. Light blue.”

“Light blue,” she said, thinking on the image. “Like the ocean?”

“Not quite. I’ve been told… it’s like my eyes.”

“Like your eyes,” she said, leaning over me.

Even in the deep dark, I could see her irises’ glistening green. She scanned my own, then tilted her head in a curious look. Her slender fingers brushed my cheek, soft and alluring.

“It must be fucking breathtaking,” she said.

My face flushed red-hot. My mouth opened, an attempt to respond, but only empty air came out.

“You’re a Furor,” she said, shifting to hover over me more closely. “I saw that today. A woman with demon-fire in her veins. Capable of so much destruction, and yet… wielding her blade with a dancer’s skill and grace. Not for Hell, herself, nor for a warlord… but for compassion. For a lost, little stray.”

I could feel her heat, hear her breath, smell her hair. I watched her as she watched me. I marveled how the black of her hair drifted like shadows across her face. Eventually, she spoke again, and I was glad that the night hid the increasing blush in my cheeks.

“I felt it, when you cleansed that girl. Power like that, it… seeps into everything.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I watched her, wide-eyed, as her face came an inch closer to mine. She was solemn, and yet I saw how excitement danced in her gaze.

“You touched my heart, too. In a way few have.” Her caress ran down my neck, and I felt something within me, beginning to stir.

“Aryssa—” I said, but she rested her finger on my lips.

“Call me Ari.” Her smile spread beneath gentle eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not blind. You know… how you look at me. Or do you mean to say… that you don’t wear your heart so plainly?”

I stammered, the heat and anticipation building in my blood.

“I want you, Valhera. And I think that you want me. Tell me I’m wrong, and we need never speak of this again. Tell me I’m wrong… or say nothing if I’m right.” Eyes closed, she brushed her nose against mine. The slow, intoxicating sweep of her breath… was ambrosia. Her warmth, so close… like shackles held my tongue.

My silence stretched, my voice long lost. Not that I would have chosen to speak. She held my head, breathing out as I breathed in. Then she kissed me. Her lips against mine, soft and supple. Her tongue, dancing across my own. I tried to relax, to give myself into the moment, but found myself far too rigid.

She hesitated at my stiffness, then withdrew. I opened my eyes. Hers held a flicker of doubt, but I made no move to push her away. “I want you,” she said, brushing aside my hair. My heartbeat, quickening, put an unfamiliar feeling in my skin and bones. There was a look in my eye… maybe like a beggar looking in the bakery window. Whatever it was, it turned away Aryssa’s momentary inhibition. Her eyes once again sparkled, dancing in the starlight. “That first night, in Black Orchard… fuck me, you were beautiful. In… such a rare way. But today, what you showed me… puts every vista to shame.”

She sprang to her feet and turned, walking to the pond’s shore. I sat up, quaking, reeling, and watched as she removed her boots, first, then her shirt. She glanced at me, winked, and pulled the knot out of her hair. Long cascades, black as the Void, tumbled over her bare shoulders and draped like curtains across her bare back. She stepped out of her trousers, naked body brightened by the crescent moon, and eased herself into the dark water.

Turning, she tossed her hair and called to me. “Did you need an invitation?” I stumbled to my feet, fumbling my buttons, and she laughed, looking on. I hesitated, removing my shirt, fearful to bare the scars on my back. But… she had seen the red in my eyes and even then, brought me here.

I held myself, guarded, as I descended into the water. She took my hand in her own, and we waded deeper, together, until its depth came up to my navel.

She looked at the sky above, and my eyes followed. The stars, the moon, the black of the void… they were all still, for a moment. Their reflections did not send ripples in the water around us, nor did they sway and groan like the branches of the trees. The way they aligned… something felt right. There was beauty, I saw, that could not be appreciated in the light of day.

When I looked at Aryssa, I felt the same. By daylight, she looked like so many other direling women. Her beauty was not the sort that would see suitors throwing themselves at her feet. But there was something intangible about her. Something that had caught my heart in Black Orchard and clutched it every night since… something that became all the more real as we stood in that shallow water. In the darkness of the void, she was more regal than a queen. Her beauty, usually as quiet and subtle as a summer breeze, washed over me like a thundering gale. Her body, slight and lean, seemed as steady and sturdy as the darkwood trees.

The water splashed as she ran her hand over my neck, my shoulder, my breast… one of my many scars. I tensed, muscles coiling. She did not call attention to the pale, knotted blemishes on my skin, not in such an explicit way. But her eyes settled in an understanding look. Her hand on my wrist guided me toward her abdomen. Where, much smaller, more alone… a wicked scar of hers nonetheless hooked above her navel.

Then her voice, quiet, breathy, made my own breath falter. “This is… new to you. You’ve never felt another person’s touch before. Not… like this.”

I had never had friends, lovers… anything of the sort. And my father had never been physical in his affection. I supposed… touch had held a different meaning, for me. Fists, kicks, grapples exchanged with the mobs and guards… nothing so tender. She saw my distant expression and placed my hands on her chest. My every instinct told me to bristle, to push away, then she traced a scar as her whisper seeped into my ear.

“I won’t hurt you.” Her hands migrated to my waist, her tail wrapping my thighs. “You don’t have to be alone. I see you, I think, for what you are. I think… I know some part of the pain you hide. And Val, I want that part of you, too. I want it all.”

I thought… she couldn’t. She couldn’t know what she was saying. I had not told her of the blood I’d shed, nor my own blood shed. I thought… she couldn’t know my past, my upbringing, the lessons I’d learned in a world that thought me heathen. And yet… her touch, like precious silk. Her words… soft, like feathered down. I saw, in her, a rare sincerity.

It was something I couldn’t yet comprehend. It, as all new things, was strange. It was uncomfortable, at least at first. But the longer I held her eyes and felt her touch, deeper spread the cracks in my wall of stone. Deeper dug my longing… and deeper, still, bloomed her warmth.

It felt as if a great burden was lifting. I leaned into her touch, ever so slightly. I traced the contours of her shoulders and chest. She held my waist, and I found that I enjoyed it. She offered me a comfort… and a safety that I hadn’t even known myself to lack.

I held her stare. Then, I melted. I unraveled. I closed my eyes, resting my head on her shoulder. She clutched me tight, and my tears formed, abounding while we swayed. She ran her fingers through my hair, humming a slow, melancholy song. She brushed my horns, played with my hair, and nuzzled her head against mine.

I don’t know how much time passed, standing in the light of the moon and stars, listening to her voice as it sang in her chest. She kissed me, dragging us both beneath the black water. Our bodies tangled like pondweed, swept in the current. We found ourselves in shallower water, panting as we resurfaced, the water and mud as our mattress. Her skin, glistening wet, shimmered in the moonlight. She pressed on my thigh, stroking it up and down, drawing nearer to my groin. In her gaze, there was a question, an excitement, a hunger.

Perhaps… we were moving too fast. We had not known each other long, and I was not acquainted with sex. It put a hesitance in my mind, but a part of me leapt at the opportunity. This was the first woman… who wanted me. So, too, the first woman that I truly wanted. Her presence had stirred something within me, something that raced my heart and stole my breath. Something that thirsted and shook in anticipation. Already, I had felt things at her hands that I had never felt before. And, seeing her in the light of the darkening moon… I yearned for more.

I spread my legs as widely as I could. She stroked my thigh once again, almost contemplative, before venturing further. I flinched at that touch. It was a reflex. Still, it gave her pause.

She hovered over me, head cocked. I found it difficult to pass my body’s inhibitions. But with her… I felt that safety. Seeing how her dripping hair clung to her face, how the moon and stars brushed her skin, scintillant and pale… there was nothing more beautiful in the entire world. The curve of her slender neck, the lithe definition of her shoulders… found me excited. And, even for a moment, she had seen something in me.

I reached, hesitant, then wrapped my hands around her breasts, trim and smooth. I felt the bumps of her ribs, then the hard muscle of her slender abdomen. I migrated upward again, smiling as I toyed with that softest part of her. Then, laying more fully into the mud, I lifted my feet and escorted her to her delicate destination.

She was all too eager. She massaged my hamstrings, held aloft. She kissed my every curve as if lapping up the dark water. Her fingers circled my womanhood. I bit my tongue, loosening my muscles as she slipped more fully inside.

She stroked two-handed, working me from within and without. A sensation began, flushing my cheeks a bashful red. My lips parted as her own curved in a playful smirk. She kissed my bare belly, mouth and tongue passing over its bumps and lines. Soon, her head and hands swapped their duties, fingers tracing my contours with their spine-chilling nails, pressing the ridges of my muscle and bone while her mouth more fervently roused the heat in my nerves. She adjusted my legs to better straddle her shoulders, forever watching me with that gleam in her verdure, mouth resounding with the tune of that melancholy song.

Pressure built, and heat. It came on slowly, swelling like the humidity before a storm. My heart pounded, and my muscles grew tense. The sensation weighed on my breath like clouds, great and gray. And, just as rain takes time to amass, at length I shuddered on the verge of a downpour.

The storm broke. My fingers took the shapes of claws, one in the mud, the other in her hair. A sound, desperate, animal, exhilarating started in my chest and passed my open lips. My body trembled as I lost my breath. The heat in my blood crackled like lightning. Rain, hot, humid, sensational pounded across my skin. Torrents fell, and I gasped like the howling wind.

I caught my breath. The rain faded to a drizzle. Aryssa crawled over me, grinning darkly. I reached for her, longing to incite a raging storm within her, too. She raised a brow at my touch, then shifted into a position that I could better exploit. I sat up, holding her backside as she settled on my lap. She sifted through my hair and wrapped around my torso while my unsure fingers made their first attempt.

It was clumsy. She had seemed to know my most sensitive parts, strumming them as expertly as her lute’s many strings. She noticed my struggle and pulled back a bit. Her hands were warm, taking my own and guiding them along. Her voice was sweet as she taught me a pattern, a tempo, and the best way to hold this instrument. She kept it steady a while, then let me make my own rhythm. Her fingers returned to my hair and collar, her lips to my own.

Soon, her breath caught. She bit my lip, ever so softly, teeth dragging along the supple skin. Her tail lashed along my legs, and she watched me with eyes of desire.

Suffice it to say, she sang a very particular song that night. One that burned in my blood far hotter than her histories or hymns.

Soon, we both were tired. I lay, curled against her body like liquid, taking her shape. Her warmth, her touch, her smell… in them, I was lost. I wanted to never leave the mud and shallow water, but Aryssa rose and roused me from my reverie.

I looked at her, glowing against the vault of night. Her hair, like the void, was black and endless. Her face, like the moon, was pale and round. Her eyes, like stars, gleamed their invincible gleam.

There are things only seen when you snuff out the light. There are moments that can only be had in the dark. Opposite the day, withering in the dawn… all the more beautiful for their tragic, fleeting nature.

Her full splendor was one of those things. And, even as she washed off the mud and dressed, covering the lithe grace of her body, the moment we’d shared had been branded in my mind, my heart, my bloodstream and bones.

We returned to camp, and Azareth, keeping watch, only looked at us with a single raised brow. Aryssa offered to take his vigil early, and as he faded asleep, I found my own rest with her. She cradled my head, horns and all, against her chest, once again humming that mourning melody.