This story contains graphic rape, incest, monsterfucking, gore, zoophilia, etc., all written with erotic and fetishising intention that appeals to me without much consideration for anyone else. Teehee.
She’s sleeping so peacefully for someone lying on nothing but a hay bale with cloth draped over it. I’m yearning for the soft beds at the inn, but without any money we'll just have to sleep in a barn outside of the colony walls. Cilithol was exhausted, yet she wanted to stay awake and let me sleep in case we were caught trespassing. The peasants take their lease very seriously, and protect the property fiercely. Cilithol was so tired I just couldn’t stand to see those dark circles around her eyes, so I cast a sleep spell on her. It’s not usually me staying up and watching over her, and I'm a little nervous, but seeing her like this makes me feel peaceful too.
Cilithol is my older sister. She is also my caretaker, in the absence of a mother, and she is very protective of me. She doesn't protect me because she thinks I can’t do anything for myself, not at all. We’ve fought the Anghenfilod of this island alongside each other long enough that she knows full well what I’m capable of. No, she worries for me purely and simply as an older sister. She sees it as her duty, no matter what, to protect me. Tonight though, I flipped the roles by force.
I feel bad about casting spells like that on her, but the guilt is soothed whenever I look at her and see how worth it it was that she could finally rest. She looks so cute when she’s sleeping. With all her muscles relaxed she has a completely different look. A few minutes ago she was on her back and snoring loudly, so I flipped her over on her side. Now her lips are parted and she’s drooling onto the cloth. Her thick, tanned arm rises and falls with every steady breath. I really want to hug her. I could without any worry of her waking, thanks to the potency of my spell. She can’t wake up for hours more, or until I release her myself. I inch closer, but don’t touch her. It wouldn't be wrong. We're sisters after all, and due to my circumstances I ride on her back most of the time we're out so it's not like touching is the problem. It's a different reaction to her body that stops me. Seeing her like this excites me. I really want to smell her, but the stink of the barn overwhelms everything, even our sweat-stained bodies.
There are Animals below us as we hide on the loft floor. Coweevils are mostly scentless as insects, but horses are a different story. I couldn’t imagine that an Animal could smell so strongly before meeting a horse. Out in the Farlands- that is anywhere but here- they have horses all over. A lot of countries ride them through their streets, between cities and people might work at a stable entirely dedicated to their care and keep. Those places must be unbearable to live just for the stench. Here on Madarch, though, they’re pretty rare and expensive, considering they aren't native. It takes a lot to ship Animals overseas, but the colony's resources had to be met before it was self-sustaining, and we learned to ride striders. Despite not working at a stable nor owning a horse of my own, I know my way around horses. Modern medicine can do incredible things, even if the process is unsavoury. I look down at my budding chest and taste salt in my mouth. Since there are multiple horses in this barn, chances are the lord who owns them is close to the sheriff. That makes me all the more nervous as that would mean they might hire people to inspect the farm early in the morning as part of their socage. I'll wake Cilithol and get out of here as soon as the sun starts to rise.
Even though we’re close to the colony, it’s not uncommon for Anghenfilod- the proper name for monsters- to wander out here looking for livestock to feed on. Before I put her to sleep, Cilithol was talking about “monsters” in this area that she had heard about from someone else, who had heard it from someone else, which is why she was so especially stubborn to stay awake this time that I had to resort to magic. My mind has unfortunately drifted to that stupid rumour now, there's not much else to think about as we're cooped up in a dark hayloft. I start to feel sweat bead on my forehead. Despite being an expert in Anghenfil zoology, I still frighten easily. If I want to sleep tonight I'll have to push the thoughts of hungry Anghenfilod out of my head. Just then the horses below us begin to stomp and huff in their little rooms. Something not only woke them but agitated them as well. Did they hear something? See something? An Anghenfil here to eat them? Immediately I start to shake and can feel tears welling in my eyes, my body's fast reaction to stress.
I hear quiet knocking on the outside of the barn. My hand is already halfway over Cilithol to dismiss my sleep spell, but before I do the barn door creaks slowly open and I see the shadow cast inside from the light of the moonfish. It’s shaped like a Sengl. No Anghenfilod that live around here would look like us. The nervousness remains, though, that earlier anxiety about some hired hand here to sweep the barns for shirker prisoners and thieves.
I hold my breath and can only hope that Cilithol doesn’t make any noise. I’ve tried developing an invisibility spell, as I often find myself in situations where I wish I could disappear. Unfortunately but expectedly, invisibility is an incredibly nuanced and complicated effect. Right now I am only able to make a single part of my body appear transparent, and the spell still requires two phases to account for both the living and dead flesh, such as the upper layer of skin and hair. I cast the spell on my own head, making it along with all of my hair and dead skin become completely transparent. Cilithol says that when I do that you can see the inside of my neck. We're considering the applications of this for surgery or diagnosis, a spell patent like that could make us a lot of money, but I'd have to work out a few kinks first.
I peek slightly over the edge of the hayloft and see the intruder taking the horse equipment from the wall. They are taking a saddle and trying to lead one of the horses out. So, a horse thief huh? My worries go away. I lean back towards my sister and release the invisibility.
In a mental slip, I also release the sleep spell from Cilithol. Behind my head I can feel her shift, and start to mumble to herself as she is brought out of sleep. My face goes white and I leap up to cover her mouth. She grabs my wrists as I do, but she quickly understands what I am doing and lets go. I sign to her that it’s only a horse thief down there, and her waking was an accident.
Our sign language is personal to us, developed over all of the years we've been together, which is all of them in my case. I am... Not typically capable of speaking to most people other than my sister, so in public we use this language with each other. I simply come across as mute to others. In situations like this, too, it comes in handy. We wait for the horse thief to leave and shut the barn door behind them. A very smooth operation on their part. Horses are so ridiculously fast, they’ll probably be at the colony in Pren Gwithon by morning. Cilithol sighs. She feels that haze in her consciousness, she knows I used magic on her.
“Cariadus, I told you it was dangerous around here. You should have let me keep an eye out.” She says it with as stern a tone that she can muster, but the sweetness of her voice when she's speaking to me can never be lost.
I explain myself. “You were exhausted after the last job went wrong. I couldn’t let you stay up like that, even for my sake. I can handle listening out from a hayloft, near the colony, in complete darkness, with plenty of places to hide.”
While it’s too dark to see the smallest details in her face, I can tell she is looking at me with her “mother” expression. The one she pulls out when she thinks I’ve done too much for her, and wants to make it even. It could never be even between us. She does way too much for me that it'd take me months of non-stop service to make even. That wouldn't be so bad though...
“Thank you, Carrie. I'm really well rested. But it’s time for you to go to sleep now.”
I want to keep watching over her as she sleeps, but she will be even more stubborn now, and she won't let herself get hit by my magic trick again. Well, I can't really criticise her for that. I'm just as desperate to see her sleep again. Does she want to watch over me when I sleep because she admires my body too? The thought of that clouds my head as I blankly nod and do as she says, crawling onto the covered haybale she was just on. I gave in so quickly once that little thought crossed my mind. The cloth is still warm with her body heat, and I can smell her in it even above the mammalstink. So good...
She makes sure I’m lying down flat on my back, with a bundle under my head, a requirement if I want to be able to move around in the morning. Some issue with my spine, it's just been that way since birth, one complication of many. She whispers goodnight to me as she sits down with her back to me like a guard dog. I stare at the back of her head for a while. She subtly moves her head in response to every little sound from outside and below, on high alert. Her hair is long and dark, with white streaks. The opposite of mine- Short, white with black streaks.
Our mother was a human, and our father was a holbytla. We got our hair texture, skin colour and face from her. We got our body hair, lesser height and physique from him. Well, my sister got his physique. While I should be fatter like her, since birth I have been unhealthily thin. My body is frail and I grow exhausted very quickly. My sister carries me most places, because we can’t afford one of Zahn’s wheelchairs. They're surprisingly difficult to make, and he's the only artisan who crafts them in the colony. Disabled prisoners don't usually last long enough under the heel of the Guard to get one. Cilithol is convinced that I can grow stronger like her with proper nutrition. She puts a lot of work into feeding me often, on a healthy, hearty and generous diet. Our meagre means don't allow us much, but we work with what we can get, occasionally hunting despite regulations. She can cook really well as a result, and I’ve learned a bit from her too.
This summary of knowledge about my sister, inspired by just the back of her head and her broad shoulders runs through my mind, a nightly reminder of who I love most in this world, who has loved me and held me for my whole life, who trained to be a Slayer just to fight Anghenfilod at my side. Myself, having little physical capability, am a skilled magic craftswoman, and a natural-born Sorcerer. Whether that is from my mother or my father, we’ll never know. I don't like thinking about myself very much, at least not while awake. Eventually, my eyes close and I fall asleep.
My name is Cariadus O’Malum O’Nain Choir. My sister is Cilithol O’Malum O’Nain Choir. We live in the settlement “Penal Colony #1,” or Hendir, a colony on the central island of Seth on the archipelago of Madarch. A long, long time ago Sengl, that is all of us intelligent, creative beings, used to live here when it was just a single island. A legendary cataclysm, the last resort of a desperate ruler, broke the island apart, and bound its pieces with chains to stop an existential threat. The chaos this caused made all Sengl sail away to sea to find new lands, which became all the civilisations and countries of the Farlands. A few dozen nations in the Farlands form the world governmental organisation called the Union Parliament. They send away prisoners they deem worthy of such a punishment to the penal colonies on Madarch, but after a good century or so most people that live here now were born here, like my sister and I.
I love my sister. I really love her. I love her in ways that are not considered okay. I can’t help feeling such a thing for someone who takes such good care of me, has the most beautiful smile, and a very distracting body… She does not feel the same, that’s not something that crosses almost anyone’s minds about their own siblings. It's not normal. But still... Every day I want to get closer to her, in special ways.
The streets are crowded. Their dozens of eyes fall on me, my thin limbs wrapped around Cilithol as I cling to her back. Their gaze makes my face feel like stone, my throat couldn't move to speak even if I wanted to. Being out around other people feels like I’m being crushed with invisible hands from all sides. The dagger on my sister’s waist, the Claisthavn, rubs against my thigh. It's her prized possession as a Slayer, one of only thirty ever created, and a treasure that any other Slayer would do anything to get their hands on. It's a very powerful blade infused with magic that allows it to transform at the user’s will, taking the form of any other weapon. It was granted to her at the end of her Slayer training, a personal gift from her master. Its inconspicuous and lightweight dagger form is what she prefers outside of a fight. If anyone saw her use such a valuable thing in the colony, word would spread fast and we would be in danger. Thievery is practically a hobby here. Her treasure never leaves her side, and she keeps it locked tight against her at all times.
Besides the Claisthavn, we have nothing worth stealing. We’re poor, and constantly looking for jobs to survive here with a roof over our heads and food in our stomachs. We pass our old house, now rebuilt after burning down all those years ago. We don't live in it any more. Our parents died then, but I was only three. It has been eighteen years, but Cilithol still remembers that night. She was ten years old. My first memory of my mother was a joke Cilithol told about the ironic way she died. Our mother was an arsonist before being shipped out here. She wouldn’t dare say something like that now, but the wound was fresh in her mind for her entire adolescence, and making jokes about it was how she made herself feel better. While I was growing up Cilithol had always filled the role of a mother for me in our actual mother’s absence.
Right now Cilithol is taking us to the Class Career Agency. There, people with talents like ours are given jobs to do based on our “class,” a term constructed out of a general archetype of our specialities. In my case though, I’m what they call a natural-born sorcerer, so I have an inherently higher magical energy threshold relative to other mages. Spellcrafting comes to me intuitively, even when I had no theoretical base to work from I was able to do small tricks with it. The Agency called me a Sorcerer, because that's what Sengl born like me are called. My sister is a Slayer, a title you can't be born with. She received special training in her late teenage years. Slayers are specifically experts in killing Anghenfilod. They know how to attack and defend against a wide variety of body types, know the strengths and weaknesses of many common Anghenfilod, and they even had to memorise lore surrounding them for the written exams.
My sister paid a lot less attention to the scholarly aspect. That interest was always mine. Ever since I got my hands on that folkloric bestiary about ancient Madarch I’ve been fascinated and terrified by the Anghenfilod detailed within. Every day for as long as I can remember I read more books on them, learning all their intricacies, their anatomy, their ecology, where they come from, the folklore, myths and superstitions surrounding them. I could come up with a thousand facts about the common slime if the situation called for it.
There are other things I like about Anghenfilod though. I keep it a secret. Killing them isn’t something that really makes me happy, it’s just my job. The real pleasure is getting to see them up close, see how they react to me, and especially to fight alongside my sister, to see her fluid and powerful movements, the way she uses her transforming weapon, to see the flame of kill-or-be-killed in her eyes. It's a very sexual experience.
Perhaps an equally taboo secret is that I find the Anghenfilod sexy too. They come in so many forms, and can do so many things… Sometimes I want to just let them take me and see what they’ll do to me. Realistically they would just kill me. Sengl and Anghenfilod have felt nothing but hostility for each other since their creation, and this was only proven once Sengl returned to Madarch after sailing away so long ago.
It was a complete surprise, but when the UP set out to sea to find distant islands to send their worst criminals to, they miraculously found Madarch. On Madarch, they found ancient ruins, obviously built by Sengl, built by our ancient ancestors whose history has been nearly completely lost except for the old, old legend about some mythologised homeland on the sea. Madarch’s description in that legend perfectly matched this land. Dominated by fungi, oversized bugs and gastropods, a shattered island held together only by massive bronze chains, and the ruins of societies that crumbled under chaotic stress.
I snap out of the history lesson as Cilithol waves her fingers in front of my face. We are just outside the city walls, heading out into the countryside. Once again I escaped the crushing glares of the other prisoners by retreating into my mind. I completely missed the entire visit to the CCA.
“What’re you thinking about this time, Cariadus?”
She asks that often, but never sarcastically or judgementally. She's always genuinely interested in me and my thoughts.
“History.”
“You started drooling on my head you were so lost in thought.”
I felt a sharp sting of embarrassment. “I’m sor-” before I could apologise, she shushes me with a hiss and a finger to my lips. I resist the urge to kiss it.
“It’s not a problem. Let me tell you what we’re doing. We’re heading to the edge of the little forest out west to investigate some aggressive coweevils.”
What kind of low-tier job is this? “Angry bugs? Our reputation really sank after that last job…”
“That’s how it is. You should’ve seen the big red stamp on our registration. It’s gonna take a bit to work to climb back up the ladder. Maybe we could really use a break from the big dangerous jobs though.”
She talks like it’s no big deal. Well, no matter what we're doing, as long as I get to spend time with her I’m happy. I mutter to myself as we keep walking.
“Aggressive coweevils… They're the most gentle creature I can imagine. I can’t think of what one would look like trying to attack someone.”
Cilithol shrugs. “Me neither, but apparently there’s a group of them at the forest’s edge that were lunging at travellers as they passed. It might be kind of cute, watching them try to knock me down.”
Coweevils are big, but they aren’t shaped in any way to fight, lacking anything like claws or fangs or even the force to bump into you. What they're good for is looking cute, and their milk. They’re quite round bugs with spotted backs, big enough to drape yourself over their back and relax. We can't say they're domesticated yet, as Sengl have only been back on Madarch for a century or so, but the process is underway. They spray their “milk” into sacs, meant for their babies when they reach their adult stage. The opaque, creamy liquid is sweet and nutritious. Cilithol makes me drink a lot of it for the fat content. It’s very important for cooking other things too, since actual dairy is at a premium.
On the way to the forest, I look around. Hendir is in a hilly grassland region named Glaswestht Porffor. The grass is purple, thousands of little strands of mycelium poke out of the soil. The forest we're walking to is not full of trees like in the Farlands but instead tall mushrooms with frilly caps towering high above the ground. It used to be a bit larger before colonists chopped a good portion of it down to build Hendir when the building materials from Farlands ships stopped being brought in. This was before we knew how to even grow these things, and these mushroom trees are known to grow incredibly slowly. The process isn't sustainable, in other words. Yet the “wood” is still needed just as much as before. We finally arrive at the forest’s edge, a very narrow ecotone between it and the mostly bare grassland. Cilithol sets me down onto the grass.
“The coweevils were supposed to be around the edge near the path. We could probably just wait here for them to come to us.” Cilithol sits with me.
The sunfish’s light makes the freckles on her exposed shoulders clear. My sister’s fashion sense is similar to a Sgriptan elf. Despite the humble colours and simple materials, the exposed shoulders and billowing pant legs give her a unique look in the colony. I think it’s great. To see her fight as her light clothing gracefully flows behind her is entrancing. As for me, I wear a small top and a long skirt. My sister wants me to love my body, and hope that someday I’ll be able to put more meat on these bones. It’s a top meant to show off a lot of skin, although my chest is still mostly flat, so it feels like something is missing.
A while ago Cilithol and I met a human woman in town, a traveller from another colony. Like me, we were both born as boys, one of the human genders. I was called that by my mother. This traveller had way bigger breasts than me. Not very big at all, mind you, but still way more than what I'm working with. Believe me when I say I wasn't lusting after her, I just wanted to know her secret, so that I could do the same. She told me it’s because the urine of a pregnant mare (a female horse, she informed me) can make you look more like a woman if you soak cheese curd in it. I didn’t believe her until I was desperate enough to try for a few months, sneaking into the sheriff’s ranch at night with Cilithol to collect. After a few months of eating cheese curd soaked heavily in warm horse piss, we didn't see any results and gave up as the cheese was a very expensive venture. Cilithol said that I just needed to put on more fat to have a bust like hers, so we should work hard to feed me well. I didn’t really hear the rest of the conversation. I lost track the moment she brought attention to her breasts.
I find myself doing the same thing now as she sits across from me. She doesn’t seem to notice, she’s keeping an eye out for the aggressive coweevils. I could probably speed this up.
“Do you want me to cast a tracking spell?”
“Not now, you should save your energy. I'm getting impatient too, though. We can do some old fashioned tracking.”
The survivalist in her is coming out. She knows everything there is to know about living in the wild, she could probably survive in a desert all by herself. She drops to her knees and starts crawling along the ground looking for tracks like a dog. She doesn’t have to do that, but she does it to make me smile. I do. After a few minutes of searching, she finds tracks, little conical holes in the ground where the coweevils had sunk into the soil.
“They go back and forth along the forest edge.”
Cilithol picks me up and we follow the tracks. We find that these tracks do not at any point diverge from their back and forth path. It’s almost robotic how regular they are. Eventually she sees a few coweevils up ahead, rigidly locomoting towards us. There are three of them, and as we get closer they make a beeline for us.
Cilithol sets me down and gets up in front of them with her arms out. Sure enough, they try to shove their heavy bodies into her, trying to knock her down. Despite their size they’re still bugs, and are actually pretty light. Even all three of them are not enough to knock Cilithol down, who stands there smiling and inspecting their bodies.
“They all have a mushroom growing out of their head.”
I walk up close enough to not draw their aggression, and Cilithol is right. There are quite generic-looking white mushrooms protruding right between their shiny black eyes. Some kind of fungal parasitism. I’ve heard of this happening on small scales, very small bugs like ants being found dead at the tops of mushroom caps with a strange fungus bursting from their heads. Through careful observation we figured out that the fungus controls the ant as it’s inside them, taking over their mind. Could that be what is happening here, on a much larger scale? The implications of that make me worry that such a fungus could affect Sengl as well, although of course our minds are much more advanced. But still, maybe it's not about being advanced. Maybe it's just a matter of adaptation.
“Cilithol! Get away from them, don’t inhale any spores under any circumstances!”
Cilithol immediately listens to me and leaps back, reaching to her pack and pulling out a black bandanna which she wraps around her lower face. I put mine on too. I quickly relay what I know about fungal parasites to her.
A dark frown spreads across her face.
“So there’s no hope for them, huh. They’re already gone.”
“Yes. It would be best to put them down. It'll be impossible to figure out where this fungus originated, but we should let the Agency know that this forest could be potentially dangerous to Sengl.”
Cilithol’s face darkens further. I know she loves coweevils.
“Do you want me to do it, Cilithol?”
“No. Save your energy.”
Cilithol draws her weapon and transforms it into a long, thin knife that can quickly and easily pierce their brains and stop their movements. Just before she can execute them, the coweevil’s heads crack and split open on their own. The body of the coweevils drop and the mushrooms... Crawl out of them. The mushrooms have a larger body underneath that pulls itself from the husk of the insect like a chick escaping an egg. They're small, Sengloid bodies that look like they are trying to imitate the shape of a bodybuilder. They don't have heads, instead replaced with that small generic mushroom jutting out where the neck would begin on a Sengl body. Fungal parasitism was only half of the story. We are also dealing with mushwraiths.
Wraiths are a type of spirit similar to a poltergeist, except without the restraint of being bound to a particular location. You could think of them like a “wild” spirit. Their freedom of movement weakens them, and they have lost their personality from when they were alive. Instead of powerful telekinetic powers like a poltergeist, they have the ability to possess and use basically any non-living thing, from pottery to stones to fungi. A mushwraith is one that has possessed a fungus and turned it into… This. Though I've never seen one possess a parasitic fungus like this.
I'm not truly afraid of Anghenfilod. But I am deathly afraid of spirits. I can feel fear gripping at my neck already. The anxiety I pushed aside before rises up again. These wraiths have evidently possessed fungal parasites. The thought of that happening and infecting a Sengl instead of a weevil makes me feel sick, as a wraith might be what the fungus needs to survive and control the still living Sengl. Cilithol is with me though, I want to try to push my phobia aside to fight alongside her. At least until the rush of the fight wears off.
The three of them jump at Cilithol in unison, and she’s forced to transform the Claisthavn into a shield to block them. She’s pushed into the ground from the force of the blow, and the mushwraiths attempt to flank her. I can’t use any destructive magic without risking harm to Cilithol, as she’s surrounded. She bashes one of the wraiths with her shield, sending it stumbling back. She breaks out of their flank. I need to keep them from surrounding her again or else she won’t be able to fight back. I cast a quick sensation spell, a very simple spell that basically causes one to feel as if they are being poked. I get the attention of one of the wraiths and it begins to run at me. I freeze in fear. Cilithol notices and begins to yell out to me as the other wraiths rush her, but now that I have one of the wraiths isolated from the others I have a lot more room to attack. I have to be able to move to protect my sister. That thought is enough to force me out of fear. As it approaches me I begin to rub my hands together furiously, and they become hot with friction. The wraith tries to open with the same move as it did with Cilithol, a jumping elbow bash. As it jumps, I throw my hands in front of me and cast an amplification spell.
The heat evaporates from my hands, bonds with my magic and is amplified. What comes out is intense fire in a cone and a powerful burst of air. The wraith’s body is thrown into the sky and the mushroom disintegrates, all of its spores along with it. The wraith spirit will get away, but there’s not much we can do about that right now.
“Cilithol! Don’t hit their bodies, we shouldn’t let their spores spread!” I yell out to her.
A pang of dizziness runs through my head. I spent way too much energy on that amplification spell. Cilithol notices me stumble and runs over, scooping me up into one arm. The other two wraiths chase after her. I whisper in her ear that only burning them is going to be safe. She grunts in agreement and puts her weapon back on her belt as a knife. She fishes through her pack and pulls out our flask of lamp oil. She turns around and opens the flask, throwing the oil out into the air. As the oil leaves the flask, I cast a miniscule flame spell onto it. The fire spreads into the flask, making Cilithol drop it, and travels along the arc of oil in the air where it splashes against the mushwraiths. They both stop and try to get the oil off, but eventually they fall as their bodies burn in the grass around them.
Cilithol and I rest in the grass, I lean against her as I still feel dizzy. I glance at her hand and notice that it has a fresh burn on it. I start and nearly fall to my side.
“Cilithol! Your hand, it’s burned, I’m so sorry. I should have saved my energy for more fire, I should have-”
Cilithol shushes me for the second time today. Right… I get so caught up in panic over her wounds that I forget that she can just heal them with magic. Her other hand glows black with necromancy as she gently presses it over the burn. When she pulls her hand back, only a scar remains. Her body is covered in scars. Each and every one of them was a moment of panic for me, but seeing them on her body now makes me think of all our time together. I remember the story behind every single one. Maybe Cilithol does too.
We just stay there and catch our breath in the grass, watching the oil burn. When the fire is all gone, she takes my hand and pulls me up on her back. Now that we’ve completed the job, we’ll head back to the Agency and collect our money… It’s a low tier job but it will be enough to eat well and sleep in a real bed for a day or two. I’m tired. I sink my nose into my sister’s hair and fall asleep as she walks with me back to the city.
I wake up in a tavern called “Fool’s Gold.” It’s named for the colour of their rice beer. Cilithol is sitting across from me, her head resting on her hands and looking at me. I freeze in my seat, embarrassed that I had been sleeping in a public place like this.
“You woke up just in time for lunch, Cariadus.”
The moment she says lunch my stomach screeches at me. Cilithol seems to hear it from across the table, even with the busy tavern ambiance, as she looks down at my waist and smiles.
“I got us searolls. Just trad ones.”
I sleepily sign my approval. Cilithol looks at me like I’m a yawning kitten. A pretty waitress brings food to our table.
Searolls… A massive benefit to living in Hendir, one of the only coastal penal colonies in Madarch. It’s a delicacy here. Purple rice wrapped in dried seaweed with fillings on the inside. A traditional style roll has raw tuna, garden mushrooms, green onion, and some spices that vary by availability. On top there's a milk sauce thickened with junglefowl eggs and some citron juice added in. The sauce is pretty plain, but it has a nice creamy texture. They also sprinkle sesame seeds over the top. A traditional roll comes in one piece, but most other styles slice them into smaller pieces.
Cilithol got us drinks too, a mug of rice beer for herself and milk for me. She waits for me to eat before she does herself, so I carefully pick up the roll and bite into it at its end. She likes to watch me eat. It’s not like I eat too little, she makes sure I don't. I think in her mind every meal is a little closer to putting more much-needed weight on me. Eating with Cilithol makes me feel safe, and I can smile despite the pressure pressing in on me from the eyes of everyone in the tavern.
Halfway through our meal, we're interrupted. I have half of my roll sticking loosely from my mouth as my sister’s eyes widen. She sees someone walk in behind me. I turn around with the food in my mouth but Cilithol hisses at me to turn back around and keep my head down. She seems to not want to talk to that girl. Despite my sister’s attempt to hide her face, that girl comes straight over to our table and slams her hands down on it. She’s a human, very light-skinned and curly red hair cut to a bob. Her outfit and spear hanging off her back tell me she’s a Slayer, and a good one at that. You can tell by the look of their weapon.
“Silly! It’s been so long!”
She uses my sister’s pet name. How does she know that? Cilithol smiles meekly and pretends to be excited.
“Kystad! It really has been hasn’t it… I haven’t seen you since you left for Pren Gwithon.”
Kystad, so that’s her name… I’ve never heard of her before.
“That chilly place is so boring without my favourite training partner! I’m only swinging by for a bit but what a godsend that I found you here of all places! You never left Hendir, huh?”
Training partners… For Slayer training? They seem really close. Why don’t I know this woman? Cilithol is looking a little mad. I can see it past her fake smile. Kystad just keeps talking.
“It’s like it was meant to be. Well, I’m back here in Hendir now. For a long time. We should get back together!”
Get back together!? Cilithol finally gets a word in here.
“Hey, I don’t think so. I’ve got my own thing going now-”
Cilithol made a mistake shooting a quick glance at me at that moment. Kystad interrupts.
“Oh, I see, you’ve got yourself a new girlfriend, huh?”
My face instantly begins to burn. My sister’s… Girlfriend? Even if I’m only being mistaken as such, being perceived like that even for a moment absorbs me into the fantasy. I wish it wasn’t a misinterpretation. I barely hear Kystad as she keeps talking.
“I bet you got her right when I left. You were always looking to replace me. What’s wrong with her anyway? She has half of a searoll hanging out of her mouth. Is she retarded or something?”
I snap back to reality. The pressure of the eyes around the tavern increases tenfold. We’re actually beginning to draw looks now. All I can do is stare at Kystad. Cilithol drops her excited act.
“You think you can just come up to me and say that right to our faces? You know nothing about her, she’s the brightest girl I know. There’s not one thing wrong with her.”
Not a terribly great defence for what Kystad said about me, but she's so spirited that it's still… Wait, she never denied I was her girlfriend. My mind is split between the stressful moment I find myself in and the fantasy constructing itself in my memory. Kystad taunts further.
“You’re right, there’s nothing wrong with her. Judging by that body she’s perfect for you. You always wanted someone that wouldn’t beat your ass at sparring.”
You can hear the egotistical pride in her voice drain away with the fast, hard sound of a slap against a pristine cheek. Everything in the tavern goes quiet for a moment. A few sniffles from Kystad turn into open sobs.
“I should have never come back here, come back for you. Fuck your new girl. I’ll show you that I’d be better for you than this sentient coat hanger.”
She storms out of the tavern. More silence before the tavern keeper escorts us out onto the street. The searoll is still hanging from my mouth. Cilithol kicks a nearby box and nearly yells out in anger. We duck into a nearby alleyway and sit down together.
I’m not sure what to say. I’ve never seen my sister this mad in a long time. I’m not sure how to calm her down, but I should give her my thoughts.
“Cilithol… You didn’t have to do that just because she thought I was your girlfriend.”
My sister looks at me with sad eyes. Her voice cracks. “I don’t care about that. Let her get the wrong idea, if it’ll keep her away from me. The worst thing was that she called you weak. She said that you couldn’t beat me in a fight… That’s the farthest thing I’ve ever heard from the truth.”
She makes a goofy smile and wipes her dripping nose. I can’t help but smile too. My sister really thinks I’m strong. Cilithol looks ahead and continues.
“Although it was still pretty annoying that she thought you were my girlfriend. Makes me feel weird.”
My heart sinks a little. The fantasy is nowhere but in memory now. I say nothing.
“Well, she doesn’t matter. If she tries anything again I’ll throw her.”
I finally speak up. My voice is shakier than I expected. I didn't realise this was affecting me so much. “Who was she?”
“No one you need to worry about, really. This isn’t new behaviour for her. Now let’s get our minds off of this, we need to do our magic training today, right? Today’s my turn. Let’s go!”
She doesn’t let me ask anything more as she takes me up on her back and goes out into the street. We’ll be heading to our spot in the forest to practise our spells together. Today she should be teaching me her cleansing spell, a healing necromancy. As I cling to my sister’s back, I force my mind away from worries and think again about what she said.
“I don’t care about that. Let her get the wrong idea.”
We’re in a small glade, where we can sit without having to cover our faces against spores. The glade is the quietest place nearby, and just far enough from the colony that we can pretend it doesn’t exist for a bit. Before practice we lay out our prayer cloth and rest on our knees.
We are of the holbytlan Sthawabarth faith, something like “Hand and Poet(ry)” in common pidgin. Poetry and hand signs, called “Arwyth,” are important concepts. It has ancient roots in the Stheihaol we partly descend from, who upon arriving in the Farlands after departing from Madarch were masters of healthy life underground and built grand, vertical cities that spanned from the surface to deep cave lakes below. Because of that, the symbol of the sky and earth together can be found everywhere. The prayer cloth for instance is like a sort of gift to the soil itself, like a fancy coat. The patterns and colours are elaborate but don't contrast against the ground. Back in Stallislond where most holbytlan live today, they would be green or white, but these ones are purple to match.
With one palm turned upwards and the other turned down, we speak the Recitation of Quietus together. It’s a poetic prayer that quiets and focuses the mind. When spellcrafting, it’s important to be calm and collected. My sister and I have the proper verse memorised in holbytlan language, which we mostly speak to each other in, but in pidgin it would translate like so:
“Let my palm be a sign to the worms and birds; That I come in peace and will pass like mist; Let me learn your silence and songs with these words; In your vows and your patience I hold my trist.”
I wrote the translation myself, preserving the rhymes as best I could. The pidgin isn't known for its complexity or... Really much of anything, but I'm sure it will get better now that there are babies born here where their native language is the pidgin. Me and my sister were taught it alongside holbytlan as infants. Does it even still count as a pidgin if it's in that much use?
When Cilithol and I finish the Recitation in unison, we smile at each other and put our prayer cloths away. We sit cross-legged in the grass and begin magic practice. Today it is my turn to be the student, as Cilithol wants to teach me a cleansing spell, which experts call the most important healing necromancy. Cleaning a wound is the first step of treatment, after all. For the past week I’ve attempted to create this spell with my sister’s guidance, and she has always insisted on being the experimental subject. There is no way to know if your spell works if it is not on a real dirty wound. I hate seeing her hurt herself like that, even if she does know a pain-killing spell she rarely uses it on herself to save her energy for the cleansing, binding, and regeneration spells. None of those I can cast for myself yet.
I’m a natural when it comes to spellcraft, but necromancy has always been my weakness, mostly because my sister has always been there to use necromancies. I point to the scars on Cilithol’s thigh.
“Please let me do this today. Maybe I can learn better if I cast it on myself.”
I ask her even though I know she will refuse. The one thing she hates more than anything else is for me to be hurt. It was why she learned healing necromancy in the first place.
“No, Cariadus. There’s no need to hurt yourself. We have a lot of time to learn this.”
That response was to be expected. I keep trying to argue.
“But you have been hurting yourself during practice for the past week. It’s not fair to let you be the only one to bear that.”
“I can’t cast a pain-killing spell for you, Cariadus. I need to save my energy for the rest, and for emergencies.”
Spellcasters like us have an intuitive feel for how much magical energy we are able to expend at a given time, although it can still sometimes be hard to control, especially in the heat of the moment.
“You admitted yourself that you keep your emergency reserves large. If we stay out of danger for the rest of the day, you can use the pain-killing spell and the other treatments just fine.”
Cilithol grips her thigh and the knife I desperately want her to cut through my skin with… Is that what this desire to spare my sister the pain is really about? Masochistic pleasure? It could be half-and-half…
“The point of an emergency reserve is for emergencies. Those can happen anytime, anywhere.”
I pout at her, trying to convince her with cute charm layered over my next argument.
“Then I don’t need the pain-killer. You should let me experience pain on my own terms, otherwise it’s only going to be worse when I do get hurt for real.”
I shouldn’t have said that. Cilithol’s face drops and she speaks to me with a concerning serious tone.
“You are not going to cut yourself. I can’t let that happen.”
I sigh and give up. I want to cry, but that wouldn’t help either of us. I don’t even think that could change her mind.
“Are you ready, Cariadus?”
I’m not ready to see her do this to herself again. But I nod. I had really hoped I could convince her today. I start up the spell, focusing it into my hand. I think of the concept of “rightful place.” Dirt belongs on the ground, on the knees of children and the hands of farmers. It does not belong in a wound, it does not belong inside the body. I think of vegetables being washed in the river. I think of a dire wolf licking its wounds. I think of being young, when Cilithol would wipe my naked body down with wet cloth to clean me. My hand starts to glow black. Seeing this, Cilithol slashes her thigh. I steel my mind and focus completely on maintaining the spell. I have to if I want to quickly end this pain for my sister.
Cilithol grabs a handful of dirt and rubs it on her wound. I see her wince in pain and my lip starts to quiver. She notices and takes my hand, her thumb rubbing against my wrist to tell me it’s okay. She guides my hand over her wound, and rubs it along her thigh. The sensation calms me. I feel the way her soft body hair runs against my palm and between my fingers. I feel her muscles tense up from the pain, and I press down into her, feeling the fat give just a bit at my touch. I feel the wetness and warmness of her blood as I rub it onto her thigh and it soaks my hand. Something twitches under my skirt. I fluster and pull my hand back as fast as I can. As my hand leaves my sister’s thigh, I see that the dirt has been completely cleared away. Blood continues to flow through the wound.
Cilithol uses both hands to cast a suturing and regeneration spell, then wipes the blood away with a cloth. The bleeding has stopped completely, inside and out. She takes my hand again and wipes it off too. She looks immensely proud of me.
“You did it, Cariadus. You made a working necromancy!”
It is my first and only necromancy so far. The pride I feel in myself is nothing compared to her pride radiating from her. She takes my shoulders and hugs me tightly. It feels like an incredible reward.
“You did it… I can’t begin to tell you how proud I am as your sister and your teacher.”
I don’t even know what to say. Finally my sister can stop cutting herself for the sake of my learning. That is, until she decides I continue learning simple wound treatment spells. By then I’ll be able to convince her to let me do it myself. I promise myself that. Cilithol pulls herself off of me, but I want to just fall right into her again. Casting a new spell for the first time takes a lot out of you. The sun is starting to set, so Cilithol picks me up and we take the path back towards Hendir. With the money from dealing with the mushwraiths, we can finally sleep in a real bed again.
Cilithol gets us our usual room, the smallest one in the “Hen's Roost” inn, our usual abode. The room is nothing more than a bed, chair, table and lantern. It’s the cheapest price, and we should be able to stay here for a few days with the money we have. Cilithol is friends with the innkeeper as well, and she lowers the price further for us. We enter our cramped space and Cilithol moves the pillow from the bed to the chair and sets me in it. She throws herself down on the bed to relax, I worry that she’ll break the shoddy thing. She breathes heavily after carrying me for such a long distance. For some reason, I want to ask about Kystad again. I was able to push her out of my head for a while, but now that we’re not doing anything in particular the questions are forming again. I decide to just say what I’m thinking.
“Sister… Really, it keeps bothering me. Who is Kystad? Please tell me, I can’t just ignore all that.”
Cilithol still obviously doesn’t want to talk about her.
“Cariadus, really, there’s nothing to worry about. I knew her years ago, we were a couple for a while but it didn’t last long. She left Hendir to the south and I never heard of her again until today. That’s all.”
Something about all this bothers me.
“Why didn’t you tell me about her? That you had a girlfriend during Slayer training?”
Cilithol frowns. “I just… Never really thought to.”
That hurts a bit. Cilithol sees my sinking face and leans over, touching my knee in a comforting manner.
“Seriously. It’s nothing. I don’t want to see her again, and I especially don’t want her around you after how she acted. Just focus on your studies, okay? Absorb yourself in whatever book you’re reading now.”
I don’t want to push back and make her even more upset. I grab the small book from my sister’s pack and begin to read, pushing Kystad out of my mind again. This book is about the unique plant-like monsters in eastern Coeden, the fragment of Madarch to the southwest of Seth. My bookmark was in a page about an Anghenfil made completely out of plant matter and which has the ability to perfectly camouflage with its environment to ambush its prey. I can think of fifteen different ways to destroy this thing and fifteen sex positions to try with this thing, but my deep thought is interrupted by a noise from the bed.
It’s the low, moaning sound that escapes your lungs as every muscle in your body relaxes after a long day of work. I feel my entire body warm up with love. Cilithol appears to be sleeping already. She was so exhausted, but she really doesn't show it. She stays strong as long as she can, then crashes. I’m just glad I didn’t have to use a sleep spell this time. Her arms are in a strange position. Usually she will hug the pillow to sleep, as I need to align my head with my body or else my back will be in great pain in the morning. However, I’m sitting on the pillow, so her arms are wrapped around nothing. There’s enough room, maybe I could give her the pillow. Or… Or maybe I could slip into her arms myself.
I stand up as quietly as I can and stand at the edge of the bed looking down on my sister. She’s so cute when she’s sleeping. Her muscular, hairy arms are held in a flat ring just inviting me to crawl into their clutches. Before I can even think I’m already kneeling on the bed getting ready to push myself into her sleepy hug. I carefully slip inside, trying not to move her too much. Her arms now wrapped around me. I feel so tense despite the overwhelming comfort. She squeezes me tighter, still sleeping. I want to press my entire body against her but I don’t want to push my erection onto her. I'm leaking pre-cum and I can feel it soaking into my braies. Cilithol seems more relaxed now that something is in her arms as she’s used to. I don’t act on the darker desires that are crawling up into my mind. I lie on my back so I'm not paralysed in the morning, her arms cross over my shoulder and under my waist. Maybe my body position still isn’t great, but I’m so comfortable that I fall asleep right there.
In the morning, I’m the first to wake up. I’m drenched in sweat, and my face has been shoved into my sister’s breasts by her tight squeeze. I want to get closer to her still, the scent of my sister and my sweat make me feel desperate and clingy. I rub my face into her chest and wrap my own arms around her. This feels incredible… It was such a risk putting myself in that position. If she woke up first I would never live it down. I cannot risk this every night, however badly I want to. Embarrassment slaps me across the face as Cilithol mumbles “Good morning…” to me in a sleepy, happy voice. I quickly try to push myself out of her grasp, but she holds me closer to her. She whispers to me.
“It’s okay… If you wanted to snuggle like this you could have asked any time. Sis, your face feels hot, do you have a fever?”
My face is burning, but I’m not sick.
“No… I’m okay Cilithol. You're just hot is all. I am. Well, both. Temperature. Not sick.”
Cilithol smiles and finally opens her eyes to me. She looks at me closely before letting me go and sitting up, stretching out her arms and yawning. When she lifts her arm the smell that is released hits me in the face like a fist. It’s organic, musky, heavy, and hot. It feels like a fast-acting aphrodisiac. What makes it truly special, though, is that it’s her. It is her unique, indescribable scent that I try hard to get just a small sniff of, but here I am now with her armpit practically in my face. That small moment feels like forever, and I wish forever could have lasted a little longer before a primal, urgent need stabs through my gut like a spear. I need her. I need to touch her, touch myself, anything. The sudden horniness attacking me is joined by the fear of what I might do if I stay here next to her.
I blurt out to her “I have to pee!” and quickly jump out of bed, holding my skirt as I quickly leave the room and head down the stairs. Thank God my back didn't decide to fuck me over this morning. I leave the inn and cross the street, there's barely anyone out right now. I duck into an alleyway, moving empty barrels around me to hide myself as I slump against the wall. My braies are soaked, from last night and this morning. Smelling my own body with the strong memory of Cilithol’s scent in my nose makes me even hornier, I feel like a rabid Animal as I begin to rub my perineum through my clothes.
My small cock is harder than it has been in months and demands to be soothed. The wet spot in my garments grows larger. My other hand doesn’t sit idle, it throws my top up and gropes my tits. They’re only as big as my fist, but they're enough to hold and adore. I don’t feel in control of my body, my unstoppable desire for sex manifesting as a parasitic fungus in my brain, forcing me to fuck myself. I forget where I am entirely. I don’t have to worry about noise, when I get like this not a single sound leaves my mouth. My mind is nearly entirely blank, the only thoughts left are of my sister. I think about how big and full my sister’s tits are compared to mine, about shoving my face in them, how much I wish I could tear her shirt away and put my mouth on them.
This spot on my body is so overly-sensitive, but I only discovered that recently. Before I would masturbate by just rubbing my dick or putting phallic vegetables up my ass, but now just pressing on that spot is enough to stimulate me to completion. I can’t cum much, which is unfortunate when I want Cilithol to drink my load, but for myself orgasm is enough. I take my hands off my tit and lick my finger, and rub circles around the tip of my dick as it continues to drip and twitch, wanting more and more.
I want to be my sister’s girlfriend. I hope Kystad never realises that we’re just sisters. I want to be more. I want everyone to see us like that. I want to be that. I want my sister to tell me “I love you” with both sisterly and romantic love in her voice. I want to know what it looks and sounds like when my sister desires my body. I’ve seen her horny before, she tries to hide it like I do. I wonder what she does to release herself. I wonder if those little moments where she lets me be alone in our room for a while are her going off to masturbate like I’m doing now. Who does she think of? I hope she can feel my thoughts so I don’t have to tell her myself. I hope she comes out looking for me and finds me in this alleyway. I want her to see me like this so badly. I want her. I want her. I want her. I need her. I’m cumming—
White flashes through my head, I’m blinded, deafened for a moment as my hips buck and my body convulses, as the love in my heart is transformed into semen that ejaculates from me. Thin, warm liquid, it’s not a lot but it is enough to completely soak the front of my braies. I wish it could have gone inside my sister instead of this old cloth. Now it really does feel like I have a fever. A sexual fever. I wish it was contagious. My body is exhausted, I overexerted myself just after waking up and I’m paying the price. I catch my breath for a few minutes.
Looks like nobody saw me here. I lower my skirt and try to stand. I can’t do it without leaning on the wall. Oh no. By now people have started their mornings, and now the street is becoming crowded. I need to cross the busy street like this to get back to the inn, what was I thinking? I stumble through the barrels surrounding me and clutch the wall as I look out across the street. There's so many people, and I don't have Cilithol to take me through. It’s like a raging, flooding river is in front of me and I have to swim to the other side. I’m not a good swimmer. However, my thighs are soaked. I can’t just stay here like this, not in this colony. With determination I push myself out onto the street and my vision flashes white again. I realise I haven’t taken a breath in half a minute. With all the control and strength I can muster I push myself halfway across the street, walking as if my legs have been replaced with gelatin. People bump into me, glare at me as I stumble through, calling me names. I fall down, I couldn’t make it all the way to the inn. Too many people. Too much pressure. Even if I did make it, there would be a flight of stairs to climb. I'm so screwed.
I wish my sister were here. I should have asked her to watch. A small crowd has gathered around me. Most of them probably know me, not used to seeing me off of my sister’s back. I lie there unable to move for what feels like minutes, hoping the entire time no one sweeps me up and brings me somewhere secluded to have their way with me. Finally, I’m lifted up to a sit by someone. It’s not my sister. It’s Kystad. I stare at her quietly. I feel very scared. She doesn’t seem to recognise me yet as she asks me if I’m alright. Her voice sounds muffled, and I don’t say anything. This was already terrible, but of course it had to be her shoving herself into my situation again.
“Oh! You’re Cilithol’s girl aren’t you? I’m so sorry, is Cilithol inside? I’ll take you to her.”
I nod and she picks me up by my shoulders. She’s really strong. She carries me like a baby into the inn and up the stairs, and I point her to our room. She opens the door and Cilithol is doing her morning exercise. She has her face turned but welcomes me back.
“Hey Carrie, I was just about to go out and find you, you were starting to worry m-”
She looks back and sees me being carried by Kystad. Her face drops. I can almost detect real fury behind her eyes, but she keeps it well-hidden. Kystad lets herself in and sets me down on the bed, where I lie down and watch. Kystad begins speaking first.
“Good morning, I found this cutie lying down in the street, I was so worried about her but she seems to be alright. Once I recognised her I was like 'oh, yeah she can handle herself, but I might as well help out.' She's fine! So, I just wanted to pop in and say I’m so, so sorry for what happened at that tavern yesterday? I really wasn’t myself, I was feeling so stressed from travelling and I guess I took it out on you and your girlfri-”
Cilithol interrupts her. “She’s not my girlfriend, she’s my sister.”
Kystad looks actually surprised. “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry! That changes everything.”
Cilithol’s eyebrow raises at that but Kystad keeps going.
“Anyways, I also wanted to forgive you for hitting me yesterday. I really was acting horrible, I deserved that. I had a lot of time to reflect on what I did. Really, it reminded me of our time sparring together all those years ago. Even though I can still feel my cheek swelling a little because of you, I’m sure your gi- sister, being a sorcerer is far more capable than either of us! If I knew this was your sister I would’ve remembered what you told me about her! Really, I just hope you can forgive me too for how I was acting yesterday.”
So Cilithol has told her about me, but I never heard of her before yesterday. Cilithol just looks astounded now with her eyebrow cocked and mouth slightly open looking for words to say. She just sighs and seems to let go of her anger. She comes over to me and sits beside me on the bed. She speaks to me, ignoring Kystad.
“You were lying on the street? What happened, how did you exhaust yourself like that? That makes me worried sick, please don’t exert yourself without me around okay? Are you hurt anywhere else? You didn’t get in a fight did you?”
Her overwhelming questions make me shake, but I kind of like the feeling of helplessness it gives me. I sign to her that I’m okay and I’ll tell her later. I don’t know what it is I’m going to tell her. She understands and glares at Kystad.
“Is that all you wanted?”
“Well, if you don’t mind, I just wanted to catch up and see what you’ve been up to since I’ve been gone. I’ve never actually met your sister in-person, do you have someone to look after her when you’re doing Slayer work?”
“We work together. I couldn’t do anything without her.”
Kystad puts on a sympathetic face. “Oh, it must be so hard for you even with all that magic. Slayer work is tough.”
She’s addressing me. Cilithol speaks up on my behalf.
“You haven’t learned a thing. Get out of our room. I never want to see you again.” Kystad puts a hand to her chest and stands.
“I’m only trying to be considerate of her situation. If I was like that, I think going out for Slayer work would be way too much for me.”
Cilithol stands up and gets in Kystad’s face.
“What you mean to say is that she’s a burden to me. That is all you have ever said since I ever told you about her. That is why we broke up, and you haven’t changed a bit.”
Kystad cries “And we never ended things the right way! I never even got to say goodbye to you because you wouldn’t show your face to me for two weeks before I left! Do you know how embarrassing that was? I nearly didn't finish school because of the people talking about me, speculating on how I fucked up.”
Cilithol takes Kystad by the shoulders and begins to push her out of the room.
“Then say it now. And never talk to us again if you like having all your teeth.”
Kystad looks devastated, and before Cilithol can slam and slot the wooden panel in place to lock the door she blurts out “I'll talk to you la-!”
There’s silence from the hallway after that. Cilithol yells out and kicks the wall before sitting against it with her head in her hands. I slide off the bed and crawl to her, sitting next to her and resting my head on her shoulder with my hand on her knee. She’s actually crying. This is strange. It’s distressing me, and I don’t know what to do. Maybe getting everything out would make her feel better.
“Cilithol… What really happened with that girl?”
My sister replies through stressed tears. “It didn’t last long from my perspective… We liked each other a bit in training, and we were together for a few months and I was just about to introduce you to her. I told her about you and she just immediately got so nasty with the things she said about you. I could tell she only thought of you as dead weight on my shoulders. She said it subtly but not quietly. I knew that if there was a falling out between us I wouldn’t be able to explain to everyone else how she was being so horrible to you. I didn’t exactly break up with her… I just ignored her. I found a new training partner and refused to talk to her, near graduation I avoided her entirely. She was convinced things weren’t over until graduation, and she had to travel south. Our last talk was fighting, and the first thing we do when seeing each other again is fight. I guess that's all Slayer training taught us. It feels like I have to just go in for the kill now. I- Cariadus, sis, are you okay?”
She finally looked over to me where tears are silently streaming out of my eyes onto my chest. How could I do this, why do they have to fight over me, why do I have to be the wedge? I sob into her arm now.
“I’m s-sorry big sis… I don’t w-want to cause more fights over me…”
My last word trails over into more sobs. Cilithol pulls me into her lap and pets my hair.
“You aren’t causing anything. It’s her choice to be a piece of shit, and my choice to defend you against pieces of shit.”
I know it’s not true, but I can’t stop thinking about what Kystad was saying. That I am dead weight. That I’m a burden. Cilithol wouldn’t have to do Slayer work if not for me. I sob again. I have to just ask, only to hear her reassuring words from her own mouth.
“Am I a burden, Cilithol?”
She nearly bursts into tears again hearing me say that. She talks into my hair as she brings me close to her,
“I wouldn’t be anyone without you. I would be miserably shovelling shit in a barn without you. But instead I get to hear you talk for an hour straight about monsters. I get to see you throw fire out of your hands. I get to hold you and love you every day. You’re the best little sister anyone could ever have.”
I’m completely absorbed into my sister’s love. I can’t even think of what to say next, how could I match this passion with words? I can’t. But I can keep hugging her. I can keep being her sister. I feel her tears fall into my hair and we’re both silent for a while. Cilithol breaks the silence.
“Let’s take the day off, alright? We’re both exhausted. We’ll have enough money for food, drink and a bed tonight. Let’s just rest.”
I agree. I wish I could just sleep with her all day.
After we have both recovered, we try to find something to do for the rest of the morning. I’m hoisted on my sister’s back and we go outside. We wander for a bit and end up walking along the river. The river comes from a hill near the ruins of Seth, that is the ancient city, not the island. The island was named after the city before we knew it was still here.
That city was the capital of all Sengl in the oldest oral legends about this island, and is apparently where their ruler lived, the one who split Madarch apart to save it against two of the legendary Wyrm sisters who terrorised the Sengl world.
While the river is pretty, it’s mostly undrinkable. The concern with the water doesn’t just come from Anghenfilod in Seth inhabiting the river and their refuse flowing downstream, actually most of the problem from the aquatic mushrooms. They will make you sick if the water is not purified with magic. The fish don’t seem to mind, but we don’t feel like fishing.
We come to a familiar bridge, the one that only my sister and I call “Trow bridge.” When I was much younger, we were going to cross this bridge before I leapt off of her and refused to go near it. The previous night I had read a book that mentioned trows, an Anghenfil that supposedly live under bridges and snatch prey away as they cross. Cilithol told me that trows don’t do that, but since I read it in a book I couldn’t believe her. She told me to stay where I was and ducked under the bridge, making a bunch of noise as if she was fighting something. When she returned she had a round rock that she wrapped with algae. She said it was the trow’s head, and there was nothing to worry about anymore.
The stone was convincing, as trows are said to harden like it in daylight, but it’s not entirely accurate. It’s not actually stone they turn into. When sunlight hits a trow’s skin, they quickly develop cancerous growths on their body that resemble scales. If the cancer continues to spread it can get bad enough that the trow will not be able to move anymore, freezing them like a statue. They will still eventually decay though. If you’re fighting a trow with many scales on its body, it can be hard to hit it effectively with a blade. However, it also means that your opponent is a particularly stupid one. The advantage balances out the disadvantage. My younger self feeling safe again, I was able to cross the bridge with my sister where we ceremoniously threw the “trow head” off the side. Eventually I found out trow don’t live under bridges, and they obviously don’t live on the surface, out in the sunlight, at all.
I’m snapped back to the present as Cilithol turns right and begins to take us down towards the port. Hendir was built here because instead of the usual steep cliffs over the ocean, instead there is a large slope going down all the way to the beach. It seems like when Madarch was whole, there was a deep, deep valley here that dipped down to sea level. A quarter of this city is built on that slope, called the Dyle, and the river gets much stronger as it rushes down the hill. It can be hard to get your footing, especially when you’re balancing a girl on your back, but we have been up and down the Dyle so many times that there is no worry. The port is at the bottom, and it can be interesting to go see who or what the ships are bringing in. It’s not the first week of the month, though, so there shouldn’t be any prisoners being brought in.
It looks like there's fruit from the Farlands today. The ships have so much variety between them, since they're made by different nations in their own styles, all of them bearing the flag of their home prominently. Madarch as a whole doesn’t have an official or accepted flag, though some of the penal colonies do. Hendir does not, as the sheriff insists that a mere penal colony should not have a flag lest it inspire acts of independence against the UP who appointed him. It’s strange to focus on the symbolic things. It's the brutality of the Guard that makes everyone hate them and the sheriff who wrangles them, not a flag.
The fruits that the stevedores are loading off the ships look interesting, but they’re all going to the rich quarter. The rest of the colony will be lucky to eat the peels. We walk to the city wall and up the Dyle again to the gates, leaving the inner colony. We head toward the cliffs and pass free-roaming coweevils. You can only let them out of a fence near the inner city, they could easily get thieved away further out. There are archers on the walls that help keep an eye on them.
The cliffs of Seth are very tall and white. They aren’t like the natural ocean cliffsides on other islands in the sea, as the stone here used to be underground back when the islands were connected. Though over time it has adjusted itself to look more natural, you can still tell that it just doesn’t quite belong. Cilithol sets me down at the edge and sits next to me. Having exhausted our conversation as we walked, we sit there in silence. We listen to the waves crash far beneath us and smell the sea air. The ocean between the islands is too deep for the coral reefs that surround the natural coastlines to spread into. It’s very dark, and not many fish live there. I point out the strange round bulges in the cliffs to my sister.
“I never told you what those are, did I?”
She looks at me and traces my finger to the strange bumps that dot the cliffside.
“Those are the big rocks left behind when the islands broke apart.”
There’s a glint in my eye, I like explaining my knowledge to Cilithol.
“No, no, not the entire cliff. The bumps there, with the grooves and spirals on them. They are rocks now, but they weren’t always. They call them whirling scourges, and they only appear in the cliffs of the inner coast. They’re the fossils of an extinct Animal, or possibly an Anghenfil.”
Cilithol looks at the cliffs again.
“So they lived underground?”
“Yes, when there were still aquifers there. They’re ball-shaped like sea urchins, so they might be a large extinct cousin of them. Although…”
Cilithol leans forward to see my troubled face. “You look haunted. What’s up?”
I think about these whirling scourges and suddenly get the feeling like I’m there, watching them alive in the pitch black underground lakes. Here I can see that the whirling scourges are colonial, made up of thousands of smaller creatures lumping together to form a single organism. They are bioluminescent to attract small fish, and roll across the floor of the vast lakes to pick up and bring food like those small fish into its body. This is all my imagination of course. I have no basis for these ideas, it’s far more obvious that they’re more like urchins. Still, it's so vivid, I can barely see the real world around me, Cilithol's voice sounds hazy, and I lean forwards and look into the dark, deep depths of the inter-fragmentary sea...
I hesitate too long to reply to Cilithol and she grows more worried.
“Really, I feel like you’re gonna fall off the cliff. Let’s sit back a bit.”
She takes me and pulls me further away from the edge. I wish I could jump off, dive into the water and become like a fish. The whirling scourges are still down there, when the island was ripped apart the water spilled and the whirling scourges fell down with the-
“Cariadus!”
Cilithol raises her voice at me, not in anger but in fear. I’m finally brought back to the present entirely. I instinctively whimper from the tone of her voice. She takes me by the arm and squeezes it slightly.
“I’m sorry… You were acting strange and I got scared. Are you okay, Carrie?”
I look up at her and can finally respond. We’re farther from the cliff than I thought. She must have dragged me away from the edge.
“Yes. What happened?” It comes out far more monotone than I intend.
“You got really pensive over the cliff and wouldn’t talk to me. I thought you were gonna tip forward and fall so I tried to pull you back but you tried to fight me to get back to the cliff.”
I feel scared for myself a bit. What state of mind did I just slip into?
“I’m sorry I scared you… I was just thinking about the whirling scourges.”
She looks even more concerned. Just then, my stomach growls. Cilithol hears it and her priorities shift.
“If you were that hungry why didn’t you say something? We could have 'borrowed' some fruit from the port.”
I didn’t know I was hungry. I didn’t feel this way before, but now I feel like I haven’t eaten in a day.
“I didn’t know…” Cilithol sniffs the air and smiles.
“We’re in luck. Someone’s cooking something over there.”
She points out towards a barn. I can see smoke rising up behind it. It’s far but I can smell the meat on the air too.
My sister speculates “It might be snailmmoth hunters, but I’m not sure. It doesn’t smell like snailmmoth. Let’s go check it out and fill you up.”
I’m picked up and we head off towards the smoke. When we arrive, my sister’s instincts are proven correct as we see a group of hunters cooking a snailmmoth in-shell over a large fire. It still doesn’t smell anything like snail, though.
Cilithol calls out to them “Shwmae! Got a good one there!”
The hunters face us and smile. One of them opens his arms and greets us back.
“Siwmae, and sure did. Showed them not to trample the farmland!”
Cilithol slows. I’ve seen her hunt hundreds of times, and I can tell she just entered tracking mode. She’s very carefully analysing the scene for some reason. I imagine what feels like mere moments to me translates to minutes of careful observation for her trained eyes and mind. She turns around and starts to walk away. Her shoulders are tense. She calls out to the hunters.
“Well enjoy! We’ll be on our way.”
I lean forward and whisper in her ear “Why are we turning back… They have food.”
My stomach growls again. In a very quiet voice she whispers back.
“They aren’t hunters. They’re bandits.”
I gasp but Cilithol shushes me.
“They said they caught the snailmmoth here from its pack as they were trampling farmland. Not only is it rare for snailmmoths to go anywhere near the colony, but there’s no trace of slime anywhere around here. They were cooking it in-shell, but I didn’t see any purging water or intestines. It was hard to see, but the fire was built on a burning caravan cart. They had spears on their backs, but not a pike in sight, you need the length of a pike to pierce the brain. The smell of meat isn’t snail, it’s striders from the caravan. You know that trade caravans keep their water in empty snailmmoth shells, right?”
She lists these things off so quickly I can barely keep up. I mean, I guess I've seen the caravans hauling them. I didn't know that's how they transported water though. The “hunters” behind us call out again.
“Where are you going? We’re just about to crack the shell, there’s more than all of us could eat, we need more hungry stomachs.”
She calls out to the bandits without looking back.
“That’s alright, we just need to get a move on.”
The bandits catch on to what Cilithol knows.
“There’s nowhere to be in such a rush. The Sheriff is a long way from here. Come back and eat with us. You look like you’ve got a good little multitool to help us out with.”
They’ve already marked us for our valuables. Someone skilled in appraisal would be able to identify the thing at Cilithol's waist as one of the Claisthavn. She suddenly bolts towards the nearby barn. I look back and the hunters are giving chase. Cilithol is faster than any of them even with me on her back.
We make it to the barn while the bandits are a distance behind us, and in one motion she lifts me off her back and puts me in a horse pen, telling me to stay still and quiet against the door. She leaps onto the ladder up into the hayloft, and I finally realise that this is the same barn we slept in the other day. As I hear the bandits catch up with us, the horse that I am invading the space of drops its head down to smell me. They look so strange. The most I know about horse anatomy is from what I know of centaurs, but a centaur of course doesn’t have the head. Its nose is so flat and soft as it rubs against my forehead. Maybe I smelled familiar to it, it's quite affectionate. The bandits are right behind me on the other side of the door. They’re holding still, talking amongst themselves.
“Forget those girls, we can’t get past that Claisthavn anyways. They led us right to the real treasure. Three adult horses it looks like, perfect condition. No guards here right now. That’s more our spe-”
Just then something stops them, a big thumping sound. Cilithol laughs from above as the bandits all start spitting and yelling in confusion. I stand up and look at where the bandits were standing, where they’re now rolling on the ground completely encased from the ankles to the neck in haybales. She must have dropped the haybales down onto their heads at just the right angle to shove them inside of it. Cilithol jumps down onto one of them, knocking the breath out of him, and plucks their spears from the hay one by one as they struggle and curse at her. She only tightens the ties around the hay and laughs some more. I can’t help but giggle as well. When I do, my sister perks up and looks at me like she's seen something rare. Her eyes hold a warmth that my heart skips a beat to. She looks at the bandits with a smile.
“You can have the horses. I hope you have a lot of fun with them.”
She picks up the haybales and a nearby rope and ties the bandits to the backs of the horses. She lets the horses out of their pens and gives them a slap on the backside to get them running. The horses scare off at a fantastic speed.
“Your laugh is cute, Carrie.”
She just says what she’s thinking out loud. I wish I could do that.
“I’m happy I could hear it today. We succeeded in our find-something-fun mission.”
She smiles again. I don’t know what to say to that without gushing, so I just ask her about her feat.
“How did you know that would work? I mean, the bandits had to be in just the right spot, holding still, you had to get those haybales on them at just the right angle...”
She holds her chin and hums.
“I don’t know. It just felt right. I got really lucky is all I can say. When I took off running earlier I just saw the whole plan work out in my head.”
We exchange a strange look. I have a hard time believing she was working on more than luck and instinct if she was willing to put me in that dangerous position behind the stable door. My stomach screams again. Cilithol takes that as an opportunity to break the silence.
“Let’s head back to the city and get something for you to eat already!”
She reaches her arms out to pick me up and I practically leap into them.
“Let’s spend the rest of the day in the city, sis.”
I agree. We head back and find a place to eat, a pretty empty tavern that we pick the most secluded corner of. I guess Cilithol still wanted snailmmoth, as she orders a cut of snail for both of us. Beer for herself, milk for me.
“Cilithol, can I drink something other than milk for once?”
She shakes her head. “You need the fat. I’d make you drink more if it didn’t hurt your stomach.”
I know she’s right. Weevil milk is so high in fat and sugar I would probably be much worse without it. Even though we’re sitting in a quiet, lonely spot in the tavern she still looks so tense, she still shows worry on her forehead and stress in her shoulders.
“Cilithol, even on our ‘rest day’ you look so stressed.”
She shifts uncomfortably, putting her shoulders back. “Do I look stressed? I didn’t think so. I feel pretty relaxed.”
I knew she would deny it, she always does as if I can’t tell just by looking at her.
“The only time I see you really relax is before bed. That must be the best time of the day for you.”
She takes a second as she thinks of something sappy to say. “Only the second best time of day. It feels better than almost anything to unwind all my muscles. It makes me feel like a slime, a warm and happy one.”
Slimes are a bit of a fetishistic weakness of mine. I shove the thought of my sister as a slime out of my mind, for now.
“Second best? What’s the first?”
She had been waiting for me to say that. This will be the sappy line she came up with.
“The entire rest of the day, when I’m with you.”
It’s such a stupid line, out of anyone else’s mouth I would feel nothing. But from her, even something like that makes me flutter a bit. Every confirmation that my sister enjoys our life together is continued happiness. The anxiety of my sister one day just… Falling out of interest with me is a horrible haunting in my life that has been ever-present as long as I can remember. Even in the best of times it will well up and need more from her to soothe it back down. So I ask her, to ease my anxiety.
“Do you ever… Get sick of having to take me everywhere with you?”
Like the other times I’ve asked almost this exact question, she puts on a very serious face.
“Never. There is no one else in the world I would rather have at my side at all times.”
A typical line… Why does she feel that she needs someone at her side at all times? Does she know that isn’t normal?
“Surely there are times where you would rather be away from me? Even just for a little bit?”
Instead of replying with the same serious tone, she actually thinks for a second.
“Hmm… No, I don’t think so. There’s nothing I can think of doing that wouldn’t just be plain better with you there.”
“What about things like being with friends, just having some time for solitude, or…”
I can’t say masturbating, but it’s one thing that comes to my mind. A very private moment.
“... Things that you don’t want others to see.”
I try to hide the redness in my face, and the motivations underneath. She sounds almost bored as she responds, like little thought needs to be given to this line of questioning.
“I don’t have any friends besides you, Cilithol, you know that. It’s near impossible to make friends as a Slayer. Too much worry every day over whether I’ll die to a monster or not. Besides, if I was making friends, they better be friends with you too. Good ones at that. I won’t tolerate someone that doesn’t like you.”
Her breakup with Kystad comes to mind. It spurs my next question.
“What about romance? A girlfriend. You would want to spend time alone with someone like that, wouldn’t you, putting aside being a Slayer?”
She had time alone during Slayer training with Kystad. Surely that was good for her, even with how that went in the end.
“Well… I think if that were the case there are some things I would rather do without my sister watching.”
She dons a sheepish grin. I press in with an innocent expression.
“Like what?”
She humorously snaps back at me “You know what.”
I joke back, “Oooh, you don’t want me to see you kissing? I’m far too little and innocent and chaste to see two lips touching?”
“I don’t mean kissing!”
Our food arrives at the table. The snail looks like a wet, gelatinous slab of strange meat. It looks raw, but it is actually cooked. The slime is made savoury and reintroduced afterwards as a sauce. We pick at it slowly and I keep teasing her.
“So you mean big girl kisses. Like when you lay her down and sprea-”
“There are other holbytlan in the tavern, Cariadus you know they can probably understand you?”
I wouldn’t be talking like this if anyone could actually hear us.
“Hehehe. Are you… Even interested in romance? You don’t talk about it but I see how you look at pretty girls on the street.”
She looks embarrassed that I noticed, but it’s so obvious.
“I haven’t thought about that since that thing with Kystad years ago.”
Good. “Good.”
“Good?”
Not good, I said it out loud. Save yourself Cariadus.
“Oh, I- I just mean, it’s not good that you aren’t looking for anyone, but it’s not bad either, it’s just-”
She cuts off my excuses. “I know you didn’t mean it like that.”
I try to divert somewhere else. “I like seeing all the girls out with their partners. I like the looks on their faces. They look happy mostly.”
“There sure are a lot of prolific couples around here. Like those Sthosgakh twins.”
She knows about them? They’re a couple, but everyone says they’re twins because they look so similar. It’s probably not actually incestuous, but that’s how the rumour goes anyways.
“They aren’t really twins though, right?”
Cilithol shrugs “I really can’t tell. It’d almost be more strange for them to look so similar and not be. But people probably wouldn’t be joking about them if they really were. They’d be chased off or separated already.”
That’s true. No one would be treating it so lightly if it really were incest.
“If they really were twins, what would that mean for them?”
Cilithol looks pretty serious. “They’d have a different reputation entirely. I’m not saying it would be right, but they would be ostracised. It’s not the right way to go about it. If you don’t want family hooking up with each other then why would you tell them to just do it out in the countryside out of sight? It’s not contagious. If those twins are twins then just keep them from making out or whatever. It’s unfair to separate siblings, it’s unfair to ostracise them. The issue is them fucking. So just stop them from fucking.”
I don’t like how this conversation has gone. Of course, I know that everyone would hate me for how I feel towards my sister. My sister would hate me too. She tries to rationalise the fairness of punishment, what is the right and wrong way to punish. The end of the argument holds that ambiguous “stop them,” but how do you stop them? I don't want to hear this when my heart is full of many kinds of love for my own sister. If Cilithol knew, she wouldn't want to be around me anymore for sure.
I change the subject to food and we continue to eat. She eats much faster than me, a habit from her Slayer training when schedules were tight. Since the food has settled in her stomach already, when I finish we get ready to go out for her evening weapons training. We find an empty spot in the city and she sets me down in the soft fungal grass. She goes through her stretches as I watch, eager as I always am to see her kuhluch.
A kuhluch is a training method from Gwyrth, a country out in the Farlands, that combines repeated combat motions with dance. A kuhluch can be unique to anyone that learns its basic motions, but Cilithol's kuhluch is exceptionally skilled and beautiful as she transforms her Claisthavn mid-dance, taking on a whole new stance, form, and rhythm. There is no music except what's in her head, music that no one else will ever hear. As she dances, I imagine her cutting down countless Anghenfilod surrounding her. Her fluid swings and thrusts take them down with ease, so easy that it looks relaxing. She ends her kuhluch with a flourish, in perfect time with the imaginary music. She flips the sword in her hand around while peeking over her shoulder to see if I’m watching. She slowly shrinks the blade until it’s the size of a knife then sticks it into her belt loop. I saw, Cilithol. I’m bursting with admiration as usual. I clap for her performance. Cilithol walks back over and thanks me for being a good audience before going to pick me up, but she stops as she notices how sweaty she is an hesitates.
“Let’s rest here for a second so I can dry off.”
“It’s okay, I like it.”
That’s the second time today something has just slipped out like that. I feel like I’m giving off hints, trying to clue her in, but that is really not my intention. She looks at me funny with a smile and then shrugs.
“Alright then. Up you go, Carrie.”
She hoists me up onto her back. I smell the sweat on her body and in her hair and close my eyes, resting my nose into her neck. It’s the end of the day and my sister needs to relax from her training so we quickly throw money at the Hen's Roost counter and head upstairs to our usual room. We stay here so much that the innkeeper knows us and keeps that room empty. She’s a really nice old elven Fanaan (some artsy true elven gender, I think?) who named herself “Hen.” It means “old” in ancient Madarchic. She said it was a joke at first when she turned two-hundred, but now she sees it as a sort of title. She’s the oldest Sengl in the entire colony, and twice as old as the city itself.
Cilithol sets me in my chair, sitting on the pillow, and hands me my Anghenfil field guide. I’ve heavily annotated it myself and read through it all countless times, but there’s a particular Anghenfil on my mind since the events earlier that I wanted to read about again. Centaurs. I flip to their page in the book and read, making sure Cilithol can’t see me rubbing myself slightly between my thighs. Centaurs are an Anghenfil that resemble the lower half of a Farlands horse, though they’re not actually Animals at all of course. Its actual mouth is small and on its chest, and it is herbivorous, but the most terrifying thing about them is the apparent mouth where their neck should be. The apparent mouth is filled with grasping tentacles that lash out and grab large prey such as deer (or in particularly harrowing cases, Sengl) and pull them in backside-first. They inject their prey with a toxin that causes minor paralysis and extreme sexual pleasure, enough to overload the prey’s nervous system. The prey remains alive and mostly conscious while the centaur parasitically co-opts and copies the prey’s reproductive system, and then mates with other creatures using its own modified sexual organs to make more centaurs. The toxin it injects is not lethal but it can cause permanent brain damage and trauma. The centaur doesn’t let go of its prey until either one of them dies. I love centaurs. They’re the most horrific Anghenfil on Madarch, massive, cruel, rapist parasites.
It’s the massive sickness I feel in my gut as I imagine the horror of a centaur that makes me so excited. I secretly wish it would happen to me. Either as its prey, unable to think as it traps me in a state of constant and extreme arousal, or as its other victim that it uses the body of another to rape me with. I hope that Cilithol and I never encounter one. I shudder with excitement and close the book. I throw the pillow to Cilithol who grabs it and puts her back to me, and I crawl into bed next to her and lie straight on my back. Tomorrow we’ll look for actual work again, like Cilithol said.
After the morning comes, we head to the Class Career Agency and browse their jobs inside the city walls. We find one dealing with strange noises that have been heard at Thari’s tower, a defunct blacksmith in the rich quarter who mysteriously died along with her apprentice. They were the best smithy in town, but one day they were found sitting in chairs stock still, and dead since the night before. Neither Thari nor her apprentice had family, so the tower they worked out of was sealed to be their tomb. Hearing small Animals scratching around on the inside isn’t uncommon at all, but the noises being reported by those living nearby are supposedly loud, consistent metallic banging sounds coming from inside nearly every night for the past three days.
I feel nervous about this. When it comes to spirits I still haven’t been able to shake my phobia. Cilithol's presence always assures me somewhat, as spirits can be exorcised using healing necromancy. It doesn’t do much for me, as the most healing necromancy I’ve ever been able to make functional is cleansing as of just two days ago. That's a very weak spell against spirits. Even so, Cilithol can’t deal with spirits all by herself. She needs one of my special abilities- We've dubbed it, in a sort of dorky fashion, “Spiritsense.”
When I was very young at the height of the most naive phase of my paranormal and Anghenfil interests, I would ask Cilithol to take me to supposedly haunted places in the colony to “hunt” ghosts. No matter how hard and long we looked, we never found one. Eventually, though, I had convinced her to take me to the Tywysur manor in the Sheriff’s quarter at night. The Tywysur family had returned to Diofyn in the Farlands, but there was a rumour that their sudden departure was caused by a death in the family. We broke into the manor and were walking around for a while. Cilithol was just about ready to leave before I saw someone else walking towards us in one of the hallways. I pointed the figure out to Cilithol and she couldn’t see anything, thinking that I was only trying to scare her. I insisted on it though, because I could see the damn thing, and started to freak out as the figure came close enough to get caught in the moonfish's light. It definitely wasn’t anyone from the colony, it was a transparent figure dressed in foreign aristocratic clothes, staring deep into my head with sunken eyes.
It was a type of spirit classified as an “ager,” which is a spirit that is still bound to its own corpse and takes on the corpse’s appearance. The ghostly corpse only kept walking towards me as Cilithol tried to take me down from her shoulders to calm me. When the ghost reached me, it just walked through us and continued on down the hallway. I kept pointing at it to Cilithol and she still couldn’t see it, though she felt its presence as it passed by. My sobbing made her take me more seriously. We quickly left the manor and I broke down from the fear just outside. We were approached by the mansion’s resident butler who told us off for breaking into houses. He didn’t report us to the Sheriff. Instead he told us that the eldest son in the Tywysur family indeed died in the home, and otherwise only having daughters, the issue of succession in the Tywysur family forced them to leave back to Diofyn. We went home that night and I asked Cilithol what succession means. She said it was like when big sisters had to be mommas next.
That night made me scared to death of Sengl spirits, but it was also how I learned I have the ability to see spirits, even when they’re trying to stay hidden. There are not as many spirits out and about as you might think, with how many people die. And it's not just Sengl either. Yesterday I saw a line of ant spirits marching in a line.
In the present, we spent the better part of the day doing little things around the city waiting for the sunfish to set. Work like this doesn’t pay nearly as well as Slayer jobs, but it’s something to do for a little extra. Later in the evening we finally head over to Thari’s tower. It's a tall, utilitarian, and very thick iron tower without any regard to artistry or design. Its old door has been welded shut since the bodies were discovered inside, and there are no windows. A plaque on the door acts as a tombstone for both of the bodies inside. Otherwise, just a big cylinder of metal with a forge that hasn’t been lit in years attached to the outside.
We’re in the Sheriff’s quarter, also known as the rich quarter. This is where the Sheriff himself and important families from the Farlands have their homes and workplaces, though I’m not sure what it is they really do, as they’re not really actual government buildings. We won’t hear anything until still a bit later, so Cilithol suggests we wait around until dark.
It’s common knowledge that spirits only come out at night because darkness is the closest a Sengl can get to death, but that’s actually not true. Spirits can appear at any time of day, the only reason people see them more at night is because moonfish light simply makes them easier to see. Anyways, trying to take another job before dark can be unpredictable, and we don’t want to risk missing this investigation.
My sister wants to walk around the rich quarter in the time we have. Now that we’re on a job, we can’t be kicked out just for being here. We find a street with many shops along it, for some reason the rich quarter separates the shops and services from the homes. Perhaps it’s because there are many families that live in large manors, but for the rest of the rich folk I'm not sure what the benefit is. I’m glad the rest of the city isn’t built in that way. We’re given dirty looks as we pass through the street. I crane my neck at the stores and stalls set up outside. I point Cilithol towards a stall that has a bunch of imported fruit set up, probably the same fruit we saw being unloaded at the port.
They have labels in pidgin, “lemon,” “plum,” “apple,” “banana.” The bananas come in little bunches. I point and Cilithol asks if she can just buy one of them. The shopkeeper insists that we have to buy the whole bunch, but Cilithol manages to convince him, through being stubborn mostly, to let us get just one banana. The shopkeeper practically growls as Cilithol rips it from the bunch and pays a small amount, but still probably more than just one of them is worth. We walk and try the new fruit, it has a mild sweetness, turns to mush in your mouth and has large seeds that we spit on the ground along with the bitter peel. We’re stopped by one of the Sheriff’s officers and are reprimanded for leaving it on the ground. We thought they had street sweepers in this part of the city that took care of that kind of thing. We waste time being forced to pick up the pieces we dropped, the only thing keeping us from being shoved right out of the entire quarter again was that we were on a job here.
After that we walk carefully and don’t interfere with anything else. We eventually cross in front of the Sheriff’s house. We’ve seen it many times before, but the size and… Unique architecture always stand out. It’s as big as four of the surrounding buildings put together and has a third floor to boot. Its exterior is designed to look like the Madarch inner coast, white like limestone and salt with waves of grey stone crashing up against the walls. It doesn’t look very good to be quite honest. I get the intention, but the lack of colour makes it look like a grey ooze rather than waves. The Sheriff is inside at nearly all times, in communication with the Union Parliament through what must be mountains of paperwork to sign over prisoners to his jurisdiction. I doubt he does it all himself, but he doesn’t come out much anyway. Maybe he has an inside hobby.
That butler stands outside the door often, sometimes swapped out with one of the Guard. He’s a very thin man resembling a scarecrow. He looks too lanky to be athletic, but we’ve seen his martial prowess against burglars trying to get into the mansion at night, as children. He is not someone to mess with. Personally, though, he’s never been violent towards us, even when given the opportunity to be cruel to two rambunctious girls from the poor majority of the city. We keep moving and find an empty spot to relax in for a bit.
We decide to practise magic together, and it’s my turn to teach. Because we may need our magical energy for tonight, we’ll avoid casting anything intensive.
“Which spell were we working on last time, Cilithol?”
She’s been interested in abjurations, but it’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to teach her.
“We were working on a rejection spell.”
A rejection spell when applied to a body part or object repels other objects that clash with it, imparting upon them an equal force in the opposite direction. You can touch it gently just fine, but if you were to swing a blade at it you would have your blade thrown backwards with just as much momentum as you put into the attack. I can only cover a small portion of the body with one, but it’s useful to protect vital organs or joints.
“Cariadus, what’s your process for one again?”
It feels nice to be the authority here, but sometimes it’s hard to explain how I do some things. Being a natural sorcerer is an innate advantage for making spells, it doesn’t take me nearly as much work and thought to craft a spell (well, besides necromancies for whatever reason), especially a basic abjuration like a rejection.
“I decide the area I want to place the rejection on, and then think about… Rejection.”
Cilithol’s unmoving face tells me that doesn’t help.
“Well… I have tried that. I’ve been thinking about my body being covered in springs… But I feel like you mean rejection in a much more abstract sense?”
I nod. “Yes. It’s hard to explain, but it’s the concept of everything being allowed to exist there, and all momentum. Something moving quickly carries force, and there is no possible way for this new force to fit in this zone. It can’t go through, so it is rejected in the opposite direction, and gets to keep the same force it carried going in. The rejection spell is a zone of not allowing anything but itself to exist.”
Cilithol takes me so seriously. Like I’m not just a silly mage spouting wordy nonsense but like I really know what I’m talking about. Which I do, but laymen's terms are hard.
“It’s the Law of Is, right?”
I’m surprised to hear her say that. In the age of corpuscular metaphysics it’s rare to hear someone talk about older concepts like the Nodes of Law, which are barely mentioned in ancient Madarch legends in the first place. Has she been reading the same books that I have? When did she have time for that… Unless she actually listens to me when I reference them. I feel a lump of regret in my throat for thinking for so long that she didn’t care about any of that stuff. It’s nothing I thought she would be interested in so… Does she remember it only because I said it?
“It… It is. It’s exactly the same concept as Teyrnas Ochr.”
Her face lights up with a smile.
“That might help me think about it the right way. Let’s try. Show me again first, for the movements.”
Rejection, like nearly all of our spells in this style of casting, has a physical element. It’s possible to make a spell that you could cast at a thought, but they are intense and exhausting.
“You should memorise this, Cilithol. Watch and listen.”
She looks so intently at me, excited to learn. My cheeks redden a bit. I reach my left hand out and point my fingers downward, my palm facing outward.
“The somatic ritual of a spell can tell you a lot about its history. There was at one point a mage or mages who invented this ritual. The first step is a religious method for catalysis. This rejection ritual comes from Basic Orthodoxy clerics in Phlant Dew.”
I stretch my right hand out in the same manner and point my fingers upwards, touching my wrists. I cross my thumb and pinky finger, the Arwyth of the Basic. I make the Arwyth with my left hand as well. Cilithol copies me.
“After you've made the Arwyth, you splay all of your fingers, and this makes the Nosbarthiadau, a representation of a Sengl form.”
Cilithol looks like she needs more explanation on that point.
I happily oblige the exposition. “Your fingers represent the parts of the body of a Sengl. The hand on top is the upper body, the hand below is the lower body. On the top your middle finger is the head, your ring and index finger are the shoulders, and the pinky and thumb are your upper arms down to the elbow. The palm is your chest and torso. On the bottom your middle finger are your genitals- the mages who designed this ritual thought that was just as important as protecting your neck, see- your index and ring finger are your legs, and your thumb and pinky are your lower arms from the elbow. Finally your palm is the waist and hips. In all cases, the right side- like your pinky- will correspond to the right side of your body.”
She traces her eyes over her splayed hands. This abstraction of Sengl form is still confusing, but she knows what she needs to.
I continue “These are the points of your body that you will target with your rejection. To target your body with the rejection spell, you lower your finger corresponding to the part of the body you want to affect. Like this.”
I curl inward the pinky finger on my lower hand, and cast the spell. I hold out my right arm towards Cilithol.
“Hit me.”
We’ve done this before, but she still hesitates to strike me. She raises her hand and brings it down onto my arm with a non-committal chop. She comes so close that I can feel her hand touch the hair on my arm, but her strike is rejected and her arm is recoiled back upwards, carrying the momentum it had coming down.
“I targeted my lower right arm with the spell by lowering the pinky on the top hand. Now, you try it.”
She nods and copies the Nosbarthiadau. She closes her eyes as she focuses on the Law of Is. She lowers her pinky just as I had and casts. She opens her eyes and holds out her right arm to me. I bring my hand down and am perfectly repelled.
She beams at me and pumps her fist “We did it, Cariadus!”
“No, you did. You intuited the Law of Is perfectly, without my help. Is and Is Not used to be the fundamental building blocks of every tradition of magic. Remember, you can also cast this spell on another person if you touch them as you cast.”
She looks so proud of herself, I’m loving every second of her victory. Unfortunately I have to bring her excitement down a little.
“You should dispel it now, before you get tired. You still have to exorcise spirits later.”
She agrees and stands, holding her hand out to help me up before I jump onto her back. As the sunfish dives below the horizon, we make our way back to Thari’s tower. All the shops have been closed up and the streets are completely empty. The rest of the city will have a few people out and about at any time of day or night, but the rich quarter is eerily quiet.
The tower looks a lot creepier at night. Cilithol sets me down and we stand at the ready next to each other. The reality of what we are going to be doing here starts to set in again, the phobia of spirits nipping at my spine, trying to provoke me into panic. The few minutes of waiting for something to happen are agonising, so when the banging starts I’m just about ready to break down and cry already. Yeah, that's definitely no small Animal, it’s a deep and frantic pounding from the other side of the welded iron door, like someone trying to break it down from the other side. I don’t see any spirits yet. Is this tower perhaps made out of cold iron? That could keep spirits out- or in- but it begs the question why the tower would be constructed with such an intention in the first place. I start to shake and I’m clinging to my sister before I can even think.
I see her prepare a painkilling spell in her hand. Healing necromancy has the opposite effect on spirits than it does Sengl, so while a cleaning spell doesn't do much except making a spirit “dirty,” a painkilling spell will cause immense pain in a spirit, often enough to weaken them, or even completely exorcise a weaker spirit. I’m put at ease a little, as long as I can keep clinging to her bicep. She takes me by the shoulder and quietly orders me around in her soothing voice.
“You stay here and tell me if the spirit comes out. It’s probably bound to the inside of the tower, but who knows.”
She walks up to the tower and knocks on the door. The banging inside stops. She knocks again, a childish call-and-response pattern. There’s still no response. She sighs and takes a step back, and the banging starts up again.
I say to her with a shaking voice “It’s probably a poltergeist type if it’s bound to the tower and able to cause noise like that. It’s a spirit angry about something, but thankfully it seems like cold iron is keeping it inside. If we had more context for the death it’d be easier to tell what to do, but Thari and her apprentice died under completely mysterious circumstances. More importantly a poltergeist is the strongest type of spirit. You’re going to need more healing necromancy than you have the energy for.”
Cilithol ignores my worrying and just smiles at me.
“Then we’ll have to do it together!”
I can’t do that. I was only just taught the most basic cleansing spell, I don’t know what she expects me to do!
“I… Cilithol I can’t…”
I start to shake violently and I feel wet streams on my cheeks. Cilithol walks over to me and hugs me before setting me on her back. As she begins to approach the tower again I protest even more, but she calmly says to me,
“You want to know the trick to healing magic, Carrie?”
I choke out “What is it?”
Her answer sounds like a character from generic hero stories.
“Love, Cariadus! You have to think about something you love more than anything! That’s what I build all my healing on!”
I sniffle. “How come you didn’t tell me that before, that could have been helpful during practice…”
“You had to learn your own way. But listen to me. Whenever I use healing spells, I always think of you.”
My body becomes so hot I feel like my nose might bleed. Everything feels better now.
All I can mutter is “You… Okay!”
I do as she says and think of my sister with all the love in my heart. Platonically, familially, romantically, sexually, many kinds of love fuel the fire of devotion and restoration in my body. My sister takes my hands and holds them out in front of her, and the black glow of love in her palm amplifies with mine. I'm not really casting the spell myself, I'm just adding my magic to her spell like fuel. But it's still an incredible feeling. It begins to crackle in our hands. The banging sounds grow louder, stronger and more desperate. Cilithol pushes forwards and places our hands onto the tower itself. The black light shoots into the metal, spreading over its surface. The banging from inside immediately stops.
Both of us are magically exhausted, and Cilithol stumbles back. We wait for more noise for a whole minute, but there is nothing. Cilithol lets out a sigh and looks at me hanging over her shoulder with a stupid grin.
“Cariadus… I am so proud of you.”
It’s not just pride, though. There’s a speck of another emotion in her face, it looks like concern. While the victory over the poltergeist makes me shake with excitement, I have to mention it.
“Thank you silly but something is wrong… There's worry lines on your forehead. What is it?”
She obviously lies, “Nothing’s wrong! We just did a cool, awesome great thing and I'm nothing but pumped!”
I furrow my brow at her.
“Please don’t lie to me.”
Cilithol looks embarrassed to say what she’s thinking, she speaks slowly.
“When we… Cast the spell after I told you to think about what you loved most… While we cast the spell I felt… Well, you, I felt… Something on my back.”
Something on her back?
“That would be me, Cilithol.”
She looks away from me and covers half her face with her hand.
“No, some… Part of you.”
Oh my god. Oh no. I thought of her and she felt my erection stab her in the back. I almost fall off of her as I panic. I don’t say a word more, and neither does she. We walk all the way back to the inn in silence. We’re going to report job completion tomorrow morning as the CCA will be closed up this late at night. I’m left on the bed in our room as Cilithol goes down to get dinner for us. While she’s gone I notice my dick is still hard, pitching a tent in my skirt. I push it down until it relents. Cilithol soon comes back in with cooked salmon and pickled junglefowl eggs. She has some kind of strong alcohol for herself, and rice beer for me. My eyes widen as I smell the lack of milk in my mug.
“I felt bad for yesterday. Don’t make it a habit.”
We eat and drink, the beer doesn’t taste as good as it smells. I’ve never been able to feel anything from alcohol in my life. I would have preferred milk, to be honest. Her face is flushed from the liquor.
She suddenly asks me “So… When you cast that spell earlier, what were you thinking about?”
I have to lie. Even if it sucks.
“I was thinking… About Wyrms.”
“Dragons? I didn’t know you had a… Thing for dragons.”
“Yeah.” I sharply reply staring straight ahead at the wall.
She sighs. “Well that’s a bit of a relief. Since I told you to think about what you love more than anything I thought you were thinking of me. But with that reaction, those fictional monsters from your books make more sense for you.”
My heart hurts badly from that. I do my best to hide it by focusing on the second statement.
“Wyrms aren’t Anghenfilod. In the Ewfforia myth they’re one of the four categories of creatures created from the consumption of-”
She interrupts my oncoming lecture on ancient legends.
“Right, right, I don’t memorise those stories as well as you do, despite your lesson about rejection spells earlier. You have corrected me on this exact thing many times before.”
She laughs but there’s something sad in that laugh. Is it about me…? I have to say something…
“Sis… You know I love you more than anything right? When I was thinking about Wyrms it was just spur-of-the-moment excitement, they were already on my bored mind. I love you the most, of course I do.”
She looks at me with soft eyes.
“I believe you, Carrie. I love you too.”
We don’t talk any more that night, we just lie down in bed and quickly fall asleep in our exhaustion.
My eyes shoot open just before the sun rises, just as I had planned on. I’ll need time in the morning while my sister sleeps. I quietly sit up in bed and look at my little sister next to me, she’s lying flat as she should. I carefully slip over the foot of the bed and try my hardest not to make too much noise as I remove a board from the floor. A hollowed out space below holds my secret coin savings.
Today is Cariadus’ birthday, her twenty-first, and I’ve been putting savings together since her birthday last year. She’s been an adult for a whole year now, and I wanted to do something special even if she’s not as big on birthdays as I am. Our mother made each one feel special, something to look forward to, another year not dead and surrounded by loved ones. I want Cariadus to feel the same, and I've done my best for her since mother died. My plan since last year was to get a wheelchair for her, one that will last. The clockmaker in town has one for sale, so I’m going to head out and buy it to surprise Cariadus when she wakes up. I pull parchment from our bag and write a quick note telling Cariadus that if she wakes up while I’m gone, that nothing is wrong and I’ll be back soon. After leaving the note next to her in bed, I leave our little room and go downstairs.
The first floor is populated by travellers passing through the city getting ready for a long day. There are a lot of northerners judging by their tanned skin. Now is the hottest part of the year, so lots of people are going south to cooler temperatures. I head out onto the road and feel the dirt squish slightly under my sandals. It must have rained last night, it’s a shame Cariadus and I missed it. She loves water, but she can’t swim, so she likes to sit out in the rain.
I make my way to the clockmaker’s shop in the rich quarter, his name is Zahn Rad. He’s a middle-aged orc, just a bit older than I am. He was born with bow legs and couldn’t walk. He learned the clockmaking trade from his father somewhere in the Farlands, but was shipped here after he laundered money for some terrorist group. Since he couldn’t walk, he had to be lifted everywhere during his whole time in prison. It was brutal for him. He was more determined to spare himself that trouble again. When he got here, he had the idea to create a wheelchair using the same principles of clockmaking. Finally dusting off his skill again, he scaled up his rotating cogs and springs until he devised wheels that could be controlled with the winding of various dials. A chime sings as I open the door inside, and I hear Zahn’s own chair tick as he rolls to the front of the store.
“Cilithol! It’s been a whole year since I’ve seen you, girl. I thought you'd never come to collect.”
I take my bag of savings and place it in his lap.
“Here it is. I've been saving since I commissioned you. It was really kind of you to start work on the chair before payment.”
Zahn opens the bag and starts to count the coins. He's serious about business, and very egotistical about his work. I have to pay him before I am even allowed to see the finished product, he takes it as a personal insult that his buyers won't trust the quality of his work.
“Good. The chair is in the back, I finished it a few months ago. I’ve had a long time to work on it, it’s one of my finest. I’ll show you how to use it, pay close attention and follow me.”
He takes me further back in the shop, to the workshop where he builds his clocks and other devices. In the far corner is where he has built my sister’s wheelchair. It really is a beautiful chair. The seat is firm but not hard, the backrest encouraging a proper posture. The controls are really easy, three pairs of winding stems and pushers that get the wheels to move, stop and steer. I get the hang of the controls and commit them to memory to teach Cariadus later. Zahn puffs himself up.
“Is that a chair fit for a queen? You just tell me where there is a seat that can half compare with this particular thing.”
“It's gorgeous. Thank you. We'll let you know how it goes.”
I leave with the chair quickly, eager to get back to the inn. I won’t be able to bring it up and down the stairs to our room, but I’ve already spoken to Hen and she agreed to look after it when it's downstairs and to keep it somewhere safe at night. Halfway back to the inn and pushing the chair in front of me, I feel the hair on my arms stand up. I'm subtly being blocked in by people. It’s nearly impossible to notice when my harassers are such a distance apart, but the way they’re moving gives them away immediately. Sure enough, when I speed up my pace they all move in unison with me, closing in now. They couldn't know that I've already noticed them, but I can’t escape now even if I started running so I just keep walking until one of them is standing right in front of me. He has two others at his sides.
I growl at them. “I saw you coming for a while. Get out of my way.”
I want to keep things quick with newcomers like this who don’t know what I’m capable of, and there are others on the street who don’t yet realise what’s going on. The one in front of me smirks and steps forwards.
“I don’t think so. What’s this you have here?”
He pulls his leg back like he’s about to kick the wheelchair. I quickly and forcefully push the wheelchair into his standing leg and knock him off balance, then leap into the chair myself. If I have to prove a point to these petty thugs, I'm gonna do it with a flourish they'll remember. I hold my Claisthavn to the side of the wheel and transform it into a long, curved blade. Dulled. Not looking to maim. I crank the dial to turn the chair to the right, and let go. I’m impressed with the speed of the chair as it practically turns in place, sweeping my blade out in a circle around me. The thugs surrounding me are forced to jump back if they don’t want their legs swept out from under them. I push the stopper and skid to a halt, then crank the forward dial. The chair speeds forwards faster than I could run pushing it. Zahn, I can't imagine why anyone would need to use a wheelchair at the speed of a professional athlete, but your prices are making more sense now. They pull long knives from their coats and chase after me. I skid to a halt as I see a familiar face in my way. She's yelling.
“That is enough!”
She leaps over me with a flip and draws her spear midair. When she lands she seems to thrust in multiple directions at once, her omni-directional technique. It was a fake stab. My “attackers” are good actors, but there’s no real pain in their screams as they clutch their shoulders and run away. This was all a set up, but a completely different kind than I thought. I stand up from Cariadus’ chair and set the Claisthavn back in my belt. Kystad is embarrassingly desperate.
“Are you alright Cilithol? You look like you had it handled but it’s a good thing I was here. That new fancy wheelchair could have been damaged!”
I walk around the chair and ignore her completely, continuing to push it to the inn. If she tries to get into our room again, I’ll kill her. I hear her huffing behind me.
“Fine! I just wanted to make it up to you, but you don’t want my help. Don’t expect anything any more.”
I didn’t expect anything from her in the first place. I push the chair into the inn and set it by the counter where Hen checks it out and nods in approval. I’m really surprised she doesn’t need something like that of her own at her age, she’s old even for an elf. I go into our room and find Cariadus reading in bed. Her face lights up like it always does, her bright eyes put all my frustration and annoyance with Kystad away. She has such a beautiful effect on me.
“Cilithol! I missed you, it’s strange waking up alone.”
I sit at her feet.
“Good morning, sis. I had something to do before you woke up. I have a surprise for you downstairs.”
She looks up at me with her mouth slightly open, surprised. It takes a moment for her to remember what day it is.
“Oh!”
She blushes and turns her eyes down, and allows herself to be picked up. She’s so incredibly light… I'm hoping for the day that I'll have trouble picking her up like this.
“Cover your eyes, Cariadus.”
She does as I say. We go downstairs where Hen has set up the chair at an impressive angle.
“Open your eyes, Cariadus!”
She uncovers her eyes and stares at the wheelchair.
“I didn’t tell you, but I’ve been putting a little bit of all the money we get aside for this since last year. So don’t worry about the price. It's already been paid by our hard work.”
She hasn’t said anything yet. Her hands are gripping my shoulders hard, her fingers practically digging into me. Hen looks up at her and raises her eyebrows at me. What? I feel wet droplets land in my hair. Is she...? There’s a sniffling sound over my shoulder. People are starting to stare, so Hen opens the door to her room and nods for us to head in there. We quickly go in and try to set her in the bed. She grabs onto me and cries out, holding herself close to me. I sit on the bed myself, pulling her to my lap and stroking her hair as she cries into my shoulder. After a few minutes of petting, she starts to calm down. There’s softness in her face again, but she’s still a sniffling mess. I should just ask her why she's crying.
“Cariadus… What’s wrong with the wheelchair?”
I can hardly understand her explanation as she whimpers into me.
“It’s such a good wheelchair… I’d be able to get around almost the whole colony by myself… But Cilithol, that means you wouldn’t be there to carry me. I don’t want to go anywhere without you…”
She starts to sob again. I don’t know what to do. She's sensitive, and when she's like this she just gets worse and worse. She could have a full breakdown if I don’t do something.
“I’ll carry you just as much as I always do. But if you want to go out by yourself-”
She squeezes me as hard as she can and almost angrily replies “I don't want to go out by myself.”
I hug her tightly.
“You’ll never need to use it. I promise.”
After a minute of silence, I realise that Cariadus fell asleep on me. She was that exhausted. I carefully lift her into my arms and take her up to our room, Hen pats my back as I pass for comfort. I set Cariadus in bed and kneel at her side for a moment. She’s resting peacefully, that’s all I care about. She doesn’t have to go through the pain and embarrassment of a breakdown today. I’ve ruined another birthday of hers. No wonder she doesn’t like them. I hear a sharp inhale right behind me. Something blunt hits the side of my head, and everything is dark. I don't dream. I wake up on the inn’s bottom floor, surrounded by splintered wood, dust, and glass. Cariadus is bleeding beside me, covered in rubble.
Oh, I fell asleep. I was crying before, and my face is now stiff with dried tears. I don’t remember why I was crying. Someone is moving on the other side of the room. Cilithol just entered, and she’s locked the door. She walks over to me with a strange look on her face and falls to her knees at the bedside.
“Cariadus, I love you.”
There’s something different about that phrase in her voice now. I try to speak and my voice doesn't make me feel ashamed. I'm cute.
“What love?”
She cups my cheek. “The way that you do. Like sisters do.”
She means it, she feels the same way as me. She loves me. She loves me the same way I do her. I feel confident in myself. My body is big and strong like hers. I take her wrist and lead her up from her knees and onto the bed. She climbs on top of me, her hands at my sides and her eyes locked onto my mouth. She presses her whole weight onto me as her lips lock to mine. She pushes her tongue into my mouth, I can feel every part of her warm body, the kiss is suffocating. She’s suffocating me. It’s suffocating me. I really can't breathe...
I wake up with a pillow being pushed over my face. My limbs are tied down. I push my hips out and I feel someone on top of me, carefully sitting over me. It's not Cilithol. I can’t tell who it is, my lungs are out of oxygen, I’m not strong enough to struggle. Where is Cilithol? Save me, please. I have to cast my panic spell. It’s going to take everything out of me but it’s the only chance I have to survive this. If I can’t cast it I’ll never cast a spell again. There’s a chance that I’ll never be able to cast a spell again even if I survive. Whatever. Magical energy replicates from itself in the body. If it’s reduced to zero, it can never come back. There’s no more time to think. The panic spell doesn’t need an Arwyth. It's the only spell I've ever made that doesn't need one. My head goes blank, it feels like my mind is being drained through my fingertips like a faucet of blood.
I come to laid out on a table downstairs. Cilithol is standing over me, sweating. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but she’s calling my name. I feel the lingering tingles of healing necromancy in my body. She looks scared, but overjoyed that I am awake. She grabs me a bit too hard and pulls me close to her, and I can understand her blurry speech now. She’s repeating herself over and over.
“You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive…”
I don’t know what’s going on but I like being hugged like this. There are other people around too, Hen is close and others that I don’t recognise. I look up at where our floor- No, it’s Hen’s floor, used to be. The walls have fallen too, the window broken. Almost half the ceiling has collapsed. Around me is the rubble. I feel so weak, nearly all my magic is gone. Nearly. Thank god.
Oh, no. No satisfaction yet. The whole room is destroyed. I almost died. There's a gaping empty space upstairs. My face goes pale and my mind starts to lose its grip on itself. What I could avoid yesterday can't be avoided today. Cilithol notices and picks me up quickly, pushing past people to get outside. We duck into the nearby alleyway and she sits us behind the barrels.
I lose control of myself, clinging onto my sister and screaming into her thigh. My legs kick the barrels beside me and my fists hit the ground as Cilithol holds me. I know she'll have to deal with the people stopping to see if I'm being murdered or raped in the alleyway. What an embarrassment I am for Cilithol. What is wrong with me, why does this happen? Why must I make a situation, already stressful, drastic and horrible, worse by losing myself like this. No, let me be reasonable, how could I not lose myself when I'm being crushed from all sides by everyone surrounding me? I destroyed everything, I probably hurt someone really bad, I might have hurt Cilithol, I definitely exhausted her magically. She’s going to have to be the one to pay for the damages. I’m still shouting through tears into my sister’s clothes, but it’s stopping. I’m slowly getting back control. Cilithol is whispering to me.
“It wasn’t your fault, you were protecting yourself. It was that or death. It’s not your fault.”
She pauses for a second to make sure I’m okay. I stop shouting and just cling to her.
I whimper “Thank you.”
There was far less emotion in it than I intended, and I can’t bother to pitch my voice up. She holds my shoulder and asks with anger in her voice,
“What happened back there?”
I don’t even know. I try to cough out more words.
“My limbs were tied, and you weren’t there, and there was a pillow over my face and I couldn’t get it off.”
I swear I hear her growl.
“I was at your side. I was right there on my knees next to the bed as you slept and next thing I know I’m lying on the ground bleeding, and you’re there on the ground next to me.”
The anger in her voice is replaced with sickness. Sickness at herself and for what she saw of me, what could have been prevented.
“Someone hit me in the side of the head. I blacked out. I still have a concussion, I think. They were in our room, waiting for us. Who knows how long they waited and watched you sleep before… Not long at all, maybe. Carrie, I saw Kystad again, she staged saving me from muggers, if she is stupid and desperate enough to do that then when all else fails she might have...”
The anger returns to her voice. Not just anger but murder in her voice. I pull on her top and her breath catches in her throat.
“Cilithol… Please no. You can’t do that. I say so.”
She looks at me with conflict welling up in her eyes. Her muscles tense, then go limp and she pets my head.
“I couldn’t, because I know you’d be there watching me. I won’t become that.”
The killing is not my primary concern. I wish whoever attacked me, Kystad or some assassin of hers or whoever, would have died from the blast. But it doesn’t seem like the attempted murderer was caught. I just don’t want my sister to have to do it for me, and not when we don’t know for sure who it was.
“Cariadus, I will never leave your side from now on. Not for a second.”
She says it with so much certainty that I get worried. I sit up against her arm and mumble,
“As long as you promise me you’ll sleep at night.”
Cilithol shifts uncomfortably but agrees with a hum.
I whisper “I love you.” into her shoulder and kiss her in the crook of her neck.
“I love you too, Cariadus.”
She kisses me on the forehead. I fall back onto her, losing my composure and feeling well again after so much stress.
“When I slept, I had a dream that you were kissing me.”
I don’t know why I said that now, it just felt like I should. She cocks her head a little, looking unsure of what to do with that.
“Would another kiss make you feel better?”
I’m so overcome with sudden excitement that I can only croak out a “Yes.”
She breathes in deep.
“I’ll kiss you every day, Cariadus. You almost died… So I’ll kiss you every day. Yeah.”
Fumbling her sappy words, she quickly picks up my face and presses her lips onto mine. My entire body tenses up, I become a board in her arms. She takes up my lower lip. Her mouth is surprisingly soft. She’s so gentle. She’s going for longer than most sisters do, I think. I forget about the wheelchair, the attempt on my life, the collapsed roof of the inn, the exhaustion in my sister’s body, about the crushing eyes, about Kystad. Everything just falls away. I can’t control myself and I want more, I rub my tongue against my sister’s lip and ruin everything. Cilithol breaks off. She sounds concerned.
“Hey… I don’t think we should go that far. That’s… Not what sisters do.”
No no no no no, I want more. I begin to pant. We just got started, I have a foot in the door, we can keep going! I feel like I’m in heat. I whimper with my mouth open. Cilithol looks around to make sure no one is watching. Her face is bright red and she looks uncomfortable. She picks my face up and kisses me again, her lips part and her tongue enters my mouth. It’s broad and wet and tasty and it’s touching mine. My hips thrust into the air, my feet drag along the ground. She holds my legs still. Her tongue is as soft as her lips. She’s hesitant and careful, but she moves it like she's playing with me, running circles and pressing tips together. She’s stiff at first but she quickly relaxes and really gets into it. It feels like she’s enjoying it now. I taste her saliva drip into my mouth, covering my tongue and pooling in my throat. I swallow it all.
Eventually, she removes herself from me. She’s hotter than a fever. I can’t bring myself to speak although I want to moan her name like I’ve wanted to for as long as I knew what it meant to love. She speaks first, wiping the mix of our spit from her mouth.
“That’s… You deserve that. For what you’ve gone through today. But just this once o-... Okay? It’s not… Supposed to be like that.”
Why does she sound so conflicted? I don’t care. I love Cilithol. I want her morreee. I rub my face into her thighs, drooling and whimpering.
“Wow… You’re pretty desperate. I guess having a near death experience would… Do that.”
She pauses, thinking about whether to say what she wants to say. She says it.
“It makes you look pretty cute. We should go.”
I’m hoisted onto her back and she takes us into the inn. The crowd has mostly left, what with most of the floor being covered in rubble. Looks like none of them cared to help, as Hen is picking up pieces into a wheelbarrow one by one without any help. She shouldn’t have to strain her back like that in her old age. Cilithol drops to her knees, and with me being on her back I go down with her.
“I am so, sincerely sorry for all of this destruction, Hen! Please do not blame my sister for her survival, but blame me for not protecting her closer. Had I been able to, all of her pain and the room could have been saved. I promise I will work to pay off everything that must be used up for repairs and extra for the trouble, whatever amount you decide, it will be fair.”
She’s really laying into it, but she means it. Hen just sighs and smiles.
“You’re acting like a stranger, Cilithol. You two are like grandchildren to me.”
Does she see us like that? Her and Cilithol don’t really talk too much… But I guess she does provide for us and let us stay for cheaper.
“I will need money, but don’t think of it as a punishment. You are simply expected to help. You two can sleep in a single room instead of the closet from now on. Your rate will be the same.”
We’ve been… Living from a closet upstairs? That explains its diminutive space. I thought that's just what a normal room was like. Moving up to a single might be exciting… And how generous that is, too! Cilithol stands up, and shows Hen the Arwyth of Gratitude. The right hand held out, palm up and cupped. The left hand pressing its index and middle fingers into the palm of the other. It’s symbolic of the placing of a coin into a beggar’s hands. Hen flashes the gesture back, though she’s not Sthawabarthian like us.
We go upstairs to our new room. It has a larger bed, though still only sized for one average Sengl. There is a chair next to a small table with a lantern, oil and tapers to light in the first floor’s hearth. There’s a wardrobe, a simple front-opening box with a rod and hangers inside. That will be better for our clothes than laying them on the floor. There’s a wooden chest to put our stuff inside safely, the key to the chest and door is lying on top. Oh, the door has an actual lock instead of a plank of wood. Cilithol puts me on the bed. It’s definitely more comfortable than the one in the closet. This is really nice. Cilithol sits at the side of the bed, looking at her feet.
“No matter what, Cariadus, do not blame yourself for this.”
She knows I’m prone to thoughts like that. She keeps me in line.
“I know, sis… Thank you.”
She clenches her fists and her voice quavers a little.
“You’re a good girl, Carrie.”
I feel hot inside again, I want to kiss her more and more. She said she would every day, so I can't wait until tomorrow. I turn in the bed to hide the bump in my skirt. Cilithol hums in thought.
“Maybe… Cariadus, maybe we should plunder Seth. It would be really good money.”
I flip around in bed, surprised that she would suggest going to Seth, the ruins of the once-grand capital of all Sengl.
“Cilithol, there’s too many dangerous Anghenfilod there! More than anything we’ve fought before!”
Cilithol turns back to me with an adventurous grin.
“Since when were you afraid of monsters?”
That’s true. I’m not afraid. I’m just worried she’s going to push herself too hard. Seth, a city larger than any in the Farlands. It’s always been here on this island, named after the city. You can see the palace in the distance from a high spot on a good day. Many different kinds of Anghenfil live there, some of them too strong for any two raiders to take on. But the outskirts shouldn’t be too bad. Most people aren’t Slayers. There will still be plenty of valuables to take. A single gold coin from the time of the Sthed-Igyd could be worth a handful of modern coinage. And being around so many Anghenfilod... Maybe I could get close to one and… It’s a fantasy, but it excites me about going. Seeing more Anghenfilod up close will give me a much better understanding of them. I want to go!
“Let’s do that, Cilithol. Let’s start planning.”
Her grin grows wider and she pulls parchment from her pack.
“Let’s get started.”
Soon we’ll travel to Seth, a little under two merhale from Hendir. Cilithol, being the survivalist that she is, thinks that we’ll be able to take our essentials and make up the rest on the way through “on-site procurement”. We are going to capture striders and hunt a snailmmoth first thing to make jerky on our way there. Water is abundant, and my sorting spell can easily separate the spores from the water. While it would be nice if we could just hunt and eat Anghenfilod, that is forbidden.
We spend the rest of the day planning and get to sleep quickly and comfortably in our new bed. I will make absolutely sure Cilithol sleeps tonight. Hen came up to our room that night and asked us about the incident this morning. Cilithol told her to keep an eye out for Kystad, or anyone else she thinks is suspicious. Hen agreed, and Cilithol trusts her eyes enough to fall asleep with me. She hugged me again, instead of the pillow. I hope things stay like this. That we can huddle together for warmth on cold stone floors of ruined cellars. That she will care for me like a mother and feed me well during our raid into Seth. That we can see things no Sengl has seen for entire eras of history, and maybe even come across entirely unheard of Anghenfilod. The money is great, yes. But spending hard times alone with my sister, especially after all this, makes me feel like something even greater will happen. Between us. As sisters.
First thing in the morning, we pack up and head outside of the colony towards Seth. Throughout the hills on the way to the forest, you can always be sure to see small herds of lurchers who have stopped for a rest. Lurchers are lanky, tall weevils but despite their thin legs they can hold quite a bit of weight. Relative to other Animals on Madarch, they’re like Farland horses in their very high endurance and speed, though they still come quite a bit short of those mammalian powerhouses. They are, however, much easier to get a hold of than horses. Instead of stealing from a rich farmer or spending a thousand silver pieces on them, you can just cover yourself in male lurcher pheromones and walk right up to a wild herd. The females will imprint onto you, and be “loyal” even after the pheromones are washed off. “Rubbing” a male lurcher is a lot harder to do in the wild, so we find the first stable outside of the city walls and hop the fence, making sure no farmhands are around to see.
Cilithol had already volunteered to collect the pheromones, as it’s an… Unsavoury process. It’s not like what we did with those mares was any better, but she hated seeing me have to do that, and I’m guessing this is her trying to take a bit of the zoophilic shame from me. I’m waiting outside the stable keeping watch, and soon Cilithol comes out smelling absolutely awful. She’s rubbed it into her clothing, and she wipes a smudge of it on my own top. It will wash out with water or a cleansing spell, but for now both of us have to bear with the stench. I climb onto her back and we return to the path.
Eventually the road will split into the new path, carved out as part of the recolonisation of Madarch and which leads to the other colonies, and the old path, the road that connected the ancient towns and cities on the island to the capital. But before we can follow the old path, we'll need lurchers and food. On the top of a tall purple hill, we see a group of lurchers chewing on a bush. We sneak behind them, staying in their blind spots until we’re right on them. When they finally smell us, the males dash away, but the females stay and sniff Cilithol with their long rostra, tapping at us with their antennae. There are three of them, perfect. One for me, one for Cilithol and another to hold our stuff. My nose still takes a few minutes to recover from the assault. The lurchers present themselves to Cilithol, but instead of copulating with them as the pheromones imply, she hoists herself up on one of their backs. They’re such passive creatures that once tamed they just stand there and allow it. Now that we have them under our control, Cilithol uses a cleansing spell to clean the pheromones off our clothes.
I climb onto one of the others. Its hard, smooth carapace and fused elytra feel strange and slippery under me, but you can hold on to the space between its head and thorax to keep yourself from sliding off. If you dig your fingers deep into that spot, you can direct them where to go when walking. I guess it pinches their nerves or something. When I was young I would worry that it hurt them, but Cilithol assured me that they actually could not feel pain. I don’t entirely believe her, and I still feel bad pushing my nails into the protected nerves beneath their neck, but it's what we have to do right now.
Our second order of business before going into the forest is to find food. We can make a large amount of jerky using snailmmoth meat, and there are plenty of them across these hills further away from the city. They’re slow, completely harmless, and lay so many eggs that their population is hardly an issue. Cilithol walks alongside me and the lurchers as we go, picking up whatever edible herbs and fungi are along the path to marinade the jerky with. They smell really nice, and they’ll smell even better cooked up together with snail. I'm just soaking up the atmosphere of adventure as we go, not too concerned with missing a snailmmoth herd. Snailmmoths are very easy to spot, due to their size, you could see a herd of them half a merhale away.
It’s not long until I see a few of them over a hill, and we turn to chase them down. Well, chase is a bit of an exaggeration. A lurcher’s walking pace is faster than a snailmmoth's top speed. We catch up and find the smallest of them, a juvenile. There’s no way we could use all of an adult one, so this little one will have to be the victim this time. Cilithol gets off her lurcher and transforms the Claisthavn into a ridiculously long pike, suitable for hunting snailmmoths. Killing a snailmmoth is a very precise skill. They won’t die unless you can reach their organs, and since most of those are protected by a tough shell the only real target is the brain. Their brain, however, is just two thin clusters of nerves that intertwine with each other somewhere in the centre of their head. Trying to sever that brain with a four kulach long pike is like threading a needle with your feet. It doesn’t help at all that the actual location of this tangle of nerves varies slightly. Cilithol though…
For a while now, just a few months on, she’s developed this sort of intuition of where the brain is. We had some success with snailmmoth hunting parties thanks to that newfound talent, but they didn’t want me around, so Cilithol quit doing that. She proves her talent again as she charges forward, driving the pike deep into the snailmmoth’s head between its eye stalks and above its mouth. She goes in at a slight leftwards angle, perfectly severing the brain as the thing immediately goes limp. Really, how does she do that? The other snails slowly crawl away.
Due to their size, unless you cut them up or have something to haul them away with, when you hunt snailmmoth you need to prepare them on the spot, so we stop here and get the marinade and seasoning ready. Cilithol cuts slabs of dense, slimy meat from the snailmmoth and piles it up. She uses our designated pack strider to bring the meat to the river to wash off the slime. She comes back to the hill and uses the Claisthavn to create a peculiarly shaped shield, concave and wide. It takes some imagination of what a shield should look like, but the Claisthavn allows it. It will serve as a pot where the marinade will be prepared. The meat will soak in the blend of herbs and mushroom for a long time to take on the aroma and flavours. Even though we haven’t travelled that far we're going to camp here until next morning since there’s no way we could marinade the meat as we go. We can dry the jerky on our pack lurcher's back as we travel, but there’s no way we can balance a pot on its back. Before we sleep I will cast a low-stress fire underneath the pot and let it cook the whole night.
The purple grass is soft under me, Cilithol is sitting nearby fixing a strained strap on our bag.
“Cilithol, if we can hunt and cook food this easily, why do we keep paying for food in the city?”
She doesn’t turn away from her work as she neatly explains.
“The food in the city is better for us. They have access to oils, dairy, imported meats and vegetables that we just can’t get out here. Bugs don’t have a lot of edible parts, mushrooms can make you sick, and that’s three quarters of what’s out here. You need variety in your diet as well. Snailmmoth doesn’t have much protein, but you can get a lot of it. Birds are small and harder to catch, river fish are rare because the freshwater is full of spores. We just couldn’t keep up for the two of us out here for much longer than what we're about to do.”
I guess that’s true. She knows a lot more about survival out here than I do. How come the colonies rely so much on imported food from the Farlands, when this island was supposedly where all Sengl came from? The island must have been a lot different back then. It was probably beautiful, richly covered in Animal life, with drinkable water in the rivers, forests of fruits and vegetables instead of only dense mushrooms. I close my eyes and imagine that world.
The hill I’m lying on is forested now. The mushrooms are still there, but they share a space with a wide diversity of other things, plants are lush this far west and probably even further. The trees are white and tall, their leaves a patterned light and dark-green like webbed fingers. The sunlight shines through them and casts striped shadows on the ground around me, soil that marbles with green plant grass and purple fungal grass. The plant grass is thicker and feels waxy between my hooves, and there are so many small bugs crawling along the ground, building small hills of loose and arable soil to be used as grand entrances into their underground fortresses.
Small bushes around me are covered in berries where a large mammal stands with two young. She’s a slender, gentle creature with beige and white fur, the juveniles covered in spots. They don’t seem to notice me as I come near and eat from the bush with them. I bring my dark snout down and pluck the clustered blue berries from the bush with my thick lips. My antlers scrape against a branch above my head and my body twitches from the flittering gnats bumping against me. Everything smells good. Suddenly, someone calls out to me in a barking language that flicks a switch of panic in my brain, I lose control of my muscles as they burst into a run. I feel like my legs don’t quite work right, and I fall.
I return to the present. It wasn’t a sleeping dream, it seems like I just got lost in a vivid fantasy. Cilithol is beside me making sure I’m okay, as I have fallen to the ground a good distance away from the cooking pot.
“Hey, don’t go running away like that all of the sudden. Are you feeling alright?”
It's like I was sleepwalking, but I don't think I was asleep. It's a bit embarrassing.
“I’m okay Cilithol, I was just playing.”
Cilithol laughs at me. “You’re a grown woman, Cariadus, playing isn’t allowed any more.”
She doesn’t mean it seriously. Does she want to play?
I growl back at her. “I’m an outlaw of fun, a playtime bandit. I don’t care about your laws.”
She adapts to my antagonistic role naturally.
“I’m putting you under arrest for wanton and rampant mirth. You’ve got quite the bounty on your head!”
She pins my wrists behind my back and puts her knee between my legs. She gets into her roles a bit too much sometimes. I don’t even have a chance to fight back. I still laugh, really enjoying seeing this side of her again. Plus, it feels good to be restrained like this… Shit, I can’t go down that line of thought or else I’ll do something embarrassing again.
“Alright, I give in, I can’t win against the sheriff herself.”
She lets me go with a satisfied smile. I quietly cast a sensation spell on her back, she quickly turns around to see what that poke was. I pick myself up and jump onto her back, dragging my fingers across her throat like a knife while giving my best evil laugh.
“Guhuhuhu!!”
It comes out a lot worse than it sounded in my head. I'm not a good actor. Still, she feigns choking and gurgling and falls forward. I roll off her back and put my foot on my kill. The lurchers are watching with curiosity. She looks up, still alive. It’s not really fair, since I slit her throat, but I suppose it’s fine for playing pretend. She gurgles at me.
“Please… Spare me O’ Highwaywoman of Happiness, I’ll do anything.”
I give an evil smile to her.
“Anything?”
She pleads more.
“Anything, anything!”
I hum and put my finger on my chin. There are so many things I would love to say in response to that. But I have to keep it cool. I sniff the air in an exaggerated way.
“Where did you learn to cook so well?”
I lean down and put my finger-knives to her spine. “Tell me or I’ll-”
“Our mother!” She yells dramatically.
Oh, yeah. I really should have guessed that. It feels really strange thinking about her. Playtime's over so dropping my villain voice, I ask her.
“Was she a good cook too?”
She rolls over and looks up at me. There’s a little bit of sadness in her eyes, but she seems willing to talk. She doesn’t usually like talking about mom, but I want to hear more. I don't have any real memories of her. She sighs and rolls over.
“You already know she was, and she was quick to teach me everything. It was like she always knew she would go early. So she taught me everything I needed to know to be without her, how to care for myself and someone else, that’s you. It was a lot at once, she got frustrated with me when I couldn’t get the hang of something quickly. I felt like I was being trained as a successor to a monarch.”
That’s why… “You were to be a mother to me when she was gone.”
“Yeah. An older sister in the role of a mother. She never got to see how capable you are now. You hardly even need me.”
I stomp around her and crouch, making sure she can see my face.
“I do need you. You need me too. It's always been that way.”
She brings her gaze to mine. Her eyes are as sad as her voice.
“You’re right, you’re right. Why don’t we eat something? The sun is overhead.”
She sits up and rummages in her bag for the bit of dried food we brought with us in case we couldn’t find our own quickly. She hands me the little box of seeds, mushrooms and roots and we start to eat. She wants to leave the jerky marinating until tomorrow morning, so we spend the rest of the day practising magic and I watch Cilithol’s weapon training again. The lurchers don’t stray, they just pick at the grass all day contentedly. When the sunfish dives below the horizon, Cilithol undresses to her nightclothes and lies on the soft grass.
Her body looks so good under moonfish light. I want to do the same and come close to her but… It might be too much too soon after this morning. I light the fire underneath our pot, and the flames lick against the edges. It smells absolutely amazing, and it completely fills the air around us. Even the lurchers seem to like the smell as they wander near to the pot. While the rest of their bodies don’t seem to react to heat, their antennae definitely do as they jerk back whenever they wander too close to the fire. It had slipped my mind that yesterday was my birthday. We didn't really bring it up again past that morning. Cilithol realises this too as she twitches and sits up with a sad face.
“I’m sorry I ruined another birthday of yours.”
I don’t know how to tell her I don’t really care enough in the first place for it to be “ruined,” but even with what happened, Cilithol kissed me like that for the first time.
“Please don’t worry about that. It was special.”
I lie down next to her and she relaxes, spreading her limbs out on the ground. Even with the fire going, we’re safe here. Bandits don’t waste their time at night when the traders aren’t on the move. We look up at the night sky. All the other worlds are visible, and tonight is extra special as the skyeels are passing over. This time of year they migrate from the great desert to the great glacier, from far north to far south, where the days and nights are long. Their incandescent green and blue bodies slither outside of the Gwydir, the glass that separates our world from the void of black water that everything we know is suspended in. Dozens of them are passing overhead, and while they look slow to us down here, their true speed is unmatched even by the moonfish.
In our Sthawabarthian faith, the night sky is important to pay attention to. While that’s hardly a unique trait, no other spiritual system has the depth of narrative that the constellations of the other worlds tell out there. Each one of the hundreds we can see has a story long enough to tell for a day, ancient stories that remind us of our values, the instructions on how to create happiness in this world, instructions from god. It is nearly impossible for one Sengl to remember more than a few dozen of these stories, but in Sthawabarthian villages there will be a special building made just to house and train storytellers whose duty is to memorise and recite them in perfect detail. No one in Hendir fulfils such a role, and we have never heard a story in full.
We can still recognise some of them by name and their purpose. There is the Sthygad, that teaches us to be aware of the world around us. There is the Dau Fethul, who teaches us that two minds are always greater than one. There is the vulture that teaches us to take all opportunities when it comes to survival. And the Vron, which tells us that pleasure is good for us. That one seems pretty obvious but it's good to cover the basics sometimes.
Both of us are completely relaxed. My senses are heightened to the world around me. The black and white dotted night sky glows blue from the bright ethereal beauty of the moonfish leaping up from below the horizon. The quiet, rolling hills span out in all directions around us. Ahead is the dark expanse of the forest towards Seth, whose grand palace sticks out above everything, guiding us to it. I replaced the real flame under the pot with a magical one. It burns without shedding light, just a flat colour sticking out against the darkness. It will never not be uncanny, but it was only designed to create heat, not light.
The more specific a spell is, the better it will work, so when emulating a natural process you must sometimes give up realism for function. This one was actually designed for cooking, and can even continue to burn when I am asleep. It was one of the first spells I consciously and painstakingly designed, a continuous and low-stress heat. I took inspiration from a book on culinary magic.
The smell of the marinating snailmmoth meat is still thick in the air, and it’s still just as good. By the time we get sick of it, it will be time to dry it out. The striders sleep, their long legs tucked under themselves like springs. If they’re startled by predators in their sleep they are able to immediately spring up, practically leaping into the air. Small bugs sing all around us, and bats fly overhead. Even the night air is warm in summer, and there’s a nice breeze at the top of the hill.
Before I know it I’ve awoken the next morning, the sunfish just barely above the hills. Cilithol is still asleep. The meat has been slow cooked overnight, and I take away the flames. It looks so good and smells even better! Cilithol is snoring away so I start to lay out the strips of meat to dry over a cloth and return the Claisthavn, in dagger form once again, to Cilithol’s side. They’ll be put over the lurcher’s back when we’re ready to start moving. Maybe I should name them, the lurchers. It’s not necessarily good to name a wild Animal, but it’s not too consequential and it's something to do while I wait. I’ll name mine Carian, the root of my name. The pack lurcher I’ll name Mule, after the pack Animal they use in the Farlands. The name of Cilithol’s lurcher, I’ll leave up to her.
I dig around in our bag for my other pair of clothes. We only brought two for each of us, washing them isn’t an issue since Cilithol can use cleansing magic on them, and now I can too. I wash my clothing and put it away, donning my other, nearly identical outfit. I sneak over to Cilithol’s side and press my hands on her body, cleaning her clothes as well. She slowly wakes up as my hands pass over her stomach and she smiles, letting me finish.
“Good job, Cariadus. You’ve got the hang of that really well now.”
My eyes flash with pride as I give her today’s clothes and she goes behind the dead snailmmoth to change. I do wonder something, since I have a hang on the cleansing spell now, where else can I apply it in my life? Brushing my teeth has always been a problem for me, even beyond the usual difficulties that the contaminated water and lack of hairy Animals to make brushes from bring to dental hygiene on Madarch. I grab my sister’s mirror and look at my slightly yellowed teeth and white tongue. I feel awful for having kissed Cilithol with this mouth. I rub my teeth with a cleansing spell and they become miraculously bright. I run my hand over my tongue and it is cleaned as well. My mouth feels very strange, smooth and tingly. Cilithol’s voice is loud over my shoulder.
“Cariadus, don’t do that.”
I scramble to put the mirror back in the bag.
“Sorry, I was just borrowing-”
“No, not the mirror. I mean don’t clean your mouth like that. It looks less dirty but I’ve heard of mages getting really bad infections after doing that. It’s not just a rumour, either.”
I feel ashamed now. I thought I finally had a good idea of my own.
“Am I going to get an infection now?”
“No, as long as you don’t keep doing it. You’ll be okay right now.”
That’s a relief. Now is an okay time to change the subject.
“Cilithol, I named two of our lurchers. I left yours for you to name yourself! Mine is Carian, and the pack lurcher is Mule.”
She gives me the expected response.
“It’s not good to name wild Animals. We aren’t sticking with these girls for a long time, and you’re just going to get attached to them if you give them a cute name like Carian or Mule.”
I make a pouty face at her to get what I want. Of course it works.
“Fine, it’s already too late for both of us. I’ll name mine Cirris.”
She did the same as me, using the root of her own name. She purses her lips.
“Though… I don’t know what Mule means. It sounds like a Human name.”
I push my chest out, always loving to explain something to someone.
“It is a Human word! It means something like stamina, and they gave the name to an Animal hybrid between a horse and a donkey.”
Oh, she doesn’t know what a donkey is either.
“A donkey is like a horse but… Different.”
I don’t actually don't know about that one. Cilithol is putting our packs and the jerky out to dry on Mule, stretching it over its back and pinning the meat to the cloth with fishing hooks.
“I hope Mule holds out like a horse does. Or a real mule.”
I remember another fun fact.
“You know in the common pidgin, a ‘pack mule’ is someone who is burdened with carrying everything for a group?”
She thinks for a second.
“So it’s like a pack rat, but for selflessness instead of selfishness?”
“I think so. It’s not really seen as a good thing though. Especially by the pack mule.”
We hoist ourselves up on Carian and Cirris and start to head out towards the path again. Mule follows us obediently, the jerky drying on its back. When we get to the edge of the forest, we take out our bandanas and fasten them around our faces. When in a forest for a long time, you’ll need to wear one or else you’ll inhale spores from the trees. They only actually drop their spores at certain times of the day, but just being under them for a long time will eventually make you sick. You especially can’t sleep under them while forgetting to cover yourself. Usual safe attire would include a very wide brimmed hat as well as the bandana, but we don’t have those. The trees in this forest have wide caps, blocking a lot of sun to the undergrowth. As a result there isn’t much brush at all and it’s very easy to navigate on a lurcher. Visibility is also high, and Cilithol’s eyes are darting back and forth like she expects a monster to jump out at us along the road.
I lay myself out on Carian, spreading my limbs and just enjoying the ride. The lurchers, despite their name, don’t actually lurch very much. It’s not a smooth ride, but they have a certain flow of motion that they maintain very well. I think it has to do with how they balance weight on their backs. Before I can fully relax, Cilithol calls us to an abrupt stop and I almost slide off of Carian. Cilithol looks alert and she whispers at me to listen. I perk my ears and listen to the quiet forest. Only the sound of daytime bugs and birds… And behind all the white noise is a peculiar cry.
“Weeeeep, weeeeeep…”
It’s sort of sad. It sounds like a bird. Oh!
“Cilithol… That’s a phoenix call!”
She grins. A phoenix is an Anghenfil that looks like a big stork. They have grey and black peppered feathers, and a distinctive red wattle at the top of their head. When frightened, they self-combust, their own feathers catching fire like a leaf. When they’re done burning they look more like a naked reptile, their scaly skin underneath is entirely flame retardant. They’re aggressive, and will try to tackle their foe instead of running, and they’ll chase you as long as they burn, too. If you can catch one before it burns, you can use its feathers as a lightweight and plentiful fire-starter. They would be valuable to keep on us to conserve magical energy. Even my low-stress fire has a limit, resting only prolongs it.
I’m not sure what the phoenix is calling for, they mate further north in the hot climate, they only come down here in the summer for food. Perhaps it’s confused. I ask Cilithol,
“How are we going to catch it?”
“It’s early morning still, the tops of the trees will have water pooled up from dew. We can climb up and move along the treetops until we find the phoenix, and dump a bunch of water on it.”
She’s gesticulating excitedly as she explains the plan. I know a lot about them as an Anghenfilod, but not about hunting them. That’s her realm. I don’t have much to add. At least I can meaningfully contribute this time, unlike some of our other hunts where I just sit back and leave most of it to her.
“Okay. I’ll carry the water with magic.”
“No, we can just use my shield like a pot again. You should conserve energy, even before we get to Seth.”
Fine, that’s probably more efficient. I guess I won't be useful after all. I’m not sure why I can’t just wait here, but she turns to allow me onto her back. Climbing up into the canopy of trees isn’t hard at all, their height is very variable so it’s not uncommon to find a spot where one can just climb up on higher and higher caps until you reach the top. Our lurchers will stay put, not able to climb up after us, though Cirris tries. We walk along the top of the trees, seeing the fresh clean water caught in their caps. We stop to drink, as this water is spore-free even without a filter.
The phoenix calls again and we move towards the source of the sound. We slow and sneak across the caps as we come near to its perching spot, in a patch of sun where a few rocks stick up from the ground. It’s such a beautiful bird, and massive too. It would tower over me if I were next to it. The cap we’re standing on is full of water, but we can’t really dump it on its head with the shield from over here. Looks like I can be useful after all.
“I’ll get it.” I whisper to Cilithol. “You just get ready to shoot it down.”
Cilithol nods and transforms the Claisthavn into a bow, complete with an arrow. The bow form works strangely, it has arrows that seem to replenish themselves as long as you can fire them, but they melt away into nothingness after a few moments in the target. The mass of the arrow must return to the Claisthavn through the air, somehow. Because they’re considered near-legendary weapons, not a lot of research has been done on them. But in the context of corpuscular theory of magic, we can think of the material of the Claisthavn being uniquely malleable in how its corpuscles are arranged, and like designing magic, its a matter of thrusting yourself into the metaphysical plane that the malleable corpuscular structure resides in and changing it into a form you desire, which then reflects onto our physical plane. For the arrows to disappear like that, they could literally be turning into air and returning to the rest of the weapon, or retreating completely into the metaphysical.
Cilithol makes a noise at me, making me alert again. Right. I create a bubble spell around the water pooled in the cap. It’s a spell that encapsulates a certain area, making weightless whatever is inside it. I can then direct the bubble to move wherever I wish, like right above the phoenix’s head. It looks up and tries to fly away, but it's too late and the water crashes down onto it. It falls to the ground as sparks fly off of it. At that very moment, Cilithol unleashes an arrow into the bird. As expected a single arrow isn’t enough to take it down, but it can’t attack us or fly. It begins to run away but Cilithol lets another arrow fly and hits it in the head, knocking it down. The thing is still alive, Anghenfilod are tough like that, but it’s certain to die now. A third arrow strikes its back and it finally gives in.
Cilithol quickly takes me up onto her and jumps down from one tree to another until we reach the ground. The phoenix is wet, the feathers will have to be dried out. But we’ve secured a whole bunch of fire-starters, no need to waste energy on magic. She drags the bird back to our lurchers, who are waiting patiently, picking at small bugs on the ground. Cilithol will pluck feathers and bundle them up as we continue.
We soon reach the point where we have to leave the main road behind. While the old stone path from the glory days of Seth are not visible any more, the grass still does not grow where it has been covered in dirt, for unknown reasons. It makes it easier for us, at least, and the tall palace in Seth is always a landmark in the distance. The sun is starting to set, and the forest will get cold and wet. We find a rocky glade to set up camp in, Cilithol knocks down a small tree that she deems flammable enough and begins to cut it into pieces. Across from us is a bump in the ground, a low, flat cave mouth not uncommon in glades like this. However, something is glowing on the other side. The excitement that one might feel at seeing something like that quickly burns away as I recognise immediately what that is.
“Cilithol, take a look at this. There’s an Anghenfil at camp with us.”
She jerks away from her work and switches to a fighting stance, not even changing the axe in her hands. Before I can calm her down she’s by my side looking around.
“Relax, Cilithol. It’s not one that can hurt us. Do you see that cave over there? That’s called a Cavemouth.”
She thinks I’m joking with her.
“Oh yeah, a cave mouth. I get it. I would have heard about a monster like that already, I'm a Slayer remember?”
“No, really. It’s a sedentary creature that accumulates stone and dirt on its body as it holds its mouth open, waiting for prey to go right inside. They don’t move at all so they don’t need to eat much and can live off of bug colonies or small mammals. The light on the inside is a lure. You've never heard of them because they don't pose a threat to Sengl.”
She still doesn’t believe me.
“You’ve got a good imagination. Must be all that reading.”
“It’s not a joke! I’ll show you, go and strike the outside of the thing until you reach the inner layer of skin.”
She wipes the sweat from her forehead, already tired from cutting timber, and now her little sister is asking her to go mine stone. She can’t refuse me, though.
“Okay, but if you’re fooling around I’m gonna make you sleep in there instead of by the fire.”
She transforms her axe into a pick and hits the cavemouth with a precise blow, taking a large chunk off. There’s… No inner layer. It’s just a normal cave mouth. I feel intense embarrassment.
“Well… Well if it’s not a cavemouth, then what’s glowing on the inside?”
I'm too curious now to care about my mistake, and she's too curious to continue to poke fun at me.
“I don’t know… Let’s go see. It could be something cool.”
As we crawl into the cave on our bellies, I’m imagining what it could be. Could it be some bioluminescent Animal? Maybe it is the only light and life in a stagnant lake, a completely unique creature that lives only in this one place. We squeeze inside and I yell out in excitement when there is actually a pool of water inside, with a glowing shape resembling a large pearl resting on the bottom. My excited yell echoes loudly and reverberates in my ears. I reach down into the water and pull the thing out, it’s hefty, definitely solid. This alone would sell for a lot. The water tingles on my bare arms.
“Cariadus, that’s a lot like a pearl, isn’t it?”
“It does remind me of one, we should grab it and take it with us to sell when we get back!”
Cilithol doesn’t look so excited. She takes a step back from the water.
“Cariadus, speaking of pearls, are there any clams that live on land?”
Why does she want to talk about them now…?
“Well, I suppose that a clam could live in something like a pool in a cave…”
It finally sinks in what she means. I drop the pearl back into the water and wipe dry my arms. The hair has been digested off of them. Both of us duck and try to escape from the Cavemouth, but it already has us. The mouth has shut itself, only the light from the pearl allows us to see the panic on each other’s faces. Through countless tiny cracks in the walls, ceiling and floor, the same burning fluid begins to seep into the chamber where we stand. Cilithol takes up the pick again and starts hitting the wall, as if to mine right through it. It’s useless, something like that would take much longer than we have before we melt.
The pool in the centre of the room is filling, and the rest of the room will soon follow. She suddenly freezes, staring at the wall on the other end of the chamber. She runs over to it and hits it hard with the pick. It rings out hollow.
“Cariadus! Break it down!”
I run over to her and point a heavy blast at the wall, and it breaks away. A smoothly carved out square tunnel, obviously of Sengl make, is revealed on the other side. My attack blew away all the cobwebs in the hallway. I cast a quick light spell above my head, it will follow us as we walk. It's another very low-stress spell. The hallway is not just randomly dug out by Sengl- It’s decorated too, the dyed stone walls remind me of holbytlan urban colour, the way that our people dye stone to colour our underground cities and homes. Just where are we being flushed into…?
We eventually have to slow down as I can’t breath anymore, my body feels like it's going to snap at every joint. I climb on Cilithol’s back and she carries me the rest of the way. The hallway is wide enough to admit two caravans, my guess is that this was a traffic route for trade in and out of a fortress. Both of us are afraid to speak in the dead quietness of the hall. Why was the Cavemouth hiding this? Did it grow around the entrance to this fortress long ago? No one has any idea how Cavemouths actually grow, the process must take hundreds of years and a juvenile, if juvenility is even a meaningful concept for these things, has never been found.
We come across a hollow, if my hypothesis is correct this would be the stop for trade coming into the fortress, possibly a bazaar or checkpoint depending on the nature of the place. Slumped against the wall is a pair of two Sengl skeletons, and a dwarf with a grey beard that seems to still be alive, flesh and hair still attached to bone. It only seems to be alive. That is most definitely a zombie, but my voice is caught in my throat as Cilithol swaps to a spear and puts it at the dwarf’s head.
The zombie lifts its face, rotted flesh kept barely alive through a curse of undeath. Zombies aren’t Anghenfilod. They are, unfortunately, Sengl. This happens sometimes among our kind, although it is rare.
When a Sengl ages and dies, their soul departs their body. In the case of a zombie, their body is quickly inhabited by an incomplete soul from somewhere else, and the body is kept alive. You often don’t know it until they’re already buried and the bells at the graveyard start ringing. Diseases of the soul such as this are called curses. You can’t help but feel sympathy for zombies, really, being an incomplete soul in a body taken past its limits. The best thing to do is to put them out of their troubles by killing the body again.
The dwarf aggressively lunges towards Cilithol, implanting the spear right into its forehead. Its softened bone gives way to the sharp blade and it slides back off, finally dead for good. Just when we think the immediate danger is gone I feel cold hands grasp my body. I’m ripped off of Cilithol’s back and thrown onto the ground. Another zombie, how did it sneak up on us? Cilithol must have been too distracted with the other one to notice. I feel teeth enter my shoulder. Cilithol whips around and smacks the quiet zombie away from me with the length of the spear. A tooth is left behind in my skin. It wasn’t enough to bleed me, thankfully. There won’t be a need for purification when we return to Hendir. Two other zombies run and tackle Cilithol to the ground, knocking her weapon out of her hand. She’s holding one of them back by the face as it is trying to bite her neck.
These ones look stronger, muscular holbytlan who were probably guards. While many zombies, like that dwarf, undergo muscle atrophy as they sit idly through their half-lives, some of them actually keep active. These are the most aggressive types who seek out things to kill, and two of them have grappled my sister to the ground. I point my finger for a spell but the quiet zombie grabs me from behind again. As its head rears back to bite my ear Cilithol kicks with all her might and the two tough zombies are thrown away from her, right into me. Our four bodies tumble together and I lose concentration on our light source. Cilithol can’t find her Claisthavn, it got lost somewhere in this room in the scuffle. She’s swearing as she tries to find it in complete darkness.
I yell out to her and feel her grab my leg securely, pulling me out from the pile of confused decayed bodies and quickly lifting me up into her arms. She feels out in front of her and finds the wall. We hear the zombies untangling themselves and getting up, but we can’t find a way out. I finally manage to focus enough to restore our light. Cilithol’s hand is right next to a push door, a type of entry in holbytlan architecture which makes for the appearance of a smooth wall, but can be pushed and slid to the side. It’s marked with an arrow pointing down. We quickly enter and shut the door behind us. We find ourselves in a small square room with no other apparent exit. At least we can probably hide in here for a time to catch our breath. We sit against the wall together.
“I lost my weapon in there. I’m gonna rely on you to take out the zombies, Cariadus.”
I nod.
“I can do that. Then we can search for the Claisthavn.”
After a few moments of deep breaths to soothe our lungs and minds, the room shudders violently. I cling to Cilithol's arm in surprise.
“What in…”
Our little room begins to move with a hideous stone scraping. The push door disappears up into the ceiling, we appear to be slowly moving downwards. Is this…
“Cariadus, what is this? A death trap? You'd know, right?”
“Not a death trap. An elevator, I think. There’s so little reference to these in any ancient texts, but they are rooms that can move up and down a vertical corridor using a sensitive system of weights and wire. Automatic stairs. It’s incredible that it still works. The doors will open again and we'll be on a lower level of this place.”
Cilithol doesn’t seem to share my excitement.
“I’d really like to investigate the mechanism deeper, but our priority should be to find a way out, first.”
She blinks hard. “Yeah, but we still need to get my weapon back.”
Right, we will have to go right back up the elevator.
“We need to step out to reset the weights, I think.”
We push the new door and find ourselves in a very welcoming (though deteriorating) hall lit with infused stones. The magic that created these stones is disconnected from the caster and can practically last indefinitely, even after the caster’s death, at the disadvantage of having to be attached to an unmoving object. The door closes and we turn to open it again, but we hear a scraping noise from the other side. When we open the door again our elevator is gone, the dark, tall shaft going down farther than we can see and the frayed wires that direct the elevator swaying in the middle. Shit. It looks like we can’t go right back for the Claisthavn this way. Escaping back through the Cavemouth wouldn’t do anyways, we’ll just get caught in its mouth again. However, a fortress like this never has just one way in.
“Cilithol, there’s going to be another way out. Once we escape we can find our camp again and kill the Cavemouth so we can safely get the Claisthavn back.”
It’s strange for me to be the one calling the shots, but my sister is really clamming up without her weapon on her. She spends as much time with it as she does with me, she might even consider it family. She’s a nervous wreck on the inside, trying not to show it. We face back towards the welcome hall. There are rotten wooden doors along the walls. Through the holes of eaten away wood it’s impossible to tell what these rooms used to be, as the furniture inside is broken down and rotted. Paintings hang on the wall of the corridor. They’ve been bleached with time. Maybe they used to depict a story, or bore the faces of a lineage of nobility. There’s notably no Clovic imagery, so if there really was nobility here that would place this fortress in the Late period or even afterwards. There’s no more time to keep analysing, however, as Cilithol breaks into a sprint without even looking back as something breaks down a door behind us and rushes out into the hallway.
I look back just before we turn a corner to see the red, flayed body of a ghoul bounding on its arms and legs after us, the only sounds it makes are the slapping of its hands and feet on the stone floor. Cilithol is trying to lose the thing through the fortresses’ winding halls and rooms after rooms, I can hardly keep track of where we are. Cilithol is probably memorising the route. She runs into a bedroom, a dead end. There’s not much furniture that has survived the years but we duck into the closet. Cilithol tries to catch her breath as quietly as possible as she sets my quaking body down beside her so we can both fit. I try to whisper to her that I could take it down and she shushes me with a finger.
There's something about this closet. Of course it should be wet, it’s ancient material that would be growing mould all over it. But it’s wetter than that. A drop of thick saliva falls on my head and oozes down my face. Before I can call out to Cilithol, a slimy tentacle wraps around my mouth, wrists and ankles and pulls me into a standing position, back pressed against the fleshy inner wall of the “closet”. Cilithol similarly is pulled to the other side. We stumbled right into a walk-in mimic. She’s kicking hard against the closet door, just barely stronger than the mimic’s tentacles, but it’s no use. It has us closed in, and won’t let us go.
Mimics are a particularly bad way to go. They’re known to be the smartest Anghenfilod, their camouflage is nearly perfect on the outside and they choose it consciously and wisely, with full self-awareness. They eat anything that comes their way, but along with knowledge about their prey is a knowledge of how to be cruel to it. They like to play with their food, either torturing them slowly, starving them, making them sick, even…
A tentacle slides up my skirt and along my leg, wrapping around it like a thick, sticky vine. My light goes out. I’m going to break down, we’re both going to die, it’s… No, the panic spell won’t come. I’m not in immediate risk of death. It only works when I am absolutely going to die unless nothing else is done. I designed this spell to think that this isn’t bad enough. It cannot be used to escape this kind of cruelty. My screams are muffled into the squishy appendage as it forces itself into my mouth. It tastes and feels like raw meat. Cilithol is yelling too, I think. It’s all muffled, and I think it’s making her watch by forcing her eyelids up. The tentacle wrapped around my leg slides into my braies, sliding between the cheeks of my small butt. It feels like being licked by a huge tongue.
I'm detached now. It’s… It’s not so bad. We’ll find a way out, surely, so I should just enjoy this… It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time. My body is screaming without me in it, Cilithol probably thinks I’m in pain. The appendage filling my mouth doesn’t hurt my throat, it just feels like swallowing too much food. Sometimes it pulls out to let me breath, I think I’m screaming apologies to Cilithol who watches in horror. Something is banging on the outside of the closet. See, I knew we’d get out of this. The ghoul chasing us has finally caught up, and wants in. For a few seconds more I feel the wetness pressing into my holes, then I’m forcibly spit out along with Cilithol. The tentacles grab the ghoul instead and pull it inside. It was more of a threat than us.
Cilithol has already scooped me up and is running out of the room, even in complete darkness she is finding her way somewhere. I got raped by an Anghenfil! I keep repeating that to myself, a fantasy I’ve had for years and years finally has come true. It’s a horrible thing but I feel great! I feel alive! I heard the ghoul’s muffled screech as it’s ripped apart by the mimic. I’m still not in control of my body. I’m hitting Cilithol over the head, she just keeps running. I’ve vomited on her, I’m sorry. I really should apologise when I come to.
Fuck, she watched a tentacle get shoved down my throat. What did she think? Did she find it sexy? She’ll probably be worried sick about me… If I tell her it’s okay she’ll think something’s wrong with me. You’re supposed to hate something like that, feel violated. I do feel violated, but it was… The right kind. The kind of violation you want because you’re too afraid to seek it out yourself. I can’t explain that to her without my face burning off. I’ll try to stay strong. I’m leaving bloody marks on her head. Does she know what happened under my skirt? Did it show her that too? I wish we could go back for more.
My stomach lurches as I suddenly have control of my body again, and I instantly feel worse. My throat is disgusting. My legs are wet. There’s vomit on my sister’s hair and it’s getting in my nose. She ran back to where we came from, so she did remember the way! We could easily get lost wandering random halls, but there should be a clear path to the other side of the fortress from this entrance. We duck into an empty room and Cilithol sets me down, holding me very gently.
“Cariadus, Cariadus please listen to me.”
I groggily raise my head and try to smile at her. She doesn’t say anything more, but I hear her. She hugs me close, a sympathetic and scared hug.
“We’re going to go back home, Cariadus. This won’t ever happen again.”
I reach out and grab her shirt. If she never wants this to happen again, if she wants to live peacefully along with me, we have to leave Madarch. To leave Madarch, we have to become rich. To become rich we need to go to Seth. I speak with as much conviction as possible but I still feel like the words are going through an intermediate.
“No. We will keep going, we’re going to make it and secure…”
Secure what? Is it peace, or freedom, or safety? It’s everything, it’s the ideal. It’s me living in a real home with Cilithol in a land without Anghenfilod, where the water is drinkable and we can have all the food we want, where I could finally feel safe to love her. What is that called? It’s just my dream.
“We have to secure my dream.”
It sounds so selfish of me to say that. Cilithol doesn’t care about that. She wants my dream because it’s best for me. We share it.
“Cariadus…”
That’s all she can say as I cast a light spell once again. It casts shadows over my gaunt face, and highlights the roundness in hers. She probably thinks something is wrong with me. She hoists me onto her back again and we go into the hallway. The one good thing about the ghoul showing up is that it tells us there will be fewer Anghenfilod here, as the ghouls will have hunted and consumed them as soon as it could. Mimics get away for a time because of their cunning, but most other Anghenfilod stand no chance against an apex predator like a ghoul. We find a kitchen, rather what used to be one. If there was any doubt before, the size of the kitchen and especially the stupidly large dumbwaiter gives away the status of nobility in this place. There should be a dining room above or below us. Upwards would be nice, as that could bring us closer to the surface. Cilithol notices the dumbwaiter as well.
“Do you think we should just… Climb inside?”
I nod. “It probably uses the same stuff the elevator did. If so, then it probably still works.”
We climb inside and Cilithol reaches around to pull up the lever on the wall just outside. The dumbwaiter moves up, thank god, and we watch the bare stone wall move down in front of us until we reach the top. It is a dining hall, with three longtables with dozens of seats at each. There are no zombies seated here, thankfully. I’m not sure how these kind of fortresses would actually be laid out, but a dining hall is often close to the noble quarter where the family that owns the fort would reside.
We follow the most elaborately decorated tapestries out of the dining hall. They’re images of Sengl sending off boats to sea. The end of the Late period. This must be after history ended here. The noble family here might have actually stayed behind to bear the chaos of the Late period. It looks like they fell quickly after, as the events of history don’t continue on the murals of the walls.
“We’re probably the first Sengl to step foot here for thousands of years, zombies not counted.”
Cilithol hums, keeping her head forward. She’s singly focused on finding a way out. The noble family would make sure there is an emergency evacuation route nearby, no doubt. We find a throne room. Even for Late period nobility this is rare. Was this meant to be the grand palace of some kingdom after Seth was evacuated? The throne has a metallic sheen to it, and on closer inspection appears to be gilded with ancient gold. This could go for something, right?
“Should we scrape the gold and take it with us?”
Cilithol runs her finger along the dusty seat.
“No. We need to find the exit. There will be much more for us in Seth.”
So now she agrees with me?
“The whole reason we’re going to Seth is to find valuables. Why not take what we find on the way? Our immediate need is paying off the damages on the inn, we don’t have to go all the way to Seth to do that.”
She looks up at me over her shoulder.
“Now you’re disagreeing with me? I just can’t win.”
I sigh into her shoulder. I realise how conflicted I am. I want to go to Seth, to return with a priceless artefact. Something that will secure our comfortability for the rest of our lives. We can't go back with ancient gold alone, we need something bigger. On the other hand, I'm terrified of going on.
“I’m sorry… I know it’s not just about the inn. It’s about taking everything at once. Besides, what would we scrape it with, our teeth?”
That’s right. Cilithol’s fists and my magic are the only weapons we have, and depending on how long it takes to get out of here I could very well run out of magic before then. The Claisthavn itself is worth more than this entire throne, so we should make getting that back priority. Cilithol moves away from the throne, into twisting hallways lined with stone doors that have long since become stuck.
It’s like a maze. If there’s any escape route it would have to be through one of these doors but checking each and every one would take hours and hours and lots of energy that we don’t have. There is a way out nearby, there’s no way a fort like this could… Wait. I see images when I blink, flashes of something else. I close my eyes and see another place. I can see like I’m someone else in the far past, someone who lived here. A servant, I think. It’s so well lit, there are light emplacements above my head powered by that mythical energy that comes from the ground. Hundreds of people are living here, speaking old Madarchic in a panicked tone with each other. I understand everything they’re saying, for now. There’s a ghoul on the lower floors. It’s tearing everyone apart. The guards were useless. It’s ripping through everyone and it won’t stop, so we need to evacuate.
Everyone’s trying to evacuate? They aren’t moving. The halls are crowded, maybe they just can’t get through to the exit. There’s someone special on the ground, a roguish child who is passing through the legs of others. He looks like he knows the right way, I just get the feeling, so I follow, trying to push through the crowd. No one reacts to my shoving, like I’m not really here. Although, I guess I’m not here. It’s just imaginary, but it feels so real. We turn and weave through the halls like this boy has done it a million times. I’m trying to yell out directions to Cilithol, my voice doesn’t carry in my imagination so I only hope that she can hear me in the real world. Is that how this works? The logic here is different than a daydream, is this really imagination or something more?
We duck through small corridors off to the side that look like they weren’t even made for passage. We pass by living spaces with crying scared children, kitchens trying to salvage any food they can before leaving under orders of someone in heavy armour. We duck into a final small alleyway, just barely enough for both of us to squeeze into. It looks unfinished, like this is still under construction and this strange gap hasn’t been filled in yet. But miraculously, it goes up. The child climbs the sloping stone walls with speed, and I follow as best I can. Sunlight streams in from above… Cilithol is snapping in front of my face. We’re on the surface, underneath a tree, and it’s nearly night.
“Cariadus! Please wake up!”
I feel so tired all of the sudden.
“Sister… We made it out.”
“Yeah, we did, how did you do that? You started giving me directions and I just followed and we ended up here. How?”
Her voice is raised but not in anger. She’s just confused.
I lie.
“It’s a Late period Madarchic fortress… I’m familiar with the layout.”
She raises an eyebrow at me. Anghenfilod and mythology is my expertise, not architecture and design.
“Where did you learn something like that…”
It’s not a real question she expects an answer to, thankfully.
“I was really sceptical when you started telling me to squeeze into little corridors and gaps. It was hard for both of us to even fit in some of them but… I always trusted you to guide me.”
That makes my heart warm.
“Thank you… Can we find our way back to the camp, then?”
She stands up and looks around.
“I’d say we can. I never lost track of our direction. We should find our camp again if we go that way.”
She points the exact opposite direction I would have guessed. I’m nowhere near as good at keeping track of that kind of thing. I think about her question. How did I know that? Was it just blind luck? Coincidence? Turned enough corners in my mind that… No, I did know the layout. If that wasn’t the correct layout in my head Cilithol wouldn’t have been able to follow my instructions perfectly. Well, maybe I did read about it before. It’s not really my thing but mythology intersects in a lot of different areas of study. As we’re walking I suddenly smell our jerky.
“Cilithol!”
She stops in her tracks “Huh?”
She reaches for a weapon that’s not there. I make a point of sniffing the air again. I always had the stronger sense of smell.
“I smell our food. Just ahead!”
She looks proud of herself, her confidence in her abilities confirmed once again. We find our glade, our lurchers and all our stuff. Cilithol goes straight to the cavemouth to dive in and retrieve her Claisthavn. I stop her though,
“Cilithol, we need a plan before we go in for that. It’s going to be dark and those zombies are still in there.”
She stops and sits back.
“You’re right. We had to run before because we didn’t have a good position to fight in. Do you want to tank?”
Ah, the tank. A magic-focused battle position we came up with. The strategy is, I ride on Cilithol’s back while she has a shield up, and fire off spells from behind, using her like mobile cover. It’s exposed from the back, which is how I got grabbed before, but with the hallway between the Cavemouth and the bazaar, it shouldn’t be a problem. The thing is this strategy usually needs the shield to take blows while Cilithol attracts the Anghenfilod to herself… Actually, once we do get the Claisthavn back, how are we going to get out? There’s no way we could go through the whole fortress again.
“Cilithol, once we go in, how are we going to get out?”
She looks around. So she hadn’t thought of that either? It’s not like her to lose her thoughts like that.
“I have an idea. You can cast a rejection on one of my feet, I can cast it on my other foot, so I’ll be able to stand in the acid and break away the mouth of this thing from the inside.”
“Didn’t we try breaking it the first time we went in there?”
“Yes, and it was too slow, but I can do it if we have more time.”
“How do we know it won’t just fill and burn us from the ankles up?”
She looks at me like I should have already known that, then it clicks in my head.
“Energy consumption… There’s no way it would fill up so much just to capture a few Animals that have crawled inside of it. Wherever that acid comes from it’s just not efficient to use so much when all you need is to cover the ground. When did you notice that?”
She points inside of the Cavemouth at the lower walls.
“Around the ground, the stone is smooth even on the walls. It's been acid-washed. But above a hand’s length, it goes back to looking like natural stone.”
I wouldn’t have noticed that, but we both got the same conclusion. It’s a confident plan she has…
“Okay. Just be careful not to splash. Your feet will still displace the liquid just the same as if you didn’t have any protection.”
She puts her feet out and casts a rejection spell up to her ankle, I do the same on the other foot. Getting myself pumped up for attack, we crawl inside of the Cavemouth again. It looks like all the acid has washed down into the pool in the time we were gone. I cast a light and climb up on Cilithol’s back as acid begins to slowly seep through the rock. She runs as fast as she can to the end of the hallway and yells. That and my light spell catches all the zombies’ attention and they move aggressively toward us.
Cilithol starts backing away fast, ready to catch the stronger zombies that rush in and try to tackle her. I throw them back with smaller blasts, trying to get all of them in one place for a final attack. Cilithol doesn’t usually have to engage in hand-to-hand, but she is trained. When a zombie reaches her she can expertly deflect their grabs with her arm. She strikes a few in the face to keep them back. Now, all the zombies are clumped together, attacking Cilithol at once. I throw my arm over her shoulder and with a flick let a cutting spell fly from my fingers, a horizontal blade that captures the necks of the zombies in its path. The ground behind them carries a scar from the attack, too.
Cilithol jumps over their dead bodies into the trading room. We search around for her weapon and finally find it pressed up against the wall in its true form, a wet pile of grey clay. She scoops it up and it becomes a dagger again. She whoops in excitement and I giggle over her shoulder as we run back to the Cavemouth. She’s able to run surprisingly well with rejections on her feet. It feels something like wearing heels, it’s hard to keep your balance especially when sprinting, and even more so with a girl hanging off your back. We come back to the Cavemouth. A lot of the acid has flowed into the hallway, so the mouth filling up really wasn’t an issue at all. A neglected detail like that can kill you and your plan, but this one benefits us. Cilithol makes a pickaxe like before and hits at the wall trying to take off large chunks of stone. It can’t be far, the “lip” of the cave if you could call it that is thinner than you would expect in a natural formation. It probably makes it easier to close up. It takes a few minutes and Cilithol is obviously straining herself. The wall should be thin enough.
“Stand back Cilithol, I can finish.”
She obeys me and stands back, wiping sweat from her forehead. I aim a careful blast at the wall and it's blown away, the cold night air streams in and Cilithol leaps outside onto the rocky ground. I roll off of her, smiling towards my sister as she leaps and starts swinging the weapon around in the air like she’s been reunited with her child. I’m glad she can have this kind of joy. I thought that since that incident with the mimic things would change, that she would treat me differently. But she’s the same Cilithol. My words mean a lot to her. She must still have that worry about me, but as long as I can show her that I am alright she’ll believe me.
Our bundle of phoenix feathers are dry, so Cilithol is going to show me how to use them. She drags out some of the cuts of stipe and puts them in a carefully crafted pile with a nest of tinder in the centre. She pulls out a single feather.
“Here, watch close. It’s really simple, but you have to be careful not to burn yourself. You put it tightly in your fist like this.”
She holds the tip of the feather with two fingers, holding it sideways. She grips the feather near the base with her other hand.
“Then you just pull it as hard as you can.”
She yanks the feather through her hand quickly. It makes a horrible scratching sound but the feather bursts into flames. Cilithol quickly holds the feather upright, directing the fire away from her hand.
“You have to make sure to hold it up so you don’t burn.”
She throws the feather into the pile of brush and it begins to catch flame.
“Now you try.” She hands me a feather.
“Should we really be wasting more of these than we need to? I think I got the hang of it through your demonstration.”
She shakes her head. “You have to learn how to handle it through doing it. Otherwise you might burn your hands in an emergency.”
Well, we have a big bundle of them. It couldn’t hurt to try. I carefully take the tip and grip it tightly. I pull it through my hand, but it’s not enough. The feather just gets warm.
“You have to pull harder than that. Just be careful not to let go of it.”
I pull harder this time and my hand feels like I passed it through a fire just a bit too slowly. I jerk my hand back and flap it around to shake off the heat, but my other hand gets hot as I forget to turn the feather upward. Cilithol takes my hand and corrects it so I don’t hurt myself. I quickly drop the feather into the brush and it burns brighter. The stipe is starting to burn too. It burns faster than wood, and has a horrible smell, but it works fine enough.
“Now see, you won’t make the same mistake next time.”
Ouch. Now we soothe our hungry stomachs with the jerky. It’s dried well by now, and it smells great. Cilithol wants me to try it first. I think it would be better warm, so I hold it over the fire for a few moments, then take a bite. It’s tough and chewy, but you can taste all the ingredients soaked deeply into the meat, it's amazing. I give her a positive hand gesture and she eats with me. We have enough to satisfy us, there’s still a lot left for the rest of the journey. We shouldn't be out here more than a week if all goes well.
After our simple dinner we lie down on our clothes and try to get as much sleep as we can. Cilithol rolls over to me and kisses me on the forehead. I push into her as my whole body heats up. She rolls back to her own spot and whispers to me.
“We should reach the outer walls of Seth by afternoon tomorrow. It will get much more dangerous to try and camp in the city. We should think about that going forward.”
I have a lot of time to sort my thoughts. Almost all of them about what that mimic did to me. I would feel different if it were a Sengl, it would feel worse. Does it feel better only because it’s an Anghenfil? Most people I think would be even worse off being raped by one of those, but I feel okay. I don’t know why I care less, or why I enjoyed it. I really don’t want to obsess over it but I’m going to have to confront it eventually, it’s not something that will just slip away, it especially won't slip out of Cilithol’s worries about me. It will factor into what she thinks of me no matter what. I already think she underestimates me sometimes, or maybe that’s just because it’s in her character to want to take everything upon herself. How will she view me now that she’s seen me victimised like that? I don’t want to obsess over it.
I want to cut it out of my mind tonight and sleep. It’s only going to get harder from here on. It was only my fault that we got into that whole mess in the first place… No, I refuse to obsess over it! Go to sleep! I put an Arwyth to my own head and black out.
I wake up clinging to Cilithol’s side. She’s awake, petting my hair.
“Good morning Cariadus.”
I squeeze her tighter and slur my first words of the day, the magic leaking from my ears.
“You shoul've wokemyup…”
She holds my back gently. “You needed the rest. I was too afraid to move you since you were sleeping so sweetly, like when you have to get up but there's a cat sleeping in your lap.”
I shove my face into her shoulder, flustered. Cats are adorable. There’s a colony of feral cats in Hendir, brought over from the Farlands to kill pests. They’re mean little things but Cilithol has made friends with them. Mammals are so cute, I can’t imagine what it’s like in the Farlands where any forest or town can hold a whole host of little furry Animals. You just don't see many here. The fire has gone out. A lot of Sengl don’t like Animals at all, following old traditions that consider Animals disgusting, wretched creatures no matter how they look. It comes from ancient Madarchic mythology which says that Animals were created from the creatures that ate the excrement of their god. And sure, Animals do often spread disease and defecate wherever they please, but it’s not like Sengl can’t do the same.
We get up and shake the spores from our clothes and bandana, cleansing them with magic. Cilithol goes behind a wide tree to change. She doesn’t like me seeing her naked, and since I started… Developing, she doesn’t like seeing me naked either. It sort of hurts my feelings. Not just because I want to see her naked, and I want her to see me naked. But we are sisters, we’ve lived with each other our entire lives. Yet she still isn’t comfortable changing in front of each other? Maybe… I giggle. Maybe she has feelings for me and can’t stand her attraction to my body. Mehehe. Too bad there’s no chance of that.
I go to strip and change my clothes when a sharp spike of pain and nausea shoots through my head. It’s in my throat, it’s against my backside. Overwhelming fear grips me as I relive the violation of my body from yesterday. I was fine yesterday, why now? Why can’t I handle it today? I didn’t enjoy it. Not at all. I was fucked by a monster. That’s not okay, that’s not safe. Cilithol watched it happen, she saw that happen to me. She didn’t enjoy it. I was never in control of how I felt about it. This is what I was supposed to be feeling then, I couldn’t feel like this yesterday because we needed to survive. But it’s all catching up now. That was the worst experience in my life. Worse than almost being killed. I’m yelling again, not again, please not again…
A half-naked Cilithol is kneeling beside me, she’s laid me flat and is stroking my hair as she usually does, telling me it’s going to be okay. This is different than usual though, she probably knows, her petting is more frantic. She has no idea what to do as my hand instinctively lashes out and hits her, my mouth screaming to “get off me” and “don’t touch me there”. She stands back, scared, confused and dejected. I hate being so aware of what I’m not doing. I hate myself that I could act like I hate her. I can see through tears that she’s crying too, looking more lost than I’ve ever seen her now that she has no clue how to care for me.
I don’t know how much time passes before I stop yelling and hitting the ground. I just sob and apologise, over and over and over. This I am in control of. I am sorry to Cilithol for making her do this. I am sorry to Cilithol for getting us stuck in that fortress. I am sorry to Cilithol for having to see me raped like that. I am sorry to Cilithol for making her take care of the aftermath. I am sorry to Cilithol that she couldn’t have a better sister than me, that wouldn’t be defined by dependency and unrequited lust and putting ourselves in danger.
I clutch my throat and retch, Cilithol jumps to me again and pats my back without saying a word. A few minutes of choking, in this agonised state, I look around calmly and wipe my mouth. And I crumble.
“I want to keep going, I want to keep going.”
I beg to her, knowing what she will inevitably decide for us. Of course after this she would want to go back to Hendir. I don’t know why I want to keep going. It’s only going to get harder as we get closer to Seth. But it’s either push through the worst of it now and live the rest of our days in peace, or live our entire lives in a constant struggle for food, water and shelter. I think I would rather go through the worst of it now, even as I’m writhing in pain on my sister’s lap I think so. At least it was me. At least it only happened to me. We can’t be here all morning. I try to stand up, Cilithol helps me. I stagger towards Carian and get onto it. The thing unfolds its legs smoothly, standing tall and ready to move. I yell out to Cilithol,
“We’re going!”
She looks like she wants to stop me so, so badly. She grabs our stuff and loads it onto Mule, and mounts Cirris.
“We go.”
She submits to me. Good. As the lurchers move forward, I just slump over across Carian’s back. I just woke up, and already I want to sleep again. At least my magic is in perfect shape. I just want to watch the trees go by for now. I hurt so badly and I want it again. I could fuck the next Anghenfil I see, just to show it I don’t care. That I’m bigger. I was made to be an Anghenfilfucker... Monsterfucker sounds better. They don’t know how far I can go. A stupid laugh escapes my lungs as I bounce slightly from Carian's gait. Guhuhuhu... My throat hurts again. We’re going to get rich, we’re going to live somewhere nice and cold in the Farlands. In a taiga or something like they have down south, near a city. Maybe we own the city. Maybe we commission a proper holbytlan fortress, where we are queens together… … Really, no immersive fantasy this time? That’s okay. I can daydream like normal.
I’m burning holes in Cilithol's back with my eyes. Her posture is perfect. Her eyes are sharp. She keeps glancing at me with concern. I wave at her a little every time. Maybe no fortress, but we'll at the very least eat like queens… We'll have all sorts of Farland creatures. Exotic foods like… Well I don’t know enough about the Farlands to know what’s considered exotic. A kangaroo? I don’t know if you can eat those. They’re just an Animal, but apparently they’re trained in martial arts. Maybe their meat would be too muscular. No matter what we’re having for dinner, the version of me in this fantasy has actual body fat instead of my usual skeletal figure. I end up buying into the same idea as her, that whatever is wrong with me is something that I can just nutrition my way out of. I think it’s more chronic than that. I eat all the same stuff as my sister yet I’m still like this. Everything just goes right through me. Well, maybe I’ll figure something out.
By afternoon we reach the outer walls of Seth. They consist of four massive curves that stretch for fersah, leaving four entryways into the outer city. The walls still stand tall after all this time, about fifteen kulach by Cilithol’s own estimate. They were probably even greater in their own time, as the tops look broken down, deteriorated, and their bottoms are buried in dirt. If we follow the wall south from here we’ll find the nearest entryway. This whole island- or I guess back then it was just a region of the larger island Madarch- used to be farmland and satellite towns for the city Seth. Even as far as Hendir you can see the tops of certain buildings poking up from the ground.
Cilithol points up as we follow the wall. There's something looking at us from above, peeking over the edge of the wall. Probably an Anghenfil. It doesn't bother us further, just stalks us for a while. While it’s heavily forested out here, once you go past the outer walls the ancient ruins get taller, and many of them still rise above the ground. The trees get a bit sparser, and visibility improves for both us and the Anghenfilod.
Seth was so powerful in its time that even housing for the poor could be built from brick and stone. As a result most structures are preserved, albeit buried underground. Since Sengl fled Madarch in a big hurry, most belongings were left behind and are still inside. The buildings close to the walls would be looted already, but we’re not here to pick at the edges. We’re going straight to the palace. As we find the entryway into the city and turn the corner around the wall, the majesty and immensity of the palace at the centre of Seth dwarfs us. We feel like ants. It makes my stomach drop just a bit, I get the feeling like it will just fall over onto us, like looking up at a lighthouse from its base. Our guard must be raised high, the monsters that live inside the walls are tougher and more numerous than outside. This is like a competition ground for them.
As the trees start to thin we find ourselves in the middle of what used to be a street. We don’t see any monsters just yet, but even the few skinny trees around us make me nervous about any Anghenfilod hiding behind them, lying in wait. Suddenly, there’s a cracking noise from above us. Shit, while I was so focused on the tree-trunks there was something waiting to ambush us from the tree-tops! It's round body with too many legs drops down and knocks Cilithol off of Cirris. It’s a giant spider. Its fangs lash out towards Cilithol's face, dripping with venom. She’s just barely caught its fangs in her hands and is holding it back, but the spider is deceptively strong. It's digging all eighteen of its legs into the ground to push itself forwards. I yelp and quickly prepare a spell. The spider is strong, but it is stupid. It's a lone hunter trying to attack two Sengl at once. That'll work on Animals, but not us. I’m the only one that can help Cilithol right now. If she lets go of just one fang, it will go right into her neck and inject some venom into her.
I am just about to let a cutting spell loose, but I hesitate at the last moment. The spider has eggs on its back. If I hit the eggs, those babies are going to stream out like an army and attack Cilithol too. A juvenile spider’s venom is far more potent than an adult’s. It will kill you in an instant. I’ll have to be more careful with my aim, but there’s so little time. I leap down from Carian and run to the front of the spider, where I can get a clean slice through its face while avoiding the back. It looks at me with hundreds of eyes, I know it sees me. It feels trapped now.
Die, you co- Ach… There's a sharp pain in my shoulder, and fuzzy arms wrap around my body. I feel the pulsing sensation of something being injected into me, and I fall. Seeing this, Cilithol tears the fangs right out of the spider’s face with a sharp sideways motion. It crumples and rolls away wounded. Cilithol unsheathes her Claisthavn. The spider grappling me fires a shot of webbing at Cilithol, pinning her hand to the tree behind her. While she tries to break free, I push through the pain and tightness in all of my muscles and grab tightly onto one of the grappling spider’s legs. It’s hard to make my Arwyth with the paralysis acting on my body, but I shove my remaining hand into position and channel lightning through it. The spider shakes and lets go of me, crumpling and dying, burned up on the ground. I shocked myself too in the process, but it’s not nearly as bad on me as it was for it. It still hurt, though. Cilithol rips her hand away from the tree and stomps the egg-carrying spider's head into the ground to finish it off. She runs to me as I try my hardest to curl up into a strange crunching shape. I get out whatever words I can to let her know I know what I’m doing.
“Can… Fit on back. Bite, male, be ok.”
She seems to understand. The position I'm putting myself in looks awkward, but now I can easily be carried on her back even with full-body paralysis. The spider was male, so the venom isn’t lethal. A male only brings the paralysed prey to the female, who are the ones with the actual lethal venom, like the one that attacked Cilithol. Cilithol looks around for our lurchers who went off running when danger showed up. She puts me on her back and traces their path along the ground. They have a distinctive footprint that resemble a bird’s, and they’re surprisingly heavy for how gracefully they move. Even on dry ground she can see where they've stepped recently.
The two sets of tracks lead us in the same direction, around the backside of some ruins sticking up from the ground. I hear a cacophony of clicking sounds and Cilithol slows down cautiously, forming a sword as she peeks around the corner. She loosens up and steps out. It’s a whole herd of lurchers, eating off a berry bush together. Cilithol keeps her distance so as to not scare them all off.
“I’ve never seen so many in one place. They probably need higher numbers out here to survive. It looks like ours have mingled with the crowd…”
I can easily spot Carian, Cirris and Mule. They’re still wearing our saddlecloth and bags.
“Well, it’s not like they’ll be very useful anymore anyways. You can’t hide from anything on a lurcher, and it’ll be difficult to have to track them down after every bit of danger. We can find more when we leave.”
I’m upset to leave Carian, Cirris and Mule behind, but I can’t express that without the ability to move my body. She takes our bags off of Mule and throws it around her torso. Now she's the pack mule. We continue towards the palace, slinking around the edge of the street and ducking between buildings. Being out in the open is just asking to be killed. My paralysis has been subsiding, and I can move around now, albeit slowly. The streets are expectedly empty, but this city just has an eerie feeling to it, like there's always a presence nearby. As we sneak around we occasionally hear howling, getting closer each time. Eventually the howling of the pack of dire wolves is too close for comfort, and we duck into a nearby building through the empty window to wait for them to pass.
This would be the third floor of the house, and seems to have been two bedrooms. Bed frames in a weaved metal pattern sit in the corners, the only surviving piece of furniture. There are molds and mushrooms everywhere, so we cover our faces with our bandanas. There are fixtures in the ceiling almost like a sconce, this is where hanging lights would go. Just like the ones in the fortress, they didn’t hold oil lamps but were instead powered by some other energy source that has been lost to time. There are a few people trying to uncover that mystery now.
All I know from reading copies of some ancient legends is that the energy seems to have come right from the ground. It travelled through thin strips of metal and made a variety of curious interactions with other metals. Many samples have already been taken of these metals, but we still don’t know how to actually make it work. Not even channelling magic through it does anything, the mechanism seems like it was utterly mundane.
It's been a while, and the paralysis has worn off as I study the room around us. Not long afterwards, our breath catches as we hear the dire wolves walking by outside. They stop and sniff the air. They’re probably smelling our trail. They’ll be able to… Shit, we’ve cornered ourselves. The wolves start to claw at the walls of the home, we don’t have much time before they find the open hole in the wall on the other side. The stairs aren’t filled with dirt so Cilithol, with me on her back, practically leaps down the broken steps. This is a kitchen and living area. The stairs down to the first floor are buried under rubble, we can't go deeper to the common floor. Something small screeches in the corner of the room. It’s a small, furry, grey Animal that seems to have made a nest here. It doesn't know how much danger it has just put all of us in. It keeps screaming its annoying, defensive call and the wolves start to jump in through the window upstairs. We back ourselves into the other side of the room. The windows down here have a beautiful view of the mycelium-filled dirt.
Cilithol creates a sword and gets into a fighting posture, letting me down behind her so she can move freely. I’m ready to cast but… There’s no way I can fight in close quarters like this. Cutting spells are exhausting, and the wolves know better than to pack themselves down here all at once.
“Cariadus!”
They’ll probably just probe us, and either starve us out or wear us down.
“Cariadus!!”
If I cast fire, we’d all fry. If I cast blast, the whole place will crumble on our heads.
“Cariadus!!!”
Cilithol is grabbing my shoulder. She has the glint of an exciting plan in her eye.
“What??”
She points up. “Aim for the ceiling.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Blast the ceiling, right there!”
I can’t believe it. This isn’t the time for silliness, at all.
“And crush both of us under hundreds of kilos of stone?”
She shakes her head. “It’ll be alright. Trust me.”
I don’t want to do this. Not at all. But I don’t want to believe my sister would be trying to get us killed. There’s obviously something that she knows that she can’t explain in the spur of the moment. I have to trust her! I reach up and fire a blast right into the ceiling. The third floor sinks and crumbles, and the bodies of three massive dire wolves fall onto us. The ceiling and roof of the ruin falls on us as well. The bodies of the dire wolves cushion us from the rubble, but surely crush them to death as we feel the spatter of blood being squeezed from their lungs. We sit and wait here in this cramped pile of stones with heavy wolves on our heads until the rocks have settled. I blast the loose rubble and wolf bodies away from us, keeping Cilithol under me, and we crawl out of the hole in the ground left behind from the collapse, both of us coughing up dust. Just a single dire wolf got away, tail between its legs. It no longer has a pack to run back to. I raise my voice at Cilithol,
“What was that? We almost died under there, what were you thinking? How could you have possibly known that would happen?”
Cilithol looks really hurt. I shouldn’t have yelled…
“I heard their feet above us.”
That’s… Not a good reason at all. It’s obviously a lie, but Cilithol would never do something that would kill us. She would only do something risky like that if she was absolutely sure of herself. I did trust her in the moment. We are both alive. I can’t yell at her any more, I try to be reassuring.
“Cilithol… Whatever it was, what it really was, it got us out alive. I can’t believe your ‘instincts’ are that good. But I won’t question you as long as it works.”
She softens up a little, but there's still more I should say.
“I’m sorry I yelled. I’m really sorry…”
She stands up and hugs me.
“It’s okay. I almost got us killed, I just had a feeling it would work. It was chance. You’re alright to be mad at me.”
I don’t want a justification to be mad at her. I don’t want her to think that’s what I’m looking for. She lets go and we get away from the building before something else can show up, attracted by all that noise.
As we keep dipping between buildings towards the palace, Cilithol points something out on the ground.
“I'm just noticing it now. It’s starting to slope down.”
Sure enough, she’s right. Looking at the street ahead of us, the ground begins to slowly incline downwards towards the palace. Behind us, we’re already depressed by a considerable distance. The second floors of buildings are now half-visible above the ground. We climb up on a nearby rooftop to get a better view ahead. We can clearly see around us now, and the sloping of the ground grows more drastic. We can see the terraces of the central city dipping down deeper into the earth. The bottom floor of the palace is also visible now.
The bottom floor is like a city all on its own, and in its day it seems to have functioned like one. It wasn’t actually considered the “first floor” of the palace, more like a foundation for the rest of the palace to stand on. The various major guilds of the whole region were all headquartered there. The second most notable thing ahead is a massive, red, pulsing mass wrapping around half of the foundation of the palace. I don’t even want to think about what that thing is. It seems alive but I can’t imagine how one creature so big could exist. It isn’t moving at all, it could be some sort of horrible fungal growth. A tumour? Neither of us comment on it. We both know what we’re thinking, and we both know we will have to go the long way around it.
There’s a horror-free way into the palace to the south-east. In that direction we can see what looks like a university, and a giant plant tree growing from one of its courtyards. It will make for a good marker to follow. Along the way a peculiar aerial Anghenfil keeps flying overhead. It looks like a flying eyeball, with bat-like wings. It has an ominous light emitting from its pupil. Everywhere it looks takes on a glowing scarlet appearance, and we definitely do not want to get caught in that. We reach the university. Its long hallways will let us stay inside away from that eyeball’s gaze. We climb inside and walk the halls towards our destination. The floor of the corridor is collapsed, but a lower floor is beneath it so we jump down. If we keep going this direction we'll end up closer to the palace while not having to deal with climbing down the slope.
The windows are now covered in dirt, but we’ll know we’re going the right way when we can see out of them again due to the slope. We don’t notice any monsters stalking these halls. Not even small ones. In fact, there are no Animals at all. Not even tiny bugs. Both of us realise this at the same time and we stop in our tracks. We look back and… The pile of rubble and the hole in the ceiling we came in from is gone.
“Cariadus…”
She whispers like something might hear us. All sound is completely flattened in here. I take careful note of the signs above the empty classroom door as Cilithol cautiously continues, paying attention to the opposite wall. The writing is simple, just numbers and letters of the ancient Madarchic script, while translation efforts are still in their infancy we can figure out at least these basic things. Sure enough, the signs above the doorways repeat after about three-hundred paces. From 1-A to 28-C and back to 1-A. All the while walking completely straight ahead.
“Cilithol, the classrooms are repeating.”
“Noted. The windows are repeating as well, broken in the same pattern”
The whole hallway is an infinite loop? This couldn't be some Anghenfil, this is something much more mysterious, dangerous and magical. The purpose of this place needs to be discovered soon. With an axe, Cilithol puts a large cut into the doorway of room 1-A.
“We need to see if we’re repeating the same exact spot or if it’s replacing itself each time.”
She’s right. If we can figure out whether what we do in this looping space is permanent, we can plan a course of action. Soon we come across our doorway, the axe mark still left in it. Good. The damage is permanent. I’m remembering a few stories where this kind of thing happens- it’s a sort of common trope- and how the characters would get out of this scenario. I would never like to consult fiction for situations like this but I really do want to see how the solutions these authors thought up for their stories actually fare in reality. Even if it doesn’t work. The first thing I think of is a more horror-oriented one.
“I read a story where there was some Anghenfil in the loop, stalking them quietly the whole time, waiting for them to be dismayed, disoriented and tired to strike.”
Cilithol looks around, sniffing the air.
“No monsters. Let’s do it my way.”
She transforms the Claisthavn into a sledgehammer and starts to hit the walls facing “outside.” I guess that works. I should just sit back and let her go at it. She wails on the wall until it cracks and breaks, the layer of dirt behind it falls into the hallway along with the rubble and glass. On the other side of that dirt is… Another wall, this time made up of dark red, wet stuff. There are capillaries in it, it’s warm, and throbbing with a heartbeat’s rhythm. We both just stare at the wall, taking in the implication. We are inside something big. Shit, are we inside the tumour surrounding the foundation of the palace? It looks similar, at least what I could tell from a distance. We were so far away, how could we possibly be there? Cilithol stabs the wall with a long dagger, and the entire structure of the hallway starts to shake around like whatever we are inside has started jerking in pain.
From behind the dirt, an opaque yellowish liquid with an acrid smell starts to stream in. I feel like screaming, not from fear as much as from frustration. Frustration of being digested again. The acid is coming in a lot faster than it was with the Cavemouth, and judging by how even the bits of rubble on the ground disintegrate before our eyes it’s a lot stronger too. We run as far away as we can from the acid, to the halfway point between this loop and the next. We’ll have to be careful. I relay what I’m thinking to Cilithol.
“We’re inside a living creature right now, again. I don’t know how, but there must have been some point that we got put inside of this loop. We’re in a completely different place than we were outside of the loop, and we need to find some way to return. We’re probably in a digestive tract based on the strength of that acid. If that’s true, there has to be somewhere for the digested stuff to go, or somewhere to enter. The acid is deadly but there’s so much room in this hall that we’ll be okay for a while even if it continues to stream in.”
Cilithol is twirling her hammer around in her hand, her forehead covered in sweat. She pipes up with her own idea, very similar to the last.
“What if we break the walls until we find the mouth, then crawl out?”
“That’s too risky, we’ll get covered in acid if we break down that much of the wall. We don’t have any idea where the mouth is, if it even has one.”
“There’s something we can do, I’ll just need you to cover my hands with rejection.”
This sounds like an extremely dangerous and stupid plan. I’ve had just about enough of those today.
“No, we’re not doing anything stupid based on nothing again. I’m not letting your arms get sprayed with acid, it would spray all over the rest of your body too. There’s no way we can completely cover you.”
She stamps her foot as she tries to convince me.
“It’s not based on nothing! If we are in a digestive tract, then we would be moving to the other ‘end’ of this thing, that means away from the head! If I can feel which way the muscles are pushing us, the head will be in the opposite direction!”
That… Seems pretty solid actually. The thing is though that we don’t even know if there is a head at all. This loop could very well start well past the mouth. It might be worth a shot though.
“Okay, Cilithol. Give me your hand. I can only reject one, you’ll have to do the other. Just like in the Cavemouth, right? I’ll cover the rest of your body with a shield. Wrap this around your face, too.”
I give her my other pair of clothing. It’ll have to be sacrificed to the acid to protect her face and arms. She smashes the wall up with her hammer then quickly makes it into a tower shield for me to take and hold in front of her torso and legs. She puts her protected hands on the flesh, and is concentrating carefully. I sure hope the Claisthavn is strong enough to take this. We aren't sure about the limits of its durability, or much about its material at all really. Acid is spraying onto her arms, spattering onto her face, but she’s okay for now. Hopefully she won’t need much longer… She pulls off of the wall and quickly throws my burned clothing off of her. She made it away with no burns herself, thankfully. She points down the hallway towards the way we came from.
“It’s that way! The mouth should be at the looping point on this side!”
She takes her Claisthavn back and picks me up, running towards what is hopefully our escape. To find the point where the hallway loops, we’ll have to look extremely closely at the details in the walls. If we’re lucky there will be some kind of subtle “seam.” We get to where the classrooms go from 28-C to 1-A, and look around at the halfway point between them. Sure enough, there’s a single crack on the wall that ends abruptly in one direction. Is that our only clue? We really did have to get lucky to find this.
Cilithol smashes the wall nearby, revealing not flesh, but bone. It looks like a snake’s tooth, and as it curves inward to try to spit venom at Cilithol she smashes it to pieces with her hammer, the squirt of venom missing us by a hand’s length. Suddenly everything starts to move around us and under us, we’re thrown through the air and without quite seeing what exactly happened we end up in a classroom inside the college. The spiderwebs in the corner, now inhabited again, tell us that we are out of the loop. There is however another problem.
Cilithol and I are being constricted by a long and thick snake. One of its teeth is broken and bleeding onto itself as it seems to be swallowing its own tail, gulping deeper and deeper to squeeze us against each other. My face is being pushed into Cilithol’s breasts, I feel like I’m going to be suffocated. Cilithol is trying to find her Claisthavn at her side but as she blindly reaches around below us with her hand… She grabs something other than the Claisthavn. I couldn’t help it, between being constricted by an Anghenfil and having my face shoved into my sister’s tits, it was unavoidable, really. Cilithol yelps and takes her hand away. I feel the handle of the hammer against my leg and pull it up towards her, and her fingers wrap around it. She turns it into a small knife and starts to slice and stab with little wrist movements.
The snake thing lets go, and she stabs it in the head many times. Both of us catch our breath after having it all squeezed out of us. Cilithol comes over to me to help me up. She can’t look me in the eyes, but she’s holding her other hand out to me. I take it and she pulls me onto her back. I’m expecting her to just stay quiet and pretend that didn’t happen, but my breath catches as she asks,
“Cariadus… Why were you… Aroused, like that.”
Her tone is so flat it makes it sound like she’s trying to hold herself back. I can’t identify what she’s feeling. I can’t lie to her either, if I answer. I can skim the truth down, though. She already knows how I feel about Anghenfilod in fiction, but taking that to reality is still at least embarrassing, and could make her extremely disappointed in me. There’s also the matter of not knowing what she’s actually feeling. I can’t see her face, she keeps her breathing steady, her voice was monotone and serious, obscuring her intent. She interrupts my thoughts. I must have been there on her back in silence for a while.
“I’m glad we made it out okay.”
The usual caring and earnestness in her voice has returned. It looks like I didn’t need to say anything at all. All the weirdness of the infinite loop inside a snake has been taken for granted as we continue on through the empty halls of the university. Of course, you hear stupid stories about snakes that eat their own tail. Those are regular Animal snakes though. It seems being constricted by that massive Anghenfil transported us to its guts, along with our environment. We never even saw the thing before it had us, which scares me. Maybe that’s part of its illusion, to make that transition seamless. But it proves that some things out here can ambush us like that, so easily and unnoticeable. It feels like we could die in an instant, despite our skills.
We exit out into a courtyard, the one we saw the plant tree growing from earlier. We haven’t seen many of these in our lives, and not even the trees in Coeden grow this tall and thick. The most amazing thing is that it’s still alive and well. All of its branches are covered in hand-sized, round, green leaves with winding yellow veins. Despite the height of the tree there are branches growing out of the entire length of the trunk, giving it a sort of spiky appearance. Most of them are big enough to stand on comfortably. This tree has probably been here thousands of years, keeping all its branches it grew from when it was small. Cilithol has to shield her eyes from the sunfish as she tries to see the top from here.
“I want to climb it, get a good view of the entire city. It’ll be even better than from that roof.”
What is she saying?! “No, we are not climbing this tree just to sight-see! It’s too dangerous, one slip and you would fall to your death!”
I jump off her back and tug on her in an attempt to physically stop her.
“I’ve climbed a lot worse, you’ve seen me do it. There’s a ton of places to stand if I need to, and the bark will be perfect for climbing.”
I don’t wanna go… I know I can’t stop her, but I don’t want to be away from her… She purses her lips. It’s not that she couldn’t climb with me on her back. It’s a matter of me being able to stay on her back, holding onto her with my own minimal strength. I just can’t do that without adhesive magic, which would get exhausting to hold the entire way up and down. She promised she wouldn’t leave my side. She doesn’t want to go up there alone. She sighs, realising that there’s no way we could get up there together in the first place.
“Alright, I’m not going to the top. But look there, on the branches.”
She points to a few branches about a quarter up the tree. There are round orange fruits dangling from it. They look pretty good.
“Just let me get those. It'll keep our energy up if they're edible.”
“Fine, Cilithol… Just let me keep an eye on you.”
As if I could help just by watching. The fruits aren’t far. It’s okay. I’ll be alright… No, she’ll be alright. I shouldn’t be worried about Cilithol just going a few kulach or so away from me. She’s fine. She transforms her weapon into a pair of hooked claws. I’m not sure how the Claisthavn turns itself into a pair of something, but it only works with certain kinds of weapons, like the bow and arrow. She digs the hooks into the tree, and it supports her weight as she pulls herself up, doing this over and over catching her feet in the wide spaces of the bark. She makes it look so easy, her muscles must be tired but she still gets that far up the tree in just a few minutes. She’s standing on a branch taking fruits and putting them in her bag, facing away from the speeding red speck coming up behind her. Its flight is soundless, I try to call out to her,
“Cilithol! One of those eyes is behind you!”
She yells back “What?”
It’s too late now. A red light envelopes her, a spotlight projecting from the scarlet, winged eyeball’s pupil. I can’t hear her voice even though she’s obviously yelling, struggling as she is picked up by the light. She is floating there, like gravity has stopped caring about her. The beam of light pulls her up into the air and carries her away, over the walls of the university towards the palace. I can’t even think, I just run in the direction it flew, blasting away the university walls in my way. Outside again, I see the flying eye carry Cilithol not to the palace, but down to the massive tumour growing from it. I run in that direction and already feel myself growing physically exhausted. I have to keep going, I don’t even care if I run into any Anghenfilod along the way, I’ll throw them to the side and keep running.
A mangy, furry body tackles me from an alleyway. I hit the ground, my head cracking a bit on the rock. Everything goes black. It’s impossible to move my body. I lie outside of it with my eyes closed. I can only barely feel the hot teeth in my arm, dragging me across the ground to somewhere. I should have stayed focused. I thought I could make it to her without thinking, and now I’m being taken away too as Cilithol has been kidnapped to god knows where. Don’t worry Cilithol I’ll come… I’ll save you I promise. I promise I won’t die. I feel my head hit a rock again. The light shining through my eyelids has gone dark, so it seems I'm inside somewhere. The dire wolf has taken its teeth out of me. I can finally open my eyes, immediately I try to prepare a blast spell but find myself unable to move my hands. I lift my eyes from the ground and look around me.
I’m lying on my belly, in an old building. It’s so dark that it feels like a cave. My legs are free but my hands are being crushed by boulders. They’re completely broken, I can feel that already. I don’t even feel the pain in them. I can’t cast any spell except my panic spell without an Arwyth, and I feel that without further grievous injuries, I can’t use that one right now. “Imminent death” is such a specific notion. I try to pull myself away from the boulders, but even if I had the strength to do so I would have to rip my wrists from my hands. The only other thing around me are the bodies of dead dire wolves, coated in dust and blood in their mouths. I believe that's my fault. There was a survivor among them, the one I saw running away… And it wants revenge on me now. It must have been tracing our scent after pulling its packmates to this tomb.
I hear the dire wolf enter the building behind me, but I can’t turn my head far enough to see it. It sniffs the air deeply, and it’s growling at me as it approaches. I feel its whiskers brush against my leg. Its breath is hot on my skin. What is it planning to do with me? With a sensation like a flash of fire, it bites into my leg and thrashes its head, taking a chunk out of my calf. It’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life, so much that my vision goes completely white. I can't hear my own screams. I try to cast the panic spell, but it’s still not enough. So is the wolf going to torture me, taking me apart piece by piece until I die without enough thought in my mind to cast panic? I think my bone is exposed through my leg. The inside of my flesh gets cold very fast.
Cilithol would be able to heal this, would be able to clean the inevitable infection. I miss her. I knew I should have stopped her. Because she was away from me, out of my reach, all this happened. I could have saved her before she was ever taken away, and she could have fought off this lone wolf. The wolf is sniffing my thigh, it’s drooling on me. I think it ate the piece it tore out. I’m still writhing as much as my exhausted body can writhe, but it’s forcing its wet snout up my skirt. It tears my clothing off and throws them to the side.
So this is what it wanted with me. How smart must this thing be to know this kind of cruelty? I feel its cock bouncing against my leg as I squirm from the constant excruciating pain which has spread to my whole body. I don’t want to let it mount me. It’s going to hurt. A dire wolf is massive, there’s no way I can take it inside me, right? I have a feeling that doesn’t matter. This wolf is going to make it fit. My braies has been tossed aside too. I’m having a hard time keeping track of what’s going on. The wolf bites onto my backside and lifts me up onto my knees, it hurts too much to struggle anymore. I feel its wet tongue licking my hole, leaving pools of dire wolf drool dripping down onto my balls and inner thigh. The tongue has a rough texture, and it’s very warm. It pushes deeper, I can’t tell how long it actually is but it's enough to push against my prostate.
The forced pleasure and the pain in my leg combine to make an interesting and confusing sensation. I can’t tell if I like it yet. I want to get away, I want to get back to Cilithol, but my hands are crushed under rocks and the wolf won’t kill me. There is no escape any more. I might as well enjoy being slowly raped to death. Its snout presses up against my body as it tastes my insides, its front paws placed on the back of my knees to make sure I don’t move. It pulls its tongue out and I’m left a sobbing, moaning mess. It’s not done with me yet, though. It was only lubricating me. The wolf hardly has to mount my small body, I can fit underneath it with its chest just barely touching my back. Its back paws pin my legs, the searing pain of the missing chunk of flesh pierces my entire body again. I thought at this point I would have fainted from blood loss. Maybe the chunk wasn't as big as it felt. Or maybe my god hates me, particularly.
I feel the tip of its sharp dick press against me. It wastes no time shoving itself inside. This hurts so much more than its tongue, but at the same time its what I’ve dreamed about. I knew it would hurt in my fantasies. I pushed my body too far trying to re-enact them in private. It still hurts just a bit more than I imagined though. I scream into the echoing, cold cave and the dire wolf puts its front paw on my head, shoving my face into the dirty ground. It’s so thick, so wet, and so hard. It feels like a sword is being forced into me, straightening out my guts, like my intestines are being stabbed right through. It feels incredible. My screaming makes it feel better, all the intense pain is just part of the fun. The wolf is panting, its spit falling down onto my face, dripping into my open mouth.
It’s going so fast, I can barely feel anything anymore. My senses are overloaded with the smell of wolf musk covering me. I feel its knot hitting the base of my spine, threatening to push inside and expand. That would definitely break my pelvis. The wolf is clawing at my body, running its claws down my back which rips my top off. It brings its head down and bites at my shoulders, crushing my clavicle but once again just barely avoiding the artery. I scream again and the wolf snarls into my body as it releases its cum into me. Its knot pops into me and I can feel it growing inside. I feel like I’m going to split down the middle. I hear and smell drops of my blood falling from my hole to the stony floor, and as what feels like buckets worth of cum continue to stream into me the swollen knot forbids any from spilling out. I feel it all inside me, more than a Sengl could ever produce, and much more than an Animalian wolf. The dire wolf gets all of it into me, and turns around, leaving the knot inside. I’ll be here for hours before it goes down.
I’ll probably die before then. I’m bleeding from multiple places, I’m exhausted, many bones including most of them in my hands are broken. Cilithol, please save me from here, please... The wolf throws its head up and howls. It’s sad and angry. Does it feel satisfied with its revenge? Or will it not be pleased until I bear its puppies for it? I don’t think it knows I can’t do that, even if I did have a womb. I lay there for minutes, I’m not sure what the wolf is doing besides sniffing me and staring at the bodies of its pack. Maybe I should just close my eyes. Most of the pain has been replaced with nothing but a cold chill. Suddenly I hear flapping from outside. The wolf perks up. A scarlet eye passes by the broken hole in the wall. The wolf barely has time to yelp before it’s grabbed by the red light and lifted outside. The knot is forcibly pulled out of my ass and the pink mixture of blood and cum falls out of my gaping hole.
The eye flicks the wolf away, throwing it far and high through the air. I hear its scared yowling cut off abruptly a few blocks away. The eye pushes the boulders off of my hands. They still don’t hurt, and I can’t move them at all. They hang off my wrists limply, just bags of skin full of crushed muscle and bone. The red light turns on me, picking me up. It almost feels nice being trapped in this. I can just relax my body and float here, like being underwater. I can breathe fine. Is it going to flick me away like it did the wolf? It didn’t do that with Cilithol. Could it be taking me to the same place as her? Will she be waiting there for me? I don’t have any idea how long I was away apart from being really hungry. I hope we haven’t lost the jerky. We only got to have it once.
I’m taken out of the building and we fly high above the city. I don’t even want to look, I’m so tired. The eye flies over the tumour that wraps around the palace. I can see it a lot closer now. The top is covered in disgusting white pores that pulse and spit out yellow gas that smells like sulphur and excrement. The eye flies low and holds me just above a gaping pore in the tumour. And then, it drops me.
When I land on the gargantuan mass of flesh I can feel how soft, squishy and wet it is. I bounce with a splash and my limp body tumbles face first deeper into the pore. It pulls me along with undulating ripples, and in a moment I’m completely consumed. Everything goes dark, there’s no light in here. I’m travelling down a tight tunnel that pushes my body along with cilia, they tickle as they brush against every part of me. My clothes were already torn off by the wolf, so it all touches my bare flesh. It’s hard to breath without getting this thing’s fluids in my mouth, but it swallowed a lot of air along with me, so at least I don’t have to hold my breath. It’s so humid. This is the worst thing I have ever smelled but my sense of disgust has already wasted away from what I’ve been through.
Everything feels so smooth, I assume that Cilithol hasn’t been through here. No doubt she would have slashed away wildly at the walls of this thing, so I would expect signs of struggle. This fleshy tract is getting looser, and it’s dousing me in some kind of lubricating slime. It makes my head fuzzy. What was I thinking about? I should just relax, my hands and shoulder are broken, my leg is weakened by the chunk taken out of it. I’ll be limping if I can walk at all. Really I'm just glad it’s not actively digesting me, there’s no acidic feeling to the slime. I’m just being taken somewhere. I like the new textures in this part of the tunnel, there are no more cilia, the muscle itself is contracting to push me down. Big smooth buds glide along my body as I slide forward.
After a few minutes my head hits something. I look up and see a hole in front of me, and I quickly squeeze my way through. I fall out of the other side and splat onto a squishy floor in a pile of slime. It’s surprisingly not completely dark in this open cavity. I can see the walls, floors and ceiling clearly, a faint bioluminescence streaking every surface of this unusually square room. The light is stained red. There are… Doors. Well, what used to be doors. Considering how this “tumour” wrapped around the lower palace, it seems that whatever this thing is, it has consumed parts of the palace itself and replaced it. If that’s true, Cilithol and I could find a way out into the rest of the palace where this hasn’t yet spread. I just have to find Cilithol first.
I try to stand up but my arms give out under me and I fall to the ground again. A burst of pain shoots up my arm from my crushed wrists. I sit up and stand against the wall instead. My legs feel weak… I try to take a step and fall back into the pile of slime. This must look pathetic. I feel like my whole body is broken, not just my hands. I’m shaking violently. I need to recover. Just a short rest, hopefully. I splay myself on my back and shut my eyes, resting my head on the bed of slime under me. It’s comfortable. I fall asleep almost instantly.
I dream about Cilithol. She’s holding my broken hands in hers, kissing them. She has an overwhelming gentleness with me like she’s praying for the life of a broken, dying baby bird. Is this a death omen dream? I touch my neck and find that I have no pulse. Good, it’s not a death omen. If you can feel your pulse in a dream that means that your life is tied with the events that occur in it. I let the rest of the dream play out. The sensual experience of being coddled by Cilithol devolves into typical dreamlike nonsense, culminating in my tragic death. A few seconds after waking up, I’ve already forgotten everything else. My body and mind feel leagues better, I feel normal again. I wipe slime off my face with my hands… My hands! Somehow, they’re healed! I can feel them and move them and flap them around. My shoulder feels just fine as well. They are a bit stiff but that's better than broken. The meat taken out of my leg has been completely regenerated as well. There’s no way I could just sleep all this off, so what happened?
There’s someone nearby, multiple people actually. I hear noises from the next room over. They’re sweet noises, two voices singing sexually with each other. One of them is Cilithol’s. I’ve never heard her moan. Who is she with? I’m jealous. I want to know what’s going on. It’s a girl’s voice, deeper than hers'. It’s cute. I could moan cutely too… I want to crawl into the next room and watch, but of course I would be seen and this intimate display would have a very embarrassing end. I’ll just lie here and listen. Cilithol is saying a name, I think. Zolotoy? Is that an orcish name? They soon finish their fun together, talking too quietly for me to hear for a few minutes before Cilithol stands and moves closer to me. She tells this Zolotoy that she’s going to check on me.
I quickly pretend to be asleep again. I hear Cilithol’s feet falling on the wet floor, splashing next to me. She crouches down and pushes the wet hair out of my face. I pretend to wake up at her touch. As I flutter my eyes open I can see that she’s looking intently at my face, rather than my naked body. She's not a pervert. Oh well. I’m just happy to see her again, alive, and she looks well. She’s just a bit sweaty. The orc girl is standing in the doorway, averting her gaze from me. Both of their clothing was preserved, making me feel even more naked than I am.
“Cariadus!”
She’s excitedly yelling for me and holding my head.
“God, I was worried that you wouldn’t be waking up. I’ve been checking on you a lot between figuring out how to get out of here with… Well, I’ll introduce you… Hey, are you awake? Are you still hurting? I healed all I could, but do you feel any pain inside your body? Internally?”
I don’t feel much pain except the stretching of my intestines. Though it doesn’t seem that there’s any internal bleeding anymore. Did Cilithol see me dripping with wolf cum? She wouldn’t know where it was from, but it would be obvious what it was. It was leaking out of me when the scarlet eye took me here, but it could have passed while I was sliding down into this place. She hasn’t asked about it, so I’ll assume she hadn’t noticed. I’m thankful I don’t have to explain that to her. That would be the last straw and she would drag me back to Hendir if she had to. We would never reach our goal. Hyperaware of Zolotoy in the doorway, I sign to Cilithol.
“Sister, I’m okay. I found you again. That’s all I wanted.”
One of her tears falls on me, but she’s smiling. She hugs me close, my limp body like a pretty little doll in her arms. She gestures towards the other girl.
“This is Zolotoy.”
She waves at me. She sure is pretty, with her clothes hastily put on, her blue skin covered in drips of sweat that shine in the red lights of the room, and the curved fangs peeking down the sides of her mouth from behind her upper lip. She speaks and her voice is rough like gravel, much unlike the moaning I heard before. Maybe she’s putting it on? Her accent is a bit hard to parse, she talks fast and cuts many of her words short.
“We found each other here, by that chute. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
So Cilithol has been talking about me? That makes me feel nice. I wonder what she was told about me.
“We’ve got a bit of a plan. There’s a wind that kicks up periodically. A really hard wind, could pull you off your feet. You’ll know it when it happens.”
What is she talking about? Cilithol hands me a skirt, my other pair.
“Cariadus, here. It’s your other skirt. I lost the food. And nearly everything else. But at least there’s this.”
I put on the spared clothes. It’s wet and heavy and smells awful, but it’s all I have right now. Cilithol suddenly holds me close and whispers “Here it comes” into my ear. A sudden burst of wind surges through the room. It's really warm. Cilithol's hair slaps against my face. Zolotoy wasn’t lying, this wind could throw me to the ground if I wasn’t careful. The tempest ceases as quickly as it began, and the room smells a lot nicer. The air feels less heavy. It clicks in my mind immediately. All that gas being expelled from the top of this thing came from inside, forced out by some mechanism involving that wind. It's respiring. Zolotoy snaps her fingers and confirms my thoughts.
“You see what I mean? I think that air’s being taken somewhere and let out of those pores. We’ll be able to crawl our way out if we find where the gas is going.”
That would just mean we’d have to find where the wind is going. Standing right next to the pore, would we just get shot out of the top? Cilithol picks me up onto her back. My bare breasts press onto the back of her neck. She talks as we begin to walk in the direction of the breeze, passing through palace rooms completely consumed by this massive creature.
“Cariadus, where did you get those wounds while I was gone?”
I put my arms over her shoulder and sign to her.
“I tried to chase after you, but I tripped. The eye came back for me and I tried to blast it down but I took down part of a building and it crushed my hands and impaled my leg. That scarlet eye ripped me out of the rubble and it took a piece of my leg with it.”
I probably could have just told the truth about how the dire wolf survivor bit my leg. But I don’t want her to think that any of them survived and came back for me. I have to make it sound more like an accident. She responds out loud.
“That sounds terrible, Cariadus, I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop that stupid thing from taking me here. I’m grateful to god that you’re alive.”
God wasn’t particularly nice to me when the wolf had me at the neck, but yes, at least I am alive. I keep signing to her as Zolotoy curiously watches my hands, not able to understand our personalised language and only getting context from what Cilithol says in response.
“How long have you been here already, Cilithol?”
“A few hours. Zolotoy found me as soon as I came out of that chute.”
Zolotoy nods and sounds a bit melancholy.
“I was expecting someone else. Someone else from my party. We were scrounging around the outer parts of the city when that flying thing found us and took me first. I dunno what’s happened to the others. Cilithol told me you haven’t seen traces of anyone else, but we were comin’ in from the south, not the north like you.”
She’s from the south, huh? Seth isn’t a big enough island that you notice much temperature change from one side to the other, but she could be from Usglyvaethur Daear, the frigid island to the south of Seth known to be the birthplace of alchemy. Zolotoy’s building curiosity wins out and she asks me,
“Are you mute?”
Cilithol answers for me, the simplified answer that invites little further questions.
“Yes, she is.”
Zolotoy makes signs with her hands, some other sign language. She seems to be waiting to see if we can understand it. Cilithol answers her again.
“Not sure what that means. We have our own thing, it’s not holbytlan or human sign language.”
Zolotoy looks impressed.
“You made your own sign language? That’s impressive, why not just learn holbytlan signs?”
“They didn’t have anyone teaching it in Hendir, and no books about it either. I hear that the other mutes and deaf in Hendir have a sort of club for teaching common pidgin signing, but that’s a new development. We already had ours going by the time she was invited to that. How do you know holbytlan signing?”
“Someone else in my party. A holbytla, older guy who lost his hearing 'cause he got struck by lightning. We learned it together after that so we didn’t have to write everything.”
Cilithol hums in approval.
“Are you a party with the CCA?”
Zolotoy puts her hand to her chest proudly.
“Yep. Fairly new, but I’ve been trying to get in for a while. I was the last one to get assigned a class out of our party, they helped me all the way. I’m a Warrior. There’s another Warrior, a Thaum and an Archer in the party. I guess you’re with them too?”
Cilithol turns a corner and finds a small slime Anghenfil idling in the corner. She steps up to it and smashes it with her sandal.
“Yeah. I’m a Slayer, my sister is a Sorcerer.”
Zolotoy’s eyes widen, when she opens her mouth to respond the strong wind blows through the room, it’s even stronger now and Zolotoy is brought down to her knees. Cilithol leans a bit but stands like a formidable tree. We must be getting close with how strong the vacuum is becoming. Zolotoy finishes her thoughts as we turn and continue in the direction of the wind.
“A Sorcerer! That’s some wild stuff! Not a single one in our colony. Are you Sthawabarthians?”
I’m a bit uncomfortable with the profiling, but she does have a holbytlan friend. They’re probably where these assumptions are coming from. Cilithol shows off the Arwyth of Sthawabarthia. An important Arwyth, but no spells use it. It’s just too high concept, I guess. Only god is shown using it for any real purpose.
“Yes. We use Arwyth for magic. Lots of people mistake them for other… Cariadus, what did you call them?”
I sign “autocatalytic” to her, having to spell out each letter.
“Autocatalytic spellcasting methods.”
Zolotoy trails off a bit. “That’s cool…”
She obviously doesn't know much about magic. We’re silent for a bit before Cilithol speaks up.
“You asked me earlier why we were here. What about you? What made you come to Seth of all places?”
“I need to pay to get back to the Farlands. Hijacking a ship is gonna be near impossible, they keep a real close eye on me.”
Someone who actually wants to go back after being sent here? So she wasn’t born here. “They” is probably referring to the Guard. Like the sheriff, the Guard are sent over by Farland governments. They don’t have as strong of a presence in Hendir, since Hendir has been around the longest and has shifted more towards civilian self-defence, leaving the Guard with more official matters like organised crime and prisoner trafficking. However the colony in the south was only established just around thirty years ago, so they're still strong there.
“How much does that cost for you to have to resort to looting Seth?”
“A lot. It varies for why you were sent here. I was a political prisoner, they think I’m a real danger to go back. But they don’t want someone like me to be idle here and not make them any money. So they put a price on going back anyways, even if it’s an exorbitant one. Paying my own bail sorta.”
“You’re a political prisoner?”
“Yeah. I’m from Formagrad. One of the few sensible places left out there. I was something like a spy, was spreading illegal political material in other countries in an underground network and making connections with their resistance cells. I got caught, and they couldn’t get any information out of me, got them to think I was working independently. They were going to execute me but they knew that my strengths would be put to waste, so they decided to send me out here instead. I was surprised when I got here and the so-called ‘penal colonies’ were nothing but a weak projection of power across the ocean. The Guard is still tough, but I was expecting hardcore slavery with how they were explaining it to me. I don’t think even they have an idea of how things really are out here.”
She was a revolutionary? I don’t know anything about Formagrad, the only thing I’ve heard is that their government is “armist” in ideology, though I don’t know what that means. Apparently it runs counter to the “scythism” of many countries out there. Neither myself nor Cilithol are well-versed in politics.
“I just hope my home country is safe. I don’t know if there was an attempt to bargain for me out of custody. They kept me away from everything. If I implicated my country in espionage there could be hell to pay.”
“I hope so too.”
Things go quiet again. I rest my eyes and lean against Cilithol as we walk. There are a few nice minutes of quiet and warmth before the gas pore opens again and I’m literally shaken awake as Cilithol has to lean up on the wall to not fall off balance. Zolotoy calls out from up ahead once it stops
“It’s here! In this room! I nearly got sucked in!”
We look into the room. Zolotoy shifts uncomfortably.
“So… Now that we’re here, we’ll have to be really careful. If we’re inside or near that thing when it goes off next we’re going to be shot through the air and fall to our death.”
She has a point. We’ll have to crawl through the pore fast enough to not get blown away. Cilithol gets up close. It’s a really tight hole, densely contracted muscle getting prepared to pull up air and shoot it out. She tries to pry it open with her hands but it’s far too strong. She hits it a few times with a knife and it doesn’t even make a scratch. How are we going to crawl out of this thing? We fall back behind the wall of another room so we don’t get sucked away prematurely. Cilithol speaks for us both.
“There’s no way to crawl out before it exhales. That means we’ll have to go through when it’s ready to spit us out, though we’ll go flying through the air. What are we going to do to survive the fall?”
Zolotoy rubs her chin. “I could dry out some slimes into sheets and make a parachute?”
Cilithol stifles a laugh. “You can’t use slime like a material. They’re mostly water.”
“Sharks. There’s not anything in here to make anything with, except our clothes? Could we make a parachute out of our clothes?”
“It doesn’t work like that, Zolotoy. Those are kids’ stories.”
Zolotoy quiets up. Cilithol starts signing to me. Something she doesn’t want Zolotoy to hear?
“Put rejection spells on my feet, hold onto me and I’ll bounce off the ground. We can get right up to the palace.”
Oh. A really stupid idea.
I sign back to her “You’ll break your legs from the whiplash, even if you would bounce. I’ve never tested this.”
“Then how about casting it on the end of my weapon? If I hit the ground at the right angle, I can control where we go, and it won’t put the force into my body.”
Like a pogo-stick? That… Might work? I hate to admit that. I see why she doesn’t want Zolotoy to hear us, the plan excludes her. I doubt she wants to leave Zolotoy behind completely but… There doesn’t seem to be many options. Zolotoy shakes her head, she’s been lost in her own thoughts.
“Isn’t there something your sister can do? To make us fall slower or something?”
I never found it necessary. Being thrown several kulach in the air isn’t really something I felt like I ever needed to worry about. Cilithol speaks for me.
“No, not like that.”
Zolotoy seems mad.
“Why not? She’s a Sorcerer right? Aren’t you supposed to be the best at magic?”
I’m shrinking even further behind my sister’s back. I’m sorry I don’t know… I just want to hide.
Cilithol defends me. “No spellcaster can just do anything they want. I may be a Slayer but I had to learn magic too. Healing, restorative magic. It takes a lot of training to perform one spell for a single purpose. I can’t just do anything.”
Zolotoy grumbles. “Fine… It’s impossible to survive that fall. You two can go on if you have a plan, but I’m going to stay in here and look for another way. This is a fucked up version of the palace itself, so there has to be a fucked up version of the stairs to the second floor somewhere.”
So she’s parting with us… I hope she’ll be safe. Cilithol stands up and I scramble up her body.
“Then we’ll look together. The slimes in here aren’t dangerous, so it’ll be okay if we split up.”
Cilithol isn’t really planning to go. I think she believes Zolotoy can get out of here, and she doesn’t want to tell her that we can escape already without her. Lying is a weird way of being polite, but I don’t feel like stoking issues. We’ll get out of here and hopefully see Zolotoy later in the rest of the palace. Zolotoy goes one direction, and we pretend to go another before holding back. Cilithol shows me the pole that I’m to cast the rejection spell on when we’re ready.
“Cilithol… This is extremely dangerous even if it works. You would have to hit the ground at a really precise angle, are you…”
What am I worried about? Cilithol’s precision with a weapon is unmatched. She can hit an invisible bundle of nerves buried under a sticky, thick mass of snail flesh with a four kulach pole. I have to trust her.
“Nevermind. Let’s do it, sister.”
Her face lights up. It has been a while since the pore opened up, it will happen again soon.
“I’ll have to make this pole while we’re in the air. I can’t risk losing it if it gets caught in the pore itself.”
I hold onto her closely and cast an adhesive spell between my body and hers, ready to be thrown into the sky. After another minute of tense waiting, the pore begins to suck the air from the space around us. Cilithol runs out into the room and throws herself into the pore. Sure enough. we’re picked up off of our feet and shot out the top. I get a blast of noxious gas up my nose as we go, and I nearly lose my grip from coughing. I don’t want to open my eyes, the height might make me sick, but I have to see the pole. Cilithol transformed her weapon as soon as we were on the other side, she turns the tip up to me. I cover it with as much rejection as I can. It counts as the “head” of the pole.
It… It doesn’t work. This doesn’t work. The rejection spell doesn’t work on things. It works on our bodies. I'm so stupid. We’ve reached the peak of our arc and begin to fall down. There’s not any time to panic, we’ll splat against the ground before we can even begin to scream. A panic spell would be useless, what can I… Well, we can try Cilithol’s original idea. I can’t reach her feet with the adhesive spell on me. I cast a rejection on her head. She knows it’s too late to argue. She shifts her weight in the air and plummets towards the ground head-first, I pull myself back so my own head doesn’t crack. If the fall doesn’t kill us the whiplash from this will.
We almost hit the ground, but the rejection spell shifts all our momentum to the opposite direction. I feel like I’m going to be ripped off of her even with my adhesive. Cilithol is unconscious, her body flies limply in the direction of the palace. Her neck would not break- she never actually hit the ground. We just started going the opposite direction. She angled her own head towards the palace so that we’ll land somewhere around the roofs on the higher floors… Though there was a slight miscalculation on her part. We head straight towards the wall, much higher than the roof. Towards a window, actually. It couldn’t be that she was aiming for it, but we hit it dead centre, shattering it. We land in a small room now covered in broken glass. Miraculously it appears like we’re both alive.
Our clothes are tattered and ruined from the glass, but there is only minor bleeding on our bodies. Oh… The violent motion of the fall and bounce hits me. I roll to the corner and vomit out the few handfuls of liquid left in my stomach. I reach my hand out to the cloth hanging from the wall and wipe my mouth. My lips get covered in dust. I cough and rub it away with my hands. That “cloth” on the wall was really a dress, a black dress. There’s a whole row of them hanging from the wall. There are brooms and buckets across the rest of the room, and a bed in the corner that looks like you would suffocate in the dust if you laid in it. I can only assume that this was a maid closet, though you could mistake it for a high class bedroom.
I think we’re on the fourth floor, so this is where the personal quarters of those who lived in the palace would be. I thought we would have to work our way up from the bottom floor but… We’re already nearly at the top, where the ruler of this place himself resided. It’s unclear from old stories whether there was a lineage of rulers or if it was just one immortal Sengl. Maybe we will find out by going up there. The fate of that ruler is supposedly where Madarch became split into pieces, when in a final defence against invading Wyrms and a chaotic civil war he put the Wyrms and himself to sleep after cracking the land with a spear to separate the warring petty kingdoms. That was when everything went wrong for Madarch. Nearly every Sengl, then unrecognisable to the Sengl of today, sailed out to find new lands to kill and die on. My empty stomach is screaming at me for food, and I can hear Cilithol’s stomach rumble with me. Right, let's put myself back together. I need to focus on necessities first.
Our clothing is destroyed from the broken glass, but I think we could wear these maid dresses if we clean them. Not a single moth has been able to take a nibble from them, so they’re in really good condition, considering the circumstances. If this place is too dangerous even for insects to inhabit, I don't really know how we're going to make it. That thought comes so casually, and I still have the strength to brush it aside. No use for despair right now. I clean the clothing with magic and slip into one that fits me the best. They’re all a little big for a holbytla, especially ones my size, but the smaller dresses should fit Cilithol decently. I’ll have to dress her myself, so she doesn't wake up in torn rags. Does that even make sense? Without thinking, I’ve already taken her clothes off and sit just staring at her body. She’s not cold, her breathing is hard but not strained. Her eyes are relaxed. Both of us smell awful but my mind doesn’t even register that.
I haven’t seen her naked in a long time. My eyes fall down her body and rest between her legs. Her pussy is cute. Way too cute. Its fat lips and soft holbytlan hair that grows in a trail up to her navel, usually hidden by her tucked-in shirt. I want to put my mouth on it, just a little bit, just to see how it tastes, just to kiss it… But I can’t do that to her when she’s sleeping. That’s dead wrong no matter how much I want to. I have to put it out of my mind. I try not to spare another tempting glance as I slip her into the maid dress, identical to mine. It feels cute, we’re like matching dolls. I lie next to her. I just want to wait until she wakes up, I'm far too scared to see what could be on the other side of the door. My magic is exhausted, so I need to just rest for a while. All that noise I made emptying my stomach in the corner a moment ago worries me. I hope I didn’t attract anything to us.
I lie there with my eyes closed, unable to sleep from the stress, but I feel myself recovering. Suddenly a broom in the corner falls. My eyes flash open and I nearly send out a blast spell like a bullet into the wall. I sit up and stare at the corner. There is a face passing through the wall, looking around at us and the damage we've caused. Fuck, no, no. The entire spirit steps into the room. I’m paralysed with fear, hoping that if I don’t move and keep my eyes shut it will think I'm asleep or dead, but I can't look away. The spirit is well-dressed, probably someone who had an important position here. The ghost locks eyes with me and quickly ducks back into the wall as if it wasn’t expecting to be seen. I’m quivering in fear, considering waking up Cilithol from her much-needed rest. Even a harmless lost soul aimlessly wandering around scares me to death. The way they can just appear from anywhere, potentially see anything hidden behind closed doors. The simple fact that they became a spirit in the first place tells you that something awful happened to that someone, possibly in the very room you're in, an unresolved horror of the past that was so terrible it refuses to accept death as an end. What happened here in the palace so long ago?
Cilithol starts to stir and sit up, thank god, she’s… I turn to her excitedly, ready to inform her about my fears and my gratitude that she’s alive, but something’s different about her. Her face is still sleeping, her eyes forcing themselves open with great effort, and the colour of her eyes have changed, her irises have gone pale white. Her jaw falls open and blue mist falls from it onto her chest and onto me. I jerk back and practically somersault backwards into the wall, holding back the worst of screams.
“Cilithol” begins to speak, with a voice that is hers, but puppeted by something that hasn’t spoken in a long, long time. It speaks in a strange language that I recognise as old Madarchic, though it’s extremely odd to hear it spoken. We understand how it was written, and some of the sounds, but there is no complete reconstruction, it’s incredible to hear it from a native speaker. Even more incredibly, I can somewhat understand what she’s saying, the meaning is almost clear to me even though all the words are unfamiliar.
“I am sorry to ride your sister, I can otherwise not speak. She will not be afflicted, I just would like conversation for a time.”
I can’t respond. I don’t trust the ghost that this is just completely safe for my sister. I have to save her, but if I think about it too hard I’ll freeze. I don’t want to hear what this thing is saying, I don't care. I reach my hand out and grab Cilithol’s face and I think of my desire to save her, to protect her from this hostile thing invading her body. I cast a cleansing spell right into her face. It won't hurt the thing but maybe it will banish the spirit and spare the body this hijacking. The spirit doesn’t react at all. It just gently grabs my wrist and pulls my hand off of its face. I let out a pathetic scared peep and expertly perform another tumbling backwards somersault over broken glass. My back slams into the stone wall. The spirit piloting Cilithol’s body remains calm, sounding curious.
“Your magic has strange scent. Different times, different deaths, different way to get rid of haunting one. Ritual of my purging is long burned away.”
Modern magic doesn't work on ancient spirits...? What sense does that make? There’s not a single mage today, at least not one whose ideas have spread to Hendir, that’s proposed that ancient magic and modern magic aren’t compatible with each other. It’s always been assumed that magic came from a single place, with only our methods for drawing on it differing. But now an actual ghost from ancient history is telling me that that is not the case.
“Upstairs master's voice smelled like you, so I knew you were arriving. Though I will be honest, you scared me to break the glass. We try to keep neat. We work very hard to.”
It’s… She. That’s a woman. Or, at least looked like a woman, when I saw her face in the wall. It’s finally sinking in that spirits aren’t just disembodied things that carry nothing but their appearance with them. I’m talking to this woman who lived thousands of years ago, and she’s real.
“I have one idea why it felt like you… Not the first time. But it's the first time I will talk to you. Why did you come for yourself?”
No one else has made it this far and come back. That’s probably who she’s talking about. She's interested in my personal reasons though? I won't be too personal. Money, same as Cilithol… I mumble out my answer to her, more abrasive than I would like.
“We’re going to loot what we can and leave.”
The spirit sniffs the air. “I agree… Broadly, but I said personal. Certain scent is stronger on you. Desire is already strong. You're like your sister, but I can’t pick out the space… You both smell like peace too. Yours is sweet, like love. A very pungent love.”
What is she talking about… Is she reading my mind? How else would she know that's my sister next to me??
“Stay out of my emotions! Just go away!”
My cry is desperate and probably pathetic. I don’t know how else to deal with her except to ask her to leave us alone. She giggles a bit, a type of laugh not suited for Cilithol’s voice.
“I don’t look for harm, old ghost like me can’t touch with your mind. Actually, I want you to live long, as upstairs master does. We’ve all done our best, we'll be good for the first time. Trust me… I had desires that smelled much, much like you, for a girl who smelled much, much like your sister… Upstairs master will help you, same as when everyone left.”
Cilithol’s mouth stops foaming and her eyes turn back to their normal colour as the spirit leaves her body, passing through the floor. It doesn’t come back. I scamper to Cilithol’s side, cutting my hands on broken glass again. She’s okay. She’s smiling in her sleep and snoring happily. I whimper and curl up next to her. That spirit smelled my desires? Did it smell my lust? My stomach growls, I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday and our jerky is gone. Before Cilithol wakes up I have time to think about our course of action. I’ll put whatever cryptic stuff the spirit said out of my mind. You can’t hunt and eat Anghenfilod, it’s forbidden and would probably kill you within minutes. There aren’t even any insects in the palace, the spirits have kept it so well-preserved. Even bugs are out of the question in this survival scenario. The only thing I can think of is if the spirits kept the great gardens alive.
This palace was famous back in its day for many reasons, and one of those reasons were the massive, lush and healthy interior gardens on the second floor. They were filled with fruits, vegetable, fungi, growing and cultivating things that don't even fit into those categories. All of the water was kept in a complicated cycle of collection, purification and treatment so that none was wasted. That’s obviously an exaggerated fact, but if it was true could those gardens have lasted thousands of years? The spirit woman said all the spirits in the palace kept the place preserved… So they may tend the garden.
The whole palace is a marvel, and back in its time there would be thousands of people here to see it, hundreds who had the privilege of living in it. Each floor had a purpose that was vital to the life of the entire city. The first floor were churchgrounds for the Orthodox Clover church, the ancient religion revealed to the ruler of this very palace. The “orthodox” in the name wasn’t official, but it is what it was called to differentiate it from the sects of the church that were co-opted by the two evil Wyrm sisters Agiyari and Antimarix, the Basic and Acidic.
The second floor was not just the gardens, but lavish public baths, community kitchens, and a library. The third floor was where the ruler appeared before the people publicly, where bureaucrats worked out of and where other political leaders, diplomats and those who worked in the palace were housed.
The fourth floor, where we are now, is where the old ruler’s family resided. He apparently had a pretty huge lineage for just one very long-lived Sengl. At some point in an immortal's life, the age gap just has to stop mattering at some point, right? The fifth floor, which is our destination just above us, is where the ruler himself lived. It’s a relatively short space capping off the top of the palace, and is not nearly as large as the rest of it, but still big enough to be a mansion for a wealthy family.
The sixth floor is the uppermost part of the palace, a thin point sticking out above everything else in the city and the landscape beyond it, only dwarfed by the mountains far to the east. No one lived up there. Its purpose was symbolic, it’s meant to be a representation of the connection between the ruler of the palace to the places outside of our world.
As much as I want to go straight to the upper floors, grab everything that looks like it belonged to the ruler and leave, we have to eat first, and our best shot at that is to go to the second floor. Even if the gardens are long dead, we could check the kitchens. Obviously most food will be long spoiled or deteriorated, but we don't really know how long honey can be preserved for, if it was sealed properly. Its been found in ruins on this island before and been completely edible. We’ll be able to eat that at the very least. I feel a pit in my stomach thinking about the Anghenfilod that inevitably will stand in our way as we go down. There will probably be even more in the gardens themselves if there is anything to eat. The horrible things we’ve already seen flash through my mind. The ghoul, the mimic, the pocket dimensional snake eating its own tail, the flying eyeball that can lift us off our feet in a beam, the massive tumour replacing the first floor of the palace. I wonder how the spirits keeping this place “preserved” feel about that? I’m not curious enough to brave asking.
Those last two, the tumour and the infinite snake… Those are things you would never find outside of Seth. Something about this place makes its monsters far more dangerous, and now we’re in the deepest part of the city. I just wish for something familiar, even if it’s just as dangerous. Our knowledge of the enemy has always been our power, but lately that's been turned on its head. No matter the power of my spells, and the skill of Cilithol’s martial arts, it won’t matter if some Anghenfil has a particularly nasty trick prepared for us. It’s scary, but a little exciting too. If… No, when we make it out of here I’ll be sure to write about everything I’ve seen. It will be useful to share with researchers. Maybe it'd be impressive enough to be apprenticed.
I would be part of something great, the beginning of the reclamation of Seth from the Anghenfilod. Wouldn’t that be incredible? Sengl retaking our old capital. I’d prefer if it wasn’t in the name of the penal colony or the sheriff though. The glory only works when we take it as free Sengl, like we were when we had it before. All that is for the future, though. Who knows how long the sheriff will be able to keep his power? I’m not usually one for political thought like that but Zolotoy got the thought into my head. I hope she’s okay. Maybe we’ll see her somewhere else in the palace, or someone else from her party. I would really like to meet their Thaumaturge.
When human sailors found the island again, we were excited to take it back. The Anghenfilod put a hard wedge in that. Basically no religions were prepared for the existence of Anghenfilod. Many related them to evil creatures and demons that already existed in their mythologies, though I heard of some faiths retroactively incorporating them. The Sthawabarthian church way out in the Farlands just considers them Animals, but I have to disagree with the church, as much as that makes me feel strange under the eye of god. I think if any of them actually saw an Anghenfil, or fought many of them like myself and my sister have, they’d see that there’s something very special about them, even the ones that superficially resemble Animals.
The term that mostly everyone on Madarch uses, “Anghenfil”, comes directly from the ancient legends about this place, because what else could they be? They fit the description perfectly. The legends are flawed, of course, but they’re an accurate description of many of the living things and at least some events that happened on this island. This palace wouldn’t exist if they weren’t at least partially true. The thought of all this… Old stuff, the primordial nature of Anghenfilod, of being so close to legendary things… It excites me a lot! I wonder if the Anghenfilod back then were different than the ones that roam today. Did they have horny mimics and rapey dire wolves like today?
Oh no, thinking about that struck a nerve. It hurts, but this time in a good way. My imagination is wanting to play now. I’m remembering the sensations the mimic gave me, purely to make itself feel good. And the wolf! My pelvis still aches from it punishing me. It must have felt good enough to overshadow its grief, just for a moment. Maybe I deserve that too. I deserve to do something just to feel good. Cilithol is still sleeping hard, maybe I can do something… I sit against the wall, away from Cilithol. I will keep my hands off of her. But it doesn’t hurt to look. I pull up the skirt on my maidservant’s dress. The attire both of us are wearing makes it even more titillating.
It’s amusing how exploitation becomes something sexual. Anghenfilod using my disadvantageous position to hurt and abuse my body, I find it so incredibly sexual. Combine that with the image of a maid, a disadvantaged position prone to hurt and abuse from their masters or employers, an image that has also become sexualised. I’m twitching with every heavy beat of my heart. I remember the wet grasp of the mimics tentacles, I remember the hot breath of the dire wolf seeping into the bite wounds on my shoulder. I remember the constricting squeeze of the infinite snake. My imagination moves beyond memory, and it is more wild. I think of a Wyrm, its noble and powerful body with shiny scales and massive haunches... I make it a hybrid with the features of a centaur, lacking a head to give it a place for just my upper body to stick out from, mind hijacked with pleasure from the stinging nettles piercing the skin of my lower body inside of its mouth. The chimaera in my imagination and the visual of Cilithol lying in front of me, saliva dripping down the edge of her dreaming smile and her legs splayed just how I left them.
I hope that no spirit interrupts me as I rub myself with perhaps a bit too much enthusiastic vigour. What this “Wyrmtaur” would make me do to Cilithol to satisfy its own reproductive cycle… Fffuck, I shouldn’t… No, I deserve to feel good! I’ve had so much taken from me, I want something back, I want to have this! I want to cum in my own hand, by my own hand! I’m sweating so hard. I slow down and stretch my legs out. At that very moment, Cilithol twitches and turns her head immediately toward me. The loudest silent scream draws out in my head as I quickly pull the dress down and shrink behind my knees. Cilithol quickly looks away with wide eyes, as if pretending she did not see it. I whisper to her from across the room. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
Cilithol stares at the ceiling for a while before gently saying,
“If you want me to leave the room while you… ‘Do your thing’ that’s alright. Just let me know when you’re done.”
I yell louder than I intend to from the panic and shame filling my body, a damp energy demanding to be released.
“No! Stay here! We’re in a servant’s closet on the fourth floor of the palace, it’s too dangerous to go out alone.”
Cilithol makes a point not to look back towards me, but she gasps a little.
“The fourth floor? How the fuck did we get here?”
“Oh… That’s right, you hit your head really hard I think. Do you remember that we bounced in here after being thrown out of that big tumour thing?”
She rubs her head, feeling for welts. She seems to find one hidden under her hair as she winces when she pushes her hand over it.
“I think so… I can’t believe we crashed all the way up on the fourth floor though. We have our work cut out for us.”
Her stomach growling interrupts her last sentence. I inform her of the bigger issue than her catching me masturbating.
“We can’t go up higher just yet. We have to eat, and we lost our food. The second floor of this place was famous for its interior gardens. They recycled all their water, so if we’re lucky they might still be alive down there, just like the trees at that old college are still alive after all this time.”
She speaks slowly “So we have to go down to the second floor… Then all the way back up to the fifth.”
“Yes.”
Her stomach growls again.
“How are you feeling, Cariadus?”
I’m still sweating, and there’s a pit in my brain screaming at me to be embarrassed and to kill myself right here and now out of shame. Cilithol looks down at her own body.
“What’s with the dress?”
“Like I said, we landed in a servant’s closet. There were still maid dresses hung on the walls, I cleaned the dust off them. Our clothes were ruined from the broken glass.”
“Oh… Okay. We should start heading down then before we starve.”
Yeah… We should go. Everything is back to normal. I’ve had fantasies of Cilithol catching me jerking off before, where she would sheepishly look away with a red face as if she wants to join me. But in reality it’s just an embarrassing mistake of bad timing, and a swift return to normal to forget it happened. I wonder if she’ll ask why I was looking at her sleeping body while I was doing it. I don’t know what I could say. I would be caught. I’d have to admit I loved her like that but… That’s so scary. Too scary. I don’t want her to ask. But I do. But she shouldn’t.
She takes me up on her back and we slowly open the door, checking out in the hallway for any Anghenfilod. We don’t see anything but an ornate dusty carpet, unlit gold chandeliers hanging above our heads, and fancy doors that open into fancier living spaces. We duck between rooms, half-hiding from anything that might be out there and half-looking for useful stuff to grab. We find a decently sized handbag in one room and shake it out. Since Cilithol lost our other bag, we’ll use this to store anything we need, including the valuables we’re here for. There are pieces of silverware and regal clothes around, but none of that will sell for nearly as much as what we need to quit doing this altogether. We need something that will truly be a breakthrough. The fact that these smaller things are here though are proof that the palace hasn’t been ransacked already. The thing that will bring us out of poverty and prisoner status for good will be here, and we’ll probably know it when we see it.
We creep out into the hallway after looking through another room, but movement at the end of the hall forces us to quickly duck back in and slam the door behind us. We don’t hear anything more, but something definitely moved out there. We wait for a whole minute in silence, backs pressed against the door, breathing heavy and as quietly as we can. I whisper to Cilithol “I can peek out if I make my head invisible. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.” She appreciates my bravery and nods. I cast invisibility on my head and crack the door just enough to see. I look down the hallway to where we saw the movement, and there is an ugly statue that was definitely not there previously. Before I can register the danger I’ve just put myself in, my eyes lock with the statue.
A horrible chill rolls up my body. I slam the door again and release the spell from my head. Cilithol is asking me what’s wrong, and without a word I show her my feet. From the bottom up, my feet are being turned to stone. What I saw out there was a Grotesque. A living statue, an Anghenfil. Looking it in the eyes is a death trap unless you have a good number of others with you who can carry your petrified body away before it reaches your head. The stone is spreading up my foot and is almost at my ankle. Already it feels heavy to move my legs. They don't teach about these in Slayer training, as they've only been seen here in Seth.
“Cilithol! It’s a Grotesque! Whatever you do, do not look it in the eyes! I’m turning to stone now, it will continue up my body. It doesn’t just turn me to stone, it’s taking my flesh for itself, swapping our bodies so to speak. Once it has my legs it will be able to walk around easily.”
The stone has already spread up to my shins in the time it took to explain what is out there. I can hear the stone body teetering towards us on careful feet, banging on the floor out in the hall.
“I don’t know what to do, Cariadus! How do we stop this happening to you?”
I’m violently shaken as the Grotesque has reached our door, and is ramming its stone body into it.
“You have to smash the Grotesque while it’s still made of stone, then everything will be reversed. It’s stealing my real flesh, so any harm you do to its fleshy parts will come back to me when it reverts, so avoid the parts it has stolen from me already! That’s why I can’t use a good spell against it, I’d end up destroying my own legs!”
Sure, Cilithol could heal the damage. But completely destroying a part of my body with an explosion or pulverising it might be breaking it beyond repair. I’m sure Cilithol had a difficult time healing my crushed hands earlier. The only saving grace in that situation was that there were still bone platelets to put back together. A blast spell strong enough to destroy a Grotesque would break my own bones far past that point. Cilithol gets ready at the door with a massive hammer in both hands, ready to pulverise the Grotesque as soon as it breaks in. I roll under the bed and notice that the stone has stopped spreading at my thighs. I thought it was supposed to continue until you were completely covered…
The door finally splinters and falls out of its frame, the Grotesque standing on legs that look so much like mine. It’s an extremely strange sight, a heavy stone body set on such puny legs. It seems to be having a hard time keeping balanced. Cilithol has her eyes closed but has enough audial information to know where to swing. She shifts her feet into position but they drag. There’s something wrong. She almost opens her eyes to see what is going on, but I can see clearly. She has begun turning to stone, starting at the upper thigh where it had stopped on my body, and it’s spreading fast. This is unfair... It’s not making eye contact with a Grotesque that does this, it only has to look at you! In mere seconds of it being able to see her, her entire torso up to the base of her neck is turned to stone and the Grotesque now has flesh up to that point, resembling Cilithol’s body grafted onto my legs. At least she still has most of her arms. Cilithol falls over but grabs the blanket from the bed on her way down, throwing it over herself and the bed to shield us from its gaze. The spreading stops.
What is it going to do to us under here? What can it do with a body? Cilithol’s instincts kick in as she rolls out of the way, using her arms to push herself and taking the blanket with her. The Grotesque had tried to attack by slamming its heavy head down onto her, but she dodged out of the way and it's now stuck in the floor. Its head and neck are all that’s left still made of stone. We have such a narrow window to hit it without hurting ourselves in the process. It’s trying to pull its head out of the floor, but my legs are too weak. It can't get a lot of leverage even with Cilithol’s strong arms, and the long chin of its exaggerated face hooked beneath the floor prevents it from pulling itself out. Cilithol pulls herself up to a sit and grabs her hammer.
I call out to her quickly “No! You’ll break your own back doing that!”
Thankfully she hesitates. Though at that moment, another Anghenfil appears in the broken doorway, it must have been attracted by the noise. It’s a Siren. A diminutive little creature that looks like a toothless mouth with sprouting legs and wide flapping feet. They’re harmless in the way of bites or claws, but the danger lies in their vocalisations. They have a certain “song” that compels other creatures to obey them. If we can’t get to it, we could be under its spell any second now. I try to take aim at it in the doorway with a precise cutting spell, but it hides behind the wall. I can't pinpoint where it is, and any kind of blast spell could end up hurting us more than it.
It starts to make its strange frog-like call from its hiding spot. Covering your ears does nothing unless you can completely deafen yourself. Neither me nor Cilithol have the means to do that. Soon we’ll only be half-conscious as it controls us… But it will catch the Grotesque too, assuming it can “hear” somehow. The way it located us inside the room tells me that it can sense things in similar ways to us, despite the stony exterior. I don’t know what the siren will make us do. Lie down and be eaten alive by its pack? Kill ourselves on a broken bedpost? The stupid song starts to take hold of our minds. I feel distant from my body all of the sudden, and very sleepy.
I can only kind of make out what is happening through blurry vision and intense dissociation. The Siren is making us pull the Grotesque’s head out of the floor. As we are forced to turn it over, Cilithol’s face is turned to stone in a matter of seconds. She can’t even scream, her frozen face just looks scared. Her entire body from the waist up is now turned to stone, and the Grotesque… It looks just like Cilithol from the waist up, even her face and hair were copied over perfectly. It stands again, stretching its body, getting used to wearing meat. I recall the life cycle of a Grotesque. They’re born in their larval stage, laid like a stone egg that rolls around and gathers other rocks to grow. They then steal the flesh of other creatures until they’re fully formed, when they are considered an adult. The first duty for any adult Anghenfil is to mate. With another Grotesque? I hope…? The Grotesque approaches me. The copy of Cilithol’s eyes burn with the uncontrollable biological drive to reproduce with the first thing it lays eyes on. Not again, oh god.
I reach for the Claisthavn. I don’t really know why, I can’t do anything to the Grotesque without hurting Cilithol now. It wouldn't be scared of me brandishing this thing as a threat. It knows what position I’m in. Its foot, my foot, pins my wrist to the ground, it puts all its weight onto me. God, it’s heavy! Heavier than Cilithol, surely. Why is that? Are there some parts of a Grotesque that are still made of stone, or is the flesh that it “steals” not actual flesh? I've read that even someone completely turned to stone can survive when the Grotesque is killed. That was alleged by a group who was able to kill a Grotesque through an attack on the inside of its body. When it died, the flesh was returned to their ally, and he suffered none of the effects of the magic. But why is that? It could be that only the outside of the body is stolen by the Grotesque, preserving the organs and blood of the victim only until they die of starvation or thirst, or the Grotesque is killed and their body returned. My legs are stone, but they aren’t dead. The insides are still alive, the blood and the bone, and Cilithol’s organs, including her brain. The Grotesque is still stony on the inside. That must be the case. It better be, if we're going to survive this
The air is knocked out of me as the Grotesque’s other heavy foot pounds on my chest. It kicks the weapon away from me. I’m heaving, gasping for any bit of breath I can get. The Siren’s song is forcing me to lie still, so the movements are made even harder. It feels like one of my ribs is broken, like a sharp knife is being pushed into me from the inside out every time my chest moves. The Grotesque wearing Cilithol’s skin gets down onto its hands and knees, still pinning my arms down. It’s rubbing itself on me aimlessly, like it’s trying to figure out how to actually mate. Grotesques are probably not as familiar with Sengl bodies, and they don’t have the reproductive adaptation that a Centaur has. It’s still trying to figure me out through my clothes. Hopefully this will stall it until the Siren stops singing. The moment that happens I’ll be able to make an Arwyth and destroy the Grotesque's stone innards, hopefully killing it and restoring my sister's body. It’ll hurt Cilithol, but only the surface. She’ll be able to heal herself. I’m sorry, sister, but it’s better than letting you stay trapped in a stone body until you starve to death.
On the other hand, though, the Grotesque could get frustrated and fed up with me, and kill me right here. I have to hold out, just for a second… Pushing a bit of panic out of my mind, I can see what is happening to me more clearly. It’s Cilithol’s naked body pushing onto me, rubbing up against me. Pinning me down, trying desperately to find some way to breed with me. It’s so strange. It’s her body, this is really what it would look like. But the face, none of Cilithol’s emotion is in it. The way it’s moving is nothing like her, it has none of her tenderness and fluidity. I should like what I see, but it’s just not the same. She’s beautiful, but what makes me want her is more than just her appearance. I would really have preferred to have a sexual encounter with the stony Grotesque itself rather than someone else’s body grafted onto it.
I’m also self-conscious being able to see my own thin, pale legs. Usually I can see my arteries quite prominently, but not on the Grotesque. More confirmation to me that they are still mine. It’s really a miracle that the dire wolf didn’t rip it out of me. If I was a revenge-hungry wolf I would feel really good pulling out that string of blood from a screaming, dying girl with my teeth. Her dead body would… Wait, what? What am I thinking? My head is swimming so much from the Siren that I’m losing track of everything around me, and my thoughts are slipping into dark corners. The Grotesque has its hands off of my arms, it’s now poking and prodding my body curiously. It’s just about to pull up my dress before the Siren makes a sharp note in its song, and is abruptly cut off.
A surge of panic shoots through my own head, I feel like I’m going to die at this very instant, but I quickly realise that that was not my emotion, but the Siren’s own fear being injected into me through its song. The siren in the doorway is crushed underneath the heavy foot of another Grotesque, half-formed from unidentifiable Anghenfil parts. The Grotesque inspecting me stands up and stares at the other one. I can move my hands. Now is my chance. I fire a powerful blast towards both of the Grotesques, spreading it out to hit both of them at once. The head of the new arrival breaks and its body returns to stone as the flesh it stole is returned. The one attacking me takes enough force to smash against the wall, bruising and breaking the skin as well as pulverising the stone body inside of it. It returns to stone as well and crumbles in pieces to the ground.
I squeal in victory as my body is returned to me, then wince and cry out in pain as the horrible ache across my legs catches up with me. My sister gasps for air between anguished groaning. Her entire body save her legs is bruising. My legs hurt too much to move them, so I drag myself by my arms up to her and hug her, apologising and trying to explain what happened. She still can’t quite get her words in, but she hugs me back. That must be a good thing. I feel warmth fall over me, not just from Cilithol’s body but the magic she’s casting on us. The pain in my legs subsides and the bruises on my sister’s body fade.
“Cariadus… It was terrifying. I lost all of my senses, and could barely breathe. If I didn’t have my mouth open when it turned to stone I think I would have suffocated.”
She looks over to the two crumbled Grotesques in the doorway.
“You took them out… That’s good work. Did it look like me? That must've been hard.”
I shift uncomfortably and pull away from her.
“Yes… It did. I’m so sorry I had to hurt you to kill it.”
She puts on a gentle smile, “It doesn’t matter. It’s all healed up, and you saved us. Nothing can stop us if we can come back from literally being turned to stone.”
“Except hunger.”
Both of us nod.
“Right. We have to find the way down. Let’s not waste time.”
We stand, getting ready to continue down to the gardens when something catches my eye. Down in the hole that the Grotesque made in the floor with its head, there’s a crawl space between here and the floor below. The sunlight coming through the window is glinting off of the latches on a box that we could reach if we jumped down. I nearly laugh, it's like a treasure chest you get at the end of a choose-your-own-adventure book.
“Cilithol, look. There’s a crawl space and a chest. We could probably have an easier time moving through there than through the halls.”
Cilithol gets on her belly and peeks down into the space.
“Yeah, it looks pretty empty, though it’s dark. Damn that box is tempting me. Lets get it.”
I cast a light to hover over Cilithol’s head. She’s taller than me, so it will make less shadow. She lowers herself down into the crawl space and lands on her feet. She holds her arms out ready to catch me and I carefully let myself fall into them. The crawl space between floors is filled with spiderwebs, thankfully belonging to normal Animal spiders. Their huge eyes gleam in the light and they hold stock still. They must just eat each other down here. The chest is ancient, but is well-preserved. If you didn’t know any better you would think that it was put here recently. We break it open with a hammer. The inside is even cleaner than the outside. Resting on a cushion in the chest is a silver plate of some kind. It’s an irregular, sort of triangular shape. Cilithol reaches out to touch it but I quickly grab her hand.
“Cilithol, don’t touch it. I know what this is. It’s a Wyrm scale.”
Cilithol’s eyes widen. “This is exactly what we’re looking for! This is legendary, auctioning a dragon scale would get us everything we need to leave Madarch!”
I shake my head sadly. She’s right, but we just can’t take this.
“That’s true, but… It’s a Wyrm scale. Something like this is cursed. It could be from one of the ancient Wyrms that terrorised this island when it was whole. It’s an evil object.”
Cilithol purses her lips and looks away disappointed, shutting the chest again.
“Fine… Let’s keep going. I don’t even want to look at it.”
Even though we can’t take it, a Wyrm scale is extremely rare. There have been others discovered on this island, as well as Wyrm skeletons. The usual excitement that someone would have seeing something like this is flattened by the implications. To me, it just tells me that the Wyrms in the ancient legends were really here. They might really be behind the destruction of this place. There’s a lot of debate about the historicity of those legends, and even the message of the legends themselves.
In one camp there are those who say that the ruler of this place warred against and protected Sengl against Wyrms before his own people turned against him in a series of uprisings and petty wars inspired by the corrupt influence of the Wyrms. That’s the interpretation the Union Parliament trusts and uses in its resettlement narrative.
In another camp there’s the story that the Sengl golden age fell apart because the ruler himself was evil and guided by some dark entity to stoke division among all Sengl so that he could take power, and that he will return someday. That’s the less popular interpretation, but it’s the older one of the two. Some Farlands historians say that the later, more popular interpretation intentionally scrubbed many parts out of the legend.
The third camp says that there was no golden age, that the power of Seth and its ruler came from brutality and exploitation of all Sengl, using the conflict and conquest of the Wyrms to justify it. The third camp is certainly the rarest, but most people here have inclinations towards it. They think that people are far too interested in finding some amount of historicity in the legends that doesn't really exist. I tend to agree intuitively, a thousand year old tale would obviously be nearly completely exaggeration and bias by now, but seeing the palace and that stronghold in the Cavemouth and now what looks exactly like a Wyrm scale... I'm so confused as to what's real or invented or exaggerated.
As I’m thinking, Cilithol has been exploring looking for the way out. There are so many spiderwebs in our way, I’m tempted to just burn them all so we can get through easier, but I might take the rest of this floor down with them. Instead, Cilithol is using a long scythe to chop through the webs, sending the spiders scampering along the floor. Without so many walls in the way, we’ll be able to find the staircase going down to the floor beneath us quickly and with less risk. We’re barely speaking to each other in fear of a heap of dust or spiderweb getting into our lungs. My sister squishes something with her foot and she reflexively jumps backwards. It’s a good thing she did, since she just narrowly avoided her ankle being grabbed by a wild vine on the floor. I increase the intensity of the light. The stairs between floors are definitely here, and we could break through the wall. However, they are completely overgrown with purple vines that are whipping around wildly due to our intrusion.
“Cilithol, we have to find their roots and cut them off there.”
She nods and starts circling around the vines’ reach looking for their source. There's a hole in the flooring above where all the vines converge. Wherever they’re growing from must be up there. I take careful aim and launch a cutting spell into the bundle of vines. They’re separated cleanly from the source and the mass of plant matter falls to the ground. All the cut-off vines begin to thrash and writhe in their death throes, as the wounded roots retreat back into the ceiling. Once the vines stop convulsing we step over them to break a hole into the wall to access the stairs. The wall crumbles under Cilithol's hammer and we drop down onto the staircase going down to the third floor.
Well, Cilithol does. I’m about to jump down into her arms before a vine wraps around my waist and pulls me into the air. I feel instant nausea from the whiplash. Cilithol yells and begins trying to climb back up into the crawl space, but I’m quickly surrounded by dozens more vines and pulled through the hole in the ceiling, to the source of the vines. The part I cut must have regenerated immediately, or perhaps there were many more waiting above. I can see the plant the vines are attached to now. It’s scarier than I expected. Spilling out from a mundane ancient flowerpot is a massive carnivorous plant-like Anghenfil with snapping jaws and noxiously sweet gases spewing from its “mouth.” This creature thinks it has me, huh? My hands are free, and I’m willing to risk a little danger before I’m eaten.
I flick my finger and let loose a tiny flame, no larger than a lit taper. The gas in the air ignites just like I expected, the airborne fire travels right into the Anghenfil’s mouth. The concentration of gas inside of its body combusts at once, and the creature is blown apart. I only take a minor burn on the face and a scratch on my arm from a shard of flower pot. The wet plant matter protects the rest of the room from catching fire, a thick goop like the innards of an aloe plant covers everything, including me. As the destroyed vines thrash around me, I fall back down into the crawl space below where Cilithol was waiting to catch me. She puts out a small fire burning in my hair and spits into her palm to rub on my burns, healing me as she does.
“What the hell was up there, Cariadus?”
I mime a snapping mouth with my hands.
“A carnivorous plant-like Anghenfil. It was spitting gas, so I ended it quick. It was a bit exhilarating.”
She smiles warmly and confirms that I’m not hurt, closing up the cut on my arm as well. The weird gel from the plant actually felt very nice on my wounds, especially the burn, so we scooped up a bit and put it in our handbag. We drop back down onto the stairs without problem this time. The third floor is where the ruler would appear to the public, and that’s clear from the elaborate and overwhelming decorum. After a short hallway we find a throne room of sorts. It's very large and open, the walls are covered in tapestries and paintings of beautiful landscapes filled with plant and fungus alike. It's true that this whole island was populated by both in the past. We still don't know what made the plants stop growing everywhere except the southwest. Everything is gilded. In the middle of the floor is a tall chair, the crest rail tapering to the shape of a spear, perhaps a representation of the ruler’s spear which he would use to split Madarch apart.
The throne is surrounded by four sets of ornate rising benches, like a courtroom. All of this extravagant set dressing was nothing compared to the statue at the far end of the room. Cilithol froze the moment she saw it, reaching for her weapon. It’s a life-size statue of a Wyrm, made of- or at least coated in- gleaming silver, every scale and curve in its body fully detailed, every drop of saliva in the mouth and every groove in its fangs. The metal hasn’t lost a single bit of its lustre. It must be the statue of Orgone, a legendary Wyrm who turned her body into silver when the Sengl came to defeat her. The scale we saw in the crawl space was probably taken off of this statue. Shit, we should have taken it if it was just part of an art piece. Then again it wouldn’t go for as much money. If only we could take the entire statue. This is a work of art that was only known to exist in myth until now.
We’re right up next to the statue, inspecting it, hesitant to touch it not because we think it will curse us but because we don’t want to somehow ruin this masterpiece. Cilithol suddenly slaps it with an open palm. The sound rings out through the entire hall. She lets out a laugh and slaps it again. I roll my eyes, but she doesn't see.
“Cariadus, mark this as the day that I slew a dragon.”
“Noted.”
She puts her hand to her cheek. “It’s warm.”
Strange. Silver holds heat well, but it’s not that hot in here.
“Well, enough ogling at this statue. This would give us and a thousand more people lifetimes of luxury, but there’s no way to get it out of here.”
Cilithol sighs and picks me back up. We have to keep going down, no matter how much we want to rub the Wyrm. Once we’re about to take the next stairs down, I pretend I’ve dropped something and tell Cilithol to wait for me at the stairs while I go get it. She doesn’t even question what it is I’ve dropped, but she keeps an eye on me from across the room. The statue of the Wyrm is 100% anatomically accurate right? I crawl underneath the statue of the dragon, looking at its underside. I go to the base of the tail and… Oh well. There’s nothing there. Cowards. Only 90% anatomically accurate. I crawl back out and hurry over to Cilithol.
“Did you find it?”
“Yes!”
I hop up onto her back again and we go down the stairs to where the gardens will hopefully be alive, well, and growing food for us. The air itself feels different as we go down, it feels more humid and clean going into our lungs. There’s a droning sound like the low chirping of insects. When we reach the bottom of the stairs, our jaws drop. The gardens are indeed thriving. The hall is full of beautiful plants that we’ve never seen before, their leaves in all colours. There’s so much variety, you would think that every plant in the world was kept here. The paths through the gardens are perfectly maintained, making it easy to navigate. There are plaques here and there that must have been dedicated to teaching about the plants, but of course we can’t read them. The sound of cicadas and grasshoppers fills our heads, as well as the lilting of a stream coming from somewhere in here.
How is all this possible without sunlight and water? In the past, there was some system in place that would recycle nearly all of the water introduced into the gardens, but there’s no way that could last thousands of years. The sunlight is another matter as well, as they used to have gardener mages tend to the plants, casting light for them throughout the day. Over the sound of bugs, there’s a loud clunking from nearby. Cilithol and I duck into a soft, large bush to hide us. This bush is like a willow tree, its branches drooping down gently rather than sticking out, it makes our hiding spot pretty comfortable. There, coming up the path was a floating orb of light, like a powerful light spell. It’s not just one, but many of them in a row. Who is controlling them?
The lights fall into each other and combine, getting closer to the tall ceiling before exploding. The whole room glows a little bit brighter, and gets a little bit warmer. Following them are a similar procession of rainclouds, low enough that you could touch them. They move upwards and spread out over this part of the garden, and it begins to rain. Now that it’s raining, I can see what is controlling this. There are Dryads, just barely visible through the glinting of raindrops off of the sun. That’s the only way one can see them unless they reveal themselves to you. Dryads are not Anghenfilod, though they're not Sengl either. A Dryad is a type of Peris, definitely not within my area of expertise, though their influence in the world is as natural as ours. While Peris themselves are elusive, they seem to be related to Sengl in some way, and rarely Sengl will discover some intuitive connection to them. Those Sengl usually aren't seen again for decades before coming back changed. Not for worse but... Just different. The influence of living with Peris for a long time does something to you. That's why Hosshallians are like that I think.
“Cilithol, they’re Dryads. They won’t hurt us.”
I’m relieved it’s not spirits taking care of things down here. We step out onto the path and feel the rain pour on us. Finally, everything seems okay and we can eat. Cilithol goes and finds fruits while I pick vegetables from the ground. It’s kind of hard to tell what’s a vegetable or not, but the soil is wet enough now that I can put my fingers under it to check if there’s a sizeable root without disturbing the plant. We regroup in a few minutes and see what we have. The vegetables I picked look delicious, there’s some large onions, some long orange ones, and a strange yellow one with a soft skin that is curled up like a horn. She found some gorgeous fruits, a small brown one with itchy hairs but a bright green inside, some peppers, a handful of various berries which she confirmed aren’t poisonous, and even a few mangoes.
“Cariadus, I found a stream in here while I was looking around. We should wash these in it.”
She takes me further back and sure enough there’s a brook flowing through the garden, full of rocks and little crustaceans. Cilithol had already caught a few of them with a knife. We spend the next hour setting up a fire to cook and boil water with, soaking whittled bark in the stream, peeling and slicing the fruits and vegetables, and purging the shells of the crab. When we’re ready we skewer them on the sticks and roast them over our fire. Of course, we ate a few fruits and vegetables while we were waiting to appease our starving stomachs, but now the real meal begins. We take the skewers off the fire and dig in. Everything about these is perfect, better than anything we’ve eaten in our lives. Sure, we’ve been hungrier before, plenty of times. We’ve gone days without eating. But never in the middle of an Anghenfil-filled ancient city where we’ve nearly died multiple times. That makes this bit of peace and quiet feel so much better.
I’m surprised the Dryads don’t care that we’re eating from the garden. Maybe Sengl were allowed to do so when this whole palace was functional, an entire ecosystem under our direct control, unique to the palace where Sengl were the apex predator instead of Anghenfilod. We boil and drink the water from the stream as well, though it's so clear I don't even think we had to purify it. We haven’t seen a single Anghenfil in the whole garden, so we decide to lie down and properly rest with food and water in our stomachs. Once we wake we’re going to dedicate more time to collecting food that we can carry with us. Both of us curl up under one of those droopy bushes under a tree to keep out of the rain. Neither of us have spoken to each other for a while, simply enjoying the moment of peace. Cilithol kisses me on the head and whispers goodnight. I push my head into her and fall asleep easily, exhausted from everything that has happened in such a short amount of time. When our energy for magic is restored in the morning, and having eaten a good meal, we’ll both be ready to go straight to the top floor and find our freedom.
When I wake up hours later, it’s to the feeling of a hand on my breast. It’s not just lying there in sleep, but it’s squeezing, groping, loving me. I can tell right away it’s Cilithol’s hand. Her other hand is around my waist, rubbing at my thigh. I don’t open my eyes, I pretend that I’m still asleep. I didn’t know she had this in her. I guess I completely misunderstood her feelings towards me. She’s not only a little incest freak like me, but a molester as well. Maybe if I do open my eyes I can tell her it’s all okay… At this point I feel brave enough. As I cutely flutter my eyes open, Cilithol appears to still be sleeping, slumped over and drooling in her own lap. Her hands are being guided by another force, an olive-skinned shimmering hand grabbing her hand and fingers, directing them where to go and how to squeeze. The hand is connected to a long, hairless arm.
I couldn’t see the Dryads clearly before through the rain, but I can see them now. I always thought that their featureless look was only due to their transparency, but they truly are featureless. No face, no hair, no bone showing inside the see-through body. No naval, no fingernails or veins in the backs of their hands. It makes sense, why would Peris need those kind of things when their body is semi-incorporeal in the first place, merely a representation of their Sengl cousins? But why is it moving my sister like this? Is it just trying to make me feel good? Is it taking care of me as an inhabitant of the garden, reading me for my wants and desires? The spirit of that woman upstairs knew something about what I wanted, can these Dryads tell the same about me? Did the spirit woman tell them?
Another Dryad behind me grabs my head and pulls me backwards, kissing me. I don’t know how it kisses me without lips, or any facial features for that matter, but it feels the same. It’s pushing something like saliva into my mouth. It’s thick and tastes like honey and tree sap. It’s making my mind feel fuzzy, fuzzy and really good. An aphrodisiac? The Dryad guiding Cilithol’s hands is kissing her too, I see Cilithol swallowing the sap. She wakes up fully, looking dazed and euphoric. The Dryad takes its hands off of her, and she keeps groping at me. Her eyes lazily fall on me, and I expect her to freak out but… She looks like she’s waiting for me to say something. My entire face is red and I’m having a hard time thinking about the best thing to do. Right now I just want her to keep going. I gulp another mouthful of Dryad sap and slowly nod to her. She closes her eyes and smiles, fondling me gentler than she was before. She registered it was me, asked me if I wanted it with her eyes, and kept going. If she's as conscious as I am, it was an intentional and knowing decision.
The sap is affecting her mind too, I know, there’s no way she would do such a thing to me if not inebriated. But while we’re here, and the Dryads don’t seem to want to hurt us… There’s no harm in it. Soon we’ll both snap out of it aware of what we did and knowing that we both wanted it, when we have a clearer mind we will still know the decision was ours. She asked me if I wanted to. The Dryads get back to “helping” us along, joining in on the molestation pile. They’re grabbing the backs of our heads and pushing our faces together. They’re making us kiss. It’s not the first time Cilithol has kissed me on the mouth, there was that time in the alley a few days ago. But it’s the first time I’ve felt such mutual sexuality in it, her hands gently holding my body and feeling me up, though still avoiding the contentious areas. The Dryads won’t stand for her hesitancy, so they take her hands and put them onto my crotch.
Her eyes flicker open again and she looks concerned, trying to pull away before I take her hand as well, squeezing it, telling her it’s okay. She nods and starts to kiss my neck, biting gently as she lightly rubs my cock through the maidservant’s dress. The Dryads leave for a moment, I have some time alone with Cilithol like this. It feels like a dream, not just because this is something I never thought would happen, but because it literally feels like I’m in a dreamy haze. It’s similar to the effect the Siren had on my mind, but instead of a strange dissociation it feels the exact opposite. I feel like I’m everything in my body, like my consciousness has melted and is sloshing around, seeping through the cracks in my skull down my spine and through my lungs and heart. I am my body, the body being felt and loved by my sister. She probably feels the same. The crown of the body has been brought down to be polished in basal desires and energetic sensation. What will happen when we eventually snap out of this? When Cilithol’s common sense comes back to her, how will she react?
The Dryads are back and are sticking flowers under our noses. They’re beautiful, with eight sepals curling out from a thorny stem, a white core that smells something like pineapples, and surrounded by large disc-shaped pink petals. There’s something about the smell of the flower, no, the pollen, that's making me sleepy again… Cilithol’s movements slow and I can tell she’s getting drowsy as well. Before I know it I’ve blacked out alongside my sister, left alone by the Dryads after giving them their entertainment. I swear I can hear them laugh as my consciousness fades.
I wake up somewhere else entirely. We’re in a bed, an extremely large and elegant bed. Around me is a massive room with a nonsensical layout, it looks like an entire mansion except without any walls between the rooms. Completely open floor pattern. Elaborate rugs on the floor act like paths between here, what looks like the bedroom, and everywhere else. As my senses heighten I'm alerted to the worst sound I could possibly hear. My sister is crying. Worse than before, it’s loud and hard. She’s in what looks like a bathing room, there’s a personal washing pool that she is curled up inside. I get up as fast as I can and run over to her. It takes a few moments, this place is so spacious.
She’s crying so much it’s like she'll fill the pool if she goes on long enough. I’ve never seen her face so red and tensed up in pain. My mind feels like it’s about to blank. I don’t know what to do. How do I help with this? I’m utterly useless, it’s always her that makes me feel better. When Kystad made her cry a few days ago, all I could do was be next to her. This feels far beyond that, but I can try. I come up to the side of the bath and try to climb inside. She sees me coming and scrambles up, trying to run away from me to somewhere else in the room. I slip over myself and into the pool, sliding down to the bottom. She ran away from me. I must have caused this. It was what happened with the Dryads, wasn’t it? She thinks I’m a freak, she thinks I’m a rapist. Maybe I am. I am the one who wants to be incestuous with my sister, I’m the one that let her do things to me fully aware we were under the influence of Peris.
I’ve started to cry too, my falling tears mixing with hers at the bottom of the pool. The small choking sounds I’m trying to hide are echoing off of the porcelain dome around me, making them louder than I wish. After a few moments I hear Cilithol sniffling, looking over the edge of the pool. She reaches down and touches my hair, but doesn’t get any closer. I can’t keep anything in anymore. It all has to come out.
“I’m so sorry, Cilithol, I love you, please don’t go away, I want you to be my sister and I want you to love me and…”
I have to take a deep breath, I can’t communicate my thoughts perfectly but I can do it good enough for her to finally hear,
“I love you, I want to be your sister, I want to be your wife, I want to be kissed by you and I want you to have sex with me and I don’t want to give up one for the other, I want both, I want to have it both, I want to be together for the rest of our lives but I ruined it…”
My quick series of confessions trails off into a long cry. Cilithol takes her hand away from my hair. She finally talks back to me between shaky breaths.
“I don’t know what to say Cariadus. I don’t know what to do about this. I can’t live with myself after hurting you like that.”
Is she not worried about what I’m saying? Why isn’t she condemning me? Why is she only concerned with the harm done to me?
“I don’t know what to say anymore, and I feel like if I try to help you I will only hurt you more. We should have gone home long before you were ever subjected to any of this. Cariadus, I will love you no matter what. No matter how you feel about me or what you want from me, even if I can’t give you what you want. I can’t agree with you. I don’t…”
She pauses for a few seconds.
“I don’t want what you want. At all.”
She turns away from me to wipe her face and teardrops fall on my shoulder from above. I choke, angry at myself.
“I wish we never came out here. It was my stupid idea.”
Cilithol barks back. “It was not your idea! Stop lying to yourself to make it your fault, it was me. It was me in that bed who suggested we go here. You agreed because I convinced you. It’s my fault this happened, and now we’re here, and we can’t get out, we can’t go back, and you’ve been raped by nearly every monster we come across, I can’t make sense of it, god is being cruel to my sister, we must have- we must have crossed god by coming here, we…”
She slumps over, her words becoming desperate to find meaning in any of this, to make this anything but a useless venture that has done nothing but kill us, all at her suggestion. I croak and hold out my arms for her.
“Cilithol… Please…”
She climbs into the pool without any hesitation and slides down next to me, holding me tight. I grab her and talk into her shoulder.
“I don’t say we shouldn’t have come here because of everything that has happened to me. It’s because I never wanted you to see me like this. I knew it would ruin everything, nothing would be the same. When I was raped by that mimic in the fortress I knew you wouldn’t treat me the same way, and it kept happening. I didn’t even tell you about the wolf while you were taken away. I’m ashamed. You don’t deserve a sister who can’t be anything but a victim.”
Her grip tightens on my back.
“You have already gone through enough. Shame is useless. I don’t want you to be ashamed at all.”
Then why does she avoid so much as seeing me with my shirt off if it’s not something she’s ashamed of? Why is she crying in the corner for something she did that we both enjoyed if shame is so useless? I don’t feel like opening my mouth for anything but whimpering. I want to shut up and never speak again, never act again so that I can be good for my sister. If I never speak what I think, if my body doesn’t act as I tell it to, then I can be whatever she wants me to be, and we can go back to being together forever. She’s trying to console me now but I already feel that my world has been destroyed. She is kissing me on the forehead.
“Cariadus… We're still sisters. We always will be, I’ll always love you, and I am not going anywhere. No matter what you think or feel I won’t let you go. But we have to leave, we have to get out of here so that you won't be hurt again. We can live our lives on our own terms even if we keep struggling. We just have to get back home.”
What was the point of all this then… Everything will have changed for nothing. She’ll always think less of me, I know it.
“Let’s get up. We can be strong, both of us. We will make it out of here, and we’ll keep living.”
Is she trying to make a motivational speech? It’s not working for me. She feels sincere, but she’s telling this to herself more than me. I finally muster up the right words for the question at the root of everything that feels wrong right now.
“Cilithol… You don’t hate me?”
She pulls her head back like she’s surprised that I could even think that. How couldn’t I in this situation? She should hate me, she should…
“No. I love you. I love you no matter how you love me. I don’t want you to silence yourself, or hurt yourself for the sake of protecting how I feel about you. Nothing can change that, ever. I can be uncomfortable, but I can also get over it.”
I look up at her, my eyes so wet that she appears as a sparkling blob of shape and colour, but I can still recognise her smile. It’s a genuine smile. How could she mean that? How could she be sincere, after learning that her little sister is a freak who likes getting raped by Anghenfilod and wants to get with her sister? How could you love someone like that? My questions are blunted as they pass through my mouth.
“How can you love something like me…”
She sits me up with her, leaning against the wall of the pool.
“A sister isn’t just family. Ask anyone in Hendir what they think of their parents and seven out of ten times you’ll hear nothing but contempt. Family is often like that. We aren’t like this just because we’re sisters. Sister is just... Some word to stand in for something else. Something that means more to us than family. Do you understand?”
I don't think I do… But I nod to her anyways.
“Then I still love you no matter what you’ve said.”
I understand that much at least. I feel my strength coming back to me as the assurance that Cilithol will always love me feels more and more true. She’s confident, I know she’s not just saying it. Things really will turn out okay.
“Carrie, can you stand? It feels dangerous to be here any longer. I don’t know what took us here but… I’ve felt something above us, and there doesn’t seem to be another way out.”
She’s right… There are more practical things to do right now. Figuring each other out has to wait until we’re not possibly in life-threatening danger. I straighten myself out.
“I’m okay. Let’s find a way out. What did you feel above us?”
She looks up at the ceiling.
“I don’t know… It was that feeling you get when you notice your lure bouncing in the water when you’re fishing. It’s not ready to pull in yet, but you know something is there… It’s heavy anticipation. But I know it can’t be good. I think we’re the fish in this situation.”
I don’t feel anything, but it still makes me nervous.
“Cilithol, do you think we’re in the private room of the ruler of this palace?”
“I think so. I didn’t look around a lot but there’s just the one bed. It’s set up so strangely, but it sure does feel fit for a ruler.”
If this is the ruler’s own room, then there must be something here worth a lifetime of money. It dawns on me how normal my thoughts feel again. After all that, after Cilithol breaking down in a pool and running away from me, it feels normal again so soon. That can’t be right. I feel like the talks haven’t ended, they've just been postponed. Right now we are just focused on getting what we came here for and getting out. Cilithol has been looking around in drawers but has found nothing. All actual possessions are gone. I wonder where they went. Because the palace has never been looted, they must have been cleared out before Madarch was split. What Cilithol said about feeling something on the floor above us bothers me deeply. How many times has it been in the past week that we’ve sensed strange things, where Cilithol just somehow knows things that will happen or that I have vivid imaginations that tell me things I never could have known? On top of it all, the sixth floor is supposed to be completely empty. Cilithol calls out from across the large room, and I rush over to see what she’s found. She’s looking at a bookshelf on the wall. Of course, the shelves are completely cleared out of their books, except for one. Cilithol is prodding at that book, it’s a plain colour with no writing on the cover or spine.
“Kind of makes it way too obvious, huh?”
She pulls on the book and we hear a click. The book does not come off the shelf, but the shelf itself rotates, taking the wall with it. Cilithol leaps back so she isn’t swept away, and on the other side is an identical shelf with an identical book. We look at each other and nod, we both figure this is the way to the sixth floor. It could be a trap, but we’ll be ready. I let magic flow freely through my body to prepare myself for anything, and Cilithol takes the Claisthavn in her hand. We pull the book again and jump into the room beyond. It’s cramped and dark, so I create a light. There’s a door with some kind of arcane code on it, it’s ancient magic that I don’t understand. I worried about the visions we have both been having, but they could really come in handy right now. An unsolvable puzzle that you'd just have to be there when it was made to know the answer to. I wonder if I could do it if I had another vision, the visions of the past like at the cliff, on the hill, in the fortress? I squeeze my eyes shut hard and press my hand on the door, trying to imagine myself as the ruler of this place, assuming that’s who made use of this door. Cilithol wonders what I’m doing, but I hold a finger up to her. I’ve almost got it.
When I open my eyes again, I’m taller, my skin is purple-grey and I’m wearing a simple green robe. There’s a whispering sound all around me, but even in the vision I can’t understand what it’s saying. I’m holding a candle in the other hand for light. I am the ruler of the palace, the Sthed-Igyd, ruler of Seth the city, of Seth the country, of Madarch. I am the liberator of Sengl from the Wyrms and firstborn in the space between Teyrnas Ochr and Tir Negythu. I am the conservator-restorer of Ewfforia, the listener of Sibrydaf, the king of Parth Perthynas. I am the divider of the old world and the phoenix of the new world. The spear rests on my back. I am going to use it now. I am going to press these letters in this order- Gwenewch, yr, hyn, sy’n, rhaid, i, chi. I press them in the reverse order- Byddwch, chi’n, Feistr. The door opens. I will be king. I will rise. I will make mulch of it all. I will… I will…
The vision slips away from me. I still don’t know what those words on the door mean. But I remember the order. Cilithol watches me curiously, probably aware of what I’m doing, as I touch the code on the door in just the right way for it to slide open. There are stairs going upwards, a spiral staircase leading up as far as I can see. I get onto Cilithol’s back but she doesn’t start up the stairs just yet.
“Cariadus, the thing that we’ve been doing. I see things that are going to happen, you see things that have happened. This isn’t some power we have, we aren’t special like that. Something is giving these to us, showing us on purpose.”
I suppose that’s true. I ask her what I already know,
“Does that have to do with your lure analogy earlier?”
She nods. “Whatever is up there has helped us get here. It could even be what’s making the monsters…”
She draws a deep breath. She doesn’t want to say it. But she could be right. Why have the Anghenfilod settled for having sex with me rather than killing us? Why do they go through the effort to mate with a creature they know is incompatible with them? We could have died anytime, but we’re here, whenever we’re in a bad puzzle, we’re given the answer. It only seems like it in hindsight, but this has all been so easy. No one has made it to the palace in many, many years, and if they do they don’t make it past the first floor or make it back at all. We got thrown right up to the third floor and got to engorge ourselves on real fruit and shellfish. Cilithol said it, we’re not special, but something has allowed us to come here mostly unharmed.
“No matter what’s up there, we will kill and sell its corpse if we have to.”
She sounds like she really means it as she starts to march up the stairs, axe in her hand. I just cling onto her, spells at the ready. It’s dead silent up here. It has been since we got to the city. Yet here there is not even an ambience. The only sound here are Cilithol’s footsteps ringing out above and below us, echoes rattling strangely by the shape of the stairs. It makes me feel stronger, we're louder than the world. I still feel the lingering power and confidence of the Sthed-Igyd, the ruler of the palace from when I was him. We march all the way to the top. I avoid looking down the middle of the stairway. The stairs aren’t wide, there is a lot of space to fall down a long, long way. It looks pitch black down there as my light is the only thing letting us see our own feet. Up above, though, there is another soft light, our only reference point for knowing that we’re getting close to the top.
Once we reach the top, we learn that the soft light is the moonfish in the sky. There is a small platform to stand on up here, and windows all around us. We’re looking out over the city as if from the top of a mountain, able to see the crater spreading out around us, every single broken building, the massive defensive walls that we now dwarf. We’re high enough to see the lights of Hendir in the distance beyond the forest. Other than this beautiful sight, there’s nothing else up here. No Anghenfil waiting to lure us in, no strange undead zombie of the ruler of the palace, no artefacts to grab and get out of here for good. Just like I thought, the sixth floor is kept completely empty.
“Cilithol, do you still feel something above us?”
She looks up into the ceiling, then angles her head to look up out the window.
“Yes. Far above us.” Disturbing.
“We should go back dow-”
Her sentence is cut when she turns to look at the stairs. I follow her eyes and see that the stairs are different now. They aren’t a spiral anymore, they go down in one direction, a new space that wasn’t there before, and looking out the window, shouldn’t be possible. The moonlight around us flashes harshly, and in the instant that both of us are blinded the windows change as well. They don’t show us the island anymore, they’re completely filled in with bedrock. The air has become much stuffier, and much colder. We’re in the fishing trap now. There is no going back.
“Cilithol… What if we don’t make it out…”
It’s the realest that worry has been at this point. Both of our confidence is broken by fear, I can tell from Cilithol’s posture. Her hands aren’t ready for a fight, I can feel in her shoulders that she’s instead primed to hold onto me and run. There’s nowhere else to go but down, so we go. I keep my magic moving through my body as well as I can, but the panic slowly building up in me makes its flow erratically. I make my light stronger, so we can see twenty paces in front of us. It’s as much as I’m willing to spare for vision rather than attacking, but it’s still nowhere near enough to make us feel okay. Eventually the staircase begins to curve again, and we step into a wide open chamber with the stairs rounding its walls.
“Cariadus, more light.”
“If I shed more light I might not have enough to…”
“It’s fine. We need visibility right now.”
I make my light as bright as I can, filling the room enough to faintly see the opposite wall. We’ve entered into a tall cylindrical tower, like the sixth floor of the palace but much wider. There’s still no telling how far down it goes, and there’s nothing we have on us to sacrifice for its echoes. The only thing we can hear is the sound of running water from below, and a horrible, low metallic creaking. There is some kind of sticky black material on the walls. It absorbs almost all light around it, giving the whole area a very void-like appearance. I’m definitely not going to touch it, but it looks like if a lichen could melt like wax. Below us and suspended in the middle of the tower are gargantuan bronze chains held together in the centre by something small and thin. We move further down the stairs to get a clearer view, and once we do we both gasp.
The bronze chain links get smaller and smaller towards the centre of the tower, where they are wrapped tightly around a Sengl’s wrists. The weight and pull of the chains has caused the arms of the body holding them to become freakishly elongated. I recognise the purple-grey body and green robes. It's the ruler of the palace, his limp body dangling by his shoulders. Was it him who called us here? Is he… Alive? His chest slowly rises and falls as he hangs. The phoenix of the new world… So he isn’t dead. He’s just sleeping. Waiting, even. My heart has fallen into my stomach and Cilithol doesn’t seem to understand the implication. I don’t really want to tell her now. It’s not time for a story from mythology… Or history. He was a special Sengl to be sure, but he was still a Sengl. You can’t just survive and come back from something like this…
Something makes a wet noise behind us, further up the stairs. We turn and look at the origin of the sound, and even though our light shines brightly on it, it’s just an endlessly dark stain in our vision. The void-like waxy substance has dropped from the wall and is shambling in its amorphous form towards us. Cilithol reacts like a spooked deer, darting down the stairs as fast as she can without tumbling or falling down the tower. I’m on her back, so I can spare a look behind us. The void-thing is giving chase. I throw a variety of spells at it, fire, force, cutting. Everything I do to it is ineffective, my magic just enters the thing like it’s an empty space and dissipates. We’ve reached the bottom of the stairs. There’s a large alcove here so we duck in. The tower goes down deeper, but it is filled with a tempestuous pool of white and black fluid that looks thick like jelly as it slaps against the walls.
We find ourselves backed into a corner. There are two ways out, to one side is the opening of a cave mouth with a small orange light at the end, a massive gate made of a shiny black material bars it all off. Cilithol rushes to the gate and tries to pull it open, but she quickly pulls her hands back, shedding blood. Her hands were sliced by miniscule obsidian blades that make up the gate. She runs to the other exit, a large arched marble double-doorway. There are wrought iron chains covering the front of the doors, and wrapped up in those chains is the shape of a Sengl, suspended against the door and with a keyhole shape carved deep into their chest, exposing their still-beating heart. What the fuck kind of door is this? Where are we? There’s no time to think about where it goes, Cilithol ignores the body and kicks at the door but it won’t budge. The void shape has caught up with us, and we’re backed up against the far wall with nowhere else to go. The shape widens to cut off any way of getting around it. We’re going to die here. I know it, my body knows it, my sister knows it. My magic knows it. I'm going to rush forward and cast my panic spell. At least Cilithol might make it out okay. I jump off of her back but she grabs my wrists and just looks at me, telling me “no” with her eyes.
I cry out. “What else can we do?”
There's a deep, doomed sadness in her eyes as she weakly mumbles,
“Let’s go together. Please.”
I can’t breathe. If I use the panic spell, she dies too. She would die before I do, her head would be caved in on the stone floor. Magic does nothing against that mass of nothingness. I would be all alone to be consumed by it. We should go together. We’ll be okay that way. She hugs me closer than she ever has. The void engulfs us and we feel like we're submerged in water, thick black water. It's not all darkness in here. There are countless white specks of light in the distance, like we’re looking at the night sky, at the other worlds beyond the Gwydir. We’re weightless. There's no point in holding my breath, so I let my lungs relax. As I reflexively breath back in, I'm surprised that I can. The water enters and exits my lungs like air. Cilithol notices this as well, and looks incredulous that we’re both alive. Or, maybe this is just what death is like? She opens her mouth to yell for me, but no sound comes out even though I can see her making all the movements. She switches to sign language.
“Do you hear that?”
I don’t know what she’s talking about until I really try to listen. There's a low buzzing hum echoing through the water.
I sign back “Yes.”
She tries to “swim” over to me but we can’t seem to move in this space. The white specks around us… Are they really other worlds? Are we outside of the Gwydir ourselves? No one has ever thought that it would be possible to survive out here, but I suppose the sunfish and moonfish survive and are even able to swim in this. Who said we can't when no one has ever been out here? The low humming is growing louder and more irregular.
Cilithol signs to me “Do you know what is going on?”
I sign back “Not at all.”
I hesitate before adding “I’m sorry.”
She frowns at me. I messed up. For some reason nothing feels like a catastrophe. Perhaps it’s the thought that we’re already dead, but where I would be beside myself in regular circumstances, right now I feel extremely calm and at peace. It feels like whether it’s my fault, or if I could have done something, if this could have been avoided altogether, none of it really matters anymore. We’re just dead and alive outside the Gwydir.
We could be here until we die of thirst or starvation. Though maybe none of that matters out here. Then we could be here until our bodies rot. But maybe that won’t happen either. So we’ll just stop thinking at some point. But at least we can keep each other company, and see new constellations, and make stories for them. The erratic humming has become whispering. It’s definitely speech, very quiet and purposeful but not in any language I can understand. Cilithol can’t either as she stops signing at me to forgive myself and concentrates on listening. The language that is being whispered to us is either so complex that it requires hundreds of different sounds, or the language itself is changing mid-sentence. It’s gradually taking on a more and more familiar flavour, forming distinct words and cadence that feel natural. After a bit more time, it actually sounds like old holbytlan. Too old to understand, but still recognisable.
Cilithol waves at me and points towards something. I follow with my eyes. It appears like one of these distant worlds is becoming bigger and brighter, as if we’re moving towards it at extremely, unbelievably high speeds. It’s strange, because the water feels no different around my body, not like I'm being pushed through it at all. Maybe it’s the world moving to us, maybe every other world is moving around us. The whispering is somewhat understandable now, sounding like early modern holbytlan. The words spoken though are gibberish.
“Normal advance. Treasure! Stark! Barely not master caution, discord picture draft.”
The bubble that contains our world comes to a stop in front of us. We can see all the large details of the landscape, the band of endless ice and endless desert above and below a habitable ring in the middle. The sunfish and moonfish slowly swim past us, so close that we can make out individual scales on their bodies. They’re swimming slowly, but the moonfish is faster. It’s catching up with the sunfish, we watch it swim underneath the sunfish, out of our sight. This would be an eclipse on the surface of the world. It’s difficult to recognise geography from so high up, only the shapes of the largest continents are clear, but I think I can see the shore of the Farlands nations. There’s so much more than that… The world is massive. It’s impossible to even see Madarch, even though I should know the general area it’s in relative to the Farlands. Do they even know the world is this big? The whispering stops, but quickly returns speaking in completely modern holbytlan. The voice has no qualities of its own, no notable features besides its featurelessness. Its wording is straightforward and monotonous, it gives what sounds like instructions.
“You were chosen at random. You were brought here. You will breed the new Anhysbys. You will carry the new Anhysbys. You will birth the new Anhysbys. You will raise the new Anhysbys in the palace. It is needed for when our friend wakes up. When you are done you will be returned to Ewfforia. Finally, finally.”
The last two words have the slightest hint of emotion in them. Pride, victory, relief. Whatever this is, I think it has been waiting a long time. The way the Anghenfilod have reacted to me, their urge to mate with me instead of dispatching me, it makes a bit more sense now. If we were being guided along by this thing, the Anghenfilod must have been influenced as well to not kill me or Cilithol, instead preparing me this whole time to breed for the “Anhysbys,” whatever that is. The calmness of believing in my death is fading away into fear and panic again, I gasp with the overwhelming sensation that we are alive, and we could suffer a fate worse than death if we follow this voice's plans. I can’t panic. I need to stay calm and prepare myself for any vulnerability it shows, then attack like a snake. Hang on, is that really what I'd do? It's not like me to shrug off the panic like that.
I instinctively reach to my waist for a weapon that isn’t there. What’s going on? Cilithol is flexing her hands in the same way that I do when I’m preparing to cast spells. She doesn’t seem to notice that she’s doing it, so I point it out to her. She’s shaking like a leaf. Not like her at all. For a moment I feel like I can see out of her eyes, looking at myself and thinking the same thing. It’s like our minds are being shared between us. The voice starts talking again, directly addressing our feelings.
“You will feel a strong connection between the both of you. This is useful to the creation of a good Anhysbys. It was Igyd who created this, and my friend who had to destroy it. When he wakes, and it is born, the new Anhysbys will gift this spark back to all life. I am glad two compatible creatures decided to come here. It is difficult to act outside the palace. A deep tension in me has released, I feel like my old self again.”
It’s rambling on in such a casual way as if we’re its friends now. Does that mean it thinks that we’re fully in its control? When I blink, air is sucked from my lungs as I end up splayed out on a massive bed, back in the ruler’s open room in the palace at Seth. I cough and gasp for breath, my sister doing the same beside me. We’re both stripped of our clothes. In the far corner of the room, the void-slime thing sits there in a small form, it feels like it’s watching us.
It screams in my mind, “Breed now.”
For once I don’t want to have sex with my sister. After last time definitely not but… I can’t resist. I’ve lost control of my own body so many times today. How unfair. I can’t do anything to defend myself from inside my own head. I am compelled to do what the Anhysbys says. After all, it will bring Ewfforia back. We can carry and deliver the new Anhysbys here in our room. I roll over to Cilithol, who has been trying to get out of the bed. I take her by the shoulder and she turns around to try and tell me what is wrong, but I already know. I’m thinking her thoughts before she says them. There is an invisible force keeping us here, on the bed. Invisible walls that won't let us pass, that we can touch and lean on as if they were really there. They could have just been walls. We could have just been on a bare and cold floor. But no, we're in a diorama set up by a voyeuristic entity from beyond the physical limits of the world. The old Anhysbys has full control here, of us and the room itself, and it wants us in the bed.
I pull Cilithol down onto the soft mattress, and she falls, not knowing to resist me yet. I can’t do this. I refuse. I won’t. My body is saying yes, but I don’t need my body for one spell. I have to overwrite it, I need to use the panic spell. I need to cast it right now before I start doing something awful. But as it is, I would kill both of us. I need to add a caveat. I scramble to remake the spell from the roots, running the plans through my head. It will be a force, an expenditure of all magic, like respiration, the air being knocked out of me, a boot on my chest pushing down with all its weight, in a single instant, concentration of force inside my cranium, activation at will, no catalyst… I speed through the spellcrafting process. There’s no more time. I try to cast the premature panic spell designed to crush my head from the inside out… But I can’t. It won’t work. The last time I made this spell I needed that one condition for it to work. I’m sorry I can’t destroy myself right now, Cilithol. Since we’re sharing thoughts, I assume she can hear me trying to kill myself. If I still have some of my conscious thoughts, all I can do now is try to warn her by thinking hard enough, right?
“Cilithol, please kill me. I’m weaker than you. Even when this thing is in my head I can’t overpower you with my physical strength alone. Strangle me, or beat me to death, break my neck, please, so I don’t have to do what it wants me to do to you.”
It’s all I can think to tell her. It’s the only solution I can think of. Her eyes take on the deepest sadness I’ve ever seen, it pales to her earlier mood. She shakes her head. I can at least try to make it as painless as I can for her.
“Cilithol, I’m sorry for what I’m about to do. It’s telling me I have to. Please don’t fight.”
She squeezes her eyes shut tight and lets her body go limp. I don’t know if she is listening to me or if she has been ordered by the Anhysbys to submit. I wish I could black out now, so I didn’t have to see this. I wish I could have just slept next to her one more time, hold my horrific libido in, my little secret, and just keep living alongside her. I could go my whole life and she wouldn’t have to know. It might even go away with enough time being unrequited, the taboo beaten out of me. I mount my sister, my cock soft. My hips are pushed by someone else's command slowly onto my sister. As I’m pressed up against her, my body can’t help but react to the sensation, as much as I hate that it does. I stiffen and enter her. Her pussy bleeds onto me and her face scrunches up in pain, still her hands don’t move to attack or move me. She wouldn’t dare hurt me.
My mind is fried. I don’t want to see any of this, but I can’t close my eyes. It’s too much, I can’t hide from it. She’s bit the very tip of her tongue off from pain, and I can practically hear her jaw clenching. She’s trying to be quiet. She doesn’t want me to hear her yell or scream in pain, I bet. She wants to be strong, so that when it’s over, if it’s over, she can tell me I wasn’t so bad. I have to keep my eyes open so I know what I did. With the Anhysbys controlling my body, my thrusting is robotic and without passion. It doesn’t feel good. The Anhysbys knows this won’t go anywhere, it can’t just force us to do this to completion. It tells me to stop, and I hear hooves click against the floor.
“A more effective method. A creature that I have named the most sexually successful living thing. There were greater plans for them but the rules set in place long before I arrived here got in the way.”
The way it’s speaking still sounds so casual. I hate it. It shouldn’t talk to me like it’s a friend explaining something to me. I don’t have to look at the creature, I know it’s a centaur. The “most sexually successful living thing,” surely. Its ability to capture and adapt to the reproductive systems of who knows how many completely different Animals, Anghenfilod, and Sengl make it the perfect sexual organism. It was made for it. Now it’s going to take me. This is far worse, Cilithol. I’m sorry. You might not survive this. I feel my feet enter a warm space as the centaur comes up behind me, I’m being slid into its reproductive mouth feet-first, I feel hundreds of small cilia and longer nematocysts pull me down and stab into my ankles, my calves, knees, and thighs, until I’m hanging out of its orifice at the waist, giving the appearance that my lower half is a horse.
The centaur has climbed up onto the bed. Cilithol finally screams and is trying to get away, but she’s thrown back down as if she was shot in the chest. She clutches her head and groans. I can feel it myself, without the pain, she’s concussed. The Anhysbys probably hit her in some way. Hopefully brain damage will spare some of the misery. My skin is covered in little needles, they’re painless like the bite of a leech. I can feel something being injected into me, travelling up my bloodstream to my head. I know what to expect when it hits. In an instant, I feel debilitatingly horny, pushing the disgust, displeasure and fear out of the moment. I moan out loud and fall forward limp. This is the greatest pleasure I’ve ever felt in my life, I don’t want this to ever end. I feel like my body is one with the centaur now, its sensations become my own on top of the toxins that make me feel so good.
The centaur has adapted to my body and has grown a complete set of genitals of its own. It stands over Cilithol and tries to shove itself inside her. It’s not controlled by the Anhysbys, it’s moving like a desperate Animal. Unlike the other Anghenfilod we’ve come across, a centaur lives to breed with as many other creatures as possible. It doesn’t need any outside influence. Cilithol is trying to push herself away but she has backed herself into the corner of the bed, against the invisible walls keeping us trapped inside. The centaur can move freely in and out, and it has to bring its front half down to angle itself so that it can penetrate Cilithol. She screams as it stabs into her, she’s unable to fight it away anymore. I feel every bit of it along my new organ, it feels amazing having such a large body and a huge cock to match, so big that only its tip can fit inside Cilithol, and it’s a tight fit.
She continues screaming and crying for the centaur to stop. She never addresses me. I wish she would. I am the centaur now, its made me a part of it, I want to keep being a part of it because it just feels so indescribably good. I wish I was born a centaur. To live like this every day, the Anghenfilod were the real chosen ones. Us Sengl always saw ourselves on top but our lives are bland and empty compared to this. My upper body is hanging outside of the invisible wall as I pound Cilithol against it. The air is colder out here. We keep thrusting into Cilithol, feral and intensely pleasured. It can’t last much longer at this rate, but it’s worth it. I love you Cilithol! You’re so good! You make me feel like everything is okay!
I’m suddenly ejected from the centaur. I fall to the floor in a crumpled pile, toxin still pouring through my body but my connection to the creature severed. What’s going on? I look up at the bed and see my sister’s back pressed up against the invisible wall, unconscious or dead, I don't know which fate I'd feel better about. The centaur continues to rape her as what must be its semen spills out of her pussy. I feel like I came too, but I can't tell with all this wet stuff from the centaur's mouth on me. I’m out of the bed. What does this mean? Right, I can move again. Freely. Whatever kept me under control, it’s not working outside of those walls.
There’s still magic in me. I don’t even think about it, but a cutter spell is already out of my hand and I’ve sliced the centaur in half, its blood, guts and heavy body falling onto Cilithol. I use a weak force spell to throw those pieces off of her from a distance, if I reach back into the bed space I’ll just be trapped again. I have a chance to do something right now, to that void in the corner, to save Cilithol at the very least. I stand up, wobbling, and run as fast as I can towards the void in the corner. I know it won’t let me live, but I know what to do. I’m not going to use my panic spell, but I could lose my magic anyways. This could drain all of it. The Anhysbys is a void, It's nothingness. A rejection spell is the opposite of nothingness. I’m halfway across the room. I don’t know what will happen when I force an is inside an is not, but I’m about to find out.
I leap into the void, it reactively expands to surround me. I make the Arwyth of the Basic and the Nosbarthiadau in a flash, and cover my entire body with rejection, expending every last bit of my magic to make it all count. I honestly wasn't sure if it would work. It usually can only cover one portion of the body. Maybe my own determination pushed beyond that limit for a moment. My naked body falls into the void and I implode. The void around me crunches in on itself but doesn’t take me, I fall to the floor of the ruler’s room completely drained. The void isn’t a void anymore, it is completely existent now. Something is there, on the floor, and it is. A completely existent object is hard to describe, it carries no qualities except that it just is. It exists, fully. I don’t think it’s safe for me to touch complete existence. Cariadus is on the bed, groaning in extreme pain as she wakes up, bloated slightly from the centaur’s semen. I crawl over to her side, I tried to stand and walk again but I am utterly exhausted. It feels so alien to have no magic in my body. There’s nothing left to revitalise me except for the need to care for my sister.
“Cilithol, Cilithol are you okay, are you going to stay alive?”
She jerks away from me like she’s scared, having a hard time looking me in the face, especially scared of my naked body. I do look awful down there, my body is covered in pockmarks and injection points, most of them very slightly oozing blood. But I don’t think that’s why she’s afraid of me.
“Cariadus…”
I wait for her to say more. She doesn’t. Her head falls back again and she’s breathing hard. She’s out like a light, but still breathing. I collapse at the side of the bed and fall unconscious as well. I wake up again on a bed in a comfortable, small room. There are voices all around me, through the walls, from below. This is… Hen’s inn. We’re home in Hendir. Or, at least I am. Cilithol isn’t next to me, she’s not in this room. I start to panic, I don’t even want to think about how we got back here, I just want to find Cilithol. I don’t want her to be scared of me, I’m the same me, I didn’t mean to do what I did. I vomit onto the floor. From the contents I can tell I’ve been fed in my sleep. Has Cilithol been taking care of me? Where is she? I fall onto the door and as it flies open I crash onto the floor of the upstairs hallway. That girl we found in the tumour, Zolotoy, is in the hallway, looking like she was coming my way. Ah… So she’s the one who’s been taking care of me. I still don’t know where Cilithol is.
I get over the shock of speaking around other people and cry out. “Where is she?” while lifting myself up onto the door frame. Zolotoy grabs me so I don’t fall and takes me back into the empty room.
“She’s okay, just keep resting, alright?”
I cry harder. “I want to see her now!”
I struggle against her. She’s stronger than me, but it gets my point across.
“Fine, come with me. Just… Don’t freak out alright?”
If she’s okay then why would I freak out? What is Zolotoy not telling me?
“It’s a good thing I found you up at the top of the palace. You made quite the ruckus up there. I’ve never seen a centaur before. What a terrible thing.”
She doesn’t seem to know about the Anhysbys, she probably just thinks we fought a centaur to a draw. Still, it’s really impressive that she could find us and bring us both all the way back here, especially if she never found her party. Cilithol might not have been in a coma like me. I hope not. My head feels so scrambled with the loss of time. Zolotoy takes me into a different room and I see Cilithol lying on the bed. Zolotoy must have just been with her, as her stuff is next to her.
Cilithol looks different. Her belly is swollen, left exposed, stretch marks line her sides that must have been formed quickly as they show signs of tearing and bleeding. It has been healed up with magic, that might mean that Cilithol still has her magic and knows how to use it. Her mental state must be good enough, then. She’s awake and staring at me like she’s scared, but allows me to get close and take her in my arms, kissing her on the neck. She’s stiff as a board and not saying a thing. Zolotoy stands tensed up behind me like she’s ready to rip me off of Cilithol at a moment’s notice. I back off on my own. She’s afraid of me. No wonder, I’ve probably traumatised her just by being the face associated with what happened. She says she’ll always love me but… If she can’t even look at me without freezing, she can’t love me like that. She speaks before I do.
“Zolotoy… Can you leave us alone please.”
Zolotoy nods hesitantly and leaves the room.
“Cariadus… Lock the door.”
I do as she says and return to her side. She pulls a knife from under the bed sheets, just in reach of her hand. I jerk back but she assures me with a hand on my shoulder.
“Cariadus, I need you to do something very hard.”
I start to shake looking at the knife in her hand and at her pregnant belly. I already know what she’s going to ask.
“Cariadus, I need you to cut it out of me. I can feel it inside, it will keep developing unless it’s out fast. I need you to do it, I can’t do it myself. You can’t put me to to sleep, I need to be awake to heal the wound you make.”
“Sister, I lost my magic… I couldn’t put you to sleep if I wanted to.”
She looks shocked and sad upon hearing that.
“Sis, it’s alright. You don’t need magic for this. I’ve still got mine. It’s alright.”
“I can’t do this, I can’t do that to you, I have no idea what I’m doing! I don’t know how to do this!”
Cilithol looks intensely serious.
“I don’t know what’s in there but it’s bad. It needs to get out no matter what. I won’t die. I promise. You can do it, and you have to do it. Zolotoy won’t understand.”
I’m crying uncontrollably, and Zolotoy is knocking at the door.
“Cilithol, are you okay in there?”
Cilithol shouts back that she’s okay and to not try to come inside. She takes the corner of the pillow and bites onto it hard, nodding at me to begin. Oh god. I don’t know what to do. I feel her muscles hardened by her womb stretching them to their limits. How can I do this, I’m not a surgeon! I’m not even a healer, I don’t even know how to use a knife. All I have are my spells. Cilithol's muffled voice comes through the pillow.
“Please get it over with, Cariadus…”
I have to do it. I stand over her with a crude chef’s knife in my hand, probably straight from the kitchen downstairs. She likely hid it away the moment a plate of food was brought to her, planning this from the start, waiting for me to wake up. I put the tip of the knife to her belly. Cilithol is sweating and shaking, gripping the bed and clenching her eyes and jaw shut. I have to do this quickly, I can’t make it torture for her. No matter how badly I do, she’s going to heal herself, right? It can be rough, she could be left with internal scars and probably discharge blood for the next few days but… I put the knife into her.
She screams beneath the pillow and Zolotoy knocks on the door again. I think I’ve pierced the womb. If I bring the knife this way along her body… Every little bit I drag the knife through her body she screams more and more. If she falls unconscious, she won’t be able to heal herself and she’ll die… All the more reason I have to make it fast. I’ve pulled the knife all the way across her body, cutting into her womb, blood spills everywhere across my hand, the bed, and into her own body. The incision is as good as it’s going to get. I have to actually remove whatever is inside her now. I’m trying to force myself to get through this, so I don’t hesitate before carefully putting my hand into the slit and feeling around in my sister’s organs. It’s disgusting. It feels like layers on layers of wet seaweed. I finally feel something hard and unnatural inside her, a marble-sized sphere. I pull it out and wipe the blood off on my clothes.
“Cilithol, I’m done.”
My voice is shaking like a leaf, I’m waiting for Cilithol to heal herself but… She’s looking at the marble in my hand. It has two sides, one side that looks like that Anhysbys void and another side that looks like the complete existence I saw in the palace. It looks incomplete. I guess that is a good sign.
“Cariadus…” Her voice is weak. “That thing is priceless… Auction it to the highest bidder and live well, okay?”
She closes her eyes and goes limp. No, I won’t let this happen. She’s bleeding way too much, if I can’t heal her soon somehow then she’ll definitely die. Even if I don’t have magic in my own body, I can try to do something I’ve never tried before. There is a way to make a magic circuit through someone else, a sort of jumpstart that would give me a bit of her magic temporarily, though it will leak out fast. I strip the rest of her clothing and my own, and press as much of myself as I can against her, our bodies are both slippery in her blood and she’s getting cold. It’s not enough to make a circuit. I slash myself across the belly and bleed, hoping mixing blood will work, but it doesn’t. I press my mouth to hers and try to suck the magic through her fleeting breath. Finally I feel something. I breath back into her lungs with all the love for my sister that I can muster, the key to her own healing magic. I need it now more than ever. Cilithol gasps and coughs, trying to get her breath before cringing in anguish from the wounds, but she’s awake. I slide off of her and press my hands onto her wounds to blast it with healing magic.
I work from the inside out to avoid internal damage, just like she's shown me before. Her womb shrinks again, I have no idea how something as small as this marble could have changed her body like that but I don’t question what being forced to birth a strange void entity does to you. Her wounds are completely healed now, and she’s breathing heavily. Zolotoy finally breaks down the door as I collapse on top of her.
“What the…”
Cilithol gasps out, “It’s alright, it’s okay. We got it out.”
Zolotoy leans down and picks up the small marble from the floor. I stare at her hard, and she puts it back down on the floor where it rolls into the corner. I must have dropped it. Cilithol whispers to me.
“I’ll be okay. I just need to rest a little.”
She shuts her eyes and falls asleep. I hope she doesn’t have nightmares. I really hope I’m not in them.
I want to rest beside her but that’s probably not right. Zolotoy takes me by the arm and helps me up, leading me back to my room. I pick up the marble on the way out. She tucks me into my own bed.
“Both of you need to take it easy, okay? Cilithol’s better now.”
She pauses. Her curiosity outweighs her concern.
“What is it, anyways? It came up fast. Is that what centaur babies are like?”
I shake my head at her insensitive questioning. It wasn’t a centaur foetus, it was the Anhysbys, whatever that is. She doesn’t need to know about any of that.
I’m glad. Cilithol is okay, and we got this thing out of her. She wanted me to auction it off, to sell it. This is what we came to Seth for after all, to find a priceless artefact that would make our lives easy. We’ve found it, this tiny marble in my hand. Even if you don’t know what it is, you understand that it’s special just by looking at it. I just hope that whichever Farlands government gets their hands on this, they can’t do anything evil with it. Since we cut it out before it was ready, it might just be useless now. It’s at least beautiful on its own. Like a one-of-a-kind gemstone.
I lie down in bed. Cilithol is going to be scared of me now, she forced herself to face me only because she needed me to save her life. What is going to happen now? Is it something she can just force herself to get over? Do I even want her to force herself to “get over it?” I don’t have tears left to cry into the pillow. Zolotoy is still standing in the doorway. I look her in the eyes and her face is screwed up in a sad expression. She whispers “I’m sorry.” and shuts the door, exiting out into the hallway. She was with Cilithol for a much longer time. She probably knows the extent of what’s hurting her. It’s bad, isn’t it. Will I ever be able to face her again? I throw my head back onto the pillow and lie there flat on my back, staring at the ceiling.
Cilithol still cares about me. I woke up earlier and I wasn’t paralysed. The entire time since Zolotoy took Cilithol and I from the palace, I was laid down exactly how I needed to be to not hurt. Cilithol is the only one who could have told her that. She still cares. She’s just traumatised. How do you move past trauma? Is that too general of a question? It takes years, usually, doesn’t it? I think I experienced something like that after we escaped the Cavemouth. Cilithol and I have met a few women before who deal with this kind of thing. They didn’t know what to do either but they made it, and they can live. Maybe I should find them again. They might know what to do for Cilithol. I’m so tired… I want to rest my eyes and body, I want to expel all these thoughts from my mind for now.
The next few days at the inn are strange. I sometimes got up and walked around, though not for long since I get exhausted even more easily now. I don’t leave the inn much, but sometimes Zolotoy would take me out to get some errands done. I ended up using the wheelchair that Cilithol bought me. Hen had it kept nice and safe. It works really well, it feels almost effortless to use and it can get up to a sprinting speed if I want it to. Of course, a wheelchair can't get everywhere. The chair is too heavy to carry, and too valuable to leave unattended. It's embarrassing and stressful to have to wait around for Zolotoy to finish whatever business we're doing just because of a few steps. If Cariadus can’t carry me anymore after her own injuries, I might just have to start using this everywhere. Every day I try to visit Cilithol in her room, Zolotoy usually at her side caring for her when asleep and talking with her when awake. She shrinks to the corner of the bed when I come into the room. She lets me near, and we talk, but she’s always obviously nervous. She won’t let me touch her- or rather, Zolotoy won’t let me touch her. Cilithol will wince and turn her face, and Zolotoy will block me from getting closer.
Every day I bring her food from downstairs, no matter how exhausting the climb, trying to help Zolotoy and Hen out. I found out that we’re staying here for free, for now at least, including the food. I ask Hen’s son for the best soups they have since he said that soup is the best thing to eat in an infirmary. The other guests seem to be aware of us, but they leave us alone. Every night I go back to my bed alone and cry myself to sleep. I keep the marble close to me, I’m not going to look at selling it until Cilithol can be up and about again. She’s recovering well, and she’ll be alright to move around as usual soon.
A week after her impromptu surgery, Cilithol is alright to walk around, even jogging around the building a few times. We don’t talk much that day, but we eat together. The next morning, I wake up to Cilithol at my side. That’s completely unusual now. When I open my eyes and make a small noise she starts. She’s trying to face me. It must be noon, she has lunch for both of us, searolls.
“Cilithol, you don’t have to do this for me you know. If you’re…”
She hands me my plate and knife.
“I’d rather you not notice that, okay?”
She wants me to just ignore her obvious issue? Is she really trying to just push through it? She keeps talking, trying to lead the conversation.
“I know we didn’t have it for long, but that sort of… ‘future sight’ that that Anhysbys thing gave me, not having it now is like losing a sense. It’s strange. I’ve had to get used to not expecting a knock on my door. I didn’t realise how much it was a part of my perception in small ways like that.”
“It hasn’t really affected me all that much…”
“I guess that makes sense.”
There are a few moments of tense silence before she speaks up again.
“Cariadus, you lost your magic didn’t you?”
I’m ashamed to admit it to her. I’ve lost the one thing that made me useful.
“Yes. It’s all gone. I used every last bit of it to get the Anhysbys away from us.”
She hesitantly reaches a hand out to me, and I take it. She only slightly pulls away from my touch.
“You did amazing, Cariadus. You killed that thing.”
“I don’t think I killed it. I think I just confused it for long enough to get away. I was too late anyways. It… It got you and-”
She shushes me. She probably doesn’t want to be reminded…
“Cariadus, it doesn’t matter. We’re both here. You aren’t your magic.”
She can say that now, but she’ll see how much dead weight I am without it in the coming weeks. I’m still attracted to her, but I feel even more ashamed than ever before. She scrunches her face before launching into a much more uncomfortable conversation.
“Cariadus… Sometimes when I look at you I relive what happened there. It makes me feel sick. I hate feeling so sick.”
That’s it. She does hate me. It’s all over for us, she’s going to disown me right here. She leans forward and whispers nervously.
“I want to try having sex again, Cariadus.”
What… What? I feel like I’ve been punched, what I’ve heard is so confusing. I’m just hearing things, aren’t I? She looks away from me.
“Sorry, I’m sorry, I just thought that…”
She doesn’t finish her sentence. I’m not sure what to say. Say no and reject her attempt to try and get past her fear of me? Say yes and potentially hurt her even more? I don’t know what to do. She looks disappointed.
“Yes.”
It’s a blunt answer, but I want to give her what she wants. If she thinks it will be better for her, I want to trust her completely. She looks back to me and slips her hand out of mine.
“It’s on my terms now. I’ll take control back. That's what I think.”
She has a determined look in her eye. I like it. Is this really happening? Can things be okay like this? She still loves me, doesn’t she? She wants to do this. She’s just… Looking at me. Did I do something wrong?
“But I want to hear an enthusiastic yes. I need you to be okay too.”
Oh, was I not…
“Yes! I want to! Please have sex with me, sister!”
She puts her finger over her mouth telling me to be quiet. I guess we are still in a thin-walled inn room. She wants to do it right here? I don’t know if I’d be able to shut up. She just laughs nervously.
“That’s good. Let’s do it. Just tell me to stop if you don’t want it anymore. I’ll do the same.”
I gulp and nod. She gets on top of me in the bed. Her weight presses onto me, she’s taller and wider than me, I feel enveloped. It’s a very comfortable feeling, and a very exciting feeling too. She pulls the sheet out from over me so our bodies can touch through our clothes. She starts to slowly grind her hips against mine. I feel my erection forming up against her, she’s guiding it up with her movements. It feels strange to just lie here and take it but… Now that I think about it, it’s the first time that either of us have had sex on our own terms. Not just with each other, but in general, unless Cilithol has done so before and I never heard of it. Maybe with Kystad way back at Slayer training… In any case it feels liberatory for both of us.
I feel safe, for the first time if I make the wrong movements I won’t be killed by some Anghenfil using me for pleasure. I’m not being used at all. We’re both finding enjoyment with each other’s bodies, trying to impress each other with the same nice feeling. I bring my hips up into her as she grinds on me. Her hands are at the sides of my head, just above my shoulders. If she let herself down onto me I would be completely smothered, her head resting above mine. I almost want to ask for her to do that, but I still feel weak enough that that probably wouldn’t be the best thing for my lungs to handle. She kisses my forehead and I try to reach her, but being on the bottom I can only try kissing the air. She laughs a little bit at this and pulls back a bit, letting our lips touch.
We share the same passionate kiss we had in that alleyway weeks ago. There’s less fear, less worry in this one. Just love. She’s drooling a lot into my mouth, forcing me to swallow it. She breaks off and tugs at the strap of my top a little.
“Should I take this off for you?”
She’s looking at me now without hesitation or fear in her eyes. She was right, this is really working for her. She’s probably been thinking about how to approach this the entire week. She never wanted to be afraid of me, she was never content to let that be the new normal. Her solution is to love me in the way I love her, to accept and embrace it for herself, that special love. We share it together now. It feels like a weight has been lifted from my soul realising that it’s no longer one-sided, unreciprocated, no longer a horrible mistake to express in any way.
We’re free now. She’s taken my top off. My tits don’t bounce as they fall out like I’d prefer them to, but she still seems to really enjoy seeing them. She leans down to kiss them and I grab her sides, moaning a little. She shushes me quietly and playfully before taking my budding, sensitive nipples into her mouth and lightly sucking on them. God, it feels like my soul is being sucked out through my chest. In a good way. She murmurs to me,
“Go ahead and hump my thigh. I feel the way you’re shaking.”
Yeah, she’s right. My body has been begging me to let it rub against her leg, which she has placed between mine. I do what she says and push myself into it, feeling her through three layers of clothing. I want her to take the rest of my clothes off, but it might be nice to wait. She puts her thumb in my mouth and starts to climb off of me.
“Come up and bend over my knee, Carrie. I want to try fingering you.”
Mm… I wanna keep her finger in my mouth, but I climb over and throw myself over her thigh, my head resting on the bed and my legs laid over her other leg. The thumb that was in my mouth travels up my skirt and she pulls it up. I feel the buzz of a cleansing spell travel up my legs to my butt before she starts pressing her finger up against my hole, cleaning it with the spell and lubricating it with her finger coated in my saliva. I recoil a bit, still in a bit of pain down there from the dire wolf. She notices and only fingers me shallowly and very gently. Now it feels good. She pets my hair and my back as she does, holding my legs down as they quake from the feeling.
When the lubrication runs out, Cilithol picks my limp, whimpering body up and bends me over the side of the bed, pulling my skirt over my waist. Before I can figure out what she’s doing, I feel her tongue on my ass. It feels a lot better than her finger. I hear her fingering herself with her other hand as she eats me out, pushing her tongue into me, soft enough not to hurt. It feels kind of similar to the mimic’s tentacle, except less thick. I feel her hot breath on me, and she’s squeezing my body like I’m a soft doll. This feels absolutely amazing, I only hope that she feels the same way. This is about her. after all. My little cries of pleasure get a bit too loud and uncontrolled, so she tells me to bite onto the pillow to muffle myself, and to turn over to lie on my back so she can ride me. She says she’ll be careful. I don’t really care, I want it. I do as she says and she cups my balls in her hand as she licks at my small cock, her tongue tracing a perfect line up to my foreskin which she pulls down to lap up the precum leaking at the head. I'd feel incredibly strange about that with anyone else, but it's surprisingly okay when it's her doing it.
I’m as hard as I possibly can be, and feeling lightheaded. She seems to be getting a lot out of this. She’s looking at my woozy and thoughtless face, my eyes glazed over and mouth drooling, hands grabbing for anything soft and warm, and she has a knowing and almost powerful smile on her face. She is in control, she knows it. Finally she stops teasing me and gets up onto the bed, her knees to each side of me. She shows me her pussy and asks me one more time if I’m ready. I can’t even talk, I just nod enthusiastically. She lowers herself down onto me. It’s the second time I’ve penetrated her like this. Compared to the first time, there’s a fluidity and sweetness to it now that was absent before. This is real, expressive of both of our passions for each other.
She's a strong woman, able to raise and lower herself up and down on her knees without tiring, that strength and endurance lets her control her movements. My hands are on her sides, and she directs me to move my own hips as well. I can’t do that for a long time, and I end up exhausted, but she takes over again. She rubs her clit as she bounces, faster now and making the bed creak. She takes her shirt off, and stops riding me for a moment to lean forward and let me take her bra off. She’s tall enough that her breasts are right in front of my face, when I finally untie her bra it falls off and her tits fall out of it to cover my face. I whimper and she pushes them into me, asking me to fondle them as she starts riding again, this time with much of her body pressing against mine. I squeeze and rub her tits as she pleasures herself on me. After a few more moments she starts to pant quicker and she quickly whispers that she’s feeling close to orgasm. I am too. It’s not like we can synchronise them like in erotica stories, but we could get close enough. I didn't expect that I could hold out longer, but she cums first.
She leans back and tries to cover her mouth but fails, letting herself all the way down onto me and moaning hard into the air as she hits her climax, her pussy tightening rhythmically around my cock. I love hearing her moan so much. She sounds really happy. But it was loud. And could possibly be mistaken for a pained cry. She seems to realise that as she covers her mouth and her eyes widen, looking towards the door with a bit of panic before grinning and facing back towards me.
“We better stop before we get caught like this. I think… I think I’m satisfied.”
That’s so good to hear. I’m still catching my breath, but I throw her a sign of approval. That was good. Will there be more of this?
“You did really good, Carrie. You did everything I wanted you to.”
I stutter as I try to talk back. “Y-yeah… You f-f-felt… Great, Silly.”
My vocabulary is limited, but hopefully she gets the point. Still, I’m curious, did this really work for her?
“Cilithol… Do you feel okay? Are you… Still scared of me?”
Her face becomes concerned.
“Sis… No, I’m not. I don’t think I was really afraid of you as much as it’s like… Touching a burning log. I’m not afraid of fire, I’m not afraid of wood, but my hand reacts to the burning log by pulling itself back, without my command. I figured that if I grabbed the log knowing it wouldn’t burn me I could feel safe again, and control that reaction. I think as far as that goes, it worked. The whole week I’ve been thinking about how to do this. I don’t ever want to have that reaction to you. To kill that reaction, I needed to prove that I can control myself, that I can be just as much of a sister to you as I could before. You need that more than ever. I need that.”
She’s thought about this a lot, huh. She’s got it all figured out for herself, and I'm glad her idea worked. Cilithol starts putting her clothes back on, letting me help her tie her bra. Sure enough we get a knock on the door pretty soon afterwards, and Zolotoy’s voice on the other side.
“Everything alright?”
Cilithol responds. Compared to how I’ve heard her speak through the whole week, she finally sounds reinvigorated and happy again.
“We’re fine! I just… Hit my foot on something.”
“Oh, okay, how is Cariadus doing?”
She looks to me, still putting my top on, one of my boobs still exposed. She reaches out and pinches my nipple playfully, daring me to not yelp. I hold it in, glaring at her with a pursed smile.
“She’s good. We’re just talking.”
Zolotoy sounds a bit relieved from behind the door.
“Alright. I’ll leave you two be. You should come out today, if you can. My buddies just came back from Seth. I’d love to introduce you.”
So her party didn’t die out there! That’s really good to hear.
“That’s great, Zolotoy. We’ll come out to meet them soon.”
She turns to me. “Isn’t that right, sis?”
I smile, my heart feeling as soft and hot as molten metal. She must feel the same. I nod at her.
“Cariadus… I feel like I’ve missed out on a whole dimension of feelings towards you. I don’t know if I repressed it or it just hit really hard once you confessed to me but… I love you too. In many ways. I… Agree with you? I guess you could put it that way.”
She was speaking so thoughtfully before, but this is the Cilithol I’m more used to. Thinking in the moment.
“I love you too, Cilithol.”
She leans down and hugs me, kissing me behind the ear. I whisper to her.
“Sister… Are we a thing now?”
She leans back and seems to think about the question for a second.
“We’re sisters. And whatever else we want to be.”
“That’s a vague answer.”
“You’re the one who called it a 'thing.'”
She has me there.
“Hey, Carrie. You wanna know what I think?”
I tilt my head and wait for her to continue. Of course I want to know what she thinks.
“I think you’ll get your magic back. Not that you need it, but I was telling Zolotoy about you and she said that she was pretty sure that natural-born sorcerers could never actually run out of magic energy permanently. Like for most people it can be reduced to ‘zero’ so to speak, but for you it would be somewhere like…. Far below one, but not zero. It might build back up really slowly but you might have it back faster than you think. It’s not a certainty but I thought you would find it hopeful.”
That’s… Interesting. That's a difference I never really considered.
“I would like to believe that. We should ask people who know more about that though.”
She flops down onto the bed, inviting me up next to her.
“You’re right. We will. Maybe we could go see the greatest mage in the world with all the money we’ll get from that thing you cut out of me.”
My stomach drops a bit. She’s awfully casual about that now, isn’t she? I glance at the drawer I hid the marble in. I crawl up next to her, pushing my face into her side. She rubs my back and holds my hand. Our future is secured. I don’t even know what the first thing we’ll do with the money is. Will we pay our bail and sail out to the Farlands? I don't remember everything Zolotoy said but it sounds like it sucks out there. Could we take Zolotoy with us, where we could all go to Formagrad? I don’t know. Can we hide this new relationship between us from the world? We have to do that now, don’t we? It’s taboo. No one can know. But if we leave Madarch, change our identities, wipe our prisoner records... No one would ever have to know that we’re really sisters.
Then we could be open about our love… Well, there’s still the matter that we’re both girls. People on Madarch are generally willing to not care about that but with what I’ve heard about the Farlands… Agh, I can’t make myself panic like this already. I stuff my nose into Cilithol’s armpit. She lets me. I let her scent fill my nose and reach my brain. It’s like a drug, I forget the anxieties setting in and just enjoy the moment and the newfound depths of love between me and my sister. This was a lifelong thing. It wasn’t put here by the Anhysbys simply because we’re compatible or whatever. This is the real us. I feel her breath in my hair. Her hands gently pet my waist. I wrap my legs around her thighs, she’s so warm. We’re exhausted and everything is okay.