The Feast

by Rowan Bree

  “The sacrifice is ready. All we need is your word,” Vale says over Eli’s angry grunts.

  You look to where Vale is addressing and see a man seated on a plush chair off to the side. He is wearing a golden crown and the finest robes coin can buy. Beside him are several stiff-looking guardsmen. They look to one another in unease but avoid the gaze of their king.

  “He is a traitor to the kingdom?”

  Vale nods gravely. “Your guardsmen will recognize him from the prisons. He only escaped recently. Among his outstanding charges are public indecency, resisting arrest, belligerent drunkenness, and treason. He has been spreading the lies of the rebellion and causing unrest amongst your people. And I believe the punishment in Tyven for treason is death?”

  The king strokes his beard in thought. “And if you make this sacrifice, my wife will return?”

  Vale nods again. “Returned to full life as if she had never left. She will feel as though she was ill for a long time but won’t remember her death.”

  A pained look appears on the king’s face. He coughs to cover it.

  “Very well. Proceed.”

  It might be a trick of the light but you think you see the mage’s eyes flash red. He smiles and rubs his hands together.

  “Looks like this is the end for you,” he says to Eli, pulling a dagger from his robes.

  Eli’s eyes bulge with fear at the sight of the weapon.

  “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to gut you. Too bad Jasper’s not here to see you die.”

  He raises the dagger and begins to chant. The candles in the room flare brighter and a wind stirs though there are no open windows. If you do nothing Eli is going to be sacrificed, but do you stand a chance against a room full of mages and three of the king’s guards? You wish Jasper were here.

  Attack Vale.

  Make a distraction so Eli can escape.

  You decide to sneak into the feast, just for a quick peek. It might be the only chance you ever have of attending an event like this and seeing the king in person.

  You follow the sounds of the feast until you reach the castle’s main entrance. The doors to the great hall are open wide and through them you can see the lively celebration. The long dining tables are packed with guests, while more congregate in standing groups under colorful floating lanterns. The castle’s serving staff weaves among the tables pouring wine and refilling platters of food.

  Just as you are about to step inside, a server carrying an ornate decanter corners you.

  “Where have you been?” he asks.

  He must think you’re one of the serving girls.

  He thrusts the decanter at you. “Antoinette wants you to take his upstairs.” He tells you where to go and leaves you in a hurry. You don’t have time to protest. You figure you can return to the feast after you’ve finished your delivery.

  You go up the castle’s main staircase into the upper reaches where you have rarely ventured before. What business could you have bringing wine up here? Aren’t all the king’s guests at the feast?

  You arrive at a stone archway draped with black curtains. You can hear hushed voices beyond and stop to listen for a moment before entering.

  “Have you found her yet?” The voice is thin but petulant.

  “No, sir. No one has seen her since the forest.” The second voice much deeper, but scared.

  “She’s in the capital. I can feel it.”

  “We don’t need her tonight. We already have a sacrifice.”

  “The longer she is in Tyven, the greater the chance they’ll get to her. I won’t let that happen. She’s mine.”

  “Just do what we came here to do. We’ll worry about her later.”

  Enter the room.

  Leave.

  You decide to leave the castle while you still have a chance. You have no idea where you are going, but manage to find a door leading into the wilds to the north of the castle.

  Further north are the mountains, and to the west a deep forest, ancient and full of magic. Following the castle walls east would bring you to the sea.

  The deep forest.

  The mountains.

  The sea.

  You head west into the deep forest. The gnarled trees are older than the kingdom itself, and hold more secrets. Surely no one slavers will find you here.

  A thin screech disturbs the quiet. Warning fables come out from the depths of your consciousness, stories of wild witches and giant carnivorous bugs. But there are worse things waiting for you back in Tyven. You press onwards.

  After a while you stop to rest against the trunk of a tree. You thought it would be a relaxing walk through the forest, but the brush is dense and tree roots try to trip you up with every step. Up ahead you can see the faint outline of a house or perhaps a hunter’s cabin. Even from far off it looks abandoned. It might make a good place to rest.

  The ground rumbles below your weary feet. Your body tenses. A tree falling? An earthquake? You wait and there is another rumble, a bit stronger this time. You can hear the cracking of tree trunks. The ground rumbles again, even stronger. Something big is coming this way.

  You gather up your skirts and prepare to run, but the next tremor is less intense. The creaking of the trees is quieter. Whatever it is seems to be moving away. Maybe you won’t need to run after all.

  Go to the hunter’s cabin.

  Continue deeper into the forest.

  You don’t like the idea of going back into the forest, even if it is a different one from the forest you came to Tyven from. You choose the mountains.

  There is a narrow footpath leading up into the mountains, but it is slow going in your fine dress not suited for hiking. You will soon need to find supplies and a safe place to rest. There should be inns and small towns along the way. You aren’t familiar with the north but eventually there will be larger cities where you can lay low. Tyven is not the only city of its size in the kingdom.

  The night is warm, and surprisingly peaceful. You see the remnants of a small camp up ahead, nestled between two forks of the path. It looks to be long abandoned, the torn tent canvas dusty and fire pit growing weeds. It must have been a traders’ camp to be placed in such a central location. Mere travelers would have camped somewhere more secluded.

  As old as the place is, there might be supplies. You duck into one of the tents and have a poke around, but there is not much to see beyond a moth-eaten quilt and a wooden trunk with smashed hinges. You manage to find a sack with two moldy potatoes. Deciding not to bring them with you, you put them back down.

  Someone is standing at the tent’s entrance.

  “Find what you were looking for?” says a velvety voice.

  The lithe man steps into the tent. His face is feline and covered in short fur. Two triangular ears poke up through his hood. The cat folk are thieves and hunters but not dangerous. You relax.

  “I need supplies,” you tell him.

  He comes closer. “You won’t find them here.”

  “Is your camp close?” you ask. The cat folk are known for aiding wayward travelers, as long as they don’t ask for too much or overstay their welcome.

  He nods. His green eyes gleam in the moonlight. “Come with me.”

  You follow the feline through the trees to his camp. He doesn’t say much except to tell you his name.

  “Ash,” he says.

  Every name of the cat folk has a story behind it. They change names several times throughout their lives, their identities shaped by their actions. You wonder what his story is, but refrain from asking knowing how little cat folk like others poking into their business.

  Ash’s camp doesn’t look much different from the one he found you at, though the tents are intact and there is a small fire going.

  A muscular feline man stops Ash at the border. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks looking sideways at you.

  Ash tries to push past him. The feline pushes him roughly back.


  “She needs supplies,” Ash tells him.

  “Not from us,” the other replies.

  Another member of the camp passes by, offering his two cents. “Leave him alone,” he says. “We don’t turn back travelers in need.”

  Ash pushes aggressively past the muscular feline and pulls you along with him. You get the sense that the camp doesn’t like Ash much, judging from the looks they give him as he walks through the camp.

  “I’ll give you clothes, a days’ food, and a few copper coins. Weapons you’ll have to do without. The next town’s not far. Lay low until morning.”

  He takes you into one of the tents and gathers your supplies.

  Ask him why everyone avoids him.

  Wait in silence.

  You go east towards the sea.

  As you near the docks you feel that something is off. They are far too quiet, even accounting for all the guests at the feast. Usually there are fishermen and merchants working into the night hauling crates and shouting across the docks. There isn’t even the usual twinkle of torchlight.

  You see a slender ship with high masts and an intricately carved tentacle curving out from the bow. It must belong to one of the king’s guests from some faraway land.

  Movement on the docks catches your eye, but when you turn to look all you see is a wet patch catching the moonlight. You didn’t notice it before, but it must have been there. You kneel down to take a closer look.

  It appears to be some sort of oil, or sap. It’s slick to the touch, a bit gelatinous. It reminds you most of a jellyfish. Must be the remains of whatever fish they caught today. You wipe your fingers on your dress and stand up.

  There are more of the patches now, making mottled patterns across the docks. There is no way you didn’t notice them before. They must have just appeared. You feel a prickle of fear. You hurry along the shoreline, stepping in one of the puddles as you near the end of the docks. Your foot sticks. You scream. The gelatinous liquid starts moving up your leg, crawling like something alive. You try to wrench yourself away but the liquid is too fast. It is growing and bubbling upwards, moving steadily past your knees and towards your waist. You lose your balance and fall over.

  The ooze spreads up your thighs, slipping underneath your panties as it swallows you to your hips. It is warm and slippery against your most sensitive places. You can feel it pulsing there, then bulging like a finger to prod at your openings.

  You scream for help, desperately kicking at the ooze though your legs barely move through the viscous material. It has moved higher now, gliding along your stomach and up to your breasts. The slippery warmth against your nipples makes you shudder. You fear it will suffocate you as it engulfs your shoulders, your neck. A single tendril of it creeps up your chin and into your mouth, stifling your cries.

  You feel the bulges below your waist begin to lengthen and the ooze push itself inside of you. Your muffled cries only sound lewd as the ooze fills and fits to your holes. When you struggle it feels like your whole body is being massaged with warm oil. The stimulation is too much, and there is no use fighting anyway. The ooze pulses inside of you. You come, your whole body shuddering inside the gelatinous mass. Still it assaults you.

  You can see lights on the dock, people running towards you. It looks like some fisherman heard your cries after all. You fight to get free from the mass just enough to call to them. You can feel it shifting, undulating. It slides off the edge of the dock taking you down with it.

  The cold water hits you like a brick and the wind is knocked from your lungs. You struggle to hold your breath, but the gelatinous mass only squeezes you tighter, taking what little air is left out of your lungs. Its nubs continue to massage you as it sinks deeper, maddeningly teasing you. Your arousal builds as your brain loses oxygen. After everything, is this how you are going to die? The cold starts to spread to your bones, your heart. Only one place is still warm between your legs. You open your mouth as you come, your lungs filling with water. The salty taste of the sea is the last thing you know.

  Epilogue.

  You decide to take cover in the hunter’s cabin, at least until you are sure the giant isn’t coming back.

  The weather-worn structure looks so small up close, and you can tell at once why it was abandoned. A terrible fire has left the place a scorched shell. The wooden roof is all but gone apart from the cross beams, allowing what little moonlight there is to illuminate the inside.

  The bed and table are charred and everything else has been reduced to piles of ash. A thick cake of dirt covers the floor, telling you the fire must have happened sometime ago. Near the remains of the crumbling fireplace you spot a heavy metal ring set into the floor. It belongs to a trapdoor.

  A distant rumble shakes the cabin. The giant might be coming back. You kneel down and heave on the ring with all your strength and the door swings open with a burp of musty air. You fall backwards in surprise.

  On hands and knees you crawl back to the hole and look down into the dark. You can only see the first few rungs of the ladder until your eyes adjust, and then you can make out a patch of dirt floor below. A proper basement, not just a crawlspace. You grab hold of the ladder and drop down.

  You can barely see much beyond a small circle of light coming in from the open door above you. Down here the night is absolute. Something with too many legs drops onto your shoulder and you squirm for it to fall off.

  A hissing voice echoes from somewhere in the dark, but you can’t understand what it says. You pause with a hand on the ladder. You can see nothing, no one.

  You call out into the darkness, “Who’s there?”

  You can hear nails clicking together in steady sets of four, but can still see nothing beyond your little circle of dusty light.

  “Don’t be afraid,” the voice croons, “We have already fed tonight. We couldn’t possibly eat any more.”

  He steps out of the shadows, a six-foot beast of muscle with grey skin and leathery wings thrusting out of his back. In front, below his navel, is a large erect cock and a heavy set of balls. His smile reveals elongated canines glistening red with blood.

  You try to retreat, but your back is already pressed against the ladder. His face is inches from yours, nostrils flaring as he sniffs in your scent. You tremble, but only half from fear. Your face feels flushed. You think he won’t feast on your blood but something else.

  He laughs as he traces a clawed hand down the front of your dress. It rips cleanly, exposing your breasts and delicate stomach. Your torn dress slides down off your shoulders and onto the ground. He extends an extremely long, muscular black tongue from his mouth and dips it down around the curve of your breast, circling your nipple, taking time to tease you until your nipples are hard as little diamonds. You whimper.

  He grabs you under the arms and places you high up on the ladder. You hold on tight, trembling, unable to muster the willpower to move of your own accord. His tongue slides up the middle of your legs. The tip nudges aside your panties so it can thrust into you.

  You can hear the rustling of leathery wings around you in the darkness. There are more of them down here. They whisper as their leader claims you.

  By the time he has had a full taste, you are putty in his hands. He turns you around and grasps your ass. You can feel his pointed claws bite into your flesh leaving pinpricks of blood on your skin. He laps up your blood leaving your cheeks wet with saliva. His tongue flicks between your cheeks. You reach back with one hand and spread yourself for him, your other and still clinging tightly to the ladder. He slips his tongue inside your ass, teasingly licking your entrance. You push back, wanting him to go deeper. He obliges.

  A high screech echoes from above. The vampire withdraws his tongue and the basement comes alive with movement. You feel suddenly exposed, naked on the ladder and hopelessly aroused.

  An immense figure flies out from the darkness, knocking you down. Your head hits one of the rungs as more and more of the winged m
onsters ascends out of the basement to fly into the night.

  There is another screech. It is as if they are being called somewhere. You wait until they are long gone before climbing back up into the cabin.

  Your dress is torn in two, so you’ll need something to wear. You search the burnt remains of the cabin and find out back a small leather making area. You gather up the scraps, an unfinished tunic and a skirt of rabbit furs.

  Once dressed, you continue through the forest following a game trail that crosses a badly rutted wagon path. Though the path seems long abandoned, it eventually leads to a ramshackle town nestled in the forest. The people of the town seem to be of mixed orc, lizard, and cat folk blood. Some have more characteristics of one or the other, but you don’t see many of a single race. No one hassles you as you walk through the streets, reading the shop signs to find a suitable place to rest. You wonder if you will ever find one.

  Epilogue.

  You pass the cabin to continue deeper into the forest. A fog emerges, making everything look ghostly. You try to follow a straight path as best you can. Getting turned around in a forest like this could be deadly.

  A distant rumble shakes the forest, then another much closer. Trees shiver and topple. Whatever is coming—a forest troll, a giant—will be upon you soon. You run through the trees, your dress snagging on branches as you try desperately to outrun the creature.