by AO Spade
Leaning forward, he put his hands on Laren's broad chest and smoothed down, over his stomach toward his erect, leaking organ. He heard the leader's breath catch, and he gripped the hot, hard shaft once again.
As he began to stroke up and down, Laren leaked more and more. Alvarr found himself gripping tighter, grinding his own member into Laren's thigh.
He needed it to be more slippery and had an idea, a strange, exciting idea. He leaned across Laren, pressing their organs together for an agonizing second. "I'm going to try something," he said. "Don't worry, just let me try it."
"Anything you want," Laren said, sounding like the words were forced out through gritted teeth. His stomach flexed with tension, and Alvarr couldn't help run his fingers over the hard muscles as he made his way down the leader's body.
His tongue traced the path his fingers made, licking along the line of hair that led to Laren's shaft. This close, the leader's musky scent made the mage a bit dizzy, but he inhaled deeply as his cheek touched the side of Laren's organ.
Then, he reached out with his tongue and licked from the base to the tip. Laren's skin, stretched tight over the hard member, tasted salty, and it pulsed with life. Taking a deep breath, Alvarr covered the head with his lips.
Laren's hands flew to Alvarr's head, taking fistfuls of his long hair. "Mmm," he groaned, sounding strangled.
Just try to relax, Alvarr willed to him, and let his tongue come down on the soft, sensitive head.
Letting out a shout, Laren pushed his hips up. The thick head flared inside Alvarr's mouth, and the mage tasted the smooth, salty drops of liquid. With one hand holding the base, Alvarr moved with the leader's thrusts, wetting the dry shaft inch by inch.
"Alvarr!" Laren cried. His powerful body worked his member in and out of the mage's mouth. Alvarr could feel how tremors shook him, and though he didn't want to stop, he raised his mouth from the leader's organ and covered the top with his palm instead.
Twisting around the head, he watched Laren's face as he lost himself. The leader threw his forearm over his eyes, then gripped his own hair. His other hand reached out for the mage, not quite bridging the distance.
Alvarr inched up until Laren's fingers touched his knee. In a swift movement, the leader sat up and pulled Alvarr into him. "Both of us," he said, and covered Alvarr's hand with his own.
No! Alvarr thought. The sensation of Laren's soft, yet hard, shaft against his own was too much. He bit his lip and tried to get away, but Laren's grip was unbreakable. "Laren, it's dangerous," he gasped, hoping the leader understood.
"I trust you."
It was as though summer itself filled Alvarr up from top to bottom. The mage bit his lip as the heat fought its way out of him. He wrapped his legs around Laren's waist. His heels dug into the grass as that tightness built up, and his member spurted a hot stream of liquid onto Laren's stomach.
He heard the leader moan, and Laren's strong hand worked Alvarr's seed into both their hard organs. Alvarr pumped his hips into the leader's strong grip, and then he felt the first shot of Laren's hot seed spill over him, mixing with his own.
Burning pleasure took them both, and all they could do was ride out the storm.
When it was over, Alvarr lifted his head from where it had fallen against Laren's shoulder. He looked between them; their mingled seed dripped down and pooled between them.
Laren still breathed heavily. He stroked Alvarr's tangled hair back from his face and gave him a soft kiss. "You see?" he said. "Nothing happened, mage." For once, the word sounded fond, rather than accusing.
Alvarr got up from the leader's lap and looked around. Aside from the unseasonal green grass that had grown around them, the land looked unchanged. Perhaps he is right. A laugh bubbled out of him. "I feel better, Laren," he said, reaching his hands down to the leader to help him up.
The leader put his arm around the mage's slender waist. "I'm glad. That... helped you, then?"
Alvarr was going to answer, but the leader shifted to his massive four-legged form. His ears pointed toward the camp, and he looked in the direction of home, then back at the mage. His tail swished from side to side.
"What's wrong?" Alvarr asked.
"Something. I don't know," the leader said grimly, "but I just have a bad feeling."
"Go. Nature works through you, too," Alvarr said.
"But you-"
"I feel much better," the mage insisted. "I'll be fine."
The big gray let out a frustrated breath, but pranced a few steps toward the camp. With a last look, Laren cantered away.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Press Of Time
ALVARR WATCHED THE leader dash away. What had Laren sensed? I do not sense anything.
The mage tried to be concerned, but he couldn't quite get to the point of worry. It warred with the glow of health throughout his body. What did he call that? It wasn't mating, exactly. It was something else.
The mage wanted to follow after Laren, but his instincts told him to graze on this fresh grass that his magic had provided. It would disappear soon, and it would be wasted if he did not eat it.
He shifted easily, with no sign of illness, and bent his head to eat the precious, clean food. At least his magic had stayed under control, this time. Maybe it's because of Laren. He channels Nature's Order, after all.
After he had eaten his fill, he began to walk home. He found the woods peaceful as he passed the rustling, dry-leaved trees. Most leaves had fallen to the ground, but it was a normal season, not the early death of the woods beyond the river. Grateful that he could stay on four legs, Alvarr took his time.
The earth did not respond to him as it once did. This was good, he thought. The season had turned at last. Though he had wished for Nature to help him on his journey, it was against the balance to make fruit grow in winter, or freeze a stream in summer-
Oh, no. The mage stopped, his legs locking at the knee. Alvarr had been mistaken. Inside the protection of the woods, his power had changed nothing. But just outside, the earth rippled in dips and peaks like water suspended in time. Laren had to have seen that.
It was both beautiful and terrible. Alvarr's stomach clenched. It was a lie that his mother told him, that earth mages couldn't do harm with their power. He knew this now, and he didn't want it. He didn't want to have this power to rework the earth; he just wanted to live his life. If only he could give his power back somehow-
A bird sang a harsh song close to his ear. To the mage, the whistle sounded disappointed, as though the creature were the voice of Nature itself. He thought the bird scolded him. If it is, it's right. I'm being selfish.
He bowed his head. His power was granted by Nature. Nature had wanted him to have it, and hadn't he saved lives with it? Hadn't he cleansed land and made it so that his people could eat? To reject it now was to be a coward. I'm just afraid.
But if he got control, there was no need to be afraid. He would not turn into someone like Alvi, and he could help his people thrive.
As soon as he set one foot out of the woods, a wave of illness hit him. If he hadn't been on four legs, he would have fallen. Laren! he called out in his mind, stumbling forward.
All the fresh grass he had eaten churned in his stomach.
Was this what Laren sensed? Breathing through his mouth, the mage tried to calm himself. It's not far back to camp. You can rest in the healing tent in man-shape.
His hooves dragged over the ripples in the earth that his magic had left, just putting one foot in front of the other. How he wished Laren were with him. Though the leader would not be able to help, being in his presence was a comfort.
Is this what 'mates' is? The desire for companionship outside of mating? Elder Mastok, had told him that a mate was not something dictated by nature, but of choice. People choosing each other.
Saliva dripped from the mage's mouth. He didn't dare look up to see how far he still had left to go. He wasn't ill, not with anything like a bad herb or mushroom. This has to do with the land
, I can feel it. Elder Pastor had become sensitive to it, Laren could feel it, and perhaps it was only a matter of time before everyone else could as well. He could only hope the Elders found an answer in what he had brought back from the old civilization.
When Alvarr returned, he found the camp churning with stallions, all ill at ease. Or maybe everyone already feels it.
Barron trotted up to him. "Where have you been?" the slender stallion asked.
"I am sick," Alvarr said, then shook his mane. "No, it's the land. It's sickening us all."
"I know," his friend said in a low voice. "Cantril came back, and he's… he's not himself." Barron turned his head away for a moment. "I know you are not-"
"I'll help him," Alvarr said. Despite his feelings of shivery nausea, he and Laren were the strongest against the land's taint. And he had not forgotten that Cantril was one of the people who had been willing to listen to Alvarr, not just reject him out of fear.
"Are you sure?"
In response, Alvarr shifted to man-shape. Though cold air pressed on him from all sides, most of the bad feeling rolled off him. With one hand on Barron's back to steady himself, the mage hurried as fast as he could to the healing tent.
Worried people filled the tent, such that Alvarr could hardly get through. Barron walked right in on four-legs, and raised his voice for everyone to move out of Alvarr's way.
Stallions stood around Cantril, who hadn't even made it to a pallet. He lay on the floor in four-legged form beneath the white cloth ceiling, and when Alvarr saw him fully, he had to look away for a moment. This was not the stallion he remembered. Every rib was visible beneath his coat, which looked thin and dull. He could see every breath; it moved the stallion's entire body. He's nothing but skin and bones.
"I must get through," Alvarr said. His voice sounded thin, but people shuffled aside to make way for him.
Kneeling by Cantril's side, the mage put his hand on the stallion's thin ribs. His breath whistled in and out of his lungs in small shallow gusts, but no stink of romeya came with it. "What happened?" Alvarr asked, looking at the frightened gazes of the men standing around the downed stallion. "And why is he so thin?" Everyone is thin.
No one could answer; their faces were all tight and pale. Alvarr felt the icy finger of panic touch his spine. Romeya sickness was easy to understand; it was a sweet, addictive poison.
This had no cause that he could see. He tried to reach into Cantril's shape with his power, and all he could discern was the stallion's weakening pulse of life.
Alvarr was aware of Elder Mastok coming toward him, probably to tell him not to spend so much energy. He pretended not to see the old man. I have eaten good food. I am still strong.
A light hand landed the mage's shoulder. Alvarr looked up and drew in a breath. Ancient Elder Pastor looked down on him. "You should not use your power like this," the older man said in his whispery voice. "You are not a healer."
"What am I supposed to do?" Alvarr demanded. "I am strong and healthy, Elder. I have to try to help him."
Slowly, Elder Pastor knelt next to him. "When you give your energy, you give of yourself. Your life."
Alvarr nodded. "Yes, I know. I am very tired after."
The ancient man gripped his arm. "You must save your strength, young mage. You have more than yourself to think of. Let us old men do what we can." He used no strength or compulsion, but Alvarr found himself moving aside to make room for Elder Pastor. The man put his pale, wrinkled hands on Cantril's side. Then, he put his ear to it.
Elder Mastok and Elder Sevan hurried in, carrying hollow stones filled with something pungent smelling. Alvarr did not recognize it.
"Open his mouth, Sevan," Elder Pastor said.
With incredible strength, the gray-haired Elder put his fingers in Cantril's jaws and got them open, slipping a stick in between his teeth. Elder Mastok poured the liquid into the unconscious stallion's mouth, and Elder Pastor moved his hands to Cantril's neck, focusing hard.
What is he doing? Alvarr thought Elder Pastor was trying to give him energy, but that could not be right. Only mages could do that kind of work, or so he thought.
Cantril made tiny shudders, and his hooves moved as they worked. Alvarr tried to be heartened by these small signs of life, but the scene disturbed him. How fragile we all are, how easily one can be cut down when the land is against us. He could do nothing but stay near in case the Elders needed him.
The time crept past in tense moments. Most of the stallions left the tent, but Alvarr remained, his hands clasped together so hard they ached. He leaped up at the chance to do something when Elder Sevan asked him for more water, and then the pallet covering from the ancients' camp.
They covered Cantril with it, leaving only his head out.
"Is he better?" Alvarr asked.
Elder Pastor held up one hand. "He is improved, for now. But we had to give him strong herbs."
"This cannot continue. Time is running out for all of us," Elder Sevan said. He rose, and with a strong grip, he pulled Alvarr onto his feet. "Get some rest, young mage. Stay in here, where we can watch over you. You have only just returned from your journey.“
Then, Elder Sevan held up a hand to someone just entering the tent. "You can relax, young leader. He assisted us, but did not give anything of himself."
Young leader? Laren was here? Yes. Behind him, the leader had come inside and was pushing his way toward the mage. He took one look at Alvarr and urged him away from the rest. "You are tired," he said. "I can see it, even in your man-shape." Laren gripped the mage's upper arm and steered him toward a pallet.
"Did you know about Cantril?" Alvarr asked, resisting the urge to lean against the other man. Having Laren near helped him relax, even if the situation itself was not any better. "Is that why you left?" His heart have a thump as he remembered what they had shared earlier that day. They were both in man-shape now, soft human skin touching. Though they were not in the act of mating, Alvarr still felt their closeness.
"It was," the leader replied. "I did not know what was wrong, just that something had happened." He sat next to Alvarr on the pallet, their legs touching. They sat in silence for a minute while the Elders moved Cantril's motionless form farther within the tent, with help from other stallions in man-shape.
"Did you sense anything?" the leader asked.
Alvarr shook his long hair behind him. "Not until I was out of the woods," he said. "I left because you did, and you clearly knew something that I did not." How does Laren feel about everything, this time? The leader had been the one to come to him. Surely, that made a difference.
Beside him, the leader sighed. "If things continue like this, I…" He struck his thigh with his fist. "I don't know what to do. What you say, the tribes living together. If that is the answer, I cannot imagine how we would do it."
"We still don't know everything," Alvarr said. "The Elders must learn the knowledge I brought back. They have seen many more seasons than we have." He placed a hand lightly on Laren's thigh. "I know that what they say is sometimes hard to understand, but we should listen to them, Laren. Their many seasons mean that they know much so more than us. Nature wants us to heal. If nothing else, Nature will guide us." I hope.
The leader looked away. "I wish I had your faith."
Elder Mastok came from within the depths of the tent. When he saw them, he smiled, his aged face lifting into many lines. "Ah, this is good to see. We must all take comfort where we can." His sharp eyes looked over the mage, then glanced around the tent. "When Cantril is better, I must speak with you, young mage. And, possibly, your mate." He inclined his head toward the leader.
"I am not his mate," Laren said, frowning. "I care for him, but…"
The mage caught his breath. Laren cares for me? That was unexpected.
He withdrew his hand where it rested on Laren's leg, and wrapped his arms around his middle. "Laren does not believe in mates, Elder," Alvarr said, forcing himself to speak the truth. "To be fair, none of us know
what that is. What knowledge do we truly have?"
I believe, though. I know it is real.
"Then, Laren, you must leave," the Elder said, pulling the large, muscular man up with a surprisingly firm hand. "Alvarr has only just returned, and I want to make sure he recovers. As you know, the land is affecting him."
Laren went with surprising obedience. The leader walked slowly toward the tent's exit without a single look back at them.
"Fool," Elder Mastok muttered.
Alvarr felt a flash of heat in Laren's defense. Laren was being stubborn in many ways, but in this, perhaps he was right to be cautious. "Elder," the mage said, "what choice does he have? Even if he did believe in mates, what could he do about it?"
"Accept what is plain as the sun in the sky, for one thing," Elder Mastok said. He put a hand on Alvarr's chest and encouraged him to lie down. "It would help the rest of the tribe accept that they, too, may have true companions."
But no one knows what we know. The Elders, Laren, and Barron, who had seen his magic work, were different. But to the rest of the tribe, the idea of stallions and mages living together would seem strange. Unthinkable, even, especially because it would mean mare-mages among them. Would they be afraid of their own mates?
Alvarr imagined himself gathering the tribe and telling them all that the stallions and mares must come together, and the lack of understanding on his people's faces. As though I told them all that they were supposed to eat tree bark and mushrooms rather than grass.
"Elder?"
"Yes, young mage."
"We must find what is in those leaves I brought back. Maybe… I can take some to Elder Pastor in his cave. Or someone can. It is the only way to know what to do." Despite the concerns chasing themselves in his mind, Alvarr's eyelids drifted over his eyes.
"You worry about regaining your full strength," the Elder said. "Leave the knowledge to me."
When the mage awoke in the middle of the night, it was because an odd light flickered behind his closed eyes. He sat up and saw an orange glow behind the partition.
