Sin and Soil

by Anya Merchant

“I have… vague memories of such things,” said Ria. “How the tables have turned. She is the frightening one, now.”

  “Malon?” asked Damon.

  “Her too, but I speak of Velanor.” Ria made an upturned gesture with one hand. “She is more frightening than me, in some ways. She is a Merinian noblewoman, while I am but a humble clanless Remenai. She will become of power once she marries well. She will have more influence as a colonizer on the Malagantyan than some of its natives, if she chooses it for herself.”

  Damon nodded, but he felt his face betraying his emotions as he considered Vel being taken as some snooty nobleman’s wife. His thoughts went back to the mask and the Turning Festival, some sick part of him still refusing to accept the woman he’d bedded and Vel as separate people.

  “Does that thought unsettle you?” asked Ria.

  Damon shrugged and, like any good swordsman, deflected. “No, that’s not it. Are there truly no clans who would accept you, Ria? Tempesting is rare, even among the Rem, and it’s not as though you, uh, don’t have other assets on top of that.”

  Ria let out a single, beautiful laugh. “You assume much of me just as I assume much of Vel, it seems. We are of the same in this, which makes question my previous point. Yes, there are clans who would adopt me, were I to marry into them and become subservient. I… dislike the idea.”

  “You’re too proud for it, you mean?”

  She stared him down, still smiling, but as intense as he’d ever seen her. “If you mind, I was about my sparring. Unless you would care to join me?”

  She took up a Rem combat stance, eyebrows perking upward.

  “Gladly,” said Damon.

  He rolled out both his shoulders, moving to stand across from her. It wasn’t the first time they’d sparred, but the last had been before Damon had reached his full size. Ria was still an inch or so taller than him, but his reach was comparable and at least in terms of physical strength, he had her outmatched.

  Damon’s experience in hand to hand combat was limited, however, consisting only of a few tips on throwing proper punches and landing low kicks intermingled with advice on wrestling submission holds. He circled Ria, keeping his knees slightly bent, legs ready to push him toward an advantage.

  She attacked first, one of her hands blurring outward in an open palmed strike. Damon dodged, but Ria was clever, and the movement had only been a feint to set up her next attack, a spinning elbow aimed for his chin.

  He leaned and lifted his shoulder, taking the blow on the meaty upper muscle of his arm. He punched outward. Ria dodged with a mixture of speed and flexibility, leaning back and letting his fist pass through the space where she’d just been.

  He kicked low and she evaded to the left with a side flip, landing and responding with her own spinning low kick. Damon hopped over it with less flair before blundering forward, pulling her into a simple wrestling hug and twisting them both to the ground.

  Ria made a quick movement with her hands, and static suddenly sparked between them. Damon almost let go of her, but he knew more than most about tempesting. She wasn’t immune to her own shock magic, just more familiar with how it felt to be on the receiving end of and more capable of expecting the pain.

  He hugged her tighter, twisting her underneath him and straddling her stomach. It was the first time he’d ever pinned Ria before during their sparring, and rather than being offended or churlish about it, she grinned up at him, looking almost proud.

  “You are not bad,” she said. “I thought my magic would surprise you.”

  “I performed with a Remenai tempester for a time while with my gladiatorial troupe.”

  “One with the banishment mark, no doubt?”

  Damon gave a small nod. He stayed where he was for a moment, enjoying the softness of Ria’s slender body underneath him despite the breach in what was probably appropriate. Her half-shirt had shifted up to expose the bottom of one of her breasts, and he wondered if she could feel his tool through his clothing, settled on her stomach as it was.

  “You have pinned me,” said Ria, teasingly. “What sort of attitude will you be about toward your defeated opponent, young Damon?”

  “Mercy,” he said, standing up and offering her a hand. “For now. Ria, can I ask you something?”

  “Merinians,” she muttered. “Why ask if you can ask? So pointless.”

  “You were on your way back to the farm before we found you,” he said. “Why? Safety? Loneliness?”

  “You already know, I suspect,” said Ria. “It seems not of coincidence that we both arrived back here for much the same reason. Shank. I wished to seek the aid of Malon in fighting and killing him, if she could be convinced. I was desperate in that, and I now think misguided, as well.”

  “She’s already spoken of not wanting to face him directly. I think it’s related to her crest and how it might provoke the Forsaken if she moves against him.”

  “Yes.” Ria folded her arms, hair still dancing in the warm wind. “Malon will not help. However, in you, young Damon, I might have an ally just as potent.”

  “You would help me face Shank?” asked Damon.

  “Ah.” Ria gave him a patronizing smile. “It is in fact you who would help me, though I am of awareness that the distinction means less in Merinian than it does in my language.”

  Damon almost made a quip about how Merianian was her language, technically the first one she’d learned having been raised from infancy by Malon, but thought better of it. Ria was already sensitive enough about her heritage and lack of clan tattoos.

  “Let’s do it,” he said. “We’ll have to find them, first.”

  “Perhaps,” said Ria. “And this…” She gestured toward the sky. “Is ideal for our engagement. We need to set out as soon as we are able.”

  “I’m with you,” said Damon.

  CHAPTER 31

  Damon and Ria began gathering supplies as soon as they were back inside the tower house, filling two traveling bags with food and basic camping supplies. Malon was still in the kitchen, and her eyes grew serious as she noticed what they were doing.

  “Where are the two of you going?” she asked.

  Damon hesitated, considering his answer, which gave Ria ample room to respond without thinking.

  “We are not going to simply sit here and wait for our enemies to attack,” she said. “We are of patience, not of foolishness. Taking the fight on our own terms is the only way to ensure the outcome we need.”

  Malon frowned and shook her head. “It isn’t that simple. Seta, you are talking about a crest sorcerer with the backing, however indirectly, of one of the Divine Remnants.”

  “That is what truly influences your thinking, is it not?” countered Ria. “The whims of your master, Lascivious. You are no more than a thrall to her, beholden to her each and every wish.”

  “Mind your words,” said Malon, in a severe voice. “I won’t allow you to rush into this situation blinded by assumptions based off your limited understanding.”

  “You cannot stop me, Malon,” Ria said, with a scoff. “I am a child no longer. I have become of power and am at least of a match for you.”

  The tension within the room seemed to have thickened to an impossible level over such a short exchange of words. Damon reached a hand to grab Ria’s shoulder, but she brushed it off. Vel had emerged from her room and was looking back and forth between the two other women with a worried expression.

  “Is this the truth of why you’ve returned, seta?” asked Malon. “Do you wish to challenge me, as I know you so wished to in the time when you first began to wander?”

  “If you are of intention to stop me from facing the crest sorcerer with Damon, then you must do it the hard way, Malon.”

  ***

  Despite various protests from Damon and Vel, the encounter between Ria and Malon escalated outside. The two women, one a spellblood, the other a sorceress, stared each other down on the grass alongside the lake.

  At a glance, they were opposites. M
alon, fair skinned, hair in a red braid, still clad in her apron over a simple dress of pale violet. Ria, tall and tanned and serious, already crouched in her Remenai combat stance of choice.

  “This is stupid!” cried Vel. “Aesta! Ria! Nothing will be accomplished by the two of you trying to hurt each other.”

  “Relax, seta,” said Malon. “I suspect no harm will come from this encounter.”

  “Your arrogance is unbecoming,” said Ria. “Prepare yourself and hope that your words are of truth.”

  “Ria,” said Damon, through his teeth. “This isn’t what I had in mind when I said I’d help you!”

  “Solas,” said Malon. She gave him a smile that was comforting, despite the circumstances, and enough to convince him that perhaps it might be best to let the long simmering tensions between her and Ria run their course.

  The wind picked up suddenly, and a whisper rippled through the trees as rain began to fall in the distance, and then overhead. Ria looked so incredibly pleased that it almost seemed as though she’d already won. She began moving her hands slowly, directing her magic with motions that Damon had never fully understood in purpose or mechanism.

  Damon brushed a few droplets off his face, hardly caring about getting wet in light of what was about to take place. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck and arms begin to stand up again, as they had the night before, and it took the core of his willpower to keep from shouting a warning to Malon.

  There was no visual component to Ria’s tempesting about her person, aside from perhaps a slightly stronger swirling of wind around her personal space. It wasn’t until small flickers of static and lightning began appearing in the air, each new burst appearing nearer to Malon with slow deliberation, that her ability could be recognized for what it was.

  Malon barely reacted, blinking and taking a moment to smooth back freshly wet strands of red bangs. With her arms down at her sides, still clad in her cooking apron, she looked distinctly unprepared for what Damon knew would soon be vicious onslaught of magical lightning.

  The first contact of Ria’s tempesting was a simple touch, rather than a true attack. A tiny burst of lightning struck Malon’s braid, causing it to dance like a seizing snake for an instant before falling slack.

  “The next strike will contain my full power,” said Ria.

  Malon simply smiled, confident and unphased. Ria let out a snarl, pulling her arms above her head and swirling them in a motion that quite literally directed the strength of the budding storm.

  The boom of thunder rippled through the clearing in the same instant that a massive bolt of lightning lit up the overcast, rainy sky. It was too bright for Damon to see the moment it struck, which left his heart pounding at the possibility that it might also be too much for Malon to handle.

  His fears were unfounded, but that wasn’t enough to calm him down. Malon was entirely uninjured and unimpressed by Ria’s display. A faint crimson glow emanated from where her crest presumably was on her lower back, bright enough to bleed out through the fabric of her dress.

  Her eyes were also glowing the same color red, which made for a start contrast against Ria, whose tempesting magic only manifested through its effects. It made Damon think of Ria’s words the previous night, her accusations of the Forsaken as ancient evil and Malon gaining her power through servitude.

  “Are you finished?” called Malon. She voiced her question confidently, with no undercurrent of challenge or mockery, but it made little difference in the way Ria interpreted it.

  “That is only a fraction of my true strength!” shouted Ria.

  She charged forward, more lightning crackling down with each step, surrounding Malon as though to cut off any potential retreat. Ria feinted left and then spun, hurling herself forward into a tackle preempted and partially hidden by a leading flash of lightning between her and Malon.

  She never finished that tackle. Malon lifted a hand as soon as Ria’s legs left the ground. Crimson shimmers appeared in the air, and as Ria’s dive took her into them, she collided with a hidden magical barrier that rippled red in reaction.

  It was as though she’d attempted to tackle a wall, and the effect thereafter followed much the same. She fell to the wet ground, immediately rolling back to her feet. She waved a hand overhead, summoning more lightning, this time to attack Malon’s defensive barrier.

  The crimson shimmers seemed to shatter and then fade into red sparks as Ria’s tempesting magic delivered a tremendous blow. She smirked and continued forward, this time more warily, drawing within distance for hand to hand combat against her former aesta.

  Malon barely moved, merely lifting an arm and half extending a single finger. Red light pulsed around Ria like a sheath, paralyzing her mid-step. Malon turned her hand palm down and Ria followed, flipping head over heels before being released into an uncomfortable, but ultimately harmless drop.

  “I will not give up!” screamed Ria. “If you think your tricks will be enough to dissuade me, you have—”

  Malon suddenly flung her arms outward to either side. A ball of magical flame appeared in each of her hands, burning more intensely than any natural fire and shedding sparks like fresh wood embers. She slammed both palms together, forcing a thick pillar of crimson fire straight up into the air.

  It shifted outward as it rose, becoming a curving dome of flame that covered not only herself and Ria, but Damon and Vel and the entirety of the clearing containing the farmstead.

  For five of the longest seconds of Damon’s life, he watched Malon’s spell turn the overcast sky into a controlled crimson inferno, rain sputtering into steam before it could even reach the ground or their heads. She let her arms drop as she ended the spell, still staring at Ria, who’d fallen to one knee in complete awe of the display.

  “Seta,” said Malon, crouching down beside her. “Are you satisfied?”

  Ria’s only answer was the slightest nod of her head, though whether that was due to the remnants of her defiance or complete shock was anyone’s guess. With the fight over, Malon turned and strode past her, brushing droplets of water off her red braid as the rain resumed its fall.

  CHAPTER 32

  Damon’s awe over the fight he’d just witnessed only lasted until he stopped to consider the toll Malon’s magic had taken on her the previous time around, a display which now seemed like child’s play compared to what he’d just seen her do. He hurried to follow after her into the tower house, leaving Ria and Vel outside in the rain.

  Malon’s door wasn’t barred, which was as much of an invitation as Damon needed. He did take the time to knock, but slipped inside rather than waiting for her response, his concern getting the better of him.

  The pale violet dress Malon had been wearing was lying on the floor, crumpled and damp. Malon, herself, was in bed, her quilt pulled up partially, but not completely, across her chest. Damon could see an interesting amount of the pale, partially freckled flesh of her upper breasts, but again, his concern kept him from fully appreciating the sight.

  Her eyes were closed, but she was breathing deliberately, deep, intentional breaths. She blinked, noticing him as he stepped forward, and immediately began shaking her head.

  “Aesta,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Solas…” Her voice was weak and tired, as though half a day of grueling work had taken place in between her duel against Ria and the current moment. “I’m… fine. Truly.”

  “You’re anything but,” said Damon. “Please, tell me. What can I do?”

  He began walking toward her bed, intent on sitting down next to her and at the very least giving her his full attention. Each step he took closer to her sent a flutter through his body, namely his abdomen, with a guilty emphasis on his loins. The fact that she was nude underneath the quilt became more relevant, drawing his eyes, demanding his focus.

  “Let me rest,” whispered Malon.

  “I will, but first I think I should—”

  “Solas!”

  Her voice was serio
us and commanding, and perhaps it would have been enough to stop Damon in his tracks under placid circumstances. He felt drawn to her, the current moment blending with his memories of the previous night and the dirty intimacy they’d engaged in while sharing the bed.

  Damon’s forehead bumped off a wall that shouldn’t have existed. He flinched backward, blinking in surprise as he realized that Malon had conjured one of the same magical barriers she’d used against Ria across the room. He stared numbly at it, and though the wall faded almost as quickly as it had appeared, the depth in Malon’s eyes told him that she’d summon it back if needed.

  “I won’t budge on this, solas,” she said, quietly. “Your concern is appreciated, but I need you to let me rest on my own terms.”

  Damon folded his arms, letting his reluctance take up residence on his face. “I need you to be honest with me about the toll your magic takes on you.”

  Malon said nothing for a moment that stretched into uncomfortable territory. “It isn’t a… destructive toll, as long as I am careful. Solas, you needn’t worry. This doesn’t concern you.”

  “The fact that I’m currently concerned would seem to contradict that.”

  Again, Malon let the silence overfill the room. “You mustn’t speak of this to Velanor, or even Ria.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t wish them to know,” she said, curtly. “I would prefer for you not to know, either, but given how… close you’ve been to my magic, I suspect you’ll place the pieces together eventually even if I seal my lips.”

  “I’ll stay quiet, then,” he said. “I’m just worried about you, aesta.”

  “I know,” said Malon. “Solas… There are two ways for me to recover after using my magic. I can either rest in bed, sleeping and eating and recovering naturally. Or…”

  “Or?”

  She took a breath, exhaling softly through her nose. “I can fulfill the base conditions of my crest contract. A contract which embodies the virtues of, well… of Lascivious.”