Echoes

by Nathan Ravenwood

  Vann followed her gaze, and stopped himself. To their left, the realms of the Lords spread out wide and vast. The forest they'd journeyed through seemed all the more vast when viewed from atop the mountain, broken only by the occasional town or settlement. Leagues in the distance, Vann could barely make out the glinting spires of Papreon, dark rain clouds lingering over the city.

  “Incredible,” he murmured. South of Papreon, were the vast plains that sloped downward towards the southern countries, with another range of mountains rising up far, far off in the distance. To his right, the north, the forests grew denser, more vast. Far to the west, they grew ancient, and it was there that the elves called home. Curiously enough, the sky seemed a tad darker to the north, despite the fact that it was midday and there were no clouds to speak of.

  Janaza noticed it too. “What's wrong with the sky over there?” she asked, pointing.

  “Not sure,” Vann said. “Rorzan?”

  Rorzan's arms were folded, his face dark and guarded. “Also not sure,” he said quietly, with far less exuberance than normal.

  “You okay?”

  The ghost turned his head towards Mount Adagio. “Sorry. I just want to find the altar and Arielle.”

  Janaza nodded. “Let's keep going, then.”

  They walked for the rest of the day, until the sun began to set and the temperature plummeted. After a bit of backtracking they found a cave to hole up in for the evening, one that curved as they walked back into it. There were old bones and claw marks on the floor, marking it as a den for some manner of beast, but they were old, so there was little chance they'd have a late night visitor. The cave's curvature meant the wind didn't blow directly inside, which made things a little more comfortable for them.

  Janaza foraged for sticks and some needles, and they chanced a fire, if only to keep themselves warm. Rorzan took up a watchful post at the cave entrance, citing a need to be alone for a while. Vann nibbled on a loaf of bread, watching the ghost for a time.

  “What do you know of him?” Janaza asked.

  Vann looked at her. The orc was looking at Rorzan's back, her gold eyes curious. “Only what I was taught as a boy,” Vann said. “It's not the most flattering picture. They called him a maniac, a dictator. But from what he's said, and from how he's acted these past few days, he doesn't seem that bad.” He frowned. “He's still kind of an asshole, though.”

  Janaza snickered. “True.”

  “What do your people know of him?”

  “Only that he struck alliances with some of the war chiefs, and others resented them and tried to break those alliances apart.” She shifted, drawing her cloak closer about herself. “My people are not monolithic. Our society is much the same as it was back when he was still alive – many different factions all vying for power and dominance. Same as humans, I suppose.”

  Vann stared out past Rorzan, at the blanket of stars hovering in the sky. “What can you tell me about yours?”

  For the first time, he saw uncertainty flicker in her eyes. She didn't look at him, but didn't turn her head to hide her face either. “I'd rather not talk about it. Let's just say that there's a reason why I'm here on this mountain with you rather than sitting warm on the islands in the southern sea.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  Her face brightened a little. “Don't be. The two of you are much more interesting company.”

  They lapsed into silence after that, simply staring out of their little cave at the mountains outside. After a bit, Vann heard the orc snoring gently and layed down himself. He drew the cloak around himself, bunching it up under his head so that his cheek wouldn't rest on the cold rock beneath him, and tried his best to get to sleep.

  It didn't come. He'd managed well enough in the more moderate temperatures before, but now up here on the mountains with the temperature dipping towards freezing, he couldn't get comfortable no matter what he tried. The chill set in no matter how much adjusted himself, and after a while he was a shivering, cold mess.

  He shifted, something scraped underneath him, and Janaza stirred. “Vann?”

  “S-s-sorry,” Vann stammered, his teeth chattering. “N-nothing's w-w-wrong.”

  She lifted her head, her black hair wild and unkempt. “Like the spirits it's not,” she said. “You're freezing!”

  “M'f-f-fine,” Vann protested.

  Janaza shifted, scooting over to his side and throwing open her cloak. “Get in.”

  That alone made Vann feel warmer, blushing despite the icy cold prickling his face. “It's okay,” he said, scooting backwards. “I-it's okay.”

  The orc struck like a snake, her arm shooting out and hooking around Vann, dragging him backwards. Quick as flash she bundled her cloak around them both, trapping Vann next to her. He became acutely aware of her body and everywhere it pressed to him, from the swell of her breasts against his shoulders to her hips, flush with his own. One of her legs hooked around his own, the skin of her leg soft against his.

  “Don't be a fool,” she murmured against his hair. “I'm warm. You're freezing.”

  “But...”

  Her arms wrapped around him, and she pulled him closer. She felt like a furnace, her body heat already raising the temperature in their cloak bundle to toasty levels. There was also the fact that just being in contact with her bare skin had gotten him rock hard in moments, his cock pressing uncomfortably against his pants. “No buts,” she said, her voice soft and warm by his ear.

  Vann remained rigid for a long time, hardly daring to move. For a moment he considered waiting for her to fall asleep and then wriggling out of her grasp, but then realized there was no way that was happening, not with her beefy arms tight around him. So he forced himself to relax, staring at the cave wall until he fell asleep.

  When he woke, somehow he'd gotten turned around in the night, and was staring at the roof of the cave instead of the wall. He was warm all the way through, from his head to his feet. He stirred, and Janaza stirred next to him. “Morning,” she murmured.

  “Morning,” he answered. In the post sleep haze, a dim part of him realized that he had morning wood. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  Her voice was incredibly close. “Want me to take care of you?”

  Not really realizing what she meant, Vann sleepily murmured, “Sure.”

  Then her hand dove inside his pants and closed around his erection, and all vestiges of sleep vanished in a moment. Her long fingers curled around his length, and she took a soft breath. “Oh, my.”

  “Wait, wait,” Vann murmured. He looked at her, but she was looking downwards, into the confines of the cloak, where she'd drawn his pants down a little to expose his hard length. Her golden eyes sparkled.

  “And what,” she said, stroking him slowly, “do we have here?”

  Vann panted, feeling his body prickle and grow hot. Her fingers skittered up and down his cock, pressing and feeling him out, reaching down to cup his balls while her thumb swirled a drop of pre around his cockhead. “I...” he panted. “I...”

  “So this is what you've been hiding from me?” she purred. “Bad boy.”

  Janaza began to stroke him, long and slow, her grip gentle but firm. Vann tried to get his mouth to work, to tell her to stop, but couldn't. It felt too good. His hips betrayed him, nudging into her hand as she pleasured him. He squirmed, equally desperate as he was to find an out as he was to stay put, his body at war with his mind. He turned his head, staring at the wall.

  The very top of Rorzan's ghostly head, from his nose upward, emerged from the rocky cave floor next to him. Vann locked eyes with the ghost. Very slowly, Rorzan shook his head. Vann opened his mouth to ask a question, but then the question turned into a loud moan as he jerked his hips up into Janaza's hand. She crooned softly, never wavering in her rhythm.

  It felt so good, writhing and twitching under her ministrations. The pleasure wasn't foreign to him, the feeling of someone else working his cock. But no matter how much he tried to relax and enjoy it, memories of
his times with Lady Branna clouded his mind. The feeling of being used left him feeling scummy. Was Janaza doing the same thing? Was he just a cock for her to stroke to satiate some need of her own?

  Then feelings became moot as he felt his climax approaching. One way or another, things would be coming to a head soon, and a part of him was eager to get it over with. He closed his eyes, staying as still as he could, as Janaza kept up her steady rhythm. At the last moment he remembered to yank his shirt up as his cock tensed, then released, his seed shooting out and tagging his belly, coating Janaza's hand.

  “Mmm, very nice,” the orc purred as she wrung him dry. Vann relaxed, breathing deeply, a profound sense of shame falling on him. Part of him knew that there was nothing wrong with what they'd just done. So why did it feel like it?

  “Seems like you were all pent up,” Janaza said, her hand caressing his cheek. “Did seeing me naked get you all that hot and bothered?”

  Vann seemed to keep discovering new amounts that he could blush. “N-no,” he said, trying to play it cool.

  “Bullshit,” Rorzan said, emerging fully from the cave floor.

  Janaza lifted her head and gave the ghost a dry look. “Enjoy the show?”

  “As much as you can when you don't have flesh, blood, or a pulse,” Rorzan said, smirking. “If you two are done, we should pack up and get moving. We can be at Mount Adagio by midday if we hoof it, then it's just a matter of finding the altar.”

  Janaza looked at Vann, and he was taken aback at the hunger he saw in her eyes. “Oh, come on, Vann. Don't you want to stay bundled up for a little while longer?” Her fingers trailed around his groin.

  He shied away from her. “R-Rorzan is right,” he said. “We should get going.” He offered her a lame grin. “Maybe later?”

  Though Janaza was smiling, a flicker of something else crossed her face too fast for Vann to pick up on. “Perhaps...” she said. As Vann untangled himself from the cloak, he saw the orc lick her finger. He swallowed.

  A short time later, they had readied themselves and set out. Rorzan took the lead, floating forward and using the fact that he was incorporeal to his advantage, diving in and out of the rocky landscape, searching for wherever the Altar was. Vann followed behind him, with Janaza bringing up the rear. He felt like he shouldn't look at her – either that, or he didn't want to, the lingering tingles of pleasure still nipping at his heels.

  They found a trail close to midday, looking like it was made in the distant past, given how ice had started to encroach back upon the gaps hewn in the rock. Rorzan showed Janaza the chords necessary to sharpen the body of her bass guitar so it was akin to an axe, and she and Vann hacked their way through several cramped icy passageways as they kept going higher and higher, crossing from the rest of the range onto the slopes of Mount Adagio.

  Rorzan flitted in and out of rock walls, cracks in his facade beginning to show. His eyes were frantic, his hair flowing around his head as if buffeted by an invisible wind. “Come on, come on...” he muttered, vanishing into another wall.

  “He's really getting antsy,” Vann said.

  “It's kind of cute,” Janaza said. “He must really care about her.” There was that hitch in her voice again, something lurking behind her words.

  They kept going, planting their feet harder and harder as they ascended. The air was growing thinner, and both Vann and Janaza were starting to slow, pausing every so often to catch their breath.

  Then Rorzan burst free of a snowdrift and hovered in front of them, shaking with anticipation. “I found it!” he yelled. “I found her!”

  “Where?” Vann and Janaza asked.

  “You guys have to go further up and around a bend, then back down,” Rorzan said, beckoning them forward. “There's some steps that'll take you down marked with elven runes. Come on!”

  Vann and Janaza went as fast they dared, careful not to slip on a patch of ice and go head over heels down the mountain slope. The path levelled off, then to the right, it sloped back downwards. Steps had been carved into the side of the mountain, and they hugged the side closer to the face of the mountain, as there was no barrier between the other side and open air.

  A few hundred yards down the path levelled off again onto a smooth landing that had to have been shaped by magic. To their left was the empty air of the sheer drop off the side of the mountain, to their right was a rock wall with a large gap in the face, just big enough for someone to squeeze through. “In there,” Rorzan said, his voice soft. “She's in there.”

  “Well, let's not keep her waiting,” Janaza said. She unhooked her bass off her back and turned her body to fit through the gap, just barely making it through all the way. Vann followed slowly, while Rorzan simply passed through the wall.

  The cave was small, maybe twenty yards square. But it was unlike anything they ever could have imagined. The walls and ceiling of the cave were covered in translucent crystals, jutting outwards in random formations and lit from within by a soft teal light. The floor in front of them was flat, a large symbol made of wavy lines in the center, ringed with elven script. The crystals converged at the back of the cave, where they thickened and ringed around the base of the single largest crystal in the cave, a thick slab of mineral ten feet tall and twice as wide as Janaza. Within its confines, they could see a humanoid shape, frozen in a contorted position.

  It had prominent, pointed ears.

  “Arielle!” Rorzan yelled. He flew towards the crystal, but for the first time that Vann had seen, the ghost actually bounced off the surface. Even Rorzan looked surprised – he looked down at his hands, then flew closer and pressed them to the crystal, visibly trying to push his way through and making no progress. “Dammit,” he muttered.

  Janaza unslung her pack and leaned it up against a large crystal, and Vann did the same with his, keeping hold of his guitar. He tapped the lacquered body, looking around the cave. The crystals were dense with magic, that much was evident. He touched one and it was ice cold. “So how do we get her out?” he asked Rorzan. “Hack away at this until she's free?”

  “No, that'd be the worst thing you could do,” the ghost said, not looking away from the crystals. “We're going to have to play her out. Elven songs made these crystals, so it'll take a bit of elven singing to break them down.” He floated back down to them. “Arielle taught me the Song to counteract the magic of the crystals while we were still alive, in case she was ever captured .”

  Janaza nodded. “Then teach us.”

  Rorzan looked to the giant crystal with it's prisoner inside, his expression unreadable. Then he turned back to them. “Right. Let's get started.”

  Over the next two hours, Rorzan coached Vann and Janaza on the song they'd need to play to free Arielle. It was complex and intricate, and tested Vann's abilities to the max. After a while, his fingers began to hurt from practicing so many times.

  “And your sure this will work?” he asked Rorzan as they finished practicing the Song without using magic.

  “It has to,” Rorzan said. “I forgot a lot of songs during the three hundred years I spent in that room. That one, though – that one I committed myself to remembering. It will work.”

  Janaza shook out her hand. “No sense in waiting around. Ready, Vann?”

  Vann looked at Rorzan. “Is there anything else we should know?”

  The ghost fidgeted, then looked back to the crystal, then back to them. His shoulders slumped. “Alright, full disclosure – the magic you're going to be handling is very delicate. You mess up the Song too much, and the magical discharge could make every crystal in this cavern explode. We'll be insulted from harm by the casting, but, well...” He looked at the big crystal pointedly.

  Vann clenched and unclenched his fingers. “Right. No pressure.”

  “You two will be fine,” Rorzan said. “I know you will.” Vann wondered if he was trying to reassure them, or himself.

  Then Janaza plucked a low note on her bass, and it was time to begin. Vann strummed a similar
note, grabbing a bit of magic and taking hold. He cast out with it, found Janaza's earthy power, and allowed it to meld with hers. They came together, their magic pooling, waiting on the music to shape it. Vann planted his feet and got comfortable. This was going to be a feat.

  The Song was Janaza's to begin. She strummed a few notes lightly on her bass and lacing them with magic. As they did, the crystals in the cavern grew brighter, responding the power source nearby. Vann joined in, adding a few strummed notes that wove with the bass notes. They let the notes hang for a few moments, then, as if hearing the song faintly on the edge of their perceptions, the two of them launched into it, fingers flying across their instruments in time with one another. They complimented each other perfectly as the song rumbled forward, the riff building and building.

  Working in tandem with Janaza, their magic grew and redoubled upon itself, then began to take shape. It responded to the magic pulsing through the crystals, reading it's form and melding itself into something opposite it. But rather than a spell that would smash the crystals to pieces, the spell took a more refined form, a chisel over a hammer. They reached a bridge, and Vann pressed forward, riding on a wave of confidence. They were doing it.

  Then he flubbed a note.

  It wasn't even a big error, a string bent slightly too far. But it's effect was immediate. The spell they were weaving faltered. A sharp crack sounded out, and a sliver of crystal went fly away from one of the big structures, as if someone had knocked it off with a hammer blow. Vann swallowed and corrected his mistake, but his nerves had been frazzled. Then it happened again, and again, more bits of crystal pinging off and shooting across the room.

  “Vann...” Rorzan said nervously.

  “I've got this,” Vann said, a bead of sweat dripping off his nose. “I've got this.”

  Except he didn't. More and more notes went slightly awry, and cracks began to form in the crystals. The light within them turned from teal to an angry red.

  “Vann!” Rorzan shouted. Vann gritted his teeth. He felt the magic beginning to slip from his control, as if it were clay turning to water in his fingers. In a matter of moments, it would spiral out of control, and all would be lost.