The Marechal Chronicles: Volumes I, II, and III (An Erotic Fantasy Tale)

by Aimelie Aames

  The heat that surrounded her was suffocating and she struggled to breathe. Only moments before she had begun to run across the manicured lawn of Perene Manor when the landscape around her had melted away in blurred, trembling relief. As the heat buffeted her, she could not help but think that it was like looking from within an inferno toward the exterior, unburnt world.

  The heat mounted until, finally, when she thought she could bear it no longer, there was a sound of breaking glass andthe world shattered around her, the shards of it falling into place, a mirror breaking in reverse. Color and sound flooded in to fill her senses. Soft ground now underfoot, she breathed blessedly cool evening air, drinking it in like spring water.

  She was on a wooded hillside and she knew that she had come far, even if she did not know how. Through burning fires that ebbed and flowed within her, of that she was sure, but no more than this.

  For the moment, though, it seemed that the heat had calmed within her. Her feet did not burn the ground beneath her and she no longer scented smoke and ash with each inhalation.

  Across the small valley before her, she saw a farmhouse and just behind it, a barn. Thinking of Mathilde, Melisse thought that passing the night nestled warmly in straw more interesting than huddling against a tree in the open air.

  There was candlelight flickering in the farmhouse, but she managed to slip by unremarked, making no sound. The barn door's well oiled hinges did not creak as she eased it open. Within were housed two horses and an ass, but they seemed to take no interest in her, only the horses whickering softly as she climbed a ladder to the loft above.

  It was piled high in clean, fresh straw and Melisse wasted no time in finding herself a likely spot, well away from the ledge that opened upon the barn floor below. She swept out a hollow with her hands, then lay upon the soft straw. Its smell was dry and good, reminding her of harvests and laughing farmers. It was with these thoughts that she forgot the golden flames hiding within her and she slipped away into an innocent young woman's dreams.

  The whickering of horses. A gentle sound of calm recognition. And then, the rungs of the ladder creaking under the weight of someone. These were the sounds that lifted Melisse up from sleep and filled her with dread. Her heart hammered in her chest as she did her best to sink lower into the straw.

  The creaking stopped and all was silent for a moment before a low chuckle broke the quiet.

  "You've done well, hiding yourself deep as you did...except that your forgot one of your feet. It's sticking up, proud as can be, but I think it's likely attached to someone all the same."

  His voice held no anger and for that Melisse sighed with relief. She sat up, raking straw from her hair, while the young man on the ladder opened the visor of an oil lamp. She blinked, reminded of the bobbing light that had luured her away from her quiet life in the manor into passion that burned all in its wake. She recoiled from him, despite knowing that this was not the same young man that she had encountered in the forest.

  He looked puzzled and then made a sort of clucking sound with his tongue. She thought it a strange thing to do and then realization broke and she laughed out loud.

  "So, you would calm me as you calm your horses?" And, because it was so surprising and genuine of him, she laughed out loud again, delighted.

  He took his turn at being flustered and then because there was nothing else to do, he laughed with her as he climbed over the ladder and into the loft.

  "You went by so quiet, I could have sworn it was a cat. I was outside, on the stoop of the front door, admiring the night sky when you came ghosting along. I near didn't see you, until you turned to look back and I saw the moon flash in your eyes.

  "That's why I was reminded of a cat. That golden flash that shined in the darkness before you crept away to hide in our barn."

  She whispered, "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have done, but it was late and it seemed to me best not to bother anyone with asking if I could. In case you were sleeping, I mean."

  "Oh, I see," he whispered back, then, "that was very polite of you. To think of not waking anyone. Very polite.

  "But, can you tell me something? And, please, think before answering because I believe it's very important. Can you tell me why we are whispering?"

  He said it with such perfect solemnity that she caught herself wondering exactly why and how to explain it well when he laughed again with that low chuckle that tugged at Melisse, deep in her belly.

  "Well, you said 'our', so I was whispering to be quiet for quiet's sake," she replied, indignant.

  He rolled his broad shoulders, watching her intently, and she was reminded once more of the young man in the forest.

  He said, "For now, there is no 'us' or 'our'. My father loaded up a wagon full of potatoes to sell in the city south of here. I stayed behind, alone, seeing as there is no one else but me and him here, to take care of the animals and keep wandering strangers out of the barn.

  "Turns out, I'm only good at half those things," he said.

  She sighed, « I, too, know what it is to be alone. I never knew my father and two years ago a fever took my mother during the harsh winter."

  "My own mother died when I just a little boy," he replied. "She passed while giving birth to twins, my brother and sister. Her gone and the two never arrived, leaving just my father and me."

  The two fell silent, thinking, but both at ease in the moment with the scent of the straw in the air as they watched tiny particles of dust gently spinning in the light of the lantern.

  The young man cleared his throat and said, "So, I'll bid you a good night, dear lady." He made to get up from his place in the straw and before Melisse could consider what she had to say, she blurted, "No. Don't go. Please."

  He sat back down slowly.

  "I mean, if you don't want to, you don't have to go," she mumbled even as she slid closer to him.

  She leaned in close to him, surprised with her own daring, letting her breast push in gently against his arm. She smelled the scent of youth and soap upon him, the odors of hard work washed away even as his manhood ran just beneath the surface.

  He cleared his throat again and Melisse could feel him trembling slightly even if he did not move away from her.

  "How old are you?" she asked in a whisper as she came close to his ear. She wanted to drink his odor in and hoped to hear again that low laugh that reached down and pulled at her insides.

  "I've seen twenty summers," he said, swallowing as he did it.

  She could see a fine bead of sweat breaking out on his forehead and color beginning to shine in his cheeks.

  "Have you known a woman, yet?" Her voice had taken on a throaty tone, one that Melisse almost could not recognize. She only knew that she felt alive, fully alive, and that the young man beside her was suddenly the most fascinating thing she could imagine.

  He swallowed again and she watched the quick rise and fall of his throat. His skin was unflawed and deeply tanned. His shoulders were heavy and square within his shirt and she knew that his life upon the farm had been good to him. Well nourished, his muscles were as developed as any young stallion in the stables of Perene Manor, shining, quivering, ready for explosive action.

  Without waiting, without caring, for his answer, Melisse was overwhelmed in her thirst for him. His skin held secrets that she had to discover and no longer interested in how she found the courage, she came at him, slipping her tongue along his jawline before taking his lips within her own. She took in his surprised gaze as she kissed him deeply, his eyes opening even wider as she forced her tongue into his mouth. She held him and then, breaking contact with his mouth, she forced herself against him, lifting up and pressing her breasts against him.

  "Never," he whispered, trembling.

  She did not reply, taking hold of his arms instead. She eased them up and placed his hands upon her ample breasts, then she guided his fingers across her chemise to her nipples.

  "Pinch them," she gasped.

  He did, but very lightly, a
s if afraid he would hurt her.

  "No, harder...please," she said.

  He did once more, but with almost no change. A flame of anger and frustration bloomed in Melisse as she lashed out at him.

  "No! I said harder, or you'll wish you had."

  He flinched, but then gripped her nipples and gave each a wrenching pull. The pain of it only inflamed Melisse further as she brought her legs around him before easing down to place her crotch tightly against his own. The hardness she felt through his trousers promised much.

  He rolled her nipples between his fingers, squeezing them tightly, until it felt as though the tips of her breasts were on fire.

  Melisse leaned back, pulling her shirt over her head, without bothering to unbutton it. The young man, seeing the challenge in her eyes, did the same, a grin spreading across his face as he saw Melisse's chest in the light of the lantern. Her nipples were dark and erect, the breasts themselves swollen in her excitement.

  The young man reached down and with fumbling fingers undid his belt and trousers, sliding them down and kicking them off hurriedly.

  His penis wagged back and forth as he moved back against Melisse who watched him, her eyes shining in the darkness.

  She pushed her skirt down and off her hips, then she rose up before him as she stepped clear of it. The shadows painted her in half silhouette but he could see the darkness between her legs. The scent of musk was in the air and his nostrils flared involuntarily with it.

  "I saw the moon flash in your eyes," he said. "Except that there was no moon. The clouds had covered it over. I think I am dreaming this, of you, an imaginary creature."

  She replied, her voice strong and husky, "I am real."

  She took his hand and brought it to between her legs where she was all heat and heaviness.

  "This is real."

  She released him but he kept his hand where it was, stroking her, letting his fingers explore her folds, finding the small hardness that lifted up out of the softness there. She arched her back, groaning.

  "You are so warm," he whispered.

  A sense of warning flashed within Melisse. A small voice tried to make itself heard only to be drowned out by the mounting heat of her desire. Her hips tilted and pushed against the young man's probing touch.

  His fingers slipped inside her, pushing in deeply, brushing and stroking. The heat grew within her.

  In a sudden movement, she pulled back from him and then threw herself down on all fours, panting.

  "Put it in me," she breathed. "Like a dog, oh, put it in me."

  The young man quickly obliged her, gripping her hips from behind her, and eased himself inside after fumbling only a little. Except that she was sure he knew what he was about, due to his life on the farm. He pushed in hard as she thrust herself back upon him, spearing herself.

  "Do it, do it, do it," she panted as she slapped at his well muscled thigh.

  He pulled back and thrust forward, and she heard that low chuckle once more. She imagined he was smiling in his pleasure as he pistoned into her, gaining force with each thrust. Together they moved against each other, the flesh of her buttocks rocking as his hips slapped into her over and over again.

  And then, inexplicably, he gasped out, "The moon..."

  He seemed to turn perfectly rigid behind her, his cock quivering, before he seized the flesh of her haunches and slammed into her as she felt him spraying deep inside her, pumping into her. Pumping into her like the man in the forest.

  The heat lifted up in a single crackling moment and engulfed her. Melisse strained against it, reaching out, searching for the young man orgasming inside her, but her hands found nothing as all turned to golden flame and rippling heat.

  As through a fog, she heard the susurration of crackling autumn leaves, and behind that, as if from very far away, there were the sounds of horses screaming.

  She felt flames ripping at her, gnawing at her flesh, searching for purchase. It was a wild beast that had lain in wait, slyly watching, gauging the moment when it could leap up and sink it golden claws into her, its prey.

  Melisse understood then that it had been an illusion. The illusion of another life, no longer a servant and ready to find some other destiny in the world. She had been wrong to think that she could break away from the fate that had been stamped upon her even as she slipped, wet and bloody, from between her mother's thighs into the world.

  That she would always submit to the will of others. That she would have no say in her life, nor in her death. That she would submit one final time as a servant submits to the desires of her master.

  The golden flame that had hidden inside her stretched out its talons, ready and hungry to tear into her servant's flesh, desiring only to burn her life away in its blind greed to consume.

  Melisse bowed her head, taking a deep breath that seared her lungs. She let the flames approach as she felt herself become small, ordinary, ready to be effaced as if she had never existed.

  Then, at first very quietly, in nearly a whisper, she said, "No."

  The fire ignored her, bearing down upon her with all the weight of its heat and flame.

  She said, "No," again, and began to repeat herself, each time growing louder and louder.

  The flame recoiled at her refusal then burst forward again, curling itself around her. Melisse thought she could hear laughter in the hissing flames.

  She opened her arms wide and said, "No, you shall not destroy me. I accept what you are and take you back inside me. You cannot destroy yourself as it is I who consume you."

  She hurled her will, her endless intransigence, her strength to endure all that had ever come to press down upon her servant’s heart, she took it all and forced the fire back and back, turning itself around and upon itself.

  It fought against her, screaming in burning rage, but Melisse only held herself against it, her obstinacy her rock, her implacable will her shield. And, in the end, sensing that mastery was hers, Melisse released it.

  The flames burst forward against her like a lightning strike, vicious and terrible in its fury. Melisse opened herself against it and as it struck, she took it inside herself, took all of its savagery and made it part of her. She accepted it, opening herself as she had done when spreading her thighs in the forest. She gave it the admittance that was hers to give, willingly becoming its servant. And in so doing, she became its master.

  The barn was burning down around her. Sheets of flame leapt up from the walls and the intense heat buffeted against Melisse but it could not harm her. Her own flame filled her and its golden hue had turned the rich red of the blood coursing through her body. As she descended from the loft and stepped over the threshold, the yellow fire of the burning building seemed but a paltry, mindless thing and shrank back from Melisse at her passage.

  She turned to watch as the roof fell in and felt a pang of sadness for the young farmer. He and his animals. But, there were prices to be paid, she knew, standing there, her clothing burned away, her skin flawless and burnished in the golden flame that had come to consume her.

  She searched the sky, looking for the moon. She thought she might wish that the young man's spirit find its way there. But the clouds kept it for themselves and hid it away.

  She turned to look across the dark land and she smiled, her eyes flashing a rich red gold. She had paid a price and it had been dear, but the mastery of her destiny was hers now, and of that, she was glad.

  Castor was not happy. They were camped on the trail they had found earlier that afternoon. Their wagon was loaded to overflowing with cut wood for the hearths of Perene Manor and he had been for pressing onward, even if it meant flogging the horses forward in the darkness of the night.

  Burnt footprints. It was worse than a bad omen and he wanted only to be on his way home.

  "Come on, Castor. Have some stew, man," said Willem. He held out a heel of hard bread and nodded to the cast iron pot at the edge of the campfire.

  "I'm not hungry," said Castor, "And nor sho
uld you be."

  "Oh, garn, Castor. Don't let a few silly footprints spoil yer dinner." Willem was younger than him by ten years and did not hold with superstition or the tales they had all heard at their grandmother's knees. For Willem they were but stories to pass the time and nothing more. Castor knew better.

  "Where's Frederic?" he asked Willem.

  "He left when you went to hobble the horses. He's gone back with a lantern, looking for the direction of those tracks through the woods. Garn! What a strange thing to find out here."

  In all Castor's years as a woodsman, he had never seen such a thing. And, he hoped never to see it again, the mere idea of it filling him with dread.

  "You two are fools," grated Castor. "We should'a kept on goin', right up to our own doorsteps without stoppin'. That burnt trail there means nothing but bad, I tell ya."

  A strangely musical sound of breaking glass interrupted him. It was as if hundreds of bottles had come crashing down, shattering themselves upon a great heap in the depths of the forest.

  Castor looked past Willem, peering into the darkness that followed the trail they had found.

  Willem had begun to turn back to Castor, a wide smile on his lips, when Castor heard the sound of feathered wings beating. It was a soft sound, like an owl's wing beat, except that it sounded as if there were hundreds of them. Over Willem's shoulder, Castor caught a glimpse of feathers and of eyes swiftly flying along the trail of burnt footsteps, hundreds of rainbow colored eyes, and without thinking, he threw himself back, flat upon the bare ground.

  In the instant that it took the thing to flap across the clearing, Castor saw Willem's head tip from his neck in a flurry of blinding white plumes to fall down, rolling like a stone kicked loose on a hillside. Castor had an instant to think that Willem did not even know he was dead as he watched Willem's smile roll with his head, his eyes twitching from side to side.

  Castor flipped himself over, cast a glance behind him, and then leaped to his feet, running for all his worth out of the clearing.