by Keep, J. E.
She didn’t bother fretting about her outfit—or lack of one—and simply rose. He had enjoyed her brazenness, but she had no real understanding if this woman would. She knew it was important and dared not to disappoint, so her back straightened and she mustered all the courage she could as she slipped past the tent’s entrance, standing outside in the glaring natural light. Her body was on display with her large, pregnant breasts spilling forth from the two strips of fabric that hid little more than her nipples, the dark areolas visible.
No other concubine but her or the guards could have wandered off like that, but the two went to the walls of the palace courtyard and climbed the stairs. The few men who were still there moved away, giving them a wide berth. Though both were obviously pregnant with the God-King’s children, and they could not have supplanted that seed, there was still a tremendous taboo on being anywhere near his chosen women.
Leaning upon the intricately carved walls, Svella looked out over the city below. The winding roadway that curled up the hillside through the buildings towards the palace was designed for defence. It meant a party such as the grand procession approaching the cities gates would take almost an hour to reach them.
“There she is,” uttered Svella with awe in her voice, eyes wide with shimmering marvel.
She didn’t feel the same awe, though she wondered if she should. The mother of a god... She wondered at that frequently over the course of the week, but still her mind hadn’t wrapped around it. The man—the god—she knew had no need for such things. She still had issues coming to terms with it, and as her stomach pressed against the cold stone she was transported, just for a moment, back to the garden.
She shivered as she looked towards Svella’s gaze, trying to capture that same look of respect on her face.
“How should I address her? What is she like?” Mirella murmured, moving instinctively closer to the other woman.
Svella could not tear her gaze away from the procession below. For the Ka’reem it was one of majesty and pomp, which as a people they were not fond of.
Large banners flew in the air, streaming in the winds from the north. It was hard to see them clearly from there, but Svella handed her an eye piece looted from the palace. “You do not address her,” she stated in a subdued voice. “The Seer is no longer a woman... she is beyond us now,” she explained.
Peering through the monocular she saw the guards, they were women, like the concubines. But they wore heavy armour, long cloaks of shimmering black flowed behind them, and the full face masks and helmets made them look like hideous, beaked monsters. She saw nothing of the seer however, for she must have rode in the palanquin at the heart of the procession, shielded from sight by silks.
Not a woman? The intrigue was getting to her as she stared over the procession, feeling suddenly so naked and vulnerable. It wasn’t a feeling she enjoyed outside of the bedroom—or the garden, or the throne room—and she looked back to Svella, “What do they think of us?”
With a shrug of her shoulders Svella leaned on the parapet further. “It has been many generations since we have had a seer whom could pass on her foresight to the people. I have been in her presence, have performed ritual. But never has she spoken of or to me, if that is what you mean.” She looked directly at Mirella, “Many women would kill you if they knew you were about to see her. Even in defiance of the God-King,” she paid the deferment, “to keep our secrets safe.”
“Oh.” Well that was reassuring. She handed back the looking glass and her skin prickled with nervousness. “We should await them?” she asked, more than said. She was usually so calm and in control, but in this, she was looking to her lone ally.
Placing a hand reassuringly upon her shoulder, Svella gave her a reassuring smile, “Do not fret. If the God-King wishes it, it is for the best.” She could not doubt the large woman’s faith in her lord.
She smiled up at that woman so warmly, and felt real affection for her then. It was a beautiful moment, at least for her, and she kept close to her side. “The other girls don’t realize how lucky they are. I wish we could show them.”
Svella turned her gaze and quickly downcast her eyes. “If only we could,” she said, and then nudged the other woman to look around. “Though some are more fortunate than others,” she stated as she showed Mirella sight of the God-King himself, arrayed in his usual attire, with gloves and raven-helm on, which made him look more terrifying. “He wishes you to go to him.”
She swallowed and squeezed the woman’s hand before her bare feet guided her to him so readily. Despite it all, she had faith in his judgement. If the woman found her to be unworthy... she pushed the thought from her mind. She’d deal with that when the time came, and drew her shoulders back confidently.
Accepting her by his side, he waited stoically. It was a strange moment, to see the mighty man so quieted around her, but then she’d gotten use to her private moments with him, where he was more and more unleashed with her. His passions having become inflamed for the woman to remarkable heights.
Waiting for the procession to arrive, the horns grew louder, and when finally the guards came through the palace gates she saw their glittering black cloaks were made of raven’s feathers. The banners fluttered above with a base of black, showing a depiction of a weeping bloodshot eye at its center.
Everyone was quiet but for the approaching group, and around her all the northern Ka’reem had their fists to their chests in salute, with their heads bowed quietly. The God-King’s only response, however, was to turn and head into the palace itself, leaving her no choice but to follow.
Inside she saw the windows were shuttered, their stained glass blocked out and all the fires and people emptied, leaving only small candle flames to light the way. The guards continued their march until they had carried the palanquin inside, resting the ornate, shamanistic looking mobile-hut into the center of the chamber.
Then, with a clap of metal garbed fists to chain mail vests—a thunderous noise that reverberated through the halls and left the chamber quaking—the guards turned and exited, leaving only the two. And the quiet Seer’s cloth and hide residence.
Mirella barely breathed, stood so near to him and in such a strangely unsexual manner, despite the fact that she wore bare strips of fabric that clung to her pregnant form. She was half a pace behind him and to his side, deferential to him as her green eyes remained on the tent.
Seemingly tired of waiting, he pulled back his helm and stepped forward, “Mother,” he called forth, and the tent seemed to stir at last.
From out of the tent-like structure Mirella heard the first sounds of life. It was like a giggle taken by madness, drifting from out of some crack in the void. It made her skin crawl and she wanted to cower like all those women that fled in terror from the God-King.
Pulling open the front of the tent she saw her at last. It was not what she expected.
The woman inside, dressed in crimson robes that looked dyed in blood sat in a heap. She looked... off, that was all she could say.
Unlike her son, she shared the pale skin of the Ka’reem. Paler still than most of them. Her long hair was white and draped about her shoulders. In fact all colour seemed seeped from her entirely, and she looked limp, almost lifeless, swaying slightly as she sat. Though she was alive. And more than that, even in her condition, so obviously ill, or semi-conscious at best, she had a certain beauty about her. She might have been twice Mirella’s age, and her features looked delicate in spite of her height. Even then, with her hair white, her skin so pale, and age having taken its toll, she was beautiful.
“Mother,” he called to her again, pulling back the thick flap further as he sounded more impatient. “It’s me,” he said, those last two words sounding so kind and familiar, in a way she rarely heard him speak.
It made the old woman stir abruptly, her eyes opening and shown to be milky white all the way through. The seer was indeed blind. “Kulav?” she called weakly in the air, the voice so normal, so motherly, not at all
like the mad laughter she heard before.
“Yes mother,” he responded calmly. “You are here with me now.”
Kulav. Mirella smiled a bit, as if she’d just received some wonderful gift, and yet here she stood at the brink of... what? Insanity? Madness? To see him with this aged woman, he felt so strangely mortal to her, and she wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the sensation. Instead, she remained a pace behind her god, and plastered on a smile for the old, sightless woman.
The seemingly mad woman drifted off again, it was hard to tell what she knew of what was going on or not, as she seemed to sway out of awareness yet again.
“Mother, you came with important tidings,” the God-King Kulav stated.
“No,” she responded, “no tidings.”
“Then why di—”
“Because you have need of me,” she responded before he could finish.
With the raven mask pulled off his face, Mirella could see the mild frustration on his handsome, dark features. “Of course, mother. You’ve come to warn me of the Empire?”
The woman swayed to the side, seeming to fall over, but she held herself but a hairs breadth from the cushions of her seat. She laughed maniacally, that chill sound seeming to make all the candles about Mirella flicker and dim until the old woman was done. “Why would I come to warn you of that which you already know?” The words sounded mocking, but then she softened, and sat up again, a motherly tone to her voice, “My sweet Kulav.”
For his part, the dark lord seemed to take this in stride, perhaps used to her ravings and lunacy, undaunted by the sense of foreboding that afflicted Mirella. “So the Empire is—”
“Don’t play at being dumb, my sweet,” she cut in again, “it doesn’t fit you. You are far too clever for that.” The mighty God-King managed to look mildly irritated by the words from the old woman. “Of course they come. You knew they would. You have long planned for an early arrival of their forces.” She sang her next words in some bizarre, otherworldly tone, “It was always in the stars.”
Mirella tried to edge out her own frustration. This was worse than speaking with that delivery boy that couldn’t say a single word without stuttering. She wondered at how this god before her ever managed to make any sense of it, though she was quickly becoming more casual in her stance. The fear at meeting the woman was dripping away the longer she had gone unnoticed, and instead she simply, silently, urged her on. For his sake. And her own, of course.
“Then I have the matter in hand?” the dark man asked, anxious for his answers, even if he hid it well; though not well enough to keep it from either of the other women.
The old Seer’s head lolled about on its seemingly weak neck, that curtain of white hair flowing around her as she teetered from side to side. When he got no answer Kulav said, “That’s not how things work,” as if repeating her own words, though she’d said nothing, “of course.”
With a sigh he looked about to speak again, but instead the old woman cut in, “I came for your pet,” she stated, and Kulav looked to Mirella with only a brief delay. “Yes her,” she responded, though her milky white eyes never moved, and she never lost her erratic, random swaying that at all times looked like she was about to pass out and die.
She let loose a piercing wail of mourning, “Though it means I can expect to see less of you still, my sweet, sweet boy. My lovely little child, my—” her long litany of cooing, doting terms went on but Kulav gestured for Mirella to approach.
Well that was unnerving. She moved forward with little delay, her hands behind her back as she approached, leaving her pregnant stomach and swollen breasts thrust forward. “I’m here,” she said with a soft, beguiling smile, her tone so rich and calm, despite the anxiety she felt within. She was an expert at hiding her emotions when she cared enough to, and she definitely cared enough to now.
Her words, however, never interrupted the woman's long incantation of mewling fondness for her son. It was only when he spoke up again that she ceased, “I do not have that kind of need of you any longer, mother,” he stated firmly. “Now my needs are grander.”
The old woman clucked her tongue and flailed violently for a moment. “Nothing is grander than you, my son!” she said, her arms for the first time moving, hands raising. “You have no idea what I must do for you!” She wailed in agony once more, her slender fingers and long nailed digging into the side of her head as she seemed to be in mortal agony.
“Mother? Mother!” he called, leaning over and touching her arm to try and stop her from hurting herself. The mere contact seemed to bring her back to lucidity.
“She carries your blood in her now,” she stated with extreme clarity. “She can be a witch of the coven because of that.”
Mirella’s black brow arched, and she looked to her god quickly. A lot of women carried his blood now, many with her direct influence and help. He was, she’d noted quite readily, a very virile individual. “Your Greatness?” she asked curiously, uncertain of how to deal with his lunatic of a mother, uncertain of what she meant, and what this meant for her and them.
The towering God-King looked down at her, his own brows furrowed slightly as he flitted his gaze between the two women. The same curious glint was in his eyes, but before he could put them to voice the mad woman spoke again.
“She means it, you know? Truly means it,” and the Seer was taken by another fit of mad laughter that seemed ready to consume her.
When their patience was nearly at an end and he started to turn, the Seer spoke once more in chilling calm. “When you march to war again, bring her to me. Bring them all to me,” then she fainted. Her robes flapping as she just unceremoniously fell into a pile on the cushions.
The hard-faced Kulav recognized it for what it was, he bent over the palanquin, kissing the old woman tenderly on the forehead and restored her carriage flaps.
Guiding Mirella to the back stairs, rather than to the front doors, he explained simply “That’s all she has,” leaving her for her own raven-guards to collect, she presumed.
“Oh,” Mirella murmured. She had been left dizzy and confused, and despite the fact that she always seemed to stay so close to him, she was almost overlapping him as they walked. Her breathing was a lot heavier, and she forced herself to calm down, but the confusion still swirled in her mind. “So that went well?”
Chapter 9
Svella had once stated that it was considered an excessive waste—a sin even—for the God-King to spill his seed fruitlessly. So that meant he could not spare his virility for the pregnant of his harem. Since meeting with the demigod’s seer-mother, he’d kept her with him instead of in the tent, and she’d wondered if she could get him to violate that taboo in private.
On her knees before him and between his legs as he sat by the window, she lavished his manhood with her affections as he sat nude, seeming to fluctuate between deep contemplation and appreciation for her and her ministrations.
The tower he was in gave a view of the mountain pass, and it was not favoured by the old rulers. The room itself, though large and opulent, would’ve been reserved for guests only, but he preferred it. His mind always on the next challenge beyond.
For the past few days, she’d been a constant around the palace, and was growing to like it more and more, despite the worries that plagued her. She wanted to be of more help and use to the god, but she could barely make sense of the woman’s ranting. As her tongue ran up the base of his shaft, she played with him, enjoying his company immensely.
“Your Greatness?” she murmured softly, her kittenish tongue prodding him.
Through all his deep contemplations, she always managed to keep him so rock hard, that magnificent shaft never losing its rigidity. So when he looked down at her, its thick girth blocked out much of her face. “Mirella?” he responded in his husky tone, that organ throbbing, disgorging more of its slick precum from its dark, ebon-purple tip.
Her tongue swirled up to capture it. She took such pleasure in his body, it overrode ever
ything else, “How do I become a witch of the coven?” Both of them had been lost in their own contemplations. As she worked him so skilfully, her green eyes peering at him from beneath the sizable shaft, her tongue poking out along the sides, she knew she needed more from him.
Taking a deep breath his broad chest swelled, those hard muscles, seemingly etched in stone, rising then falling as he peered back out the window. “Mother will see to it when I march off to meet the princes army,” he said plainly, the obsidian king enjoying his time with her, seeming more relaxed than she’d saw him to be in ages. “I don’t know more than that, I’m afraid.”
He hesitated, licking his lips, “The Ka’reem men despise the might of the witches. And women in general,” he explained. “They work mysterious magics that have effects beyond their understanding. But they more often refuse to use those powers. Regardless of the cost to the people. So,” he shrugged his broad shoulders, “the men fear them for what they might do, but loathe them for having such strength over them and refusing to use it.”
She was thoughtful for a long time as she worked that huge member, devoted to it. Though she still simply teased him, there was a quickened pace and a firmer pressure against the swollen tip. Her mouth suckled him so eagerly, not worried about the aching in her knees and the heaviness of her breasts. “Would I be the first non-Ka’reem woman practicing?”
Her increased efforts had their effect, she saw the tensing in his hard muscles, the lines of sinew rise for a moment before softening again from his neck on down across his pecs and abs to his thighs. “As far as I know,” he said with lust in his voice, she’d gotten through his barriers, and she could tell his mind was no longer elsewhere. It was focussed on her.
“The witches don’t share their secrets with any outsiders. Never have from what I managed to learn of them,” he couldn’t help but grunt a little, that monstrously large cock throbbing thickly as his heavy sac laid down between those powerful thighs of his. “Mother is no longer a wealth of information on such things however, not since...” he trailed off, shutting his eyes and reclining, enjoying her fellatio.
