The Dragon's Lover

by Samantha Sabian

  Elyara stumbled and Dagna caught her arm. Raine observed the fatigue of her companions and was in a quandary. It had taken her two days to make the previous descent and she had never stopped or even slowed down. Had they been required to take the same, treacherous paths, it likely would have taken them five or six days to reach bottom. But even with the wider thoroughfare, it would take them at least three days to reach the border of the Veil. They could not set up a formal camp; they would be too exposed. But they were going to have to rest, that much was obvious.

  They came upon a stretch of path that, although not comfortably wide, did not induce the sickening vertigo of some of the more narrow stretches.

  “We should stop here for a few hours, have a little something to eat and rest our legs. I'm afraid we're not going to be able to camp much the rest of our journey.”

  “Hmm,” Feyden said, “camping in the Veil. Probably not a wise decision.”

  Elyara dropped her pack and sat down heavily, as did Dagna. Lorifal, for a change, was probably more rested than most because his stout, muscular legs were ideal for the steep descent.

  “I will take the first watch,” Raine said, “and Lorifal the second. We'll rest for a few hours, then continue on.”

  Gunnar was grateful and sat down, massaging his legs. “I will take my turn on the next stop.”

  Considering their exposed position, hanging on the edge of the sheer cliff with no real escape routes, it was surprising that all but Feyden fell asleep. Perhaps it was faith in the one keeping watch, but it worried Raine a bit. Her companions were very tired, and their journey was about to get far more difficult.

  Raine's assessment had been correct. It took them almost three full days to reach the bottom. This was just a guess as day and night had been non-existent and the dim light provided few cues as to the passage of time. But Raine's sense of time was good even without the cues, and she estimated they had marched downward for three full days and two full nights, stopping as needed to rest.

  “Why is it that we haven't seen any Hyr'rok'kin?”

  “Hyr'rok'kin are flesh and blood,” Raine replied. “Granted, it is foul, filthy, diseased flesh and blood, but it is still corporal. It is why they can pass into our world with such great ease. But the Veil has to be thin enough for them to pass through. I am concerned if it is too thick for them, it will be too thick for us.”

  They now stood at the base of the great cliffs they had descended and a twisted dark jungle unfolded before them. The mist was even heavier at this depth and they could not see very far into the forbidding foliage. Raine waved her hand through the heavy, smoky air.

  “The creatures of the Veil live in an either/or state, or sometimes a neither/nor state. This makes it very difficult for them to pass into our realm, and even more difficult for them to stay. This is a good thing, because otherwise our world would be overrun by Reaper Shards. Or worse.”

  “Worse?” Lorifal said uneasily.

  “Yes,” Raine said, “worse. Unfortunately the Veil is filled with such monsters. I have a feeling that our progress is being monitored, which probably means the decision has been made to leave our fate to them.” She glanced around her. “We should move forward.”

  The jungle was a sight. It did not seem to be any type of normal vegetation but squirmed and writhed as if a many-tentacled beast. The colors were unnatural, brownish reds, blackish greens, oddly fluorescent blues. Unseen things scuttled about in the underbrush and everyone kept a hand on the hilt of their sword or staff. Raine had Elyara enchant one of her swords just in case, carefully placing it in a position where she could draw it with her wrapped hand.

  They came across water, but it was brackish and foul, smelling of sulfur. Lorifal experimentally dropped a stone into one pond. The water was so thick, the stone floated for a moment, then instead of sinking, slowly dissolved in the acidic liquid.

  “Guess we won't be drinking that,” he said.

  “'Tis probably no worse than what you carry in your flask,” Feyden commented, and they moved on.

  Raine was trying to remember how long it had taken her to make her way through the Veil. It had been but a few days, but she had met little resistance because no one and no thing knew that she was there. This time, something very big knew they were coming.

  They came across a small clearing and decided to rest for a short time. It would not help to arrive at the Gate in an exhausted state. Gunnar volunteered for first watch and Raine, who had slept little in days, thought she would take a short nap. She was in a hyper-vigilant state and did not think she would sleep at all, so she was pleasantly surprised when she felt herself dozing off.

  “Raine!”

  The furious whisper woke her instantly. Instinct would normally have had her reaching for her sword, but perhaps it was that same instinct that in this case caused her to freeze. Her body felt very cold and that was a very bad sign. As slowly as possible, she turned her head in Gunnar's direction, responding to his furtive, panicked call.

  At first glance it appeared he was covered by a yellowish, smoky film. But the film shifted sinuously and shapes within it appeared and disappeared. The forms manifested as a conglomeration of female appendages, arms, legs, breasts, lips, eyes, but not always in their proper form or position. It appeared to be some monstrous orgy of body parts, a horrifying, erotic display that was mesmerizing. The Membrane writhed in pain and passion, pulsating as it moaned and quietly screamed. Gunnar was terrified. The monstrosity had hypnotized him when it appeared and he had watched helplessly as it hovered, then began to touch him. He felt tendrils of smoke, silky, fleshy fingers drift beneath his tunic and grasp the hardness between his legs, a hardness he cursed but could not control in the face of the atrociously sensual onslaught.

  “Don't move,” Raine said softly. “By the Divine, do not move.”

  The others were stirring and caught Raine's quiet but harsh admonition. They stared in horror at the manifestation swirling about Gunnar. Idonea had been sleeping more soundly than the rest and came out of her slumber less wary. She sat upright and froze.

  The Membrane shrieked in pleasure and recognition. It darted in a great wisp from Gunnar to Idonea, swirling about her in lust and anticipation. The dark magic in her was irresistible, a matchless ambrosia to them. Idonea shivered in fear as the hands caressed her breasts and sought her most private places. A fully formed female face appeared in the shimmering smoke and the lips traveled over her cheek, the sensation more akin to the crawling of an insect than a kiss.

  “Raine,” Idonea said, her lip trembling, her tone pleading.

  Dagna clutched Elyara to her, looking to Raine. She had no idea what Raine could possibly do in this situation, and no idea what the hideous amalgam of limbs was. It squirmed about, appearing to both pleasure and torture itself at the same time. Feyden, too, wanted to crawl into the underbrush, so awful was the vision. But he was just as mesmerized as Gunnar. Lorifal's mouth simply hung open, as if he could not fathom what his eyes were seeing. And Bristol peered between his fingers, wanting to hide his eyes but at the same time unable to look away.

  “Raine,” Idonea whispered again, “please.”

  Raine closed her eyes, knowing what she must do. It would reveal far more than she wished and make her vulnerable in ways that could prove intensely dangerous later on. But she really had no choice. She opened her eyes.

  Dagna gasped, and Lorifal's mouth dropped open further. The Membrane shrieked in pleasure once more and darted like an arrow, swirling about Raine in an agitated ecstasy. The body parts writhed, twisted, distorted, re-formed. Legs straddled Raine's body, arms wrapped themselves about her torso, breasts pressed to her chest, lips feathered kisses down her neck. Raine did not move under the sexual assault, but stared at the creature with deep violet eyes. A face began to form in the cacophony of breasts, a different face than before, a darkly beautiful and unutterably evil face. And then the membrane spoke, its voice a hiss, the scrape of a reptile's shed skin f
luttering on a stick in the breeze, the rattling of bones in a necklace.

  “Not possible,” it said, the “s” drawn out in that hiss, then the voice disintegrated into a harsh guttural language that sounded less like words than the death throes of an animal.

  Raine simply stared at the creature, stoic under the continued assault. She did not know who was speaking but the absolute power and absolute evil of the entity was unmistakable. And that was the one thing that would play in her favor. It was a strange cosmic truth that when purity and evil collided, it always yielded cold. And when the utterly pure and utterly evil met, it could create an ice storm.

  “Quite possible,” Raine whispered to whatever was manipulating the Membrane, and breathed out.

  Her breath came out freezing and on contact with the Membrane, began to solidify the creature into a block of ice. Cracks, then fissures began to appear in the horrendous orgy of appendages, then the thing began to break apart. The face merely smiled a horrible smile and disappeared, leaving its minion to squirm in tortured agony as every extremity slowed, then froze, then shattered. Breasts fell to the ground, broke into pieces, then melted into an oily yellow residue. Wisps of smoke arose from the residue, gathered themselves together and flowed away with alacrity. Within a minute, the smoke had consolidated into a larger form that disappeared into the jungle.

  Raine sat unmoving, exhausted at the contact. The Membrane could not be killed; in a way it was ever-present, merely choosing to manifest or not. And she knew her brief connection with the creature, even though it had been unable to sustain it, would only increase the Membrane's affinity to her.

  No one really knew what to say. The horror of the creature was nearly overshadowed by Raine's latest startling revelation. Only one race in the entire world possessed eyes like that, and the stunning beauty of the Arlanian contrasted sharply with the vile eroticism of the Membrane. It was nearly impossible to grasp that the woman they had been traveling with all this time was in fact a member of a most mythical people.

  “What the hell was that?” Gunnar finally asked.

  How to answer that question, Raine thought to herself. The Membrane was the physical manifestation of lust, of greed, of jealousy, of narcissism. It was lecherous and dangerous, bringing shameful, tortured pleasure to men and women, killing them at climax and absorbing their soul into its libidinous fabric. It could be as small as a blanket or drape itself across an entire valley. There generally was no escape from it, and only her studied focus on a pair of golden eyes flecked with red kept her from its touch.

  “It is hard to explain,” Raine said tiredly. She did not wish to speak of it, did not wish to speak of being an Arlanian, did not wish to speak of anything. “I am going to need to sleep for a while.”

  Feyden stood, drawing his sword. His eyes burned. “I will guard you with my life.”

  Lorifal also stood, pulling his ax from his back. “And I as well.”

  “We all will,” Dagna said firmly.

  “Idonea,” Raine said, “and Gunnar. You should rest. The Membrane's touch is not to be taken lightly.” She laid down on her pack.

  Idonea was still in shock. She obeyed Raine numbly, also lying down. Bristol took a position near her, and for once she was grateful for the brute's towering presence. She shifted her pack slightly to get more comfortable, and could feel sleep overcoming her.

  “Thank you, Raine,” she whispered, but Raine was already fast asleep.

  Idonea awoke long before Raine. She sat up, holding herself tightly. She could still feel the touch of the Membrane on her skin. Gunnar was also stirring, and he awoke as disquieted as she did. Feyden had his sword across his knees, one hand on the hilt, the other hand holding the bowl of his pipe.

  “Did you know that Raine was Arlanian?” he asked.

  The others of the camp turned to her, wanting to know the answer as well. Idonea hugged herself, rubbing her arms as if to increase the circulation.

  “Not at first,” she replied, “but yes, I knew.”

  It was a dissatisfying and obscure answer. It told them nothing of the relationship between Raine and Idonea, or even how they knew one another. And it hinted that Idonea knew little more of Raine than did they.

  “How is it that she fights so well?” Feyden persisted. He knew that “so well” was a description as dissatisfying as Idonea's response. Raine fought like a demi-god and she was the most extraordinary warrior he had ever seen.

  “I am guessing she is only half Arlanian,” Idonea said.

  Dagna chimed in. “Then her birth must have been quite unusual. Legend has it that Arlanians could only produce offspring with other Arlanians. They considered this a great gift. Although they could be kidnapped and raped, forced into slavery, the one thing they could not be forced to do is reproduce. Sadly, they welcomed extinction rather than this fate, although I understand their reasoning.”

  Feyden considered these facts, which returned him to musing about Raine's extraordinary abilities. Half of Raine's parentage was a race with no known fighting ability, one incapable of protecting themselves. The other half?

  “If she is half-Arlanian,” he said, articulating his thoughts, “I can't imagine what the other half is.”

  Raine awoke at last, and was quickly ready to go. She was pale, but as they began moving, her color returned. Her thoughts were on Weynild, which gave her strength, and she felt her lover’s presence strongly. This was the longest she had been away from her since they had met, and she longed to see her. Although the strangeness of the jungle was unrelenting, their travel was not greatly impeded and they seemed to be making good time. Raine again felt the whisper of concern, as if their travel were too easy, as if they were being drawn into a trap. She was almost relieved when she felt a chill pass over her. She stopped, sniffing the air, then wrinkled her nose. It was faint, but the putrid smell was unmistakable.

  “What is it?” Feyden asked.

  “You're going to need to draw your enchanted weapons,” Raine said quietly, addressing everyone.

  As a precaution, Raine had asked Elyara to enchant a weapon of choice for each of them. The enchantment rendered the weapon less effective against a traditional enemy and it would not last long, perhaps only for a few blows against a powerful enemy. But it might make the difference against a Reaper Shard.

  Idonea shivered. Raine had picked up on the spectral presence before she had, but she could smell it now, too. They all stopped, eyes peering into the darkness of the jungle surrounding them. Now that they were no longer moving, the strange vegetation seemed to be collapsing in on them, although that could have been an illusion born of fright.

  “There is more than one,” Raine said, her voice still quiet.

  Gunnar fought to still his trembling. The incident with the Membrane had deeply affected him, poisoning him with fear and indecision. Whereas before he had moved forward with an almost reckless abandon, now he seemed to fight just to find courage. “How many are there?” he asked.

  Raine breathed in deeply, the odor burning her nostrils. “Three,” she said, “maybe four.”

  “Four?” Bristol whispered furiously, “Four? You are talking about Reaper Shards, right? We will not survive two of them, let alone four!”

  “We'll see,” Raine said, drawing the enchanted sword with her wrapped hand. Feyden notched an enchanted arrow in his bow. He had only four, and even that number had exhausted Elyara. Idonea clutched her staff. Although her skills tended towards the dark and destructive, which would be of little use against the Reaper Shards, she thought she would use lightning. It might not cause much damage, but could be very disruptive.

  The Reaper Shard materialized behind Elyara and Dagna. Elyara froze and Dagna seemed too stunned to react. The creature was grotesque and terrifying. Feyden let loose his arrow, but the wraith disappeared once more in a cloud of oily blue smoke. The arrow sailed harmlessly into the jungle as Feyden uttered an Elvish curse.

  The Shard wraith appeared again, this
time accompanied by a second. The two towered over Bristol and Gunnar, who swung their enchanted swords wildly, striking nothing. A smoky tendril lashed out, striking Bristol across the chest and sending him to the ground in agony. Smoke began to rise from his armor as the poison ate through the metal like acid, and he twisted about as Elyara ran to his side. She desperately sought to stop the damage with one of her healing spells. The two Reapers disappeared, their awful laughter echoing through the jungle, leaving Gunnar standing as his sword dropped from nerveless fingers.

  Lorifal could hear himself breathing and it sounded harsh in his own ears. The Reaper Shards had done nothing yet and already one of their band was down. He strained to hear, see, or sense the monstrosities, and the suffocating silence was taking a toll on his nerves.

  The wraiths returned, and this time there were three of them. One appeared to spring up from the ground directly behind Dagna, and she swung her sword frantically. She did not strike anything, but her frenetic swinging kept the creature at bay. One appeared close to Idonea, who turned her staff upon him. Jagged lines of blue electricity arced outward. The Reaper let loose a shrill cry of annoyance. The lightning did not appear to do any damage, but it was clear the Shard did not like it.

  The third appeared near Gunnar once more, and he dropped to his knees, scrambling for his fallen sword. Feyden loosed another arrow. The aim was true and the Reaper dissolved to avoid the projectile, but Feyden still cursed. They were not doing anything other than holding the wraiths at bay; they had not inflicted any damage thus far, and it was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed. He turned to Raine for guidance, who seemed to be waiting for something, deeply concentrating.