by Loki Renard
"I have grieved," Ayla replied. "I have made my peace."
Kira's lips pressed together, thinned with disagreement. "No you have not. You have decided to unleash your wrath on a goddess. You have not begun to grieve."
The witch held herself taller, gaining the few fractions of an inch which would put her above the warrior. "And what are you? A whelp to lecture me on the proper way to live?"
"I say what I see," Kira replied. "You looked after me once, twice, many times. I see the time has come to repay that debt. You will stay with me, wage war alongside me if you must."
"Fight for Ariadne? Never."
"Then simply stay with me," Kira insisted. "And let those around you live as they will. You need not be the final confessor for every scamp and wastrel in the land. Let them find the natural consequences for their mischief. Let yourself breathe."
"I was breathing quite well in my cottage before you sent two to disturb me," Ayla reminded Kira.
"You were not breathing. You were rotting," Kira said. "I did you a favor."
"You always were very certain of your own rectitude," Ayla observed. "But perhaps, if I am to breathe, you might allow me to do so in my own way - not as you see fit?"
"Very well," Kira shrugged. "Cluck on, mother hen."
Ayla might have said something else, but she did not have the chance as a cheery greeting rang out from the woods surrounding the camp.
"Who has been planting?! Looks like the Orchid Glade here!"
A large, broad woman leading a donkey emerged from the trees. She drew every eye in the place, her dark hair shorn close to her scalp and narrow eyes staring out over an incongruously cute nose. She wore not one, but two large war hammers on her back and the results of their use were most obvious in her arms which rippled even when seemingly relaxed. She was wearing a dark plate armor vest which must have been heavy, but she did not seem to notice its weight. Her boots were likewise forged of leather and steel plate, burnished with use.
"Hark!" The belated cry went up from the gate. "Trebuchet returns! And she brings mead!" The sentry was quickly proved correct. The donkey was laden with all manner of supplies, most notable among them two large barrels of what was declared to be the best mead in the region by excited soldiers running out to meet the convoy of one.
No previous event had created so much excitement, not even the visitation of a minor goddess. The camp was full of the sound of rushing feet as those who had been napping or training made for Trebuchet and her donkey with excited greetings. There was one soul who was more excited than all the rest however, one who did not allow the thronging soldiers to get between her Trebuchet.
"Trebbie!" Moon dashed from her hiding place, flew across the encampment quite naked and threw herself into the woman's arms.
"Mistress Trebuchet," Vix greeted her more formally, having moved almost as quickly as Moon.
"Hello my vixen," Trebuchet winked. Vix blushed and looked pleased whilst Moon nuzzled against Trebuchet's neck like a happy kitten. It was certainly an effusive welcome, with dozens of soldiers coming to say hello and pay their respects. Trebuchet greeted them all warmly, then began disseminating goods from the donkey with her right hand whilst holding Moon's svelte frame with her left. There was steel for the smiths, and cloth for the tailors and a whole lot of fresh vegetables for the cooks.
"Who is that?" Ayla directed the question at Kira.
"Trebuchet," Kira said proudly. "Best damn warrior I know, present me excluded."
"Impressive," Ayla said. "She seems well liked."
"One of the nicest people in the land as well," Kira noted. "She'd give you the blade off her back if you asked for it."
Trebuchet was making her way over to Kira slowly, hampered somewhat by Moon dangling from her neck, but more so by the soldiers who clamored about her with questions.
"Oi!" Kira boomed. "Get back to work, you lot!"
Heeding her orders, the soldiers scattered reluctantly back to their assigned tasks.
"Good to see you," Kira greeted Trebuchet. "Was your journey uneventful?"
"I washed both hammers in the stream and dried them before we got back to camp so's not to frighten the ladies," Trebuchet said, jerking a thumb over her back in the direction of her weapons. "They saw some use. The Imperials are moving to cut the supply lines, but I made sure ours got through."
"Thank you," Kira said, true gratitude in her voice. "Next time you must take an escort."
"Only slows me down," Trebuchet said, kissing the side of Moon's neck. "I have something for you too, you know," she said tenderly.
Moon lifted her head hopefully. "Herbs?"
"Better than herbs." Trebuchet let Moon slide down onto her feet and bade her close her eyes. "It's a surprise."
Moon closed her eyes obediently. Mistress Trebuchet pulled a beautiful lime green silk garment from a satchel and draped it over Moon's neck and shoulders.
"Put your hands through the arm holes," she bade.
Moon did so, grinning from ear to ear as the slim slip of a gown fell down her body in a slick caress.
"Like it?"
"I love it!" Moon slid her hands down over her hips. "It's so smooth! Thank you!" Grinning from ear to ear, and finally clothed, Moon was transformed from a lost nymph to a much loved lady.
"I saw it at the markets and knew it belonged to you," Trebuchet said, her gaze running appreciatively over Moon's fine form. "It fits you perfectly."
"It does," Moon enthused, giving a little twirl. "Thank you so much."
Smiling broadly, Trebuchet pulled Moon back against her body and dropped a kiss on her lips. "Want to help me take this armor off?"
"Yes ma'am," Moon beamed. "I will be your faithful squire."
Trebuchet took Moon by the hand and lead her off to a large tent, leaving Vix, Ayla and Kira in her wake. Vix didn't seem to notice Ayla and Kira's presence as she let out a little wistful sigh.
Chapter Nine
"I missed you," Moon said, helping undo the great straps which held the armor to Mistress Trebuchet's body. Once on, the armor was difficult to get off, which made bathing a difficult task at the best of times. There were a few new dents and scratches, which Moon noted with a frown. Trebuchet never spoke of what happened at war, she always skirmished alone. Occasionally tales would be told of her doings, but she never confirmed them. Moon tried not to listen when the bards sung for fear she would hear some story which would make her heart hurt. Each and every time Trebuchet was away Moon was concerned her love might be wounded or worse, cut off from assistance by her own bull-headed stubbornness.
"I missed you too," Trebuchet said tenderly. "The nights are long without my Moon."
"You didn't meet anyone else at the market?" Moon pouted the question playfully. "Nobody caught your eye?"
"Jealous?" Trebuchet smiled. "You know there's nobody but you."
"We spend so much time apart," Moon said, struggling under the weight of the vest until Trebuchet took it from her and put it on the armor dolly. "Sometimes I think there must be someone else."
"The only time I spend apart from you is the time I must," Trebuchet said, now in nothing but her underclothes, light cloth garments which covered very little of her broad, muscular body. She pulled Moon close, embracing her with an intensity which left no room for concern. "You are my heart and my rock," she murmured against Moon's ear. "Never doubt that."
"Lay down," Moon instructed, trying to hide the tears in her eyes. "Let me ease your travel weary bones."
Trebuchet laid out on the bed and Moon straddled her lower back, pressing her palms against the stressed muscles. She could feel the tension resulting from days upon days of battle and toil slowly begin to melt under the tender application of her fingers.
"I have missed this and you so much," Trebuchet murmured sleepily. "You're my magic moon."
Moon smiled, happy just to be perched on the back of her lover. Trebuchet's buttocks made for the most comfortable seat in the world.
Outside, the sounds of merriment started to grow. Instruments had been bought out and a few talented soldiers were playing whilst others sang and danced, sloshing mead hither and thither. Even Kira joined in, casting a protective, perhaps amorous arm about Aeron's waist as she drank deeply from a giant tankard. The mood was jovial and it permeated every part of the camp save for two solitary little corners.
Chapter Ten
Later that evening, Ayla was walking in the forest when she came across Vix, who had moved to a clearing likely for the same reason Ayla had - for a little peace and quiet. She was whittling as usual, but looked up and froze like a stunned opossum when Ayla made her entrance.
"You are not drinking mead with the others," Ayla observed.
"No," Vix said. "Nor are you."
They looked at one another for a long moment, two women as different as women could be and yet sharing the same desire for solitude which drew them into one another's company.
"Shall I leave you be?"
"No," Vix said. "Please, stay if you like."
"Very well, I will stay a while. What shall we do?"
"You are a witch," Vix said, sheathing her blade. "Show me your magic."
"Are you in need of healing?"
"No," Vix said. "But I wish to see your magic."
Ayla sat down nearby, resting her buttocks on a prominent root. "Magic is not for frivolous display."
"Why not?" Vix lifted her chin. "A true art need not be hidden."
The witch's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as her lips curled up into a small smile of amusement. "Why Vix, are you saying you do not believe in magic?"
"I do not," Vix said. "I think it is all wishful thinking."
"Today you saw a sprite appear and cover the camp in plants."
"That was not magic," Vix said. "Clouds sometimes appear and make all beneath them wet with rain, but nobody calls that magic. We call it weather."
Ayla let out a laugh, a deeply amused, resonant sound. "I do not think I have ever met a woman who does not believe in magic. What do you think of potions and such?"
"Potions are plant hengineering, nothing more," Vix said. "I have seen Moon concoct all kinds of herbal remedies, but none of them were magic."
"I suppose it comes down to your thinking," Ayla said. "What is magic to you?"
"Magic is the doing of something that cannot be done."
"So, by that thinking, as soon as something is done, it is not magic."
"Yes, I suppose so," Vix admitted.
"Most would say magic is the possession of power beyond the ordinary."
"And yet, if you have power, it is ordinary," Vix shrugged. "Did the first woman to form a candle from tallow and thread call it magic?
"She may have done," Ayla said, her lips quirking. "Perhaps then, you should show me your art."
Vix hesitated a moment, then reached into her satchel and pulled out a small object. It was a little wooden chicken of a size which comfortably fitted into her palm. She inserted a key into the back of it, turned it over and over and over again, then set the mechanism on the ground.
The little chicken clicked, clucked and whirred in a circle, flapping wings of wood. Vix watched with unfettered pleasure as the mechanism bobbed and weaved until the clockwork ran out of energy and it came to a halt, suddenly still and lifeless.
"Small magic," Vix said. "But I can display it as often as I like."
"It is impressive," Ayla agreed. "But I must ask, if you do not believe in magic, what do you think of goddesses? Ariadne?"
"I see no reason to believe in Ariadne," Vix said. "I have no doubt there is such an entity as Ariadne, but she cannot possibly be all that she is said to be."
"She granted Kira eternal life."
"That is a theory that is yet to see a real test," Vix replied. "Kira is strong and vital, but perhaps that could be achieved by plant hengineering. The matter of immortality is less strongly proved. Were her head to be cleaved from her shoulders, would she still live?"
"A question I hope we need never answer,” Ayla replied.
"That is where your magic hides. In questions with no answers and under veils of secrecy and ritual." Vix was clearly making an effort not to sound too scornful, but she was failing rather unfortunately at it.
Ayla did not take offense, nor did her temper rise. "You seem irritable this evening," she observed. "Is something the matter?"
"Nothing that hasn't always been the matter," Vix said glumly. "Those who think little are the happiest, and those who consider the true nature of things end up lonely. Everybody prefers the illusion to the reality. Magic and mead keep everyone from considering anything."
"Oh my dear," Ayla said, extending her arms to Vix. "Come here."
Vix didn't move at first, but after a few long seconds, she reluctantly allowed Ayla to embrace her.
"You are not as alone as you imagine you are," Ayla murmured against her ear, letting one hand drift down to tap Vix's bottom. "Nor are you as invisible as you think. I see you, my dear. So do many others."
Blushing against the witch's shoulder Vix seemed too stiff and overwhelmed to respond. She stood with her arms clamped awkwardly at her side, apparently unable to process the unexpected affection.
Taking pity, Ayla released her from the embrace and smiled as Vix settled down a few feet away, her face flushed, her lower lip quivering with a rush of emotion. "It has been a very long time since anyone did that to me," she said in a soft, husky voice. "That was nice of you, thank you."
"That was but a taste of my magic," Ayla smiled, her beautiful face lit with equal parts wisdom and amusement.
"Magic?" Vix cocked her head to the side and was forced to likewise smile at how Ayla played with her. "A kind of magic, I suppose."
"You know," Ayla said. "There are rewards for thinking deeply, though there are prices as well."
"The reward is a constant sense of impending doom," Vix said. "And the knowledge that all is for naught."
"The reward is not being a fool for the tricks which lead others astray," Ayla corrected. "And it is the ability to discern a higher path for oneself."
"Higher path? I am a simple hengineer," Vix shrugged. "I shall never be more than a hengineer, and I shall never have that which others have."
"You speak of what Moon has with her Mistress Trebuchet," Ayla said, keenly discerning Vix's true meaning.
"I do," Vix admitted.
"Love is not all it is made out to be," Ayla told her. "It is as much pain as it is joy."
"But without it life is empty."
There was silence for a moment, broken only by a deep sigh. "One day you will know what I mean when I say be glad for the fact you are not entangled. You cannot understand what freedom there is in a heart unfettered by the shackles of love."
Perhaps Vix would have remarked upon Ayla's unexpected cynicism, but the conversation was lost in a shout which shocked them both.
"Die! Or die trying!"
The cry brought both Ayla and Vix back to the camp at high speed in case something terrible had befallen their comrades. Perhaps some invading force had rushed the encampment. Perhaps an assassin had crept in unannounced. Perhaps a vicious goddess had decided to make an appearance.
None of those things had happened. Ayla and Vix arrived to discover that the cause of the chaos was the soldiers themselves who had turned on one another with great fury and assorted sentiments.
It was not clear what the brawl had erupted over, nor was it clear what it was continuing for, but it seemed that those involved were taking a great deal of pleasure in it. Limbs flew and swung and twisted and writhed and loud curses filled the air whilst the musicians played on, their tunes discordant but merry none the less.
"Whore face! Your face is a whore!" The insult was flung into the night, a declaration meant for the stars as much as anyone else.
"Your face is one to know one!" Someone replied eloquently.
"What is this?" Ayla asked the question of Kira who
was standing apart from the fray, looking on with a critical gaze.
"Is is a brawl," Kira said. "They will pay for this tomorrow. For the moment, it amuses me."
"Where is Aeron? I would have thought she would have put an immediate end to this."
Kira gestured to the edge of the firelight where Aeron's powerful frame was laid out in the grass. "Aeron has a weakness to liquor. One drink and she is done."
