Refrain

by Nathan Ravenwood

  Air blew into the passage, tinged with the salt and brine of the sea. It ruffled Vann's hair and made him lift a hand to shield his eyes from the spray. Just past the doors was a carved rock landing, with another staircase to the right. It hugged the side of the spire all the way down towards the water, ending in a weather-beaten dock where the centaur craft was tied up, bobbing on the waves.

  “Hang on, why didn't we just come in these doors in the first place?” Vann asked.

  “These are closed most of the time,” the Matriarch explained. “And they vanish under the ocean during high tide.”

  “Also, admittedly, I totally forgot about them,” Arielle said, her expression sheepish.

  “I didn't!” Rorzan boasted.

  “Then why didn't you say anything!”

  The ghost had no answer.

  The Matriarch led them along the slick staircase. Vann and Arielle were much less sure-footed on the steps than the others, their boots never quite gripping the damp rock all the way. The barefoot Matriarch, Ori, and Janaza strode forward with no trouble at all, talons and toes not minding the surface.

  As they approached the craft, Vann got a better look at the centaurs. They were huge, imposing creatures, a human torso perched atop the body of a horse. Their boat was mainly a flat raft to accommodate their four legged gait, with railings along the sides to prevent anyone from errantly going over the side. It had two masts with woven cloth sails attached, though the canvases were rolled up at the moment.

  One of the centaurs stepped off the craft onto the dock to meet them. He was a massive specimen, Vann's head only coming up to the bottom of the pectoral muscles on his human torso. His hair was down to his shoulders, wild and scraggly, framing a strong male face with dark brown eyes. No clothes adorned his alien body save for a leather sash around his waist which held a flute and two massive knives, sunlight winking off the blades.

  When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly soft, despite the guttural tongue he spoke. The Matriarch cleared her throat and spoke back in the same language. The centaur looked at them and raised an eyebrow, then said something. He picked the flute off his sash and held it to his lips. Out of the corner of his eye Vann saw Ori tense ever so slightly.

  The flute trilled an oddly familiar cadence, and it took Vann a moment to realize that he was weaving the spell that let him understand them and be understood in turn. Warm, earthy magic wrapped around his throat, soft as a lover's caress. After a moment, it faded away.

  “There we go,” the centaur said. “Greetings, travelers.”

  Arielle stepped forward and bowed. “Esteemed baldra, we greet you humbly.”

  Vann blinked and rubbed his ear with his finger. Had the spell not taken correctly? And why was Arielle talking like that?

  As if Rorzan could read his mind, the ghost floated into his vision. “'Baldra' is an honorific for male centaurs,” he said in a whisper, despite the fact that the centaur couldn't see or hear him. “This guy's hair and sash signify he's one of the top guys in the tribe that he comes from, probably a lead hunter or something. Arielle's just showing him proper deference.”

  Vann watched the elf carefully. As she straightened up, she kept her eyes straight ahead, so that she was looking right at the landscape of the centaur's pectoral muscles. He blinked. Had she just...?

  “In a completely unrelated set of circumstances, Arielle is also a huge fan of centaur cock,” Rorzan said.

  And there it was. Vann sighed and closed his eyes. “Are you two normal in any regard whatsoever?”

  “Not a one,” Rorzan snickered.

  The centaur nodded approvingly at Arielle's obsequience. “My name is Ashern. I will see you to the lands of the satyrs to the northeast. The journey will take us a few days at the very least.”

  “Time isn't of the utmost importance,” Arielle said. “Though I trust you'll get us there in one piece as quick as you can.”

  Ashern smiled a little at her. “As quick as you desire.” The wicked curve of Arielle's smile told Vann that perhaps she wouldn't mind too much if they took a little extra time.

  They loaded their meager traveling supplies into the raft, then bade the Matriarch farewell one by one and boarded. She gave Vann a quick peck on the lips, bringing a bright blush to his cheeks. “Come back and see me sometime soon,” she purred, her fingers teasing along his shoulders.

  “When I can, sure,” Vann coughed politely. She smiled warmly at him, then hugged him quickly and released him.

  As Vann turned to board the ship, Ori was the last to say goodbye. She almost walked right past the Matriarch without a word, until she spoke her name. Ori stopped, then turned and trudged back to stand in front of the older harpy. The two of them lowered their voices and spoke for a long time, the others watching curiously. Was there almost a bit of an emotion that wasn't fiery on Ori's face?

  Then the Matriarch touched Ori's arm, and the faint hint of a sneer that seemed to be her default expression returned. She nodded curly, then turned and strode along the wooden gangway to the surface of the raft. She brushed past them. “Let's get a move on.”

  They caught a wind heading northward and tacked away from the aerie over the course of the first day, skimming along the surface of the waves with a good clip. It took Vann a while to get used to the much more pronounced back and forth rocking of the centaur raft as opposed to the human galleon that had taken them most of the way towards the Eastern Continent. When he asked Ashern, the centaur explained that underneath them were several rows of tightly wrapped tree boughs, thick enough to remain afloat despite the weight of the centaurs crew upon it. It wasn't meant for long trips along the open sea, but could manage for a day or two with little incident.

  By the end of the day they'd reached the shores of the Eastern Continent. Vann had spotted them earlier in the day, and had watched them grow closer with every passing hour. Unlike the West where they'd come from, where much of the coastal area was taken up by seaside fishing hamlets and ports, here stretching as far in either direction as he could see was an unbroken line of forest. The trees were thick and dense, looking as though they were just shy of scraping the skies. The beach began at their base, and only ran for about twenty feet before it met the water.

  “They're so big,” Vann breathed, staring in awe at the trees from where he sat on the deck.

  “Mind your choice of words,” Janaza snickered next to him. The orc was occupying her time messing with his hair, trying to see what kinds of orcish braids she could weave the thin strands of his hair into. Thus far, she'd been mostly unsuccessful. “Also, you need more hair on your head. I can't get any of these to work. Orc babes are more hairy than you.”

  Vann held up a hand and waggled the fingers under her nose. “Do I look like an orc to you?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Careful, that almost sounded like you think that's a bad thing.” At his flat look her faux-offended facade broke and she cracked up.

  Vann turned his head slightly, back to the other thing that had been occupying his attention all afternoon. “Man, Arielle's really trying to get into Ashern's pants.”

  “Centaurs don't wear pants, Vann,” Rorzan chimed in from where he floated above them.

  “A fact of which I've become extremely aware,” he said under his breath.

  The hybrid beings seemed to only believe in wearing clothes on the upper, more human parts of their bodies. The males wore sashes around their waists and torsos, and the few female members of the crew wore more vest-like garments over their chests and shoulders. However, from the waist down along the equine parts of their bodies, they wore nothing. Their tails hung as horses' did, low between their back legs, but from spending all his time on the deck with little to do to pass the time but watch the centaurs, Vann had seen those tails shift and flick on occasion, and caught a glimpse of what was beneath.

  “You make it sound weird,” Rorzan said idly.

  “I mean, isn't it a little bit?” Vann asked.

  T
he ghost arched one wispy eyebrow. “They're intelligent, sapient creatures with free will that can communicate with us and give consent, Vann. It's hardly an immoral act to want to lie with one.”

  “I'm more fascinated by the mechanics of it,” Janaza said.

  As she spoke, Vann glanced over at one of the female centaurs that had drawn his eye before. She was lithe, a little smaller than her fellows but no less imposing. Her lower body was a sandy yellow, her coat lustrous and well-kept. At her waist her skin became a rich brown, complemented by the dark forest green of the vest she wore that showed off a toned abdomen and slender archer's arms, yet also accentuated her femininity with it's low neckline, a good swathe of her upper breasts pushed up by the tight garment. Her hair was wild and free, a rich blonde that spilled down like honey over her shoulders. For a moment, his eyes met with hers, deep and brown like well-worn leather. She looked him up and down, and smiled approvingly. Vann blinked and looked away, feeling himself blush. Even now, despite so much experience courtesy of Janaza – and now Arielle and Kylesa – he still felt a little unsettled whenever a woman he wasn't too familiar with sized him up.

  “Well, let me put it like this.” Rorzan floated lower until he was level with them. “Centaurs males are hung like you might expect, so females of all species can enjoy their talents. Centaur females, on the other hand, are a little trickier. They're built for the males, so to speak, so only the most well-hung of lads can please them.” He gestured to Vann. “So probably like Vann, a handful of other human males, and male orcs could get away with it. As for the mechanics when it's a non-centaur female, well, just give Arielle a little while and you'll get a good demonstration.”

  The female centaur turned around and clopped towards the back of the raft. Vann watched her go, his eyes lingering on her hindquarters.

  As the sun sank lower on the horizon, they beached the raft on the shores, and Ashern had a fire going in a matter of minutes. A group of centaurs headed into the treeline, returning after a time with arms full of wild plants and root vegetables. They were headed by the golden haired female centaur, who Vann caught looking at him again as she worked with her knife to slice up the vegetables and add them to a pot of boiling water over the fire.

  Dinner was a subdued affair, many of the centaurs saying little, or giving one or two word answers to questions. It wasn't until Vann asked Ashern what was up that he got a better answer. “This area is not the most friendly,” the centaur said from his sitting position by the fire. “When the sun sets we will have to douse the fire. It will be too obvious if we leave it going.”

  “Obvious to who?”

  The centaur pointed out to the ocean in the direction they'd come from. “Pirate vessels patrol these waters. Some of them human, some of them troll, some of them orc. The level of danger depends on which of the fleets they sail with, but overall it's best to not attract too much attention to ourselves. My hunters will stand guard tonight, so you needn't worry. If anything happens we'll be ready.”

  Vann nodded. “The Matriarch entrusted us to you, so I know I'm in good hands.”

  Ashern smiled. “Kylesa is an old friend. Favors for her are no problem for me.”

  “You know the Matriarch?” Ori asked. Vann started – he hadn't even been aware the harpy was sitting near them. She'd sequestered herself atop the mast of the raft for most of the voyage from the aerie, giving off serious “don't talk to me” vibes.

  “Aye, I do,” Ashern said. “She and I have enjoyed each other's company many times over the years.”

  There was a slight edge to his voice that conveyed a clear double meaning, and Vann knew just what kind of company the centaur meant. Ori made a noncommittal noise and went back to picking over her vegetable stew.

  “So where do we go from here?” Vann asked Ashern.

  “Up the river for three days. We shall pass by our lands on the second night, and there we'll be able to have a more proper repast than wild vegetables, water and heat. From there, it's another week through the woods to the satyrs. I've sent a couple runners ahead, they'll meet us halfway and take you from there.”

  “Ashern.” The golden-haired female centaur approached them. “A moment?”

  He nodded at her and rose in one fluid motion. “Finish soon,” he said to Vann and Ori. “We need to have the fire doused within the hour.” The two centaurs left, leaving Vann and Ori on their own.

  “So, is this how you imagined you'd spend your first night away from the aerie?” Vann asked, trying to break the silence and bracing for a frosty response.

  The harpy's answer was more level than he'd expected. “The sleeping arrangements could be a little nicer,” Ori said, looking out over the sea in the direction of her home. “But I've slept out on the top of the plateau before, so I'm not unused to the open.”

  Vann looked at her. The firelight caught in her feathers, tinging the blue downy ones with bright orange in a vibrant clash that fit her personality. “You didn't exactly seem at home there, if that makes sense.”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “I mean, my mom's the Matriarch, so most people had to at least tolerate me, despite me being a wingless freak.”

  Vann felt as though the entire beach had vanished underneath him from a sitting position and he was falling head over heels from the top of the aerie to the waves below. “Your mom is...” was all he managed to say, gagging on his words.

  “Oh, don't be so dramatic,” Ori said. “I know what my mother gets up to with the cavalcade of males that she entertains. It's been that way for generations. We seal deals with physical intimacy.” She waved a hand. “Big deal. My mom's her own harpy, what she does is her business.”

  Vann regained his composure, vowing in his head that he would give Rorzan a piece of his mind the next time he saw the ghost. “Well, erm, I mean... I treated her well!”

  Ori gave him a flat look, and Vann was worried he'd said something incredibly dumb. Then she actually cracked the ghost of a smile and punched him in the shoulder. “Alright, smooth talker. Tell me about where you come from.”

  Grateful for a change in subject, Vann massaged his shoulder and answered all of Ori's questions about Papreon and realms of the Lords, even after the centaurs doused the fire and set up a guard perimeter around them, grabbing bows from where they were stashed aboard the raft. He told her about the beautiful, serene spire towers of the Lord's palace in Papreon, the hardy people of the north, and of how difficult things were in the southernmost nation of Ibanz.

  “That's the place the ghost wants to go, right?” Ori asked.

  “I think so,” Vann said. “He's got this crazy plan about heading down there and trying to repeat what he did a few hundred years ago. I mean, he's not wrong. Ibanz is known for being the least desirable Lordship to live in. It's hot, humid, and dotted with mines full of raw material the rest of the human realm needs. It's rumored that the depths of many of the mines there are worked in by slaves, most of them Voiceless.”

  “And Rorzan thinks we can fix it?”

  Vann looked over. Rorzan was hovering close to Arielle and Janaza, their conversation too low for them to hear. “I don't know what he wants to do, honestly. He seems to have this plan, but hasn't clued me into it yet.”

  “Hmm.” Ori stared at the back of Rorzan's head for a moment, then unhooked the guitar from over her shoulders and laid back on the sand, staring up at the stars. “I guess we'll have to see.”

  No hostile visitors graced their camp that night, and early the next morning the travelers helped the centaurs shove the raft into the ocean before clambering aboard. The centaurs unwrapped bundles of thick wooden poles the circumference of Vann's arm and laid them out on the deck. Vann soon saw why. The wind they caught carried them to the place where a large river met the sea, and the current on the river flowed against their path.

  “We have to push for almost half a league,” Ashern said, grabbing one of the long poles and dipping it into the water. “There the current is more stable
and we may be able to simply use a breeze to float further inland.”

  Janaza quickly tied her hair back up into a ponytail and grabbed a pole, testing its weight by doing a few bicep curls with it. “Sounds like a good workout.”

  Vann and Arielle each grabbed their own poles and got in line with the centaurs. There was no real complicated process involved – they simply dipped the poles into the water, dug them into the riverbed below, and pushed in unison. With five poles on each side of the raft, they fought the current upriver. It was exhausting work, but Vann gritted his teeth and powered through, not wanting to act like a layabout while their hosts struggled.

  After a couple hours, he was rewarded by Ashern patting him on the shoulder. “We're out of the current, take a rest.”

  Vann's hands were blistered from working with the pole, and he shook them out, flexing his fingers. Still, the burn in his shoulders was oddly pleasant. Janaza was relieved of her pushing duties as well, and came over to join him. She gasped softly and immediately began to fuss over his hands. “Oh, just look at your fingers,” she muttered.

  “It's fine, it's fine,” he said.

  “You did well.”

  The voice was female, yet deep and strong. Vann looked up from where his hands rested on Janaza's and found himself looking right at the chest of the golden-haired female centaur. He immediately jerked his head up a little so he was looking into her brown eyes. “Thank you!” he said quickly.

  She laughed, a soft, happy sound. Then she left without another word, her hooves clopping on the deck of the raft as she headed towards the back. Vann watched her go, focusing on the undulations of the muscles of her back legs.