by Ren Curylo
Moriko spoke to Filigree for quite some time, discussing their needs in this troop and discussing Moriko’s role as their representative. She made sure that Filigree would spread the word among the other Fae that she would make herself available to them any time they had a need.
After their meeting, she turned to go and found Skill hovering over the trail the way she had come in.
“Are you ready?” the Pixie asked. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
“Yes,” Moriko said.
“You don’t have a weapon,” Skill said.
“I don’t need one,” she said. “There isn’t anything out in the world that’s all that dangerous to me.”
Skill shook her head, making her wild, untidy hair dance. “Things are changing,” she said. “You should get a weapon. I’ll teach you how to use my crossbow.”
“That little thing?” Moriko asked, pointing at the tiny crossbow hanging at Skill’s belt.
Skill unhooked it from her belt and handed it to Moriko. It grew in size as she took it and it now was a perfect fit for the larger woman. She handed her companion one of the tiny bolts from her quiver. It grew in proportion, as well.
“Well, that’s convenient,” Moriko said. She didn’t know why she was surprised because many things about the Fae Folk amazed her. She relished the idea of getting to know them better. She handed Skill’s weapons back to her after looking them over and praising their beauty and craftsmanship. It delighted her to watch them shrink back down to fit Skill’s size.
“Let’s go,” Skill said. “I’ll give you pointers on how to shoot as we make our way to Lasahala Run.”
They set out and Skill proved to be a verbose companion along the way and was an attentive and astute teacher who was quite adept with her aim. Moriko found that she was grateful for the company. It kept her from thinking about Ársa, for Skill never mentioned him.
1 week later
Feralis 3, 763 Na Réaltaí
Chéile Chéile’s dilemma was how to make Ársa cooperative without rendering him unconscious. He was useless to her unconscious. Generally speaking, men had to participate to a certain extent in order to have sex, at least with women. Now, if I were a man, I could just take him against his will. That thought excited her, but it did little to solve her problem. Too bad the infirmary doesn’t have any of his sperm preserved. Stealing that would be easier than getting it from Ársa, the way things currently stand between us.
She picked up the Ársa doll she had sewn so long ago and fondled it. The doll was useful, but it would only get her so far. She needed something else to help her secure his cooperation. She thought of plying him with Apple Fizz, but enough to do what she wanted would make him suspicious before it got that far. She wanted him cooperative and willing. He had to want her, desire her madly as he did when they first married.
Lately, she had been scrying on humans in a variety of different places. She had no use for any of them and cared not what they were doing. She watched them only as a distraction, a way to pass the time, nothing more. She had seen many things about them that perplexed her and revolted her. However, there were lower class groups of them that frequented the waterfronts of larger cities that intrigued her for their sheer depravity. She spent countless hours watching them. She had noted many of them used a substance that certainly lowered their inhibitions and seemed to increase their sex drive before it knocked them out altogether. She had even seen some of them imbibe too much and die. It was a grisly death, she noted, but no more than any human deserved.
Chéile was terribly interested in the substance. She had learned they called it lalin sik. She had learned many things watching the humans. She could now listen to them as well since she was able to get clear audio in her scrying bowl far easier with humans than with anyone else.
Because her scrying sessions were so clear and consistent, she knew where to go to get the drug and she knew exactly which humans to approach for it. She wasn’t sure it would work on Ársa, but she was willing to find out.
She walked to the closet in her private chamber and took out an outfit that could easily pass as human clothing. She dressed and checked herself out in the full-length mirror she recently had installed in her room.
The god-cloth skirt and blouse were loosely fitting and thin enough to see through. It was obvious that she had failed to don any undergarments before putting them on. She could readily see her own nipples through it. The bush of hair at her crotch was not obscured in the least. She smiled delightedly but the light failed to warm her cold blue eyes.
She slipped on a pair of flat shoes and tossed a slightly more opaque cloak over her shoulders. The cloak wasn’t thick enough to totally block out the view of her body, but she cared little what anyone in Na Réaltaí thought of her. She didn’t even care about any gossip they may spread. She intended to walk, in this outfit with her head held high, straight through the Droichead on her way to the portal. This late in the afternoon, the place would be full with people wrapping up meetings and making plans. Let them wonder.
Chéile wasn’t the least disappointed when everyone looked her way as she passed them with her head high. She looked neither right nor left at anyone and she ignored a few catcalls thrown her way by some of the more uncouth members of Ársa’s crew. She went down the hallway, into the transport room, selected her destination, and stepped inside. Moments later, she came solid outside the squalid little city of Fogedge. It was a port on the southern tip of Amalith Island. The obscurity of it was in her favor.
She looked around her and listened carefully. She wanted to know what her surroundings were before she moved forward and made her way to the docks. She fervently hoped she could pass herself off as human, but she was quite doubtful that she would be successful. In all her scrying, she had never found a human being who could rival her in beauty, but she made sure her long, silky, platinum hair covered her pointed Elf’s ears.
She waved a hand and rendered herself invisible. It was a trick she had recently learned in her long hours of practice and it was one that would come in handy over time. She hoped it would hold because sometimes, it would fade if she moved too quickly or if she knocked into something. This ability, like all of them for her, was difficult to achieve and often had tentative results that depended on many conditions being perfect. She didn’t want anyone seeing her until she was ready.
She picked her way, with some deliberation, through the dank squalor toward the docks. The town was small and seemed dim and grey to her. It smelled bad, too. Of course, she could smell the stench of humans but this was worse. It was filth and offal heaped on top of filth and offal. She gagged several times as she made her way down the dismal streets.
When she could clearly see the dock area, she paused and glanced around to get her bearings. She knew exactly the place she wanted. She moved further into the area, sticking close to buildings and shadows as she walked along the ill-lit street. A drunk bumped into her and reached up to steady himself by grabbing her breasts with both hands. He leered into her face and breathed his fetid breath on her, drawing another gag from her. She hadn’t realized she was now visible. When did that happen? When he bumped me, or before?
“So sorry, mum,” the man said. “I didn’t see you there until I bumped ye. My, but you’re a fetching young thing. I’ll give ya a week’s pay to let me have a poke at ya. There’s a stack of kegs right over there, no one will see us.”
“No, thank you,” Chéile said politely. She stifled the urge to hurl him from the dock and into the cold sea waters.
“Oh, ye’re a high and mighty bitch then, eh,” he said, weaving and leaning in toward her again.
She swatted his hands downward and away from her.
“I’m busy,” she said, “and besides, my husband would have your head for what you’ve already done to me. Be gone.”
“Be gone?” the drunk said, pulling himself up straight. “Be gone? What do you think you are? Some kind of a princess?”
Chéile s
mirked at him with thick condescension. “As a matter of fact, I do,” she purred. “In fact, I think I’m a goddess.” She lifted her finger and flicked it in his direction. The drunk flew backward and landed with a heavy thud on the weathered boards of the dock directly behind them. His head thwacked hard against the planks and he lay inert. Chéile lifted her chin with a satisfied smile before she turned away dismissively and continued on her journey.
A few yards down the street, she saw the sign she sought. A roughly cut and even more roughly painted board swung from rusty chains on an arm that hung above a splintery door. The paint was faded but still visible enough that she knew she had the right place. The picture on the sign was an ox’s head, denoting the name of the place as The Ox Head Pub.
The light within was as dim as the light on the street. The few people inside were mostly so intoxicated they weren’t aware anyone had entered. She looked around the room, hoping the one particular man she sought was inside.
Chéile spotted him at last, sitting sulkily in the far corner. She could tell from the glittering of his eyes in the candlelight that he was staring at her. Her heart quickened in her chest. She took a deep breath that pushed her large breasts upward, straining them against the thin cloth of her blouse. She pushed the cloak back off her shoulders so his view would be unhampered.
She was satisfied to note that his tongue flicked out quickly, wetting his lips and his eyes flared more brightly for a moment. She walked with painstaking slowness over to his table. She stood before him, in the glow of his candle’s light, allowing him to view her body in all its glory, up close. Obviously, the humans have a better appreciation for large breasts than the Elves do.
“Máel?” Chéile asked with a warm, soft purr.
The man looked up at her questioningly. He was thin, with olive skin, and greasy brown hair hanging in ugly clumps to his shoulders. He was starting to go bald and had a pronounced receding hairline. His eyes were as dark as his hair. His lips were thin, with the lower being far thicker than his nearly nonexistent upper. His nose was prominent and slightly hooked. He had a square chin and his face was beginning to wrinkle.
“Who in Ifreann are you?” the man asked gruffly as he looked her over. His eyes kept coming back, repeatedly, to her large breasts with their erect nipples and the bush at her crotch. He swallowed hard as he dragged his eyes to her face.
“May I join you?” she asked. She didn’t wait for an answer but instead pulled the chair next to him out and slipped into it. She was aware that several of the drunks had roused up from their stupors and were watching her. The ones seated near one another whispered and the buzz steadily rose as they pondered who she was and how Máel got so lucky.
Máel looked at her with amusement. “Please, do,” he said in mock politeness.
“I need something that you can help me with, Máel,” Chéile said. She decided not to fool around. The place smelled terrible and her stomach roiled from the stench. Better to get right to the point; I don’t want to stay in here any longer than necessary.
“What’s that?”
Chéile looked around the room at the drunks and the rising buzz from their surreptitiously voiced curiosity. “Is there somewhere private we can go to talk?” she said, pouting her lips prettily.
Máel nodded. “I have a room upstairs,” he said. He drained his amber colored drink and leaned toward her. “But I have to warn you, beauty,” he said in a low tone, “I never take women up to my room unless they’re willing to—ah, be friendly.” His tone was suggestive and he raised his bushy eyebrow at her.
Chéile smiled coyly. “That is something I am sure we can discuss,” she said.
“Well, come on then,” he said gruffly, standing up and scooting his chair back. He held a dirty hand out to her and she took it.
Chéile followed him to his room and was surprised to see that it wasn’t at all dark and dank like the rest of the place. In fact, it was clean and well lit, though the coverlet on his bed had been repaired more than a few times.
“Have a seat,” he said.
She looked around and found that the only place to sit was either on the chest at the foot of his bed or on the bed itself. She opted for the chest. “I would like to buy some of that substance you sell,” she said.
His brow furrowed in a dark frown. “What substance is that?” he asked cautiously.
“That white powder you’re always selling to people who come in here.” Chéile decided not to admit how much she knew about him or his business.
“How do you know about that?” His spine had gone rigid and his fingers shook. He shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Someone told me about it,” she said quickly, hoping her tone was sincere enough to put him at ease.
“Who?”
“A woman I met on the docks,” she lied. “She said she gives it to her husband sometimes to make him—ah—friendlier,” she said, mimicking his tone from before.
“I see,” he said. He moved into the room and sat on the bed. He took his boots off and tossed them in a corner. “And who was this woman?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know her name. I came here for help, because you see, I love my husband but he’s not interested in me, and I want a baby.” She was surprised at the honesty of her answer.
“Well, if that’s all you want, honey, I can give it you, and you won’t need to dope up your husband.”
Chéile shook her head. “It has to be my husband’s child,” she said. “He will know if it isn’t.”
Máel laughed loudly. “No man ever knows if a brat is his or not, we just take our chances depending on whether or not we like the bitch that pops it out.”
Chéile blushed.
“Oh,” he said, laughing. “I see you think you’re a proper lady. I never had me one of them. Let me tell you something, honey, if a man needs to dope up to have a poke at you, he has problems. Are you sure he doesn’t like boys?”
“Oh, I’m sure,” she said. “I think he’s fallen in love with someone else and it’s terribly important for me to have his child.”
“How do you plan to pay for this dope you want?” he asked. “And just so you know, it’s called lalin sik.”
“I’ll remember that, Máel,” she said.
“But I can give you what you need,” he said. “How much do you want?”
“How much would it take to make him want to bed me without knocking him out?”
“How big is he?”
“He’s taller than me and outweighs me by at least one hundred pounds,” she said.
Máel whistled. “I can give you that much, but how to do plan to make him take it?”
“I thought I would give it to him in a drink,” she said.
“It would have to be a sweet drink,” he said. “This stuff runs a little bitter.”
“I see,” she said.
“And it would take a little more to do the job being drunk like that. And it would take longer, too. So since I’ll have to give you about twice as much for a guy that big and given that way, you’ll have to pay a right dear price for it.”
“What are you asking?”
“Take off your clothes and get in my bed. Once I’ve given you a test run, you can have your drugs.”
She looked him over from the corner of her eye. She had been with two men of two different races, one Elfish and the other Ársa—whatever race he was. Ársa, whom she always thought at least had started out as human, was clearly beneath her in racial equality, so how much lower would her standards be if she bedded Máel? He isn’t all that ugly. I had planned to kill him to get it, but this way might be better. It rather pleases me to think of having Ársa after I’ve filled myself with another man’s juices.
Chéile’s fingers shook as she reached up and unfastened her cloak. She let it fall onto the chest where she sat. She stood up and stepped around the end of the bed to stand in front of Máel. “You have a deal, Máel,” she said.
She un-tucked the end o
f her blouse from the waistband of her skirt and she stripped it off over her head. She dropped it on the floor. She smiled as Máel’s eyes widened and his mouth slacked open with desire. She saw the bulge in his pants grow.
He stood up and began hastily stripping off his clothing as she unfastened her skirt and dropped it to the floor at her feet.
Less than an hour later, Chéile returned to her room on Na Réaltaí with her precious bag of ill-gotten drugs in her hand. She placed it on her desk and called her newly acquired Seirbhíseach, Tola, to bring her a decanter of the sweetest Apple Fizz in the galley.
As soon as Tola left the decanter, and Chéile was alone, she mixed the entire bag of lalin sik into the Apple Fizz and strode down the hallway to her husband’s bedroom. The sound of the shower greeted her as she slipped inside. This is a pleasant surprise. I didn’t think he’d be here until much later.
Chéile set the decanter on Ársa’s side of the bed beside a crystal glass. She took a seat at his small dining table where they once shared intimate meals to nervously await his arrival.
1 day later Feralis 4, 763
Westbarrow Beach Galimir Province Til’gaviel
Moriko, Adamen, Skill “I don’t miss my teammates as much when you guys are around,” Skill said as the three of them sat on the beach in the moonlight. They huddled under a blanket because the wind was fierce and the ocean air was cold.
“Do you ever see them anymore?” Adamen asked. She had grown fond of Skill and the stories she told about her past adventures.
“Not for a long time,” she said.
“Maybe we’ll meet them someday,” Adamen said. “Maybe,” Skill said.
“Are they real?” Moriko asked. “I mean your team does seem
a little farfetched. I can’t imagine the Fae here having relationships like that with humans and a vampire.” “A vampire?” Skill said, her tone implying a mixture of outrage and disbelief that anyone would say something so silly. “Dr. Roberts isn’t a vampire. He’s a mummy.”
“Oh, so sorry,” Moriko said, but she didn’t sound at all sorry to Skill.
