“I didn’t see you come in,” Logan says, surprised.
Iahel is dressed in a white button-up shirt, unbuttoned to reveal modest cleavage, and black leather pants with black zippers in odd and strategically arranged points. “I don’t come in through the client’s entrance.”
Logan follows as Iahel eyes Sanet, who continues her routine scrutiny of the girl.
Iahel continues, “I was thinking about all this, and I think, actually, this probably isn’t the right way to go about this.”
Logan’s heart skips. But I don’t want to go back to the Victors. He steps forward. “You can tell us. I’ve bargained with these types of friends before,” he says, trying to comfort her.
Iahel hesitates, biting her lip and looking at the two. Bernard is still asleep behind them. “This isn’t just for me. There are others.”
“Others?” Sanet asks.
“Yes, the demvirst has more than a hundred in its employ.”
At this answer, Sanet sits down, staggered.
Logan is dumbfounded. “A demvirst?”
“Yes. What else do you think runs a place like this?”
Silence follows this answer.
After a minor, Sanet stands, packs her writings, and closes her rucksack. “Logan, this is not the sort of rescue we’re prepared for. There’s no reason to deal with midfreks like that. We at least had a reason to bargain with Tunston.” She reaches over to shake Bernard, who wakes in a bit of confusion. “You don’t bargain with a demvirst for its victims.”
Iahel corrects her. “They’re not all victims. Some of them come here willingly. Some of them want to be here. Some of them . . . like it, for one reason or another. But they’re not enough to satiate its hunger.”
Bernard, half listening, sits up and rubs his eyes and the back of his neck. “Are you guys talking about a demvirst? Here?” Sanet nods. Bernard’s eyes widen. “Here? Lincoln.” He looks among the three, then promptly hops from the bed, scattered in thought, and searches for his own rucksack. “Doubled with Sanet, demvirsts are not looking to bargain.”
Logan stops them both. “We can’t abandon these friends. Not if they want to leave and can’t.”
Not listening, Sanet tosses Logan his rucksack, who catches it as she says, “Your hero charm is wearing thin, Logan.”
How can she be so cold? He is no hero. The Victors are what’s driving him. Delaying his return to Organsia. Delaying the inevitable servitude waiting for him. And knowing someone else is in similar straits drives him.
Logan watches as Iahel reacts to the tension in the room. “It’s not a simple ask, I know. But we’re desperate. It sent my single soul. It’s taken too much. It’s become too . . . lustful.”
“Why don’t you run?” Logan asks.
“Some have, but they are slaughtered on the road. A demvirst has many eyes. Many denizens addicted to the lusts it provides, and it makes them desperate to maintain it, willing to do its bidding. It’s not a relationship that one . . . leaves. People will do anything for it.”
Sanet finishes packing. “The tenfooters were right to abandon these Tunnels. Without laws, the Land devolves into the worst of us.”
“There are no laws in Radiba,” Bernard reminds her.
“And you sent a man left, did you not?” Sanet reminds him in return.
Bernard quiets, and Logan takes a deep breath before sticking up for him. “If you’re not willing to help, if you think we’re flam, you’re welcome to leave.”
Sanet looks around; all eyes are on her. “You’re not flam for wanting to help. I understand it feels right to help. But in a state without laws, this is what happens. Maybe some can live in peace, states with good people, but when bodies are allowed any whim or indulgence, it breeds this type of violence. It attracts these kinds of midfreks. And the solution is not to take on egregious monsters; it’s to bring a semblance of order.”
Logan counters, “So, you’re in agreement with those crimson men? The ones who slaughtered families? That sent Jame?”
Bernard doubles, “You don’t believe what those crimson men said? That we should unionize the Land?” As he speaks, Bernard looks almost guilty for doubling on Sanet, who stands defiantly among the four of them.
She defends herself. “No. I don’t agree with fanaticism, of course, but in some ways, there are merits to a union. We could prevent bodies from being priced. From being abused. How can you not agree with that? To prevent the worst in us.”
It’s hard to disagree. The Victors, rulers of Organsia, prey on the weaknesses of others. As does this demvirst. But then there’s always Radiba, existing true in peace without laws.
“This might have been wrong to ask.” Iahel moves to leave.
Logan stops her. “Where can I find it?”
Iahel hesitates in her answer, looking to Sanet and then Bernard, both of whom stand quietly. She lowers her head. “When it takes us, it’s hard to know where we are, but I’ve heard rumors that it’s on the upper floor.” She looks up. “It’s up there. Waiting. Breathing in the heat and elation of this place. It will never be satisfied. It will never stop.”
She presses for the door before turning to the others. “If you find me, you’ll forgive me, won’t you?”
Logan, confused, nods as she leaves the room. The door closes behind her just as a jarent naked man pulls her away and she emits a false giggle. Turning on an act.
Logan turns to Bernard and Sanet. “We have to help them.”
Bernard steps forward. “I know this is what’s right, Logan, but I don’t think this is the right way.”
“Not sure there is a right way,” he responds.
Sanet watches Logan and takes a major before speaking. “Well, we can’t let you do it alone.”
“You don’t need to do me any favors.”
“If you’re sent left saving some stranger, I don’t think I’d feel right about that.”
“Neither would I,” Bernard doubles.
Logan smiles softly. “We’re doing good. We’re being good friends. And just because there’s no law to stop this frek from preying on the weak, there’s also no law to say that we can’t send it permanently left.”
Chapter 10
LUST OF THE DEMVIRST
“On the first day of the year, Marcus Greren dragged his bargains partner, Lindsay Tapsters, to the newly christened Tunnels beneath the state of Carvinga, which had recently opened seven months prior. It was a project rumored to have taken more than three centuries to complete, with wild tales of unseen freks and buried architectures from citizens past emerging from the excavation. It was a place of mystery, of opportunity, and for Marcus, a place to escape.
“Rail Station Six, the last eastern station in Misipit, used to be a destination reserved for quick treks south to the states of Guloren and Radiba, as further east would lead citizens to the contentious state of Carvinga. And although Carvinga did not outright ban passersby—in accordance with the Law of Passage—there was . . . much discouragement. Upon the formal opening of the Tunnels, Carvinga’s surface trails were closed, leaving what goes on within the tall-bladed grasses to absolute secrecy.
“After their three-month journey, as Marcus and Lindsay left Station Six with rucksacks over their shoulders and the fresh-dug Tunnels ahead, a feeling of sheer excitement that anything was possible bubbled between them. Though it took Lindsay about half the Rail journey to feel the chance of opportunity Marcus did, by the time they entered the Tunnels’ entrance, it was undeniable.
“The subsequent years after the Tunnels opened were some of the most violent and arguably most extreme living the Land has held since the Last War, with citizens and bodies alike sent within its labyrinthine paths. There were turnaways that many learned not to tread down in fear of having their lives sent, and the Tunnels swelled with a general gathering of the Land’s most unsavory citizenry. For Marcus and Lindsay, however, it was everything they hoped it would be.
“Within months, they set up a breath
ing parlor in a large opening of the Tunnels that later was curamed Barwolves Pit, a shop that soon became the place for rest and relaxation in the southern parts of the Tunnels. With early and rapid success, their business was able to bargain for a larger structure just under two miles north of it.
“The building, on its purchasing date, was dilapidated and entirely unlivable. How or why the building existed in the first place is likely the Tunnels’ greatest enigmit. It took Marcus and Lindsay and many others over two decades to set the place to their liking. But it was to become a grewst unlike any other. A place not just where one got a good night’s rest, but where one could visit and escape. They curamed the place Greren and Tapsters and opened it one late summer after a severe heat wave passed through the Tunnels. It was an instant success and, as was the way for them in the Tunnels, everything they could hope for. But this luck and contentment devolved over time, when their grewst become known as the place for sexual depravity.
“When the garish and flamboyant grewst saw its first customers after that terribly hot summer, the Tunnels were already beginning to attract the horrid masses of the Land. Early attempts at putting together a Tunnel Council quickly fell apart after citizens of the Tunnels decided that instead of drafting meaningless and unenforceable statutes, they would mimic the lawless code of Radiba to their south, as at the time it was an admired neighbor. Though Radiba remained technologically behind, its people remained closer, and therefore more desirable, to the ancestors of the old ways. To double, the lawless Tunnels did not attract the kind and morally upright Radibian sort, but instead those who sought escape from other states, especially from the strict religions of Yikshir or the unbearable debts of the Victors in Organsia. The high and mighty politics of Quemon and the unwavering cross and dots of Niance also brought many to seek refuge in the new, unclaimed Tunnels.
“Marcus’s hopes for a better future continued to fade as guest after guest at Greren and Tapsters repeatedly defamed the place. Lindsay, with another coin, saw the potential profits and spent more and more time renovating its rooms and areas to reflect the clientele that came, not the clientele they desired. It caused a great rift between them, and there were many nights when the yells of their arguments carried through the upper floor down into the grewst below.
“And then, one day, Marcus left, storming from the lobby and disappearing into the Tunnels beyond. Lindsay chased him as far as the entrance doors but warned him that if he left, he would never be allowed back. Marcus turned and stated with no uncertainty, ‘What we’ve built is a place without love. A space to devolve into a beast of no curam. And what are we but beasts without love? What will separate us from the freks?’ At the close of his words, he disappeared into the darkness and was never heard from again. Lindsay, unable to express his true feelings for Marcus, was hurt by his departure more than he ever admitted publicly. And instead of closing the doors of Greren and Tapsters, reuniting himself with whom he was in single souls, he turned back into the work and growth of their grewst.
“The Land has a way of evolving to the needs and desires of the people, and it wasn’t long before an air of heat and sensuality poured from the walls. Lindsay became a shut-in, even as the profits and circulation of people increased. No one is sure when or how Lindsay Tapsters sent. There was never a body found, though finding the left lying in rooms after nights of unspeakable debasement was commonplace. Greren and Tapsters became the central site of sexual release in the Tunnels. It is the landmark by which citizens describe the ‘sewers of the Land.’ It is both a place to loathe and a place to covet.
“Over the next half millennium, the people of the Tunnels continued along the path of Lindsay Tapsters, reveling in the title of ‘denizen’ and hating being called ‘friend.’ To stay at Greren and Tapsters meant you needed a good slip, not a good friend.”
Logan closes the small pamphlet titled the “Untold History of Greren and Tapsters” and returns it to a side drawer next to the bed. Alone in the room, he wonders what Bernard and Sanet found in the other areas of the grewst. The clock strikes past full moon, denoting Logan’s time to begin his exploration of the Co-Ed Halls.
Pushing into the early morn, he notes that the hall has calmed since they first arrived. The moans and grunts of the denizens still carry through closed doors as Logan passes them. He turns corners and attempts to keep track of where he is in relation to the room he shares with Sanet and Bernard and the entrance staircases. Turning west, then east, then west, then east, then west grows almost spellbinding. Each turn he hopes to see a new sight, a new area, but instead finds more doors and more halls. After the tenth corner, he spots a door unlike the others at the end of the corridor. He quickens his pace, opens it, and steps through.
On the other side, he locates a spiraling staircase lit by a narrow, unending strip of red neon that goes all the way up and all the way down the west wall. In such dim light, Logan is unable to see more than a few flights up or down. He tiptoes up the stairs, attempting to soften the echo of his footsteps.
After a few flights up, Logan hears a door open floors below him. He stops and presses up against the wall, closing his eyes to listen to where the footsteps head. One after the other, each step softens, fading away. And then another sound of a door opening, this time, quieter. He opens his eyes and takes a deep breath.
Logan climbs another six flights before reaching the top floor. Here, a single door, dull and silent, waits.
He presses his ear to the wooden door, listening for sounds or movement. Any indication of what might be on the other side. Nothing. Wanting to open it, he feels his curiosity piqued. I should stick to the plan. Reluctant, he turns and creeps back down the staircase, recounting the flights to the door he entered.
When he walks back into the hallway, he’s minarily blinded by the light. After adjusting, he sees a thin woman leaning against a cracked-open door. She smokes a cig of green and eyes Logan, who attempts to pass her.
She holds out her hand. “Where are you going, boy?”
“Tired. Just went for a walk before bed.”
“Who said you were allowed in that stairwell?”
Logan looks back at the door he entered from and back to the woman. “Doesn’t say it’s off limits. Thought there were no rules here?”
“There are the rules I set, boy.”
“My appize to you then.” Logan nods and starts to step away when the woman reaches for his black leather jacket and grabs him with surprising force.
“Ted. Ted, we got a hot one.”
The strength with which she takes his arm, and the fact that she sets her foot just behind his ankle, causes Logan to fall backward to the ground. As if following a choreographed dance, a man, apparently Ted, takes him by the shoulders and drags him into the room. The woman, with cig stuck to her lip, stomps after him, slamming the door behind her.
The room here is larger than their own, with a bed made for six unsavory denizens and shaped without corners. A circle. At the major, it is stripped of any sheets or blankets, and instead leather shackles sit in wait. Being that Ted is twice the size of Logan, he effortlessly tosses him onto the bed, where three women grab his limbs and click him into shackles.
“Friends, I know this is the kind of place for this sort of fun, and in truth, on another night, I might be into this kind of enjoyments, but I’m really not up for—”
Before he’s able to finish, Ted covers his mouth with a slimy rubber ball that is wrapped in stretched leather and ties it to the back of Logan’s head. Logan squirms to escape but finds the effort hopeless. The woman from the hall kneels over Logan’s stomach, lifting off her sheer top and revealing a pair of modest round breasts. She leans over him, placing her chest on his, and licks his face before staring at him inches from his eyes. “You ready for a night to remember?”
Unseen, but felt, Ted and other women begin to rip and tear off the remaining clothes of the woman sitting atop Logan, who squeals and grins with a sexual ease and hunger. She
gently nibbles on Logan’s nose. It’s not long before Logan can feel the hard, wet hands of Ted reaching for his belt, the others giggling and clapping.
“What kind of happiness are you packing today, boy?”
On the road, Logan liked to get into trouble. Usually, on the long, monotonous Rail through Misipit and Renant before entering Organsia, there would be a lady or more he would have a fling with. One year, it seemed there might be something more, but this certain brunette disappeared late one chilly night, and Logan remembered that he never caught her curam. Lying tied to the bed with a woman hanging over him is not the sort of scene he hasn’t been in or slipped solo about at times—but it is telling at this minor that his thoughts go straight to Sanet. He is drawn to her for an unknown reason. Drawn to her like mud on white. Something about her feels right. There are hints of maternity in her. Signs of a family. As much as she is handsome and a good slip, she is also . . . strong. And protective. What she feels, what she wants, are important.
“You must be ready to move, boy.”
The woman grins as he feels the grip of Ted’s hand over his swollen cock, guiding it into the woman. As they meet, she leans back and calls out in a long, hoarse moan. Logan closes his own eyes, yanking on the leather strips holding him tight to the bed. The other women in the room rub and massage his legs and arms as the entire scene evolves into sensory overload.
“Strop poleeth,” Logan says through the gag, his eyes closed. The leather straps press into his flesh, their edges like knives cutting into his skin.
“Oh, boy, you’re perfect. This is perfect,” the woman continues to call out as she rocks herself atop Logan, who tries to tug against her, but only makes the rhythm worse and his cock harder.
Advent of the Roar Page 11
