“It’s ours to make.” Knife raised an eyebrow. For the first time, Chet noticed that both Flame actually had eyebrows—and eyelashes, for that matter. How bizarre that they were bald, yet Pelin allowed this. It seemed to fall into the same category as distinguishing between bodily fluids and water: an irrelevant, subjective distinction, completely illogical.
Knife continued, “Everything’s changed, yet nothing has changed. The Raptus is as big a pain in the ass as it’s ever been, and it’s high time to be done with the thing. I say we strive to destroy it. Barring other methods, all members of the Flame Council are currently alive and have been initiated to Pelin. This sort of confluence doesn’t happen often.”
Before Chet could ask what he meant, Fenimore jumped in. “Is this a democratic vote, the way independent city-states do it? Because there may be no clear majority, here.”
“Flame have always operated via consensus," Journey said, her voice as gently corrective as that of a primary-school teacher.
The message was clear. The Flame clearly felt the Raptus was their territory, that their rules applied. Journey and Knife seemed comfortable in their ownership—dominance?—regarding the Raptus. Chet vaguely wondered how long it had been since their council had been made guardians of the Raptus. Foex had died over five-hundred years ago. It was a measure of Chet’s acclimation to his new companions that five-hundred years seemed like a brief window of time. Though, to be honest, he’d always possessed a long-term sense of history, even before he’d become an archeologist. A mindset, it seemed, shared by everyone on the bed.
“You don’t have the majority or authority to arbitrarily settle upon a mode of decision-making,” Fenimore countered.
Knife gave him a mild look. “You object to destruction, I take it?”
“By the Abyss sundering Uos, of course I oppose destruction. It chose us, don’t you see? It chose us. That tells me we need to explore what we have, not mindlessly discard it.”
Journey snorted. “Explore how, exactly? We know too much as it is. The Raptus was created for complete control over people. The more you try to use it, the more you slide downhill into a bloody mess. The worst case scenario is an all-mighty autocracy instigated upon Uos. I assume Magicians had some form of checks and balances to keep this from occurring. We do not. The gods might eventually step in, but only after much human blood had already been spilt. They are not generally known for their mercy in such matters.”
Fenimore turned to Chet. “What say you, scholar?”
Chet reached out and touched the Raptus with his index finger. “I want more information...”
“I shouldn’t have asked. Scholars always want more information.”
“LaDaven,” Journey rebuked, her eyes glittering a subtle warning. “Yes, Chet?”
“Why can’t we study it to find out how it works? A find of this magnitude is amazing. Even you don’t know how it works, right? Aren’t you curious?”
“Not really,” Knife said. “We’re more concerned with how ancient and recent technologies will mix.”
“Apart from these cord things, that’s why we’re so jumpy," Journey said. “Modern technology definitely ups the ante. Imagine one person having control of every nuclear weapon and arsenal on the planet. Such power would be absurdly simple through this device.”
“But I thought you said getting rid of it wasn’t something you wanted to take on," Chet said, feeling lost. “How do we destroy it, anyway?”
Knife’s expression was resolved. “It’s too dangerous to leave lying around for another failure of vigilance. I didn’t want to do this the hard way, but it’s acting up in an aggressive manner. Better we go on the offensive than remain passive. As for destruction, we’ll need to unlock it first—each member of the Council of Six will need to help with that—then one of us will have to order the Raptus to destroy itself. I volunteer myself for that part. I’ll involve Pelin if I have to; she’d be willing.”
Journey gave him a sharp look, then asked him a question in an unknown language. The same language as before? Knife replied in like. The exchange seemed significant, and Chet squirmed, hating that he was locked out of it. Fenimore, too, was scowling. Journey’s eyes flickered upon Fenimore, then down at the Raptus. She shrugged, opening her hand in Knife’s direction. He didn’t look smug, but it was clear to Chet that he’d somehow won their—argument? Debate?
Fenimore looked like he was sucking a lemon. “How did the Flame manage to lock it, anyway? You have no magic, in the classic Magician sense.”
“The goddess Aiena led us through the ritual. Each of us spilled blood upon it in turn while speaking words. To unlock it, we’ll need to do the same.”
“Specific words, I assume.”
“Of course specific words,” she said. “Each of us chose a different children’s poem. I have mine memorized. Knife?”
He grinned at her. “Thespian. I did have mine memorized for a while, but I can only recall bits and pieces now.”
Chet shot Knife an uncertain look. “You seemed to have an eidetic memory this morning.”
“Hey, memorizing relevant data in the short term is one thing. That’s just a trick I’ve picked up. You try to remember intricate, iambic-pentameter stanzas for five-hundred years. Through death, slavery, genocide and a world war, no less. In retrospect, I didn’t choose my passage well—something about pretty little anuros flying in the springtime. Absolute poppycock.”
Fenimore frowned critically. “This will be a futile plan if you’ve all forgotten your sacred charge.”
“Oh, hush. Of course I have it written down at home. I re-transcribe the passage from my caches every lifetime or so, at my house in Allistair, I’m afraid. The others will undoubtedly have their own systems.”
Journey turned back to Chet. “So... what do you think?”
He frowned. The Flame were self assured, convinced that destruction was the right thing to do. Besides, Fenimore didn’t seem to have good reason—or a viable game plan—for the relic. He wasn’t defending a helpless people or even bringing it home to a rightful ruler. There was too much at stake for simple curiosity to lead the day.
Chet shrugged, glancing at Fenimore. “Sorry, I’m with them.”
“Very well. It seems we are set upon destroying it. Don’t expect me to be happy about it, though.”
Both Flame nodded, their expressions reserved, even respectful. No one tried to pat Fenimore on the arm condescendingly or invalidate his opinion.
Knife rose and stretched, then began a series of isometric exercises. Journey put the Raptus away in her large purse and got out a book. Chet stared at them. Hadn’t they just made the decision to run like abyss and destroy the Raptus? Yet they seemed to take it for granted that they were done for the night. Well, it was their call. He led Fenimore to the bathroom and showed him how to use the shower. When Chet emerged, Journey eyed him speculatively, her book upturned on the bed. She was idly fingering a tit, and Chet’s mouth began salivating as if he were a conditioned lab animal.
Journey smiled at him. “Come here, sweetie. Are you ready to try this new skill of yours again?”
“But I thought—aren’t we getting going now? Isn’t time of the essence, all that?”
“We need to wait to speak to the Shadow Dancers. Besides, we don’t have a ride. We’ll have to rent a car in the morning.”
“I see.” Chet looked away, self conscious. “Can I ask a question of a personal nature?”
“Of course.”
“You and Knife both have this, um, smell.” Would she take offense at the empirical observation?
Journey chuckled low in her throat. “That’s ichor, Chet. It’s the Flame god gift that allows us to survive fire. We are chemically altered by Pelin upon initiation. You probably didn’t notice in the van, but all my bodily fluids have a slight purplish tinge to them.”
“It makes me, er, responsive. More responsive than I usually am," Chet said. His cock was hard even now.
�
�Ichor is an aphrodisiac—best on Uos," Journey grinned at him. Her body was undulating beside him, her need apparent. “Here, you climb on top this time. Knock yourself out and just fuck me, okay?”
Chapter 8
New Territory
Chet scrambled to comply, shedding clothing with each step forward. Funny how he’d thought Journey was a fancy, glamorous lady only... yesterday? “Just fuck me" felt more like prostitute’s language. Or the way he’d thought stereotypical Flame would speak, except Journey defied stereotypes. At least Knife had quietly slipped outside and was leaning over the balcony, Chet noticed with relief. He was grateful to have sex without an audience this time.
Journey, too, rid herself of clothing and sank on the bedspread, her knees spread outward. Her nudity was still new to Chet. The rational part of him wanted to look at her sex closer this time to see the ichor tinge for himself, but his cock was quivering, the hunger all consuming. He crawled on top of her and began bucking. Then Chet frowned. Something was wrong, different from last time. The formula oddly changed. He could feel her slippery, wet sex but didn’t seem to be inside of her yet. Maybe he should buck harder for sex to happen?
Journey snickered. “Here, I’ll do it.”
Chet tingled with embarrassment as she took hold of him and tucked his dick inside of her. He hadn’t realized he’d need to fit inside her, key-in-lock style. Last time Journey had done all the work, but now he was in charge. Right?
He thrust experimentally, curious how sex should be best accomplished. Her wet tightness still felt superb the second time around. Journey grinned up at him, biting her lower lip. Her hips were thrusting upwards to meet him, her tits jiggling in the most alluring manner. Chet found a tempo she seemed to enjoy and hung onto it as long as he could. Journey tilted her head back, emitting moaning noises low in her throat. Chet felt himself warm to the work. Hey, I’m pretty good at this, he thought with delight, increasing the tempo.
“No, go slower. Slower. Make it last.”
But Chet found that he couldn’t slow down. He was coming, coming—he threw his head back and spilled into her.
Journey sighed, gazing up at him with evident disappointment. “I really am going to have to train you, Chet. I’ll have you fucking properly in no time, if you’re a willing student.”
Chet cleared his throat awkwardly as he rolled off. “Sorry.”
A noise behind them startled him. He glanced back; the bathroom door was open, steam pouring out, and Fenimore was standing naked at the base of the bed, stroking his erect penis. “My turn, eh?” he murmured, crawling on the bed toward Journey.
She sat up abruptly, her legs audibly snapping closed. “I don’t think so, LaDaven. Go jerk off or ask Knife to accept you.”
“Oh, come now. You’ll like me.” He started fondling her breasts with both hands. “I won’t spill early like your bashful swain here.”
Journey growled, moving her legs under her in a crouch, then slid her hands up Fenimore’s arms. She stopped just below his elbows and savagely pinched the fleshy part of his forearms. Fenimore yelped, thrusting himself away from her. He rubbed his forearms, his face mottled with confusion and anger.
Journey knelt on the bed as if ready to spring, her whole attitude fierce, almost animalistic. “You touch me again without my consent, Fenimore LaDaven, and I’ll do permanent damage to your scrotum. I’ve castrated men before with my bare hands. Do we have an understanding?”
Fenimore opened his mouth and shut it, his expression enraged. “Yes, good Flame.”
Journey slowly sat back on her heels. “You don’t get to be as old as I am without learning where the boundaries lie. I don’t like being raped.”
Fenimore looked as if he’d like nothing more than to slam out the door and leave, except he was bound here through the Raptus. They all were. Chet could almost see him thinking about it as his eyes lit from Journey to the Raptus, sitting innocuously on the bedside table. Fenimore grabbed his dusty pants and stalked out to the balcony. Chet realized Knife now faced them, watching everything through the sheer curtains, his arms resting easily on the wrought-iron balcony. Knife nodded at Fenimore and murmured something that Chet couldn’t hear.
Chet regarded Journey on the bed beside him. He’d thought that she would have scrambled to get dressed like Fenimore, but she was breathing deep, her eyes closed. Regaining her composure? She glanced at Chet apologetically. “Excuse me, I don’t mean to startle you.”
Chet opened his mouth to reply, his confusion palpable, then froze. Journey was changing. Her body rippled as fat and musculature morphed under her skin. Her tits receded to a flat chest, and a penis and scrotum blossomed between her legs. Between his legs. Chet barely restrained himself from crying out, jumping out of bed and scrambling out the door. Journey was definitely male now. Even his face was different. Journey was still of the flaxen race, but he had a thicker jaw, flat cheekbones, his nose a different shape. She—he—still appeared young. A little older than Chet’s age, maybe his late twenties.
Journey opened his eyes and smiled at Chet, his expression tinged with irony. “Are you freaking out?”
Chet discovered that he was frozen in a protective crouch. He deliberately forced himself to sink back to the bed. Journey seemed to take it as an invitation to cuddle up beside him. Chet paused, aghast. There was something viscerally wrong about the situation, but Journey was warm and familiar.
Chet took a deep breath and tried to relax with the man—Flame—in his arms. “A little.” His voice was shaking.
They lay quietly together. Feeling calmer as each minute passed, Chet’s scholarly curiosity perked up like a dium—a reptilian rodent which couldn't resist getting into everything. “Do you do this often? Change sex?”
Journey chuckled. His voice had changed too. Did he have a wider throat now? Chet leaned back and decided that Journey really had changed the external width of his throat. If he could do that, it probably meant he could change the internal larynx structure as well.
“Yes, I am most decidedly bi-sexed. Not every Flame is. Knife doesn’t like being female, though he’ll do it when there’s need.”
Chet glanced over his shoulder to the balcony where Knife and Fenimore were chatting. Though Knife was not technically in the room, he supposed Knife was still in eyesight, which was why Journey hadn’t changed pronouns to the ubiquitous female. “This is why people are scared of Flame," Chet grumbled. “It’s because we never know what you’re going to do. Or be.”
“Are you scared of me?”
Chet chewed it over a minute. “I’m not sure. I don’t think I’m frightened anymore.” In fact, the thought of fucking—or being fucked by—Journey in male form was rather... arousing. Chet found himself growing hard again.
Journey knew it, too. He eyed Chet speculatively, then deliberately reached over and brushed Chet’s dick with the back of his hand.
“Oh, Pantheon," Chet gasped, his cock rising to fully erect at Journey’s touch.
“Fenimore’s forcefulness aside, it seems to me that you enjoy both men and women. Yes?”
“I—I’ve never...” Chet swallowed. He wanted to grab Journey’s exposed cock. To, to suckle it, to have Journey come in his mouth. This was insane. He squirmed under pressure of having to produce an answer to a question he’d never considered, except... Chet had felt this way before.
“Yes," he finally said. Admitting the truth hurt.
Journey leaned back and took in his reaction with a practiced eye. “This is why people are frightened of us: so many don’t know that they’re flexible until we show up on their doorstep. And in their beds. Some have blamed us—even killed us—for helping them discover their own innate sexuality. Are you going to blame me, too?”
“No, mostly I plan to blame Fenimore.”
“That’s all right, then.”
Journey curled up beside him and undulated, rubbing himself lightly against Chet. Chet hesitated. He wanted to kiss Journey, kiss him deeply, but did
he have the guts to do so? Oh, Abyss. Chet climbed on top of Journey and kissed him. Chet felt Journey’s lips smile beneath his. Journey was writhing under him, his hands stroking Chet’s hair. Chet drew back to breathe and found that Journey was in the exact position under Chet he’d been in as female. His legs were spread and everything.
Yet when Journey spoke, he said, “I want to be inside of you. Think you can withstand another dick today? I’ll be far more gentle than LaDaven, I swear.
Chet gulped. His ass still felt sore from Fenimore’s sundering, yet that had felt so good. Journey might feel even better. “Um. Okay. Please be gentle with me!”
“I’ll be better than gentle. Roll onto your stomach,” Journey said as he got up to riffle through his luggage. Chet complied hesitantly as Journey plunked a familiar bottle on the bed. “That delightful young woman threw this in gratis when we were decamping. She said we’d probably need it again, the way we were going. She was right.”
Despite his words, Journey did not squirt some of the oily liquid into his hands. Instead he spread Chet’s buttocks and stared between them.
Chet squirmed, gazing at Journey over his shoulder. “What are you doing?” Why did it feel so alarming to have someone study his ass with such intense scrutiny?
“Fenimore really did plunder you open, didn’t he?” Journey leaned in and—oh. Oh! Chet squealed like a girl as Journey’s tongue pierced his anus. How soft and wet his tongue was, but this couldn’t be hygienic.
“Aren’t you afraid of getting sick?”
Journey chuckled, withdrawing his tongue to speak. “No. You just took a shower and I’m Flame. Like I said, we don’t get sick—any sort of sick. Just deal with having my tongue in your ass, boy.”
Chet dealt with it. He wondered whether this was the way women felt. The noises emerging from his mouth were womanly enough—high pitched squeaks and tiny moans—as Journey lapped him out. After a time, he drew back and slapped Chet on the ass.
The pain was sharp and palpable compared to his ethereal tongue. Chet yelped involuntarily. “Don’t stop!”
The Artifact of Foex Page 8
