by J A Hutson
“No,” I murmur as he raises his sword above me. “Not fair. I won . . .”
Hands emerge from behind the warrior and grip the sides of his head. His eyes widen in surprise, and then his neck jerks to the side and there’s a popping sound. He collapses beside me, his face only a span from my own, his eyes now glazed in death. There’s shuffling in the grass and a cry of pain, a man’s cry, and from what seems like far away I can hear another body fall to the ground.
“What . . .” I murmur, trying to understand what’s happening.
Someone grips me under my arms and lifts me effortlessly. I’m being dragged somewhere, my feet trailing in the grass. My bleary vision focuses on the hands that are holding me. The fingers are long and fine-boned, feminine, adorned with jade and silver rings. But the skin of my savior is what’s most striking.
It’s red.
11
I’m floating above a bed. The room is hazy, but I think it’s filled with furniture carved from dark wood.
No, I’m not floating – I’m lying on top of a scratchy woolen blanket. Halos of pulsing light surround the glass lanterns that hang from ornate holders. Their radiance dims and brightens in time to my breathing. In, and darkness gathers. Out, and light fills the room, creeping across the table with its dusky green glass bottles, the tilted painting of cloud-shrouded mountains hanging on the wall, and the red woman sitting in the chair watching me.
I blink. The fog swirling in my head clears a little. “Where am I?” I manage, and the effort of that question exhausts me.
The woman quirks a slight smile, rising to her feet. She seems to fill the room – she’s not only tall, with broad shoulders and large breasts, but there’s a presence about her that draws my attention like a lodestone. The details of this room fade away as I focus on her.
She sways closer. The movement of her hips is hypnotic. “You are in the Canted Cow, the inn in this town. I brought you here to rest and recover after your fight.” Her voice is sultry, flavored by some strange accent.
Stuttering images swim up through the haze that’s enveloped my thoughts. A massive man covered in green scales charging towards me. The same man twitching in death, his own cracked head spine jutting from his eye. Another snarling warrior looming over me, his sword upraised, and then surprise shivering his face as red hands grip his head and twist violently . . .
“You saved me,” I murmur as she comes to stand beside the bed, looking down at me.
“Yes,” she says simply. Her pale amethyst eyes hold mine, unblinking.
The tingling is getting stronger, like there are a hundred little spiders crawling along the inside of my skull. “I’m sorry,” I say, almost slurring. “I can’t . . . I don’t feel right.”
“I’ve given you something to help with your pain.”
I shake my head and it clears slightly. “How . . . how hurt was I?”
She glances down at my leg, and I follow her gaze. It’s swaddled in white cloth, and if I concentrate I can feel a dull pulsing ache radiating from beneath the bandages. “You will be fine. The cut on your leg was long, but not deep. I believe you have several bruised ribs, but your spine is intact. A day of rest and you will be on your feet again.”
That’s encouraging. And probably the best possible outcome from having to fight a giant lizard man barehanded.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Deliah. I am the second daughter of the Moon Mistress on the isle of Vel.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
Confusion creases her beautiful face. “You do not know Vel?”
“No.”
“That . . . will complicate things.”
“What?”
“I will have to explain to you everything, when most men would already understand our relationship.”
I struggle to sit up on my elbows. “Relationship? We don’t have a relationship. I just met you.”
“I saved your life.”
I have to admit that’s true.
“And by doing so I chose you.”
“Chose me for what?”
“To be my mate.”
For a moment I wonder if whatever is muddling my head has also affected my hearing. Or perhaps this whole conversation is a delusion. “I saw you standing with the alethian yesterday.”
Some emotion flickers across her face and is gone. “Yes. R’znek was a mighty warrior. I thought he would be the one. But you have shown yourself to be stronger.”
“Wait. He was your mate before I . . .”
“Yes.”
“Ah, I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “There is nothing to be sorry for. He died in the ring, which was his wish. You fought well.”
“But . . . you must have loved him.”
She cocks her head to one side, studying me. “I think you do not understand my people.”
“Talin!” The door to the room is flung open, and there’s Bell framed in the entrance. She looks almost frantic, and her eyes widen as she sees me.
“Bell!” I cry.
The red-skinned woman takes a step backwards as Bell rushes up to the bed.
“You’re alive! How did you survive? Oh, blessed be the saints!”
“I . . . um, I would have died, but she helped me.” I gesture weakly at the tall woman, who is regarding Bell with pursed purple lips. “This is Deliah. She’s red. Deliah, Bell.”
The hostility in Bell’s face could curdle milk. “The lamias. So she’s chosen you?”
“I mean, she said she did . . .”
“And you agreed?” Bell asks harshly, now turning her anger on me.
“This one is your mate?” Deliah asks me with a calmness that’s in striking contrast to Bell’s reaction.
“No,” I say to her, and then turn to Bell and repeat myself. “No. I don’t know what’s going on.” The spiders have started dancing a jig in my head, and the two women standing beside my bed are beginning to blur.
“What’s wrong with him?” I hear Bell yell, but her voice is receding quickly. “His pupils are huge!”
“He was in great pain. I gave him three seeds –” The rest of what she says fades into gibberish.
“Three!” The alarm in Bell’s voice briefly sharpens my attention. “You could stop his heart with three seeds!”
“If he is strong enough to defeat R’znek then it will not be seeds that stop his heart.”
“Are you a doctor?”
“I know what a man’s heart can handle before it bursts.”
“I’m sure you do, you –”
I strain to catch what venomous insult Bell will hurl at Deliah, but I can’t, as suddenly I’m tumbling down into a very deep, very dark hole.
The next time I wake the room is dark, though enough pale moonlight is trickling through the window that the scattered furniture has a faint silvery sheen. My head is clearer, and with that clarity comes a sharper pain radiating up from the cut on my leg. My back and ribs ache as well, though I don’t think anything is broken.
The door creaks open, and light spills in from the outside. “Bell?” I ask, but even as that leaves my lips I know I’m wrong – the shadow in the entrance is too tall. There’s the click of flint striking steel and then flame kindles inside the lantern hung beside the door. Deliah extinguishes the char cloth and swings shut the lantern’s glass front, then turns to me. Something is tucked under her arm, and when she sees that I’m watching she holds it up – a sword in a black leather scabbard, its hilt a raptor with wings outspread.
My sword. I feel a little trickle of relief – I’d been afraid that it had gone with Poz and the pale woman to Ysala. Deliah lays it across the upswept arms of one of the chamber’s cushioned chairs.
“I found this. I thought you might like it back.”
I struggle to sit up. “Thank you. There was also a belt pouch . . .”
She produces the bag from somewhere and sets it down on the chair. “There’s nothing inside except a piece of carved sto
ne.”
I let out a sigh of relief, as I was afraid I’d lost the key. I’m not sure why I’d ever want to open a Gate again, but I’d prefer that such a dangerous item remain in my possession. The thought of this green and lush world being overrun by Shriven is disturbing, the demons pouring through an open portal because some fool figured out what lock the key fits.
“How are you feeling?” Deliah asks, approaching the bed.
“All right,” I reply with a grimace. “I’m going to be limping for a while, I think. And my back is very sore.”
“My people have a way to treat that,” she says. “Move forward.”
“What are you going to do?”
She gives my shoulder a gentle push to show what she means. “Move.”
Gritting my teeth against the pain, I slide farther down the bed.
“Good. Now sit up.”
“Why?”
The mattress creaks as Deliah clambers up onto the bed, wedging herself between me and the headboard. She’s wearing a short skirt, and her long red legs extend out on either side of me, pressing against my own.
“Tell me if this hurts too much.”
I tense, expecting the worst, but I shouldn’t have worried because her fingers begin to gently knead the muscles of my back. Even just this slight pressure, though, is enough to send little shivers through my aching muscles – yet the pain, oddly enough, isn’t uncomfortable. It almost feels good, like there had been tight knots beneath my skin, and under Deliah’s pressure they’ve started to unravel.
“Oh,” I moan, shuddering.
“It feels good, then?”
I nod as her thumbs press down on either side of my spine. “Your people do this?”
“Yes,” she says, digging deeper into a hardened lump of muscle as I gasp in pleasure and pain. “We call it anaschiko, which translates roughly as ‘tranquility’. We believe it soothes the spirit as well as the body.”
“You do this with the ones you’ve . . . chosen?”
“No. In truth, I’ve never done anaschiko on a male before. Only with my sisters and friends.”
The thought of several beautiful red goddesses caressing each other like this is intriguing. I’d like to know more about this isle of Vel.
And it does feel wonderful – I’m reminded of the weaving Valyra did to me after I first stumbled out of the wastes. That summons a pang of guilt, since just a few days ago I’d wanted nothing more than to find and protect her. Somehow, though, I’ve found myself with new obligations and new friends. Now there’s simply no way I can abandon Poz to the mercies of that pale woman, not after the kindness he’s shown me.
“You’re thinking deep thoughts,” Deliah says, her warm breath in my ear. I can feel that she has leaned forward while her hands massage my shoulders, as I’m acutely aware now of her breasts pressing against my back.
“I can’t describe how strange my life has become. There’s too much in my head right now.”
“Perhaps,” Deliah says, her tongue flicking out to lightly touch my ear, “you need to empty your mind.”
I swallow, my throat dry. “And how should I do that?”
A throaty chuckle. “Let me show you.”
Her hand leaves my back and come around me, her fingers tracing the muscles of my stomach and chest. “You’re strong,” she whispers, and then a shiver of pleasure goes through me as her lips find my neck. Her hand slides down me until she touches my hardening cock through my breeches.
“I’m broken,” I say, a little hoarsely. “I’m in pain.”
She bites me, hard enough that I give a little yelp, then she pulls back for a moment. “Ignore it,” she says. Her lips find my neck again and she kisses me more passionately, her tongue playing where she’s just bitten. One of her hands is tangled in my hair, pulling my head to the side as she kisses me deeply, while the other is busy caressing my groin. She knows what she’s doing, but my breeches are keeping her fingers from getting to exactly where they want. She stops kissing me and gives a little growl.
“Take these off,” she says, plucking at the fabric in annoyance.
I comply, nearly ripping my breeches in my haste to remove them, wincing at the grating pain in my ribs. What’s coming is going to be painful, I can already tell.
But I bet it’s also going to be worth it.
12
“Tell me about your homeland.”
We’re lying in bed beneath the woolen blanket, still tangled together. My arm is beneath her, and her leg is thrown across me like she might roll over and start straddling me again at any moment. Her face is nearly brushing mine, and she’s so flawless and exotic that I’m having trouble looking away. Large amethyst eyes of pale purple. Darker indigo hair framing perfect russet features. Unblemished skin and long lashes. Usually in the harsh truths of morning imperfections are revealed, but there’s no flaw here that I can see.
The room, on the other hand, looks much shabbier in the golden light flooding through the windows: the landscape paintings are faded, their gilt frames tarnished, and the dark furniture scuffed. I’d feared that I was convalescing in the most expensive chamber at the inn, though – since I have no money at all – I can’t afford a room at any price.
Deliah props her head up with her cheek resting in her open hand. “What do you want to know?”
“What is it like?”
She gives a little shrug. “It’s warmer than here. The trees are taller, the flowers and birds more colorful. We build our houses of golden wood instead of clay or stone.”
“And your people? Do all the men and women look like you?”
“The women do. There are no men in Vel.” A lock of purple hair falls across her face, and she brushes it aside.
“Truly? What happens to them?”
Another shrug. “Nothing. My people do not give birth to male children.”
“But then how . . .”
A small smile curves her lips. “How do you think?” Her leg slides against my body, drifting lower.
“You mean you’re trying to get with child now?”
“I would be . . . not unhappy if it happened, let us say. Though I am enjoying my sojourn, and I think I’d feel a little disappointment to end it so soon.”
“Your what?”
“My sojourn. It is a rite of passage for my people. When the priestesses decide it is time, we must leave the isle and not return until we are carrying a daughter.” She pauses for a moment, as if expecting questions. I’m too surprised to offer up any, so she continues. “I am from the warrior caste, and therefore I must seek out a great warrior, hoping his strength will go into my future daughter. The crafter caste chooses skilled artisans, the ruler caste great leaders. There are seven castes in all: warriors, priestesses, growers, builders, crafters, philosophers and rulers.”
“So you will stay with me until you get with child?”
Her hand reaches up to lightly touch my cheek. “Yes. Or you die.”
“What will you do then?”
Her finger traces my jawline. “I’ll choose the one who killed you. If it’s a man.”
“So you don’t feel anything for your lovers?”
She bites down lightly on her lip, considering this. “Sometimes I do. You are the third man I’ve chosen. The first was a great brute from the icelands, one of the gel-akon who ride white bears and hunt hairy elephants. He treated me like a prize and was cruel to me. I came to hate him, and I was happy when he insulted R’znek in a grog house and the alethian decorated the streets with his blood.” Her face becomes more somber. “But R’znek was not unkind. I enjoyed my time with him.”
“You aren’t angry with me for killing him?”
“No. I am happy that he brought me to an even greater warrior, so my daughter will be even stronger.”
“Then this is all only about procreation?”
“Yes,” she says, smiling wickedly. “But that doesn’t mean there can’t be pleasure as well.”
With that she sw
ings herself up to straddle me, her legs tightening against my hips. As she sits up straight her long indigo hair cascades down, draping her body. Her breasts are breathtaking – large and firm, with dark red nipples.
“Does anyone ever refuse being chosen?” I manage to say as she takes my cock in her hand and begins to caress it.
“Very few.”
I lie back and close my eyes, groaning with pleasure. She starts to move on top of me, rocking her body in rhythm to her strokes. Her breath is quickening, coming in short gasps, and soon I’ll feel myself slide inside her . . .
A knock on the door.
“Come in,” says Deliah without stopping what she’s doing.
My eyes snap open. “What?” I say, alarmed, my head coming up from the pillow. “No! Don’t . . .”
But it’s too late. The door opens, and I crane my neck around the red goddess just in time to see Bell step inside.
Deliah twists to look over her shoulder. “Good morning,” she says, arousal thickening her voice.
Bell’s expression is frozen in shock and horror. Her jaw is hanging open as her eyes slowly drift from the red woman to me.
“Ah, Bell . . .” I begin, and this seems to break her trance, anger or disgust or maybe a healthy mixture of both spasming across her face. Her mouth snaps shut with an audible click and she shakes her head, as if to clear it.
“I’m leaving,” she says, looking up to stare at the ceiling. “I’m going to Ysala to find my papa. I don’t . . . I don’t expect you to come with me. You don’t owe us anything.” Her mouth twists. “And it looks like you’ve found something here.”
“I’ll come with you! I want to help your father.”
She swallows, taking a step backwards. “I’ve traded for some horses. I’m gone as soon as I get them saddled.”
“Give us a few moments,” Deliah says with an earnest friendliness. “Or join us, if you wish.”
In response to this Bell gives a choking laugh and storms off, leaving the door open.
I sigh, covering my face with my hands. How embarrassing. Deliah, however, seems unconcerned with the interruption.
