Author of SF and Fantasy erotica

Path of Lyssa is being written as part of a novel-writing challenge over the month of November. Please expect poor editing!

Current word count: 16,366

—

2 – Friends

At some point, the sun rose. Lyssa missed it. The murky grey clouds hanging over the trees of the forest didn’t allow much of the sunlight down to her level, even as midday approached. All she knew was that at some point, passing through a narrow clearing around a ditch coated in leaves, she looked up and saw that the night had passed. She smiled and took a hearty breath of fresh air. Crisp and new, cleansing her pores and wisping through her hair. Around her, some chirruping birds let out their tiny choruses, safe in the knowledge that, stuck to the earth as she was, Lyssa was no threat to them.

So, she’d walked all night. Lyssa believed she should have been fatigued by now, but instead found her steps yet springing, her heart still beating, her focus clear and her mind sharp. Closing her eyes and basking in the gloomy sparsity of the sun, she took stock once more of the shred of power that sat deep in her reserves. Tomas’ essence was sugary and sweet, just like the young man himself. And his presence inside her was giving lift to her boots that pushed beyond her need to sleep. Maybe she would never have to sleep again! That was well, since Lyssa had no clue of how far she would have to travel before she was reunited with the lovely man in her dreams. She’d hate to waste time with something like sleep if she could help it.

Lyssa raised a hand and placed it fondly over her tummy, over the deep weight of her womb. She had not known she was hungry until that hunger had been sated. Now, she felt warm content seeping through her muscles, the likes of which she hadn’t thought to long for. And yet the void demanded more. She had so much space to fill. Lyssa let out a little shiver of delight and anticipation, briefly joining the birds in their song. Hopefully this Ducal Rout was nearby, and with it the villages that Tabitha had told her about. Those villages would have people, and those people would have what she wanted. She licked her lips.

A scuffling of feet in the undergrowth ahead caused her to open her eyes sharply. Or perhaps she wouldn’t have to wait! Perhaps a tasty traveller would happen upon her in her journeying! She prepared for her prey a welcoming smile.

It fell away at once. The creature had once been human, she believed, but had lost the soft wetness of its vital form long ago. The skin was purple and black, wrapping up spindly bones tightly like the bread and cheese in her satchel. The eyes were sunken, rheumy and dull, though they latched onto Lyssa with enough keenness to show her that she had been seen. The hair was sparse, a fallow field’s harvest. And on this fragile frame sat a heavy breastplate made of dented, grimy bronze. The long leather coat, stained breeches and mangled boots beneath looked more like a workman’s attire. But the heavy, iron-headed club the creature was dragging in its wake was no tool for labour. Those spikes were meant for human heads, and they were already stained black with old blood.

The ghoul, since that was clearly what it was, lurched out of the trees towards her, snapping its few remaining teeth with a click of bone. Lyssa took a matching step backwards. She reached into her satchel, taking up the knife she had stolen from Tabitha’s. It looked small indeed compared to the weapon of her enemy. The blade, though sharp, was unlikely to penetrate that bronze surface. And when Lyssa looked down her arm at the proffered weapon, she saw that it was shaking fearfully. She was no fighter, it turned out.

Biting back a curse, she turned and ran, making for the safety of the trees. They aren’t nimble like living people are, Tomas had said. That meant she could likely outrun one, or maybe lure it into a trap of tree roots. But Lyssa’s heart leapt into her throat as she neared the treeline, and a great slam of wooden concussion exploded from in front of her. She tumbled, falling back onto her rear and dropping the knife into the thick grass. A long arrow was protruding from the trunk of the tree beside her. If she’d been going just a lick faster, she’d have been pierced through.

Lyssa turned. A second ghoul was approaching her from the south, also wearing bronze but this time armed with a great longbow. How those cataract-filled eyes were able to sight her so adeptly, Lyssa had no idea. But she knew she only had moments left to live. The ghoul wordlessly tugged a new arrow back along the taut line of the bow and clumsily took aim. At her back, the sound of crunching leaves as the club-wielder also approached. Lyssa scrambled, trying to take cover behind the nearest tree. But the hem of her skirt was now caught on brambles, and a hard yank with her hands wasn’t freeing her. Heart racing, she writhed against her natural bonds. And the twin ghouls drew ever closer.

As panic overcame her, Lyssa threw out her hand towards them.

“Stop!!”

And something left her. The sugary flame in her void spat forth its cargo, letting it shoot invisibly towards the ghouls. The vital energy sank at once into their emaciated, desiccated bodies. A drop of rain on a parched plain. And… they stopped. The ghoul with the bow slowly lowered its aim towards the ground, and the one with the club let its arm hang limp. Both of them, for all of their decay, held an expression of blissful, serene calm. Their eyes on her were peaceful. Lyssa spat out a manic laugh. What manner of sorcery was this?

But she couldn’t wonder for long, as a dark shape burst out of the trees to the south of the glade. Lyssa caught a flash of faded blue, the rich brown of wood and a sparkle of metal. She fought back a wail in her throat. Another ghoul? If so, it was much faster than these others!

But this one was roaring. Lyssa stared as the figure ploughed into the dead archer and slashed a curved axe down into its shoulder. The heavy iron crunched into the bronze armour and cleaved the plating messily, then passed straight through to the bone. The ghoul collapsed forward under the mighty weight of the attack. As it fought to right itself with its one remaining arm, the warrior pulled back on a large, circular wooden shield, studded with metal around its edge. A vicious slam downwards brought the shield’s rim onto the back of the creature’s head. A smashing of bone, and it was still.

Next, the blue-garbed warrior lunged for the ghoul with the club. Their steps were powerful lunges, a back-and-forth that suggested they were meaning to keep out of any likely blows coming their way. But the ghoul didn’t move. It was still staring at Lyssa. As such, the warrior’s upward crescent swing met no resistance as it severed the creature’s head from its neck. The head landed softly in the grass, then the body toppled lifelessly over.

Lyssa stared up at her rescuer. He was very much alive, which was a relief. He was three or four years older than Tomas, by her reckoning, making him closer in age to herself. A ruddy young man, with hair thick and black like bracken tied at the back of his head. A wide set of shoulders, held tall and strong by a suggestion of tight muscle beneath his clothing. Red cheeks from the exertion of his combat, and brown eyes like the richness of the earth. His tabard was navy blue and marked with a white symbol that Lyssa’s eyes couldn’t pick out from the grime and tear in the old garment. Below, a coat of chain that disappeared under leather gauntlets, a pair of tight trousers and metal-tipped boots. His shield was unvarnished, a labyrinth of cuts and scrapes. And his axe was a nasty, threatening curve of metal that extended over his knuckle. The deadly iron looked blunt and old, but the weight of the young man’s attacks had ensured it was none the less effective.

“Y-You alright?” he gasped down at her, wiping his brow with the back of his glove. He had a crisp, musical voice, made slightly gravelly by his fatigue and the rush of battle.

Lyssa finally pulled herself free of her brambles, then rose quickly to her feet. The thorns had sliced through her skirt, leaving a great rip up one side that, when standing wide as she was now, indecently exposed some of her leg. She recognised the flash of interest in the lad’s brown eyes as he quickly took notice of her exposed skin. And suddenly, Lyssa was afraid no longer. She beamed that smile she had been preparing.

“Now that I have been rescued by a handsome warrior?” she said. “Oh, I am very well indeed!”

The young man swallowed a lump in his throat, and Lyssa watched the movement of his neck muscles with keen attention. Then, the warrior grinned a flatteringly foolish grin.

“Great!” he laughed. “I’m relieved!”

At his back, a new shape emerged. The woman was of an age with the nameless warrior, and dressed in a long, tan travelling dress of thick wool. She had wavy hair down to her shoulders, red like the honey from Tabitha’s cottage, that she held in place with an iron circlet about her temple, and she had a half-cape of deep green tight about her shoulders. Lyssa caught the shine of some sort of jewellery around her neck, dangling beneath the hem of her cape, as well as the glimmer of curiosity in her pale blue eyes on seeing Lyssa. A glimmer that hardened as she also took in the smile of the young man. The older fellow unconscious on the girl’s shoulders, Lyssa barely registered at all. But a wary, predatory sense at the back of her mind took note that this girl would have to be unusually strong to carry a middle-aged male on her back as she did.

“It’s not safe,” the girl stated firmly. “Come with us.”

“It shall be my pleasure.” Lyssa grinned, unable to hide her excitement. There was no reason to turn these two down. She needed a place to recover from the closeness of death, and her void was now empty. Both were maladies that these two new friends could help her with. Two new friends to play with… how thrilling!

—

“My name is Lyssa!” the dark-haired woman introduced brightly, and Claire couldn’t help but narrow her eyes. She’d sprung back from a near death experience awfully quickly, especially for a young woman of nobility, as she appeared. Her dress and belongings were rustic, but that gorgeous black silk she had for hair, her creamy cheeks and high-society manner of speaking all spoke of a rich upbringing down in the cities. The grace of her movements, even the idle gestures she made when conversing, were careful and arresting like a dancer’s.

But those eyes. Claire stared into Lyssa’s eyes and decided that the best description for them was shaded ruby. A red so deep as to appear brown in natural light. She might not have noticed were it not for her keen attention and suspicion, and she was sure her friend hadn’t spotted the unusual hue yet. Claire had seen nothing like it in all her life.

“I profess that mine story shall be tough to swallow,” Lyssa said with a coy wink that made Claire’s heart skip in her chest. She pushed the organ back down into obedience at once. “I have no memory from before yesterday, when I was discovered naked and alone in the depths of this very forest. My name is all that I have, save the charity of a pair of good folks living to the west of here.”

“Memory loss?” Claire asked, her mind instantly recalling the long tome of ailments she had spent much of her life reading. Amnesia was a rare condition, so the likely culprits were few. “Did you receive a blow to the head, perhaps?”

“Nay, I cannot say so,” Lyssa replied with a shake of her head. “I have no injury on my scalp to speak of.”

“Then maybe it was magic!” Charisse was not covering his fascination for the pretty girl at all. He had also recovered from their skirmish against the ghouls with unusual speed, Claire noticed. “You might have been the target of an enchantment! You practise magic yourself, Lyssa, is that right? That command you issued to the ghouls?”

“You’re a mage?” Claire’s eyes widened. She’d never met a mage before.

Lyssa hesitated before answering. But beyond the tiny gulf of her pause, her nod was sharp and confident. “In training, but yes,” she replied proudly. “I have a manner of power to my name. Though if you are seeking a demonstration, I must unfortunately let you down. Mine reserves are lacking after our little commotion. Perhaps later,” she added, leaning forward with one hand in the grass and setting her ruby eyes on Charisse through her long eyelashes. “I shall show you my powers later, if you like.”

Charisse looked far too excited at that prospect. Her friend was very dear to her and was the single most reliable person in her life, but Claire told him often enough that he didn’t always think before committing to action. Action such as allowing himself to be vulnerable in the presence of a beautiful stranger.

Claire spared a glance up and over the fallen tree the four of them were using as cover from the rest of the forest. Her augury had shared that there were yet ghouls wandering nearby between here and Arram’s hovel, but they must have been a short distance away as there was currently no sign of them. That allowed them a moment to catch their breaths ahead of the next step of their extermination. And then they could get the poor man home. She ran her eyes over Arram’s pale face, sleeping restlessly in the grass beside the fallen oak. His thick shirt was stained red with his own blood from the ghoul’s slash on his shoulder, but Claire had bound his broken arm against his stomach as best she could. A simple rejuvenating poultice from local herbs had sped the process of his body restoring its own blood, so now he simply needed rest. Peace for his mind would lead to restoration for his body. So said the words of her creed, and she had seen them play out reliably time after time.

“My name is Claire, Lyssa,” she said now, thumbing the silver oval on its chain around her neck.

“And I am Charisse,” said her companion. He smirked in preparation for the coming jibe, and Claire put on her own smile to help him dull the sting of any mockery Lyssa might throw at him. But the woman merely smiled in polite return. Claire and Charisse shared a brief look, and he shrugged. Maybe down in the city, Charisse wasn’t a common name, so Lyssa didn’t know it was usually reserved for girls.

“We hail from a village north and west of here,” Claire explained. “We have been travelling east for some days, towards Ducal Rout.”

“We were a touch sidetracked when we happened upon Cecile, who lives not far from here,” Charisse picked up. “It is well that we agreed to seek out her missing husband on his hunting trail, for we also chanced upon you!”

“Fair in countenance and moral both,” Lyssa smiled. “How heroic.”

Charisse blushed at this, naturally. Claire should have been more sympathetic, since he so rarely received this sort of attention from anyone back home. He was owed a little flattery. Still, it irked her. There was something far too calculating about the way Lyssa was doling out her praise.

“We need to press on and clear the route ahead,” she stated firmly, and was pleased to see a resolute straightening in Charisse’s shoulders at the reminder of his duty. “Safety demands both of our talents, and I cannot provide support for Charisse with Arram across my back. Lyssa, would you watch over him until our return?”

“We won’t take long,” Charisse said with a smug smile. “A few ghouls won’t get in our way.”

“A-Ah, of course.” For the first time since meeting her, Lyssa appeared ill at ease. She frowned, her smile growing crooked on her full lips. “I would be happy to assist this heroic deed. Only… as I said, I am lacking of my… magical capacities at present. And I am… not so confident with a blade.”

“If you aren’t seeking to engage, the ghouls are not so great a threat,” said Charisse with an easy shrug of his wide shoulders. “Their vision is poor when their target is not in motion, and they are mostly deaf. Remain low and still, and they shall not harm you, Lyssa.”

“Here, perhaps I can ease your mind in thanks for your assistance.” Claire reached back into her rucksack, resting against the side of the fallen tree, and drew forth her sheaf of papers and portable writing set. She got to work, using the wooden surface to ensure her penmanship was as clear as it needed to be.

“What is this?” asked Lyssa while she worked. “Magic? Are you a mage, Claire?”

“Not quite,” Claire smirked.

“Claire is an adherent of Oculus All-Seeing,” Charisse explained for her. “She was studying spiritual support and medicine under a local abbot back in our home village. And Oculus favours her with gifts of foresight and knowledge in return for prayers.”

“And that is… different to magic?” asked Lyssa with a tilt of her head.

“Spiritual adherence is about requesting the rules be bent,” Claire said as she scrawled out the last of her prayer onto the paper. “Magic is about breaking them yourself. One draws the ire of the beings of antiquity, the other their favour.”

She looked up, blowing on the ink and folding the little paper over, then handing the prayer to Lyssa. The woman still looked mighty confused, enough to bring a sympathetic smile to Claire’s lips. She was awfully cute, even when perplexed.

“Tear this down the seam if you are discovered, and I shall sense it,” she explained. “Charisse is a fast runner. He can be with you in the blink of an eye should you need him.”

“You can count on me,” nodded Charisse.

Lyssa was staring down at the folded paper, rubbing the rough parchment with her fingers. Her dark eyes moved to the soft breathing of Arram, then down to the axe at Charisse’s belt. And then she smiled. Claire had to admit, her smile was a little like the sun coming up. It was enough to rid Claire of the last of her anxiety at leaving their wounded charge in this strange woman’s care.

“Thank you,” she sighed. “I shall endeavour to be worthy of your trust. Fair well against the enemy, Claire. Charisse. And return to me swiftly, I beg.”

Charisse tried to say something heroic as he rose to his feet alongside Claire, but he began to stammer. Claire grabbed his arm and pulled him away in the direction of Cecile and Arram’s hovel instead, and he stumbled as he obeyed. Soon, Claire’s companion adopted his usual, heavy stride, one hand on his axe and the other looped through his shield. The unrelenting, stubborn pace typical of the man she followed. But his smile was fresh and new.

“I like her,” he said with a grin as they pressed on through the trees.

“I could tell,” Claire replied with a sour frown.

—

Now alone with a comatose man, Lyssa let out a sigh. She hugged her arms about her shoulders as she peered about at the gloom lying thick between the trees. She had wanted Claire and Charisse to trust her, so she had spoken boldly and confidently. But that had been a ruse. And with the grim visage of the ghouls still fresh in her mind, her ears pricking needlessly at every rustle of leaves around her, she knew that ruse to be flimsy indeed. Without a shred of power to hold on to, she had no weapon at all with which to face any further threats. Stay still, stay quiet. That was all she could do.

In a bid to distract herself, Lyssa peered down at the wounded man that Claire had been carrying. Arram, she had named him. A swarthy man, thick of hair and stout of frame. He had been hunting, or so Claire had said. Lyssa didn’t see a bow or trapping kit on him, so perhaps he had been forced to leave those behind in his flight from the ghouls. He had thick facial hair, trimmed below his chin but full under his nose, and she could see matching growth at his chest where his white shirt was open at the collar. His breathing was deep and restive, a rhythmic rise and fall of peaceful slumber, though his pale skin, made all the paler by the stark, bright red of his stained shirt, was evidence of his weakness and injury. She decided that Arram must have been in his forties, perhaps early fifties, making him older than herself, Claire and Charisse by some two decades or so. How would he handle being rescued by a cohort of youths, she wondered, tapping her lips with one finger. Her mischievous smile was genuine as she considered. Was he likely a proud man who would boast first of his own skill before admitting to needing aid? Or was he old enough to know his own frailty, respectful of the young ones who had saved him? If Lyssa was to attempt to turn his heart towards her, what approach would she require? Bold or humble? Aggressive or seductive? It was a fun little game, and thoughts of ghouls left her far behind.

Arram stirred in his bed of leaves, and Lyssa found her eyes drawn downwards. From the blustering of his moustache, down to the gentle wriggle of his hips. His breeches, though padded against the cold, held a distinct bulge about his crotch. That was another facet of this man that interested Lyssa. Tomas’ manhood had been smooth, slender and twitching with eagerness. Arram’s would surely be thicker, grander, if it matched the rest of his body. It would be a weapon tried and tested. Nesting in a tangle of pubic hair. Lyssa found herself chewing gently on her fingernail as she imagined the cock beneath his clothing.

After all, why not? She needed magic, as Charisse had called it, to power her defences. She might need another sliver of energy if the ghouls came upon them. And she only knew of one way to get that. Arram apparently lived with someone called Cecile. His wife? Maybe his sister? And really, did that matter? He was wounded, weak. He wouldn’t be able to fight her if she cast herself upon him. He was prey, and she was hungry…

Lyssa leaned over the fallen man and gently took the waistband of his breeches in hand. She unbuckled them at the centre and then slowly and quietly peeled them down. Arram made a grumbling noise, head turning back and forth. But when Lyssa let her hands still for a moment, he returned to slumber. Giggling to herself, she continued.

And there he was. Lyssa hummed appreciatively as the man’s stout cock was revealed to her. Yes, just as she’d imagined. Now utterly unable to hold herself back, Lyssa reached out and stroked at the rod with one finger. It twitched against her touch, and she grinned. Eager little thing! Opening out her fingers and wrapping them around him, Lyssa began to rub Arram. Gently, carefully, as though she was stealing a kill from a sleeping carnivore. Her lips parted as she matched her breathing to the up and down of her wrist. In her mind’s eye, she imagined she could see the delicious bubble of essence begin to appear before her.

When Arram didn’t awaken, Lyssa increased her pace. She braced herself on the soil beside his hips and rubbed him harder. She tried her best to keep her hungry moans from escaping, but it was difficult. She was having so much fun! Arram’s member grew steadily into a straight, hardy pole between her fingers. His tip became swollen and red as it readied itself for penetration. His skin tightened along the blue veins in his shaft. And feeling generous, Lyssa removed her hand from him just long enough to spit a wad of saliva onto her palm. She made him slick with her natural lubricant. Much better. Now she could pleasure him all the faster. She groaned with need as she worked him. Drew the climax out of him. She could feel it, just below the surface! Almost there! Almost… there!

“U-Uh… m-miss?”

She couldn’t wait to stain her fingers with his semen!

“M-Miss, ‘scuse me!”

Snapping back out of rabidity, Lyssa looked up at Arram’s face with wide, brown eyes. He was awake. His pale face had become flushed with blood, and he was licking his lips nervously as he peered down at her.

“Wh-What exactly are you doin’?” asked Arram with a gnarly growl of a voice, made unsteady by his obvious anxiety.

“O-Oh, um…” She swallowed. This had seemed so straightforward in her aroused mind’s planning. But now that she was facing down her victim for herself, Lyssa realised that she felt more than a little guilty at stealing a climax from a wounded man. Still, she left her hand wrapped around his erection. She didn’t seem able to remove it just yet.

“D-Did my friends not explain?” she tried. “I have been charged with… healing you of your ailments, my dear man.”

Arram’s dark eyes snapped down to her hand on his cock, then back up to her face. “This is healin’?”

“Indeed, it is,” she nodded.

“You mean…” He swallowed. “You mean like magic? You are… a mage, and this is how you perform your craft?”

“Why not?” Lyssa said with a shrug.

“I… I’m not sure I like the sound of magic…” Arram admitted with a tight brow. “I’m a simple man, I prefer… normal medicine, thank you.”

He said that, but he was no less hard. When Lyssa rearranged her weight on the forest floor, her hand on his member moving gently up and down as she did, he twitched again. The hiss of breath through his nose was not discomfort, Lyssa could tell.

“Think on it like this,” she suggested. “My friend Claire has already cleaned and treated your injuries, yes? But you will undoubtedly still be in a measure of pain.”

“I-I’m fine, actually,” he retorted.

“Yes, I know,” Lyssa said with a grin. “Because I am ministering to you.”

Arram looked down at his cock again with a twist of his lips beneath his moustache. “Huh,” he said.

“I may not have Claire’s gift with… ‘normal’ medicine,” she continued, “but I can help you feel a little better. That is all I am offering. I would like to help reduce your pain. Is that well, dear Arram?”

He stared. Indecision played out along the dark brown of his eyes. He chewed his tongue behind his lips. And then, lying his head back on the leaves, he laughed.

“What a fuckin’ day I’ve had!” he sighed. “Huntin’ is no problem for me usually. I don’t get jumped by the ghouls on most days. And now I’m bein’ jumped by a pretty girl, too? I’ve clearly lost my fuckin’ edge. Fine,” he continued, fixing Lyssa with a smile. “I’ll argue no longer. Go ahead and help me feel better, miss. Only… don’t tell my wife?”

Lyssa flashed her teeth in a beaming smile. “But of course,” she assured him. “This remains strictly between us. Now, allow me.”

Just as when Tomas had smiled shyly for her, Lyssa found her heart racing at the sight of a man giving himself willing to her. Arram’s cheeky grin made him look much younger, and the relaxing on his body under her touch was a vulnerability that made Lyssa swell with pride. To think, she had been so ready to take from him by force. How much sweeter the gift given out of trust!

As such, Lyssa did not hesitate to brace herself against his thick thigh with her free hand, lean in close, open her lips and slide his cock into her mouth.

“O-Oh, ancestors preserve me!” Arram groaned.

Lyssa giggled around his thick member. She made it slick with a lapping of her tongue, and she sucked on the saltiness of his skin, fixing him inside her with the vacuum of her cheeks. Then, she fed him deeper, deep enough to feel his tip tickling the back of her throat. Something primal inside her human mind told her that she should be feeling some discomfort. But instead, all she felt was a swelling of pride. She began to bob her head up and down on the wounded man’s cock.

“G-Good! Ah, s-so good!”

His praise spurred her on. Lyssa sucked him voraciously. She tasted his residue. She gripped his leg with her hand and drank him in. And she couldn’t help but moan along with Arram, sharing in his pleasure. She felt the rising of his climax within him, and she pushed herself to a more rapid sucking to encourage him up and over the edge. To bring him to the very limits of his pleasure. She knew she had succeeded when Arram’s uninjured hand suddenly gripped the back of her head and pushed her down on his cock harshly. She wailed celebratorily and desperately around him with a sloppy, wet slurping at his very base.

Arram snarled out a string of expletives as he ejaculated down her throat. His hips bucked upward so he could penetrate her mouth fully. And Lyssa drained his semen out of him with a tight press of her lips, a coaxing whip of her tongue. She sighed out of her nose and into his hair. Delicious!

With a flash of white at the edges of her eyes, she saw his essence. The bubble was just like Tomas’. But where the young man’s energy had been lightly spinning clouds akin to a cheeky spring’s squall, Arram’s essence was thick and heavy. It moved around the inside of the bubble ponderously, purposefully, pushing itself onward with the weight of decades. Lyssa licked her phantom lips, and then pressed them up against the membrane. She sucked. And a wisp of Arram left the bubble and trickled down her throat.

So delicious! Arram was thick and potent in her belly. Just a little taste of him, and she felt powerful indeed. She felt strong! She felt… safe. Lyssa drew back from the bubble.

But… why should she? Why not drink her fill? Did she have any evidence that suggested Arram would die if she took more than a trickle from him? Like the wound in his arm, he had the capacity to regrow. Why not in spirit, as well as in body? Panting with desire and enslaved by her hunger, Lyssa returned her lips towards the bubble.

But this time, something held her back. Lyssa felt hot chain wrapping around her abdomen, prevent her from getting close. Her lungs felt squeezed and stifled by the grip around her body. So much so that she couldn’t take that breath that would draw Arram into her. Just trying to do so caused pain to spike in the back of her brain and down the length of her spine. Like she was being seared all across her skin. With a bitter huff of resignation, she withdrew.

Lyssa leaned up from Arram’s wet cock and swallowed the last of him down her throat. His semen was a tasty treat, most certainly. But she still felt a gnawing hunger in her void where the scant trickle of him that she had liberated curled and wriggled around on itself like a roaming caterpillar. So much empty space left to fill. Could she truly only take a taste from each of her victims? It didn’t feel even close to enough.

But Arram was laughing. Looking up the man’s body, Lyssa saw him take the hand he had used to grip her hair and rest it solidly over his eyes.

“Oh, fuck me! What a rush!” The man’s laughter caused his chest to jolt up and down in joyous rhythm. “What a fuckin’ workout!”

“You enjoyed yourself, I trust?” asked Lyssa, touching at the corners of her lips in search of stray flecks of come to sate her ongoing thirst.

“Oh, ancestors above, I certainly did!” Arram sighed with a wide smile. “That was somethin’ else!”

He removed his hand from his face and met her gaze. “You remind me of my wife, back when we were both younger,” he said warmly. “She used to suck the fuckin’ soul outta me, and all!”

Lyssa blinked. Did he know? But a moment further spent basking in his afterglow told her that it was simple hyperbole. Release had made him pliable and trusting. ‘Pillow talk,’ was a phrase that came to mind from the depths of her unknown context. Lyssa giggled.

“But your wife does so no longer?” she asked.

“She gives it a good go, but we’re both old,” Arram sighed. “Honestly, I’m impressed I kept the little man up for as long as I did. It’s nice to see I’ve still got it in me!”

Lyssa ran a hand up and down Arram’s leg. “You should show her what you are capable of when you are returned to her.”

“You bet, I will!” Arram laughed. “Takes a life-or-death situation to remind you of what’s important, you know? Trust me, you kids get me home, and I’ll be bending her over a barrel by nightfall! Weak bones be damned!”

She joined his grin with her own. As Arram returned his ‘little man’ to his breeches, she allowed herself to examine him. The wisp of him she had taken was not enough to satisfy, but perhaps she could take some pride in his smile. She’d done that to him. And there would be others yet to come. The stalwart warrior Charisse, perhaps. Or even Claire, the little acolyte of antiquity! As much as Lyssa’s tongue hungered for the come of a man, she felt fairly sure she could draw essence from a woman just as easily. Or rather, she was eager enough to try that she wouldn’t mind being wrong!

So, she let the resentment at being hungry drift down into the dark core of herself, out of sight and easy to ignore, and she patted Arram’s thigh with a fond smile.

“I am very pleased to hear that,” she told him. “I shall take some pride in your wife’s satisfaction tonight.”

And she realised as she said it that it was true.

—

Claire had been about to mention their plans for dinner when Charisse once more turned back the topic of their conversation.

“I think we do well with just the two of us,” he said, smiling as he wiped down his grisly axe head with a torn scrap of leather he had taken from a fallen ghoul, “but I think we’re an imbalanced team, Claire. A mage would really fill in our weak spots. And you know we can still only take one foe at a time in our current formation.”

She sighed, fixing her eyes on her friend’s back. “And you really think this Lyssa fits that bill, do you?” she asked. “Charisse, we barely know her! We know she has some ability with enchantment, but you heard her yourself. She is in training, and her reserves are limited.”

“And you’d rather we find a true wizard, like in the days of old?” Charisse laughed. “We might as well wish for Five-Fingered Gremory himself to join our band! I say we take what we can get. She may be in training, but Lyssa may well be the most competent mage we find in our journey!”

Claire pushed herself to walk a little faster so she could match Charisse’s pace and take him by the arm. He turned to face her condescending smirk with an apprehensive frown, born of knowing her too well.

“You just like that she’s the first girl to not make fun of your name,” she said.

“Th-That’s not true,” he replied with a little pout.

“You like the way she looks at you like a piece of meat,” Claire persisted with a grin. “You like having those eerie eyes of hers on you! Don’t try to deny it!”

He didn’t. Charisse’s smile was silly and unashamed. “She does have nice eyes, doesn’t she?” he sighed. “What colour would you say they were?”

“Shaded ruby.”

“That’s nice,” he said with a nod. “She’s very nice.”

Claire squeezed his arm, pulling her body against his in a gesture of familiarity. “I suppose she did say that she is travelling east, the same as us. And we are hard pressed to find friendly faces in this Era of Shadow. If she joins us beyond our return of Arram to his home, we can see if she would like to remain with us for longer. Only, please promise me something.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Don’t sleep with her,” she said, her eyes on his. “Don’t let her draw you into a hasty romance. Not until we have seen the depth of her.”

Charisse frowned, his dark brow furrowing. “I’m not so desperate for comfort, you know. I can be sensible.”

“Can you?”

“Yes, Claire!”

“Even though she’s so very pretty?”

“Yes! I promise I won’t jump into bed with her! You can trust me!”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “I can. Thank you.”

“But you can’t sleep with her, either.”

Claire laughed. “I hadn’t even considered that I would. Of course, Charisse. She won’t take a bite out of me.”

They continued back to their hiding place in friendly silence. Claire realised she was humming to herself as they approached the fallen tree once more. As much as she enjoyed Charisse’s company, and she acknowledged the jealousy that would have her selfishly keep her friend for herself as it had been for years, it would be nice to have someone else alongside on their journey. Another girl. Claire hadn’t ever forged a lasting bond with the other girls of Hilldown. It would be nice to have that with Lyssa, if she could make it work. The fact that she was so nice to look at was an added bonus. But was that naivete? As she herself had said, they knew next to nothing about the dark-haired magician.

But when they rounded the cover of the toppled tree, she found her caution faltering. Lyssa was sitting up alongside Arram, who had come out of his unconsciousness and was looking much recovered from his ordeal with the ghouls. His shirt was still torn and stained, but his skin was flushed with healthy colour. He sat back against the fallen tree beside the younger woman with a wide smile on his lips and a powerful wave of his unharmed hand. And Lyssa was smiling back with the same warm, compassionate energy.

“…-somethin’ that hasn’t changed in our years together!” Arram was saying now. “Big as harvest day pumpkins, they are! The way they fill up your palm is just… Ooh, it’s fuckin’ magic! I’d drown a happy man if it was between those lovely… A-Ah, hello, you two!”

“Welcome back,” said Lyssa with a friendly nod for Claire and Charisse. “I am pleased to see that the ghouls did not best you. Arram was just sharing with me the surpassing virtues of his wonderful wife.”

The older man’s grin was proud and infectious. “She’s a real catch, my Cecile.”

“Then we’d best get you back to her quickly!” Charisse said, holding out a gloved hand to lift up the sitting man. “There is no further danger between here and home. I can carry you the rest of the way.”

Arram took Charisse by the hand. But instead of waiting to be lifted onto the young warrior’s strong back, he pulled himself confidently onto his feet with the barest hint of a wince.

“I reckon I can walk the rest of the way, actually,” he said.

“You’re sure?” Claire approached and lay a hand on the man’s forehead. She didn’t feel a fever, and the shine in his eyes was true. “I trust that you aren’t pushing yourself for pride’s sake, Arram.”

“Not at all,” he grinned, then looked to Lyssa as she rose gracefully to stand beside him. “I’m just feelin’ much refreshed. Thanks to the efforts of your friend here.”

Lyssa bobbed her head in a nod of acknowledgement, and something passed wordlessly between the two of them. Something that caused a spot of colour to flush to life on Arram’s hairy cheeks. Claire narrowed her eyes. Could charming conversation so effectively heal a grievous wound? Peace for the mind leads to restoration of the body, she reminded herself. As hard as it was to trust Lyssa’s all-too-convincing smiles, they had certainly been good for Claire’s patient. So, she smiled too.

“Glad to hear it,” she said.

—

That night, they stayed together in the little home owned by Arram and Cecile. Arram’s wife, who was just as buxom as advertised, insisted that the three young adventurers sleep in the warmth of their ‘guest room’, which ended up being a small pantry lined with stocked wooden shelving. It was shelter, so Charisse and Claire were happy to accept. And Lyssa, naturally, joined them. The skies had turned dark by the time they arrived at the house, and with only one reliable enchantment ready in her void, Lyssa had seen the reason in waiting for her friends to sleep through the night before continuing on east with them.

Charisse’s heavy rucksack held tents suitable for camping, as well as a pair of simple sleeping bags. Claire had assured her that there was space within hers for a second person while they set them up on the stone floor of the pantry. Charisse had laughed at this, causing Claire to blush, but neither had been willing to elaborate. Then, the two had moved outside to begin their watch for the night. After all, there was no guarantee that ghouls were no longer lurking about. They said they’d been happy for Lyssa to take first sleep, and Lyssa herself had been glad of the chance to take stock of her journey so far.

What fun new friends she had found! As Lyssa considered the two young travellers, examining the jars of preserve in Arram and Cecile’s pantry as she did so, she wondered anew at the nature of their relationship. Claire and Charisse were very familiar with one another, but that familiarity had not yet extended into romantic feelings. Or so Lyssa believed. But they were not related to one another, either. If she could just find a little more time with them, Lyssa believed she’d be able to learn the truth of the enigmatic pair. With that information, perhaps she could convince one or both of them to begin donating some essence.

That need for information was now developing into restlessness, as Lyssa ran out of items to look at on the wooden shelving. Arram’s energy was fizzing nicely in her belly, making her want to take action. She found a little needle and thread among the tools kept in the pantry, and she was pleased to find her hands moving familiarly with the kit in hand. She sat herself down and spent some time sewing up her torn skirt. But this didn’t take long. Apparently, she was a talented seamstress.

Lyssa, starving for attention, crept out of the pantry and towards the room Arram and Cecile used. She listened intently at the door. It certainly sounded as though Arram was making good on his promise to give his wife a proper pounding, and for a while, Lyssa was content simply to eavesdrop on the rhythmic rattling and lusty gasping beyond the sealed door. She even considered striding in and making herself useful to the middle-aged couple. But there was no guarantee that the busty Cecile would appreciate a young interloper in her lovemaking, and that would be no fun for anyone. At worst, she may end up losing Claire and Charisse their shelter for the night. As such, Lyssa left the couple to their fun and moved outside to find her new friends.

When she left the hovel and caught sight of them, Lyssa’s initial thought was that they were kissing. That thought sent a sudden spike of resentment through her chest. That there should be five people here, and she the one left out in the cold! But on closer inspection, Lyssa saw that the scene was more like a sort of shared meditation. Charisse and Claire were kneeling in the dry leaves outside the hovel, facing one another with heads bowed and eyes closed. They had undressed from their heavy outer clothing into thinner sleepwear. A white shirt and short cotton breeches for the warrior, a long shift of sleeker fabric for the acolyte. Claire had her hands pressed on either side of Charisse’s head. And she was whispering something to him under her breath. Intrigued, Lyssa stepped quietly forward and immediately set her foot down on a stray twig. The snap caused both Claire and Charisse to look towards her. But where Lyssa expected defensiveness, since this was clearly a private moment, they both smiled and invited her in.

“A curse?” asked Lyssa with a curious blink once their explanation was done. “Did you just say that you are cursed, Charisse?”

The young man nodded with a shameful, deprecating smile. “Together, Claire and I can keep the malady in check,” he admitted. “Claire’s prayer to Oculus grants me a measure of peace, and that allows me to remain free of the curse’s grip for another day. It only truly affects me at moments of emotional turmoil, you see.”

“Goodness!” Lyssa breathed. To think that such things could occur out here in the wider world!

“But I have grown tired of living under the weight of this dark disorder,” he continued. “I travel east in a bid to rid myself of it once and for all. And Claire… Apparently, she cares enough for me to join me in this endeavour.”

Claire brushed some red hair behind one ear with a shy shrug of her bare shoulders. “We are friends, and that is what friends must do for one another,” she said. “And besides, the abbot of our village always said that to truly understand the world as Oculus does, I must see it for myself. I had grown too used to Hilldown and the surrounding lands, not used enough to the lands beyond. My calling demands that I see more.”

Charisse smiled warmly, bumping his shoulder against hers, and Lyssa found herself sharing the smile, charmed by the pair’s camaraderie.

“Does this curse affect you so severely?” she asked the young man.

“Not often,” he replied. “But I do find my heart ever turning to darker thoughts, as though drawn by a malignant spectre. Some times of the season especially. Throughout the day, I grow increasingly short of temper and quick to anger. And… should I fully lose my grip on myself, which would occur were I not to spend these moments in prayer, I am wont to… undergo a transformation.”

“He has not been so affected in long seasons now,” Claire assured her, rubbing Charisse comfortingly on his arm. “We have these means to keep the curse from growing to such extents again. Provided I am near, that is. And provided I can keep Charisse from experiencing a serious degree of emotional upheaval.”

“But you will have seen that it is not all bad,” Charisse added with a brave smile. “Skirting the edge of the curse as I do grants me surpassing physical strength, which I use to dispatch ghouls.”

“Fascinating,” said Lyssa. “How do you propose to heal yourself of this magical malady?  Is there a healer or witch in Ducal Rout who has such a skill?”

“Unfortunately, I fear we shall need to travel a considerable distance further,” Charisse sighed. “Perhaps… all the way to the Black Palace.”

Lyssa gasped, raising a hand to her lips. That was something she had heard of. “The Black Palace?”

“This curse of mine was a gift from the Dark Legion,” he admitted. “My father was one of the hundreds from the towns and villages of this land who gathered under the banner of the late duke and battled the coming Lord’s Rise on the field now known as Ducal Rout. He did not fall in that battle, as many did. But perhaps it would have been better if he had. The armies of the duke were struck by many a dark magic as they were cut down. He fled the carnage and returned home to my mother a shadow of himself. He found sleep hard to come by and became increasingly prone to violent tempers. As when I was born some time later, it was clear that I had inherited this affliction from him. Here.”

He slipped a hand down to his side where a worn journal bound in red leather was lying. It was about the size of one of the leaves of the trees around them, and was thick with sheafs of simple parchment. Lyssa recognised Claire’s writing set alongside it. So, he kept a diary? Or rather, he continued one?

“My father’s writing is here,” said Charisse. “The record of his mad dreams. He said that writing them down allowed him a measure of peace, so I endeavour to do the same when I can. I do have the same dreams, it seems. Dreams of the Dark Legion. The Dark Lord… The one who cursed him.”

“If none in this land have the power to break the curse,” Claire finished for him, “then there is only one recourse. The slaying of the Dark Lord and the ending of his power.”

Lyssa watched the shadows play across Charisse’s face. “You believe that such will be the cure you seek? The killing of such a fearsome foe is a drastic action, no?”

“We have spent years trying all else,” Claire told her.

“And if the death of the Dark Lord does not heal me, as we hope,” Charisse added with a sad smile, “then at least it will bring the end to the Era of Shadow. And I can rest in death knowing that the darkness my curse has wrought my family has been matched and exceeded by the hope that my sacrifice will bring. And if I am to fall in battle against him… then I will have rid the world of my own curse. I have already caused such trouble to my family, my friends…”

Lyssa narrowed her eyes. Dour words, and a dark quest. Charisse seemed in no way reluctant to march into death. Indeed, he almost seemed to welcome it. She looked from the warrior towards Claire, who had her eyes fixed on the leaves at her knees. Was she also ready to die for the sake of her friend’s healing?

“Heroes indeed,” Lyssa breathed. “I am fortunate to find myself in your presence.”

Charisse beamed her a hopeful smile. Lyssa reached out and took his hand, and he squeezed her fingers tightly. Together, Lyssa noticed, they formed a triangle, kneeling together in the leaves and the grass. And suddenly, Claire began to laugh.

“Well, we have successfully brought down the mood of an otherwise successful day!” she sighed. “And we have taken full claim of this conversation! Lyssa, our new friend. You said that you are also travelling east?”

She nodded her head. “I have but one memory. My own name, spoken by a man I have no knowledge of. I would find this man and hopefully recover my lost understanding. My hope is that the people of the villages around Ducal Rout have heard some tell of him to guide my ongoing steps.”

“Perhaps we can be of some assistance, then!” Claire smiled. “Tell us of this man in your dreams, Lyssa.”

“He is handsome,” she shared at once, feeling her heart fluttering immediately at the recollection of him. “His voice is the precious whispering of the wind. And his eyes are a majestic yellow like the blossoming of the daffodil.”

Charisse was laughing, and Lyssa found herself blushing under his cheerful mockery.

“A fair man with yellow eyes?” he asked. “Perhaps it will be difficult to find such a fellow outside of a book of poetry.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Claire was not smiling. She had a hand on her chin, and her brow was a knot of consideration. “Anything else that would cause this man to stand apart from others?”

Lyssa nodded. “A spherical gemstone is set into his brow.”

Claire’s face paled abruptly. When Charisse and Lyssa both turned to face her, she took the little journal out of Charisse’s hand and flicked quickly towards an early page. She opened up the entry and showed it to Lyssa.

“Is this the man?” she asked urgently.

And Lyssa stared. Engraved in sharp black lines of charcoal was the face from her dreams. A chiselled jaw, pale eyes, dark locks. The unmistakable pearl in the centre of his forehead. But where the man who knew her name could only smile invitingly, whisper alluringly, this man in Charisse’s journal was scowling with a bestial savagery. His teeth were sharply gritted, and his lovely eyes were darkly aflame. Not yellow, not without a painted pigment. But pale on the page. Achingly familiar. Lyssa’s mind sought to fill in the colour for her on seeing the illustration.

“Who… is this?” Lyssa breathed, her heart racing.

“This is the man who led the Dark Legion against the armies of the land at Ducal Rout,” Claire replied in a nervous whisper. “The man whose face haunted Charisse’s father in his cursed dreaming. This is the Dark Lord Karaszen.”

“The man I seek to kill,” added Charisse. His eyes were savage.

pathoflyssa