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: 27,275

This chapter contains scenes of non-consensual activity and physical abuse.

—

3 – Animals

Charisse hated bandits. Naturally, that was in part due to their shameless shedding of morality in order to achieve financial gain. Where Charisse threw himself wholeheartedly into the sacrifice he would need to make to quell the Dark Lord, others took from those with desperately little left to their name, the victims of battles with the Dark Legion and the mindless slaughter of the ghouls. It baffled the young farmer-turned-warrior that, especially in this Era of Shadow, the people of this land would be able to ignore the suffering around them, even increase that suffering, and allow their comfort to accumulate. To never consider that their ill-gotten wealth might do better work in the hands of the needy.

The other reason he hated bandits was because they were so fucking fast! The ghouls never considered self-preservation as you marched upon them and cleaved their heads from their shoulders. The counterattack was the danger when facing the undead. They were simple creatures with no imagination and no battlefield planning to speak of. They used their numbers and physical mass to overwhelm their victims. But bandits were clever. They cared about their own wellbeing. They would retreat, hide and lay traps and ambushes to catch you off-guard. Charisse hated that. It was seriously annoying.

He let his frustration out into the air as a shout with the savage swing of his father’s axe. In most circumstances, Charisse baulked at the risk of taking life from someone. But his blood was boiling, and the hour was late. The curse was wriggling restlessly in his bones. And when he swung, he swung to kill. Not that it mattered. The cowled villain ducked beneath the attack and allowed the axe blade to embed itself deeply into the wood of the tree behind him. Then he spun away from Charisse’s engagement and slipped into the gloom once more. Charisse snarled as he tugged his weapon free.

“Damnation!” he spat, spinning in search of new targets.

Near his back, Claire’s expression was far softer. She had her blackjack out, held straight at her waist like an extension of her arm, but she also had her eyes closed. A flash in his attention showed Charisse that a darkly clad figure was approaching her rapidly from the rear with a baton of his own. But as the figure attacked, making to club her on the back of her head, Claire hopped to one side and let the attack pass her by. Then she swung a blow of her own. Charisse heard snapping bone under the impact on the bandit’s arm, and the muffle howl of anguish from the robber, who immediately pulled back with a hand over his wound.

“They are retreating,” Claire informed him sightlessly. When she fell into the prayer-trance of her elder patron, her senses became heightened beyond the limits of her human form. Her skills bordered even on precognition. “There’s one more making the attempt. North-east, cover me.”

Obeying her words without question came easily after so long spent together in combat. Charisse sped forward on his powerful legs and raised his shield arm up to protect her face at the designated angle. A mere moment later, the wood of his shield shuddered with the powerful slam of a stone cast from a sling.

“Now he’s leaving too,” breathed Claire. She was close, their bodies pressed protectively together. These days, Charisse didn’t even feel the slightest bit awkward about sharing heat with a girl his own age. It was just Claire, after all.

Charisse held his breathing steady for a further twenty beats of his heart, enough time to ensure the bandit squad wasn’t preparing a recovery deeper in the trees. But when only the ambient swishing and chittering of the woods fell across his senses, he knew that they were done. And apparently, the villains had decided to be content with earning nothing from attacking them. It may have been in part thanks to Charisse’s inability to deal them harm. None of their number had fallen, so there was no need to pursue recompense for shed blood. They all lived to fight another day.

“Charisse…”

Claire’s eyes were open. Where he felt cool relief, his friend’s countenance was creased with concern.

“Where’s Lyssa?”

A pause, his mind blurred by the lingering effects of battle-rage. Then, his stomach dropped. One moment, elation. The next, fear. Charisse lowered his shield arm and spun left and right, his eyes piercing the gloom in search of their friend. But she was nowhere in sight.

“No!” he shouted. “Claire, where is she?”

“I-I was asking you!” she scowled. “I couldn’t sense her… not even when she was right next to me! The eyes of Oculus didn’t see her at all!”

And now she was gone. Charisse began to prowl around the disturbed leaves of their battlefield. His shoulders were hunched, his bootfall heavy. He darted his attention back and forth around the cover of the trees all around them.

“Lyssa!!” he cried. “Lyssa, where are you?!”

He kicked at the leaves at his feet, hoping for some sign of her presence fallen on the ground. Hoping he wouldn’t find shed blood or her mangled body. No, there was little chance of that. Bandits like the ones who had attacked them didn’t kill needlessly. Coin meant little in the Era of Shadow, good shoes and unmarred clothing a little more. But people were precious. And a woman like Lyssa, so lovely and fair…

“Lyssa!!”

“Charisse, please calm down!”

“Lyssa, call out to me! Please!!”

“Charisse!!”

He almost shoved Claire aside when his friend grabbed hold of his arm tightly. In her blue eyes he saw his own foul, bestial expression reflected back at him.

“Rage will win us nothing!” Claire insisted. “You’re just as likely to run off in the wrong direction.”

“Then which way should I run?!” he spat.

“I saw them retreating north,” she said carefully. “B-But they may have done so just to hide their true retreat.”

“Search for them!” he commanded, turning fully to face her. He loomed over her, but she held his gaze bravely. For his sins, Claire was well used to handling him when the curse began to take over.

“It will be difficult without knowing the attackers personally,” she said, needlessly since he knew how her prayers worked. “And I… really could never sense Lyssa herself. But…”

She swallowed, reaching backwards and dropping her rucksack to the floor. Her writing kit was right on the top of her belongings, since she called on her patron so frequently.

“She still has that letter I gave her on the day we met,” Claire said. “I can ask for the paper I tore it from to be returned to its brothers. Oculus will listen to that.”

“Do it, then!”

“But first!” Claire set her writing kit aside and tugged free of the rucksack instead a small cotton pouch, very familiar. She stood to her feet and held it out to him.

“There’s no time!” Charisse insisted bitterly.

“I won’t have you going after her like this,” Claire demanded with a scowl. “You are going to calm down first.”

“Claire!”

“I can’t lose you too!” A tiny tear sprung to life in the corner of one eye, and she shook it free with a grimace and a whip of her head to one side. “I can’t do that. Pray with me. I insist.”

He swallowed down his remaining ire with effort. Of course, she was scared too. Lyssa had been a part of their journey for only a couple of days now, but her sweet smiles and easy conversation had been a gift to both of them. Charisse had overheard the two girls talking well into the night, when Lyssa should have been sleeping and Claire attentively on watch. The mysterious beauty was curious about them, about the Era of Shadow that she had seemingly missed through her memory loss. And her if her constant questioning would have been an irritation for anyone else, Claire, who had made the accumulation of knowledge her sacred mission, revelled in being the source of insight for her. If they perhaps had shared a little more of themselves with her than was wise, then such was the effect of the Era of Shadow. It had been so long since they had met a new, friendly face.

“I-I’m sorry, Claire,” said Charisse. He let his axe and shield fall to the leafy floor and put one hand on her shoulders. With the other, he took the little bundle of calming herbs from her and held it under his nose. “You’re right. Let’s pray.”

“Thank you.”

Sighing her relief, Claire assumed the prayer position. Her hands pressed against the sides of his face. Her skin was chill, or perhaps his was just unusually hot. Claire closed her eyes. Charisse did the same.

“Eyes inward, eyes inward,” she recited. “May we see the truth, as you see it, O Oculus. We draw the box and count the sides.”

He slowed his breathing. In his imagination, he readied once more the ritual square shape that he used to measure his breaths, the four-sided sigil of Oculus All-seeing. Charisse ran his attention along one edge of the box, breathing in. Then along the next edge, breathing out.

“Two,” he sighed with his exhaling. Then he did the same again. “Four.”

“Show us the heart of who we are,” Claire implored to the ancient one. “Even that which is dark. May we not be clouded with judgement for the ugliness of our inner selves. May we see objectively.”

“Ten,” Charisse counted. “Twelve.”

Slowly, the roiling black of the curse began to recede into himself. Charisse could feel a presence standing at his back, though he knew there would be nobody there when he turned. Oculus, unknowable and mysterious, drew Charisse’s attention inwards.

It was so hard to sense the influence of the Dark Lord when he was wrapped up in its embrace. But when he was actively reducing it, Charisse felt acutely the vicious, animal snapping and snarling of the version of himself that he hated. He grabbed the animal by its collar and began desperately tugging it back into its lair. As Oculus showed him the truth of himself and the curse faded, it became more like a mouse he had trapped in his palms. It scratched and bit at his skin, but it was a small pain. Then, smaller. A biting midge. A twinge in his muscle. Then, nothing.

“Thirty,” he said.

“And I think that’s enough.” Claire sniffed as she stepped away from him. Had she been crying? Charisse opened his eyes, but he didn’t see wetness of her pale cheeks as he had expected.

“Now,” Claire said with a smile. “Let me find our friend. We can walk while I work.”

“Thank you,” he replied. They went for their tools. She for her writing kit, he for his iron. And they set off together, following the retreat of their enemies. And hopefully the wayward capture of their dear friend.

—

Lyssa was annoyed. The nature of her existence was a continual mystery to her. Where she’d hoped for a simple answer for her amnesia and a swift, comfortable return to the life she’d had before, every clue instead seemed to spawn another new set of questions. She had dedicated long hours of each day trying to puzzle out the truth of herself with her friends. But the more she learned, the less she understood.

The man in her dreams was the Dark Lord, the man Charisse and Claire were seeking to slay. What did that mean for her, that she found him so enthralling? He was evil. His influence had led to the Era of Shadow that had ended the lives of countless of Charisse and Claire’s friends and family. He killed, he tortured. He stole. Her own heart too, he had stolen. One thing was certain, Lyssa would one day have to choose. Her new friends, who had so willingly added her to their number. Or her Lord, the one who beckoned her east. Which was her true nature? Which road was Lyssa’s?

And on top of all that…

Lyssa was tossed unceremoniously to the floor of the wide tent. Her head was spinning, and she tasted blood in the back of her mouth. Her vision, on one side of her head more than the other, was blurred. She blinked a few times, and a semblance of clarity returned to her. The bandit camp’s central tent was all rough leather and caked dirt, a needs-must of a command centre. Mismatched rugs faded and stained with week-old boot prints lined the floor, but Lyssa could still feel the lumps of the soil beneath the thin fabric. Piles of loose clothing and balled up sleeping rolls were dotted carelessly about the edges of the tent, where standing poles that kept the roof above their heads were dark at their bases from rising damp. These people had come here a while ago, then, and had yet to find a reason to move on. In the centre of the tent was a long table, and Lyssa’s fuzzy mind identified a simple map rolled out on its surface. She couldn’t tell from her vantage on the floor where on the illustration she was meant to be. And some of those marks were clearly from food.

She rolled her neck around on her shoulders with a grumble at her lips, and the man who had been lugging her along chuckled as he prowled around to her front.

“Yeah, I’d get comfortable, little songbird,” he said. “You might be here a while.”

Lyssa scowled. That was unfortunate. The answers were not coming fast enough. But she’d find them east, that was for certain. Her sense of direction wasn’t adequate to determine where this camp was situated compared to the trail she had been following, but chances were that they hadn’t gone in the right direction. Her being here at all was a delay that her dreaming mind, the mind so fixated on the face of the Dark Lord Karaszen, refused to accept. She had to be moving.

The man who had taken her was a broad-shouldered fellow in his late thirties, by her guess. The thick muscle around his chest and neck reminded her of Charisse. Perhaps a Charisse who had dedicated a further decade of life simply to bulking himself up. And in that time, had refused to wash himself. The man’s stubble was thick and uneven, his hair shorn around the edges but leaving the top tall and rigid. One of his eyes was scarred with an old slash, but it did not appear to be sightless. He wore the buckles of his leather harness atop his looser, darker clothing with easy familiarity. His prowling gait took the weight of his sheathed weapons in stride. A man who had seen battle and walked away, and not just once.

Around them, the rest of the band were assembling. Six men and one woman entered the tent and tossed their belongings down on the floor wherever they could find space. Their grins were cheerful, victorious. One of the bandits, wiping down his brow with the back of one hand, threw Lyssa’s own satchel onto a pile of clothing as if it was worthless.

Lyssa felt at the tender skin on the side of her skull and winced. “So,” she said, deciding on boldness, “how long are you fancying that I should remain here in your care afore I continue on my travels?”

The female bandit, taking up a seat on the floor across from her, whistled through her teeth. “That’s some accent, love,” she said with a smirk. “Posh little bird, aren’t you?”

Lyssa scowled at her, since was supposed to be acting confident, and the woman laughed.

“You’re our possession until someone comes along to buy you from us,” said her male captor with a sigh. He leant back against the long table in the centre of the tent and folded his big arms. “How long that takes depends on how much you’re worth.”

“She’s magic, boss,” said one of the men, a scrawny fellow with a rat-like snout of a nose. “She’s a mage, I guarantee it. Rych had a go at her before you got to her, and he’s nursing a headache now from something she said at him, he says.”

“Is that right?” Boss narrowed his eyes down at Lyssa with a thoughtful twist of his lips. “You’re a magician, little bird?”

“If that will allow me to leave this place posthaste, then I shall be whatever is required.”

The man laughed. It wasn’t so coarse a sound as Lyssa had been expecting. If anything, he sounded impressed.

“That’s what I thought,” he said with a grin. “If you were a true mage, you’d have set us all on fire by now. Either Rych is just using a likely story to cover for the fact that he drinks too much, or whatever reserves she uses to empower herself are dry. Either way, we can’t sell her as a mage if we can’t prove it.”

Lyssa set her eyes downward as a wave of frustration and shame overcame her. In the end, the sliver of essence she had harvested from Arram had been next to useless. She had commanded the brute who had come upon her to back off, but she had succeeded merely in deterring him temporarily. Clearly, living humans required more of a push with her mysterious enchantment than dead ghouls. There was nothing she could do against a human opponent with just one dose of energy, save delay an inevitable re-capture.

“You sure about that, boss?” asked a lanky man by the entrance flap to the tent, unwinding a sling from around his hand and hanging it up on a nail on one of the structure’s posts. “Dark Legion’s always on the lookout for mages. Isn’t that what the Adherent said when he stopped by the other day? They could take a mage for retraining and we’d be well compensated.”

“The Dark Legion?” Lyssa looked up as opportunity presented itself. “Yes, you should sell me to the Dark Lord! I am valuable to him! I am certain you shall not regret it!”

If these brutes were willing to ship her straight to the Black Palace, she could save herself a lot of wasted time. Unfortunately, the Boss eyed her with a narrow, suspicious glare, and she realised that she had played her hand a little too enthusiastically.

“You want to go to him?” he asked. “I wouldn’t, I were you. The Dark Legion doesn’t treat its own well, far as I’ve heard. And the other thing I’ve heard is that they don’t pay.”

“The Dark Adherent said-…”

“Fuck if I care what he said!” Boss retorted with a sharp laugh. “You think Karaszen gives a shit about the economy? He’s not interested in outsourcing his invasion, Derk. No, we aren’t selling her to the Legion.”

Boss pushed himself off from his lean on the table and squatted himself down in front of Lyssa with a leering smile. Despite her false bravado, Lyssa found herself leaning away from him.

“Tell me about your two friends,” he said. “Are they rich kids? They look like village tykes to me, but you never know. More than a few pricey relics end up in the care of the villages around here, now that order’s mostly fallen apart. That sound right, songbird?”

“They… do well enough by themselves,” Lyssa replied carefully. “I… They will pay, I believe.”

I hope, she added to herself. The last thing she needed was for these bandits to decide that she was worthless. They wouldn’t turn her out peaceably in that case, would they? They’d more likely just slit her throat and bury her in the dirt.

“The lad had a nice axe,” remarked the lanky man, Derk, with a shrug. “That wasn’t a lumber tool. Looked like a pre-Rout weapon.”

“He was wearing chain, eh?” agreed the rat-man. “Can’t recall the last time I saw a full shirt of chain. They don’t make that around here anymore.”

“Hmm,” nodded the Boss. “A nice axe, and a shirt of chain. It’s a start. What about the girl? What’s she got that we could use for our little cause?”

Lyssa blinked at the quiet chorus of chuckling that sounded from around her. There was heat in the sound, the sharpness of teeth. She swallowed. Her stomach churned at the thought of Claire having to decide between her innocence and her friend’s life.

But deeper beneath, Lyssa’s now empty void gurgled hungrily.

“Is that the treasure you seek?” she asked the room. Since she was pretending at confidence, she allowed an edge of derision to glide across her words. “You would trade me for a mere act of physical gratification?”

“Welcome to the Era of Shadow,” Boss shrugged with nonchalant ease. “You think shops take money nowadays? We trade in two things, songbird. Tools we can use to take on bigger targets. And stuff that helps us get our end away. Booze would do. Maybe a spot of powder. But sweet girls like you are lucky. You’re born with something we can do a little trading over.”

“Shit, boss, are we really doing this?” asked the rat-man excitedly. “By my ancestors, I’ve been pent up of late!”

“Rych is gonna blow his load just thinking about it!” the woman added with a laugh, then turned her eyes on Lyssa. “Not many folks in the Rout let themselves get taken alive, you see. And those that do are a miserable lay. They kick and scream all the way down. Better they come here wanting to please us.”

Lyssa nodded her head slowly. She’d had the same thought not so long ago. “Then I may do some trading of my own, it seems,” she said. “How is this for a deal? You may have me, sir, and have me willingly. And then I walk away and continue on my urgent business unimpeded.”

A mixture of mocking laughter and coy whistling filled the tent. “Bold words, love!” said the female bandit. She reached out and ruffled Lyssa’s dark locks fondly, and Lyssa leaned away from her touch with a scowl.

“I think we’re getting somewhere now,” agreed the Boss with a smile at the corners of his lips. “But why would I trade away one good roll with an admittedly gorgeous songbird, when I could wait for your friends and have three sets of holes to play with?”

The rat-man had been drinking something from a waterskin at this moment, and he choked with laughter.

“I assure you, sir,” Lyssa countered with narrowed eyes, leaning forwards and chancing a smile of her own. “I am more than worth the trade. And I will perform much more to your liking with the knowledge that my friends are safe.”

“Hmm.” The Boss was nodding his head in the same manner as Lyssa. That was good. He was coming around to her way of thinking. But then his eyes left hers and peered about the tent at the rest of his little band. “I have a counteroffer for you, songbird, if you’re really willing to sing this song for me. If you’re as bold in truth as your song makes you sound. Are you ready?”

He crawled forwards on his hands and brushed her nose with his. Lyssa could smell the scent of days on his breath.

“You fuck every single one of my people,” whispered the Boss. “Every single one of them. And then I’ll let you walk.”

The other bandits hissed out a shared breath of excited shock at their leader’s words.

“Fucking hell!” said rat-man.

Lyssa swallowed. “That is… how many? I see seven here…”

“This is just our inner circle,” Boss said with a dark sneer. “My camp currently has twenty-eight lads and lasses living in its walls. So that’s twenty-eight partners for you to satisfy before I let you on your way.”

“I-I…” Lyssa stammered.

“And I’d hurry, if I were you,” he added with a wide grin. “If your friends show up while we’re all going at it, I can’t promise they won’t get roped into the festivities. It’s in your best interest and theirs to fuck like you’ve never fucked before. Well? Do we have a deal?”

Lyssa could feel the others in the tent leaning in towards them. Her mind was reeling. Twenty-eight people? Twenty-eight uncivilised partners? And she’d have to bring them to climax quickly. What would that take? What debasement would she need to endure to keep Charisse and Claire out of harm’s way?

She realised she was laughing. The Boss leaned away from her reaction with wide-eyed surprise.

“You have a deal, sir,” she said with a grin.

“Oh shit!” hissed the rat-man.

“Rych is gonna love this!” added the woman, rising to her feet.

The Boss held her gaze. “No takebacks,” he insisted. “No squealing. You can’t stop after we get started.”

“You are afraid you will lose your nerve?” Lyssa reached out and stroked his stubble with one finger. “Do not ask me of squealing, sir. You will find me more than ready for this challenge.”

After all, her void was wide. Ravenous. And Lyssa found herself brimming with excitement at the thought of finally sating it with the combined essence of all of his men and women.

“Alright, then,” said the Boss with a shrug of his wide shoulders. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And then he had his hands on her.

—

Charisse emerged from the treeline in a shower of twigs. His relentless pace finally ceased, and he strode out of the forest with a frustrated gasp.

“This is…” he stammered, “…Ducal Rout?”

Claire was right behind him. She held to his shoulder to catch her breath. “This is where Oculus is leading us,” she confirmed.

Ducal Rout. The grand field at the centre of the eastern villages. The site of the last stand against the Dark Legion. The place where his father had been cursed. The grass was short across the desolate field, owing to the soil’s poor quality. Too much blood, perhaps. Or perhaps the malignant influence of the Dark Legion’s foul magic. It was an eerie place, whatever the reason for its fallowness compared to the trees of the forest. Charisse couldn’t make out what lay more than a hundred feet across the moor, thanks to a layer of thick fog at the edge of his vision. The field was cold and still, trapped outside of time.

“What does this mean?” he breathed. “A bandit encampment on Ducal Rout? Why would the villages stand for such a thing? Does this mean that they have been so utterly cowed as to allow villainy to spread to their very doorstep?”

“Charisse…” said Claire quietly, “you’re assuming that these bandits aren’t simply the villagers taking up a more profitable venture to farming.”

“An ominous thought, Claire,” he replied with a swallow. “No matter. We can ask them ourselves when we happen upon them. Come.”

He set off once more with a great, plodding stride. The thick mud sucked at his boots as if warning him to stay back. And Claire’s voice did much the same.

“Are you sure we wouldn’t be better off taking the path around?” she called. “Marching across the Rout will leave us wide open.”

“Then you’ll have to make sure Oculus is keeping watch,” he shouted back. “I’m not lingering.”

After a pause, he heard the slopping of her boots in the mud, following his pace as best she could. Together, they set off into the fog.

—

Lyssa’s shoulders ached as the Boss slammed her down onto the tabletop, but her wincing yelp was drowned in the cawing shouts of the other bandits. It hadn’t taken long for the word to get out that she was paying her way with sex, and the crowds had begun to amass at the edges of the tent. Boss was taking the first turn. He loomed over her, his hips thick and resolute between her parted legs. He grinned as he reached down to his belt and pulled a knife free of its sheath.

“You’re a good girl for doing this,” he told her, tossing the blade back and forth between his hands. “A lot of ladies out there would die on this hill rather than spend what their mumma gave them. I see you… What’s your name?”

“L-Lyssa,” she replied.

“I see you, Lyssa,” said the Boss. “You’re a pragmatist. You know we gotta do what it takes to live on in the Era of Shadow. Good for you. I’ll try not to knock you up.”

Then he leant in, tucked the knife edge into the top of her dress, and pulled. The tearing of her dress down to her belt produced a round of applause from the bandits arrayed around the tent, then a whooping cry of approval at the sight of her bare skin. It was cold, so her nipples were hard. Her pert breasts rose and fell with the in-and-out of her breathing.

“Shit, look at those tits!” called the rat-man. “That’s a high-class set of knockers!”

Boss was focussed on his own clothing now. Lyssa heard the tinkle of a belt being undone, then the flump of breeches being dropped. Boss spat into his free hand and then ran his cold, wet fingers up her slit to coat her in lubricant. She shivered.

“Ladies say I’m a good lay,” he told her proudly. “I think you’ll enjoy this.”

And then, without warning, he was inside. Lyssa tightened herself in around her stomach at the sudden pressure in her vagina. The Boss was a big man, and she’d not been quite ready. It hurt. A flicker of anxiety fluttered across her heart.

“O-Ooh, that’s good!” Boss praised her with a laugh. He stabbed the knife down into the tabletop and took a tight hold of her hips for balance. Then he pulled out just long enough to stab himself into her again. It didn’t hurt so much the second time.

The crowd was jeering. Lyssa felt plenty of eyes on her. Lusty, predatory eyes. Witnessing her shame. Cheering on her attacker. Boss began to pound himself into her with speed. She felt him all the way up to the edges of her womb.

“It’s been way too long!” Boss seethed as he worked her. “Way too fucking long!”

He was holding her tightly, but Lyssa needed him to hurry. She had to keep her friends safe. And her void was hungry. So, she began to rut her hips against his. Lyssa planted her feet on the table and pushed body’s mass down and against him. She encouraged him to take her deeply. And a cheer rose from the audience.

“Look at her go!” laughed a female voice. “Shit, she’s really working it!”

Lyssa did her best to enjoy what was happening to her. She knew that the essence that would come from the big man’s treatment of her would be a rush that she could savour. But her body was hurting. It wasn’t having a good time at all. And her weary mind was anxiously considering the twenty-seven still to come.

For long minutes, the Boss pumped her. Long enough to make her see stars. And then, finally, a push against her hips. Her partner leaned in over her. His face, lit up by oil lanterns in the corners of the tent, was a twisted mask of tight, angry pleasure. And she felt him making her slick with his semen. She felt the release reverberate up her whole body. Lyssa sighed out a cry of her own.

And she saw the bubble. Boss’ essence travelled around its confines in short, sharp bursts of movement. Like the cloud was a darting school of hunting fish. She wasted no time. Lyssa drank her permitted measure. And the rush of power in her blood made her moan with desire.

“Yes!” The Boss was exuberant. He stepped back and out of Lyssa’s stained body and pumped the air with his fists. The crowd was cheering. His erection was a wet and proud flagpole, bouncing with his heavy steps. “Yes! Amazing! Amazing work, songbird!”

“G-Glad that you…” she tried to say. But before she could continue, a new shadow fell across her. Lyssa looked up.

“I hear we’re fucking prisoners now!” said the tall man. He was a rugged, swarthy fellow with thick facial hair and some sort of red paint under his eyes. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and he was already unhooking his trousers with his big hands. Lyssa could feel a rigid pressure brushing against the hair on the top of her head. He was excited.

Around the tent, the chant went up. “Rych! Rych! Rych!”

“I hear you’ve been gagging for it, mate,” the Boss said to the newcomer with a chuckle. Lyssa watched him between her knees. His smile had taken on some unfamiliarly sharp contours, suggesting that it was forced. “Maybe getting a load into this little songbird will lighten you up a bit, eh?”

“Let’s find out!” Rych was grinning savagely from under his dark beard. He took Lyssa’s cheek in one hand. His other, she could tell, was around his own member. “Open wide, girlie,” he hissed. “Let’s see what you’re capable of!”

She obeyed. Lyssa had taken a man with her mouth before. She wasn’t anticipating this to be-…

Lyssa almost passed out when the cock rammed down her throat. Rych was an impolite rod forcing her tongue aside and penetrating the back of her mouth. When she spluttered out a wet cough, fighting for breath, she saw stars. And Rych slapped her on the side of her face.

“None of that!” he snarled. “Take my cock! Don’t complain!”

He began to thrust. Lyssa could feel consciousness fleeting from her as the horrid man worked. She stole bare breaths whenever she could, but it felt like an uphill struggle. Like she was only barely holding on. Lyssa gripped the edge of the table with both hands and let the splinters in the wood cut her skin. Anything to keep from passing out. She had to stay in control. In control. In control…

Rych fucked her throat with gusto. All Lyssa could see of him was the thick muscle of his bare thighs, the tops of his knees. And even that was through a haze of white light. She did her best to accommodate his member with her throat, but he pushed himself stubbornly through her attempts at pleasing him. He used her. Possessed her. And he practically strangled her when he finally came. The hot fluid in her throat threatened to drain down to her lungs. Lyssa found herself weeping.

But at least… at least there was food for her at the end of her suffering. Rych had a spirit thick as tar. It moved slowly, like the insidious advance of a slug. She drank the little shred of it that she was permitted, and it tasted fine enough. But in the aching light of reality, it didn’t feel like enough. Not enough to justify what she’d paid for it.

“Hey, that was good!” Rych was laughing when she arrived back in herself. She barely heard it through the ringing in her ears and the applause of the bandits.

“I know, right?” agreed the Boss. “Been too long.”

“Too long indeed,” nodded Rych. “Move over, mate. I’m gonna have a go at her arse next.”

Lyssa started. She stared up at Rych with alarm as he moved around her, then shot her attention towards the Boss. That wasn’t the deal! But the moment she lay eyes on the supposed king of the bandits, the big man looked away. A dark shadow of shame moved across his countenance. He didn’t argue with his cheeky subordinate. In fact…

“Fancy giving my cock a lick then, songbird?” he asked her as he passed Rych by. The two of them clapped their hands together like young boys as they swapped their positions, one at her head and one by her knees.

“Y-You are-…!” she demanded. But she could barely produce words through her wounded throat.

And before she could drag requisite air into her lungs to try again, she was being handled. Rych grabbed her hips in his hands and flipped her over on the table. She landed on her stomach and spluttered out a new cough. She could feel the man pushing her skirt up over her waist and handling her rear aggressively. He pulled it up and into position for a new penetration. Lyssa had no idea whether she’d done it like that before.

The Boss’ hand in her hair was, for a wonder, gentle. His cock was a firm staff pressed against her cheek.

“Just let it happen,” he whispered for her ears alone. “We do what we must to survive…”

“B-But-…!”

A sharp pain. An intense feeling of wrongness. Lyssa moaned with despair as she was penetrated in her rear. For all that he’d just drained himself down her throat, Rych was still hard as a pole when he entered her. He began to rut into her. And the Boss eased her lips open with his fingers and fed his own cock into her. He didn’t fuck her the way Rych had, which was some small relief. She tried to reward him by sucking him pleasantly. But it was difficult with the roaring pain between her cheeks. And around them, the cheering of the bandits. The barking, yowling, yapping of the pack.

“Rych! Rych! Rych!” they cried in time with his fucking. And then, “Boss! Boss! Boss!”

Lyssa was sobbing. Her heart was wailing. This was not the way she had wanted this to go. Fucking, feeding, loving. It was meant to be fun. She was meant to take from it. But instead, she was spending. Over and over. Pain and shame. Anger and bitterness. When she finally reached the steps of the Black Palace, what was the Dark Lord going to think of her? Taken like this, by a bunch of animals? He would cast her out! And Charisse and Claire… what would they think of her? They wouldn’t let her travel with them now, ruined as she was. They’d see her as an animal, just like these men.

At least there was essence. Rych ejaculated up her rear suddenly with a further push of his cock into her anus. Something in the agonised reverberation of Lyssa’s throat must have been pleasant for the Boss, who immediately held tight to her shoulders and came into her mouth. She swallowed it down. How could she not?

But when she prepared to take a second drink of essence from each of her attackers, the feeling of chains around her body. Lyssa screamed into the void as she was held away from each of their bubbles. It wasn’t going to let her take anything more from them! It wasn’t going to let her feed on them a further time! All this, and she would have nothing to say for it. Wasted time. Wasted sex. A waste of life…

Lyssa was dragged inexorably back towards the surface, towards the torture of her reality. She could feel her mind breaking. A kindness, she knew. It was kind of her spirit to let itself break. Then it wouldn’t hurt so much. Then she could reach the end, somehow.

…

No. That was surrender, and Lyssa didn’t feel like surrendering just yet. If she gave up here and let herself get used up by these animals, then she really would become lesser. She really would lose herself. Fixing her face with bitter resolve and setting her eyes on the twin bubbles of essence that she was being denied, she pulled against the chains holding her in place.

It hurt, of course. The chains tightened around her abdomen and yanked harshly across her neck. They were laced with heat, fresh from a blacksmith’s forge. They choked her. But fortunately, Lyssa was now used to choking. She pulled harder. She fought against the restraints. She inched closer towards the roiling bubbles of essence.

Who said she couldn’t drink her fill of these two men? Who had decided that? Who had placed these chains around her? Was it she herself? Was it her human nature? Forcing her to pace herself, to not take more than she was owed?

Well, whoever had decided such a thing in her stead could go and die. Lyssa was the lord of her own consequences. She would pay the price for greed, if there even was one. Let her make that decision! And if someone had a problem with that, then fuck them! They could go and die!

She would see them again in Hell!

And with a snap that shook her very soul, the chains broke. Lyssa tumbled forward into the essence of Rych. She swam into its tarry depths. She breathed in with a great, gluttonous breath. She didn’t stop swallowing until every last drop of the man’s thick spirit was gone. And she felt alive. She felt so very fucking alive! Lyssa turned to the Boss and sucked him entirely down almost as an afterthought. Her void sang!

And she came out of herself with a great yowl of pleasure that shook the tent and forced the bandits into silence. They stared at her as she screamed out her joy. As she let herself drop fully onto the tabletop and lie panting on the rough paper of the map beneath her. She gasped for breath. But inside, she was aflame. When she placed her palm down on the wood to try and push herself back up, she wondered at why the table didn’t catch fire at her touch. Even more than that, why she didn’t just float up into the sky. So full of life and power! Her chains were gone! She was untethered!

And the bandits roared. The Boss staggered backwards from her lips and stumbled into the crowded men and women of his camp. They laughed as they held him up, patting his back and rubbing his shoulders, and he grinned right along with them. He let himself be slowly lowered onto a pile of clothing as they ruffled his tall hair. The Boss raised one finger weakly. ‘One moment,’ it said. ‘Give me one moment.’ Of course, his spirit was depleted, but his body didn’t know it was dead yet. Lyssa watched him with a smile creeping up the edges of her lips, and his eyes remained fixed on her. Shimmering darkly with realisation. With a lazy, lacklustre fear. Then, they fell still.

Lyssa looked back over her shoulder. Rych was on his back on the floor of the tent, and a couple of his fellows were jokingly fanning him with their hands. The fallen man was mumbling.

“G-Good f-fucking… hole…” he managed. Then he fell limp. The other bandits laughed. They had no idea that he was dead.

Lyssa sat up on the table. She pushed her hair back into order behind her ears and washed the inside of her slimy throat with a swallow of saliva. She breathed in deeply through her nose. And she looked about at the bright eyes of the rest of the pack.

“Very well. Who is next?” she asked them.

Next, it turned out, was Rat-man. He hopped quickly up to the edge of the table and began fondling Lyssa’s breasts with excited little jitters of his hands.

“H-Here’s what I want!” he hissed against her face. “I want you on all fours, and I’m gonna-…”

“Shut up.”

It was barely a hint of the power she now had in her reserves. But the effect was dramatic. Rat-man’s smile vanished off his lips, lips that flapped weakly, shivered stubbornly and then clamped themselves shut. His beady eyes stared into hers without comprehension for what he had done.

Lyssa looked about the tent again. “Three more volunteers?” she asked sweetly. “I have places I need to be.”

They laughed encouragingly and approvingly at her words. Rat-man was joined by Derk, the lanky fellow with the sling, then the woman who had called her ‘love’ and one more, a hulking fellow with a scar across the side of his temple. Lyssa lay herself back on the table and directed her unwitting sacrifices to their positions. She let Rat-man stay between her legs, Derk at her lips. Then the hulk under her one hand, the woman under her other. Lyssa grabbed a hold of cocks with her mouth, her fingers and her pussy. She slipped her hand between the woman’s legs. And she began her work.

This time, she could enjoy it. These four were happy to let her take control. They saw that she knew what she was doing. They saw a measure of the truth, that she would not be denied. So, they fucked her obediently. Rat-man’s cock was a slender pole inside her that rubbed excitedly at her insides. Derk twitched and writhed in her mouth as she licked and sucked on him. And her fingers drew the pleasure out of her other two partners. The woman held her wrist as her clitoris was handled with Lyssa’s hungry, greedy care.

“F-Fuck! Fuck!” she breathed as she was rubbed.

Lyssa smiled around the cock in her mouth. And in no time at all, they were all coming. Lyssa drained them of everything they had.

“Next?”

Two men held her up between them, one penetrating her vagina and the other her rear. Lyssa found that she didn’t mind the latter so much now that she was in control of it. Their hands on her were reverent. Their come, and their essence, was delicious.

“Next.”

She rode a man with a misshapen nose on the rugs of the tent while she rubbed two of his friends to completion with her hands. One of the friends had a broken arm. They coated her face and hair with their semen as they ejaculated. They pumped themselves up and into her with desperate abandon. Then they died.

“Next.”

Lyssa stood to her feet in silence when no more came forward. The tent was still full, but the bodies were piling up around the floor. The bandits were starting to realise that they weren’t sleeping. No, more than that. They were starting to realise that they had taken this game too far.

They had laid their hands on Lyssa thinking themselves predators with a tasty catch to savour between them. Now, their eyes were wide and fearful. They saw her for what she was. She was the predator, and they were the prey. And they had invited her in among their number and backed themselves up against the darkness at the edge of their cave. They had trapped themselves in with her. One of the bandits at the back of the pack made to leave.

“Stay.”

He stayed. His lip was trembling.

“Next.” Lyssa’s eyes were aglow as she took in the rest of her meal. She rose a finger, and she pointed. “You four. Come here.” And the feast continued.

—

The edge of the bandit’s encampment appeared out of the fog suddenly. One moment, an illusion. The next, a reality. Charisse hoisted his axe and shield and went rushing in.

“Lyssa!!”

Behind him, he could hear Claire’s warning voice. They would have watchmen. They wouldn’t be caught sleeping. Acting rashly would get him killed. Charisse set his shoulders and surged between the wooden spikes stuck into the side of the muddy rise, in among the tents, pushing through concern and fog both. He had to see the truth for himself. He had to know her fate before the not knowing cursed him forever.

“Lyssa, I’m here! L-Lyssa…?”

He came to a halt inside the ring of tents. The centre of the camp appeared to be an open, communal space that these beasts used for training and cooking. A cold campfire lay in the very middle, just in front of a larger tent with a double set of flaps.

And there were bodies. Charisse’s blood turned chill at the sight of the bandits. They lay about the camp in little piles, motionless and half-dressed like they had just concluded a horrid revelry. Even the ones closest to Charisse didn’t stir at the sound of his voice. If they were sleeping, they were sleeping deeply. But he also saw no sign of injury on their bared skin. He stared about the camp with darting eyes. He’d come to fight. But… what was he supposed to do about this?

Suddenly, movement. One of the smaller tents around this central ring shook as a younger man in rough cotton sleeping clothes came tumbling out and into the evening air. His brown hair was mussed by sleep, but his eyes were wide, his face pale. He stumbled in the muddy grass and fell to his knees. He scrambled away from the tent. Charisse could hear him panting.

“P-Please!” he moaned desperately. “Please, spare me! Spare me!!”

The tent flap wafted, and there she was. Charisse gasped. His chest tightened.

Lyssa was naked. His first thought was for her beauty. She was simply stunning. The shape of her body drew his eye and refused to let go until he had worked his attention across the curve of her hips, the weight of her breasts and the swanlike grace of her neck. She strode forth and dirtied her bare feet in the mud without even a hint of discomfort. She was smiling, even.

The second thought was that she was hurt. Charisse felt a sob threaten the tightness of his throat at the sight of the dark bruising and swelling on the right side of her face. Part of the sclera in her right eye had been stained red with blood. She had a scratch along her collarbone, a quill-stroke of red ink like an overly simple signature. Her raven hair was a mess, stained and crusty. Much of her creamy skin was stained too, for that matter. Stained with a dry, crusty residue. Charisse, overcome with grief and rage, made to run to her aid.

But the third thought set his feet still once more. Lyssa’s eyes were glowing. Red like a sunset, and just as bright. They cut the dark asunder. And her teeth glimmered, sharp points ready to rip and rend.

Charisse had heard stories of demons from his mother, but had long since forgotten them. He recalled them now.

Lyssa smiled down at the fallen bandit youth and breathed in gently. She whispered a word to him that Charisse couldn’t hear at this distance. A word that ended with a seductive pressing together of her lips like she was readying a kiss. And the man began to convulse. He writhed in the dark. His cries were strangled and shaking. But they didn’t sound pained. In fact, they sounded…

It didn’t matter. In the next instant, he had fallen still. His eyes closed, and his breathing ceased. Then it was Lyssa’s turn to moan. She sighed with satisfaction. She ran one hand sensually down the length of her neck. Then, she saw him.

“Charisse!” Her smile was gorgeous, even through her wounded lips. When she held out her arms to him, Charisse didn’t think twice before stepping over the fallen bandit and letting her take his shoulders in an embrace. Her beaming smile made him feel like a lord, however fearsome her eyes in this moment.

“You came to my rescue!” sighed Lyssa. He could feel the heat of her hands through even his mail. “How heroic!”

“Y-You…” he stammered in response. He licked his lips. “Are you well?”

“Ne’er better, my hero.”

“Charisse, step away.”

Claire had her hand on his arm. Charisse hadn’t even heard her approach. When Lyssa relinquished him, he did as he was told, moving back towards the cold of the campfire in the centre of the ring.

His friend had a stern set to her brow as she leaned towards Lyssa and placed her hands on her face. She peered into Lyssa’s damaged eye and touched gently at the scratch on her collarbone.

“You poor thing.”

“Hm?” Lyssa tilted her head to one side with another beaming smile. “Whatever do you mean?”

Claire visibly swallowed. “You… aren’t in pain?”

“Not so much that I cannot easily ignore it, no. Why? Is there aught amiss, dear Claire?”

“Lyssa, what happened?” Charisse asked. “How did you get free of these people?”

“Is it not obvious?” she replied with a charming giggle. “I used my magic.”

“You used your magic to… do what?”

“Charisse, please could you find her some clothes?” Claire’s eyes were burning cinders as she glared at him. “Now, please.”

“R-Right.” He dropped his gear to the floor and then began to step towards the tents. He feared what he would see within, but Claire was right. His friend needed something to wear. “I’ll go do that now…”

“Come with me,” said Claire quietly, taking Lyssa’s arm in hers as Charisse began his search. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

—

Lyssa allowed herself to be led away by Claire’s kind, tight grip on her arm. As night fell across Ducal Rout, she found herself standing in a wide wooden tub as Claire filled it up with hot water from a kettle. The frothing water was a soothing warmth on her skin, and Lyssa immediately sat herself down and allowed it to cover her knees. Claire, meanwhile, shed herself of her thick dress and green mantle and stepped into the bath with her. She crouched down at Lyssa’s back with her shift’s hem up around her waist to keep it dry, and she began washing her hair. Lyssa sighed at the luxurious treatment and leaned back against the girl’s touch.

What an excellent day this had been! Lyssa’s memory still rang with the unpleasant recollection of being violated, and her body let out the occasional twang of pain when hot water ran over her bruising. But those sensations felt far away. Instead, her void was void no longer. Lyssa’s innermost core was alive with the electric light of twenty-eight individual essences. Her muscles were buzzing, her heart racing. Her mind was whirring. Even licking her lips brought pleasing static against her skin. And she knew that she only had to command Claire for the girl to bend over backwards for her. Any whim Lyssa wished, Claire would perform it. Charisse, too. If Lyssa ever felt that distant, ancient hunger of the previous days again, she could take him. He would not fight it. He would love it. He would love her! Lyssa only had to speak the word, and he would love-…!

“I am sorry that this happened to you.”

Lyssa blinked, returning to the here and now. Claire was washing her back with a cloth by the feel of the wet fabric on her bare shoulders. Her voice was a kindly whisper against her ear. Lyssa smiled.

“Think nothing of it,” she said. “This was not your doing. And you even came to save me.”

“Still…” Claire ran her wet fingers through Lyssa’s crusted locks. “I can’t imagine what they made you go through. Animals…”

“But now dead, every last one. Do not allow them the gift of your grief. Recalling them is unnecessary, Claire.”

“Is it…?” Claire cleared her throat before she was able to continue. “Is it really that easy for you? To put something like that behind you?”

“Apparently,” Lyssa replied softly.

“You’re very strong.” Her friend was smiling, she could hear it in her words. “I can’t imagine I would fare as well as you.”

“Have you ever had the pleasure of intercourse before, Claire?”

Her hands stiffened on Lyssa’s shoulders. “N-No, I haven’t. I was… I was yet to be betrothed to anyone.”

“Is that a limitation?” Lyssa asked with a laugh. “Sex is sex, Claire. I cannot imagine being forced to await a bridal ceremony before I gave myself up to someone. It is a joy I cannot do without… Apparently.”

“Well, Charisse and I were raised differently,” Claire replied with an anxious chuckle. “We marry first, then we… we do that.”

“You and Charisse will be married?”

“N-Not me and him specifically. I mean that we each marry someone… someone we love, and then… Well, first we have to actually fall in love, and then…”

“Claire!”

The laughter reverberating up the inside of Lyssa’s throat felt like the singing of creation. She turned about in the bath so that she was facing Claire, and she took her face in her wet hands. She felt chill compared to the roaring flame in Lyssa’s skin. Claire stared back, her cheeks flushed red, perhaps by the heat Lyssa was offering her.

“Claire, do not work yourself into a fit with something as simple as sex,” Lyssa urged her friend, rubbing her cheeks with her thumbs. “It is a means of finding pleasure. It is not worthy of your anxiety.”

“I… I don’t know about that…” Claire looked away with a sad twist of her brow. She fiddled with some of her red fringe and made the locks damp. “Sex can be… It can be dangerous. You can become saddled with a child. And the men here knew how to misuse it.”

“Ah, you fear sex because you have no positive associations with it,” Lyssa suggested with a wide smile. “You have never had it, and so you are afraid of it. Well, as thanks for rescuing me, perhaps I can rectify that…”

Adjusting herself in the water, Lyssa leaned forward to brush her lips against Claire’s.

“I could show you the joy of sharing our bodies with one another, my dear Claire.”

“No.”

Lyssa felt the denial in the motion of her lips. Claire’s eyes were wide. Little red lights could be seen reflected in them. She was pale, even more so than usual.

“No,” Claire whispered again. “No… Thank you.”

She was afraid. Afraid of sex, and now afraid of Lyssa. And Lyssa finally took the time to examine herself. Refreshed and cleaned by the hot water, she could see herself clearly. With the throbbing, buzzing energy of her magic as an ethereal backing, she realised something obvious. She was the only one who felt this way. Claire did not receive power from sex, and neither did Charisse. Neither did Arram, or Tomas. Or any of the bandits. Just her. Just Lyssa. What did that make her? And what had that turned her into? What else was she alone?

“Of course,” she smiled, stroking Claire’s face gently. “Think nothing of it, then.”

She turned about on her seat, and Claire slowly resumed her washing. They were silent.

—

It was night, and Charisse was just about finishing with lugging the bodies of the bandits out to the edge of the camp. His arms ached from the dragging of the corpses. Some of these men and women had been large indeed. Now, they were stacked up in the wet mud of the moor. Maybe the earth would reclaim them, or maybe the animals would eat them. Both were too good an end for scum like this, he believed.

The two girls had relit the campfire in the centre of the settlement to keep them all warm. Claire, at least, was huddled close to the flames with her arms around her knees. She stared into the light with a knit brow of concentration. Lyssa was dancing. Charisse had found her a simple villager’s dress in navy blue, along with a fur mantle to match Claire’s. Both were obviously stolen property, but returning them would have been a fool’s errand. The fit hadn’t quite been right, a touch baggy around the hips and bust, but Lyssa had spent the evening with a needle and thread that she had apparently taken from Arram and Cecile, and now the garment was perfect. The skirt fluttered wonderfully around her ankles as she spun and dipped her body around the fire. She was humming a song that Charisse didn’t recognise.

Her magic was fearsome indeed, then. Lyssa had vanquished a full twenty-eight men and women with her enchantments. She had also assured Charisse that she would be far more competent in battle going forward. This practice must have been what she needed to hone her abilities. And if this was the might of her magic, then they would get far indeed. Across the Dusk River and into the scraggy foothills of the lands beyond, the territory of the Dark Legion. Into the lair of the beast himself.

There were many reasons to celebrate tonight. But when Charisse sat himself down next to Claire with his shoulder brushing hers, she leant in against him at once and braced her weight against him. She only ever did that when she was worried about something.

“Are you alright?” he whispered to his friend.

Claire nodded weakly. “I am fine, Charisse.”

That was a lie. She was the one with the god-given insight, but Charisse could always tell when Claire was lying. He put his arm around her.

“This was some discovery, wasn’t it?” he said with a mirthless chuckle. “Truly, my faith in humanity has taken a blow today.”

“It really did not take so long for us to lose our way as a species, did it?” Claire agreed. “I wonder if Oculus ever had to deal with the depths of humanity’s depravity when he walked the earth? The ancient days are pictured so beautifully in the texts and stories. Does that mean this bestial behaviour is something we have learned since the gods’ passing? Can we truly not be left to our own devices without our resorting to barbarism?”

“This is the Era of Shadow,” Charisse said with a sigh. “Our wills have all been tested to their limits. Some of us have been found lacking. But the rest of us will see the sun rise again.”

“I know that.” Claire smiled, shifting her weight on the grass. “Humanity is good at its core. I know that…”

She swallowed, and for a moment, Charisse wondered if she was about to cry. But then Claire looked up through the flames at Lyssa, who was still lost in her beatific dance. And her eyes hardened. Charisse didn’t like that look one bit.

“It’s time to sleep,” Claire said suddenly, slapping a hand down on Charisse’s knee. “I can take the first watch.”

“Nonsense,” Charisse said with a grin. “You look half dead, Claire!”

“I do not,” she replied with a pout.

“You take the first sleep,” he insisted, rubbing her shoulder encouragingly. “Lyssa has said that she will watch the full night if we wish it.”

Claire’s lips tightened at his words. “Charisse… Thank you. But if I can make a suggestion?”

“Of course.”

“Take the first watch with Lyssa,” she said. “When I wake, I will also watch with her. If she doesn’t wish to sleep, then so be it. But I would rather one of us was awake to remain with her.”

He smiled. “You are worried for her.”

Claire’s eyes sank down to his chest, and she nodded her head. It was a lie.

“Good night, Charisse.”

She rose and made for one of the cleared tents that they had chosen to use. His eyes followed her, and so did Lyssa’s.

“You are not departing to your rest, Charisse?” the dark-haired woman asked him, pausing her dance to lean towards him with her hands primly tucked behind her back.

“No, I’m not tired,” he replied with a smile.

“Oh. Well, that is good. We can speak a while! I would like to hear more about your time growing up in Hilldown, if I may.”

“I would enjoy the retelling, Lyssa.”

Charisse realised that he was sitting on the hem of his sleeping shirt, making it tug against the front of his throat. He adjusted his clothing with a yank of his hands. As he did, his fingers brushed against something in the grass where Claire had been seated. A small, folded piece of prayer parchment. Curious, he opened it up.

Oculus was an enigmatic and mysterious deity. Holder of all knowledge, but he guarded his secrets jealously. Oculus would much rather his adherents find the answers to their questions for themselves, or so Claire had explained it to him. So, for her to ask him a question so directly, to request his insight when he so often replied only in riddles, showed how seriously she wanted an answer.

Claire had written: What is Lyssa?

And in thick, rune-like lettering beneath, the following had been inscribed by the hand of god: HUMAN FOR NOW.

“What is that you have there?” asked Lyssa, suddenly planting herself down to a seat beside him.

“Nothing,” he replied at once, and he cast the paper into the fire.

pathoflyssa