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: 53,751

This chapter contains scenes of violent bestiality.

—

5 – Innocents

The jagged hills of the eastern pass loomed up around Lyssa like the teeth of a gargantuan hound, one she was resolutely striding down and into. The icy winds that buffeted her clothing and stung her eyes and face were each a frigid exhalation from the beast’s gullet. She had her arms raised across her face, since the limited sunlight left little for her to witness in their advance along the narrow natural paths between the sharp peaks of the hills. She leant forward and into the wind to make her silhouette smaller, her presence diminished. The churning, magical energy in her stomach granted her weary legs an energy that food or sleep never could have achieved, but which still felt just barely capable of pushing her body onwards. Ahead of her, she assumed, would be Charisse, whose eerie curse did the same to his plodding pace. And Claire, too. What spurred her feet? Her love for her friend? Her deity? Lyssa had to wonder what that felt like.

No god would speak to her, no matter how she prayed. And recently, she’d tried. So awash in the dark of ignorance as she was, Lyssa would have taken insight from anyone who would share. But Oculus All-seeing never saw fit to reach back when she called to him. Lyssa couldn’t tell if he’d even heard her, of if he was just ignoring her.

Rightly so, if he was. Lyssa was a monster. She was a killer. Delain’s blood was on her hands. And no matter that she hadn’t been the one to skewer him with iron herself. She had drunk too deeply of his essence and left him hollowed. It was no wonder that he hadn’t been himself on the day of battle, after what she had taken from him. He was dead because of her. And now all that was left of him was the sparkling mercury of his spirit in her arcane reserves, waiting to be digested. Lyssa sniffed through the soreness of her nostrils, singed red by the bitter cold. Good. Let her ache. Monster!

“Lyssa…”

She didn’t slow her pace, and so bumped weakly into Claire, who had turned and halted ahead of her. The girl’s arms held tightly to her shoulders and kept her from slipping in the scree of their path. When Lyssa tore her weary eyes open, she saw Claire’s red hair below the hood of her mantle, the blue shine of her irises. Redness also along the paleness of her nose and cheeks.

“Are you alright?” Claire asked her. “You’re flagging, Lyssa.”

“I ap-pologise,” Lyssa stuttered, her jaw shivering. “I am simply w-w-weak this m-m-morrow.”

“Lyssa, it’s nearly evening…”

“It is?” she said with a breathy chuckle. “I had thought that it was surely only…”

“And you did not eat for breakfast again this morning.” Claire’s eyes narrowed, hardened. Their shining blue turned icy. “You never eat enough.”

“I…”

“And we never see you sleeping, either.”

“I… I don’t…”

Claire tugged her suddenly forward, and Lyssa fell into a hug against the hardy villager girl. Claire’s arms around her were both a welcome strength and a potent warmth. She stroked Lyssa’s hair and breathed hot gusts of breath against her chill cheeks.

“We will need to talk soon, I believe,” she said quietly. “About you and your magic. Charisse and I can’t have you hiding behind your memory loss forever, you know. I suspect you have discovered more about yourself these past nights than you are willing to share with your friends, and I would hear those discoveries for myself.”

Lyssa laughed weakly. “Did Oculus tell you such?”

“He didn’t have to,” Claire replied with a swallow. “Also, I would hear of what you intend to do when we reach the Dark Lord.”

Lyssa’s breath caught as, once more, his face filled her vision. His full lips and topaz eyes. The shining pearl in the centre of his forehead. His voice echoed in her ears. “Lyssa…!” So close, now.

“You walk with us to find him, just as we do,” said Claire firmly. “But we walk in search of his demise. What about you? Do you even know?”

She could feel her lip quavering.

“Soon.” Claire pressed her forehead against hers and held it there for a long moment, as if hoping to share in her innermost mind. “Soon, let us talk. Before we get so far that we cannot turn back. Is that well, Lyssa?”

Lyssa held to Claire’s wrists and closed her eyes tight. She delved the depths of her heart in search of words to dissuade the suspicions of her friend. She grasped for a disarming smile, a sly joke, a ribald statement that would take the attention away from her. After all, the insinuation of Claire’s words was easy to parse. If Lyssa couldn’t share her honest truth with Claire and Charisse, it would be better for the pair to leave her behind. But what she found inside herself instead was a piteous sob that shook her gullet.

“I don’t know what I am!” she gasped.

Opening her eyes was an effort. But when she did, she saw that Claire was smiling.

“You sounded like me and Charisse just then,” said the girl. “Worry not, Lyssa. We shall learn the truth of all of this together. And then, how we proceed will become clear.”

“Is all well?”

Charisse loomed out of the windy gloom like a dark shadow. He put his arm around Claire and leaned into the private moment, but Lyssa saw that he fit the space perfectly. His eyes were bright despite the stiffness of his tail of dark hair, a hint of a smile at his lips.

“All is well, Charisse,” Claire assured him.

“I just… required a mere moment to compose myself,” Lyssa agreed. “Apologies for the delay.”

“That’s no bother,” said Charisse. “But come and look at this.”

The three of them advanced into the wind together. Hiding in the width of Charisse’s broad frame made the going a little easier. But after just a few long strides up a rubble-strewn incline, the land opened up before them. Lyssa shielded her eyes with one arm and looked out on a plain of gently rolling hills beyond the jaggedness of the land that had so far bordered the eastern reaches. A river, demure and peaceful compared to the might of the Dusk, ran north to south-east between the grassy lumps of the hills. Beyond and further east, the peaks of the mountains that hid the Black Palace itself. But nestled into this oasis of calmer geography, packed in tight and roofed in thick, yellowing straw, was a village. The wooden buildings looked hardy and strong, the work of hands used to the needs of rustic infrastructure. The glasswork windows were thick to block out the cold weather traditional in this part of the land. And from within burst warm, orange firelight, shining out into the gloom like beckoning beacons.

“Oh… my!” Claire sighed. Her hand found Lyssa’s and squeezed it tightly, and Lyssa turned to the girl with curious eyes. She, and Charisse too, looked ready to burst into tears.

Of course, she reminded herself. These are village kids. This reminded them of their home.

“Listen,” sighed Charisse with a dreamy smile. “Listen for it…”

They did so. Lyssa held her breath as she awaited the surprise that Charisse wanted to share with them. The wind rushed from between the mountain peaks and gusted against the homes of the village. And on the wind was a note, crisp and clear. The resonant ringing of a viol. The beginning of a song. And then, the song began in earnest and in concert with a little orchestra of instruments. It was accompanied with cheers and the distant stamping of feet.

“They are celebrating!” gasped Claire, placing her free hand over her lips. “But what could a settlement so close to the Dark Legion’s stronghold have to celebrate?”

Charisse’s grin was shining in the dark, eager and childlike. “Let’s go and find out!” he said.

—

“Travellers? In this Era?” The man was a rounded fellow in his late middle age, by Charisse’s guess. His portly frame and thinning hair reminded him of the men of Hilldown who had worked their share of labour and were now easing into retirement, seeing out their cosy evenings in the local pub and in the easy company of others they had known their whole lives. Charisse’s father should have become one of them, had the Dark Lord’s curse not had its way with him.

“I promise that we aren’t anyone suspicious,” said Claire with a smile. “We are making our way east, and we happened to spy this village. If there is space inside for us to warm our hands and ease our feet, we would be very grateful of it.”

Charisse peered around the village man and into the feast hall beyond. Hilldown had such a building, one they used on celebration days so that everyone could eat and drink and dance together. And this one was in full use tonight. Long tables had been pushed up to the stone walls to make space for a throng of dancers in the centre. The dance was the Sunset Two-step, a hopping back-and-forth that had participants in two long lines facing their partners. Dancers would move quickly between several partners for the duration of the song before, if the musical conductor had done their job, ending with each back in their original pairing. And it was as popular here as it had been in Hilldown, with even the observers sitting at the tables tapping their feet to the beat and laughing amiably. The cluster by the bar at the far end of the hall seemed to be engaging in negotiations for drinks in time with the rhythm of the dance. Charisse even found himself swaying along.

“You’re… heading east?” The tall man who barred their path looked across the three of them once more. His eyes narrowed on Charisse’s axe, holstered at his belt, and Claire’s blackjack at her hip.

“It’s not what you might think,” Charisse said, standing straight and ignoring the intoxicating scene of rustic hospitality beyond with effort. “We have no intention of joining the Dark Legion.”

“No? Then why go to their home at all?”

Charisse glanced to the side, meeting Claire and Lyssa’s eyes. Lyssa looked away again at once. So skittish these days. But Claire nodded her head with resolute confidence, and Charisse returned the nod at once.

“We’re going to slay the Dark Lord.”

The portly man blinked in surprise. His fair moustache ruffled with an intake of breath. And at his back, a group of village revellers closest to the door stopped watching the two-step and turned to face them with their own wide eyes. Charisse held their looks and set his shoulders firmly as if their attention would blow him away like a strong wind. There was every chance that this village was home to Dark Adherents or their sympathisers. In fact, this close to the Black Palace, that was more likely than the alternative. But would followers of the dark really celebrate like this, all smiles and dancing? Charisse swallowed.

And he almost choked when the large man slapped his hands against his shoulders with a great, rousing laugh. Charisse found himself tugged forward and deposited by the man’s strong arms right inside the feast hall, where now he was the centre of attention.

“Arhi!” the man bellowed right behind him. “These young tykes are off to kill the Dark Lord! Let’s get them a fucking drink!”

The hall erupted into cheers, and Charisse found himself set upon by a great horde of men and women.

“You’re real heroes?” asked a young man with a beaming smile. “I didn’t think there were any left!”

“Ancestors above, look at that axe!” giggled a woman old enough to be Charisse’s mother. “I’ll bet that has seen some action!”

“We fucking hate the Dark Lord around here!” The man had his hands on both of Charisse’s shoulders like a proud father. “Anyone claiming they’re out to shed his fallow blood is a friend of Slate, and make no mistake. Don’t worry, heroes. Arhi will make sure you eat and drink your fill before the morning comes.”

Behind the bar, a huge woman with a rugged headscarf tying back her auburn hair nodded his way and winked. At once, his arms were grabbed by the host of Slate’s villagers and he was pulled into the fray. Claire, by the sound of her voice, was not far behind.

“W-We would appreciate a chance to rest, thank you, um…”

“Morris is my name,” came the voice of the big man.

“And you are this village’s mayor, Mister Morris?”

“I’m on the council, sure. Ah, you’re worried my voice won’t carry weight?”

“N-No. I was just wondering what this occasion was that has everyone so festive.”

Charisse had to put out his hands to stop from being shoved right into the wooden bar at the far side of the hall. A frothing pewter mug was already waiting for him, and it was joined at once by two others. His mouth felt awfully dry. But still, Charisse turned about with an elbow on the bar to take in Morris’ answer. And he saw the man, now ushering Claire and Lyssa forward with his big hands, twisting his lip anxiously.

“Mister Morris?” prompted Claire.

“It’s… solstice,” said the councilman. “That’s right. It’s the solstice tonight.”

“It is?” Charisse frowned, and he saw Claire doing much the same. He tried to do the seasonal mathematics in his head, but with difficulty. It had been long since he’d had a good look at the angle of the sun.

“We celebrate the winter solstice a few weeks early, you see,” came a kindly female voice at his back, the voice of the tall barwoman Arhi. “Since we get so covered in snow on the night itself and that makes it hard to celebrate. Isn’t that right, Morris?”

“Y-Yep, that’s right,” laughed Morris a touch too loudly.

Now together, Charisse and Claire shared a look. Beside them, Lyssa was watching their silent glances carefully. Charisse handed her a mug of ale with narrowed eyes.

“Let’s take it easy tonight,” he suggested. “We’ve come a long way. We won’t have the vigour to enjoy ourselves too heartily.”

“Well said,” nodded Claire. “There is no need to overwork ourselves. We ought to take our time.”

Lyssa’s eyes told him she understood his hesitance, too. She held the tankard in both hands, and she gave it a sniff.

—

“This is weird, right?” whispered Charisse once the locals had drawn back from their table at the side of the big hall and left them in relative privacy. The lad was leaning across to where Claire and Lyssa were seated beside one another. None of them had touched their drinks yet.

“It is… unexpected.” Claire shook her head gently, her red locks bouncing against her shoulders. “I cannot remember a winter solstice festival in Hilldown that matched this level of energy. But here is Slate, a village which celebrates even up alongside the territory of the Dark Adherents. It beggars belief.”

Lyssa lifted the metal tankard to her face and sniffed the contents again. Some of the froth went up her nose, causing her to cough. Alcohol. Would it even affect someone like her? Something like her? She glanced to her side and took in the undulation of the dancing villagers. The air was thick with sweat and rising emotion. The booze had done that, at least in part. It had sparked the light beneath the people of Slate and made them dance. Leaving Lyssa once more out in the dark.

When the current song ended, the makeshift band with its battered instruments falling briefly silent, the hall erupted into applause. Lyssa felt no need to join in. But across from their table, closer to the entrance to the hall, a pair of boys around Charisse’s age were watching her. Both had similar shades of rusty blonde hair and similar red in their cheeks from inebriation. They smiled and waved. Lyssa put on the mask with ease, and then smiled right back.

“Charisse!”

Lyssa turned back to the table at Claire’s urgent hiss, and she saw Charisse lowering his mug to the table and smacking his lips. He’d created a moustache of foam for himself below his nose.

“I thirst, Claire!” he said with a sigh. “And we can’t sit here nursing these gifts all night. Think of how suspicious we would look!”

“Still…” Claire narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you make of it? Does it taste… poisonous?”

“I wouldn’t have the faintest idea,” Charisse replied with a laugh.

“Why not ask Oculus?” said Lyssa, drawing Claire’s eyes back to her. “Is the unseen mystery not his purview?”

“You’re right. I should have thought of that. Give me one moment.”

Bending down with one arm below the table, Claire rummaged for her belongings. She retrieved her usual writing set, plus a small wooden box that contained some of her preserved herbs. Claire wrote out a query to her deity on the paper, then began selecting coloured dust from the box’s compartments with her thumb and forefinger.

“Lyssa, are you alright?” asked Charisse while their friend worked. “You have been out of yourself recently. And you appear a little down right now. I would have thought this setting to be your element.”

“I am sorry.” Lyssa looked down into her mug. “’Tis not my will to bring down the mood of our coming victory against the Dark Lord. Perhaps it is this land. This charming village notwithstanding, do you not find it awfully dour?”

A carefully constructed lie, one she had been rehearsing. Lyssa had seen the concern in both Claire and Charisse’s eyes on their march through the eastern pass, and she had known that this line of questioning was coming. Charisse, opting to believe her, nodded his head.

“I can feel the dark inside me moving about,” he agreed with a solemn twist of his brow. “Calling to its master, no doubt. I am here for you if you need me, Lyssa. We can be a support for one another.”

She smiled at his kind words. Another day, she might have taken the obvious invitation to flirt with him. But not tonight. Not when she knew that taking that path would end in his death.

Motion at her side drew her eye, as well as Charisse’s. A girl a couple of years younger than any of them was standing shyly by the side of their table and was untying a cotton headscarf from around her fair hair. She had big, blue eyes and pale skin with just a hint of freckling at her nose and cheeks. Lyssa thought immediately of Morris, the big councilman. The girl’s green dress looked worn with use, and she had pushed up the sleeves past her elbows in service of work.

“M-May I… help you with something?” the girl asked them quietly, kneading her scarf with both hands. “Is the drink… n-not to your liking?”

Lyssa turned to follow the line of her eyes and took in Claire. Her friend had frozen with her prayer parchment folded in two and dipped at one corner into the top of her drink. The fluid was making its way up the paper now. Alongside Claire’s embarrassed expression, it looked more than a little ridiculous.

“This is nothing.”

“My friend has a, um, a condition,” Charisse attempted. “She must take a… a special medicine whenever she, um…”

The girl shook her head with a sad sigh. “There is no need to lie, I understand,” she said. “You are wary of gifts given freely and without obligation. Of course you are. You fear that we might seek to poison you, or perhaps tie you up in some sort of dark ritual.”

Both Claire and Charisse, clearly affected by the young girl’s sadness, made to argue. But neither of them seemed to be able to conjure up the words. It was true, after all. She’d got them dead to rights.

“Here. Perhaps I can assuage some of your fears.”

The girl took a seat beside Charisse and pulled all three mugs of ale towards herself. Then, steeling herself with a stern frown and a breath for air, she took a hearty swig from each in turn. Lyssa’s eyes were wide at the spectacle, as were those of Claire and Charisse. The girl gasped for breath as she returned Lyssa’s mug to the table. It was now more than a third emptied.

“Does that help?” she asked with a shy smile.

Claire unfolded the soggy prayer paper between her hands and read the contents, then gave a relieved smile of her own.

“It does, thank you,” she said. “I am sorry that we were not trusting.”

“As I said, it is understandable,” the girl replied. “This is the Era of Shadow, and the Dark Lord makes his plans but a stone’s throw from Slate. But I do hope that you can find a way to enjoy yourselves tonight, heroes. Tonight… of all nights. We ought to be good to others.”

Claire and Charisse shared another careful look.

“What is your name?” Claire asked.

“O-Oh, sorry. My name is Marin.”

“You are… Councilman Morris’ daughter?” asked Lyssa.

“Y-Yes, how very astute!” Marin giggled. “I hope you do not mind my intrusion, heroes. I was concluding my duties in the kitchen when I heard that you had arrived. And I did so wish to speak with you.”

“You are very welcome among us, Marin,” said Charisse. Lyssa watched how the girl’s blue eyes moved naturally towards him at the sound of his voice, a smoother motion than when she had laid eyes on Lyssa or Claire. It was enough to tug a fond smirk up at the corners of her lips.

A resounding cry from the ramshackle band’s viol signalled the beginning of a new dance, and the throng cheered in recognition. They immediately began partnering up and forming a twice-layered circle in the centre of the hall. Lyssa saw both Marin and Charisse sit up straighter on their seats.

“Andora’s Lament?” the lad said with a chuckle. “It has been a long time since I have heard those opening bars.”

“I cannot remember the last time we heard it in Hilldown,” Claire agreed with her own grin.

“I-If you know the song, then would you… would you like to…?”

Charisse looked from Marin’s big eyes to Claire and Lyssa across the table. Lyssa suppressed a snigger at the interplay of excited desire and shy caution in the colouration of his cheeks.

“I am not your mother,” Claire told him sternly. “If you wish to dance, then go and dance. But you may need to help him, Marin,” she added with a sly smirk on her lips. “Charisse has two left feet.”

“O-Of course! My pleasure!” Marin was blushing fiercely as she rose from her seat. She did so suddenly and caused the tankards to shake with her knees’ impact on the table. Fortunately, she’d drunk enough to keep them from overflowing. Then she held out a slender hand for Charisse, who took it readily.

“One moment!” Before departing, Charisse stepped back to the table and grabbed his tankard in both hands. Then, causing an impressed gasp to escape Lyssa’s lips unbidden, he downed the contents with a great gulp. He was grinning widely as he returned the mug to the tabletop.

“It has been far too long!” he sighed. Then he rushed to take his place with Marin on the dance floor.

“Good for him,” Claire smiled. “Maybe it is not so foolish of us to make the most of our time in such a hospitable environment.”

“Then would you also like to dance, Claire?” asked Lyssa as the music began to rise.

“You and I?” Claire laughed. “You must be feeling better, Lyssa.”

Lyssa nodded her head, though she kept her eyeline on the table in front of her.

“But if we are to be granted a moment alone, perhaps we should take this opportunity to do something else instead.”

She moved along the bench so that her shoulder pushed up against Lyssa’s. When Lyssa looked up and met her eyes, her stomach dropped. Claire was no longer smiling.

“Why don’t we start at the beginning?” the girl said in a low whisper. “Lyssa, when did you first realise that you were not human?”

Lyssa swallowed her fear, and it tasted bitter.

—

“Might I ask… a rude question?”

Marin’s smile was lovely, even wreathed in the fine layer of sweat on her skin and the red of her cheeks. The dancing had worn away her initial nervousness in front of Charisse, even as it had taken from her stamina. One dance after another, he had been unable to deny the girl the touch of his hand. She had led him through the familiar movements of Andora’s Lament, into the less familiar Ring of Men, the General Marches, the Sparking Hearth of Winter, and now the Sun Spiral. If not for the mugs of ale pushed into his hands between bouts by cheerful locals, he was sure he would have surrendered by now. But the cool drink, along with the hearty encouragement of the men and women of Slate, the rigorous slaps on his shoulder, kept him on his feet.

The song repeated. Charisse took hold of Marin’s hands, crossed at the wrists, and began the opening steps of the Spiral anew, the slow walk around in a circle in time with the beat of the drum. He wondered what Marin’s skin felt like, but he couldn’t touch her through his thick gloves and it never felt like the right time to pause to remove them. His angle granted him a glance at Claire and Lyssa at their table beyond Marin, and he wondered also at what the pair were talking so intently about. They’d been at it for as long as he had been dancing. Claire had several sheets of paper out on the table in front of her, filled with the black marks of her mysterious shorthand. And Lyssa’s eyes were awfully sad. But then Marin’s smile captivated his attention once more.

“A rude question?” he asked.

“Yes, if you don’t mind.”

“Why not?” he laughed. “Go right ahead.”

Coming to a halt on the dance floor as they had done several times before, Charisse took Marin’s right hand in his left and held it up. Marin spun gently under their clasped hands, causing her green dress to flutter around her ankles.

“Your name,” she said as she spun. “It has a… peculiar sound to it. Is it… foreign?”

He laughed, pursing his lips as though tasting a sour food. Just when he thought he was coming off as awfully impressive in this pretty girl’s eyes, she had to go and ask. At the eighth bar, Charisse drew Marin out of her spin and linked his right arm through her left. They began to march around in a circle with the other couples.

“It is a girl’s name.”

Marin blinked up at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“My parents had wished for a girl,” he admitted with a rueful grin. “They had visited an augur of Oculus All-seeing on the day my mother learned of her conception, and he had said that I was to be a girl. They were awfully thrilled to hear it. So, on the day I was born and it was clear they had been mistaken, they did not have a boy’s name to fall back upon. And my father was… He was not in a fit state to make that sort of decision. As such, I remained ‘Charisse’.”

“Goodness.” Marin’s big, blue eyes glittered. “I would not have suspected. It has such a noble sound to it.”

“You are kind to say so,” Charisse said. “But you would also be the first. The kids of my home village did not give me such grace.”

“Well, they were wrong to do that. Charisse is the name of a noble knight of yore. A fitting name for the one who will slay the Dark Lord.”

“You are flattering me unduly,” he said with a chuckle. “Where does your name come from?”

“My mother,” said Marin. “It was her name also. She… died giving birth to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, but there is no need,” she replied with a brave smile. “My father and I get along well. We have been able to lead our lives, just the two of us. And with the aid of all of the others in the village, of course.”

“This seems like a kindly place.”

“It is.”

“Despite its proximity to the Dark Legion.”

Marin’s smile faded. Her eyes were on her feet as they moved into the next stage of the dance. Charisse and Marin spun on their heels to face the way that had come. He reached out and placed his right hand on her right shoulder, taking her left hand in his. Marin leant against his chest as they walked together. She felt so small in his arms.

“You must think us cowards, to not fight the Dark Legion as you do,” she said softly.

“Never,” said Charisse. “I know how fearsome the Dark Lord’s might is. I would not wish his ire on anyone.”

“But to remain here, living out our simple lives as though nothing is amiss!” Marin turned her face away sharply, and her hand tightened suddenly on his. “It is not right, Charisse! We live with our heads encased in stone. It is no wonder that…”

She trailed off. Charisse felt her harsh swallowing through her shoulder blades against his abdomen. He squeezed her shoulder.

“It is no easy thing to face such darkness,” he said, leaning in to whisper against her ear. “Even I… I cannot say whether I have the skill necessary to emerge victorious. Not all are heroes, not in truth.”

Their turning brought Charisse’s eyes around to his table once more. Claire was leaning over her work and scribbling furiously. Her tongue was emerging from her lips in that way that it did when she was really focussing on something. She was strong for a girl, his Claire. Strong and brilliant. Wise beyond a brute like Charisse’s ability to understand. And he was leading her into that fearsome dark. For not the first time, a jolt of anxiety erupted up through his chest. He pushed the image of Claire’s broken, violated body back down into the sick shadows that had birthed it.

“You are awfully brave.”

He might have misheard her, so Charisse turned to face Marin. But the conclusion of the dance and the resulting applause drowned out his request for clarification. Around them, the other couples of the village were bowing to one another as was traditional for the end of the music. But Marin kept a tight hold of his hand and fell against him suddenly. It felt natural to rest his hand on her shoulder.

“I am sorry,” she sighed against his chest. “I may have… pushed myself a touch too hard with this last dance.”

“I’m impressed that you lasted this long,” Charisse assured her with a smile. He stroked at her hair with his hand. “We ought to grant you a seat and a chance to-…”

“Charisse!”

Marin pushed away from his chest with wide eyes. Her hands landed on his chest and began rubbing at him firmly. It tickled.

“Is this… chain?”

“O-Oh, yes.” Charisse pulled his tabard to one side so that Marin could see the shirt of mail he had been wearing. “Frankly, I forget that I am wearing it on most days. There always seems to be a need for it.”

“But you… you danced with me… all those times! No wonder…”

She smiled up at him, then lifted her slim hands up to his face. She touched gently at his hair, and her fingers came away wet.

“If I am to rest, Charisse,” she said with a charming giggle, “then you must do something about this ridiculous outfit! Even a hero need not be so garbed for a revel, of all things!”

“Ah, of course,” he agreed.

“And then, when you are dressed more appropriately, might I have another dance?”

“I thought you were meant to be resting.”

“Oh, of course.”

They laughed together. Marin stepped away from him with red in her cheeks, and Charisse felt tall indeed.

“Is there a spare room somewhere that I can use to change my clothing?” he asked.

“Hm, I am not sure.” Marin tapped her lip with one finger, looking about the hall thoughtfully. “We often have spare lodgings for the miners returning from the mountains. Only, they will all be in use tonight.”

“I could make use of your kitchen or storeroom?”

“Not with Arhi keeping watch,” Marin laughed. “She is very protective of her working space.”

Her eyes met his and remained there. As he watched, the shimmering blue settled slowly into something more resolute. The churning of the ocean solidified into a gorgeous sapphire gemstone. She took a step towards him.

“If you would like a place to undress,” she whispered, “I do know somewhere. Come with me.”

Charisse swallowed. “Y-Yes, very well.”

Marin took his hand. And for all her slightness, all her slimness and shyness, she pulled him out the door and into the night with an inexorable strength.

—

“Um, Claire?” said Lyssa. “Ought we do something about that?”

Claire looked up from her writing and followed Lyssa’s nod towards the door, where Charisse was disappearing with the pretty young Marin. Claire’s eyes lingered on the couple briefly, her lips pursing. Then she went back to her notes.

“Let him have his fun,” she said. “Who knows when he will get such a chance again?”

Apparently, that was that. Lyssa took a drink from her draught. Not because it tasted particularly good, since it did not. The wheaty liquid held a powerful bitterness that she found appealing, but it was muted by all the fizz and the froth. And the inebriation was not setting in, no matter how much she drank. It was a feature of Lyssa’s alien physiology that Claire would likely wish to include in her notes, but Lyssa didn’t feel the need to mention it.

Claire, after all, was feeling the effects of multiple pints of ale. She scribbled her notes with a careful and measured hand, though Lyssa couldn’t parse the strange symbols and letters she used to bring her thoughts to the page. But her face was beet red to match her hair, and she occasionally had to pause her scrawling to burp demurely into a closed fist. Claire drank whenever she felt the need to shake out an ailing wrist, which was increasingly often. She didn’t seem to realise that their drinks were being topped up by grinning revellers, who winked at Lyssa when Claire didn’t notice their trading of an empty mug for a full one.

“So, a being that draws on the life force of others,” her friend slurred now, running her eyes across the assembled pages of her notes. “You bring the spiritual essence of a man up to the surface through sexual contact. And you can-…”

“Or a woman.”

“Truly?” asked Claire, one brow raised.

“Y-Yes,” replied Lyssa. “I have… taken the essence of a woman also.”

“I see.” Claire’s brow was a harsh line of red above her eyes, then she returned her gaze to the page. “You can utilise this essence to issue compulsions to other creatures and force them to obey you. Even the undead soldiers of the Dark Legion. And even if those compulsions will result in the deaths of those listening to them.”

Lyssa nodded stiffly.

“Then it is settled,” said Claire, huffing out a breath and leaning back on her seat. “I have no idea what you are, Lyssa.”

“Is that so?” Lyssa wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. It seemed that ignorance left Claire without a reason to attack her, at least. But she also hadn’t confirmed that she was of no threat. Lyssa took another drink, letting the chill ale hiss against the burning anxiety of her heart.

“I know of some creatures that supposedly exhibit activity akin to yours,” Claire explained with a frown. “The vampyre, of course, draws sustenance from its victim’s blood. And the stories say that they often lure their prey with seduction. But they tend not to leave their food alive. And naturally there is the issue that vampyres do not exist.”

“Ah,” said Lyssa. She wasn’t sure what else to say.

“Spirits of the Mist Lands are also said to lure humans with graceful forms and gentle songs,” she continued. “My great uncle claimed to have nearly been whisked away into the Mists by a female form in the night. He was saved only by the shrill barking of his hound, he says.”

“Oh.”

“And Oculus is of no help at all,” Claire said with a bitter laugh. “He claims that you are human.”

“Does he?”

“‘For now.’” Claire took a greedy drink of her ale. “I have no idea what that means, of course. Perhaps this truly is simply a form of strange, eldritch magic that you wield, Lyssa. One that has the power to corrupt you, should you drink of it too deeply.”

“Well, then we have little to fear,” Lyssa said with a frustrated pout of her lips. “For I vow never to drain a human of their essence ever again.”

“Because of Delain?”

Her hands tightened in her lap. “I… did not realise that you had come to that conclusion.”

“You took his death awfully hard,” said Claire. “Harder even than Charisse, who held Delain as something of a role model. But you say you will no longer take essence from a human being?”

“Never,” she said with a shake of her head. “I cannot trust myself to not take too deeply of them.”

“Won’t you starve?”

“I think not. I have… I have plenty in my reserve. Enough to last until the Black Palace, at the very least.”

“And then?” Claire folded her arms and leant forward on the table. She didn’t seem to realise that she was squashing some of her notes with her elbows. “What is your plan, Lyssa? Will you fight the Dark Lord with us? I would have your vow, if I may.”

“I…” Lyssa swallowed. “I hope so. I wish to swear such an oath, dear Claire. But I…”

“Lyssa…!”

“I fear what will come over me when I meet him,” she admitted, though the words stung her throat. “I fear that he holds sway over my heart. I may yet go to him. But as I do, and this I do swear… I shall fight him with everything I have.”

“Truly?” asked Claire again with another raise of her brow.

“He is evil,” said Lyssa. “He takes from those with little. He spreads fear and despair. His existence is a selfish one. And I am not fool enough to ignore that such mirrors my own existence acutely.”

Claire blinked in surprise and leant forward a little more towards her.

“I do not wish to be a monster, Claire,” said Lyssa. “I wish to be like you. Like Charisse. I wish to help the good people of this land. Tomas, Arram, Delain… If there is a way for me to bring them joy, corrupted as I am, I would do it. Therefore, I will deny the Dark Lord. If I can do so, then I will deny the part of myself that is so like him. And maybe then there will be hope for something like me.”

She fixed her eyes on Claire and refused to look away, no matter how much she wanted to hide herself. If Claire and Charisse left her, she would truly have nothing left. And then she would be easy prey for the dark lust inside herself. She would fall, she just knew it.

But then Claire’s hand found hers and squeezed it tightly. Claire was smiling.

“Then I shall trust you, Lyssa,” she said. “Thank you for sharing.”

“Of course.” Lyssa brushed her hand across her cheeks, and it came away wet.

“I can formulate a plan to face Karaszen that will take your risks into account,” her friend continued, finally looking down and seeing her crumpled papers. She began smoothing them out with her free hand, and then turned one over for a fresh sheet. “I cannot imagine what that would look like yet. But I want to fight for the good in you, Lyssa. I know Charisse will want the same.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“And Oculus be thanked that I told him not to sleep with you!”

Lyssa choked on her own breath. “Y-You had to tell him such a thing?”

“I like to imagine that he was not so silly as to actually jump into bed with you without knowing you properly,” Claire giggled. “But he is awfully fond of you, Lyssa. Please be careful with him as we enter the final stretch of our quest.”

“I shall!” Lyssa laughed and squeezed Claire’s hand. “I shall, of course! As dear as Charisse is to me, fear not! He shall not have that taste of me, nor I of him.”

“I shall be keeping an eye on you two.” Claire winked. “Both eyes, if I have them. And if they aren’t… Oh, shit.”

Claire was frowning angrily down into her empty mug. It appeared that none of the people of Slate had managed to reach her before she had downed the last of it this time. Lyssa giggled.

“W-Wait here,” said Claire, rising unsteadily on her feet and holding to the table with both hands. “I will fetch more.”

“Are you certain you have not had enough?” Lyssa asked with a wide smile.

“Who knows when we will get such a chance again?”

Claire hobbled off towards the bar. Lyssa watched, leaning on one hand and smiling after her friend. She watched as Arhi pushed aside her brimming patrons so that she could go to Claire, hold her shoulders and grant her stability. When Claire raised two fingers to the large woman, Arhi put her free hand on her hip and twisted her lip with admonishment. It appeared they were cut off, and that was fine.

“Excuse me, miss?”

Lyssa looked up. The two rusty-haired boys from the far side of the hall had approached her on seeing that she was alone. Their grins were equal parts bashful and confident, a charmingly youthful juxtaposition. These two had also had their fill of ale this night, judging by the flushing colour in their ruddy cheeks.

“Good evening, miss,” grinned the taller of the two. He attempted a bow over his arm, but almost lost his footing, so he gave up. “Might I be so bold as to invite you to a dance?”

“And your friend will watch?” Lyssa asked with a coy grin. “Or were you thinking I would dance with both of you at the same time?”

The pair, who Lyssa believed must be cousins or some such, turned to look at each other with wide, bemused eyes, as if the crowding issue hadn’t occurred to them.

“I-I can go second?” said the shorter lad.

“Well, as flattered as I am,” Lyssa said, stepping into their confusion, “I fear the players are taking a well-deserved rest at present.”

She nodded to the collection of musicians in the corner of the hall. The viol player had his instrument held in both hands and was leaning back on the wall, drenched in sweat. The drummers and flutists were likewise holding heavily to one another, while one of their number went to Arhi with a likely heavy order for drinks.

“Ah,” said the tall boy. “Bother.”

Lyssa looked up at him. He was handsome, with curly hair and a youth’s layer of soft muscle under his dark, cotton clothing. His fellow was stouter, but she liked the amused shimmer of his eyes, as if he was constantly on the brink of a ribald joke. And she thought again on her words for Claire, her promise to her friend. That she would work for the joy of good people like the villagers of Slate. How could she create that joy now? Lyssa stood to her feet, and the two boys stepped back to give her space.

“I imagine there is a dance taking place elsewhere,” said Lyssa, brushing down her clothing and eying the boys with unsuppressed heat. Maybe the ale was working on her after all. “A more private dance. Outside, behind the hall. Just for the three of us. Would I be right in such an assessment?”

The two village boys stared. The shorter one looked about the hall at the other people with wide, urgent eyes, as if fearful he was seeing only an illusion.

“You are not jesting?” he whispered to her. “You would like to… with us?”

And Lyssa, smiling proudly, shrugged her shoulders. “Why not?” she said.

—

“Goodness…”

Charisse turned about to face Marin and found her staring. Her blue eyes worked their way along the contours of his sweat-laced chest. Her lips were gently parted as if she was dreaming. On spotting his attention on her, she started, coming to with a little jump of activity. Charisse grinned, and then dropped his chain to the floor with a great thump.

There weren’t any horses in the stable, but the hay still smelled like the beasts lived here. Charisse wondered what they would be doing out at this hour with everyone in the village attending the solstice revel. But it was all for the better, for it gave Charisse and Marin a degree of privacy. Even the beady eyes of horses might have interrupted the atmosphere.

Now topless in the gloomy interior of the stable, the tall piles of hay at his back, Charisse stared boldly down at Marin. So lovely, her hair gently curling about her shoulders and her expression a constant shift between shy reservedness and open awe, a mixing pattern that had him mesmerised. As he watched now, she suddenly blinked.

“Ah, you have nothing to change into.”

“Oh, you’re right.” Charisse grinned down at his undressed form. “I forgot to grab a spare shirt from my belongings. Maybe you could-…”

“I have something!”

Marin ran for the entrance of the stable. But instead of leaving, she bent down and retrieved a bundle from out of a small set of wooden shelves, half-buried in the hay. She unfurled a big, cotton shirt in both hands.

“Our stablehand does not use this any longer,” she explained, holding the clothing out in front of her like a sailcloth as she returned to him. “I am sure there is no qualm with your borrowing it.”

“Thank you,” he said, holding out one hand.

“It will be a little scratchy, I think,” Marin said, peeking at him over the shirt’s collar. “And maybe not quite to your… impressive size.”

“That is fine.”

“And it will smell of horse.”

“I have smelled of worse.”

“And…” When she was close enough that Charisse could reach out and take the shirt for himself, Marin pulled it away from him and squeezed it against her chest. “And if you are merely going to become sweaty again in the dance, then perhaps it would be a waste to reclothe yourself.”

“You think I should return to the hall half-naked?” he asked with a laugh.

Marin, however, did not laugh. Her eyes had drifted down to the rounded definition of his chest once more.

“That would be fine,” she whispered. Then she stepped forward.

Before he knew it, Charisse had the girl up against him. Marin rested her hands, still clutching the scratchy shirt, against his stomach. He could hear her breathing. He could feel the heat of her.

“Marin…” he said softly.

She looked up at him slowly. “Charisse…” she replied. Then, sweetly and gently, she pressed her lips to his.

Even through the fuzz of alcohol, the thudding of his heart from the dance and the excited stiffening in his breeches, Charisse forced himself to think. Marin was pretty, of that there was no doubt. She was kind and funny. But any more than that, he didn’t really know her. He knew that her father was someone important in the village. He knew that she’d had two older brothers who left for the cities when she was little, and her mother had died giving birth to her. He knew that she enjoyed cooking with Arhi. He knew that her favourite colour was green, and that she could hold her alcohol just fine despite her size. And she danced like an angel. Actually, now that he considered it, he knew quite a bit about her.

“Are you sure?” he forced himself to ask against her lips.

Marin nodded her head at once. “I am sure,” she said. “When shall we get this opportunity again, Charisse?”

When indeed, Charisse thought grimly. After the defeat of the Dark Lord, he could come back this way. He could see her again. He could court her properly. Or he’d die. They’d never get that chance, then.

“I would like you to have me, my knight,” Marin told him softly. “Please, take me. I am yours.”

And Charisse ran out of arguments. He reached down and gripped Marin under her rear, then lifted her into his arms. She dropped the shirt to the floor and threw her arms about his shoulders. And she kissed him again. This time, he returned the kiss with heat, and she moaned softly into his mouth. Charisse turned about with his girl in his arms and lay her down in the hay.

Charisse had been intimate with a women on three occasions throughout his life. He didn’t know whether that was a large number or a small one, since he didn’t have any male friends to compare notes with. But he recalled each of them. The first had been a fiery, dark-haired traveller girl by the name of Songlark. She had come to Hilldown with her extended family in a long line of horse-drawn carts. They had made all kinds of trade with Charisse’s people for the items they had picked up in their long journey across the land. His mother had turned his nose up at them. ‘Scavengers,’ she’d called them. ‘Vultures.’ But she had still bought a slightly dented cooking pan from Songlark’s mother. And while that negotiation had been going on, Songlark, about three years his senior, had led him around the back of his house and rubbed his cock until he came. She had grinned all the while, even when his semen had splattered up against her tunic. A downpayment, she had called it with a wink. She would come back someday to receive with interest. Only, she’d never returned. Charisse had never discovered what had happened to her.

The second had been a girl his own age named Caroline, who had come north from the chaos of the cities with her parents. They had been rich in their previous lives, apparently, until the Dark Lord had taken that away from them. Caroline had been stuck-up, jealous and quick to anger. She and Claire had forged some sort of incomprehensible rivalry. And not long after, Caroline had kissed him and started calling him her ‘suitor’. She had been fun to fool around with, no matter how Claire had scowled at him when she saw them together. One night, Caroline had invited him to her home while her parents were attending the village meeting. She had cracked open a secret crate of highly expensive wine that her father had been keeping, and she’d insisted that Charisse share in her rebellious consumption of the fine alcohol. They had slept together that night in her parents’ bed. It had been messy and clumsy, since they had both been drunk and not known what they were doing. The next morning, there had been a great deal of commotion, followed by Caroline’s family abruptly moving away from Hilldown. She’d had tears in her eyes when she had said goodbye.

The last time had been three days after his father’s death. The mayor of Hilldown, Claire’s uncle, had given Charisse a gold coin, as if the increasingly worthless currency of the land would do anything to help him grieve. By this point, a large number of strays and stragglers had taken up residence at the edge of the village. One of those had been an older woman who had made it obvious she would turn tricks for gold. Charisse had handed her the coin, and she had taken care of him. She’d known what she was doing. But once they were done, Charisse had found his grief to be all the more pronounced. As if he had let something important pass him by.

And now, here he was. And Marin was like no girl he had ever been with before. She was young, as young as Charisse had been that day with Songlark. She moaned and sighed with a delirious, dreamlike abandon. And her limbs were soft and pliable. She let him move her about however he wanted. Charisse realised that for the first time, he was with a girl who knew less about sex than he did. Her big eyes entreated him to be gentle with her, even as she kissed him passionately and held him tightly, fingernails raking against his skin.

He helped her with her green dress, unbuttoning it down her back for her and then folding it up and placing it in the hay beside them. She removed her shift for herself. Charisse ran his hands across her skin as though she was a fragile work of art, and his attention might blemish her. Her curves were subtle mounds of softness at her hips and chest. Embracing her again, he ran his tongue over her nipple, and she yelped with surprise and delight before slapping a hand over her mouth in embarrassment. He loomed over her in the hay with his cock a stiff rod between his legs, and she opened herself up for him. Her sex was glistening. He let his fingertips take some of the slickness from her and touched at his tip to grant it lubrication.

“Are you ready?” he whispered against her ear.

“Yes, I am,” she replied.

And then he entered her. Charisse gripped Marin’s hip with one hand and guided himself into her. She was tight indeed, almost painful. And the yowl she let out on receiving his cock was almost a cry of agony. But her arms around his shoulders never slackened, her knees about his hips still firmly holding him in place. So he had begun. The hay rustled musically beneath their entwined bodies.

“Marin!” he hissed into her ear. “Oh, Marin!”

“Charisse!” she sang. “My knight!”

Before long, his primal instincts took over. Charisse positioned himself atop her and began to penetrate her repeatedly and deeply. He grunted into her neck as he delved her. And his cock, on realising that yes, this was truly happening, rewarded him. A rushing warmth enveloped him from his hips upward. A sense of deep and ancient satisfaction. Marin’s pussy gripped him tightly, and he rubbed himself within her. He coated his cock in her. He sheathed himself inside her. And before long, he-…

Marin convulsed suddenly. She bit down on his shoulder, and from her throat came a juddering, bestial sound of release. She shook and shivered around his cock. Charisse, alarmed, leaned up over her on his hands.

“Are you well?” he asked in an urgent whisper.

Her eyes were tightly closed, lips pressed together firmly, but she still nodded her head. “I am… f-finished!” she declared under her breath. “Please, continue.”

Charisse grinned with pride. “Thank you,” he said with a chuckle. And then he did continue.

Charisse penetrated her with rolls of his hips, no longer worrying about how she was feeling. He could feel climax on the horizon of his awareness, a surging sunrise just barely lighting up the morning clouds. And Marin held on and rode his lovemaking bravely. She moaned against his skin and made it wet with her breath.

Soon, he felt the end approaching. Charisse manoeuvred himself up and made to retract from inside her. But Marin’s hand came down suddenly on his bum and pulled him back towards her.

“N-No!” she whispered. “I-Inside!”

“You are certain?”

“Please.” There were tears at the corners of her eyes, but Charisse’s primal mind successfully ignored them. “Please, Charisse!”

He didn’t argue. Charisse slapped his hips against hers over and over until the climax presented itself, then pushed his cock as deep into her as it would go, letting its payload out. What a rush! What a wondrous sensation! He gasped into Marin’s lovely hair and encased her slim body in his arms as he came inside her. There was much he had to offer her. Charisse dimly and distantly hoped that she knew what she was doing when she insisted that he spill himself into her. And then, sucking in sighs of breath for his lungs, he released her.

“Thank you,” Marin sniffed. “Thank you, Charisse.”

As the swelling emotions of sex began to recede, Charisse, leaning over Marin, wiped at her cheek with his thumb. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Marin, please.” He kissed her tears gently. “Please tell me. Was that painful?”

“Not at all!” she insisted. “N-No. Not at all.”

A growing sense of urgency overcame him. Charisse pushed up tall on his arms and stared down at the sniffing girl, his lover.

“Marin,” he said, licking his dry lips. “Was that your first time?”

She hesitated, but did eventually nod her head.

“Then… why me?” he asked. “Was I really the one you wanted?”

“Yes!” Her voice was sharp, piercing his heart. “Yes, Charisse! I am so very glad that it was you. So very glad.”

“You barely know me,” he protested.

“I know you, Charisse. I know that you are a good man. And in any case, this way, I will not be…”

She swallowed, then fell silent. She didn’t meet his eyes. And the urgent feeling in Charisse’s gut only grew.

“Say, Marin?” he said with a lop-sided smile. “What is the purpose of tonight’s revel?”

“The… revel?” She blinked up at him through her tears, then looked away. Just like her father had done. “I… I believe… it is a feast day for… one of our ancestral saints.”

Charisse pushed himself up and sat back on his feet. Marin followed, sitting up in the hay. They regarded one another, open and naked before each other.

“Tell me the truth,” Charisse insisted.

Marin’s lip quavered. “I… am afraid.”

“There is no reason for fear,” he insisted. “Please, Marin. I would know the truth.”

He watched as the girl fought against herself with shaking limbs and shivering sobs. Then, she began.

“The reason why Slate remains safe against the Dark Legion,” she explained slowly, “is not simple good fortune. We have… an agreement with the Dark Lord. One that keeps his blade away from our throats.”

Charisse made a mental note of where his axe lay alongside his discarded chainmail, then returned his attention to Marin.

“Each season, he takes from us,” she continued, hugging her slim arms against herself. “Our local stone is being used to build his palace, I believe. And our wheat from this last harvest was taken to keep his Dark Adherents fed. But this season, tomorrow morning… he comes for… for people.”

She slapped her hands against her brimming eyes. “He comes for me! Me and some of our other young people. To take us away! To add us to… to some sort of… den of… p-pleasure! I will be made to… to lie with the Dark Lord! And my father can do nothing to stop it! Not and keep our village safe!”

His stomach went cold. Charisse stared down at Marin as she suddenly lunged for him and threw her arms around his shoulders.

“That is why I wished to lie with a noble hero first, Charisse!” she wailed. “I would not give my first, precious time to him! And when I saw you, I knew that you would take me kindly. And you did. You have saved a part of me that the Dark Lord can now never have. That is why… That is… wh-why…”

She was weeping. Charisse held his hand against her naked back for balance, but he wasn’t really listening.

“I’ll kill him,” he growled softly.

“I… I know.” Marin’s smile was wet with tears. She stroked his cheek with her hands. “I know you shall, my knight.”

She didn’t believe him. Charisse looked down into her lovely blue eyes and knew that she didn’t believe he would kill Karaszen. She still believed he would take her away. They all did! Take her away to… that! To suffer indignity in the Black Palace! To steal from her and make her hollow!

“I’ll… I’ll kill him!” This time, he spoke loudly. Let the cosmos hear! “I’ll kill that bastard!”

“Charisse?”

His hands on her were too firm, he knew it. So Charisse uncurled Marin from around him and stood up tall. His heart was pumping. His muscles were quivering.

His soul was shrieking.

“I swear, I’ll kill that bastard!” he howled.

And the world began to darken. Charisse was dimly aware of staggering naked out of the stable, Marin’s plaintive voice at his back. He saw his own hand holding himself up against the side of the stable. His nails were long, and his skin was coated in black fur.

Claire. He had to find Claire. He had to have her pray over him.

But Charisse knew that it was no use. Even thinking of Claire made him realise that his selfish quest involved dragging his most precious of friends into the realm of the Dark Lord, just as Marin and the other innocents were doomed to be dragged away. To the feet of that torturer, polluter, murderer. Deviant! Rapist! He’d kill that bastard! He’d pour his blood upon the slate blocks of the Black Palace!

Charisse felt sharp teeth in his maw, and his hand on the wooden post of the stable entrance crunched under his grip.

He’d kill Karaszen… with his own two hands! Right this fucking instant!

—

Lyssa was doing what she did best. The taller boy, whose name was apparently Rian, was standing at her back with his hands on her bare bum, and he was ploughing into her with his cock. His cousin Arlo was at Lyssa’s front. He had his hands on her shoulders, and Lyssa was kissing him deeply, one hand hooked around the back of his neck, the other rubbing his penis with an aggressive flurry of her wrist. Both boys were gasping and groaning as Lyssa brought them pleasure with her hands and her pussy. And she felt alive.

“Are you going to come, my dear?” she whispered against Arlo’s lips. “I would like it if you came.”

“I’m gonna come, Lyssa!” moaned Rian with a competitive laugh.

“Oh, good boy!” she giggled. “Good boy. Come inside me.”

“W-With pleasure!”

Arlo made a frantic, shapeless sound with his pursed lips in agreement. She stroked the back of his neck and kissed him afresh.

Yes, this was her power. This was how she could bring joy to others. Even if she didn’t have the strength to deny the Dark Lord, she could at least fuck well. She’d find the lonely ones, the sad ones, the ones who didn’t care for themselves. And she’d give them a reason to care. She would worship them the way they deserved to be worshipped.

And if that rang just a touch hollow to her, if the thought of sex as healing felt just a little naïve after her encounters at Ducal Rout, then that was no matter. She likely wouldn’t live long enough to find anything better to dedicate her life to, anyway.

Arlo came suddenly, and she laughed as his semen splattered up the front of her navy dress. The boy cried out wonderfully as Lyssa squeezed and drained his cock of come with a firm, compassionate grip.

“Oh, well done!” she praised.

And at her back, Rian was also coming. Lyssa could feel his body shaking as he emptied himself into her pussy. A pleasing taste, even this far from her lips. Lyssa pushed her rear back against him, engorging him fully inside her, and sighed with satisfaction as he filled her up.

And then, behind her eyes, the predictable sight of twin bubbles of churning essence. So alike, yet so unalike one another. The swirling wisps of white made her mouth water. But with a smug smile on her phantom lips, Lyssa turned away and left their spirits untouched.

“Oh, wow!” Arlo was leaning back against the little hut she had been taken to. He was gasping up at the night sky was a dozy smile on his lips. “Oh… wow, Lyssa!”

“I cannot believe you let us do that!” Rian said with a chuckle. He came up against Lyssa’s back with his hands on her shoulders, and she leaned against him as he kissed her hair. “What a woman you are!”

She beamed. So nice of them to say so. This treatment was a lot nicer than dwelling in her own insecurity, as she had been for recent sleepless nights. “You enjoyed?” she teased.

“Oh, very much so!” Arlo answered with a vigorous nod. “F-Fancy another?”

“Hm? You have such reserves to spare?”

“U-Uh, well…”

“Your cohort won’t be leaving for the Black Palace tonight, surely,” said Rian, hugging her about her waist with his long arms. “If you need a place to sleep, we can provide that. The rates are very affordable.”

“May I take a guess?” she asked with a dutiful giggle. “Two rolls between the sheets, one for each of the dear boys I shall be sharing with.”

“You are so clever,” sighed Rian.

But Arlo was frowning. “Ry? Are you sure?” he asked in a hushed whisper. “If she is here in the morning, won’t that mean…?”

Lyssa couldn’t see Rian’s face to judge his reaction to this unusual remark. But she felt a guilty swallow travel from his throat and down his chest, pressed against her shoulder blades.

“Maybe if we wake early enough for her to leave before them, that won’t be a problem,” he said.

What was this about? Lyssa didn’t appreciate the pair having a conversation over her head, and she began to turn, ready to tell them so. But then, something exploded in the village centre. A sudden blast of sound, accompanied by a scattering of wooden debris. Rian stiffened around Lyssa, and Arlo spun about to try and catch the source of the noise.

“What was that?” Lyssa asked instead. “Is that an expected noise?”

The air shook with a new sound, the ferocious roar of a great beast. It sounded close, and it sounded incensed. People were screaming.

“N-No,” said Arlo. “I have no clue what that is!”

Lyssa peeled herself out of Rian’s shaking grip and made to approach the source of the sound.

“Lyssa, wait!” came Rian’s call at her back. “That sounds seriously fucking dangerous! We’d better hide!”

“A good suggestion for the two of you,” she said over her shoulder with what she hoped was a confident smile. “Do not worry about me. But I must find my friends. Together, we may be able to contend with this beastly intruder.”

The two boys stood close together, watching her with uncertain trepidation.

“Good luck…” said Rian. And then she left them behind.

Lyssa moved quietly between the wooden buildings of Slate. Every so often, the ground shook as the monstrosity attacked another structure. It yowled and snarled, ever out of sight. Lyssa had been sure she would have come across it by now. That she had not suggested it was far larger than she had initially surmised. But eventually, Lyssa’s advance halted. Morris was leading a group of panicking villagers away from the source of the commotion with a stern frown across his brow. He pointed, and the people ran for cover in obedience.

“Miss!” he bellowed on seeing her. “It is not safe here!”

“What is happening, Morris?” she asked him. “What is this beast that attacks us so?”

“A… A bear, I think,” he replied. “Only… I have seen nothing quite like it before. Please, if you aren’t going to hide, have you seen my daughter? I cannot find her, and I must… I-I must…!”

He was weeping. Lyssa placed her hands on his shoulders, her minimal strength a meagre gift of stability.

“I shall attend to the beast,” she told him. “And I shall find Marin. Worry not.”

“B-But…”

“Go!”

She pushed him away, and Morris retreated on shaking feet. Lyssa watched until he and the other villagers were out of sight between the buildings. Her smile surprised her. But this was her power, too. She could grant confidence where there had been none before. Her boldness made others feel bold. She held tightly to that conviction and advanced into the centre of Slate.

The place was in ruins. A stable off to one side of the main road had collapsed, its roof at an angle and hay sticking out of the mud all about it. Three small houses lay in pieces across the wide dirt of the road itself, and the remains of what may have been a smithy had been scattered to the wind. Lyssa saw no bodies, thank goodness. But she did see the bear.

If that was even what it was. Lyssa had no memory of seeing a bear before, but she did not believe that they were quite this size. The creature was easily ten feet tall from the pads of its front paws to the great slope of its shoulders. Its claws crunched stone under its impossible weight. The fur was black as night, so deep that Lyssa almost couldn’t see it in the gloom. And wet saliva dripped from its muzzle. It steamed as it hit the dirt.

Now, the beast was swinging its arms abound with wild abandon. As Lyssa watched, its mighty paws smashed into the side of the feasting hall and brought one of the walls tumbling. Packed straw from the roof hit the beast on its head, and it roared in frustration as it tore the bound stalks asunder. Shards of glass littered the wreckage where the thick windows had been shattered.

This had to end. Lyssa had no clue whether her powers worked on animals as well as humans. But she had to try. It would be another way that she could be a force for good and not evil. So she strode out into the centre of village with her heart hammering in her chest.

The creature saw her at once. It lowered its head as it turned to face her. Shining, dark eyes regarded her maliciously. And Lyssa flung up her arm in command.

“Stop!” she enchanted. “Sleep!”

The power left her. She felt its lightning tendrils shoot out and collide with the bear’s thick, black flank. And she saw its fur bristle in a long wave from its snout all the way along its back like it was being buffeted by a gust of wind. And Lyssa gasped as she saw her enchantment bounce harmlessly clear of the animal. As if it was already saturated with magic. And finally, Lyssa recognised the eyes that were staring balefully into her.

“Charisse?!”

The beast lunged. So fast! Lyssa couldn’t even think of leaping clear of its charge before its great weight barrelled into her. Lyssa screamed as something in her right leg snapped as she fell under the impact of the beast, but her cries broke off suddenly when the bear pressed its jaws around her throat. Lyssa was lifted and whipped about like a rag doll, then tossed across the road and into the wreckage of the smithy. There was blood on her face from cuts in her cheek, and her breathing was much more painful than it should have been. Lyssa stared up at the clouds, lying on her back in the pieces of Slate, and wondered what death would bring her.

The bear, Charisse in all his accursed majesty, loomed over her. His saliva drained across her chest, and his dark eyes bored curiously into her. He knew she was no threat. He could take his time devouring her. Charisse’s massive paws pressed into the earth on either side of her head, and his muzzle rubbed against her cheek as he took in her scent. Did he recognise her, perhaps? Through the haze of the dark inside him? Lyssa raised one weak hand and touched at his thick fur.

“Cha-…-risse?” she groaned through the pain.

The bear snarled. His claws raked the dirt beside her head.

“It is… well!” she told him. “Feel no guilt, m-my dear! This is another… another crime to lay… at the foot… of the Dark Lord. Not your burden to… to bear.”

Rage. She could see the rage burning in his eyes. A fury he’d been keeping back with such effort through the prayers of his friend. Peace. He needed peace. And Lyssa’s wounded mind wondered if she might be able to create that peace for him. Rage… was not so far from lust. The bandits of Ducal Rout had taught her that.

So, feeling ridiculous, she trailed her fingers down through Charisse’s fur. Down across the great swell of his belly. Down between his legs. And there he was. A thick rod, smooth where the fur ended at its base. A hanging pair of testes. Lyssa ran her hands over the terrifying organ with shaking compassion, and she laughed weakly.

“It is well,” she sang breathlessly. “It is well, Charisse. I know… that you always wanted this. You may have it now… You may…”

The bear was grinning at her, it seemed. His teeth were on full display. Lyssa could see his primitive mind tossing between hungers both visceral and carnal. She rubbed the length of his penis with coaxing, soft fingers. And slowly, he grew hard. He continued to grow, even when she was sure he was at the fullness of his length. She gulped.

“It… is well,” she told herself.

And then, he assaulted her. Lyssa’s bruised ribs screeched with pain as the full weight of the bear landed atop her. She was winded, her arm trapped against her stomach. But still she held to the creature’s immense cock. She rubbed it with her shaking hands. She willed it to climax from the depths of her heart.

No such luck. The beast had only just begun. He began to rut against Lyssa with savage pumps of his mighty hips. The firm tip of the organ punched against her thighs over and over, hard enough to bruise. Lyssa began losing the feeling in her fingers. She struggled to hold on. And all the while, the hem of her skirt became bunched up higher and higher.

“It is well…” she whispered to herself, drowning in the beast’s thick fur. Then she closed her eyes. She raised up her hips to meet the bear. And after a few more wild thrusts of his cock, he found her.

Lyssa let out a muffled yelp of pain as he entered her. This was no sweet, compassionate, human lover, taking her pleasure as their own. The bear cared only for himself. He used her with the full might of his strong body. He penetrated her as deeply as he wished to go, and he wished to go deep. Lyssa’s moans were frail and keening, sinking unheeded into the animal’s fur. And his rutting was joined with a low, rhythmic grumble that she felt as reverberations from his whole body. She felt it. She felt it, all across her skin. Inside the deepest parts of her. Lyssa held to her sanity tightly as she was mercilessly mounted by the animal. She willed herself to the very edge of her own consciousness in a bid to dull the pain. She pleaded from her very soul that he finish soon. Oculus, as always, said nothing.

In her fractured mind, Lyssa wondered at what horrors the Dark Lord could conjure up when she came face to face with him. Surely nothing would surpass this moment. Surely she would be jaded beyond Karaszen’s ability to hurt her. Perhaps that would make this well. That, and the safe recovery of her dear friend. Lyssa let her mind fill with thoughts of Charisse. His kind smile, his bravery. The sound of his voice, singing around their campfire. His unspent tears as he came across her in the bandit camp, the utter relief on his fair face at seeing her well. The way he cared for Claire in ways she likely didn’t see, brushing her hair as she slept or standing before her in the wind, shielding her with his body. Yes, if this brought him back to her, it would be well. It would be well indeed.

The bear came. His fluid was thick and heavy, and Lyssa felt a sensation of being smothered by it, drowning in it, even when it was so far from her mouth. It did not taste good. It tasted raw and vile. Untreated. Given unwillingly. The bear let out a cooing noise as he ejaculated inside and across her. As he coated her in his semen. His body shuddered as he concluded his mounting upon her.

And Lyssa opened her eyes to see, as expected, the shining bubble of Charisse in the depths of the animal’s spirit. It really was him. Charisse was the beautiful, wispy whiteness of clouds on a summer’s day, the sort you could draw pictures from. There, look, an owl! A sabre! Lyssa’s laughter was manic as she regarded the soul of her friend, as she recognised him down to his utmost depths.

But speckling his otherwise pristine form was darkness. The black of his curse was like the spotty blemishing of a pox. Charisse was covered in tarry cysts of shadow, all across his essence. And that bulbous excess had made Charisse larger than his bubble had the capacity to hold. His membrane strained to contain him. It was no wonder that he had to preserve himself so assiduously with prayer and mindfulness. Lyssa knew what she had to do. She had to diminish him.

She dove right in. Lyssa held her breath as she surrounded herself with Charisse’s essence. She refused to consume him. Not until she was ready. Reaching out with her fingers, Lyssa drew towards herself the specks of black amidst his wispy white. She gathered them up. Naturally, they stuck to him stubbornly. She couldn’t help but bring in some of Charisse himself with the darkness of his curse. And she couldn’t take it all, not in the time she had between blinks of an eye, the start of the bear’s climax and its winding down. She could only do what she had the time to do. She held tight to the curse and opened her mouth. She swallowed it down.

It was… an achingly familiar taste.

And then, she was out. Lyssa’s head spun, vision blurred and body aflame with pain. But she could breathe now. The dark lump blocking her vision was receding, reducing. She blinked her eyes a few times to rid herself of the blur. She could hear herself moaning madly, but she didn’t know how to stop that. Lyssa let her head loll onto her shoulder.

Charisse was weeping. He was naked, crouched atop her and between her legs with his face down at her chest. He looked as though he had been protecting her from a volley of arrows. He covered her wounded form and stained her dress, already thick with slobber, with his tears. His hair was loose, and it tickled her chin. Lyssa rose her hand, ignoring the shooting pain of her broken forearm, and rested it gently on his head. Her friend sobbed bitterly. And then he looked up. His smile was heartbreaking.

“It’s gone!” he declared. “Lyssa… It’s gone! I… am cured!”

She tried to smile in return, but it was difficult. Her face was numb with bruising. And she didn’t have the heart to explain to him the truth, in any case. That she hadn’t cured him. She had merely reduced his curse a little. A true cure would take time, and may never be possible. But for now, Charisse was crying with joy, and that was well. It was well.

Lyssa looked up. In the distance, a slender figure was peeking out from the wreckage of the stable. She recognised Marin by her blonde hair, since she didn’t recognise her mortified countenance at all. Marin had her hands over her mouth in shock. She looked ready to vomit.

And closer, one hand on her bleeding temple and the other holding a small fabric pouch of scented herbs, was Claire. Her eyes were hard as she regarded Lyssa and Charisse. She was not smiling. Lyssa couldn’t tell what she was feeling at all. She watched as Claire let Charisse’s joyful weeping wash over her, never touching her. Her fierce eyes were for Lyssa alone. Something like guilt flared briefly in Lyssa’s chest, and it was enough to push her over the edge. She passed out.

—

It was morning, and a rumbling could be heard emerging from the mountain pass to the east of Slate. Amidst the sun’s rays, muted by the angry clouds above the hills, a cart was approaching. The driver was cloaked in thick black, his hood covering his face. He drove the two horses leading the cart down the wide road and into the village proper. As he did, he looked about himself at the wreckage of the houses, the toppled rooves and the scattered belongings. As the cart came to a halt with the rattling jingle of the horses’ bridles, the Dark Adherent hopped down to the earth and shook his head slowly.

“What in the Gates of Hell happened here?” he wondered aloud.

Nobody had come to greet him, so he clapped his hands together. The covered rear of the cart fluttered open, and six brass-armoured ghouls landed in the mud with their weapons drawn. One way or another, the Dark Lord’s tithe would be collected. A bunch of young boys and girls, apparently. The Lord was building for himself a harem to occupy the new wing of his great palace.

But before the Adherent could command his squad to begin sweeping the ruins for survivors, a shape fell upon him and shoved him to the ground. Charisse’s axe shone in the meagre sunlight as he rose it up over his wailing victim, then brought it down. Once, twice, three times. The Adherent’s cries were mangled, then silenced.

The ghouls immediately lurched forward to attack the human warrior, but not before Lyssa hobbled forth from the cover of the ragged feast hall. Her face was a mask of scratching and bruising. She had one arm bandaged in a sling at her stomach. Her other, she rose towards the undead creatures.

“Fall on your swords!”

The monstrous soldiers did as they were told. They made no cries as they ended themselves, pierced by their own iron. Their bodies lay still in the dirt.

As Charisse and Lyssa made for the back of the cart, the former helping the latter up with an extended hand, Claire joined them from the feast hall. She pulled the tattered black cloak from the body of the Adherent and flung it around her own shoulders and over her head. Then she hopped up into the driving seat. The horses would have to cope with continuing their journey right away, as the trio had run out of time. Claire flicked the reins of the twin horses, and they obediently began the work of turning about on the road.

Before long, the carriage was making its way back into the shadow of the mountains, and the towards the looming shade of the Dark Lord’s palace.

pathoflyssa