Apocalypse Woman
Smashwords Edition
Except for use in promotional review, the reproduction or use of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, by technologies now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying, recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Dark Roast Press, Calumet City IL, 60409.
The story is fictional. Names, places and any similarity to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Apocalypse Woman Copyright © 2008 by Tyree Q. Kimber. All rights reserved.
Apocalypse Woman Cover Art © 2008 Juanita Campbell for Dark Roast Press
Smashword Edition, License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book & did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Darkroastpress.com & purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
To Melissa, My love, for supporting me and believing in this story no matter how crazy it got.
And to Els, for being the first to summon the Legion and allowing me to run free with it ever since.
Apocalypse Woman
By
Tyree Kimber
Chapter One
Selkines was nearing her thirtieth year of a lifetime at the court of King Angram when she realized that something needed to be done.
It was not that she was unhappy, far from it. The reign of Angram and his forefathers had brought unprecedented peace to the nation of Malanas. The barbarian tribes had all been subdued and many were even now being integrated. Clever political brokering had even managed to shield the lush and prosperous nation from the predations of the dreaded Vonacean Empire far to the south. Even the lowliest of Malanasian peasants now lived in something approaching luxury compared to those in neighboring countries and Selkines was certainly no peasant. No, it was nothing like that.
Selkines had been born into the court, the daughter of a minor official, but unlike the courts of the pagan Vonaceans, the court of Malanas was no place for an ambitious woman. In contrast with many of her peers, her well-meaning father had taught her to read things beyond the sacred texts of Aaratricon. He had shown her teachings both natural and more than natural: the written wisdom of ages not viewed as fit for a woman to know. In Malanas a daughter of a minor noble had but two choices if she wished to advance: a career in the Aratriconion Church or a carefully orchestrated marriage. The former Selkines would not contemplate and the latter, no one, it seemed, would contemplate for her.
Oh, her family had tried. For years and years they had tried. But no one wanted a literate bride—an opinionated bride. Anyone who did was either too important to be allowed someone as unimportant as Selkines or else not important enough for Selkines herself to be inclined to accept. Such was the case with Erasmus Archaty, a poet and playwright eight years her junior and too stupid to realize he was only kept at court so his abysmal writings could be giggled at behind his back. But now that he seemed to daily plague Selkines with a new sonnet in praise of her attributes, she was no longer among the ones laughing. Yet Erasmus was the least of Selkines’ worries. A besotted poet she could have handled on her own, but there was more. As she furtively rushed along the darkened cathedral-style halls of Angram’s palace, constantly fearful that she would be seen, it seemed she could sense the trap closing in around her.
She was running out of time.
That Archbishop Giovannica wanted Selkines for the priesthood was no secret. A marriage to the Church could be brokered against a woman’s will as surely as any other marriage if the offer was impressive enough. And while Selkines’ father was not the sort of man who would do that to her, Giovannica now had the king on her side. This afternoon she had seen the three of them together in the stained glass light of the throne hall, the bishop and king speaking patiently, her father nodding reluctantly. At one point Giovannica’s dark, sinister eyes had caught her with a penetrating gaze, and the smile on that woman’s lips had never touched those dark, cruel eyes.
Selkines quickened her step. For too long her choice had been one of idleness and that choice would cost her if she did not act now. There was a fourth choice, one beyond that of a queen’s lady in waiting, a mediocre playwright’s bride, or a cloistered Church scribe—a choice which none knew of save her. Her father had taught her too well, had taught her to dig too deep. And dig she had, into things of which he would never have approved.
Selkines checked the contents of her basket for the fifth time. She raised to her lips the copper medallion that was capital merely to possess, whispered a prayer unlawful even to know, and shouldered her way out into the nighttime of the castle courtyard.
Other beings could hear prayer besides Aratricon—darker, forbidden, and apostate, yet willing to grant their favors to those with the courage to ask. Abryax, the fallen god whose symbol of intersecting lines and arcs Selkines now wore between her breasts had been Selkines’ patron for ten of her twenty-nine years. Alone and in secret she had sacrificed and prayed with never the courage to test the dark angel’s true power until now. As she neared the imposing gates, her terror and paranoia welling, Selkines felt a strange sense of being alive. No matter what this night would bring, Selkines would have no regrets. She had finally made a choice. The guards at the gate had been bribed well not to remember her passing. Now she could only pray they kept her secret. Anna, the kitchen maid had eyed her curiously while handing her the supplies she needed. Now she could only pray the aging scullion would think nothing untoward of it. So much that could go wrong. So much… Selkines’ heart soared in relief when, after nearly an hour of walking through the hills she found the hidden pyre arranged right where she had left it this morning. It had not been found and could not be seen from the castle. Nothing to stop her now. It was time.
Dousing the dry sticks with oil, Selkines flared them to life with the spark of a flint. After consecrating the fire with various herbs, she slipped out of her gown of burgundy velvet and called Abryax’s name aloud as she gently ran her scythe-like knife over her lean, curving body. She lost herself in meditative ecstasy, chanting unholy mantras as she painted her naked white flesh in swirling sigils of deepest blue woad. She felt not even the slightest regret or squeamishness as she took the small cage from within the basket, took the young quail from the cage, and slit its throat. She experienced something amazing as she let the quail’s hot blood drench her hands and her mouth: purpose.
In that hidden vale, with the moon dark and her sins unseen, Selkines began to dance, or, perhaps it should be said, to writhe for her patron’s pleasure. It seemed to go on forever, a chaotic series of movements, the best of which were utterly obscene. Yet Selkines continued for what seemed like hours, continued until sweat coated every inch of her painted body and her lithe muscles ached. All the while, she prayed, raggedly chanting dark words until her lungs burned and it seemed the voice was not her own. And then, after it seemed an eternity had passed, with a gesture as vile as it was climatic, the dark dance ended.
Selkines fell to her knees in the dirt, flanks heaving, body glistening, and all silent save for the crackling of the fire. She was utterly exhausted and yet terribly aroused. In truth, the level of sexual hunger she felt was unprecedented, almost painful. Alone with no one to see and no one to stop her, it took all of the willpower she had not to send one hand seeking a pert breast, the other the damp cleft between her thighs, and begin a frenzied effort to release this alien tension playing havoc upon her body and soul. But no, at all costs, she must wait. Still, no sounds came to her except the licking of the flames. But the ritual had to have worked. He had to have heard her entreaty. He must come!
Nothing. Silence. Selkines’ heart grew heavy and her loins, ever more impatient. All in vain, then. Her cry had gone unheard. Now, truly, she was alone. And then the fire changed.
First, the bright, blinding white of burning magnesium, then the livid green of burning copper, then, the yellow of a sulphurous cloud. The flames changed, and changed again. And then he was among them. Instantly averting her eyes, Selkines caught only the barest glimpse, but Abryax burned in her memory like the fires of his eyes which sifted in patterns identical to those of the bonfire consecrated to him. Much taller than a man, the demon stood, its limbs and body clothed in a living blackness which seemed to devour all light that touched it. Its masculine face was handsome beyond measure, even in spite of its bone-white skin, small horns, and the bottomless flaming sockets of its eyes. Its - no, his - beauty in all its unholiness was frightening to behold. The hunger in Selkines’ loins silently cried out to him and her body trembled.
Abryax emerged from the shifting fire and was immediately before her. Selkines did not dare raise her eyes. What had she done? What would the fallen one demand of her?
An elegant, clawed hand extended languidly toward her and took her by the chin, forcing her to meet the bottomless, beautiful hell of her demon’s eyes. Those endless, colorful fires pulled her in, entrapping her in an enchantment of lust. It seemed the price would be exactly as she’d expected. Very well. The lust in her body, already unbearable, now redoubled tenfold at the demon’s command. Almost of their own volition, Selkines’ hands now moved to her most sacred regions and a blasphemous dance of a new kind now began.
Still cupping only her face in his hand, Abryax raised his acolyte to behold him face to face. All her life, Selkines realized, she had been waiting for him. No earthly husband offered to her had ever been good enough, and now she knew why. Her fingers continued to play out their ode to him between her legs. She must finish her sacrifice to him. Now!
Stop.
Despite her body’s silent wail of frustration, Selkines obeyed the mental command without question, easing her hands to her sides and making tight fists to prevent their wandering. The demon placed his hands upon her shoulders to steady her trembling, then placed his mouth against hers and let her taste his long, forked tongue. To say that Abryax kissed better than any mortal lover Selkines had known would still not do justice. The touch of his mouth electrified her skin and made the runes adorning her body seem like living engines of pure pleasure. The passion of his inhumanness was too much for her. So much easier to let him take control…
Lie down.
Emerging from a stupor, Selkines realized the demon was lowering her to the ground, for as his foot-long tongue played upon her face, neck and breasts, she had lost the ability to stand. Lying exposed before the beast, who now stood coldly watching her, Selkines felt aware for the first time of her nakedness. She could feel the demon in her mind, felt him sense her shame and knew that it was pleased to see her debased so.
The thought was madly arousing.
Spread yourself. And open yourself to me.
A wild surge of excitement, fear, and lust pulsed through Selkines’s body. A being who had defied Aratricon to his face at the dawn of time now desired her! But what would such a coupling be like? What would it do to her? Would she even survive?
There was only one way to find out.
Slowly, she spread for him and with tentative hands, carefully parted her lips to reveal the glistening inner surfaces of her flower. Abryax leered with almost menacing delight.
The fires of his eyes turned bright green. His cloak of pure darkness engulfed the ground like a living jellyfish as he knelt between her legs. Shame turned her cheeks red with humiliation as she heard his animal-like sniffing. So rare. So sweet, his dark, whispered voice said of the musky aroma enshrouding her loins. And it has been so long… Daring to sneak a glance, Selkines watched his forked, prehensile tongue extend again - all twelve inches of it. The unearthly appendage shot into her, lazily twisting and writhing to drag in the rest of its length. Selkines spasmed.
Unnatural pleasure blossomed from the inhuman thing gently dancing within her. Her pleasured gasps seemed like thunder in her ears as the tongue’s forked ends explored her tender insides independently of one another, gesticulating and inscribing like the hands of a witch summoning forth a demonic orgasm from her dark abyss. Abryax’s pleased murmur seemed to shake the earth itself as he savored her taste. Carefully lowering his head further so that the base of his tongue now pressed against her hardened pearl, Abryax let the entire appendage slowly contract and release so that he rubbed her pearl while simultaneously fucking her deep. Selkines realized she was crying aloud with each licking stroke, her back and hips lifting off the ground. She wanted to shout obscene encouragements as she would for a mortal lover, but what does one say to a fallen angel? She had never felt or imagined such pleasure. The two of them were one flesh—one pushing, pulsing, obscene organ and she wanted to come for him. In her next breath she would. She could not stop it. Yes! Now!
He stopped—and the engine of her pleasure ground to a halt. Biting her tongue in frustration, Selkines tried to regain her breath and waited. She must remember she was here to serve his pleasure and not her own. She must wait… The tongue withdrew from her - had it really been inside her so deep? - And Abryax crawled without moving so that he was now over her body. She now had no choice but to behold his beautiful and horrible face.
Yes. Very sweet.
His tongue, still extended, lowered itself to her lips and she sucked it obediently. She closed her eyes in bliss as she sucked drops of her own nectar from the forked tip. It did taste sweet.
Abryax shifted so that he came to straddle her. His darkness flowed around and engulfed her lower body but she felt nothing. It was no more than air. The demon’s eyes began to pulse orange and she sensed what was about to happen. But that did not prevent her gasp of awe as his curving, erect phallus slid forth from the blackness of his body. It resembled that of a man in every way save two. First, that it was as black and shining as polished obsidian. Second, that it was nightmarishly large. So large that Selkines’ natural instinct was to draw back in horror, but to do so could invoke his wrath. There was no mistaking it: her pleasure was over and pain unimaginable would now begin.
The demon lowered himself over her. Selkines cringed as his tongue slithered upon her throat and face, now as alien and unwelcome as a serpent. She could feel his terrible member at her gates, which he began to force open with a series of thrusts. The pain hit her like lightning, if lightning could stand in one place and dance destruction forever. One grueling inch at a time, he made his way, her body stretching involuntarily to hold him. This could not work! She had to break, had to tear, and surely it would happen any moment! If she could just black out, if she could only faint and miss her own sundering… She could take no more. Not caring if she lived or died, she cried out and meekly begged him to stop. His eyes flashed red. Surely now, she thought, he would kill her.
“P-please, my lord,” she whispered, hating the soundof it as tears streaked her face. “P-please s-stop… H-hurts…”
Abryax’s eye sockets burned a soothing yellow. His face grew gentle. With a clawed hand he lovingly brushed her sweaty, dark blonde bangs away from her eyes. And
within her she could feel him change. The pain subsided and vanished as the obsidian organ decreased in size, assuming the proportions of that of a normal man, if a rather well-endowed one. The pain was a memory now. Now it felt rather nice. No, rather good. It definitely was begging to feel very, very good.
I sometimes forget how sensitive your kind is, he explained in her mind. Forgive me.
Selkines blinked. A demon asking a human for forgiveness?
I may be a demon, he replied, reading her surface thoughts. But I am not a monster. Are you ready to continue?
Awed by his considerateness and pleasured by his flesh, Selkines sighed deeply and wrapped her arms around him. There was, it turned out, a body of flesh and muscle beneath the inky black cloud. Supple, wonderful muscle. “Yes, my lord.”
With an authoritative thrust, Abryax buried himself in her, parting the tight, wet walls within her like grass before a scythe. Quickly, the roaring of the fire was drowned out by her groans, his snarls, and the wet, percussive sound of his fist-sized balls slapping against her.
Enraptured, Selkines threw her long legs around his monstrous body and dug her nails into his demonic skin. His tongue had been the most wonderful thing she had ever felt but it was nothing compared to this. He did not tire. He swayed, and thrust so that she never knew what pleasurable sensation her loins would feel next. His mighty hands clutched and groped, his tongue explored her. As she was thrashed about by the fucking, Selkines caught a glimpse of the ground several inches beneath her. They were floating above it.
The orgasms Selkines had been repressing all night now fought their way out of her one by one. She could feel liquid pouring from her ravaged cunt in surges, flowing down his pounding member to hang suspended from his balls before dripping to the earth below. She could not help screaming. Let the entire countryside hear and see that she served the power of Abryax!
The demon’s snarl had grown to a roar. He was close to the end, which was well, for Selkines did not have much left. With a final potent squeeze of her legs, Selkines let her final and most powerful orgasm out of her body, coating his unholy instrument in one final wash of nectar.
Abryax groaned in satisfaction and the two of them descended to the ground. Triumphantly, he withdrew from her and clutched his member, the shiny surface of which now glistened like mercury with her come. Straddling Selkines, he wielded the curving member like a weapon, swollen and priapic. Selkines watched in fascination as the glassy flesh rippled with his forceful strokes. Then, with sounds of pleasure that were surprisingly human, the demon Abryax began to ejaculate.
Not daring to avoid it, Selkines offered her belly to receive several strong spurts of thick semen. And where the droplets hit, they burned. Selkines yelped in horror at the rising steam and the smell of her own charred flesh. But something even stranger kept her attention: the splatters of seed ran and merged together of their own accord, running like quicksilver over her flat stomach to singe a precise arrangement of arcs and intersecting lines. The pain subsided; soon as the last of the semen bubbled away and left Selkines staring in awe at the symbol of Abryax, identical to the pendant around her neck, which would now scar her flesh forever.
Abryax’s member had been concealed again. Instantly composing himself, the demon stood. His voice took on a formal tone in her mind.
Thou hast sacrificed and been found worthy. Thou hast been accepted and marked by my seed. Mine art thou, now to command. Yours be I, now to obey. The favors you ask shall be given, and the price I ask shall be paid. Look for me when the moon doeth wax anew.
And then he was simply no longer there.
The fire was dying. It was still some time before Selkines found the strength to stand. In the pyre’s decaying light she admired the sacred disfigurement which lay red and raw upon her belly. Gathering up her dress and her basket, she began to walk naked in the direction of the castle. She would dress before she reached it. For now, she would enjoy the cool breeze as it soothed her skin. She had acted. For the first time, she had decided her own course. Placing complete faith in her bare feet to find the way back home in the moonless night, Selkines felt a pang of regret for poor Erasmus and any other would-be suitors.
For surely they could never please her now. She had made her choice.
Chapter Two
“I tell you the truth,” Archdeacon Farlgh hissed.“There is poison now at the heart of Angram’s realm and if we do not act a disaster will occur!”
Giovannica LaRotte, Archbishop of the royal province - and colloquially known to her flock simply as Archbishop Giovannica - listened impassively to her advisor’s frantic words as she stared from her seat of office into the empty cathedral. He was about to say more, but she shushed him with a twitch of a slender finger. She had that effect.
Rising to her feet and hefting her crosier, Giovannica silently stepped forth to the altar to contemplate Farlgh’s words. A tall, willowy woman of forty-one with her silvering black hair shorn close, Giovannica’s stature, combined with the peculiar agelessness of her face, had never made it difficult for her to command authority over others. Married to the Church while yet a child, her ascent to her present rank had been an effortless one and she had grown used to be being obeyed. Which was why she always appreciated the older archdeacon’s frankness.
But this news came at a terrible time. She had enough worries right now. The prodigious scholar Selkines Ondiné was resisting all efforts to woo her to a nunnery and there were no less than four of the Aratriconian Church’s holiest feasts to prepare for over the span of the next month. What he was saying could not have come at a worse time. For such an ill omen to occur so near the four Trials of Mephibis, Aratricon’s son, surely betided grave occurrences in the spiritual world indeed.
“Tell me again,” the archbishop said calmly.
“A shepherd found it this morning and reported it to the king’s soldiers,’ said Archdeacon Farlgh. “The remains of a bonfire in the hills not two leagues from the castle but hidden well out of sight. Erratic footprints disturbed the earth, as though of someone wildly dancing. Drops of blood on the ground, and in the ashes of the fire, the bones of a small bird.”
“A beast of the air, bled to death and offered in the fire,” Giovannica said dispassionately. “A common mark of an amateur’s sabbat. And you say it was then that one of the boy’s sheep fell ill?”
“Fell ill and died!” Farlgh’s lips looked like a ghastly pale apparition beneath his thick mustache and beard. “The youngest lamb of the flock, blood pouring out its ears.”
“And did you double check about the other occurrences? I need facts, Gaustus Farlgh, not peasants’ wild second and third-hand rumors.”
“It is still early, your eminence,” Farlgh said more calmly. “I have only been able to confirm two so far. But still, that is two of five reported instances of calves being stillborn in one night! And none of the mothers known to be pregnant!”
When Giovannica did not speak immediately, Farlgh gently pressed the issue. “If a child of the Legion has been summoned then you know what power will be needed against it. If the Abomination Against Love has been committed, if a Haborym is here in the flesh, then you know what must be done—”
“Such has not been done in three lifetimes!”Giovannica spat, rounding on him. “Because people kept their heads and did not jump at devils behind every shrub! We do not call upon the power lightly.” She punctuated this last point by tapping her staff with the carved heart and sword of Aratricon in his direction. “To do so is anathema. Which is why we must be sure.” She turned away, gazing into the stained glass void above the empty pews once again. “Contact each local parish. Speak with the king’s seneschals and bailiffs. Find out if any other anomalies occurred last night and report them to me. But tell no one what we suspect until I say it is time.”
“As your eminence commands.” Archdeacon Farlgh kissed her ring and left the Church nave through the choristers’ door, leaving Archbishop Giovannica LaRotte alone with her bleak thoughts. The Trials of Mephibis, a summoning from Legion, and Selkines Ondiné steadfastly refusing to come under her wing. She wanted to believe it all coincidence, but knew that once the spiritual battle between good and evil began there was no such thing.
888
Stamping through the palace hallway with her skirts hiked up so as not to trip on them, Selkines hurried to reach the parlor where the queen customarily received guests and friends during the afternoon. It had been near dawn by the time she’d finished scrubbing the blue woad from her body and crawled into bed. She’d had to plead sickness to get out of helping the rest of the ladies with sewing and spinning, but did not wish to draw attention by lying ill the entire day. She still had not slept enough and it showed in the dark circles beneath her eyes.
The wounds on her abdomen burned as her bodice ground her garments against them, a constant reminder of what should truly occupy her mind. Ah, well, keeping up appearances was crucial as well. A few hours of pleasantly nodding along to the ladies’ gossip and inane babble and then she could return to her books and her devotions and the contemplation of her new supernatural alliance…
“Lady Ondiné!”
Selkines froze, grinding her teeth at the sound of the pleasant male voice which issued from behind her. Gradually, she turned to see the stupidly grinning, bony form of Erasmus Archaty. Clad in a cap, leggings and doublet of deepest purple and two years out of fashion. Selkines’s eyes fell to the folded, wax-sealed parchment in his large, bony hands and her heart sank. Another love poem, no doubt.
“Master Archaty,” she said, forcing a pleasant tone. “I am afraid I cannot talk right now. I fear last night’s repast took issue with me this morning and now I am late to attend upon My Lady, the Queen. You’ll forgive me—”
“Oh, just a moment of your time, please,” said the young author, trotting up to her and masking nervousness with eagerness. “First, let me say how radiantly beautiful your ladyship looks.”
“I am afraid you are mistaken. I did not sleep well and it shows. Now, if you’ll excuse me, truly I must go.”
“Please, just a moment. The king will be holding a masque on the eve of the Trial of Staves two days from now and I’ve just completed a song to be sung for the occasion.” Judging by the way that he fidgeted with the parchment, Selkines presumed it must be the lyric in question.
“I’m sure it’s lovely and I look forward to hearing it. Now really I must—”
Erasmus dropped all pretense of eagerness and the fear of rejection shone plain upon his face. “Actually, I was hoping you would do me the honor of singing it at the
masque.”
Selkines stood blank-faced, not knowing what to say. Erasmus continued, pressing the sealed missive into her hand. “It’s just that everyone knows how beautifully you sing - the hymn you sang at last Tamsinsmas was so moving - and, well, I honestly can’t think of anyone better suited. If you don’t want to, I understand. I can find someone else. Really. But at least, please, keep this copy as a token of my esteem for your wonderful voice.”
Selkines fumbled for words. “I don’t—”
“Oh please, please just think it over.” He took gentle hold of her wrists. “Please, just say you’ll read it and think it over for one night. It’s to be sung to the tune of ‘Merlens in the Gyre’ which I know you know. It’s only the words that are different. Will you think it over? Please?”
Selkines had no time for this foolishness, less now than ever before. But a strange sense of bewildered flattery spared him the rough side of her tongue, though not for lack of trying on her part. In the end she managed only to say, “You are very kind, Erasmus. I’ll think about it. But I must go.”
“Oh thank you, Selkines. Lady Ondiné. Thank you! I know you’ll like it, I know!”
Still groveling in gratitude, he vanished back down the intersecting hallway whence he had first appeared. But Selkines, for all her protestations of tardiness stood rooted to the spot, staring at the thing in her hands. How was Erasmus always finding her at the worst possible times? And what had she gotten herself into by accepting the cursed thing in the first place?
Shaking her head in tired dismay, Selkines folded and tucked the slip into her bodice, ignoring the stinging it delivered to her burns. She began walking again and cast Erasmus out of her thoughts. He was another problem for another time.
888
Afternoon drifted into evening and Erasmus Archaty lay awake in his underclothes, daydreaming of Selkines. From reading his love-filled poems and comedic plays, no one would have guessed Erasmus to be an unhappy, lonely man, but he was. True, he had comfort and security in service to the king, but his cramped room in the side of one of the castle’s turrets - little more than a servant’s room-- revealed the esteem in which he was truly held. He did not complain, mind you. He had done far better for himself than he ever could have hoped. But his friends were few. And his position - little better than a royal novelty - was unstable at the very best.
It wouldn’t have all seemed so dire with Selkines by his side. He longed for her to be his friend. He thought regretfully of all the poems he had written her in an effort to melt her icy heart, all met by the same cold, vapid response.
Why did he bother? He should have just given up by now. But he couldn’t stop thinking about her. The more he tried, the more she occupied his mind.
And thinking about her now had made his manhood grow erect. Guilt began to gnaw at him. He knew where this was heading, but it did not stop him. He imagined kissing her. He thought of her throwing her arms around him, still holding his latest poem - the source of all her unbridled joy in her hand. He imagined her pressing her warm, soft body against him in gratitude and desire, and he began to finger his cock through the thin cloth that covered it.
Perhaps what kept him coming back to her was that he knew she did not truly hate him. Selkines acted aloof, but he doubted she could really hate anyone. She was only acting in accordance to the way she had been treated by the world. If only he could convince her there were people who genuinely wanted to treat her differently…
In his mind’s eye, she toppled onto the bed with him, the velvet of her dress spreading over his body, her delicate hands pinning his arms, then holding his face as she kissed him with her mercurial, expressive mouth. Her blue eyes filled with anticipation as those same delicate hands guided him to her torso. She then waited, barely breathing and tense with anticipation as he tugged at the lacing of her bodice…
It was plain to see why people mistrusted Selkines. Women resented her and men disdained her, all because she was smarter than they were. How foolish! How childishly, stupidly cruel. Erasmus would gladly welcome a woman such as her, one so much wiser than he was himself. He knew he was naïve. How wonderful would be the companion who could teach him, help him become more like her in wisdom and in knowledge. And in return he would fawn on her, lavish her…
…Take her, ravish her, feel her naked shoulders with his hands as she pulled his leggings down, grip her hair and guide her up and down as her lips - the first lips ever to touch it - consumed his prick. Up and down…
Also infuriating was how so many seemed to think Selkines was no great beauty. Or at best, an average beauty now beginning to fade. What did they know? Where they saw scrawniness, he saw delicate harmony. Where they saw a hard face, he saw regality. Where they saw the slight fading of age, he saw maturity. And how could anyone not fall into the depths of such boundless blue eyes? Such a lovely, delicate mouth…
…Kissing his shaft, sucking his balls. Her narrow fingers caressing the back of it, rubbing it slowly all over her face, smearing it with her saliva, coaxing glistening drops of his juice forth; drops to which she would extend her soft, pink tongue and savor their saltiness. Her beautiful hand would reach out and extend those white-skinned, blue-veined fingers around his dark-skinned, blue-veined shaft and begin to pull it back and forth. All the while, that priceless tongue of hers would continue to lap at the tip, using her skill to make his body react in ways he didn’t know it was capable of.
“Selkines!” he would hear himself beg. “Selkines, I’m going to come!”
“I want you to come,” she would purr, her lips less than a centimeter from his member’s pulsing tip. “I want you to come all over my face…”
…Face it. Selkines had suffered terribly at King Angram’s court and had nothing to show for it save the devotion of a third-rate bard. That was why he had written her the song, to elevate her beauty beyond his own eyes and force the others to see it. Her voice could stop the hands of time. He had seen it. And if the singer found favor, then perhaps the author would too. People would talk about how remarkably well they worked together, how their talents complemented one another. And if she began to hear it from others, then maybe, just maybe, Selkines would see it herself.
Erasmus had long since revealed his phallus and was stroking it very rapidly now. Yes. Oh yes. Selkines was on the bed now, on her hands and knees. Naked. Him behind her, also naked, her saliva drying on his purple organ. Lightly, she arched her back to him, presenting her glistening, swollen sex in silent entreaty. He tried desperately to imagine the feeling of her cunny as he gingerly guided himself in.
He placed both hands on her buttocks. There was a soft, slick, sucking noise as his inexperienced phallus explored her womanly depths for the very first time.
“Oh, Erasmus, I have waited for this!”
And he would tell her the truth. “So have I.” He pushed deeply into her, down to the root. Seeing she found it pleasurable, he did so twice. A third time. Again. Faster, until his hand and his mind worked together in one rapid tempo.
In his vision Selkines moaned and wailed her way to higher and higher vistas of pleasure until she came by the power of his thrusting tool alone. She knew how beautiful she was now. At last she knew she was wanted and adored…
Just a little more now. The image changed. Selkines on her back now, receiving him. Her mesmerizing blue eyes adored him, amazed by him. They closed and tightened as an uncontrollable climax arrived, delivered to her by the power of his adoration. Her arms tightened around him, drawing her dear lover near as they both enjoyed his potent release.
Not losing his rhythm at all, Erasmus reached behind his head and drew a handkerchief from the nightstand and wrapped it around his straining member. He rolled onto his side, gasping and squeezing the handkerchief tightly to catch the hot drippings his fantasy had reaped.
As he lay in silence, recovering, Erasmus felt a stab of shame. It was wrong of him to think of her in such a way. A goddess among women such as Selkines deserved better. But he could not help it.
Erasmus stood up and went to the washstand to clean himself and to rinse out the handkerchief for future use, an occurrence which he already both dreaded and desired all at once. But it would be dinnertime soon and he had best put in an appearance, lest the king ask him to provide some mirth. Perhaps Selkines would be there. Perhaps she might even give him an answer.
Oh, how he hoped she liked the song!
888
Most of the unmarried ladies slept two or three to a room. To her great relief, Selkines had long ago managed to acquire her own private chamber. It was little better than a servant’s closet of a room, but it was enough to contain her bed, her books, and it even boasted a small fireplace, which she now kindled. It was enough to make her happy. And most importantly of all, it gave her the privacy demanded by her unpopular religious preferences.
Ostensibly, the reason for granting her the room had been delicate health, but that had simply been a lie she had created. Selkines’s health was quite robust. The real reason, demon worship aside, had simply been because Selkines could not live peaceably in close quarters with other women. Cramped conditions grated at her; a lack of personal space turned her into an abominable shrew. Needless to say, afternoons in the parlor like this one were a monstrous test of her patience.
The queen had held court an hour longer than usual. Visitors were arriving from all over for the upcoming Feasts of the Four Trials and today had seen Queen Llylnir entertaining some dowager great aunt, a duchess from Nillicarri. The babble had been tedious and graphic, in keeping with the Nillicarrin reputation for coarse manners: everything from courtly ladies’ scandalous usage of Vonacean contraceptives to how many times a Nickturri man should spit when announcing a blood feud. Selkines had thought it would never end. At least she had been able to avoid the evening’s dinner by pleading an ill stomach once again.
Finally, she had made it back to her room where she could think. Abryax. He was no longer just some faceless ideal of badness that she worshipped out of silent rebellion against the way the world was. He was real. He was watching her. She’d had him inside her body. With his sperm he had marked her forever.
What would he do next? How would he solve her problems? What would he take from her in return? Selkines had been unlacing her bodice as she pondered these thoughts. She made to pull it off and a wrinkled piece of folded parchment fluttered to the stone floor. Puzzled, she picked it up and caught sight of Erasmus’seal in the wax. Now she remembered what it was. That fool with his blasted scribblings. It was bad enough he planned to make a fool of himself at the banquet with his worthless doggerel but now he wanted to make a fool of her, too!
Well, what harm was there in humoring the little knave? Selkines’s life had been terribly devoid of humor lately.
Stripping down to her shift, she stretched out on her bed, broke the seal, and began to read. After a few lines she found herself reading faster in surprise. The song was actually quite good!
The song told of a lord and a lady out falconing. It seemed to be the same story as Merlens in the Gyre, except told from the falconers’ point of view rather than the pageboy’s - yet in the middle section it veered to introduce a miracle where the couple experienced a vision of Aratricon’s son, Mephibis. It was an intriguing, thoughtful tale, all things considered. She found it hard to believe Erasmus had written it, but then again perhaps there was merely something he was good at after all. A pity that with her soul sworn to Legion she could never sing a song in praise of Mephibis. It could be deadly to her for all she knew.
Unless she could bring something corrupt out of it, of course. Maybe that would be acceptable. But did she dare try and risk fanning the flames of Erasmus’s attraction? Or worse, did she risk incurring Abryax’s jealousy? That could be a thousand times worse than praising his Heavenly enemies. But if she could get away with it, it would be fun. Delightfully fun.
Pulling her shift up past her belly and making her burns visible, Selkines reached between her legs and began to flick her erect pearl. She imagined standing before Erasmus in his room, his face expectant, and the lyrics in her hand. “I will sing this for you,” she would say. “On one condition.”
“Anything,” he would say as she placed a hand under his chin and drew him near.
“Eat my pussy.”
Selkines’s fingers were soon drenched in nectar. Sweat poured off her body. Angrily, she paused to yank the shift off over her head and hurl it to the floor before attacking her pearl again. Her hand became Erasmus’s mouth and tongue. And with her hand, she manipulated his image like a puppet on strings. She had him in every position a woman could receive the tongue of a man. He would do it all in real life if she asked him to, even the final combination of her riding his face while she watched him jerk off all over his own belly. If Selkines asked him he would do it. What a fool he was.
Her loins sang in appreciation as the member she imagined him to possess spat come all over his muscular stomach, a sticky silver rope of it trailing from the beet colored head to his waist. And she would reward him with growling moans and a final mouthful of nectar, just as she did now even though there was no mouth beneath her to receive it.
And then she would stand before the gentry in their costumes and sing like an angel. Erasmus would stand in the back of the hall, shuffling his feet and looking at the floor.
Selkines exhaled and her rationality returned. It brought with it guilt. Even for Abryax she could not do such a thing. Erasmus Archaty was an innocent and genuinely nice man. He was also a tactless stumblebum, but that did not merit such cruelty as she’d just imagined. There were other souls to corrupt, should it ever be asked of her, others who deserved it more. Let Erasmus keep his idealism and his kind impression of her. Legion’s victory would be complete someday. No harm in letting some good exist in the world while it could.
Nevertheless, her singing the song at the masque was out of the question. She walked over to the hearth and was about to drop the parchment into the fire when a knocking at the door startled the thought out of her mind. “Hold!” she said.
Carelessly discarding the song on top of her writing desk, she stooped to retrieve her shift and struggle back into it. Who could be calling on her? The ladies all thought her to be ill and not wishing to be disturbed. It was probably Erasmus coming to plague her for an answer. Wonderful. Exactly what she needed. She would simply have to tell him she could not sing and that was final.
The visitor knocked again with impatient force. “Hold, I said!” Irritably, she yanked a gown from the closet and threw it over herself. Erasmus was too polite. He would not pound on the door like that. Something was wrong.
An icy sliver of fear caressed her back as she drew the bolt of the door. The sliver dug deeper as she opened the thick wooden door to reveal a plump, middle-aged woman with a blue kerchief covering her long, brown hair. It was Anna, the kitchen worker who had procured the herbs for her the night before.
Selkines put on her cool demeanor, refusing to let her worry show. “Yes?”
“I need to speak with you. It is urgent.” There was a stern tone in the woman’s voice that Selkines did not like. And though Selkines knew nothing about the servant besides her name, she had never heard her fail to address a noble with an honorific.
“I cannot speak right now. I am ill. Please go away.” Selkines tried to shut the door but Anna forced her body into the portal.
“You have no idea what you’ve done, you reckless, impudent girl!”
Selkines’s jaw dropped in indignation. “How dare you speak to me this way! And how dare you force your way into my chamber! Leave at once or I shall call for the guards!”
Anna’s brown eyes narrowed as she fixed Selkines with an unmerciful stare. “I know where you were last night and I know what you did!”
“I needed herbs to make a broth for my stomach. Now go or I—”
“You don’t need to fear me, Selkines Ondiné. But there are those whom you do need to fear and they will be looking for you.” The servant’s expression had not changed. Selkines did not know what to do. She couldn’t even make herself intervene when Anna shut the door and bolted it gain.
“Perhaps I had better explain from the beginning.” Slowly, almost theatrically, Anna drew her work blouse out of her skirt and pulled it up and over the fair flesh of her abdomen. There upon the soft, wide belly, in faded pink scars, stood the seal of Abryax.
Stunned, Selkines had to reach out for the bedpost in order to remain standing. She couldn‘t believe it. All she managed to croak out was, “You have been with him too…?”
“Many years ago,” Anna said, looking suddenly tired. “When I was young and foolish just like you. That’s how I knew why you chose the herbs you did. That’s how I recognized the signs of your careless handiwork.”
Selkines had to sit down on the bed. “Careless handiwork? What do you mean?”
Anna began stalking the floor in impatient fury. “You summoned him right in the shadow of the castle, you stupid chit! Why not summon him in the king’s audience hall while you’re at it! There are repercussions, Selkines!”
“What kind of repercussions?”
“You mean you haven’t heard?”
Having slept all morning and been nowhere but the queen’s receiving room, Selkines had heard nothing except ladies’ gossip and told Anna so.
“Abominations, Selkines! Unnatural occurrences such as always accompany the summoning of a part of the Legion. Stillborn calves, fish falling from the sky. Healthy plants withering in an instant. And only a few hours ago, the bodies of three men found in a ditch, their bodies drained of blood and their faces completely torn off!”
Selkines’s hands covered her mouth. She whispered the name of Aratricon without thinking.
“Everyone knows,” Anna continued, “that if you summon a demon you either have wards in place or you do it leagues from any sign of civilization to prevent these things from happening! Do you think Giovannica LaRotte won’t know what it means? They’ll come hunting for a witch and they won’t stop until they find one. And an unmarried woman, too smart for her own good, who spends all her time alone in her room is a very natural suspect!”
This final statement brought Selkines out of her daze. “If you reveal me,” she warned, “then you know I’ll reveal you as well.”
Anna seemed to deflate. Suddenly she was only a tired, aging scullery maid again. “That isn’t what I meant and you know it.” She sat down beside Selkines. “But I want to help you escape destruction and I can’t if you won’t protect yourself.”
They sat together for some time in silence, two unlikely sisters unexpectedly united in the same cause. It was Selkines who finally spoke. “The texts I learned from said nothing about repercussions. Or the precautions against them.”
“What text did you use?”
“The Third Kalkydyran Script of the Corvox Mellucorum.”
To Selkines’s surprise, the kitchen maid laughed. “No wonder then. That translation’s full of errors. It isn’t worth a pig’s fart! I’m surprised you were able to summon him at all.”
Selkines chuckled, finding the odd mirth infectious. Perhaps even necessary. “It was the best I could find with a doting father looking over my shoulder. I don’t know why the summoning worked. Maybe when I see Abryax again I’ll ask him.”
“I’m sure he’ll tell you if you ask,” Anna said. Her mirth evaporated now. “He can’t have changed that much in twenty years.” She looked at her work-worn hands with sadness. “Not like we do.”
Selkines began to feel a guarded compassion for the older woman. She obviously missed Abryax very much. Who wouldn’t? Selkines wondered, and had to stamp out a sudden percolation of lust. After a moment, she asked, “What did you ask him for? And what did he take from you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I asked him for. He gave it exactly as I desired. You need not fear anything from him in that regard. He always meets your heart’s desires. As for what he took, it was too much. I didn’t think it would be, but it was.”
Selkines hesitated. “Your soul?”
Anna laughed aloud. “Oh, child! We are Hyermikea. Apocalypse Women. Our souls already belonged to him long before we summoned him. Why would he take something he already owns? Oh no, you’ll find out what he wants. But I think it’s better if I let him be the one to say.”
Selkines nodded, letting her eyes drop to her folded hands. “I understand.”
They lapsed into another long silence, each woman wandering in her own thoughts. Finally, Anna spoke. “You know, in spite of all the extra trouble you’ve brought yourself, I envy you.”
“You do? Why?”
“You have him.” She made a helpless gesture. “I grew to love him, Selkines. I loved him very dearly. Oh, I knew what he was, that he would leave and take something I could never regain. I knew that demons were incapable of love. But he was good to me, and gentle. He listened to me. Made me feel valued and important. No one else in my life ever had. And in my life since I have never found another like him. Never been with another. Oh, I still pray to Abryax. And he still fills me with power. But I would give anything to see his face again.”
Selkines did not know what to say. What could she say to such a confession? Before she could find anything, Anna changed the subject.
“I should go, my lady. I only came to warn you and I have done that.” She rose and tucked her blouse back into her skirt. “But know this; that we are sworn to the same master and that makes us allies. Whatever aid I may give you need but ask and you shall have.”
Selkines found herself beginning to admire the woman. Whatever happened, it would not be possible to look at Anna as a person of lower station again. “I promise that whatever happens to me, Anna, I will keep your secrets. And I will aid you in your times of need as well.”
Anna thanked her and walked toward the door to leave. Selkines interrupted her. “Anna, tell me something.”
“Yes?”
Selkines frowned as she tried to make the question not sound insulting. “Why are you a scullery maid? If he can grant our deepest desires, then why aren’t you rich and powerful? Why settle for this?”
Anna smiled. “Twenty years ago, I was rich and powerful. I was the daughter of one of the richest merchants in the kingdom, facing marriage to any one of a dozen suitors whom I did not love and who only sought my dowry, and a lifetime of seeing my body destroyed by endlessly having children I did not want. You know whom I envied? These.” She gestured to her maid’s clothes. “A scullery maid was exactly what I wanted to be. Who knows? Maybe you’ll grow sick of the life they force on you and you’ll choose it too. Wouldn’t that be funny? Two Apocalypse Women in a kitchen together, elbow-deep in suds!” She laughed. “Good night, my lady.”
“Good night, Anna.”
The other woman exited and Selkines bolted the door behind her. Despite her restored spirits, Anna had left her with much to think about. She went to the desk and from beneath the false bottom of a certain drawer, produced her copy of the Third Kalkydyran Script of the Corvox Mellucorum. Perhaps it had not been flawed after all and there was merely something in it that she had missed. She would read by candlelight until sleep claimed her in order to find out.
Erasmus’s song lay on the writing desk, completely forgotten.
888
Both the king and the archbishop quickly forbade talk of “such superstitious nonsense” within the castle, but word about the occurrences the night of Selkines’s ritual were spreading just the same. No suspicions had been leveled toward Selkines yet, however. Indeed, her nervous father remarked that Archbishop Giovannica now seemed more eager than ever to acquire her holy vows. Not what Selkines wished to hear, but still far better than learning that Giovannica was coming for her with thumbscrews and hot pincers.
It might draw attention for a person of rank and a kitchen maid to appear too friendly with one another. Thus, in the two days following their first meeting, Selkines was able to speak with Anna only once and for but a few minutes. Hungry for a sorceress’s proper knowledge, Selkines inquired if she might peruse the texts by which Anna had first summoned the demon some twenty years ago. Anna had only frowned.
“Selkines, remember how you said you would not betray my secrets?”
“Of course I do.”
“You can’t betray them if you don’t know them.”
It was fair and sensible enough. But Selkines would have given much to learn what those texts spoke of that her own did not!
Finally, the night of the masque came. The eve of the Trial of Staves, commemorating Mephibis’s abuse at the hands of a village possessed by the hatred of the Ogre Kings.
The king and the archbishop had both promised this year’s Season of the Four Trials would be a gala affair like no other. To not attend such festivities would certainly be conspicuous, so Selkines donned her best velvet dress and along with it a blousy white underdress that would show through the slashed sleeves, and topped it all off with a gold-trimmed half-mask of white owl’s feathers. She departed for the grand feast hall, preparing to be utterly bored and woefully accosted.
The feast and dance were spectacular enough, if you actually wanted to be there. No expense had been spared, and this was but a foreshadowing of the three feasts to come. The finest musicians had been hired. Glorious decorations upon which artisans had labored for months adorned every inch of the walls and ceilings. All around Selkines, nobles in a plethora of delightful costumes made alliances and brokered arrangements. Selkines craved power, and the smell of so much of it around her brought with it a dizzying hunger. But still she knew that she should not be here. The crowd was too close. It was the first night of the waxing moon and she had a guest she should be waiting for, alone…
Selkines tried to pass her time with a knot of the queen’s other unmarried ladies, but ran into the usual problem: they had no interest in anything save gossip. Having so many eligible foreign noblemen in attendance only made them so much worse. Selkines put up with it as long as she could, smiling and nodding until she felt her teeth would break. When enough was finally enough, she gave in to desperation and went to seek out her father. At least he would have something intelligent to say. Selkines only hoped Giovannica had not been pecking at him again.
She had a surprisingly difficult time of it. She had to stop and ask his whereabouts several times. Everyone said he had last been seen talking to an unknown foreigner, apparently someone very important. That was strange. Unless Selkines’ potential dowry was involved no one important ever talked to Glorin Ondiné.
She finally found him under the Cnossic colonnade at the front of the hall. No wonder she’d not been able to see him among those monstrous columns. Finding him there was excellent, for it was right by the door. When no one was looking, she could just slip out and call it a night unnoticed.