rider on a dark horse **NEW**
Story by ANDERS, 2012
Warning: Content is only suitable for mature adults, contains explicit language and adult themes, including violence, blood and gore, graphic sexual content and nudity.
Disclaimer: All stories are a work of fiction. The characters do not exist, except in the mind of the author. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Tags: ff, adult, friends, fantasy
***
Story foreword is found at http://betting-on-the-muse.com/2012/01/14/1197/
This is the companion story to (1) bone by starlight, (2) blood hawks, (4) end game and (5) storm gathering.
***
She gazes on the sleeping form of the male, dark eyes lingering on the perfection of his features; the high aquiline nose and the sharp cheekbones, the thick curly mop of dark brown hair. Fingers running slowly over his lean muscular chest down to the ridges of his taunt stomach and downwards onto the heft of his thick uncut cock, she marvels at his beauty and vitality. She is old enough to feel the bitter tinge of jealousy when such gifts are lavished unthinkingly on the young.
Her smile is small and thin as she watches his growing arousal, despite her taking her pleasure from him less than an hour ago, his member was stirring, hardening under her touch. She wonders where his dreams are taking him, deep in the drunken stupor induced by the narcotic wine she forced down his throat. Perhaps she thinks he dreams of the sea.
The male was native born from one of the small island nations in the south; as a child he swam in the crystal clear waters of tropical seas and ran bare footed along white sandy beaches. She could still smell the scent of salt on his sun kissed skin. He had been sold to traders in his adolescence when his growing appetite became a burden. A fate that often befell unwanted children from large island litters, their mothers pregnant yet again with another brother or sister, it was marginally better than starving. His beauty had set him apart, and he was acquired as a slave to be trained in the famed brothels of the coastal cities. If he had not been beautiful, the traders would have crippled him and sold him to the cutthroat gangs that controlled the streets as a beggar.
Now he was her new plaything; a present from her daughter Saul whose harem rivalled that of her own.
It was of no surprise to her that Saul had been able to amass such a large collection of exquisite human cattle. Unlike the others, Saul had inherited her wanton taste in men coupled with her sire’s eye for commercial advantage. Her daughter’s main interest in the City was in the human trade of courtesans and the pleasure palaces that dotted its vast entertainment district. Places catering to every class and gender where one could sate every dark desire and perversion for 30 pieces of silver.
She had no doubt that the male would have fetched good coin at one of Saul’s establishments, but then it was in her daughter’s best interest to buy her continued favour. Saul needed desperately to ensure that she would turn a blind eye to the lawlessness and licentiousness that pervaded the eastern districts of the City where the bulk of her pleasure palaces lay. Without her tactile support, Saul’s position was precarious given that the religious zealots under her sister Sara were a rising power at court.
Picking up a silver dagger, she makes the required insertions along the male’s scrotum, the long thin blade cutting effortlessly into the tender brown flesh drawing blood. Carefully collecting the precious trickle in a crude bowl of bone lavishly encrusted with gold and gemstones, she puts a finger into the warm red liquid and brings it to her mouth. She smiles. The taste is strong and metallic with a hint of musk.
Throwing on a cloak of fur to shield her nakedness, she leaves her private chambers by a secret door, cradling the bowl with both hands as she makes her way steadily up a secluded staircase that winds its way high into the sky. She has no need of a candle or a torch to light her way, she has come this way often and her eyes have grown accustomed to the dark.
In the small circular chamber at the top, whose strange luminous walls beat in time like a human heart, she stops for a moment at the threshold to allow her sight to adjust to the dimness of the room before approaching the black stone set in its centre. The air is still and heavy, pregnant with unspoken secrets.
She can feel the familiar stirrings wake inside her loins, her hips suddenly bucking repeatedly in response as her eyes dart excitedly over the strange runes carved into the worn, stained surface. The stone was old; it was old when her insane mother first stole it from her cambion sire and fled across the Plain of Winds long before she was born.
Placed in an alcove hew out of the stone was a small display; an exquisite throne of gold upon which a child’s doll serenely slept on a blanket woven out of human hair. The doll too was old. She knew it was much older than the stone prison that held it. Carved out of an unknown ivory it was of a distinct and alien workmanship.
Carefully lighting the candles poured out of rendered human fat, she chants the incantations written in a long forgotten tongue, pausing only to smear the blood onto the dolly’s white polished face. She knows that it will come, it has always come and it will not fail her now.
In the minutes following, she looks on dispassionately as the doll begins to stir. Smile as the small mouth slowly opens to release its long, black tongue to lap hungrily at the offering of blood, until no traces of it remained.
“Why have you torn me away from my dreams, daughter of Maud, High Queen of the Resurrected City?”
The guttural voice is slow and slurred like a sleeper waking after a long slumber.
“What do the ravens say?”
“The ravens? The ravens say many things. They say that your court is in disarray. Your favourite, Sara has taken it into her head to war with her sisters. Her zealots go about with impunity, killing, burning all who oppose her teachings as heretics. They aim to cast down your standard of Gold and raise her image upon the high towers of the City so that all will see that she is the true way. Your youngest, Star fares the worse in the conflict, her faction is the weakest after the untimely death of her sire and she does not have your favour. She hopes to craft an alliance with her sister Saul. They plot to poison Sara at the banquet before the next full moon.”
She pauses momentarily at the news. Although Sara was her favourite child, even she had to acknowledge that the girl could be a problem at times. It was better that her daughters resolved their differences themselves. Their petty plots and intrigues were of no interest to her. Only the strongest survived, the weak had no business among the living.
“What else do the ravens say other than idle gossip about my court?”
“They say your daughter Saul has gifted you a beautiful young male from the southern isles, a male whose skin smells of salt and sun, to secure your favour in her battles with her sister Sara.”
“Is that all they say? What news do they have of my first born and the half breed witch?”
The doll closes its eyes and lies silent.
“Tell me about my first born and the half breed.”
“I am hungry, daughter of Maud.”
The doll whines, its voice now vulnerable and child like.
“Tell me and I will feed you.”
Her voice is calm, controlled, as it should be. She must not let the dreaming one know of her anxiety, else it prey on her fears and consume her soul in the bargain. That was the first of many lessons lashed into her skin by her mother. Her mad, beautiful mother whose face often looks back at her from her mirror.
“The axe bearer and the half breed are now alone in the Nameless Hills. They have lost the protection of the wolf pack.”
“Do they stand together?”
“Feed me, daughter of Maud. I am so hungry.”
“Do they stand together? Answer me now, dammed you. Do they stand together?”
She realises her error as soon as the words leave her lips. It is a fatal mistake; the dreaming one now knows her need, her weakness. She knows it will make her pay and pay dearly at that.
“I am hungry, daughter of Maud.”
Its plea is both a taunt and a jeer.
“Tell me what I want to know and I will feed you generously.”
She purrs, pushing the half empty bowl forward hoping to recover the upper hand.
“Give me the young male whose skin smells of salt and sun. Swear on your name that you will give him over to me and I will answer you, daughter of Maud. It has been so long since I’ve feasted on fresh, tender man-meat like his.”
The doll laughs, its long serpent like tongue flicking to taste the air. She is silent for a long while before hissing her assent through clenched teeth, she does not want to lose the male but there is no help for it. She would have given it one of her daughters if need be. They and their endless squabbles tire her.
“The axe bearer and the half breed stand against each other. You may have turned the half breed against the axe bearer, but you will not succeed in your plot, daughter of Maud. Your dreams of empire are hollow and impotent. You are the last in your line; neither intrigue nor sorcery will change your destiny.”
“I did not ask your opinion, old one.”
She replies coldly as she turns and walks away.
***
The spear falls with a heavy thud onto the ground.
Sela eyes Cress warily, suddenly uncertain of what the other woman would do. She had mercilessly goaded her companion, intending to enrage Cress into attacking her with the weapon. There was never any doubt that she would come out the better in any resulting skirmish; Cress was hardly her equal when they fought on foot, lacking her reach and her strength. The encounter was engineered to permit her the opportunity to come close enough to knock the smaller woman out. Sela did not intend to return to the Resurrected City without Cress, conscious or unconscious.
“I’m tired. I’m not playing your games anymore. I’ve played them for far too long.”
Cress’s voice is flat, emotionless giving her words a hard final tone that the taller woman has never heard before. It frightened her.
“I’m taking your horse.”
“Cress…”
“If you want to stop me, you have to kill me. COME ON. KILL ME. STOP ME. KILL ME.”
Howling with rage, Cress hurls herself at Sela, long talon like nails marking for the eyes, only to be roughly pushed to the ground by the taller, stronger woman.
“Cress…don’t say things like…”
She’s had enough of you and your cruel thoughtless games.
Sela starts, unable to finish as she looks down at the furious snarling woman at her feet.
She’s realised she doesn’t need you.
“You can go to hell. I don’t need you and your sick games.”
“Don’t.”
She’s finally going to walk away. Leave you.
“Get out of my way.”
“No. Don’t.”
The last sentence comes out as a whisper, as Sela forcibly steps in front of Cress barring the other woman’s way.
“Get out of my way, dammed you. I’m not telling you again.”
Cress growls low and menacingly, hands bundled tight into fists.
Is this how you allow her to speak to you? You have been very lax in her discipline. You have allowed her free rein for far too long. You know what you need to do.
You sorely need to whip some manners back into her, break her down with your iron fists until she speaks, stands and sits only when you will it, until she complies with your every whim and fancy without question.
That is what you want isn’t it?
“No. I’m sorry, Cress.”
Sela quietly offers, reaching out for the smaller woman. Cress shakes her head and steps away confused by the change in the taller woman’s voice and manner. She has never heard Sela offer an apology before, least of all to her. It was not in the other woman’s nature to admit her shortcomings.
“What?”
She is nothing to you. You can have a hundred women far better than her.
“I want us to go home, away from here and all the memories of death.”
She is your vassal, your property to do as you wish.
“Home? I have no home.”
She eats at your table.
“Your home is with me in the Citadel of Roses. Your rooms are next to mine overlooking the flower gardens you had planted. I always wanted to tell you how beautiful the gardens are, how lucky I have to have you by my side. I want you to come home with me, Cress. Please.”
She wears your colours.
Sela’s voice is shaking as she slowly approaches the trembling woman. She has never seen Cress so confused.
“I have no home. I am your object. Your plaything. I eat at your table. I wear your colours…I FIGHT FOR YOU AND I KILL FOR…”
Cress whimpers when Sela finally pulls her tight into her arms, their bodies melting into each others.
“Cress, please don’t leave me. I’m so sorry…so very sorry…”
Sela repeats over and over again as she clutches the smaller woman, her lips raining kisses across the other woman’s tear stained face, unable to get enough of the taste of salt on Cress’s skin.
***
In the distance, the rider looks dispassionately from a high rocky outcrop at the pair of women clenched in an intimate embrace below.
She almost expected the smaller woman to end the argument by running the taller woman through with the spear, but then something was exchanged, she was not sure what, a look, words that reconciled each women to the other. Looking at the way the axe bearer was now embracing her companion; she doubts there will be any killing. Mores’ the pity, she was so sure the half breed was bent on blood and she would have enjoyed watching the carnage.
Spiting hard into the ground for luck, she picks up the reins and urges the black charger down towards the canyon. She has unfinished business to see to before the day was done.
***
“Why do you tear me away from my dreams, daughter of Maud, if not to ask me things?”
The doll replies sagely with a trace of irony. Its forking tongue reaching out for the half empty bowl placed before it.
“Tell me why my plot fail, old one?”
The woman asks as she calmly pushes the bowl out of its reach with a bitter smile.
“I am hungry, feed me, daughter of Maud.”
The doll wails like a human child, but the woman is unmoved by its cries and tears.
“Tell me and I will feed you.”
“Do you really want to know?”
The question is a whisper, soft and low and the woman feels the chill of it in her bones.
“Tell me.”
“The ravens laugh at you, daughter of Maud. You turned the half breed against the axe bearer but it is the axe bearer who bows down and submits. You should not have sent them north. As we speak, the axe bearer is searching for her mare. She will not return to the City with the half breed’s head and a heart filled with hate. She will not ride at the head of your armies into the east and your dreams of empire will wither and die. She will follow the half breed into the Witch lands where you have no sway. She will slip out of your grasp like the dust of your dreams. You cannot break the half breed’s hold on her.”
“I will break the half breed then.”
The woman replies as she sends the bowl and its contents crashing to the floor with a violent sweep of her hand.
***
It is late when the rider finally pulls her mount roughly to a stop next to the lone tent; the horse’s harried breathing sending plumes of steam billowing into the chilly night air. The camp is quiet and empty, save for the half breed sitting by herself before a small open fire, stripped down to her undershirt. There is no sign of the axe bearer. The rider grins to herself. It is a sharp grin full of little pointed teeth. She thinks she is lucky today.
Dismounting lightly the rider ties the reins to the tether and makes her way to the fire.
“You’re alive.”
She says to the lone figure seated there. The rider’s tone is a mocking jeer.
Cress looks up from the flames and sees a strange sight, the tall woman in the crimson-red piped leathers now tattered and torn beyond recognition; her champion.
“How were you injured?”
The champion shrugs and smiles.
“What happened? “
Cress asks looking at the champion’s wild eyes and blood splattered visage; the once familiar face now twisted and strange.
“While you were in her bed the axe bearer sent us into the higher hills on a chase for ghosts.”
“What did you find?”
“Nothing but rocks and old bones bleaching in the sun. There is no Witch Clan; no village. We travelled all this way for a cluster of abandoned ramshackle huts.”
“We saw the Blood Hawks.”
“The hawks mean nothing; they are native to the highlands of the north. We should go back across the Plain of Winds, return to the Resurrected City. There is nothing here for us.”
The champion’s tone is cool and casual as she walks closer towards the fire.
“There was a hunting party. They were tracking us. We need to regroup and set out for the higher hills.”
“You never give up do you? Why do you always have to be so stubborn?”
Cress looks harder at the woman standing before her, despite the heat of the fire she can feel fingers of ice run up her spine.
“How were you injured?”
“Does it matter?”
The champion shrugs and smiles yet again seemingly amused at some secret joke.
“Where are the others?”
“Dead.”
The champion replies without a care as she settles in before the fire next to Cress.
“Tell me how were you injured?”
Cress’s tone is low and careful. There is something about this woman that puzzles her.
The champion bends over with laughter before shyly grinning to show Cress her bloody mouth.
“Because I killed and ate them.”
“Wolf spawn.”
Cress hisses as she hurriedly stands, putting distance between her and the champion.
“What the axe bearer says about you is true. You are always too smart for your own good.”
The champion smirks as she stands; a head taller than the smaller woman.
Cress looks on silently as the woman changes before her, the air between them crackling from the interplay of light and dark revealing glimpses of muscles boiling under the taut stretched skin, bones breaking, shifting reforming. The champion’s skull splits, flattening, elongating, the jaw transforming itself into a snout, teeth into fangs, hands into talon claws until finally what stands before her is a great black beast with knowing human eyes. Its body wet with the wounds of its rebirth.
“I have waited for this moment a long time, half breed. You are Witch Clan are you not? I smell it in your blood. I am no longer your lackey to be ordered around.”
“I honoured you as my champion. I trained you and I protected you.”
“Do you expect me to be grateful, half breed? That you fed me and sheltered me like some hound dog you keep?”
“What do you want, wolf spawn?”
“What is ours by right. Once wolf roamed all the northlands, the Old Ones gave birth to us in their dreams along with the first witch and the great bear. The witch laid with the great bear and from his seed she gave birth to a human litter; the first of her clan. The wise wolf consulted the moon and the stars and discovered the abomination. He made to eat her litter but was stopped by the great bear. For an eon wolf fought with witch spawn until we were hunted out of our homelands, our lairs burned and destroyed, our pups hung and butchered.”
“Is that all you have to tell me, wolf spawn? Some old forgotten fable.”
Cress replies standing her ground.
“The power of the Witch Clans is no more, half breed. Soon wolf will roam the northlands again. We will strip the flesh from the bones of your litters; we will dance on the ashes of your settlements. It has been promised to us and it shall pass.”
“Promised? Who promised you?”
“You ask too many questions, half breed. Especially questions that don’t concern you.”
The wolf grins, her black tongue slowly licking her lips.
Cress watches transfixed as the muscles in the wolf’s long lean form suddenly explode propelling it forward, its large heavy paws pushing forcefully against her shoulders bending her over. Her head hits the ground hard as it pins her helplessly on her back with its bulk. The feel of its weight against her is almost sexual, pressing down on her pelvic and her breasts.
“Do you like the feel of me against you? I never knew what you see in the axe bearer, I could have pleased you so much better.”
Cress feels the wolf’s hot, fetid breath on her face, its human eyes looking straight into hers. She feels the bulk on top of her shifting, its claws cutting into the fabric of her undershirt.
“You are nothing compared to her.”
The wolf grunts in derision.
“She is more an animal than I ever will be. She follows at your heels like a snivelling bitch. She is so in thrall to you that if you so wish she would lay siege to her own City and decorate the pikes at the gates with the heads of her sisters for your bride price.”
“Dammed you.”
“Would you like to know how it feels to be with a real warrior? Perhaps I could show you, half breed. Would you like that?”
The wolf’s voice is barely a whisper, the words smooth and low as though she was speaking to a lover.
“I rather DIE.”
Cress hisses spitting hard into the wolf’s face, as its claws shred the remains of her shirt away from her skin leaving a trail of red welts in their wake.
“Spirited you are. I like that. You will last long before you die. But there is something I don’t understand. Why did you not return to the northlands with the other half breeds? The outside world offers no interest to those of your kind. Your kind hungers for the freedom of the tundra and the solitary of the silent forests. You chose instead to sell yourself into the service of people that despise you, to be nothing more than a slave. You sleep at their feet, eat the leavings from their tables; wear their markings on your skin. You are a strange one to whore yourself this way. Do you believe the sweet promises they whisper in your ear? Do you believe that one day they will treat you like an equal, half breed?”
“Stop calling me half breed. You know nothing about me.”
The soft menacing tone of Cress’s voice is not lost on the wolf. She pauses and then stares at the woman beneath her. She can feel the air surrounding them buzzing, shimmering, changing. Hear the black charger rear and scream as it pulls at its tether in panic. She wonders if this is how the others felt before she bit off their faces.
***
“What a game you play, daughter of Maud.”
The doll’s tone is slow and lazy as it looks at the array of silver miniatures placed before it. Weighing in the merits of each piece, the doll finally picks the figurine of a woman bearing a spear, placing it with a quiet sigh onto the centre of the board.
“My choice is made. Now chose an opponent against my piece.”
“Wolf against warrior.”
The woman quickly replies with a sharp smile as she pushes an exquisite carved miniature wolf forward onto the board to face the other piece.
“Are you sure of your choice, daughter of Maud? Are you willing to stake your dreams of empire on animal cunning red in tooth and claw?”
“Wolf against warrior.”
The woman’s tone is fierce and firm.
“Is that what you see?” The doll laughs, before continuing unkindly. “Look again. Has your mother taught you nothing? This is not a game for rank amateurs.”
The woman looks again at the pieces on the board as the figurine of the woman begins to shimmer and glow.
“That is not possible.”
“Wolf against bear.”
The doll intones drily as the pieces wake and move towards each other on the board.
***
Sela knows she has been gone far much longer than she should. The chestnut mare had broken her tether and wandered far over the hills. It had taken Sela the entire night to find her and coaxed her back. She worries that Cress may have tire of the wait and decided to strike off by herself by foot into the higher hills. She knows how headstrong the smaller woman can be.
Can you see the ravens laughing? They congratulate each other on their good fortune.
Riding into the canyon, Sela looks skyward at the flocks of ravens circling overhead in the early morning sky. Scavengers attracted by the smell of carrion carried by the winds. Urging her mount forward, Sela hopes against hope that they have come because Cress is dressing some small game for an early meal, but she knows there are too many about for that to be true.
They have been invited to a great feast; flesh, blood and marrow picked clean from bones.
She can smell the stink of blood as she rounds the last turning. She rides harder, her weapon drawn and ready, praying that she is not too late.
They have eaten their fill and granted their host good blessings. You are too late for the wedding breakfast.
She slows the mare into a trot.
The camp is empty, the fire long dead. She sees the black charger wandering aimlessly in the background dragging its reins across the ground. The tent is open, the sheet flapping in the wind. There is no sign of Cress.
Her shirt flies in the wind. It is a pitiful thing.
She spots the tattered remains of a blue garment caught amongst the remains of the fire, dismounting her boots hit the blood soaked ground with a sickening sound. There is so much blood that it has pooled and spread caking the soil in a river of black that stretches from the ashes of the fire all the way back.
Look.
Back where the sheet is flapping in the wind.
Learn.
She starts walking towards the tent, her strides growing with each step until she is running.
***END
