by Rex Jameson
10
Deep Love
Mekadesh appeared on a soft floor of moss in a deep, dark place. She took off her shoes and crinkled her toes into the plushy mat of green. The familiar, massive cavern had been hewed into the rock over 10,000 years ago by the creature in the center of the large room. The pouting thing had been chained to an enormous bed made of oak trees, lichen, and ferns ever since. The creature was a god and over forty-feet tall, but laying down on the bed, he looked pathetic and vulnerable.
She giggled as he rattled his chains, producing another tremor in the world above. Small critters scurried along the cave floor. A few deer bounded away, looking at Mekadesh timidly.
“Poor little creator,” she said.
Cronos groaned as he turned toward her.
“Devil woman!” he accused. “You tempted me with the words of creation, and left me down here for another year with nothing but a handful of my creations and endless time.”
“I’ve been busy,” Mekadesh said, smiling as she walked casually toward him.
“I’ve been busy,” he mocked.
“Has someone been lonely?” she teased back with pouting lips.
She removed her cape and fancy shirt, exposing a tight-fitting undershirt and corset. She crossed her legs as she walked and smiled as his eyes followed her. In the darkness, she saw him stirring, not that that was difficult. A forty-foot-tall god had a proportional member, but his was only half as long as some of the gods she had been with. She was not intimidated.
He grunted and chuckled, all mockery ebbing from his strong voice.
“It’s been too long,” he complained.
“I know,” she said placatingly. “I know.”
She allowed herself to grow larger, bursting her clothes slowly as she became ten-foot tall. Then twenty and thirty. She stopped there. Most males appreciated a smaller female and gods were no different. Their egos were fragile.
Cronos slammed his hand against the wall and fresh, luminescent mushrooms sprouted from his fingertips. He wanted to see her better. She rubbed on herself as she approached and flipped her blonde hair as she reached the bed. She crawled toward him, very slowly. In his excitement, vines began to grow from the moss, attempting to lash her down. She playfully broke the green tendrils with a free hand as she reached his feet and legs.
“Sorry,” he said, “you know I get excited when you do that…”
She kissed his inner thigh. “I know… I know…”
“You can’t keep me here forever,” he protested weakly, without any real meaning or threat in it.
“You’re chained to this bed for a good reason,” she said. “I’ve given you all the room you need…”
She kissed his genitals and then brushed against his member from her nose to her breasts. He stirred even more, his body as rigid as fae tree bark.
“I’m not afraid of a demon lord,” he said defiantly.
She looked up at him and grinned wickedly, pressing her naked body against him and beginning to stroke him with her skin. She ran her fingers through her hair, which turned black. Her lips reddened as her body embraced those darker elements of the Void and the durun which had consumed her body and thoughts for many millions of years—those parts of her that almost led to the extermination of everything the original Creators had done.
“Lights on,” he said, referring to her game of moving between the Holy One or The Queen of the Durun. “Lights on!”
She turned more toward the darkness to tease him with the shadowy durun.
“Your forefathers,” she said, pulling herself up his body until the hairs of her mound tickled his chest, “also weren’t afraid of demon lords. They stood at over a thousand-feet tall. They lorded over creation, thinking they were invincible. And yet, Demogorgon, my creation, came into their garden, and he turned them into his subjects. He watched them tear each other apart. Their skin floated into the air, burning like embers and drifting across the cosmos. One landed here, and that is how you were born.”
“And you really think holding me down here is going to protect me,” he said, as he watched her large, perky breasts swaying as she rocked against his chest.
“Letting you walk the surface will just double his efforts,” she said. “Nothing attracts a demon lord like a titan. For Orcus, you’re a challenge. For Demogorgon, you’re a recruit.”
He tried to reach out to touch her, but she tightened the chains to stop him short. He growled in frustration. “Devil woman, let me free!”
“Cronos,” she said, moaning softly as she bent lower to kiss him, still rubbing herself against his chest.
He stopped resisting the chains.
“Think of your world,” she said. “Think of your creations… Think of your son… Do you really want to be controlled by the Prince of Demons? Do you really want to destroy everything you’ve made with your bare hands?”
“Turn it off,” he repeated in meek protest. “No Darkness. You know I love you in your natural form.”
She moaned as she ran her fingers through her hair and over her face, returning her visage and blonde hair. Her lips became pinker. Her hands continued downward, and she watched him stare at her as her nipple piercings disappeared. He watched her slowly bring her hands downward, even changing the hair on her mound.
“Thank you,” he said, pushing himself from the bed of moss and trees and arching his back trying to kiss her.
She moved her legs and hips downward, guiding his significant member inside of her. She bit her bottom lip and ran her fingers down his luxurious chest hair, thick as a bear, as she slid down him, inch-by-inch.
He grunted and fought against his chains again to touch her with his hands, but he couldn’t. She rocked against him, lifting herself up and down and staring into his eyes. He stopped resisting and began to work with her.
“That’s it,” she said, “give yourself to me… If you release, I will bring you back to life… just as always…”
He sighed and closed his eyes, and they continued making love in the chamber for hours. She kept her promise. She did not stop until his eyes flitted and he finally sated, almost a full day later. It was no small feat exhausting a god. Had he been a little bit smarter, and a little less of a reminder of her beginnings, she might have found him a suitable long-term mate and husband. But he was just an Ember of the Creators. He would never truly satisfy her. Too pliant. Too easy. Too doomed.
11
The Invasion is Diverted
Prince Jandhar pet his alpha dragon Jahgo as they watched the three overeager green dragons burn a small village south of the town of Dona. His white dragon Jasmine prowled behind the prince like a jungle cat. Jandhar grabbed Jahgo’s jaw firmly, and the black dragon obediently opened his mouth. The prince inspected the wet skin of his throat for any tears in the stitches along the neck lining, but the binding held.
“You can join them if you want,” Jandhar said.
But the black dragon just rubbed his head against the prince’s shoulder. Jandhar smiled as Jasmine crawled up to him on all fours, her wings tucked behind her. He laughed at her submissive posture, so enthusiastic to be inspected like her older brother Jahgo.
“I’m sure your stitches are fine too,” he said. “Just come back afterward, and I’ll check on you. I promise.”
She didn’t leap into the air either. They just huddled next to the prince and watched Nintil, Zosa, and Venzin rain destruction down on homes, gardens and the screaming denizens of Surdel. Jasmine huffed involuntarily sometimes as she watched her green brothers exhale flames. The 10,000 pikemen of the Visanthi army pillaged nearby farms but stayed away from the destruction of the dragons.
“Even your dragons know that this is a waste of time,” a familiar voice said from behind him.
“I don’t know why I keep you around, Etcher,” Jandhar said, his hands firmly behind his back. “If you’d rather be back home with the Separatists, I can have you on a boat tonight.”
“My place is her
e,” Etcher said, “for now.”
Jandhar turned to look at the old man with the leathery skin. Etcher wore a brown hood and cloak with a non-descript green tunic. He looked like a pauper, but he walked like a wary man of importance. The self-taught surgeon had been vital to Jandhar’s brood coming into adulthood. Jandhar would tolerate almost any transgression from him.
“There’s a war going on here,” Jandhar said. “We come to liberate the Surdeli people from evil.”
Etcher walked up to Jasmine and casually pet her, as if she wasn’t a twenty-foot dragon with teeth as long as his hand.
“Just past these villages is the town of Dona,” Etcher said.
“I’ve studied their maps for years,” Jandhar said. “I know every town as if it were my own.”
“You know where it is on the map,” Etcher said, “but do you know its history?”
“Of the Red Army?” Jandhar asked. “I’m familiar with the massacres in Dona and Perketh to the north.”
“And you know of the razing and resurrection of these towns?” Etcher asked. “Of the Necromancer? And the demon lord who besieges Perketh’s citizens now?”
“They say Sven leapt across the Small Sea,” Jandhar said with a wink and a smile, repeating the story Etcher had told him when they first met, “and smote the ground so hard that it burned straight through to the ground water, hundreds of feet beneath the desert. They say he created the Oasis. That he was a god who walked amongst men.”
Etcher nodded. The corners of his mouth were upturned with the beginnings of a grin, but it was obviously only for show.
“You’re disappointed?” Jandhar asked.
“I think all of Surdel is disappointed,” Etcher said. “Here they are without their king, without the source of your wrath, and yet they will suffer doubly and triply so.”
“I was sad to hear of Aethis’ death,” Jandhar lied.
“I’m sure you were,” Etcher said. “From the east, they fall to the orcs. From the northwest, they die to undead and demons. And from the south? A handsome prince and his pets.”
“So, you think I’m handsome?” Jandhar asked, hoping to get a smile, but seeing none. He relented. “If I were to hold some small grudge with the people of Surdel, it would be deserved.”
“Your wrath is targeted at the wrong people.”
“What do you know of my wrath?”
“I’ve heard stories,” Etcher said.
“We’re all aware that you’ve heard stories,” Jandhar said sarcastically, growing tired of being chided and guilted by an old man from a rebel territory that rightfully belonged to his family.
“I’ve heard stories,” Etcher continued relentlessly, “of a boy who walked into his father’s harem. And as his father lay dying…”
“Tread carefully,” Jandhar warned him.
“What do you think the father said to the son, in my story?” Etcher asked, looking up at the prince. “No, forget that. What do you think that father would say now, looking out over these innocent people being burned to death by three dragons trying to appease their master?”
Jandhar tried not to feel shame. There was a part of him that knew that his father had pillaged towns and hamlets just like this one along the shores of the Small Sea. There was another part of him that knew that burning these villages was not what he came to Surdel to do. These people were just in the way. It wasn’t his fault that they weren’t armed.
Surdel was supposed to have famous cavalry. The Eldenwalds were supposed to be fierce protectors. And yet, the Visanth invading army had met no real resistance.
“OK, Etcher,” Jandhar said. “Tell me what this father said to his son in the harem.”
“They say this father burned in the heavens like a magnificent star,” Etcher said. “They say he inspired all of those around him. Even years after his death, his light served as a beacon to the masses. They say even his enemies mourned his loss, for he was a great man. There are so many stories of what the man said to his son, but I will admit that I don’t know what he said. Perhaps, he said nothing. Perhaps the son found his father already dead. I only know the story told amongst my own people—the one that has resonated with me to this day.”
Jandhar turned toward Etcher, waiting for whatever insult the Separatists might tell their progeny. He knew his father hadn’t said a word. Jofka’s throat had been slit. He had gurgled and sputtered. He did not die like a lion, thrashing about and killing his assassin. He died on his back, with fear in his eyes that his son would die to the same assassin who lingered in the purple room with the blood-soaked carpets.
“In my story,” Etcher said, “in the version I want to believe, the father told the son to be a light unto all people. He told his son, a great prince, to not cower behind dragons. He told him to fight the real enemies of Visanth. To show the world the true power of the Empire.”
“This story feels very specific,” Jandhar said sarcastically.
“The best stories are direct,” Etcher replied seriously, though a smile fought against the corners of his mouth. “It’s the best way to get through to children.”
Jandhar couldn’t help but laugh at the implication. He chortled so hard that it frightened and disturbed Jahgo. The dragon brushed them both aside with his tail as he darted away on his four legs. He looked back at them, agitated and huffing. Small amounts of volatile liquid spat from his mouth, and he squinted at them as he returned to Jandhar’s hands.
“You say there are undead to the north,” Jandhar said.
“And orcs to the east,” Etcher replied with a nod.
Jandhar patted Jahgo on the head. “You don’t seem very interested in this village, do you boy? Did you want to fly with me to the north for a bit. See what we can see?”
Jahgo grew excited. He bounded around the grass, circling. Jasmine whined and whimpered, not wanting to be left out.
“I can only ride one of you,” he said. “I’ll ride you later. I promise.”
She pouted and squawked in protest.
“But you can come along.”
She spun in circles a few times, flapping her white wings. He marveled at her black tips as she sat on her haunches, waiting for him and Jahgo to launch. With dragons, like most animals, it was important to have a positive mood—otherwise, the creatures would adopt the foul temperament of their owner. If he kept his conversation light, the dragons would remain optimistic and even-headed. So, despite the irritation of Etcher’s directness, he made light of the situation.
“Captain Talso,” Jandhar called. “Tell the generals that I am leaving for a midday stroll.”
“A midday stroll?” The captain asked.
“Yes,” the prince replied, mounting Jahgo without a saddle. “Just around the yard a bit.”
Jandhar leaned back on his dragon and looked at Etcher. He motioned with his head toward Jasmine, who followed his eyes to the man. She bowed her head slightly and growled low.
“I think I’ll stay here this time,” Etcher said. “You go on without me.”
Jandhar chuckled. “I’ll be sure to give you a full report.”
“I look forward to it,” Etcher said, nodding.
The prince dug his heels into Jahgo’s dark flanks, and a heavy downdraft blew Etcher aside.
“Jahgo’s sincere apologies,” Jandhar said, smiling as he watched the old man stumble backward.
Jasmine’s wings beat quickly. She launched herself into the air and caught up to her larger brother. Jahgo heard the panicked squawk of Nintil, followed by similar squeals from the brothers. They stopped burning a longhouse, and beat their wings frantically in pursuit.
The dragons flew low across prairies and over trees to Dona. Many of the houses were still burned there from the Red Army’s rampage, but the citizens were rebuilding. He wondered if anyone here were the undead that he had read about in reports—the people that the Necromancer had resurrected. People screamed as the five large shadows passed over them and ran into nearby rickety buildings.<
br />
“Up,” Jandhar commanded as he lifted Jandhar’s head by the scales on the side of his neck.
The black dragon complied and ascended into the blue sky. Jasmine squawked once and Nintil and Zosa fell in behind her. She glided effortlessly, while the smaller brothers spent considerable effort keeping up with Jahgo.
“They say the orcs attack from the east,” Jandhar yelled in Jahgo’s ear. “We’ll head north to Corinth and then east to Suri. I’ve read that the orcs come through Hell’s Edge. If they’ve made another incursion, we’ll find them there.”
He found the lush green of Surdel quite beautiful. It was a stark contrast to the flights he and his brood had made over Visanth. His homeland was all deserts outside of the coast and the Oasis. There was more life here in a square hectare than in a hundred such parcels in his home land.
Jahgo passed south of Corinth, and then east to Hell’s Edge. The town was alight, but the orcs were gone. Judging by the destruction of the nearby forests, where acres of deciduous trees had been trampled, the perpetrators seemed to have headed north toward Suri and Sherb.
He didn’t follow their trail. From his years of studying maps of Surdel, he knew that path eventually led to Croft Keep. The people of Surdel would rally there like they rallied at Mallory Keep to the south. He turned Jahgo westward, passing north of Corinth this time. He looked at the shadows of his babies as they crossed the trees and fields.
And then there was a huge shadow, and Jahgo veered hard to the south as if to avoid it. Each dragon looked up, expecting to see something bigger than they were coming down on them. Jandhar pushed Jahgo’s head forward by the scales on his neck, and his oldest, biggest child obeyed. They descended together as a flock, and touched down in a large field with a humongous dark impression of a bird in the center of it.
The green dragons squawked their displeasure at being so near the unnatural darkness. Prince Jandhar dropped from Jahgo and walked across the two-hundred-foot gap between his dragons and the edge of the darkness.