by Mike Truk
Pony drew the blade back and then thrust, spearing it to the hilt. The whole world around us trembled, and when he grasped the sword with both hands and cut down in a great swathe the world exploded.
The stomach contracted again, up became down, I fell screaming once more into darkness, and then felt Pony’s hand clutch at my ankle. I closed my eyes against the acid. Wrapped my arms around my head. Felt Pony jerk and flail, hauling me after him.
I was yanked into a rubbery, fibrous passage. No air. Nothing but blood and acid. Another jerk and I slid further along it. Pony’s hand was crushing my ankle. Literally shattering it. The pain was obscene. I tried to scream again, inhaled a mouthful of acid that burned all sensation out of my mouth and throat.
My head felt like it was going to burst. I vomited. Another great jerk, and then a great sliding rush and the world became a continuous flash of lightning. Pony’s grip on my ankle disappeared. I fell, spinning, and hit water. The impact near concussed me. I went under, struggled, the water washing away the acid, and then my head broke the surface and I looked up but couldn’t see more than a vague, cloudy shape pulling away from a darker mass that had to be the Bonegwayne.
My eyes. I was nearly blind.
“Pony!” My voice was a hoarse rasp. “Pony!”
The bastard couldn’t swim. Desperate, I dove down into the mass of whirling tentacles that were withdrawing, and thought I saw a shape just beyond. Praying to Blind Fortuna, begging for her mercy for just a moment more, I swam down to it, ran into a rock wall, and knew I’d found him.
He was struggling and sinking fast. I wrapped my arm around him and tried to swim up. It was like trying to wrench a pylon out of a dock.
I released him, fought to get behind him, and wrapped my arm around his neck. The dark hull of the Bonegwayne was rising up beside us as we sank. I gritted my teeth and kicked my legs as hard as I could, biting back a scream as my broken foot wobbled loosely. Fought with my broken arm, swimming with everything I had, summoning the fire that burned deep in my core so as to ignore the agony, drawing on that resolve to never quit, never surrender.
Motes of black and red swam in my vision. My head felt like it was going to explode. Pain was generalized all across my body. Pony thrashed, jerking me from side to side.
I couldn’t do it.
I was sinking with him.
I had to let go.
Every instinct bade me release him and fight for the surface.
To at least save my life if I couldn’t save his.
I clenched my jaw. Fuck that. I held on tighter, and put everything I had into swimming up. One more second. One more beat of my heart. Just - one - more -
Hands pulled me away. I pushed at them, tried to fight, but was too weak. Someone gave me a shove, forcing me up, and I lost my grip on Pony. Sheer survival instinct overrode my thoughts. I kicked, fought for the surface which glimmered like a great undulating mirror above me.
My head broke the surface and I inhaled with a great ragged whoop. People were shouting. Were we still under attack? I tried to orient myself, but couldn’t see. My vision was shot. All was flashing brightness and shadow. My head went back under and I inhaled salt water. Spluttered, coughed, inhaled more.
Hands grasped my arms. Pulled me up. I vomited, everything aflame with pain, and then the Hanged God himself welcomed me to his arms and all grew dark.
Chapter 5
I awoke by slow degrees. I don’t know how long I was aware of the gentle rise and fall of the Bonegwayne before I became aware of my own awareness, but at some point I blinked and comprehended what I’d been gazing at. Returned to myself, and realized that I lay in Maestria’s four-poster bed, the covers puddled around my waist, a wealth of pillows propping me up, the rear windows with their diamond panes revealing the night above the ocean.
Yashara was seated by the side of the bed, her arms crossed over her chest, chin lowered in light sleep. But even as I stirred back to life her chin rose, eyelids blinking as she awoke in turn.
“You’re awake.” Her words were pregnant with emotions I couldn’t decipher.
“Working on it,” I said. “How long was I out?”
“Two days.” She sat up straight, stretched, arms extending above her head as she arched her back, head turning from side to side, wincing with pleasure as she worked out the kinks, and then relaxed, leaning forward so as to rest one elbow on her knee. “Tamara assured us you’d awaken, but we were starting to grow worried.”
“You, Yashara? Worried?” I was only half teasing. My body didn’t hurt. In fact, I felt fine. Rested. Ready for whatever came next. “Unless it’s your gold you were thinking of…?”
She scowled and chopped at the air as if clearing away a messy table by shoving everything on the floor. “No, Kellik. It’s not the gold.” She glared at me, eyes narrowed, clearly searching for the right words. “I was upset with you.”
“I know. I remember. You made that clear, and had good reason.”
She rose to her feet, tried to pace, but the low ceiling forced her back into the chair. “You don’t understand. My kind. Goblins, orcs - we value our freedom. Too many of us have labored under the yoke. Too many of us work under the lash today. But my company. The Mailed Fist. We forged ourselves anew. Each of us from a different tale of woe. We came together and became a family. A violent, disagreeable family who killed for gold, but we did so by choice.”
And suddenly I saw where she was going, and understood with utter clarity why she’d grown upset. But for once I kept my mouth shut. Let her explain.
“When I decided to take your commission, it was my decision. But somewhere along the way that sense of choice disappeared. Events happened too fast. Too many were dying. It felt as if my people and I had to help you so as to survive. And…” She trailed off, rubbing at her slender chin with one hand. “And I was fascinated by you. So small, so weak. Yet daring the mightiest of forces. Forces that my Mailed Fist and I would never dare assault. The nobility. The masters of society. Those who have oppressed me and mine since the Broken Wars. Yet you dared fight them, and time and again, you won. It was impossible. It was mad. But you did it.”
“It’s been pointed out to me that I had help.”
“You did. But then you revealed your blood. You are a half-breed, like me. But where I used my heritage to build a new family, you used yours to - what? Coerce obedience? Force Pogo, Havatier, Neko - others to do as you wished?”
“Yeah.” I stared down at my hands. My skin looked strangely smooth and pink, but I couldn’t remember why that might be the case. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“No.” Yashara studied me. “I didn’t know whether to believe you. I was upset. But after what happened in the Dead Man’s Trench…”
The words summoned a flicker of memories. Great pink tentacles sliding across the deck. Screams. “Wait. I don’t remember it. What happened?”
She sat up straight. “You don’t recall?”
I closed my eyes. “We’d sailed out to avoid the frigates. I remember the sunshine, being by the railing. Then… tentacles? But… something more. Something big.” I forced my memories to resurface, and for a moment a vision came to me, a nightmare as large as a mountain, its mouth riddled with slender teeth as long as my arm, its glistening hide a mixture of pink and green… but then it was gone.
“We were attacked by something from the deeps. A ship killer. We had no right to survive the encounter. But we fought it. It swallowed you, and Pony leaped in after, though it was death for him to leave the boat.
A flash of a memory: sticky, dark hell, the walls undulating and crushing me, the pain, the burning -
A cold sweat prickled my brow. “That’s right. I was swallowed.” Though I said the words, though I had a brief flash of recollection, it didn’t make sense. “I was swallowed?”
“Pony came after you. He tore a way out through its stomach. The pain drove the ship killer away. But he began to sink. He should have sunk to the
depths of the trench. But you held onto him. You fought to keep him up long enough for me to dive down and find you both. Netherys’ magic illuminated you, but still. It was close. I pulled Pony up. Cerys helped you aboard. We all survived the impossible.”
“Shit,” I said, leaning my head back and closing my eyes. “Blind Fortuna really does love us.”
“Kellik.” The seriousness of her tone caused me to open my eyes. She leaned forward. “When I saw you risk your life for Pony, as he’d done for you. When I saw you leap off the rear of the ship to attack that ship killer with just your blade, I felt awed. It is one thing for me to do so. I was bred for war. I’ve known nothing but violence since I was little. I was broken into it, again and again, till it became all I understood. Violence is the prism through which I see the world. But to see you do so, to see you fight for all of us, to then, with one foot in the Ashen Garden, struggle to keep Pony from death…” She shook her head. “I realized then. You’re a man worth following. King troll or not. Those weren’t words. Those weren’t powers. That was…”
“Insanity?”
She couldn’t help but crack a smile. “True bravery.”
We gazed at each other. By the Hanged God’s raging cock she was beautiful, and right now, with her expression somber, her eyes haunted by an emotion I couldn’t define, I felt like I was being afforded my first true glimpse of her interiority. Not just her strength, her disdain, her defenses and walls, but the woman at her core.
“Thank you, Yashara.”
“It’s me who should thank you, Kellik.” Her voice grew low, husky. “For showing me your true colors. For helping me set my doubts aside. Pony, Pogo, and I will help you on your quest. We’ll journey with you to Port Lusander, and assist you in raiding the king troll’s tomb. But never forget. My people and my kind come first. I will never place your quest above their misery. You have your war to fight, and I have mine.”
My breath caught. Despite my intentions, I’d never thought this an actual possibility. “I - Yashara. That’s fantastic - thank you -”
She moved forward, one hand on the bed, leaning over to bring her face to mine. A face that was all too human despite her slate green skin, with its straight nose, her dark lips, her harsh cheekbones. Her hair hung down her back like a lion’s mane, and the air between us turned electric, the tension such that I couldn’t breathe.
She gazed deep into my eyes. Studied me from this close angle, and moved her lips a fraction closer to mine. Tentative, exploring. I reached up to cup her muscled shoulder and kissed her. She tasted faintly of salt. Her eyes closed as we kissed, and she moved onto the bed altogether, which groaned and protested under her weight.
I buried my hand in her hair. It was rough, thickened by salt water, but I thrilled at touching it. Kissed her with more passion, turning to face her as she lay beside me. Her hand rested on my hip. Her lips parted and I felt her tongue probe between mine.
By Blind Fortuna’s perfectly globular breasts was I glad I was healed.
Finally, she pulled back, breaking our kiss, and straddled me. I lay back, marveling up at her statuesque glory, and watched, breath trapped in my throat, as she unlaced the front of her jerkin, her eyes smoldering, her expression grave. Her large breasts burst free at last, their nipples dark and hard.
I reached up and ran my fingers up her abdomen, tracing the V-cut that rose up over her belt, her abs, the arc of her ribs and then her breasts.
Yashara groaned and raised her face to the ceiling as I sat up and took one large nipple in my mouth. She was so large I could barely reach; I considered working my way out from under her so as to lick and nuzzle them better, but finally fell back, content to gaze up at her as she reached down to pull the hem of my pants down and took my cock in her hands.
She shifted her weight to one side, did something with her own clothing, and then settled on top of me, taking all of me in one smooth, delicious slide. I groaned and arched my back, yearning to go deeper, straining for more.
“Fuck,” I gasped. “I should have killed a ship killer sooner.”
The corner of her lips quirked up. “You didn’t kill it.”
“If this is what I get for driving it away, I can only… only imagine what you’d do… if I killed it.” She was riding me now, rising and falling, gyrating her hips as she did so, that I slid in and out with effortless ecstasy.
“If that were the case,” she breathed, voice low, “then what I’d do to you would probably break your back.”
“That’s it,” I said, clutching at her broad thighs. They were so muscled it was like clutching at huge river stones. “Talk dirty to me.”
Despite herself she laughed, and then as I bucked my hips up to plunge even deeper, her laugh cut off with a gasp, and that turned me on even more.
Yashara held her own breasts as she rose and fell, the bed squeaking and groaning with each oscillation, my pelvis feeling poorly used as she came down harder and harder upon me. It was like fucking a goddess. A great, savage, green goddess who for some reason had decided to reach down from on high and invited me into her divine realm.
Yet there was something detached about her as we fucked; she rode me, yes, and was clearly enjoying it, but there was almost a melancholy air to her expression, to her sighs of pleasure. Compared to that first time we’d fucked in the sewers, when she’d nearly killed me with her need and strength, this was… disorienting. Was I doing something wrong? Should I draw a knife?
But she was moving faster now, and with a moan she fell forward, hands on either side of my head, heavy breasts swinging as we fucked, her hair cascading down like a curtain as if to afford us privacy. I held onto her broad hips as I fucked her harder, ever harder, her gasps coming faster, till she cried out and sat up, her pussy clenching my cock so hard that my own orgasm erupted from deep within me and I came, my whole body clenching so that I actually lifted her up off the bed for a glorious eternity as lights flashed before my eyes and the world spun - and then we fell back down to earth, to the Bonegwayne, and she slid down beside me.
Gasping, slick with sweat, I lay beside her, heart pounding as if I’d just fought off a ship killer. Her chest rose and fell as she caught her breath, and then she rested her forearm across her brow as she gazed up at the cabin’s rafters, expression distant once more.
I rolled up onto one elbow and gazed down at her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said, and reached up to cup my cheek with one large hand. “Of course.”
“Wrong answer,” I said, trying for levity. “You should have said something like, ‘I’ll never walk normally again’ or whatever.”
She snorted, ran her thumb over my lips, then dropped her hand over her chest. “Something like that.”
“No, seriously. What is it?” Even now, after fucking, my cock sticky with her juices, I hesitated to just touch her. To caress her body.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Yashara.” I pulled gently at her chin, forcing her to turn and look at me. “The last time we fucked it felt like a hurricane was trying to squeeze every drop of come from me. This time…”
Her hand reached down to cup my balls and squeeze them gently, a playful smile tugging at her dark lips. “You saying you want more?”
“Ah - yes - in a minute, perhaps.” I took her hand, pulled it away, and then refused to release it. “But c’mon. What is it?”
For a long time she didn’t speak. Just lay there, looking up at me, her hair spread out across the pillows, the sweat slowly drying on her chest. Then she squeezed my hand, and I felt the enormous strength that lay latent within her fingers, how easily she could crush my bones. “I’m starting to… I don’t know how to say it. Respect you, Kellik.”
“Respect me?” I arched an eyebrow. “And that’s making you sad? Did you prefer me when -”
She reached up to press her finger to my lips. “Shut up.”
I shut up.
“Respect you, or… care for you, or… I do
n’t know what the word is. You’re starting to feel… important to me. And given what we’re about to attempt, that is a… difficult emotion to accept. It is easier to rut, like we did in the sewers. If you had died thereafter, I’d have felt regret, but little more. Now? This world does not reward vulnerability, Kellik. Opening your heart to another is the quickest way to feeling a pain you cannot ignore. I won’t lie to myself about what is happening between us. Tell myself stories, the kind you humans enjoy. I have lived too long, seen too much, learned too many bitter lessons to lie to myself. This cannot last. We tread too perilous a path. Our foes are too great. Sooner or later they will catch us, kill you, and then this… this thing that is happening between us. It will be but another implement for the world to use against me.”
That sobered me up fast. I’d never seen her look so unsure of herself, so vulnerable. For all her might, her lethality, she gazed up at me with something akin to fear. The only thing I could think to do was lean down and kiss her. Gently, carefully, to simply press my lips against her own. She didn’t kiss me back at first, but then cupped my head and returned it.
When I finally pulled back my heart was hammering once more. I took her hand again in mine. “I won’t make any empty promises. You’re right. The odds of our success are… slim. But despite the promise of pain to come, I mean to live to the fullest for as long as I can.”
She searched my face, as if seeking to see the meaning behind my words, trying to decide if I really meant them. I squeezed her hand harder.
“I had a tough time growing up on the streets. Nothing was guaranteed. Hunger and disease and pain and abuse were the only constants. And yet, looking back now, those years as a kid were some of the happiest I ever had. Before I was made a gentlefinger. It’s almost as if the hardship made the small victories all the more wondrous. As if I sensed on some level that I had to extract what joy I could from this life before it crushed me beneath its heel. Like it did to so many others around me. And I learned… I mean, not everybody walked away from that life on the streets with the same lesson, but what I came to believe was that you can’t let pain stop you from living. You get one life before the Hanged God summons you to dance in the Ashen Garden, and you’d better make the most of it. What else is there for us to do? Live in fear of the inevitable? Let the promise of pain keep us from even trying to live? No.”