by Cebelius
Asturial's gaze wavered as she looked into what she thought were Terry's eyes, then she leaned in.
The move was unexpected, but it gave Isthil the perfect way out. She knew that Terry had never consummated anything with Asturial, but as long as this memory ended in a satisfying way, she knew she could straighten out the inevitable misunderstandings later.
Besides, it's been a while since I indulged an erotic fantasy. Seein' as how I'm doin' all the work of saving Asturial's sanity I may as well enjoy meself.
Isthil leaned into the move, and kissed Asturial. Their lips parted, and the dragon's tongue sought hers. She had watched Terry's sex with his women and knew him to be a conscientious lover. With no idea what Asturial may have seen though, she tried to imagine what he would do in this situation. She knew that as their sex play went on she would have more liberty, and in fact by the end it would be better if it weren't entirely convincing. It would make the memory easier to reject later, when Asturial discovered the truth again.
Deciding to be aggressive, Isthil lifted her hands and cupped both Asturial's cheeks, pressing Terry's tongue against the dragon's, then past it, stroking it with her own and sucking it lightly.
Asturial's eyes widened and her body stiffened a bit, clearly not expecting the move, and Isthil broke the kiss and quirked a brow as she said, still taking care to use Terry's voice, "You didn't think I'd agree to this and then let you take the lead, did you?"
"I ... I suppose not," the dragon stammered. "Prada told me what you like ... and how you like it."
The dragon's smile returned and was just a trace sly as she asked, "Shall I demonstrate?"
Isthil tipped her head ... Terry's head, up just a bit to look down at her with a challenging smile as she said, "Show me."
The Nightmare knew that Asturial wasn't particularly eager to please. She was very much a creature accustomed to taking rather than giving, but she was eager to prove her value, and demonstrate expertise.
Asturial's smile broadened and she ran her thick claws down Terry's chest as she knelt. With a quick flick, she whisked away the towel that Isthil realized was the only thing Terry had been wearing, exposing his manhood as she lifted her other hand to wrap and lift it. She leaned in and her tongue whisked across the head of his organ.
Why just a towel? Isthil wondered, tilting her head to watch with open curiosity she had no reason to hide. There was so much history here that she simply had no way to know.
As Asturial lightly kissed the head of Terry's cock, her eyes lifted to meet his, and Isthil nodded encouragement. She had more than a little experience playing the role of a male, and she sternly reminded herself that she was not — under any circumstances — to turn this into a horror show later. As a Nightmare, she was inclined to make the dreams of her victims dark. She didn't savor pleasant dreams. They cost her energy in the same way nightmares fed her. Making this a good memory for Asturial was going to be work.
Thankfully perhaps, Terry's nightmares had sated her, and she found it amusingly ironic that those nightmares of his would serve as fuel for the pleasant dreams of his women.
Terry's shaft swelled under the dragon's gentle ministrations, and Isthil parted his lips and deepened his breathing appropriately. She felt pleasure radiating into her from the unfamiliar organ and thanked providence that she wouldn't have a hard time putting on a convincing show.
Asturial did know what she was doing, and once he was erect, she slipped the head of his cock past her lips and her tongue bathed it with warmth and wetness. The dragon's lips glistened with saliva as she slowly took his shaft deeper. All the while her eyes never left his.
Isthil looked down into those eyes and mentally reached behind them, effortlessly sorting through Asturial's desires. Her mind was open to the Nightmare, and as she continued to suckle Terry's cock, Isthil went to work sorting out all the memories the curse had twisted.
Only the current scene had been completely erased. Asturial's mental fortitude was considerable, and many of the dream scenes had already corrected themselves in her mind. Where necessary, Isthil nudged the rest back toward the feeling of correctness that the mind supplied. While many of the words might never again be accurately remembered, the feeling in those memories was relatively easy to fix, and Isthil had finished her work by the time she got the sense from Asturial that the dragon was waiting for him to take the lead from her, as Prada had told her he eventually would.
She was pleasantly surprised to find that she was having to withhold her orgasm. Asturial was apparently very skilled.
Later, I'll have to see if she's at all interested in a bit of real play with me, she mused as she slid fingers into the dragon's wild red mane and pulled her lips from Terry's cock with a firm grip.
"My turn," Isthil said with a slightly predatory and entirely genuine grin. "You'll want to be laying down for this, dragon."
Asturial rose to her feet and led Isthil to the pit of soft things. She turned and with an eyebrow arched in challenge, fell backward into the mess of pillows.
It sank under her weight, and Isthil followed her down.
The dragon proxy's thick tail meant she'd be on her back for this adventure, and Isthil crawled over the supine woman with a wicked smile. Asturial's breasts were full, and her ruby nipples stood out proudly on her cream-colored chest.
Isthil cupped one and squeezed it playfully, but felt from the dragon that her breasts lacked any real sensitivity. That Terry had taken an interest in them pleased her, but it was a purely intellectual pleasure, and that wasn't what Isthil wanted to instill in her.
She began exploring the dragon proxy's body, and felt Asturial making the conscious decision to let Terry do as he pleased. Isthil sought for her pleasure, and found it in the hollow of her throat, concentrated most strongly at the notch in her collarbone.
Asturial's surprise mixed with the physical rush of sensation, and Isthil teased the space with Terry's tongue, his body settled over Asturial's. His hips settled over hers and his erect shaft pressed against Asturial's belly as Isthil continued to explore with her hands. They drifted up and found a second spot of extreme sensitivity at the base of the dragon's ram-like horns. Purely involuntary shudders ran through Asturial's body as Terry's hands caught her horns and pressed her head back, further exposing her throat and at the same time stimulating the nerves at the base of each horn.
All the while Isthil sensed Asturial's intense focus. Even through the surprising amounts of pleasure the template was providing her, she felt keenly the length of his shaft against her belly. She wanted that with a longing so poignant that it was almost pain.
As she played with the dragon, Isthil rifled her deeper memories. She was well aware of the Eldritch tendency to want progeny, but Asturial's desire seemed particularly deep.
Her reason was guarded, but this was the dreamscape. In dreams, those secrets most closely guarded tended to rise to the surface. It took only a few moments for Isthil to comprehend all.
'It's all right, Punkin. Don cry.'
The man in Asturial's memory had a silver, wispy beard and his great age was obvious in every line of his face and in his stooped posture. His voice was cracked and old, but there was a humor that tugged at the corners of the old man's mouth and glinted in his warm brown eyes. His clothes were indistinct, but Asturial remembered the humor, the warmth, and the words.
She was young, barely beyond a hatchling, and was being thrown from her mother's lair. Isthil didn't know much about how dragon families behaved, but the impression of the memory made it seem like this parting had been a long time coming, and expected.
Nevertheless, Asturial cried out, "She doesn't love me anymore!"
The old man's smile crinkled the skin around his eyes a bit and he chuckled as he said, "Oh yer ma loves you — no matter what she says — an so do I. She's just set'n her ways is all. I cain't convince her no'how to let you stay now that yer growed, you know that. Them's the rules, an' if we ain't makin' the rules, we
gotta follow 'em. Your ma makes the rules, not me. You know that too."
The old man groaned as Asturial wrapped him up in a crushing embrace, but he patted her fondly.
Asturial's memory had focused on how light and weak her sire's pat had been, how very old he was. She had been in agony because she knew that he would die soon, and she wasn't being allowed to stay. This was to be their last goodbye, and they both knew it.
"If you really loved me, you'd find a way to let me stay!" Asturial said, openly crying. "It's you that's forcing me to go! Ma'll listen if it's something you really want!"
He'd drawn her to arm's length and said, "Now you listen to me, girl. What I want more'n anything is for you t' have kids a yer own someday. Then you'll know ... you'll realize just how much I love you."
His smile grew tremulous as he said, "You're my baby girl, and I want you to be happy, y'hear me? Bein' here to see the end of me won't make you happy."
He cleared his throat, swallowed, then said, "Not everythin' we want is good for us, baby. Remember that. Now, you promise me you'll make a good life for yourself out there."
"I will, da. I promise."
Tears were in the old man's eyes as he sniffed and waved a hand at her dismissively as he said, "Ah hell, I hate long goodbyes. Go on now, git. You make big tracks, y'hear me girl? Big tracks!"
Asturial was still crying. The tears were streaming down her face, but her voice was now steady. She had made her choice.
"I love you, da."
"I love you too, baby. Your ma and I both love you. Very much."
The old man had pulled himself erect then, his tears leaving glistening trails through his wispy beard. His eyes were bleary and his lips twisted as he struggled to keep his control, but he managed. He nodded once at Asturial, then turned away.
The memory faded as Isthil blinked in shock at the ramifications. She KNEW her sire!
The Nightmare was so stunned she paused a moment in her physical attentions on the dragon, and Asturial asked, "Terrence?"
Isthil was immune to the many of the darker emotions. She felt no rage or hatred. They were her implements, the tools of her trade and the means by which she fed herself. She could feel fear, but only with her waking mind, never in the dreamscape. Ordinary Nightmares also felt no sadness, nor loneliness. Isthil though, had a weakness for these.
She had not been born a Nightmare. In her youth she had been an ordinary centaur. She had laughed and loved and known the affection of a family. Some part of her had expected to find a family with Thomas, but that had been a dream. The women that came to him were almost all twisted before they arrived, and their further isolation in the zone turned most of them into heartless fanatics desperate for the approval of their god-like template. Isthil knew, because she fed on those zealous nightmares for centuries, but her own isolation persisted. Her loneliness was what had driven her finally to beg Euryale to help her. She realized now that she had longed for real community, for real family.
To find, of all things, that Asturial's dream was born of her father's wish that the dragon have that same joy was ...
Isthil exerted her will, expending a great deal of her energy to grant true lucidity to Asturial.
As she did so, she leaned up and got off the dragon, shimmering as she resumed a form Asturial would recognize.
The dragon proxy sat up abruptly, eyes widening, then hardening as her lips peeled back from her teeth in an angry snarl.
"Before ye' judge me," Isthil said, "consider how ye got here. Ye should remember readily enough."
Asturial hesitated, her eyes wavering, and Isthil could sense her reviewing recent memories. Then she nodded as she refocused on Isthil and said, "Baba Yaga cursed us. How is Terrence?"
"Terry Mack resisted Baba. He beat her curse head on."
"Impossible. No mortal could do such a thing."
Isthil shrugged. "He did. I dinnae ken how, but it's obvious that he's a hard man when he has t'be. In the Wildervast, mebbe that's enough."
The dragon proxy glanced around, and her face twisted in anguish as she realized what had happened. "I have no memory of how Terrence and I left this place. I can tell that resolution happened here ... but it's gone."
"Aye. I couldn'a save ye from that. I've re-ordered most of the rest of the damage, but when I saw how important this memory was I tried to protect it, and the curse wiped it out instead. I'm sorry."
Asturial's expression grew calculating as she asked, "Why did you start ... toying with me, then wake me up?"
"I was tryin' to understand ye, to better please ye, and then I saw yer last memory with yer pa. After that ... I couldn'a do it. I couldn'a let ye think even fer a minute that ye'd had Terry Mack. When ye get that memory, it needs ta be real."
"Why did you do this for me?" Asturial asked.
"How could I not?" Isthil returned. "Ye're dear to him, ye know? I dinnae know all that passed between ye, but Terry Mack's clearly spent much time and thought on you. That, an yer memory moved me. I had a family once. I know the love of one, and I wish fer yer success, fer yer father's sake."
Asturial's eyes shown with unshed tears, but she scrubbed them away and nodded as she stood up.
"What is happening in the waking world?" Asturial asked, all business now. Isthil felt a pang of regret. Part of her had really wanted to enjoy the dragon's time and attention.
Perhaps ... she'll not be entirely unwillin' later on. She seems the sort who'd appreciate straight talk, and direct action.
Without waiting for Isthil to answer, Asturial said, "End this dream. We need to be there for him."
"Not really. Not now anyway. Terry'll have t' see to himself for a while."
Isthil stood, her hooves sinking into the bed of soft things. It would have made her balance uncertain in the waking world, but here she could neither trip, nor fall. "What you an' I need to do, is save Yuri Kolenko."
"From what? The curse did not kill him?" Asturial asked, her surprise clear in her tone.
"No, would that it had. He's begun to turn, and ifn' we dinnae subdue him soon, he'll become a Wildling."
17
Establishing Boundaries
Shy Willow sat on a small hillock away from the hustle and bustle of the carnival with the Rod of Arcs across her knees and a copy of the accords in her hands.
Mila's transformation had been a welcome relief for her. Despite their educated guess regarding Terry's bond gifts, she had worried for the tigress. She knew a little of the Rakshasi, because they were a fabled encounter and much researched at the college she had haunted much of her young life.
Her magic is now greater than mine, she realized as she felt a twinge of jealousy. Terry's gift to her had been to expand her capacity, but not her capability.
'Jealousy is unbecoming.'
The Rod of Arcs did not sound hostile, only chastising. 'If you cannot make better use of what little talent you have, more power would only cause more waste.'
You are right, of course, Shy thought.
Her relationship with the Rod was still defined by its desire to do harm, and nigh constant nitpicking. The staff always took more from her than was necessary instead of focusing and conserving her strength as it should.
But the Rod no longer insulted her outright. It no longer spoke out of turn to hurt her. It only told her what she already knew about herself in a way that cut her pride.
The Rod of Arcs allowed her to stand with Tee when he fought, to help him when he needed her. That had been why she had taken it up to begin with, despite her hatred of the thing. As her use of it and her knowledge had grown, her attitude toward it changed. She now thought of it with genuine fondness. It had allowed her to stand with Tee. It had let her help him when he needed her. It had also pushed her to better herself. In its constant insults she had found the seeds of truth, had begun to cultivate them within herself, and for that she was thankful. It was a hurtful, spiteful, vile piece of metal, but it was her hurtful, spiteful, vile piece of metal
.
We are a good team.
'That remains to be seen. I am surprised you've lived so long.'
Shy nodded, her eyes on the horizon, yet unseeing. It was almost noon, and save for a scattering of high cirrus clouds, the sky was clear and blue. A breeze ruffled the grass around her, and for a moment Shy felt the urge to take her willow form.
She resisted.
Play it again.
'Hah! If you continue to listen to his music, it will make you bloodthirsty.'
Do you object?
'Of course not. I only point it out because the you of yesterday WOULD.'
Shy filled her mind with expectation, and the Rod of Arcs filled it with the sounds she had stolen as she watched Tee work.
She smiled and sank into the flow of the strange music, letting its thrumming rhythm and the drive inherent in the words bind her more firmly to the staff. Tee had worked himself mercilessly while in the Labyrinth. He had spent most of his time communing with the Rod of the Heart, or sparring, but more than once he had gone to the equipment room and had — as he called it — lifted. While he lifted, he listened to music. His music. Shy had slipped in to watch him, employing the subtlety of her mask to remain unseen, and as far as she knew he had never noticed her. As she had watched him and listened to the music he played when he thought no one was watching, Shy made a remarkable discovery.
Unlike the others, she could understand the words of those recordings. Even Prada needed to be touching Tee, integrated into him, to understand them as he did. Shy had told no one of her understanding, not even Tee. Just as she understood his music, she understood the words of his spells. She had already memorized a few that he had cast in her presence, but had dared not ask him for more. Something within her held her back, and she had long ago learned to trust her instincts.
Part of her reticence lay in the fact that the words of most of the music he listened to were more than just aggressive. They were filled with a driving violence. Laina in particular would not have understood. Shy herself did not understand. Not completely. But there was no question that when he played his music, it took Tee to a place deep within himself. His face became a mask of determination, and with his bonds suppressed he had still completed feats of strength Shy would have thought beyond him, revealing in the process an animal nature that was savage and unrestrained. If he knew that Shy understood his music and the violent inclination it presaged, he might hide that part of himself away. With no outlet, that violence might fester, turning into something dark and hateful.