by D. L. Carter
Heat pooled and spread through his groin, and his cock tightened and filled. He tilted the book a little further. He knew women’s backs were more graceful than men’s, but, truly, he’d no idea what positions could be achieved by a determined lady supported by a strong lover.
After contemplating the sketch for a moment longer Eioth turned to the next page – the Posture for Far-Seeing, and his cock struggled against the confining fabric of his trews to rise and beg. Eioth’s hand drifted down and he ran his fingers down the length of his arousal. Not to stimulate, but to soothe. To promise.
He’d fantasized in the past about placing a woman kneeling across a footstool, his hands gripping her shoulders for the mount. Somehow it had never been something he could suggest to any of his wives. To him the marriages had been contracts – she to provide a child, he to provide some favors to her family. Since none of his wives had fulfilled their part of the bargain none of the favors had continued beyond the divorce. His wives had all been classically beautiful – pale, silver eyed and graceful, yet none of them had inspired him to regard the sex act as anything other than a task. A duty. Physical pleasure had been an unimportant aspect of marital coupling.
Eioth ran his fingers down his cock as he paged through the remaining illustrations, his interest in Sex Magic growing with his arousal. Despite the difficulties, he would take the time to experiment with Sex Magic. He owed it to his intellectual curiosity. To his status as a Magus. His cock throbbed in agreement.
. . . but in a combination of many factors. On a personal note, I will observe that it is difficult to explain to one’s legal spouse the necessity of a Sex Magic partner.
As it can be expected, the spouse will protest the presence of your Sex Magic partner in your House, necessitating the expense of maintaining a separate residence for partner and magical equipment. This, of course, makes the practice of Sex Magic that much more time consuming.
Eioth grunted and stared out of the window for a moment. Yes, he could imagine the difficulty of explaining such experiments to one’s spouse. Fortunately, he was not currently burdened with a wife. All three of his ex-wives were safely back with their families. No. He frowned and concentrated. The second had remarried; the others were still in negotiations with the families of some other poor males.
The selection of the Sex Magic partner cannot be random or impulsive, based on casual lust. One must choose carefully, seeking a number of specific characteristics and skills.
The partner carries a considerable burden during Sex Magic being both the generator and director of power, and therefore, must be intelligent – to learn each position, remember signals, memorize chants, and comprehend their vital role in the Rite.
They should be strong willed, so as to be able to think and act above the animal in their bodies. Choose someone, therefore, who will be able to maintain a level of arousal sufficient to feed the magic without seeking satisfaction. Someone able to postpone the point of orgasm which signals the completion of the spell and dispersal of raised Power.
And during arousal, and while receiving stimulation, she must be able to coherently speak complicated chants.
Indeed, this is a difficult task.
Therefore, do not choose a partner who mumbles, or becomes breathless and wordless in the act.
Eioth chuckled at the image of a Mid Winter Ritual disrupted by its participants shouting “Yes, yes. Faster. Faster. Oh, Lady. Oh, Elements, yes!”
It cannot be avoided. Although one would prefer to be intellectual and esthetic in one’s Magical practices, in Sex Magic this is impossible. The partner must be attractive to the Magic practitioner. She must appeal to all of your sensibilities. If you are sensual, so must she be. If you have an aversion to particular colors or specific attributes in your daily life, your partner should share your likes and dislikes so that you will not take an aversion to her in your preparations for Magic. Likewise, do not choose one who chatters if you prefer silence.
The practice of Sex Magic is complex and involves most of the Practitioner’s conscious mind. There cannot be the distraction of trying to perform self-stimulation and self-arousal. Such matters must be the responsibility of your partner, leaving you free to concentrate on more important matters.
When preparing for a Magical act one must be confident in the appropriateness of all tools. In this discipline, the bodies of both participants are tools. Yours must be healthy, strong, and functional and your partner’s body must be immediately arousing . . .
Eioth laughed aloud at that last. As if any sensible man would choose it to be otherwise. He was surprised the Adherent hadn’t bothered to direct the practitioner to seek a specific size and shape of breast, or curve of buttock. Idly, Eioth wondered which one of Kelth’s ancestors had been the Adherent, then put the speculation aside. Given the subject, this was one answer he truly did not desire.
A knock at his door had him hurriedly marking his place with his page turner and loosely arranging his clothing over his groin to conceal his arousal until it naturally deflated. He turned the book face down under the cushions between his thigh and the window.
“Enter.”
Mitash bowed his way into the chamber accompanied by two of Eioth’s servants just as the sky opened and the evening rains began. Mitash flicked a glance toward the window.
“Reliable,” he murmured.
“You expect anything less than perfection here?” a faintly superior smirk on his lips.
Eioth sat forward and gestured his secretary closer. “You have gossip? Excellent. Do tell.”
Mitash slid a chair across the floor, sat and leaned close to his lord’s ear.
“Brother Hospitabler is unpopular, deservedly so, as you may assume from what you have seen of his manners. At the moment the feelings against him are exactly what his personality inspires. Father Abbott and Brother Prior are most displeased with him. He has been preparing for your visit since he’d schemed his way into his current position at Year’s Turning, and it appears, he has overreached himself. He nagged and tormented his brothers-in-Water until they have conspired against him – unofficially, of course. The menu he planned for tonight was extravagant enough to serve a High Court wedding banquet but . . .” here Mitash paused and his grin became feral . . .“for reasons that Brother Cook and his assistants cannot explain, nothing has gone right in the preparation.”
“Oh?” Eioth raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, oh! Not to waste food or shame the Sanctuary, no, but nothing will be ready until very late and even then, not all the complicated dishes that Brother Hospitabler demanded. Some of his ambitions have to be sacrificed to practicality. The cook is reputed to be saddened by his failure.”
“Oh? Sad news for Brother Hospitabler. Not to mention the guests.”
Mitash nodded. “But, as I assured the Abbott, we have no wish to burden them with unreasonable demands. Therefore, I have brought Neogh and Brech with me. They stand ready to prepare your dinner here, if you will accept the rough fare of the road.”
Eioth nodded to his servants, noting the two broad, flat braziers and the baskets of ingredients they held as they waited patiently for his notice. Neogh’s skin and hair were the dark rose and dirty grey brown denoting mixed mortal and Elven ancestry. Brech was full blood Low Court Elf, pale pink skin, thicker statured with light grey hair. Both had served Eioth on his travels over the years and their abilities were well known to him.
“You cannot describe Brech’s and Neogh’s cooking as rough fare, Mitash,” said Eioth, raising his voice a little, “That is hardly kind, nor accurate. I believe I prefer it to waiting for the results of an unhappy cook and kitchen.”
Both servants bowed and began unpacking their supplies.
“And, if you have any other gossip, Mitash, you may stay and eat with me.”
“I am well supplied, High Lord. Of what would you hear first? Sanctuary? Village news? Local politics?”
“Tell me of the mortal girl we saw on arrival. I
am certain there is a story to be heard.” Eioth’s memory produced an image of the woman standing proud and defiant even though her pitiable baggage was slung across her shoulders and her face pale with grief. She did not yield to it any more than she yielded to the prejudice of the wagoner. Despite the worry in her eyes and the filthy state of her hands, she had moved with the grace of a High Court lady when she threw the money down and pronounced her curse. “Brother Hospitabler was anxious to try and draw our attention away from her.”
The glance that Mitash flashed toward the servants was nervous and he shifted his chair just a little closer to Eioth.
“I have the story from the Prior. Halidan tor Ephram and her father were cast out of their employment this morning after her father was struck down with a brain seizure. The Prior assures me there is nothing contagious about his illness. It is merely the sad consequence of age. But, even so, her compassionate employers dismissed daughter and father and banished them from the House as is, they stated, required by Ritual and Tradition.”
Mitash sneered as he said the words.
Eioth could feel his own lip curling in response.
“Ridiculous, unnecessary, and cruel. How ill is the father?” asked Eioth.
“He is not expected to survive. The Prior assures me that all Prayers will be completed before we depart. They will be most careful that the Rituals not disturb any members of our party.”
“Please assure Father Abbot I am not disturbed by the news,” said Eioth.
“Of course, High Lord. He also asked me to assure you that all efforts will be made to prevent the other members of our party becoming aware of the event.”
Both Elves contemplated the other members of the party for a moment. Two High Court females had been foisted onto them only a few days before. Lilianda and her cousin, Porish, of the House Worind were everything High Court ladies shouldn’t be: loud, rude, stupid, petulant, and demanding. Lord Worind had begged, literally on his knees, that the girls be taken to their grandmother’s establishment to be educated before they were irretrievably spoiled or he killed them with his bare hands. Both outcomes, he claimed, were equally likely without the grandmother’s intervention.
And since High Lord Eioth was heading in that direction, with such a large party of guards and enough comforts so that the girls would not suffer in the journey, it seemed only logical, to Lord Worind, that Eioth would agree.
The two young women had already disrupted and delayed their travels. No doubt the girls would enjoy performing the histrionics that they thought exposure to a mortality should excite. Eioth shuddered at the thought of all that noise and false emotion.
“Please express my gratitude to the Abbot. I would do it myself, but tonight I only wish to rest.”
“And bathe?” Mitash raised a delicate eyebrow. “You would not wish to miss the hot springs, I am certain. In fact, I have reserved time for you in one of the private pools.”
“You know me too well,” said Eioth. “I will take advantage of that after we dine.”
* * *
The mortuary chapel was on the east side of the Blue Waters Sanctuary. A stark stone chamber, it had small windows placed high on the walls and a bier situated under a portrait of the Element of Water as a grieving young woman, done in brilliant blue glass. Since the trip deep into the Sanctuary had taken Halidan along unfamiliar long corridors, and both up and down circular staircases, it had taken her a few minutes to work out that the high placement of the windows was due to the room being mostly underground. A small waterfall trickled down the east wall into a blue marble basin and a scattering of chairs were positioned facing toward it.
Her father was placed gently on the bier, then the brothers departed to their other duties. Halidan didn’t wait until the door closed behind them before dropping her heavy sack and rushing to her father’s side. His breathing was no better and no worse. Spittle and dirt mixed together to streak his face and he stank of the wagon’s usual cargo. Choosing a relatively clean cloth and using water from the fountain, Halidan stripped her father, bathed him, removed every trace of the dirt from the wagon, and covered him with a blanket left by the Sanctuary staff. Then she straightened his twisted limbs as best she could and combed out his tangled brown hair.
Tears trickled down her face as she worked.
It wasn’t right. No one should be laid on their funeral bier while yet alive.
Rubbing the back of her hand over her face she turned her attention to the sacks that represented all that remained of her worldly goods.
There was more and less than she expected.
It would appear by the number and state of the clothes that the contents of her laundry baskets had been brought out first. At least she had some complete sets of clothing even if they were not fit to be worn being twisted, dirty, scorched, and covered in soot.
Her father’s gear she set to one side. Once she had made an accounting of what was there, she would choose the best of the clothes. She paused, breathing hard until the tears were held at bay. After his funeral rites, she could cry.
Clothing she had. Not much and not her best. A few of her embroidered scarves were there, scorched and unfit for use . . . no matter. Now she was out of that House, away from Matriarch Netha’s rules, she could go bare headed if she chose. It was no surprise to discover that none of her jewelry had been cast on the fire. She found one highly decorated vest with a hole burned through the left chest and six unmatched shoes that she’d never seen before. When the tally was complete, Halidan had three complete sets of usable day clothing, no nightwear, a few pieces of underpinnings and eighteen unmatched socks. There was no coat or winter weather wear or strong outdoor shoes.
None of her books or personal items had been thrown in the fire. No ornaments. Nothing of true value – sentimental or salable. Halidan’s lip twisted. Apparently her fellow servants participation in the Matriarch’s Ritual Cleansing required the casting out of soiled bed linens – four sets, including pillow covers, while stealing anything they might use.
Although it seemed vain to be worried about such things, as well as disrespectful to the Element, she washed herself as best she could in the little fountain, rinsed out the least damaged of the day wear and hung it over the back of a chair to dry. She opened the few books that survived, straightening the crushed, smoke stained pages and shook her head. The books were common and of minimal value even when in good condition. None of her father’s precious rare volumes had been brought out. She still had the Book of Common Rituals and the drum she’d had in her hand when she’d fled the building, but they should really be returned to the family lest she be accused of stealing.
However, since if she returned them the Matriarch would only have them destroyed, Halidan put that worry from her mind and placed them on the pile of items to be sold. The sum total of her worldly goods, even sold for the best price she could imagine, would not bring her enough money to live on for a month. Casting a glance toward the door she pulled the Matriarch’s purse from her sash and arranged the coins in little piles. Although the purse was heavy, the contents were mostly copper except four solitary silvers. Halidan counted them twice before sitting and staring at them. The money was more than she’d seen in one place at one time, while at the same time being much, much less than the salary owed to her and her father. There was no way, she knew, of going to the Matriarch and demanding an accounting. If she tried, the Matriarch would have her beaten and driven away. No Elf would blame her and no mortal had the authority to advocate for Halidan.
No, there was nothing to be gained by going back.
Sighing, Halidan divided the coins into three piles. The smallest she put into the purse and tucked back into her sash. Then she slipped off her shoes, removed the lining from both, poured the remaining coins into the hollow heels and packed them tight with a torn corner of cloth. She did not imagine that experienced thieves were unaware of such hiding places, but as she intended to keep close company with her only remaining p
air of shoes it was the best hiding place she could think of.
Halidan checked the door, again. The promised healer hadn’t arrived, but the Sanctuary had the High Lord’s entourage to settle and provide for as well as those who were already present in the infirmary so the delay was understandable. Her father’s breathing was coarser now to Halidan’s untutored ear and less regular. She wasn’t sure what it meant. She took the washcloth and wiped his face again, dampening his lips. Then she gathered up the best of his surviving clothing and redressed him.
No reaction.
She thought about it for a while before removing the one ring he’d been wearing, an elaborate heavy thing marked with the crest of the High Court family he’d served as a youth, and tucked it into her sash. If she was lucky the value of her sale items would cover the cost of the funeral rites, if not, she would offer the ring. If the Elements were kind she would not leave the Sanctuary a debtor.
Voices raised in argument caught Halidan’s attention, then the heavy wooden door started to swing open. Instead of the blue-robed healer Halidan was expecting, three male Elves entered. Halidan was halfway across the room blocking their path in a heartbeat.
“I’m sorry, sirs,” she said in Low Court, “but I was promised by the Prior that this would be a private place tonight.”
The trio paused just inside the door. The tallest of the group, a male of mostly mortal heritage to judge by the brown-bronze tint to his skin and hair, smiled at her. Then he took a second, longer look, scanning her from feet to head and his smile broadened.
“Have pity, Lady, the Sanctuary is overcrowded tonight. All we’re seeking is a quiet corner for a friendly game.” He rattled a handful of dice at her. “We just want to have a little fun.