by Raven Li
Although they were allowed to take off their gloves and headdresses in the privacy of their own quarters, further disrobing was severely looked down upon. But what harm could come from undoing just a few of the buttons? No one was likely to come looking for her this evening—Jacie was busy with Arath, and she had no other close friends. Her hands moving as if of their own accord, Sasha slowly undid some of the buttons, until her robe hung open all the way to the tops of her breasts. She sighed in pleasure as the breeze slipped lower, tantalizing the round mounds of her breasts, slipping down in the sweaty cleavage between them, moving over the hardening nubs of her nipples...
Sasha gasped in shock and jerked back. The breeze had changed from being a simple breeze—that had felt like a real touch! Startled, she looked around, and noticed for the first time that none of the candle flames wavered even slightly. The breeze—or breath—had touched only her.
“Who’s there?” she asked, feeling half alarmed and half silly. Surely the entire incident had been nothing but her imagination.
An insubstantial finger touched her cheek, slowly tracing its curve to the corner of her lips. “No one,” came a breathy answer, as much wind as voice.
Sasha’s heart beat more quickly, but in response to the touch rather than in fear. She was a mage, after all—even in her current untrained state, there were few things in the natural or supernatural worlds that she would ever have to fear. “Are you a ghost?” she asked uncertainly. The Order’s castle had served their kind for hundreds of years—no doubt it had seen more than its share of untimely deaths.
She sensed a moment of hesitation. “In a sense,” came the answer. The voice was stronger this time—stronger, and undoubtedly male.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she gasped. Then she realized how ridiculous that statement would sound to a ghost, and a little laugh escaped her.
“I’m sorry,” said the soft voice. She found herself straining to hear it, almost against her will. It was a beautiful voice, deep and melodious, and as soon as it fell silent she found herself wishing to hear it again. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. You looked uncomfortable—I only wanted to help.”
Sasha frowned. She knew almost nothing about ghosts, only that Exorcists were sometimes called upon to rid a place of them, just as they disposed of troublesome elementals. Because her power was the exact opposite—to draw things to her rather than send them away—she had never paid much attention to the sorts of things Exorcists dealt with. Of course, even she had heard tales of ghosts making odd noises or throwing things, but she had no idea how much truth there was to the rumors. Did ghosts ever converse with the living or try to help them?
“What’s your name?” she asked curiously. This ghost, at least, didn’t seem to intend harm.
“Elodan. And yours?”
“Sasha.”
“Sasha.” His voice made the name sound like a caress and sent a shiver down her spine. “You look so hot, Sasha. Let me help you.”
The voice was low, seductive. The soft breeze touched her again, and Sasha felt her eyes close with pleasure. A part of her wondered about how pure such an intimate touch could possibly be, even if it came from a ghost, but she couldn’t quite force herself to button her robe back up. Instead, she arched her head back, unconsciously lifting her body so that her breasts were more exposed to the coolness he brought her.
Something cold and wet touched her skin, and she yelped in surprise. A small fragment of ice slid over her chest, across the hot pulse at the base of her throat. Where did he get that from? she wondered. Perhaps ghosts retain at least some of their powers? If he was a Summoner in life, could he still call ice from the kitchen?
Then the ice slid slowly over the tops of her breasts, causing all thought to disintegrate. An icy stream of melting water trickled down her cleavage, exquisite against her heated skin. Slowly, slowly, the ice dipped lower, until it pressed against the nipple, moving in little circles that kept the curious pain-pleasure from turning into real pain. She gasped, arching her back helplessly, and the ice moved to the other nipple. As it did so, sudden warmth closed over the first nipple, accompanied by a sucking sensation, as if her chilled flesh had been taken into a hot mouth.
“No...” she managed to mumble. “Stop. We shouldn’t...” Her words trailed off into a gasp as the ghostly mouth replaced the ice once again.
The gentle sucking that was driving her slowly mad stopped for a moment, and she almost cried out with her need for him to continue. “Why not?” he asked.
“It’s...it’s wrong...the First says so.”
“Ah.” The ice was back, moving over the aching points of her nipples, making her bite her lip against the urge to beg him to take them back in his mouth. “You like it, though, don’t you? You enjoy this. Besides, I’m just a ghost...it isn’t as if you were doing this with a man...”
She knew that his logic was faulty, but her desire to argue disappeared when his mouth closed urgently on one nipple, sucking hard. She cried out in pleasure, her entire body aching with need. Heat had begun to build in her center, between her legs, and it flashed through her mind to wonder what the ice would feel like there.
As if her ghost had read her thoughts, mouth and ice were both suddenly gone from her breasts. She felt the wet, cold surface of the melting ice slide lazily up her inner thigh—apparently the ghost was insubstantial enough that he had no problems reaching through her dress.
Unable to help herself, she spread her legs wider. The ice brushed against her clit, making her jump, then caressed the hot folds of her labia, melting even faster as it did so. A moment later, it slipped up in her. She gasped and wriggled, but before the sensation could become uncomfortable, she felt a mouth fasten on her, the tongue thrusting deep, sucking the ice back out.
She cried out in pleasure, hips bucking helplessly as she came. Ghostly hands cradled her hips, holding her through it until the spasms ceased. Gasping for breath, Sasha lay on her back, her robe unbuttoned to her waist, her legs spread wantonly. A soft touch fluttered over her face, and she felt the unmistakable sensation of lips brushing her own.
“Until tomorrow night,” whispered the voice. And then she was alone.
Chapter Three
Sasha propped her chin on her fist and tried to pretend that she was paying attention to the lecture. The room she sat in was one of the larger ones in which teaching sessions were held, which meant that she could safely lose herself in the anonymity of the crowd. As with the communal Gatherings, the students were strictly separated as to gender, although here only a wide aisle separated the men from the women. When the lecture had first begun, Sasha had tried stealing covert glances at the men, wondering if any of them resembled what her ghost had looked like in life. But, although the clothing the men were required to wear was far less concealing and restrictive than that of the women, nothing she saw stirred any interest in her at all. Apparently, she was free from temptation with them—only Elodan fanned the slumbering fire in her to life.
And what am I going to do about that?
Sasha had no question as to what she should do. She should summon an Exorcist immediately to rid her quarters of the lewd ghost. But that would destroy Elodan, and somehow she couldn’t bring herself to do that.
And besides...she wasn’t entirely sure that she wanted him out of her life. Although it was impossible not to feel a little guilt over the night before, the damning despair that was said to overcome the victims of lust had not yet made itself known to her. According to everything she’d ever been taught, she should feel degraded, shamed, and unclean. Instead, the feelings that the ghost had awoken in her had been ones of pleasure and comfort. She felt good, rejuvenated...free.
What’s wrong with me? she wondered. It was said that good women fainted at the mere idea of a man’s touch. After marriage they had to put up with it in order to bear children, of course, but certainly they weren’t supposed to enjoy it. She, on the other hand, was counting the hours until her ghost ca
me back.
At the thought of his return tonight, a little shiver of anticipation ran up her back. Struggling to repress it, she told herself sternly that she would have to send him away. She would have to tell him that last night had been a freak event, but that she would never consent to such an experience again. He would either have to comply with her wishes, or she would be forced to summon an Exorcist.
Or I could wait until afterwards to tell him not to come back...
The closing of books all around her woke her from her daydream. Startled, she looked around and saw everyone rising to leave. The lesson was over. Realizing that she hadn’t heard a word of it, Sasha put away her blank parchment quickly, before anyone else could notice her lack of note taking. What was happening to her? She had always been one of the most dedicated students—now she wasted an entire lecture thinking utterly impure thoughts about a ghost!
As she hurried out of the classroom, Sasha nearly ran headfirst into Jacie. Startled, she grabbed her friend’s wrist to keep her from falling—then let out a gasp of shock.
Jacie looked terrible, that was the only word for it. Her face looked pale even against the white of her headdress and robes, her eyes were red and swollen from crying, and the unguarded expression on her face was one of such anguish that it drove Sasha’s own troubles far from her thoughts.
“Jacie?” she gasped. “Oh, honey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” Jacie said, a little too emphatically. She jerked feebly against Sasha’s grip. “Let me go. I’m late to a lecture.”
“No you aren’t—I know your schedule just as well as you, remember? Better, it would seem.”
Sasha’s attempt at levity fell flat. Jacie’s eyes darted wildly about, reminding Sasha of a trapped animal. For the first time since they had met, her friend refused to look her in the eye. “I have somewhere I need to go. Just...just let me be.”
“But...can’t you tell me what’s wrong? I want to help you.”
“Nothing’s wrong!” Jacie shouted, pulling hard against Sasha’s grip. This time, Sasha let go. Her friend spun in a swirl of white and fled down the hall, shoving others from her path heedlessly. A group of young men stared after her, puzzlement clear on their faces.
Shocked and uncertain, Sasha readjusted the sling that held her books. Something was terribly wrong with Jacie, that much was clear. Whatever it was, her friend obviously did not feel comfortable confiding in Sasha. Yet something had to be done to help her.
Suddenly determined, Sasha gave the sling one last tug and started off down the hallway. She, a mere first-year apprentice, might not be able to comfort her friend. But there was someone who could.
* * *
“What do you want, child?”
Sasha stood with her head down, eyes fixed on her white shoes. They contrasted sharply with the severe gray of the flagstones and made her want to scuff her feet like an arrant child. Telling herself to regain control, she risked a quick glance up through her lowered lashes. Arath, the First of their Order, the man who had defeated the Dark Mage, sat on the other side of a ponderous desk. Tomorrow would mark the fiftieth anniversary of that great victory, and the years since had not sat easily on the man who led the mages. His face was shriveled and wizened, with pale, clammy-looking skin. Only a few strands of gray hair still clung to his head, and his mouth was set into a permanent frown of displeasure, as if he tasted something sour.
“Forgive me for disturbing you, First,” she said, before she could lose her nerve. “It’s about my friend, Jacie. I saw her today, and she seemed very distressed, but she wouldn’t tell me why. I thought, since you had taken an interest in her, you might be able to help. Your first tutoring session was last night—maybe you noticed something wrong then?”
Arath glared at her impatiently, and Sasha wilted. “I do not have time for the foolish airs of silly girls,” the First proclaimed in his querulous voice. “The temptations that beset the young are many, and women are far more susceptible to them than men. Perhaps it is her conscience that troubles her.”
Sasha felt the blood rise to her face. Those words seemed to fit her far better than Jacie. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I just thought—“
“I will look into the matter,” Arath added, surprising her.
“Thank you! Jacie is so sweet, I just can’t imagine—“
“You’d be surprised.” An odd look passed over Arath’s sour face. “Perhaps our tutoring session was too much for her. She wouldn’t be the first young woman to succumb to...fancies...about me.”
Sasha just managed to prevent her shock from showing on her face. Was the First mad? Jacie was barely twenty, while he looked twice his seventy years. Surely it had been a long time since young women were unable to resist fantasizing about him.
An attendant opened the door, letting Sasha out. She murmured her thanks, but her mind was already far away. Whatever Jacie’s problem, surely it wasn’t what the First imagined.
Still, it is said that Osan speaks directly to the First’s ears, she thought uneasily. Surely He will give Arath the wisdom to deal with this. Surely.
But the memory of their conversation sat uneasily, like the unpleasant aftertaste of some poison fruit.
* * *
“How dare you?” Jacie demanded over the evening meal.
Startled, Sasha looked up. Jacie had kept her voice low, so no one else tried to listen in on their conversation. “How dare I what?”
“Go to the First and tell him that I was upset?” Tears brimmed in Jacie’s eyes, and her mouth twisted into an ugly snarl. “I’ve been ordered to report to him tonight!”
“Jacie, we only want to help you—”
“I can do without your help! I don’t even want you to talk to me ever again!” Jacie leapt to her feet, shot Sasha a withering glare, and left.
A few curious eyes turned in Sasha’s direction, but when she ignored them, they drifted back to their own conversations. Alone, Sasha continued to chew on the bland food that was all the Order was allowed to eat—after all, taking pleasure in any activity of the body was a sin, and that included eating. When she was done, she Summoned a glass of water from the kitchens and sat sipping it slowly, her mind in turmoil.
Why was Jacie so angry with her? What had she done wrong? And how in the world was she supposed to make it better without knowing the answers to the first two questions?
Distracted by her friend’s problems, Sasha didn’t even give a thought to the ghost waiting for her as she climbed the long stair to her room. Her chamber was high up in the north tower, affording her a privacy few others had, if only because most people didn’t want to hike up a flight of fifty steps just to drop in and chat. It also meant that no one had been able to hear her passionate cries from the previous two nights, something for which she was profoundly grateful.
As soon as she reached her room, she lit a candle with a simple spell word, illuminating the shuttered darkness. As her eyes adjusted, she became aware of a shadowy figure standing near the cold hearth.
“Elodan?” she asked uncertainly. He was not substantial...but neither was he completely invisible as he had been before. Rather, she got the impression of skin, of two eyes and a mouth, and a lean body, but all the details were blurred, like a vision seen through a rain-streaked window.
Her ghost flashed what might have been a smile. “I like hearing my name on your lips.” His voice was stronger, more substantial, as well. Just the sound of its low, sensual tones caused her blood to begin to heat.
Feeling tired and depressed, Sasha sank down on a chair. “We can’t keep doing this. Last night was wonderful, but I could get into real trouble if anyone finds out.”
He made no move towards her, but she could sense his curiosity. “What would they do to you?”
“I don’t know. A public flogging at best, I would think.”
He shook his head, and she got the impression of long, dark hair. “How terrible. We will have to make certain that no one learns,
then.”
“It’s too much of a risk.” She tried to glare at him, but he seemed less visible when she looked directly towards him, so she had to settle for keeping him in the corner of her vision and scowling at nothing. “Who are—I mean, who were you, anyway? How long have you been here? Do you seduce every young woman unlucky enough to be assigned to this room?”
“I am Elodan,” he said, as if that explained anything at all. She sensed his presence draw closer. “As for your other question,” he added, his voice going low, “I was nothing before you came. Asleep, waiting, trapped in limbo, until your longing awoke me. There’s only you, Sasha. Only you.”
Ghostly hands trailed warmth down her arms. Sasha closed her eyes, arching her head back to give him access. Insubstantial lips touched her throat, nipped gently at her ear, making her squirm. “My longing?” she managed to gasp.
“Yes, my Sasha.” The kisses stopped, but the hands kept roving, teasing her through her robe. “Don’t lie to yourself or to me. I could feel your passion, your need. If I understand you aright, the Order tells you to keep that passion bottled up, hidden away, but it is too strong for them. You are too strong for them.”
She wanted to protest, but his touch felt too good. When he kissed her, she whimpered, desperately longing for the heat and solidity of a living man’s touch. If only he could kiss her like that!
Then, suddenly, both hands and lips were withdrawn. She opened her eyes in surprise, saw him standing a few feet away, nothing but a faint smear of color and shape in front of the dark fireplace. “Your garments are too heavy, too restrictive,” Elodan said huskily. “Take them off for me.”
Trembling, Sasha rose uncertainly to her feet. She had never imagined herself disrobing for anyone—even married couples were instructed to keep on as much clothing as was practical when engaged in procreation. Feeling as though she stood on the edge of a precipice, she slowly pulled her gloves off, then unfastened her headdress and set it aside.