by Hondo Jinx
Spinner laughed, covering her mouth with a tiny hand. “Oh! I thought you meant something else. Yes, I can create all of those things. If you have anything specific in mind, please let me know before I gather materials today.”
“Talk to the girls.”
“Yes, Master.”
“And Spinner? Don’t forget to ask Elizabeth.”
“Yes, Master. Of course. But I don’t think she likes me.”
“Don’t worry about it, darlin. Elizabeth will warm up to you. She has her ways.”
After finishing with the deer and pig, Braddock went looking for Philia and Tilly.
The fur folk were still passed out inside.
Tilly was working on her wine, which she said would be ready soon. That didn’t seem possible, but then again, neither did Spinner turning a fresh hide into a finished garment in a matter of minutes.
Philia was preparing to cross the meadow and soothe the cattle. Braddock reminded her to look out for the roc.
Then he told the girls about the smoke he had seen down by the river.
“Hmm,” Philia said. “There is no permanent settlement there. It must be someone passing through. You said it was partway up the hillside?”
He nodded. “Not far. Maybe a hundred yards.”
“Not centaurs, then,” Tilly said.
“Correct,” Philia said. “Centaurs prefer to sleep beneath the stars.”
Braddock imagined that for a second. He liked sleeping out in the open, too. But with limits. “Even in the rain?”
“Especially in the rain,” Philia said. “They mock others for seeking shelter. The open sky is a big part of centaur culture. They have no trouble passing through wooded areas or even tunnels, but they prefer to be out in the open, galloping across the plains, with long views to every side and the wind in their hair.”
“And they believe a centaur must die beneath the open sky,” Tilly added. “Otherwise, the bloodline is cursed.”
“So who do you think is camping down there?” Braddock asked.
Philia and Tilly shrugged.
His wife said, “Could be goblins, orcs, elves, any number of travelers. I just hope it isn’t Sidians.”
He hoped not, too.
Goblins were bad. Orcs were worse. From the sounds of it, elves ranged from friendly to murderous.
But Sidians were the worst.
All wastelanders feared the warlike, merciless Sidians, who were eight feet tall, lean as wasps, and covered with whipcord muscle. They tattooed their jet-black skin with golden symbols honoring their dark god, Onx.
Fiercely monotheistic and theocratic, the Sidians lived by ritual and tradition and were totally incorruptible. They scorned money and forged no alliances, seeing themselves as superior to all other races. Neither bribery nor threats could sway them.
Luckily, the Sidians were small in number and they rare in these parts.
Braddock shifted his gaze to Philia’s golden-haired handmaiden. “Tilly, would you feel safe flying down there to investigate today?”
She popped up, looking excited. “Certainly, Master.”
“Be careful,” he told her. “Don’t get too close. I’d rather leave it to mystery than risk you getting hurt.”
“Aw, thank you, Master. That’s so sweet.”
“If you do get a good look, try to get a rough headcount and look for anything we might need to know. Weapons, horses, that sort of thing.”
Braddock released Tilly, then fetched his saddle bags and accompanied Philia, talking of her newest handmaiden as they crossed the meadow.
Spinner had been one of Philia’s favorite Meadow Sisters.
“She’s sweet and bubbly and very, very talented. She is truly an artist, husband. You should see what she can do with spider silk. Spinner even made Hortensia’s clothing for her. Which probably goes some distance in explaining why Hortensia reacted so cruelly.”
His wife was still full of rage.
“Will other sprites be encouraged by Spinner joining us?”
Philia shrugged. “Yes, they will be encouraged. But they will also be frightened to suffer the things she suffered.”
When they reached the edge of the forest, Philia sat down in the long grass fifty yards from the cattle. As she started communing with the meadow, Braddock slipped into the woods and spent the next several hours hunting and gathering.
And, truth be told, looking for any sign of Cascadia.
He found no sign of the lovely nymph, but it was otherwise a fortuitous trip.
Climbing to the top of the rocky peak, he adjusted his mental map. The flood waters had largely receded both to the east and west. In the canyon, the powerful surge had carved a much wider riverbed and created twin streams in a couple of places. Over time, one would probably dominate. The other would dry up or shrink away to become a riverside pool in the manner of an oxbow lake.
When Braddock returned to the meadow, the sun was dropping low in the sky, his bags were full of nuts and roots and wild squash, and he had a stringer of fat salmon he speared in a temporary pond created by the flooded stream.
Reaching the edge of the woods, he searched for signs of the roc, then stepped into the open.
Philia was still communing with the meadow.
The cattle were grazing all around her. While Braddock was watching, Philia reached up and patted the leg of a passing cow.
Amazing.
Braddock called to her, and she rose, the roots falling away from her and sliding back into the ground. Looking serene and lovely, Philia walked straight through the herd, brushing her hands over the animals’ shoulders and backs as she approached.
“The cattle will not leave us now,” Philia said. Then she draped her arms over Braddock’s shoulders and stood on tiptoes for a kiss. “Another successful hunt, husband?”
As they walked, they talked of the meadow, the cattle, his hopes to domesticate pigs and sheep, and their three daughters, whom Philia could feel growing inside her.
Then they spotted the smoke.
There was no spike of alarm. First, because the meadow hadn’t warned them of intruders. Second, because the smoke wasn’t dark and billowing, like that of a cabin fire.
This smoke was light and feathery, much like the smoke drifting up from the cabins and smokehouse.
When home came into view, Braddock spotted a stream of fur folk heading for the western hillside.
“Are they moving out?” he wondered aloud, feeling a twinge of hope.
“Perhaps,” Philia said. “They do prefer subterranean living.”
But as they drew closer, Braddock realized that some of the fur folk were returning from the hillside, carrying things back to the enclosure.
And when Braddock and Philia drew closer still, the fur folk hailed them merrily, and Braddock saw that those returning from the hillside were carrying kindling, food, and baskets heaped with mud.
Beaming, Chundra emerged from the gate and trundled toward them, holding a welcome sight in his tiny hands.
A bow.
A nice, long bow. Just Braddock’s size.
Reaching them, Chundra bowed and started squeaking.
“The fur folk thank you, husband,” Philia translated. “Chundra made this bow as his personal thanks to you.”
Smiling, Braddock took the bow, tested its draw, and found it perfect. “Thanks, Chundra. This will help me hunt.”
Philia squeaked, translating his gratitude, and Chundra patted his leg. “Braddock friend!”
Braddock crouched down and patted his shoulder. “Chundra friend.” Then he dug in his saddle bag, found a withered apple, and handed it to him.
Chundra squealed with delight and polished it on his fur, squeaking again.
“Chundra says he is excited for us to see everything the fur folk are doing,” Philia explained.
They followed Chundra to the gate, shaking dozens of furry hands along the way.
Despite their excitement at Braddock’s return, the fur folk rem
ained focused, streaming back and forth between home and hillside with the single-minded doggedness of ants.
While Braddock had been hunting, the fur folk built a kiln overtop the sunken brazier and designed an efficient system to produce clay items.
At a glance, Braddock saw plates and bowls and mugs drying in neat rows on the porch of his cabin.
Other fur folk had torn off the damaged portion of Elizabeth’s roof and were busy lashing long, slender saplings across the gap. They had also rigged Elizabeth’s pulley to the corner of a roof and piled loads of sod and mud beside the rope and bucket.
As Braddock watched, Tilly appeared with an armload of green, pliable-looking vines, which she had clearly magicked and which the furry roofers accepted with a cheer of thanks.
“Outstanding,” Braddock said, smiling at the industrious little creatures. “The fur folk are hard workers.”
Philia translated his approval, and the tiny workers cheered happily.
“Master!” Tilly said, landing beside Braddock. “I flew into the valley and investigated the campfire. They are rat folk.”
“Rat folk?” Braddock said. His sprites had never mentioned them before.
“A people of typically little consequence,” Philia said. “And a very rare sight here in the mountains. I see them when I visit swamps, but usually they stick to cities. I wonder what they are doing here.”
“I wager they are refugees, Meadow Mother,” Tilly said.
“Why?” Braddock asked.
“They’re in bad shape, Meadow Master. They are not dressed appropriately. I saw few coats. They wear town clothing. Their garments are badly damaged.”
“How many in the party?”
Tilly hummed uncertainly. “Thirty? Thirty-five? I didn’t want to get too close. They might be refugees, but that doesn’t mean they can’t throw rocks or cast spells.”
“Good,” Braddock said. “I’m glad you didn’t take unnecessary chances. What’s the makeup? Men, women, children?”
“A blend of all three, Master. Mostly women and children. Perhaps a quarter are men.”
He nodded. “Weapons? Mounts?”
“Sticks, crude spears, and a few daggers and short swords. I saw no mounts or wagons.”
Remembering the heavy cover of the hillside, he reckoned others could be hidden away. As could mounts and weapons. All the same, he was happy Tilly had scouted the situation for them.
“Good work, darlin. I appreciate it.”
Tilly smiled mischievously. “Enough to give me a reward tonight, Meadow Master?”
He grinned at her, tempted to take the two women inside for a quick diversion, when Philia gasped, “Oh look, husband.
With a troubled expression, she stared down at her outstretched palm.
Which was, as far as Braddock could tell, completely empty, save for a tiny drop of water.
Then, as he was trying to make sense of her concern, a small white flake settled onto her hand.
He lifted his head, scanned the meadow, and saw the truth.
It was snowing.
28
Snow sifted down like ash, obscuring the distant mountains, and dusting Braddock’s world in fine flakes that spun and sparkled in a passing breeze that chilled man and sprites alike.
For they understood this omen.
Winter was upon them. And they were not ready.
“A word, husband?”
“Sure, darlin.”
He and Philia went into their cabin, where Spinner was zipping back and forth over the dinner table, dipping close to fuss with something spread atop it.
“Almost finished with your new gown, Meadow Mother!” Spinner chimed.
“Thank you, Spinner. Knowing the quality of your work, I am certain it will be delightful.”
Spinner flashed her dimples. “By making me a handmaiden, you increased my power a lot, Meadow Mother. I can’t wait to see what you think of the dress!”
Braddock enjoyed watching the silk maiden’s voluptuous curves wobble as she worked.
“You find her attractive?” Philia whispered.
He nodded. “Yes. She is small but attractive.”
Philia smiled and slipped an arm around his waist. “Good. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. With first snow, the sprites will range less frequently and stay closer to home. If we enter winter with only two handmaidens, I fear I won’t be able to get seven handmaidens before our meeting with Hortensia. And you know what that means.”
Braddock nodded. “So what’s your plan, darlin?”
“Seed them both tonight.”
“Tilly and Spinner?”
“Yes, bond with them both tonight. Hortensia’s sprites will sense the seeding. You heard Spinner. Several sprites want to come. But they’re afraid. So far, fear has outweighed desire. And certainly, Hortensia’s cruel torment of Spinner greatly magnified that fear.
“But if Hortensia’s sprites sense that you seeded Tilly and Spinner, we might lure more maidens before they hunker down for true winter.”
Braddock held Philia in his arms, looking down into her green eyes and seeing only love and hope. She smoothed her hands up his chest and gripped his shoulders.
It was a strange moment. This woman adored Braddock and was carrying his unborn triplets, yet she was begging him to bed two of her girlfriends.
A strange moment, indeed.
But not for Philia. Because this was normal to her, and she had never pretended otherwise.
She needed these handmaidens.
Their unborn babies needed these handmaidens.
The fur folk, Elizabeth, and even the meadow itself needed these handmaidens.
So why was he hesitating?
Because even though he found Tilly and Spinner very attractive and had no problem with the notion of polygamy, he had been raised in a monogamous culture and had always assumed that if he was ever so lucky to have a wife and children, they would live in monogamous harmony.
These sorts of notions run below the level of conscious thought and touch many things, including preconceived notions about parenting and social mores.
For some reason, his thoughts shifted to Elizabeth.
She would be upset.
But why should he care?
Elizabeth considered him a savage. Why did he care what she thought?
He planted a kiss on his wife’s forehead. “Sure, darlin. How do you want to do this?”
Philia lit up. “Thank you, husband! Spinner come here.”
“Now, Meadow Mother? I’m almost finished. May I have just two minutes before whatever—”
“No. Come here now.”
“Yes, Meadow Mother.” Spinner zipped over in a wobbling flash.
“Go fetch Tilly at once.”
“Yes, Meadow Mother.” Spinner zipped out the door.
Braddock laughed. “You’re not wasting any time, darlin. I reckoned you meant later tonight.”
Philia shook her head. “The sooner the better, husband.”
Five minutes later, the door was barred, the handmaidens and Braddock were naked, and Philia was clad in her new dress, a shimmering green work of art that truly fit her like a second skin and somehow made her seem more naked than if she were wearing nothing at all.
Spinner had stitched Philia’s gown of pure dream silk, using all her talent and every incantation she knew to produce the most beautiful garment any of them had ever seen.
Thin as a sheen of sweat, the sleeveless dress covered Philia’s long neck, then opened in a tear drop window from throat to mid-breast, revealing much of her generous cleavage.
The dress covered her incredible body in shimmering, semi-translucent green. Displaying every rib and ripple, the dress more closely resembled paint than cloth.
And as Spinner explained, the garment’s resplendence was psychoactive, so it would shift to fit his wife’s moods.
Judging by the sheer nature of the dress’s current state, Philia was clearly aroused.
&nbs
p; As was everyone else in the room.
Braddock stood, admiring the tiny handmaidens, who knelt before him with their faces and breasts pressed to the ground and their bare bottoms high in the air, pointed straight at him.
Tilly’s svelte body looked almost skinny beside Spinner’s soft, pleasantly rounded form.
Both women were absolutely gorgeous.
Waiting for him, they held hands and turned their faces sideways to smile at one another. Their wings fluttered nervously. Tilly leaned in to kiss Spinner. Golden and raven tresses intermingled.
Philia fluttered behind Braddock. Her firm breasts pressed against his back as she stroked him lightly and whispered in his ear.
“Seed Tilly first, husband.”
Braddock nodded, mesmerized by the sight before him. And yet, something still nagged.
“You sure this will work, darlin? They’re awful tiny. You don’t need to do another of your shrinking tricks?”
Philia chuckled in his ear. “Trust me, husband. It will work. Tilly and Spinner are my handmaidens. That transformation changed them. They exist to serve us and accommodate our every desire. This is so much a part of their nature that their very bodies will adapt to accept your large root.”
She gave him a quick squeeze then zipped around in front of him and tugged his manhood lightly, leading him toward Tilly, who broke her kiss with Spinner and looked up eagerly.
Braddock knelt down behind her, still uncertain about how, exactly, this was supposed to work. The parts didn’t make sense together. It looked like he would split her in half.
Philia guided him forward until his knees touched her wine-stained little feet. She dropped his manhood heavily onto Tilly’s warm buttocks and the slightly scratchy surface of her folded wings.
His shaft stretched halfway up her back, nearly eclipsing her tiny waist along the way.
There was no way this should work. No way.
But it would, of course. Because magic found a way. Made ways, in fact, where no ways had any right existing.
Tilly shuddered, feeling the weight of his girthy member atop her tiny body, and started twitching her sweet little rear end back and forth.
“Feel your master’s root?” Philia said, and crouching down to take him in her hand, she smacked his length crisply off the little sprite’s bottom.