Shadowrun - Earthdawn - Longing Ring

by kubasik

  "What a lovely boy you are." She coiled the cord around her hand until the ring reached her palm. She grasped it and a passionate sigh escaped her lips. She smiled down at J'role, her eyes alive with mischievousness.

  The creature raged and ranted in his thoughts but J'role lost himself in the smile the queen bestowed upon him. "This ring," she said, her breathing increasing in pace. “I know this ring." Her eyes looked off into the distances as if past the trees that circled the clearing, as if seeing something long ago that she could no longer place “ Where did you get this?"

  she asked. The commanding tone had left now; she wanted very much to know the answer to her question.

  J'role's jaw moved a bit. He so wanted to answer her, to give her anything she asked. But he could not speak He could never do that to her.

  "What does it matter now?" the creature screamed. "You've ruined the only chance for happiness you've ever had!"

  "No. Not the only," he told it, still looking at the queen. Yes, he knew now. His mother and the priestess of Garlen who had tended him as a child. Both had given warmth. Love.

  But this woman who stood before him could give him things he never dreamed of. If only she would hold him in her arms . . .

  She touched his face with her fingers, the flesh warm, the thorns kept from his skin. "I know you are not mindless. You are a bright lad. I can see it in your eyes. A clever, strong, handsome boy."

  His chin trembled. More, please, more. He was embarrassed at his love of her flattery. A trick, no doubt, but what a lovely trick. He let his thoughts slip away, allowing her words to have their way with him. Her lips moved only inches from him as she spoke. Their motion hypnotized him; the full red lips now, in his thoughts, separated from the rest of her.

  "I see you considering whether to speak. Yes? Yes. You choose not to tanlk. Won't you talk for me?"

  He had almost spoken! J'role pulled his face away from her hand. Clamping his jaw tight, he forced himself to think of his mother and his father and what had happened to them when they had heard him speak.

  She touched him again. "What is it? Don't you want to make me happy?"

  He turned his head toward her, again almost speaking. "Yes," he wanted to say. He nodded.

  She stood and extended her hand to him. "Come. I will show you my home." He took her hand, only their fingertips meeting, the flesh of his hand brushing against her thorns, but not cutting. She turned to the thorn men. “The other one will remain here until I return."

  J'role looked at his father. Bevarden was staring at the ground, but his shoulders shook slightly, and J'role knew he was crying for all the dreams lost, now passed on to his son.

  14

  The flash of the blade caught the green light of the glow sphere. His mother, insane, held the blade. "Come here, dear. Come here."

  His father was out telling stories at the Atrium. One thought crashed through all others: Home was supposed to be safe.

  The elf queen led J'role up the broad steps of the castle, each one formed from intricately placed, polished white bones. Some of the bones were large, some small, but all seemed strange in a way he could not identify. Thinking they might be the bones of Horrors the elves had killed during the Scourge made him wonder what the Horror in his head actually looked like.

  As they walked up the stairs they passed the courtiers and elven magicians who were still positioned at either end of each step. All had thorns growing from their bodies. The magicians stared at J'role with disdain, though their faces bled from the thorns and from the scraping of their flesh against the bark and small branches that grew from their bodies.

  When they came to the top of the stairs the elf queen gestured for him to pass through the great doorway. Plunging beyond the thick vine walls of the castle was a great hall under a spell of green twilight. J'role entered, followed by the queen, who touched his shoulder lightly, steering him through the corridors. Vines and trees made up the castle's inner walls, a wild profusion of flowers growing from them. Sometimes the flowers formed flowing patterns, other times they showed scenes of battle or portraits of elves. J'role saw that most of the elves portrayed in the flower scenes had no thorns in their flesh.

  At one point a shrubbery walked past them, carrying a tray made of dry leaves. Sitting on the tray were cups, each formed from a thick layer of petals. The shrubbery bowed low to the queen, then continued on its ways

  J'role and Queen Alachia then ascended a series of staircases that spiraled around tree trunks. The steps were branches carpeted with vines, and all the windows they passed were adorned with beautiful spider webs. The elves on the ground looked smaller and smaller as J'role and the queen ascended the spiraling stairs. Once he caught a glimpse of his father kneeling on the ground, surrounded by the thorn men. The other elves had moved closer, pointing at Bevarden and laughing. He almost felt a desire to be with him.

  But the queen's fingertips rubbed slowly against his shoulder. He let the impulse die quickly.

  Finally, after climbing many flights of stairs and traveling down many corridors, they reached the top floor of the castle. A long hall extended before them, the walls lined with tree branches that served as shelves. The shelves contained amulets and rings and gowns and silver cloth and countless other items that J’role suspected had served as gifts to the queen, and perhaps the rulers who had come before her.

  At the end of the corridor were double doors made from white rose bushes. The queen pushed the door open and J'role entered a magnificent bed chamber. The room had only three walls. Opposite the door, in the place where the fourth wall would have been, was nothing but a wide empty space. J'role crossed the floor, a springy surface made of tightly woven vines, and then stood staring out into the open space.

  Below him the top of the elven forest stretched on and on, forming a vast landscaping of shifting leaves. Beyond the forest lay all the brown of the world, the lands left dead by the Scourge. The stark contrast of the dead world against the forest made J'role reconsider his original fear of the forest. The abundance of life still disturbed him but he wondered what a world covered in trees would be like, and then he thought it might be wonderful.

  "A beautiful view," the elf queen said, suddenly behind him. He felt her breath on his neck, and then her lips touching his flesh, rubbing slightly, dry and arousing. The thorns along her body pricked lightly against his back as she pressed closer and ran her hands down his arms.

  Though he knew what would happen, he leaned back into her, desperate for her warmth to envelop him. The thorns on her body bit into his back, sending a delicious pain through his body. Yes, delicious, and so intense that he arched his back and uttered a low moan.

  The creature in his thoughts purred like a cat, bathing luxuriously in the agony.

  This was it, then, the touch and the pleasure and the pain, and J’role thought he could die at that moment; impale himself on the queen's beautiful body and know the pleasure he had always wanted while gaining a final rest so he would never feel longing again. Could anyone want more?

  She gently raked her hand along his chest, tearing his shirt open, drawing thin lines of red along his dark flesh. Though the temptation was great, J'role said nothing, only hummed through tightly clenched lips.

  She leaned in next to his ear, the morns on her throat pressing into the skin at the back of his neck. "No words of encouragement?"

  He sighed.

  “I know you can talk," she said, and the tip of her tongue pressed lightly against the inside of his ear. Her warm breath made him jerk, her thorns tearing his flesh. "What are you afraid of? What is it that you wish to keep me from knowing?" She removed her hands from his chest and he saw they were now smeared with streaks of blood. The leather thong was still looped about her hand, and she loosened it and slipped the ring onto her finger. She sighed and drew him tightly to her. He let out a soft gasp, but pressed himself even closer. Tears of pain formed and rolled down his face. He bit his lip to prevent himself from screamin
g, yet the pleasure was perfect.

  'This ring .. . ," she said, raking his flesh with the thorns in her hands. "I remember this ring . . . from so long ago . . . I was only a small child—four hundred, five hundred years ago—we made this for a city. Yes, Parlainth. I haven't thought about it in so long." As she suddenly pulled back, J'role felt the sticky blood pulling between their bodies.

  "Why?" she asked, her voice distant and distracted. "Why haven't I thought of it for so long?"

  Then, abruptly she turned him around, stared into his eyes—Ah, to be looked at with such desire! How wonderful!—and pulled him close. They kissed. The thorns drove deep into him now, but he did not dare stop for fear she would not kiss him a second time.

  But even as they kissed, he realized she was not responding to her desire for him. Instead, she was using him to fulfill the desire created by the ring on her finger.

  It did not matter. J'role would take her love in any form. She pulled away, blood on her face. She swayed as she tried to stay in control, gasping for air. "Where did you get this?

  What do you know of Parlainth?"

  He leaned forward to kiss her again, but she backed away, smiling. "You want me?" Her white gown, now smeared with his blood, parted easily as her hand pulled at the collar.

  He stepped toward her, and she retreated once- more. "Tell me where you got the ring. I haven't thought about Parlainth for so long. Not since . . ." She paused, lost in memories, and J'role nearly reached her. But she left her reverie just in time to leap up onto the bed a rectangular hammock made of vines and matted with a thick layer of broad green leaves.

  "Not since we helped them . . ." A memory seemed to come to her, and she smiled. Her face immediately contorted from the pain of the thorns.

  "We built the ring," she said ignoring him completely now. "And the dwarfs cut the stones for the walls. The walls held the magic to hide the city, and the ring . . ." She stared down at it, and then looked up at him. "You may go now."

  He swallowed. He spread his arms wide, asking for an explanation. Warm blood turned cold and wet as it dripped down his body. The pain began in earnest without the intensity of the moment to sustain him. He stepped toward the bed.

  "You can take the stairs if you wish. Or you may simply go out that way," she said, pointing to the opening that looked out over the forest. "Many of my lovers simply prefer just to die. I really can't tell about you."

  A fury built up inside him, a self-righteous anger similar to the one that had helped him steal while still living in his village. The fury mixed with his lust and he lunged for the bed. He would die, but against her, her thorns tearing him apart.

  From the floor, from the walls, sprang half a dozen thorn men, spears in hand. They blocked his way, dragged him to the ground, their thorny arms ripping wildly across his body. J'role gave a shout of pain, and as he opened his mouth he felt the creature take control. He decided not to fight it.

  But the queen sensed the danger even as the noise began. She brought her hands reflexively to her ears and commanded, "Silence him!"

  Two of the thorn men grappled his face and squeezed his jaw shut. Their thorns raked across his lips and over his eyes, and he tried to scream again, but could not. His tongue, controlled by the creature, moved wildly in his sealed mouth, but no words escaped. His sense of smell was assaulted by the decayed forest life trapped in the bodies of the thorn men.

  "Take him to the pit," the queen said. "I will deal with him later."

  Blood now rushed over his eyes and he could see nothing. He only felt himself lifted and carried off by the flesh-shredding hands of the queen's guards.

  Down the corridors and down the stairs they carried him. Then sunlight filtered through the blood that washed over his tightly shut eyes. He heard the laughter of elves and the chattering of the small, winged creatures, then felt himself tossed into the air. He fell, much longer than he expected, and braced himself for terrible pain. Darkness embraced him as he suddenly slammed into the ground. Though the ground was not hard, the impact still hurt horribly. Adding that to the pain of the queen's thorns and those of her guards, he was left with neither the energy to move nor the desire to do more than keep his eyes shut and fall asleep. And this he did.

  J'role woke to the sound of small movements, with little awareness of where he was or how he had gotten there. A slow groan rolled from his throat, and he carefully stretched out his legs and arms. Then he stopped quickly, for even these small motions sent pain cutting through his flesh. He paused to rest, eyes still closed, feeling damp, cool dirt against his cheek.

  "Hello?” someone said softly, and he realized it was his own voice, and all the events with the elves came back to him.

  J'role opened his eyes, carefully raising his hand before his face for fear of being stunned by bright light. Blood, dried and still sticky, held his eyelids shut for a moment and a panic seized him: would he never see again? But the blood cracked and his eyes opened.

  Darkness.

  He pulled his hand away from his eyes and discovered that he could just discern his father kneeling over him. Beyond that, nothing. He heard a soft voice, his father's, mumbling over and over, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Your Highness. Please. I'm sorry."

  From the acoustics J'role guessed they were in a small room; a cave, perhaps a tunnel.

  He closed his eyes, and felt a deep, numbing darkness slide along his body. At the edge of his thoughts he remembered fully what had happened in the queen's bedchamber. His body ached and pain spread over him in odd waves, but he felt a warmth from the memory. He had finally gotten what he wanted. He had hated the queen for sending him away, but he was happy with the gifts she had given—the touch of her skin, cuts from her thorns. All his life he had waited for something like this.

  "All your life?" the creature asked coyly.

  "No," he said. "Ever since you arrived."

  "Yes. And if you liked it, it's because I'm here. I'm glad you appreciated it. I had a delightful time."

  But even as J'role drifted off to sleep, he knew the creature was wrong. It had begun when the creature entered his head, but there was something else. The drowsy darkness consumed him, and he fell into a deep sleep before he could remember what that thing was.

  Sunlight streamed down a vertical shaft about twenty feet away, creating a circle of gold.

  J'role propped himself up and saw that he was resting on the floor of a tunnel that extended out of sight behind him and beyond the circle of light ahead. The shaft was probably where he'd entered the tunnel. He didn't know how he had moved down the corridor away from the shaft. Then he noticed the shallow depression leading up to his own body, and realized someone must have dragged him.

  His father sat against the wall of the tunnel, fast; asleep. For the first time since they'd left their village Bevarden seemed peaceful. The tunnels undoubtedly reminded him of the kaer, the place where he had always gone to retreat.

  Carefully J'role stretched his limbs. They were still stiff and sore, but did not hurt as much as they had hours earlier. He got up, dizzy, and walked with weak legs to the base of the shaft.

  Above him rose a pit about twelve feet across; about twenty feet up, the lip of the pit opened into sunlight and trees. The dirt wall of the pit was lined with tree roots that poked toward the center of the pit. There seemed to be no guards at the top of the pit. Or at least no one staring back down at J'role.

  He looked at the tree trunks and realized that even without the thief magic that Garlthik had passed on to him, it would be easy enough to climb out of the pit using the roots as handholds. But with the magic, it would be no problem at all. He smiled inwardly; the elves were in for a surprise if they thought they could keep him in prison!

  Hunger chewed at his stomach, but the thought of escaping excited him, and he wanted to get to it as quickly as possible. Finally, he need not depend on anyone but himself. He was the hero of his story.

  He moved quickly back to where his father slept
, fearful that thinking about the thief magic would make him want to leave Bevarden behind. J'role didn't know what else to do but try to escape and then struggle against the thief magic when he got out.

  He decided to wait until nightfall before attempting me escape. Shadows, Garlthik had taught him, are a thief's friend, and J'role wanted as much comfort as possible while trying to climb the pit. Wondering how long the queen had planned to leave them down in the tunnels, it suddenly occurred to him that she might never have thought of letting them out. She had probably forgotten about them already.

  When the sun set, the tunnels became solidly black. Not even starlight reached me tunnel, blocked by the large, dark leaves in the tree tops high above. His father sat in the darkness, giggling, sometimes coughing, and other times sobbing. "The elves!" he said, and gasped for air. "Where is the beauty now?" J'role listened to his father, his heart filling with pity and hatred. He knew Mordom had done something to his father, probably probed his father's mind for clues— and when he had discovered that Bevarden knew nothing, was, in fact, only at hopeless drunk—must have kept him around as a pet.