Rise (War Witch Book 1)

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Rise (War Witch Book 1) Page 14

by Cain S. Latrani


  Let's think about this, she told herself. Ramora lived in the High World for ten years. She's not going to do things the way a normal person might, especially those who have lived their entire life in a small town buried away in a tiny nation.

  Considering that for a minute, she wondered how someone like her might flirt. Surely it would be done in a vastly different manner. If she even knew how to do it at all. Did she? Chara wasn't sure.

  Ramora rubbed her cheek against her hair, sending a thrill down the younger woman’s spine. Feeling like she was going to melt, she trained her mind on taking in all the subtle clues she might be missing that would give her some kind of insight.

  How did the boys back in Adel express their interest?

  Hey, baby.

  Okay, not the best comparison, she admitted. Somebody accustomed to the company of Ascended and Gods wouldn't do that. They weren't from a place that was the sticks to the sticks. Like she was.

  Ramora's fingers tenderly grazed the inside of her breast, shattering her thought process. She kind of wished the warrior would stop that so she could concentrate.

  She mentally kicked herself for the idiocy of that idea.

  Settling in against the Blessed, Chara listened to the steady sound of her breathing, felt the fullness of her breast against her arm, and wanted more than anything in that moment to run her fingers along the woman’s bare thigh. More than her next breath, she wanted it.

  I'm a hick, she sighed to herself. From the part of the backwoods the people who are backwoods call backwards. If it were anyone else, she'd take all of it as a sign of interest. She'd know, with certainty, that it was more than a passing interest. It was an invitation.

  So, why was she thinking about this so much? Why was she sitting here, debating the whole thing? Why wasn't she responding in kind? Why couldn't she make her brain stop spinning?

  Fingertips floated up her throat, then down again, slipping past the silk to her bare skin.

  Yeah, that was an invite, she was sure of it. It had to be. You didn't just casually touch a friend that way. That's what you did when you were coming on to them. Some things were universal.

  Right?

  Why are you still thinking about this! she screamed at herself. Just go for it!

  Hand trembling, she slid it over and caressed Ramora's thigh, hoping against hope it wasn't going too far, that she wasn't making a mistake.

  Her hand in is in your robe, dumbass! she chided herself. How is touching her thigh too far? What’s wrong with you? Why are you still going on like this? Shut up and roll with it!

  Chara felt dizzy from the mental exertion.

  Ramora thought Chara felt good, and her hair smelled nice. Other than that, she wasn't thinking much.

  Somewhere, Altimar was laughing herself into hysterics.

  When Ramora's touch didn't pull back at hers, Chara ran her fingers over the warrior’s thigh, savoring the feel of hard muscle under the supple skin. The tremble in her hand eased slowly as she relaxed, allowing herself to enjoy the moment, relishing the touch and feel of the woman she had come to fall in love with so much it hurt her at times.

  Turning her head, she looked up at the Blessed, knowing that if she could just see her smile, it would be enough to make her world complete. The twinkle she got in her eyes when she was being mischievous was the turn of Chara's world. So long as Ramora was happy, the young woman knew, she would want for nothing else in her life.

  Ramora smiled at her, cornflower eyes glittering as her fingers dipped, following the curve of Chara's breast. Her breath hanging in her throat, Chara turned into her, hand sliding up beneath the hem of the robe the warrior wore, tracing her hip.

  She wanted to gasp, but couldn't get even that much out as the Blessed's hand cupped her breast, touch so light it was almost ethereal. Falling into her eyes, Chara leaned up, wanting the taste of her lips like the sky wants clouds, her fingers slipping, almost unbidden, across her hip, then down, grazing the inside of her thigh.

  Her mind had gone quiet, all the spinning thoughts gone in a moment as the warrior’s lips grazed across her eyes, phantom touches that set her body on fire. The waft of her breath, caressing her cheek, the light touch of her lips teasing against her skin. She was drowning in the warrior’s hazy blue eyes, and didn't want to be saved.

  The tickle of her thumb rising, circling her nipple, coaxed a soft moan from her throat. The feel of muscle under her hand as she slid higher, brushing against the crease of her leg, knowing the only Paradise she desired was a hair’s breadth away, undid her completely.

  Ramora's lips flitted over her own, making her tremble in the other woman’s arms as the sensations washed away her ability to know any world but what lay in her arms.

  "Pardon me," came Esteban's thick baritone.

  Chara froze, cursing the cruel whims of fate as Ramora lifted her head, offering the Werecat a shy smile. Her hand, however, continued to dance under the robe, making the young woman dizzy.

  "I would... um... show you to your room," the Jaguar said, looking at the ceiling. "But Master Imicot has requested to speak with you, Blessed of Ramor. He has been expecting you."

  Ramora hesitated a moment, wanting nothing more than to return to Chara's embrace. She’d wanted this for a while, and felt the other woman wasn't interested till now. Whatever the old sorcerer wanted, she was tempted to say it could wait until morning.

  "The master knows what you would ask of him," Esteban added when neither woman moved. "And has a request of you in return."

  Ramora was standing in a flash, eyes turning serious.

  On the couch, Chara suppressed a whimper; cold water thrown on her moment with the sudden absence of her would-be lover. Hurt, she turned up to the Blessed, only to see she wasn't looking back as Esteban swept a hand out to indicate the stairs.

  They were passing out of sight by the time Chara could still the tremble in her legs enough to follow, desire fading into resentment, and anger.

  Chapter Twelve

  FOLLOWING THE TOWERING WERECAT up the wide stone steps, Ramora pondered how the old sorcerer could’ve possibly known she was coming, as her Avatar sang of regret at having what it considered a long overdue rendezvous with Chara's nether regions interrupted. Shushing it gently, she reminded the Rabbit they had more pressing matters, but it tweeted back that leaving the young woman so suddenly was cruel.

  Chara would understand, she pointed out, but the spirit gave her a long whistle of doubt. Glancing over her shoulder, Ramora found her friend trailing behind, her face dark as she stared down at the passing steps. Shamed, Ramora admitted the Avatar was right, and promised to make it up to the young woman later.

  Somewhat mollified, the small Rabbit left her alone, but continued to hum chastisement in the back of her mind. Glancing back again, Ramora sighed silently, wondering just what in the Hells had gotten into her to behave so rudely. As much as Ramor was her father, Altimar was her mother, and she had taught her better than that.

  Accepting that she owed Chara a profound apology, the warrior looked back up at the Werejaguar as they rose ever higher into the tower, wondering how long he had watched them as they had lost themselves in each other. Despite his cordial behavior and manners, she still didn’t trust him.

  Winding their way up, Ramora studied the layout of the keep itself, in case she had to fight to get Chara out of it. After they left the main floor, they had ascended two full stories before reaching a landing that circled half the structure, passing a wide set of double doors that had given a glimpse of a three-story library.

  Two floors up, at the next landing, a laboratory of some sort, runic designs for ritual magic scattered amongst chalkboards half filled with arcane calculations. Though they hadn’t seen use in some time, she could still feel the power emanating from them, making her wonder what the old sorcerer had been studying.

  Another lab met her eyes at the floor above, this one for mixing potions, while the next floor showed a vast armory. S
he only got a glimpse through the half open door of scattered armor and weapons, while complex machines she couldn't even describe hulked in the background, draped with oilcloths.

  From there, they climbed two floors before passing another entry, through which she saw something that made her pause, reaching out to swing the partially open door wide, taking in the sight of a three-story ringed chamber lined with drawings of gateways, each surrounded by complex runic wording.

  Esteban paused, watching her with unreadable eyes as she stepped into the chamber for a moment. Her Avatar chirped in awe. A Nexus Gate. She’d heard of them from the Ascended as she’d studied magic under them, but never believed she would see one. Dumbstruck, she could only sweep her eyes slowly over the massive number of portals, sitting quiet and cold.

  "What is this?" Chara asked softly.

  "Nothing," the Werecat murmured.

  Ramora tried to sign to Chara, but found she couldn't begin to describe what they stood at the heart of. Passageways to other worlds, gates to the Shadow Realms, the echoed possibilities of worlds that might’ve been, created when Grannax had separated the One World into three. A rough estimation told her there were more doorways here than known Realms, meaning the old sorcerer had discovered ones that were as yet uncharted.

  Realizing that mystic energy must naturally converge here, she finally understood why he had chosen to make this his home. The sheer amount of knowledge that a mage could gain from having access to so many other worlds was staggering, giving her a new respect for the power the old man wielded.

  "Come," Esteban said after a moment. "This place hasn’t been used in many years. Let it lie."

  Following him out, Ramora pondered the wonders the old sorcerer must’ve seen in his life. Her Avatar murmured a sweet song at the beauty of the place, the mystical energy that bound the whole of creation together flowing through the tower with such ease it found it wondrous. She reminded it that this was sorcery, though, not a natural grip on those energies, like she possessed.

  It made a soft tooting to dismiss her argument, enraptured with the ebb and flow of magic that breathed in the keep, and pointed out how easily it moved. Sorcery or not, it whistled, the creator of this structure respected it, and was loved by it in return.

  Her little Rabbit’s awe gave her pause to think as they continued to climb, making Ramora consider the old man above a little less fearfully. If magic, a living mystical force, cared for him, then he wasn’t someone she should fear, even if he was a sorcerer.

  Still, a glimpse ahead at the Werebeast that led them reminded her of the horrors sorcery was capable of, while a glance behind showed her what it was she must protect at all costs. A slight smile touched her face as she looked at Chara, the woman she was falling in love with.

  An innkeeper’s daughter from a tiny farming community, the young woman had the heart of a tiger. Father had known exactly where he was sending her when she’d returned to the Middle World. She could not begin to express her thanks to him for this gift.

  Climbing higher, the trio passed doors at every landing, but they all stood closed, giving her no idea what lay beyond, though already, she’d seen wonders. Nearing the top, they passed a vast dining hall that hadn’t known company for a very long time by her guess, the double doors that showed it partly pulled. At the end of the landing, a smaller single door sat closed.

  At the next floor, Esteban paused by a wide door, swung it open and showed them a lush suite, saying, "This will be your room for the duration of your stay. I’m in the next over, should you need anything."

  "Thank you," Chara said, staring at the enormous bed with wide eyes.

  Waving them on, he led them past the door of his own chambers before heading up to the next landing, where only one door stood. Glancing down the hall at the stairs that led up, Ramora had to wonder what lay at the very top of the tower, for this must surely be where Imicot himself awaited them.

  "What's up there?" Chara asked, as if reading her mind.

  Esteban gave her an annoyed look. "An observatory."

  "Wow," the young woman said softly.

  "Indeed," the Werecat intoned. "Mistress Chara, if you will remain here, please."

  Snapping her head around, defiance flaring in her hazel eyes, the young woman replied quickly, "No, I won't. As I told you before, Ramora is mute. I interpret for her."

  "The master will have no need of that," the Jaguar told her. "You will not have to wait long, I assure you, but he wishes to speak with the Blessed in private."

  "Ramora?" Chara asked, looking to the Blessed in concern.

  Biting her lip, the warrior considered the matter. She didn’t want to anger the young woman any further, but at the same time, if this was the will of the old sorcerer, she couldn't defy that in his own home. It would be a dishonor to him, and herself.

  Motioning for her to wait, she quickly signed an apology, but Chara said nothing, her face showing the hurt she felt. Wanting to comfort her, she found herself without a chance as the Were opened the door, ushering her in. Looking back, her last sight of her girlfriend made her wonder if she would ever really get to call her such.

  Then, she was in the presence of Imicot, Master of Sorcery, and lord of the keep.

  The chamber she found herself in was luxurious even by her standards. Taking up almost the entire floor, it was divided into a bedroom, a study, a bathing room, and a small lab where several potions sat unfinished. Scanning, she spotted the man she’d come to see, seated in the study portion, and felt a bit taken aback.

  As Esteban guided her to Imicot, she realized that she’d taken all she had seen as a sign that while he was nearing death, he would still be powerful and vibrant. The withered old man reclining in an overstuffed chair, heavy blanket wrapped about him, was not what she’d expected at all.

  Thin hair, wispy and white as snow, clung to a liver-spotted scalp as he looked up, watery green eyes brightening behind the glasses he wore. His face, wrinkled and heavy with age, offered her a kind smile as he raised a palsied, gaunt hand and beckoned her on.

  Joining him before the fireplace that burned on nothing, like the fire pit on the ground floor, she bowed deeply, trying to be respectful as her Avatar sang out in joy at the raw mystic power emanating from the withered old man. Ramora felt certain that even without a living spirit of magic entwined around her soul, she would’ve been able to feel his own Avatar, a massive and powerful Bat that sang almost audibly.

  "Thank you, Esteban," Imicot said, his voice thin and frail. "Leave us for a time, please?"

  The Jaguar bowed to his master. "Of course."

  "Oh, and do prepare some dinner for our guests, won't you?" the sorcerer added. "The lady and I will not be long, and I’m certain they must be hungry."

  "Right away," the Cat said, excusing himself quickly.

  Ramora didn’t like the idea of the towering beast alone with Chara, and watched him go with trepidation. To her surprise, Imicot chuckled at her, a heavy wheezing that did nothing to hide his humor.

  "Fear not, my girl," he told her, motioning to the chair that set near his. "Esteban is a good lad. He won’t harm your young friend."

  Not comforted, Ramora eased into the chair anyway, considering the weak old man before her. He truly had little time left, his body so worn from age it seemed he might collapse in on himself.

  "I know what you must think," Imicot said, voice quivering. "I didn’t create him the way others do. No, I could never bring myself to perform that unholy blood ritual. Esteban is from the Savage Realm."

  Ramora blinked, beyond surprised. One of the many Shadow Realms, it was home to a world where Werefolk were dominant, humans, elves and the other races never existing in their history. A world where the Gods had created children in their own image.

  Imicot took a long, deep and shaky breath. "I journeyed there at times, seeking knowledge. One day, I found an orphaned Kit, lost and alone in the woods. I searched for his parents, but never found them, or anyone
who knew to whom the boy belonged. In the end, I felt I had no other choice but to bring him back with me. That was forty years ago now, and I have done my best to raise him as my own son. He’s a good boy, so please, fear not for your friend. She is in good hands."

  Saddened by her own distrust of the Jaguar, Ramora smiled softly and nodded, settling in the chair. Imicot smiled, seeing she understood. In that smile, Ramora saw the truth of the man: kind, gentle, and compassionate.

  "I suppose," he said slowly. "That you’re wondering how I knew you were coming, aren't you?"

  Ramora nodded, getting a soft chuckle from him.

  "Adalynn, dear, why don't you stop hiding," he called out, voice thin and raspy.

  Turning, Ramora watched the air shimmer as the Ascended dismissed her invisibility, giving the old man a chastising look. She knew the demigod instantly, as well, having met her many times during her life in the High World. The statuesque figure, flowing mane of green hair, scaled lower arms and slitted eyes were unmistakable.

  The first among the Ascended of Terakus, the crocodile Goddess of death.

  "Little Sister," Adalynn greeted, holding out her arms as the warrior rose to embrace her, taking in the sweet smell of cinnamon that clung to her like a perfume. "Though I suppose I should call you Ramora now, shouldn't I?"

  Seeing the question in her eyes, she laughed, warm and loving. "Talbor wouldn't stop wagging his tongue about it for months. Oh, never mind him; let me have a look at you."

  Stepping back, Ramora turned a bit, her smile widening.

  "How you’ve grown, my precious girl," the Ascended cooed. "Such a fine, capable and beautiful woman. Just as I always said. It does my heart good to see you like this."

  "As you can guess, I know a fair bit about you," Imicot told her, watching them with a gentle smile.

  "Silly old man," the demigoddess purred. "I tried to be sneaky about watching over him in his final days, but he picked up on me. First mortal I've ever met who could detect an Ascended while they were cloaked."

 

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