by Will Bly
The conversation died for the time being, and so their pace quickened. Eventually, the engineered tributaries pinched in close together, and the apple orchards thinned. The path angled inward toward the river, and soon the settlements gave way to a rocky path along forested terrain too steep to farm. Jagged stones jutted out as if monsters had been cemented in the ground, their claws reaching outward to freedom.
There she saw him, a strange man lurking about the woods, harmless and scary at the same time. His lanky arms swung, his hands curled back like some kind of forest dwelling ape. At least that was how apes had been described to her. Supposedly, apes existed near where Kay lived. Farah had been lucky enough one night to have Kay share a little about the creatures and animals she had been told about as a child. The creep kept moving along as if disinterested in what they were about, and Farah’s level of danger accordingly lowered.
Suddenly, her eyes danced with the beauty of swirling freshwater pools and natural land bridges formed by broken trees. The river was healthy and large, and Farah wondered if they would find any dam or impediment at all. Just how large could this dam be, if so much water still flows? General curiosity replaced reluctance, and Farah carried on with renewed interest.
◆◆◆
Farah’s eyes burned with delight even as her legs burned with fatigue. Winding rivulets worked their way around the crevices and cascaded onto the river below. The area proved much more forested than she anticipated, but it still opened enough for her to spot some of the river’s tributaries as they spread through the apple farms below.
The dam appeared to be a fortified waterfall. A natural escarpment ran up the height of six well-grown men. Little chutes dotted along the top of the dam, shedding water over its rocky wall. The overall effect of the place proved mesmerizing, so mesmerizing, in fact, Farah failed to feel any fear as they crossed the rope bridge that crossed in front of the dam.
Bertrand’s chest puffed out as he turned back to her. “You could cross over the dam itself, but the bridge offers the best view. Being master of the dam is certainly hard work, but this is a place I also come to for peace.”
Mirtha walked in front, and the rushing water muffled her response. The back of the wife’s head stayed straight, however, indicating the firmness that often accompanied resentment. Farah found his words to be telling that he came to this place for peace—as if he needed peace from his life at home. She felt as if she had learned way too much about these people way too fast. Something felt wrong—she couldn’t shake it.
The bridge gave way to a stone path that winded around to the top of the dam. Everything looked messier than she would have thought. The top portion of the dam gave way to stones and beaver-fodder: trees, branches, and muck mostly. A sturdy wooden bridge ran across all this.
“I walk the bridge and monitor the beaver’s work. Sometimes I’ll loosen or remove some of their logs to allow more water through if the lake is too full. If there’s a sufficient breakage, then I will help them plug it. Please wait here—this can be a bit tricky.”
Farah waited with Mirtha, who had grown awkwardly silent. Bertrand grabbed a large walking stick and made his way along the wooden bridge. He poked at different spots from time to time, talking to himself as if deciding what actions needed to be made.
“Seems to be a little spot here that could use some love,” Bertrand said, coming to his feet. “Hmmm…” He fished around his pockets. “Aha!” He pulled a slab of fish meat from his pocket. Farah scrunched her nose. His clothes musn’t keep a good smell to them. She wondered what he would do with the meat.
Mirtha snorted her disgust.
Bertrand winked “This is for my very best assistant, Algernon.”
Farah looked around, but there was no one to be found. “Where is he?”
“Oh, he’s underwater or over in that pile of sticks out there in the middle of the pond. That’s his home. He houses his family there.”
“So he’s…”
“A beaver. Algernon is a beaver who helps upkeep our dam.” Bertrand knelt down and slapped the water. A ripple in the water approached them. Out of the water, a large beaver splashed onto the platform by Bertrand’s feet. Grinning ear to ear, Bertrand dropped the fish into Algernon’s mouth. The beaver jumped back in the water.
“Now he’ll plug this spot beneath me. This is our agreement—we work together. Keeps his home safe, and ours. Keeps him fed, and my work much easier.”
“That’s amazing,” Farah said, and she meant it. Farah had never seen a pet beaver before, nor any beaver willing to keep the company of humans. There were beavers up in Frostbridge, of course, but the people never utilized them in any way. In fact, they treated them much like pests. She felt apologetic for the way her people lived.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Bertrand said. “But this is a dangerous proposition. Don’t be fooled thinking this is the norm between humans and beavers. I’ve heard of beavers killing men before. One man a few villages over had one of the main blood pipes in his legs torn clean open one day trying to handle a beaver. Fellow bled out in the mud. So respect these critters we must. Yes, Algernon is a rare creature indeed.”
Mirtha coughed. “We really need to be heading back, dear. Come, Farah, let me escort you back to the village while my husband finishes his duties.”
“As you will,” he said, and Farah thought he mumbled something under his breath.
“Thank you, Bertrand. This was wonderful!”
“Many welcomes, lass. Enjoy your stay in Luthbrook! I’ll see you again tonight.”
“Indeed, I look forward to it, kind sir.” She spun and followed Mirtha toward the trail from which they came. She laughed inwardly. Algernon, the patriarch of the beaver family who helps Bertrand maintain the dam.
Amusement aside, she couldn’t help but wonder if the strange man off the trail still lurked about. She again fished in her pocket and found the handle of her blade, holding it tight as she walked.
Chapter 18: The Breath of Nature
Never had Irulen felt such pleasure. The feeling of being naked, of the skin being caressed by nature’s breath. The coolness of it… the heat of it. A thousand little hands running their fingers along the hairs on his body without ever quite touching his skin. Everything seemed heightened, as if he had consumed a potion of pleasure.
Farah, beneath him, smiled up into his eyes. He pulled away her headscarf and revealed a tangled mess of crimson hair. The candle nearby glowed at such an angle that her hair showed as red as a cardinal’s. He ran his hand through it all as it spread out like water running on stone. It fell back behind her head as he pulled her upward to him. He sat back as she sat on his lap, wrapping her legs around him. Face to face, her freckles dimpled, he met her halfway with a soft kiss. She responded with a stronger kiss, and soon their tongues played along each other at each passing of the lips.
She pulled back from him, giggling. He moved toward her, but she countered him. Her finger pressed against his lips, keeping him at bay. She stood and hiked up the greens and browns of her dress, her undergarments slid down. She pushed him down.
Irulen startled to find someone else standing behind Farah as she settled back down. Kay stood with her arms crossed, her cleavage pushed up from the act. He started to scramble at the thought of being caught like this, but Farah placed a hand on his chest and settled him down. Kay laughed and she untied her leather vest and dropped it to the floor. Irulen licked his top lip as she pulled her undershirt over her head.
What is this? Irulen tracked her until she moved behind him and out of his view.
Hands reached over his shoulders and pulled him backward. He hit the ground lightly and Kay’s head came above him. He looked back over the length of her naked body. She crouched behind him like a cat. She brought her face to his and kissed her bottom lip to his top. His pants tugged away. This is…
He closed his eyes. Hands ran along his sides, over his chest, down his legs. Farah moved on him. Kay’s l
ips interrupted his gasp of pleasure. He opened his eyes to find Kay’s breasts lingering above him. She and Farah kissed hungrily. He craned his neck to reach her hard stomach—kissing and licking whatever he could reach.
Maybe I’m just a bit drunk. Things grew hazy, though the physical feelings remained. How’d this happen, anyway?
He opened his eyes. Kay was gone, though Farah still moved on him. Except…
He squeezed his eyes shut hard and reopened them again.
It wasn’t Farah at all.
A comforting hand grasped the right side of his face. “Shhh… You are good… Just relax…” Marisa, who had brought him there to sleep, ground against him lightly. Her red dress moved with rhythm. He opened his mouth to protest, but found himself silenced by yet another finger to the mouth. The feeling proved too much for his confusion, and he couldn’t help but give her what she wanted. Grabbing her hips, he finished. She smiled and rolled off next to him.
He struggled for words. “What… Wh… What was that?”
“Great sex. Well, for me!” She laughed. “Didn’t you like it?”
“Yes, uh, but I don’t under—”
“You are still a bit groggy from the potion.”
“Potion?”
“Yes, I am an alchemist, and a good one.”
“Don’t see many of those—but… did you… just… rape me?”
“Harsh word, there. You seemed happy enough.”
I was. “That’s not the point! You can’t just do that.” He stood and gathered his clothes.
“Just did it.”
“What will the others say? You’ll be punished!”
“Not likely. We townswomen are encouraged to collect the seed of wandering men. I saw you, and I liked you.”
“Why not ask first?”
“Because I saw the women you were with—unlikely you weren’t tied down to one.”
“I’m not.”
“Of course you aren’t tied to one. Because you are tied to both!”
“That is crazy. You are cra—zy.” His voice cracked. The first time his voice had cracked in years.
“That is why you kept calling me their names—though I reckon you like this Farah a bit more!”
“That’s not true!” He hopped on one foot while trying to fit his second leg into his pants.
Marisa laughed, still lying on the ground. “True as the fact that you rooted me! Go ahead and tell the townsfolk and your friends! I’m sure they’d love to hear the particulars.”
Irulen shook his head. Fatigue overcame his rage. “So, what now? What do you want?”
Marisa shrugged and put her hands up in the air. “I have what I want, but your friendship would be a plus.”
“I need friends like you like I need an arrow to the head.”
She laughed and slapped her hands down on her thighs. “And maybe a follow-up later—if you choose.”
“At least, I have a choice this time...”
A melody of stringed instruments and drums interrupted them.
“Aha!” Marisa sprung up and pulled her dress over her head. “The faire is starting!”
Irulen couldn’t help but regret seeing her fair skin be covered. He wished he remembered more about what had just happened. He shook his head. A wisp of a dream—like nothing at all.
He emerged to find Leofrick leaning against a wall across the way, one leg crossed over the other, his arms folded while the lanky fingers of his right hand caressed the small patch of hair he kept in the middle of his chin—above this, rested a smirky merchant’s smile.
Irulen didn’t like the look of the scoundrel one bit.
Leofrick uncoiled his posture as Irulen walked to him. He spoke slow and mischievous. “What... do we... have here?” He smiled and winked.
Marisa laughed and walked on.
Irulen kept his voice low as he moved close. “Nothing you should be concerned about.”
Leofrick clicked inside his cheek. “Perhaps not, but perhaps it would concern the others?”
“No, it wouldn’t. And I would not suggest concerning them.”
“Oh, I’m sorry… is that a threat? Are you threatening me now?”
“I don’t threaten. I promise. Keep that mouth shut.”
“I’ll keep my mouth shut if you can get those nostrils under control. They flare up something fierce!” Leofrick chuckled and slapped Irulen on the shoulder. A rush of anger flew through the wizard when he felt the hit. It must have shown—for Leofrick shrugged his shoulders and held his hands up in air. He kept them like that as he backed away. “I’m just concerned, is all. I’ve heard girls like that spread black magic and curses through their nethers.”
Irulen balked at Leofrick, causing him to flinch before slinking away in the opposite direction of Marisa. Irulen cracked his knuckles. He didn’t quite know where to go or what to do. Leofrick in one direction, Marisa in another. Irulen chose a path that neither Marisa nor Leofrick walked on. He had no idea where it led nor did he care. Away from them is a good start. Trouble and more trouble.
The path he walked through constricted before opening up into a marketplace. The locals worked busily, setting up their stalls and filling them with merchandise. Many apple-related products lined the shelves, of course, but there were also furs, weapons, hunting and traveling gear, clothes, spices, and even a booth of glassware. The scene reminded him of the festivities in Riverfall some time ago, but there was a much greater amount of wealth to be found in Luthbrook. It seemed people from north and south reaches of the Great Trade Road paid top dollar to sell their wares.
The marketplace had not quite yet found its volume except for one lady Irulen had seen walking with Farah when Marisa had led him away to his ill-fated victimization. He wondered if the lady served as an accomplice to Marisa or not, or if she knew where Farah was now. He made to approach her but backed off as she yelled at a fruit vendor.
“You were going to sell these in Luthbrook?” She menaced the man with an apple in her hand. “There’s holes in these! And they’re brown. No, no, no, no, this simply won’t do!”
The man, or boy, barely Merek’s age, pleaded with her for mercy. “Please, they were good just before. I would’ve checked them again before I sold any. I swear it!”
“Oh? And you would’ve sorted it out and had fresh wares to sell? None of these are good—not one!” Her face reddened as she shook. “Oooooh… Barnabas!!”
The merchant groveled—he even dropped to his knees. “Please, no!”
“Bar—na—bas!”
“Ah, you—you wicked bitch!” The young merchant hopped to his feet and took off running. He turned into an alley. A scream erupted, and he came flying through the air back into the market, landing in loose mud freshly churned up by the day’s activities. He whimpered as a behemoth of a man lumbered out of the alley.
“Barnabas!” called the loud lady. “Slap him in the pillory! Show him why no one tarnishes Luthbrook’s good name! Only the best! We trade only the best!” Whoops and cheers met her declaration as the brute picked the unfortunate merchant up with one hand. Irulen followed the fracas—he always enjoyed a good pillorying.
He hadn’t quite made it to the main platform when he recognized a familiar shape out of the corner of his eye. Full, firm, and finely curved, he couldn’t help but stop in his tracks after seeing Kay bent over a benched table working at something. He approached to find Merek sitting across from her as she spread out parchment, graphite, and other tools of his trade.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Kay rose with feline grace and turned a smile on him. “Just being opportunistic. Found a great spot here for Merek to do his thing.” She made a wide sweeping motion with her arm.
“Very... nice.” It seemed odd to Irulen, seeing Kay fulfill one of Farah’s roles. Merek’s artistry had certainly been profitable for them and made his caretaking much easier.
Kay’s olive eyes narrowed. “You look a little funny—or were you just checki
ng out my ass again?”
“What? No. Well…”
“What’s going on over there?”
“About to pillory a fellow.”
“Oh really?” She perked up and grabbed his hand. “Let’s go.”
He felt far from comfortable about the hand holding, but she pulled him with enough force it would be hard to disengage without adding drama or awkwardness to the situation. On Kay’s insistence, they found a spot toward the forefront of the crowd.
The giant known as Barnabas already held his victim’s head and arms between the pillory’s two heavy pieces of wood. A latch locked, and the guilty party squirmed in protest to no avail. Irulen had never been subject to such a device, but he sure wouldn’t enjoy it.
A bag of the man’s apples were brought before the crowd and dumped on the ground. Irulen stooped low and picked up an apple. Kay grabbed a handful. He examined the fruit in his hand. A bit blotchy perhaps, but not too terrible—edible, at the least. He turned to share his findings with Kay, only to find her reach back and sling an apple right at the hapless soul on the platform. The apple smashed off the top of the man’s forehead in a cloud of brown giblets. He whimpered.
“Ha Ha!” she exclaimed. “That was a rotten one!”
A volley of apples flew forth from the crowd, splatting the man’s head and the boards that held him in place. Shards of broken apples, some more brown than others, piled up underneath the man being punished.
Irulen found a not-so-bad looking spot on his apple and bit into it. Sweet, tangy juices burst into his mouth. If they were using this apple as punishment fodder, Irulen could only imagine what their fresh apples tasted like.
Kay cocked her head at the action. “You don’t know where that apple’s been. You should skin it first.”
Irulen huffed. “Now you are sounding like Farah. Say—don’t you find this punishment a little mean-spirited? You just smashed that guy.”
“Don’t be such a girl. I pictured it was you. Makes it much easier.” She threw another apple at the man. Irulen didn’t see where it landed, but he heard the man howl in misery.