Authors: Jill Soffalot
Chapter Fourteen:
Andrax Returns to Minerva
Andrax maneuvered down the mountainside, the weight of the Negress’s longsword and his exhaustion slowing his descent. The tempest was raging along the craggy heights and the across the grey roil of the Lonely Sea beneath him. Dawn teased the Eastern skyline, but seemed reluctant to creep into the world.
Perhaps the sun itself is vacillating, waiting to see if darkness engulfs the world forever.
Andrax’s fingers were numb from the icy stone outcrops he was holding as he neared the base of the mountain. Neora told him to avoid the main road coiled around the mountain like a lover’s arm and advance vertically down the cliff face. The brief snatches of screaming men carried to him by the swirling winds vindicated Neora’s caution. He had heard enraptured guardsmen tearing into each other’s flesh and bone-chilling cries pitched somewhere between terror and ecstasy, but the rising winds were beginning to drown out everything except the steady pulse in his freezing head.
You are close now. In an alcove just above the churning waters. That is where the changeling said you would find the Garden of the Moon.
He was a good climber. Together, he and Minerva had scaled the most remote peaks of the Ice Mountains together. They would push their bodies through the boundaries of agony and submit themselves to the vagaries of nature by day, and fuck beneath the stars by night. But climbing down over blind ridges was a tricky proposition at the best of times. He also had to contend with avalanches caroming off the ice above him and the insistent spray of the Lonely Sea whipping at his body from below.
You are almost there Andrax. Just a little further and you will wake from this endless dream.
The theatre of pain had been a terrible sight. Shadehaven had been unbridled chaos when he left, and the transfigured Fay had been a grim portent of what to expect in Minerva’s new world. But he could not imagine the pure joy and clarity he had seen etched on the faces of the penitent masochists. The physical transformations of the Fay may have been grotesque, but they were nothing compared to the internal deformities that crippled these human hearts.
A masochist stood on an elevated stage while a sinewy man worked his skin with a tattoo blade. This was not one of the Fay instruments used by the eastern tattooists, but a crude chisel of jagged stone. The muscular man dipped the chisel’s point in burning pitch and worked it beneath the skin, the masochist giggling hysterically as blood flowed down his pale white stomach.
Minerva has created a kingdom of horrors, and you were there at the beginning. You tasted of the Moonheart together, you filling your palms with the moonblood and massaging it into her flawless skin.
Andrax’s mind wandered through the memories of a love obscured by the passage of time and the birth of divinity.
You held her once, before this dream of rapture. You took her as a lover and poured yourself into the fresh contours of another skin. Human lovers had offered respite and excitement before, but none like her. You fingered her asshole while she stared back at you over her shoulder, your other hand yanking her white hair and twisting it into sticky knots. You let her rim you and fuck you with strap-on cocks that made you come so hard you forgot the shame. She let you piss on her tits in a winter field, the hot liquid steaming on her exposed skin. You watched as she prepared her cunt for you with lubricant and clamps, her smile delirious as she eyed your hardening cock. She watched as you prepared the bondage wheel for her entrapment, her eyes widening as you secured each restraint with a solid snap. You watched each other fuck others and get fucked by others in the infinite combinations of Fay coupling offered by the moonblood’s secret knowledge. You watched her grow mortal. She watched you leave.
Andrax’s feet found a curving stone overhang, and he hurriedly completed his descent. The tunnel was where Neora said it would be, and he found himself optimistically hoping the changeling survived her dangerous mission. The Negress believed Minerva would be suitably enraged to fall for the indigo distraction, allowing Andrax to steal into the Garden of the Moon and end her reign with a single blow of the Fay longsword. Judging by the apocalyptic tone of the sky, he had very little time left, so he took a deep breath and walked through the mouth of the tunnel.
He picked his way through a labyrinthine stone passageway with obscene hieroglyphs either carved into the walls or smeared across them in dark blood. After a while he came upon an enraptured guardsman whose spinal cord had thrust from his back with his skull still attached to its end. His head was between his thighs, sucking on his own cock. While this was very unfortunate news for the guardsman, he was sufficiently preoccupied with his curious brand of masturbation that he didn’t even notice Andrax edging past him and slipping into the Garden of the Moon.
Gazing at the seed of forever, Andrax drew his sword and approached the snowbound tree. It was the same brilliant white bark and blue leaf Andrax remembered, but it had grown much larger than he had ever seen it. Its branches filled the entire interior of the cave, and moonblood was pouring out of the trunk in volcanic gushes. He crept around the surface of the unstable lake, his reflection stealing guilty glances at him from the pond’s bubbling surface.
You must not feel guilty. Just because you loved her once does not excuse the litany of terrors her life has become. Make an end to it and free her from the tyranny of herself.
He raised his sword parallel to the ground and prepared to thrust the blade into the Moonheart when a familiar voice stayed his trembling hand. “Drop the blade, Prodigal One. Or my friend here will get to know you a little more intimately.”
Minerva sat upon the shoulders of the Impaler, her decrepit body frail and translucent in the light of the lake. At first glance, she looked like a tiny child clinging desperately to the comforting solidity of a parent’s back. Then he saw her shriveled skin, the impossible crook of her spine, and the emptiness of her black eyes. “Come at last, Andrax.” Her voice was a terrible whisper that seemed to crack from her mouth as if her lips were crumbling. “I was beginning to think you would never return. Immortality awaits us.”
“Neora…”
“I broke her and threw her into the ocean. She was nothing. She should’ve begged for the honor of walking in your shadow.” She dropped onto the Impaler’s oversized erection and dipped her bent back in a surreal curtsey before falling to the ground. She crawled to the moonblood lake and submerged her head in the liquid. When she whipped her head out, he saw the same sparkling face he fell in love with in a field of waist-high grass. His heartbeat quickened, and he had to repeat the Negress’s words to himself as he surveyed Minerva’s high breasts and the patch of white glistening between her thighs.
Your mission is to destroy the Moonheart and finish the Dark Lady. Forget the union of your flesh ever happened, for she is neither Fay nor human anymore. She is wed to gods and demons. And they do not like it.
And she killed Neora, a demon of her creation who was just beginning to remember her humanity.
“It is over, Minerva. Look at yourself! How long will this rejuvenation last? A few days? A few hours? Return to the world of the Fay, Minerva. If you do not abandon this folly, you will die on this desolate rock.”
“Yes, and so what? I will die, you will die. Perhaps even someday the Moonheart will shrink back into itself and shed its final blue leaf.” She approached him in the languorous stride that Andrax had tried so long to forget. “What matters is how we live. You remember, don’t you? The power. The orgasms that lasted for hours.”
“Please, Minerva. I am not the man you knew.” The press of his cock against his trousers seemed to contradict his whispered appeal. She noticed it and smiled, pressing a hand to the soft flesh of her breast and raking her fingernails across the tender skin. The sight of her blood made him harder.
“Stay with me, Andrax. Rule over these lesser beings with me as your queen. You could be my child, or my father, whatever pleases you. We could remake the world as we see fit.” Her old beauty dazzled for a second as she fingered her cunt and brought the wet finger under his nose. She smelled like cum, with the faintest whiff of decay lurking around the edges. Then she slid the finger into his mouth up to her knuckle. The longsword felt heavy in his hands as her taste teased his palate for the first time in years.
She still tastes like a goddess.
He sighed as she stroked his face. Her hands were cold, but they burned with rapture. He knew that her finger was covered with moonblood, and he subtly rolled his lips off her index finger, so he wouldn’t tear the protective membrane covering his inner mouth. The Negress had forced him to wear it because she knew Minerva would do everything in her power to make him drink her once more. Neora had laughed in the Negress’s face and told her that she had been licking the Moonmother’s pussy for years and could handle a little moonblood.
She kissed him on the lips, a slow and searching kiss that quickly escalated into a combative affair of clashing tongues and bruised lips. The longsword’s scabbard slipped off as his right arm dropped. He muttered something under his breath as she reached for his quivering prick, and she laughed like a young woman from a world without death and desire. “What are you murmuring, Outlander?”
Andrax closed his eyes for a second as unexpected tears blurred his vision. “Don’t you remember the first lessons? First the murmur, then the screams.”
He swung into a pivot and buried the longsword in the Moonheart’s weeping trunk. The whole tree vibrated, and the moonblood began to congeal and break into dust. The massive mountain resting atop their head began to quake, and Andrax knew that he had to move quickly. Minerva wailed mournfully as she rose to the sky with her skinblades drawn. Minerva cursed and screamed in unholy tongues, but she fell from the air in a white heap and lay still as the Moonheart began to disintegrate.
The Impaler charged at Andrax, but the outlander was quick, and in a red instant, the giant cock lay twitching on the floor like an overgrown slug. The Impaler seemed almost happy before Andrax decapitated him. The cave began to tremble and collapse, and he ran out carrying the broken queen. She glowered at him with hateful eyes and slashed at his face with her fingernails. Nooooo! You worthless cock! You flaccid prick! You've abandoned forever!” she railed as he sprinted for the exit. The cave mouth collapsed behind him as he dived into snow and felt Minerva’s sunken frame slip through his hands.
The Negress stood in the dawn light like a charcoal illustration across the canvass of the white world. Nightgift whinnied beneath her, and Andrax collapsed into the beast’s side with his fingers bunched in the stallion’s black hair. He turned behind him and the Dark Lady was gone. He spun around and called her name into the morning sky, but the Negress could not wait. The Negress’s strong arms lifted him up and planted him behind her. His arms locked around her slender waist, and he pressed his face between her shoulder blades. “Sleep, Outlander,” murmured the Fay seer as Nightgift rode into the rising sun.
Before he passed out, he heard the wail of a wolf and felt a rough warm tongue licking the tears from his face.
Chapter Fifteen: Shadehaven Revisited
Herrik rubbed his cock while he watched Tessyn undress. She had a shy smile on her face as she peeled off her wet dress, her eyes drawn to Herrik’s crotch. The air was cool in Shadehaven tonight, and her nipples stiffened as a breeze stroked her pink body. She approached Herrik and took his hard prick in her mouth, her lips cold as they slipped over the sensitive tip. Herrik moaned as the water nymph’s head bobbed between his shaking legs. She rolled his balls around her mouth and slowly licked her way toward his asshole.
She closed her mouth around his anus and fucked him with her tongue while her hand fondled his cock. Herrik was lost in pleasure as her tongue probed and her fist tightened around him. Her other hand gently squeezed his balls as she rimmed him, her eyes locked on his twitching face. He felt the pressure building and bit into the flesh of his hand to stifle his cry as cum shot out of his dick in creamy spurts. It showered his belly and the rumpled sheets, and Tessyn licked his skin clean while the spasms in his body subsided.
“My turn now,” she declared, greedily ingesting his spilt seed. She rolled onto her back and presented her cunt to him. Herrik clicked his jaw and knelt to his task in the soft sheets of Andrax’s old bed.
Afterwards she lay asleep in the gathering night, the sheet not quite covering her heavy breasts. Herrik gazed at her and wondered at her steady improvement. She had been swimming in the lake for the last few hours, lost in the sensation of immersion. It seemed to help her through her shaking fits, and Herrik hoped that one day they would cease completely. The Negress told Herrik that her unnatural union with the Dunder twins could never be fully forgotten. Mistsong was dead, and the twins themselves were slobbering wrecks with an unhealthy attraction to all things equestrian. But the Negress had assured Herrik that Tessyn could be rescued. “The masculine heart is a fickle thing, reluctant to heal and ever inward. The woman’s heart beats closer to the rhythm of the eternal flux, and the enraptured feminine can always find its way back from the shores of abyss.” Herrik never understood everything the seer said, but he knew he was the happiest Fay in Shadehaven when the gorgeous nymph had chosen to dance with him at the harvest ball.
While she dozed, Herrik went to the lounge to complete his record of the harvest yield. It had taken time for Shadehaven to recover from Minerva’s rapture, but the fast-approaching winter necessitated the collective efforts of the community. Slowly the fields began to fill and Bower Ridge roared back into operation. It was three weeks since the enslavement was broken by Andrax and the brave changeling, and the harvest was complete. Shadehaven seemed at peace, and if her people occasionally looked at each other strangely or froze mid-sentence when a passerby stirred their memory, it was a small price to pay for their continued existence.
Andrax and Neora may have perished, but it was not in vain,
thought the wood elf with a sad smile. Shadehaven was saved.
The Negress had elected Herrik to be the new Overseer despite his protestations. He felt Andrax was irreplaceable, but the Negress laughed down his reservations. “The quicksilver outlander had his uses, but he was a terrible record keeper. Shadehaven requires an Overseer that is both brave and dutiful. I can think of no one better suited to the task, Herrik.”
He had grown into the role despite his misgivings, relishing the opportunity to pick up the pieces and begin the lengthy task of forgetting and rebuilding. Work seemed to paper over the cracks that had formed in the Fays’ lives, and Herrik suspected it was the only thing that kept Shadehaven sane.
Perhaps it is best,
thought Herrik as he settled down in a high-backed chair.
If they lose themselves in labor, they have less time to reflect on the horrors slithering in their minds, waiting to strike at a moment’s notice on their unsuspecting selves.
Tessyn was still afraid of horses, and sometimes he could hear her panic as she mumbled Mistsong’s name in her troubled dreams. A noise to his left shook him from his reverie, and he almost knocked over an inkpot when he saw the ghost standing by the fireplace.
Andrax stared at the flames, their yellow points flickering in his blue eyes. He wore a dark green cloak embroidered with flowing Fay script. His hair was completely white, and as he turned to face Herrik the fire’s reflection in his cobalt armor almost blinded him. His face looked older than the one Herrik remembered, its handsome lines etched deeper into his skin. Herrik grasped uncertainly for a weapon as he thought of something to say. “Overseer, is that truly you? I thought you were dead.”
“And so I shall remain. Well, to the good people of Shadehaven at least. And do not call me Overseer, Herrik. It is your title now.” Andrax noticed Herrik’s unease and smiled, the familiar sight easing the wood elf’s doubts. “Do you want to take this outside, Herrik? I have been travelling for hours, and I fear I would be no match for you.” Andrax dropped to his knees and hugged Herrik fiercely to his chest. “It is good to see your bearded face again! And I see you have some company. And all these years I thought you were secretly in love with me…”
Herrik was confused. “But the Negress said you were dead. She said the sea claimed you as you tried to make your escape. She said you fell with the Dark Lady’s hands around your throat…”
“She said what was needed. I could not return here, my friend, no matter how badly I wanted to. I put my blade into the center of the world, and that made me enemies I do not wish to ever visit this village. The Negress found me a new home. It is not Shadehaven, and for that I am saddened, my friend. This is a precious place, an innocent place. I have not found it’s like anywhere else in the weave.” He looked away for a second with a dark cast to his eyes. “Forgive me for not coming sooner. The Negress has been making use of me.”
“What enemies? Who could possibly begrudge your actions? Minerva would have enslaved the entire world if it wasn’t for you!”
“Precisely. She still has her adherents, devotees of the free flesh who pray for the Moonmother’s return.” Andrax stood slowly and presented a bottle of rare Fay whiskey to Herrik from beneath his cloak. “And the Negress believes that day may still come.”
Herrik was astonished. “Minerva lives? But her life was tied to the Moonheart, how can it be?” Herrik poured himself a whiskey and drank it in a single gulp. The bottle was unsteady in his hands when the outlander pried it from him and took a deep swig.
“The Moonheart was destroyed, yes. But Minerva… That is a different matter. Her body was not recovered, and the Negress has searched the limits of the weave and found no trace of her. But with the Moonheart vanquished, her obstacle to immortality is gone. We thought that she would surely die when the tree was slain, but Minerva is nothing if not resilient. The Negress insists she is out there somewhere and that she will return one day.” He set down the bottle after a final drink. “And when that day comes, we must be ready.”
“So why come here?”
Andrax smiled broadly. “We came to get something of mine. Something the Negress entrusted to you. The Council’s dirty jobs often take us to dangerous places. I’m afraid we’re in need of the night.”
“We…?” said Herrik, before he was interrupted by a loud snort coming from outside. He walked into the garden as Nightgift trotted across the moonlit grass. Neora had released him from the barn, and the changeling held the reins with her right arm as she looked curiously down at Herrik. Her left arm was severed at the shoulder, but Herrik doubted that a more beautiful amputee had ever drawn breath. She was dressed in a skintight lace dress that clung to her succulent curves like a second skin. Her indigo hair poured over the silvery skin of her shoulders and pooled in her deep cleavage. She was smiling, something Herrik had never seen her do before. The radiant changeling inclined her head toward him.
“Good day, Herrik. Say your farewells to Nightgift. You may not see him again for a time.”
Herrik stroked the stallion’s face as Andrax took the reins and climbed onto Nightgift’s broad back. The outlander turned his head and kissed Neora gently on both her eyes, the changeling purring beneath his affection. He turned back to Herrik and motioned toward the house. “Perhaps you should make an honest woman out of her, wood elf. Love is the glue that binds the world.”
“Did the Negress say that?” asked Herrik, with a lump in his throat.
“No. I did.” Andrax spurred the horse and bolted from the diminutive Overseer. Andrax and Neora disappeared into the dark forest, the changeling clinging fast to the outlander’s back. Herrik stood alone for a moment and watched the moon float in the inky sky. He uttered a prayer for Andrax and his lover before returning to bed and Tessyn’s waiting arms.
***
The boat found Minerva floating in the dark of the Lonely Sea. The crew thought she was dead until her body shivered weakly on the block of ice.
You are weak, and you do not remember the meaning of warmth.
A crewman tied a rope to his body and climbed over the side to pull her in. The rest of the crew watched him drag her up, struggling to avert their eyes from the first naked woman they had seen in months.
Your kingdom is gone, your lover has defeated you, and you have lost the Moonheart. Sink to the bottom of the ocean and end this moonless life. Let the fish claim your womb.
The captain came up to her with blankets and flasks, his gaze lingering on the ice-capped points of her nipples. Her skin was freezing when he touched her, and he stared at the black ink moving beneath her skin. The fluid was rearranging into an image, and the captain leaned forward to get a better view. He did not see her black eyes open.
Or rise again. Rise and claim your vengeance on the dog-slut and the prodigal one. You need not live for yourself. Live only for the sweet delight of their slow deaths. There must be other ways to obtain rapture. Secret ways known only by the ancient Fay…
A woman’s shrieking face stared back at the captain as a sudden wave of heat emanated from between her blue-veined thighs. The warmth of her cunt was melting the ice from her body, and the captain couldn’t stop himself when his wobbly fingers reached for the ice-woman’s clit. Her hand clamped over his wrist, and he looked into eyes alive with hate and lust.
You can get new followers later. Now you must feed.
The crew watched as the beautiful woman from the sea seemed to whisper something in their captain’s ear. When she moved her head back, her mouth was red and the captain’s head flopped back listlessly on the ruins of his neck.
Feed, Minerva. And fuck. That is all one needs to live.
With the crew dead and her cunt content, the Dark Lady rose naked and bloody and set her course for the Western Seas.
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