Dutchess of the End

It was difficult to see inside of the central tent. I stepped carefully, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness I had been thrust into. After my first step onto what felt like some kind of soft ground- probably animal skins- I turned my head around in hopes of catching a glimpse of light from the tent flaps. From the outside, they had been loose, vaguely tied together with leather strong. But on the inside, it appeared as though those flimsy flaps had been a sturdy barricade against any and all natural sunlight.

 

I took another step forward, feeling that same softness under my boot. The faint outline of my surroundings began to slowly appear. A circular room, women sitting in a wide arc before me. The closer I got, the warmer it seemed. I no longer needed my thick overcoat, though I kept it on out of fear of losing it. The sweat on the back of my neck whispering to me to heighten my attention to detail. Movement to the left, a whisper to the right. I took one more step, and I was blinded by a bright orange light.

 

My hands instinctively flew up to protect my face, though I dropped them but a second later, taking in my surroundings. All around me, clothed with sheer white robes with large hoods obscuring their equally white faces were women sitting on individual pillows, probably hand woven with fabric painstakingly harvested from sapwood vines. They were all hunched over, sitting in front of one of the lights. I didn’t recognize the source of it, as each woman cast a shadow over me that all overlapped into the center of the ornate carpet I was now standing on, right in the middle of a small yellow circle in a sea of white with blue and black zigzag patterns.

 

“You wear the cloth of Southern Royalty, woman.” One of the women spoke in a slow, low tone. I couldn’t recognize which one was speaking or even the direction it was coming from. The voice seemed to originate at my feet and enveloped me in its vibrations.

 

“Yet you wear no crown.” Another said.

 

“An imposter?”

 

“A Princess?”

 

“A messenger?”

 

The voices began to offer up suggestions as to my identity two or three at a time. None were right, though with the way each failed guess echoed around the room, they all seemed to be quite sure of themselves.

 

“Enough!” I said loudly, stomping one foot down on the carpet. It send an arc of gold sparks away from me, sweeping in all directions, silencing the hooded figures the moment they saw it. The sparks stopped just short of the sitting women. I waited just long enough for the echoes to die down- only then noticing my voice reverberated off of nothing. It had simply rung out and went silent in the one word. “I am Carla Clark, Grand Archivist of Telbud, betrothed to its Crown Prince. I have come to seek the aid of your Mages.”

 

I made sure the details were sparse. I didn’t want too many people to know exactly what I was doing here.

 

“She seeks our Magic?”

 

“A thief then?”

 

“Perhaps an Apprentice?”

 

“She seeks a harem for her King.”

 

Even more suggestions, each of them perhaps more ludicrous than their earlier volley. I scowled, folding my arms about my chest as I looked around the room. None of them moved, though their voices rang hauntingly loud in my ears.

 

“Carla Clarke, Queen to be, you are most bold to enter our sanctum and make demands of us. What reason have we to lend you our magic?” One voice spoke out, louder and bolder than the rest. It immediately silenced the echoes of the rest of the rabble. Finally. One I could speak to and perhaps reason with.

 

I reached into the folds of my robes to grab at a bag tied to the inside of my belt. As I grabbed it and lifted it up, I could feel its relatively heavy weight transfer from my hip to my Gift Hand. With my Birth Hand, I loosened the drawstring and reached in. When I pulled it out, my fingers were gripping tightly onto a fistful of Gold Cubes.

 

“Fifty Gold Cubes as payment upfront, for the services of just one of your Mages for a year. Another fifty upon her return. I will personally ensure her safe travels until I bring her to your encampment come next winter.”

 

“She intends to bribe us?”

 

“Gold makes fools of us all.”

 

The murmurings of the hoods sprang up again, like so many weeds amongst a garden. There was but one voice here that mattered to me. Weeds were an annoyance, something not worth troubling over, yet so many still stooped so low. It took a majority of the courtly grace I'd learned growing up not to hurl a Cube at hoods at random until the voices stopped.

 

“The one hundred Gold Cubes you speak of are of no use to us, however, they hold value in Telbud. We expect many merchants from the Southern Lands to travel to us this winter. It would be unwise to reject such a sum outright.”

 

“I’ve heard dowries for their peasants are but a few Gold Flats.”

 

“A hundred Cubes is a fortune.”

 

“We could purchase much food with this money.”

 

“But who shall we send?”

 

“We will accept.” The One Voice said, the one that silenced the others. It paused for a moment here before continuing. “On one condition: You are the first Telbian to set foot on Slajo land this Winter. We will take your gold so long as you perform our Winter Rite with us.”

 

“Would she dare refuse us?”

 

“I’ve never heard of Southern Royalty completing the Rite.”

 

“A story to tell the granddaughters, indeed.”

 

“She’s already taken the First Step. We saw the Light.”

 

The voices rang out again. I had to suppress a frown, a glare, at the circle of women. The last thing I wanted was to entertain them for any longer than necessary.

 

“Done.” I had too much respect for ancient traditions to refuse the offer. As much as I didn’t want to please these bandwagoning fools, my hands were tied.

 

“Very well, Carla Clarke, Queen to be. In order to-”

 

“The Alihjn are still Telbians, I know of the Winter Rites. Send me the paint and my Resarm. The Verses I have long since memorised, the Act long since prepared for.” I heard a series of gasps as I interrupted the One Voice, but the deluge of comments did not follow this time.

 

“Very well.”

 

From the moment I heard mention of the Winter Rite by one of the guards at the outskirts of the camp, I knew what would be required of me. I threw off my outer coat, no longer concerned about where it landed or if it were to be absconded with. My robes fell behind me after a shrug of my shoulders. I was left in my golden shirt and pants that I wore as my bottom most layer for riding. They served as my undergarments in that they protected me from the occasional roughness of my robes while also adding a layer of protection against the cold. It was a warmth I no longer needed- the more clothing I removed, the less I felt the cold around us. I lifted my shirt up over my head, exposing my chest to the room. I stood feet shoulder width apart, arms held out to my sides. I closed my eyes.

 

Seconds later, I felt a source of cold beginning at my shoulders, extending further until it reached both my wrists, stopping just short of my Marks. Paint. Whether they decided on magical or manmade this year was never clear from simply its feel, however I would hesitate to believe the Alihjn would be willing to harvest enough resin themselves to even create this much paint. No, this was Northern Magic. A second wave of cold began at my forehead, trailing down in an arc across the right side of my face, filling my cheek, my right temple, and that half of my chin.

 

I dropped my arms and opened my eyes.

 

It was dark again. 

 

“My love, my beauty, the light of my life. I am but a shadow of myself without you. Come to me, Resarm, I wish to be one with you, even for one last time.” I said loudly, projecting my voice to the far extremities of the circular tent. I stomped my foot again. That wave of sparks was still present, illuminating the carpet as it went, though in addition to the floor, the body of a woman was lit up before me. She had the skin of an Alihjn woman, all the curves of a beauty many women would fight for. Her long, silver hair strayed far down her back, an avalanche of shining beauty that ended in upwards curls about her waist. Much like what had been applied to me, she had paint all her own as well. The emblem of the sun, a golden circle with rays spiking off of it at all sides, was painted onto her stomach, her face solid gold. She stood, unmoving as the light grew dim and faded. I had spoken the first lines of The First Day, an ancient poem describing how Resarm and Resawn were cursed by Pronam- the Earth Goddess the Alihjn revere and worship- to circle around her, pining for one another’s faces for eternity.

 

“My waxing beauty, my waning caress,” The woman spoke much as I had, her voice loud, yet soft and beautiful. “We are being torn apart by forces unmovable, unbreakable. Let us, therefore, melt into one for one last time. One last moment of peace.”

 

“If I were to spend eternity without you, to face the millenia alone, I would desire one last memory of you, one last moment of peace.” I spoke, taking another step forward. I left the center circle of the carpet, my boots heavy in the silence. The woman lit up again, her face eager, smiling, daring me to step forward more. I did. The light of the sparks were no longer the only source of vision now. I saw my Gift Hand begin to glow, this unnamed beauty and my predicament enticing me into pleasure. Her Birth Hand began to shine as bright as my Mark was, holding it out to me. I took it.

 

Our hands were dry, as was customary. I was to Sire this woman’s child.

 

“One last moment of peace.” The woman said. I leaned in, as did she. We shared a kiss, and then another. Our lips were only dry for the first one, my tongue playing at hers, my hands gripping her waist tight, pulling her body against mine. I could feel her chest, its heat, its warmth, its love. Though I knew this was but a ritual, every moment of the performance felt pure and whole, like life itself had spoken to me.

 

I knelt down, leaning forward with my head to kiss at her thigh. She gasped. Breaking that kiss on her lips had been difficult, yet I knew there were more parts to play than just tasting of her tongue.

 

“Allow me to give you a parting gift, my heart. One that could never be forgotten.” I said lower, staring forward, my Mark lighting the way as I licked my fingers, taking two of them into my own mouth for lubrication. My body was on fire, though I had only just begun kneeling, I felt as though I was about to collapse. My legs were unsteady, the carpet digging into my knees. Though, as I looked up to see the woman’s Mark aglow, the golden face and pale body, I felt invigorated.

 

“I shall hold her close, love and adore her, and eagerly await the day she will meet her Sire.” This line the woman spoke had a double meaning. While the foreigner always played the role of Resawn, the role of Resarm the Sun Goddess was reserved for an Alihjn woman of considerable beauty and of low social status. Performing this Rite would elevate her to nobility amongst her tribe. Her child- my child- would be looked to as a leader in foreign affairs, an emissary of Alihjn culture and values to the people of Telbud. I knew not the magic behind this, however, the child born of this Ritual would appear as pure-blooded Alihjn stock. Her Telbian blood would be invisible.

 

Which suited me all the same.

 

“And one day she shall.” I said. I smiled, not because of the thought of my eldest daughter entering the world- no, I would be forbidden from knowing which was mine- but for the experience of the moment. For the golden sun shining down a beaming smile at me. For the privilege of becoming one with this woman. A heathen though I might have been, in this very moment, I could almost feel the essence of Resawn flow through me, feel the essence of Resarm flow through her. “Wilen will be the child’s name.”

 

“A beautiful name for a beautiful daughter. I shall cherish it and her in your absence.” Resarm- she- said. I nodded.

 

The poem ended here. All that was left was to perform, and a performance was what I had been waiting to give. Traditionally, the likeness of Resarm was to remain standing during conception, however it was acceptable that she be laid down. I did so, taking her hand and guiding her to the floor with me. We were not to speak, it was forbidden by Alihjn law. The only sounds the two of us could make in between now and the end of our performance were the natural sounds of lovemaking. 

 

I kissed her inner thigh, feeling the cool skin press against my warm lips. My eyes closed as I hummed into it. I kissed further up, my mouth pressing against the pubic hair of this woman. Sexy- I enjoyed a little hair down there. I opened my eyes with my mouth atop her folds, letting my tongue trace her lower lips once up, and once down.

 

She tasted exquisite. I kept my eyes open, watching the heaving chest, the heavy breathing, the writhing of this woman as I began to pleasure her. She had been soaking wet from the moment I kissed her womanhood. Her essence was of a summer afternoon under a tree, a lover holding you tight, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, four Marks aglow with love.

 

I watched her body move. I could make out the sounds she made, only barely amidst the overwhelming force of her taste, the feel of her feet running up and down my bare back, a hand tangled in my hair as I pushed my tongue into her.

 

Here it is. The very moment of a woman’s life. It began here, with my tongue pushed inside this woman’s body. I didn’t know her name. I wasn’t sure if she knew mine. Right now, I didn’t care. I focused on her pleasure, the way her chest moved with each passing breath, how she clutched at my body, probing her for the way to bring her the most joy I could with what little time we had together. 

 

I felt a jolt as my tongue entered her body, like a burst of energy and love as I tasted of her. It filled my entire body, removing any weariness I may have had from the long days of travel. From my tongue, spread throughout my body, it reached my toes and fingertips within seconds. Now, all that mattered was the life of this child, of the pleasure we shared as I gave her everything I had.

 

Her breathing grew louder, more labored, her moans more frequent as I moved a hand up to her body, just above the bridge of my nose. There, I found a woman’s most sensitive area. It was an honor to push down upon her there, to give her that pleasure, to feel her womanhood press down hard around my life-giving tongue. My Gift Mark aglow as I helped this woman ride out her orgasm, I wore a smile on my face that perhaps had never been rivalled.

 

She lay on the floor, her energy spent. I sat up, dazed as I watched the room light up again. My mouth, chin, and chest felt cool from the liquid discharged there. My skin felt hot, my emotions swimming in enjoyment- though not lust. I desired no pleasure for myself. A part of me had always wanted to partake in this Rite, though until today, I thought it impossible.

 

With a smirk on my face, I crawled to the woman’s cheek and planted a kiss upon it. Her eyes were closed, chest heaving up and down slowly with exhaustion.

 

The Hoods were still seated, as unmoving as ever. If not for their voices whispering congratulations to the girl, I would have thought the robes empty.

 

Wearing nothing but my boots and golden underpants- which trailed down to my ankles- I walked out of the tent without another word, into the twilight of the Slajo encampment, and into the center of my own, proudly exposing my accomplishment to all who could see it. My chest was still exposed, though I cared not. Both my hands were glowing the bright blue of desire, though I made no attempt to hide them. I didn’t feel the cold, I only felt pleasure. Pleasure that continued as I found Stephanie sitting amongst a group of women, chatting energetically around a fire.

 

I grabbed her wrist and stood her up. She smiled nervously at me, though it became genuine within seconds as I led her to my wagon. Stephanie lay down on my bed and opened her legs to me. Without wasting a second on any thought or any other action, I dove under her skirts to taste of my bride to be, to give her the pleasure I could but give to Resarm once. This pleasure, I gave her twice before we lay in still silence together, sleep overtaking me.