AUTHOR NOTE: Sorry for missing yesterday! Had personal issues.
TW/CW: Slight non/con sexual content
It was a magical place, it had to be. The way the stone was patterned, the exit Sahimul spoke of formed an optical illusion. What looked like a stone wall with no opening, was actually a slit in the rock leading to a narrow tunnel.
Linarra lay stiffly in his arms, trying to touch as little of him as possible, which she knew was ridiculous, she just couldn't help it. She began to notice things, however.
He had no heartbeat. Her side pressed against his chest, she should have been able to feel it, at least a flutter, but there was nothing. He wasn't 'alive'. At least, not in the way she was. Linarra wondered what he looked like to Veshier. He'd called the Usurper an Abomination. Maybe he looked monstrous to Veshier's enchanted sight. Perhaps that was his true form.
Unable to repress a shudder, Linarra tried not to actively recoil away from him and fall out of his grasp. Instead, she looked up at him, wanting to see what he -really- looked like for herself. Maybe she'd see the monster under his 'skin'.
He had a beautiful face. It looked as though someone carved it meticulously from marble, pale, smooth and without any blemish. His jaw was sharp, nose aquiline. Though his features were mostly masculine, the curve of his lip and his large eyes had a feminine quality. He didn't look at all human. His ears drew up to a sharp point, just like High Priestess Liriel's. She had an unearthly beauty about her too. Maybe, his chosen avatar was an Elf.
Elves had been gone from the world for a long time, a thousand years. Liriel and her undead Guardian Jael were the only remaining Elves as far as Linarra knew. It was Liriel who received, first hand, the writings of the Prophet Ishahn. It was Liriel who formed the Temple and the Order of the Mother. All to protect them, the humans, from the Usurper should he ever return.
"You're staring," the Usurper said, again, amused.
"You're strange looking," she snapped back. But immediately, heat rose to her cheeks in embarrassment and guilt. She shouldn't look at him like -that-. Yes, he was beautiful. It was a surprise, but in some of the scripture he was called the Tempter. Hard to be tempting if you look horrifying, she told herself.
She wished they would be out of the mountain now, out of the caves. The walls were lined with faintly glowing lichen, casting everything in a hazy, viridian hue. She wanted fresh air. The sky. She wanted to be physically far away from the Usurper.
"And you're very plain," he said, tone dripping with venom as though she'd hurt his feelings and he was childishly getting back at her.
Without wanting to, her mind spun to the girl Veshier had been with before they'd left on the Path. A beautiful Initiate with long red hair and bright sea green eyes. It hurt. It stung. She wished she were beautiful. She always had. The Temple teachings said wishing for that was vain and frowned upon, but if that were true, why did everyone treat her as less just because she wasn't a beauty?
"I know," she said, voice creaking a little with emotion. She pressed her lips tightly shut to keep from saying more or crying. It all felt so humiliating. But try as she might, the words spilled out of her anyway, "I didn't say strange as in ugly. You're beautiful."
Sahimul stopped walking for a moment and peered down at her, his expression strange, almost wistful. She felt, through their bond, that her compliment touched him or pleased him in some way. She wished it hadn't.
"Why...thank you, Little Priestess. I'm sure you polish up all right. Perhaps you're prettier when not covered in dirt and blood."
She wished to be struck dead on the spot. "I'm in love with him. Veshier," she blurted. She instantly regretted it.
Linarra had meant to say that she found Sahimul beautiful like a waterfall, not as a lover. She didn't want the Usurper getting any...ideas. She knew how the Bond between a Guardian and Priestess went. She had no idea if it would be the same between them, but so far, she had no reason to think otherwise. It wasn't attraction exactly, but she felt drawn to him. Sympathetic towards Sahimul.
He snorted. "Ugh. Why?"
Her face felt as hot as the fires of an oven. "He's noble and brave. He always wants to do what's right."
Sahimul kept walking and sighed heavily. The walls of the cavern seemed lighter. They were coming to the end of the tunnel. At least, she hoped so.
"Feel however you want. I don't care. If I were you, I'd be sweet on someone less...annoying."
Linarra didn't respond, though she wanted to. You're annoying, she thought sourly.
Why didn't the scripture say how he really was? He wasn't terrifying or monstrous. He didn't seem particularly powerful. Certainly, he was physically strong, but so was Veshier. She wagered the fight between them might be fairly evenly matched.
Because, she told herself, he's a liar. A deceiver. He's merely tricking you into thinking he's relatively harmless. He was, she reminded herself again, a god. An Aspect of the divine Mother.
As the tunnel widened and opened up, Linarra could see sunlight and the exit of the cave. The air was damp and cold, but it was a relief on her hot face and battered body.
"What Aspect were you?" she asked, unable to fight off her curiosity any longer.
Without warning, his hands, tipped in sharp nails, tightened around her painfully, nails pricking her skin through her thin, tattered robes. She cried out in surprise, but he didn't let up.
"That is a personal question," he hissed.
Squirming, she tried to loosen his grip. "You're hurting me."
"I -know-," he sneered. "It's worth it."
At last, he stopped, his grip loosening. Tears stung her eyes, and she felt wet warmth from where his nails had punctured her skin. "I didn't mean to offend. I was curious."
He sniffed, still annoyed. Still angry. She could feel it sizzle along the bond. He would like to dash her head to bits. Tear her arms off. All for a simple question.
"I don't like talking about it," he said as they left the cavern.
They walked into a sunlit valley dappled in clear, morning light. Though the air was chilly, it smelled sweetly of blossoming trees. She looked around, amazed. It was like the grounds of the Temple, perpetual, beautiful spring time. There was an old, stone temple, grown over with vines and flowers. Tall, gracefully twisting trees peppered with lovely pink blossoms dotted the landscape.
With more gentleness than she thought him capable, Sahimul set her down, on her feet with a steadying hand on her shoulder.
"This is my home," he told her. "A pity it's in such disrepair. My temple is overgrown." He frowned. "I must have been asleep for a very long time, indeed." He sighed, stretching dramatically, pacing around. "Why didn't the 'Brotherhood' maintain my temple? Idiots," he said.
She shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't know you had a temple. I really don't know anything about you."
She peered around him, towards the mouth of the cavern. Veshier wasn't out yet. She knew he'd followed them. A few times, she'd heard his shuffling steps behind them.
"He's coming," Sahimul told her with a roll of his eyes. "But come. There's a clear pond, or should be, between those trees," he said pointing, "And I will build a fire. You should rest. You're ill health is making me feel terrible. My entire body hurts. Which is annoying to say the least."
#
Linarra let Sahimul lead her to the small pond, which was indeed clear. He built a fire, though she wasn't sure how. He'd gathered dead branches and twigs and suddenly it crackled and roared to life. She watched him, chin on her drawn up knees, with heavy eyelids.
"I assume you're hungry," he said. "Because I feel hungry. And I don't eat."
She nodded. "I'm starving. I haven't eaten properly in...I don't know. A week? Maybe more. Time's been strange. I can't keep track."
He sat by the edge of the pond, poking the fire with a long stick. Veshier still hadn't joined them, but Sahimul assured her he was up by the mouth of the cave, building his own fire. It stung, but she understood. She'd go see him as soon as she felt a little better.
"There are fish in this pond," he told her.
"I don't know how to fish. We don't have anything to catch them with either." She eyed the water and thought she saw a little ripple. It seemed cruel, to have food so close with no way to get it.
He shrugged and dipped his hand into the water. She felt it through the bond, what he was doing. Drawing the fish to him. They swam forth, causing the water to bubble and froth, anxious to be near him. Some even flopped onto shore. He snatched up two, big fish and beemed at her triumphantly.
"Again, I maintain I'm the better Guardian," he boasted. She wanted to laugh and cry. Her Guardian was to protect her from -him-. It was such a ridiculous thing to say.
Linarra had to remind herself again just what Sahimul was as he grilled the fish over the fire using a long stick. He was a god. He was wicked. Just because he looked like a boyishly handsome youth didn't mean that he was. He was beautiful, yes, a beautiful monster. Which made him all the more dangerous. She had to fight the urge to give in and accept him. It was the bond. It was deceitful.
When he presented her with the cooked fish, she tore into it like a wild animal. Nothing had ever tasted so good, even without spices and salt. She even ate the skin and some of the bones. She was so, so hungry.
"Not even a thank you," he said sourly.
She didn't want to thank him. It dawned on her that it might be a sin to have even eaten what he'd given her. She didn't know for sure, but it soured the food in her stomach immediately.
"Thank you," she muttered, fretting over what was already done.
He waved her off and stood, dusting off his stolen clothes. "In my temple should be some...things you can use. Some clothing maybe."
Frowning up at him, Linarra said, "Won't it be all ruined? It's been...at least a thousand years, Sahimul." She hadn't meant to say his name. It rolled off her tongue, almost tasting sweet.
He shrugged. "This place is enchanted and outside of time. I'm sure anything in there is still just fine. Doesn't seem like the Brotherhood even found this place. Looks untouched." He started to walk off, towards the temple. "You should take a bath while I'm gone. Again, may I remind you, you smell absolutely terrible."
Her lips thinned. "I know! I haven't been able to bathe! Just...just go. I don't..." she trailed off. I don't want you looking at me, she thought.
As if reading her mind, his nose wrinkled. "I don't want to look!" he assured her nastily. And with that, he left her alone, whistling a tune she'd never heard before.
#
The water was cold, but felt very good on her sore body. She waded up to her chin and stood, her toes squishing in the soft mud at the bottom of the pond. It wasn't very deep. She drank the water too. It tasted sweet, almost like honey and made her feel so much better.
Linarra worried that it might be enchanted and stood stone still for a moment. But as she didn't drop over dead or sprout horns, she reasoned it was safe to drink and bathe in.
She dunked her head under the water and thought of Emory, her long dead little brother. She thought of her terrible power. Her horrible secret. Could the Usurper sense it? Was it from him somehow?
Images from that terrible day, the day Emory drowned, flooded her mind. Her father, howling in grief, placed his limp, little body on the dining hall table, amidst all the opened presents and the remains of his Name's Day feast. Linarra watched, eyes wide, unable to scream or cry. She couldn't do anything at all.
As her parents fell to their knees, holding each other, sobbing, Linarra approached the table. She couldn't quite believe it. None of it seemed real at all. With a trembling hand, she touched his shoulder, giving him a tiny shake. Surely, he was just pretending. Just play-acting.
And he moved! His limbs twitched and his eyes opened! Linarra cried out in surprise and utter joy. Emory was all right!
"Mother! Father! He's moving! He's alive!" she cried, pointing at him. As she did, he sat up, staring.
His eyes looked strange. They still had the hazy film of death. They were dull. He didn't seem to recognize them. He just stared straight ahead, body twitching, moving unnaturally. He didn't breathe. He didn't cough up water. He just sat there, staring.
Linarra came up for air, sputtering, squeezing her eyes tightly shut against the flood of terrible memories. She wished it had been her that drowned in the pond. So unexceptional. So plain. Always disappointing. Emory had been the good child with so much potential and promise and because she'd been jealous she'd sent him away. He'd be alive if she'd just played with him.
It hurt just as much now as it had then. She did her best to push it down, but it remained, tearing at her heart, filling her eyes with tears.
She climbed out of the pond and wrapped herself in her cloak. The robes were completely ruined. So stained and filthy and torn that she couldn't put them on again. She hoped Sahimul found something of use in the temple.
Now that she was alone, Linarra let herself cry. Let the horror of everything fully sink in. The High Priestess had sent her and Veshier to die on the Path. She had freed the Destroyer of the world. She'd failed spectacularly. In every way. The Temple would kill her, she knew that. Even if she tried to redeem the Usurper, which she intended on doing.
On trying anyway.
She didn't sob, but the tears slid down her face as she stared into the flames of the campfire. A warm hand on her shoulder startled her and she gasped, whirling around where she sat, clutching the cloak around herself tighter.
It was Veshier, his expression soft, brow furrowed in concern. "Linarra," he said, voice rough. "You're crying."
She didn't know how he knew, but she was so relieved to see him, to hear his voice that she cried even harder. "I'm sorry, Veshier," she said to him, heart aching. "I failed us. Doomed us."
He tsk'd and shook his head and gathered her into his arms. She cried against his chest, body going limp against him. His hand patted her wet hair, he kissed her forehead.
"You don't need to be sorry. It's I who should apologize," he told her, lifting her chin with a forefinger. "I've been cruel to you. Cold."
"But-"
He placed his forefinger on her lips, shushing her. "No. I have. I've mistreated you. Let you get hurt. It's shameful. Forgive me."
But he didn't let her say that it was all right. That she wasn't angry with him. His lips covered hers in a searing kiss. It destroyed anything else she might have said or thought. She wanted him just as much, even with the Bond destroyed.
It was strange, though. She swore she could feel his desire. Something else too, something dark and strange. But she wanted this so badly that she ignored it, mashed it down. She threw her arms around his neck, letting the cloak fall away, forgetting all about the Usurper. About everything.
He wasn't gentle, like she thought he'd be. Roughly, he pressed her to the soft ground by the pond, his weight over her, pressing against her, a leg between her thighs. Hungrily, he devoured her lips in rough kisses. He tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth which felt so very sharp. Linarra thought she tasted blood.
Veshier palmed a breast, his lips and teeth and tongue against her throat. She gasped, surprised, but so overcome with desire and longing that she didn't complain. This is what she'd wanted. She could admit it to herself now. Ever since she'd heard him with another woman back at the Temple. She'd wanted this for herself.
His tongue laved over the shell of her ear, a hand parting her thighs, touching her. "You're so wet," he told her, making her flush, feel embarassed. She'd never been touched before. She'd barely even touched herself.
"I want you," she told him. "I love you."
"Do you, Little Priestess?" he asked, voice wry, amused as he slipped a finger inside her. She whimpered.
"Yes," she gasped, holding onto his broad shoulders. "More than anything."
"Take my blindfold off," he whispered.
She didn't know why he requested it. He was blind. But she'd never seen his eyes and wanted to know what they looked like. She ignored every screaming warning bell, every internal alarm that told her something was very, very wrong.
The eyes that looked down at her were fiery lamps, the hair framing Veshier's face was no longer icy blonde but dark red.
She cried out in horror as Sahimul looked down at her. He withdrew his fingers, slick with her arousal, his grin crooked and wicked.
"Linarra," came a voice from behind her. Veshier. The real Veshier. It was laced with disgust, rage. She didn't need the Bond to tell her what he sensed. What he must have seen with his enchanted sight. What he heard.