Ogres and Ogresses Ch. 25

Chapter 25: Trust me

"More!"

"Rawr!"

Zyra ran, her sword drawn. Purple sparks flew into the air as the blade skidded over his shield. She took another step and jabbed, swung, chopped, anything to pierce skin, to draw blood on him.

"That's not good enough!"

"RAWR!"

Her breath gushed out of her with the effort she made to charge at. She came at him from the left. She missed, but she wasn't done. Zyra took a step, and with a flick of her wrist sliced backwards.

There, she saw it. A thin line of red, just on the cheek.

He jumped back, glared at her as he touched his face. Caligula looked at the blood staining his fingertips. Then he smiled.

"Finally. For a moment I was afraid you were all talk Zyra."

Zyra didn't reply, too busy catching her breath and waiting for the repercussions of her actions.

It had been two weeks since the incident with Scallen. She hadn't seen him since, not that she had any choice in the matter. When the sun set, the spell inside of her activates and she could not leave the Marble Tree. Etaceh had moved up their lessons and as a result Caligula's. It gave her an hour before the sun set. The witches told her that she could wander the forest for this time freely.

She knew better. They were watching. Zyra was beginning to come to the conclusion that Scallen was nocturnal. She had only seen him at night, when the sun was setting, or when she was underground. Besides, she doubted it was wise to see him now.

Caligula's wound knit in front of her and she wanted to hack him to pieces. It was a scratch at best, insignificant, something Nima might get when playing in the field. That was her best, a scratch. She wanted him to suffer. She knew, just by looking into his violent purple eyes, that he knew what she was thinking, and it amused him.

"Well, I suppose your lessons are over for today," Caligula chuckled. "Unless of course, you'd like to take another stab at me. But you look like you might need to catch your breath."

Zyra didn't answer again. She stood from her undignified bend and forced herself to stop huffing.

It was so hard. She had forgotten what hard was like. Even before the Valley's magic, she had done all the training a lead huntress needed to do to excel. The magic made it easy, too easy.

Now, she felt clumsy and foolish. She was progressing at what felt like an embarrassingly slow rate. Medean always disagreed with her complaints, saying she was progressing at a remarkable rate. Medean was a kiss-ass.

"I still don't understand how it works," Zyra spat.

"The sword is solid. How can it pass through magic?"

"You don't need to understand it to do it," Caligula scoffed, putting his hands behind his back. "You just proved that. Why so intrigued in the mechanics?" His eyes twinkled, like a child with a new toy. "Are you considering wizardry?"

"This is wizardry isn't it?"

"It is spell-casting. Any creature can do it."

"Why are you getting closer to me?"

"Does it bother you?"

"I...Oh, Etaceh I didn't see you there."

Caligula turned to look behind him. When he looked back, Zyra was out of the training ground.

He laughed.

"Zyra."

She hissed. It was Caligula, sending a message into her head.

"You can't hold a grudge forever. I'm only trying to help you. You'll understand one day."

"One day..."

She froze, inches from running into Caligula's chest.

"One day," he repeated, his voice a whisper, "You will need me. You will need my power, and you will have to trust me."

"One day I will have to die," Zyra snapped, side-stepping the irritatingly close witch, "but I am not looking forward to that either."

Caligula laughed and followed her into the Marble Tree. She turned the corner, growing more and more anxious as she neared her room. She was about to walk in, but stopped. Had she made a wrong turn? She looked behind her. No, the symbol on the wall indicated that this was her room.

But she...

Zyra put her hand to the handle, and pulled open the door. Medean was sitting on her bed, deeply reading a book of unidentifiable runes. When she entered, he stood, immediately snapping the book shut.

"Ah, Miss. I see you have finished your lessons today."

"I have a door now?"

"Yes Miss."

"You got me a door?"

Zyra could have cried.

Medean shook his head. He was wearing his glasses today. After explaining what they were in great detail and then explaining that he usually used a correction temporary spell but was running late, she no longer felt inclined to knock them off his face. Mostly.

"No Miss. Actually it was a gift from Etaceh. She wanted to congratulate you for your time here. She said it's been a month since you first arrived. She plans a dinner in your honor tonight to celebrate your...um, the term was month-aversary."

"Are they common?" Zyra asked, touching the solid door with an appreciative hand.

"No, Miss. Anniversaries are known, a one a year celebration between life mates, but otherwise, I have never heard of such a practice."

"What is this door made of?"

"I believe it's made of Blue Bark Miss."

"You have blue trees here?"

"We have several shades of tree, Miss."

Zyra sighed. "Well, I'm grateful to her. I

suppose this means politeness would have me attend this dinner? What time is it?"

"In two hours' time Miss."

"Great."

Zyra tossed her sword in the corner, ignoring Medean's wince at her blatant disregard for her things. She yanked off her boots, threw her top off, and slipped under the covers, her bound breasts sinking into the soft bedding.

"Miss! Please," Medean huffed, picking up her discarded items. Will you have a bit more respect for your things?"

She snorted, and under the covers wiggled out of her hunter skirt, throwing that into a far corner.

"Leave it," she demanded. "I want to know where that skirt is later."

Medean didn't answer her, knowing the keromedio had found another weakness of his.

Medean liked order, too much, to the point where disorder caused him great distress. Having a spotlessly arranged room wasn't enough if he knew in the corner laid a sweaty, and most likely dirty piece of clothing.

"I'll have to change your bedding at this rate," he sighed miserably. "You did not take a bath. You are usually so conscientious Miss—"

"I am exhausted," she replied. "I spent all day learning how to channel my magic into my sword with enough accuracy to cut through a magical barrier. I imagine I will do the same tomorrow, but Etaceh will be flying. These things have a nasty way of repeating themselves."

"But Miss, you could have asked me to charm you with a clean—"

"I am a huntress Medean, not a sunflower. I can risk a little dirt. Even flowers need soil."

"Miss...you are not a plant."

"Medean, please wake me in an hour. Other than that you are dismissed. Go on. It'll give you a little time to fix your eyes."

Zyra could feel tension rolling off of him in waves. She hid her laughter in her pillow.

"Yes. Miss."

She smiled as she heard the pale dark witch retreat. "And lock the door behind you."

"As you wish."

The satisfying thud of wood against the marble walls filled her with ecstasy almost sexual in manner. She moaned happily against the silky sheets and sighed as her tired body drifted off into sleep.

She woke, in a panic.

"I told you to wake me in an hour!"

"I apologize Miss, but you looked as though you needed the sleep—"

"What kind of servant are you? I give you an order and you blatantly disobey me? How will I bathe now?

"I have a cleanliness spell—"

"To hell with your spells! Unless it shoots soap and water I have no interest! Ugh. Move aside!"

Zyra snatched up her toiletries and clothing. Running as quickly in her undergarments, she tossed her things down, stripped, and jumped into the hot spring's boiling waters. Already she could feel the grime of the day bubbling off of her. She dared a spell to do that. As she surfaced, Medean strode through the door, a look of chagrin on his face.

"Forgive me Miss. I should not decide what is best for you. You are not a child."

"I forgive you. Thank you for your attempt to look after me, but I can look after myself."

Medean raised an eyebrow, dripping with disbelief. "Miss?"

"Medean, you are aware I am bathing yes? Just because I am submerged, doesn't mean I am any less naked."

He nodded, and began to roll up his sleeves.

"Yes, I understand. Please turn Miss. Allow me to reach your back—"

"Medean, I'll say this once nicely. Get out."

"I have a drying spell."

"Out!"

He left, his cool demeanor chipped with obvious frustration. Whomever he had served before had been a spoiled brat. It wasn't as though she invited his intimacy. Well...

Zyra had asked him to sleep beside her a few more times, but otherwise that was it. Perhaps she shouldn't have. Medean was becoming confused as to the nature of their relationship. He was under the assumption that they were closer now, that she trusted him, and she was comfortable around him enough for him to expand his duties.

True, she trusted him more than the witches, but that wasn't saying much. As for comfort, well, she didn't have much of a choice, did she?

Medean tried to infiltrate her world in stages.

He had started with the bath.

First he had wished to wash her hair. She had allowed that, her hair still silky from the potion and begging to be played with. The next thing she knew he was offering to assist her in "properly" bathing. Apparently her method just wasn't good enough. Scrubbing was, after all, a highly advanced art.

Slowly but surely, Medean was turning into a monster. He went from washing her clothing, to picking out her clothing, handing her new garments she refused each time. He put flowers in her room to brighten the gloomy atmosphere she had spent so much time cultivating. He had gotten her a new canopy. This one was a hideous shade of yellow. Medean's desire to please her was becoming a problem. She would have to speak with him very soon. For now, she needed to get dressed.

Zyra jumped out and shook herself as dry as possible, and then she dried her body. Slipping on her green keromedio outfit, she ran towards her room in order to retrieve her discarded boots. As she flung open the door, she caught Medean in the process of picking up her skirt.

"You have the self-control of a parched Perkadu."

He turned to her, but did not release the garment. "What does that mean Miss?"

"It means you're a bird who is likely to drown."

"What?"

"In other words, your obsession over things that are not good for you will, surely be your undoing."

Medean slid a polite mask on. "Surely there is nothing wrong with tidiness Miss." With a wave of his hand, he cleaned the skirt and placed it neatly on the table. Before she could protest, he took out his wand and aimed it at her hair. A dark burst of magic ran by her ears. Her hair was dry, no, more than to that, he put his touch into it.

When she looked in the mirror she saw he had somehow snatched enough hair off her head to braid a ringlet. Another wave and she was in her boots.

Zyra's jaw clenched. "You've gone rogue, haven't you?"

"I'm sorry Miss. I assumed you were in a rush."

"I am going to replace you Medean of the Shadow lands. I'm going to trade you for a nymph servant!"

"Are you indicating you have needs I haven't met, Miss?"

"Yes! Privacy for one. And another—"

Medean's dual meaning to his question hit her late. She stared at him, unable to process the smug look upon his face. She almost missed his previous persona, the unfazed man of porcelain cloaked in subservient politeness.

Zyra considered her next stage of action. The next few moments would be crucial. How she handled this would determine how far he would be pushing her in the future. It was like disciplining a child. Did she take away privileges? Issue threats?

Violence? Yes, she liked violence.

Should she overturn things? It had worked well enough in the past.

There was only one issue with that. Zyra had begun to view the things in her room as her own. She didn't want to mess up her own things. That left one option.

Zyra walked up to Medean and slapped him soundly on his face. His head snapped to the side from the force, his glasses flying across the room as a pink hand mark appearing on his cheek.

"Watch your tongue servant."

Medean turned slowly back towards her, his feelings masked with civility. "Forgive me Miss. I was too forward."

She narrowed her eyes. Not so much as an ow? She hadn't been trying to hurt him seriously, but she had given that slap some backswing.

"You were forward," Zyra said, taking a step away from him. "And that's coming from the person you just offered to bathe." She sighed, heading towards the door. Feeling guilty, she scooped up his glasses and extended them towards him.

"I—"

"But if I may, Miss."

Medean did not take his glasses. His all-seeing eyes were fixed on her. She wasn't sure what he was searching for, what he was seeing with those dark orbs of his. Did all witches have a gaze that bore into the soul? Was that a pre-requisite? Gharla would pass it with flying colors.

"I must insist," He continued, "that you take my job seriously. It is my duty to care for you. I swore on my life that I would protect you from all dangers, assist you in all you desire, and please you to the best of my ability. If you require anything from me. Anything at all, you should feel obliged to ask. That includes spiritual, mental, and physical needs Miss."

Zyra's lips thinned and she handed him his glasses. "Thanks. I'll let you know if I need a sparring partner."

"Zyra."

She glanced back. "What Medean? What do you want?"

"Slap me if you must," he said, "but do not misconstrue what I am saying nor twist my words. You understand me. You know what I am offering. If you wish to disregard me, then that is your choice."

"I do owe you a slap," Zyra said, pulling open the door. "And I will disregard you. You may be many things Medean, but you are still a witch and you are still a stranger. And I—" She paused, and then glared at him. "I am taken."

She stomped out of the room, and headed towards the dining hall, Medean's eyes peering at her from behind closed doors.

----*----*----*----*----*----*----*----*----*

"Zyra darling! Don't you look fetching in your keromedio clothes. Have you lost weight? You look so slim!"

The hall was garbed in black and red, a long string of candles on the table, while lesser witches placed platters of food on the table.

Etaceh was wearing her giant black feather headdress, Caligula, shimmering purple robes.

"I'm glad you put forth some effort," Caligula said. His eyes traced over her in an unsavory manner.

Zyra sighed, and took a seat at the table.

"Good evening."

Her mind wandered as Etaceh began speaking. Plates of food appeared in front of her and disappeared, mostly untouched by her because of their strangeness, and her lack of appetite.

"So Zyra darling. Enjoying your flower salad? It was all the rage in the Delicatessen I used to frequent in France in the sixties you know. I swear, you humans were self-destructive but you knew how to dress a plate. And dress your bodies. Oh how I miss the product! Right Caligula? Right? Were you around in the sixties? Do you remember corduroys?"

"Sure."

"Oh! I had these maroon ones back in the day. I was an apprentice then of course, green behind the ears. Lived in a cave for a while my mistress Lady Isabel—you remember Lady Isabel don't you Caligula? Bless her heart. Lady Isabel was teaching me how to..."

Zyra and Caligula shared a glance. For once they shared similar thoughts. Etaceh as the only person Zyra had ever known that could sit in a room of people, and talk to herself. Her questions, generally yes or no, were her way of allowing them brief participation, maybe to assuage the guilt of excluding them from what was supposed to be a discussion and had turned into a monologue.

"—enjoying this little soirée?"

Zyra flinched when Etaceh looked at her expectantly.

"Wait, what?"

"Oh sorry dear, you wouldn't know that word would you? It isn't Common Tongue. You know witches were around for a long time. Long before the Purging, we coexisted with you. Ate your food, fucked your men and women, wore your clothes..."

"But all of that changed after the Monokeros?"

"Oh yes, all of it. There is a border for a reason dear Zyra."

Zyra wrinkled her nose. She could eat with a witch. They didn't drop their jaws and shovel in their food like the legends said. She didn't see a single eyeball in her...what was it called?

Her...calid. No...salad.

She couldn't imagine living with a witch let alone letting one wear her clothes, or...

Caligula cleared his throat. She turned to look at him, his purple eyes glimpsing through her with amusement. His hands were in front of him, fingers interwoven under the weight of his chin. He grinned like he knew a secret. Zyra wouldn't be surprised if he could read her mind.

Good. Then know you have absolutely no chance.

He looked away.

That's right. Look away.

Grey witches filed in, their arms laden with platters. Their forever hooded visages made her curious. Were they human under there? Well, human looking? Her fingers itched to yank off the hood of the one closest to her as he set down the tray, but she was interrupted.

"Zyra, you've hardly eaten."

Zyra looked up at Caligula, then down at her flower salad. It was just an assortment of flowers she had never seen with a sauce drizzled over it. The sauce was sweet, but something about eating flowers seemed...wrong.

Especially since there was a flower that could feel in her room. She often found herself talking to it in the dead of the night. For a week or so it had been depressed. She understood. She was depressed too, having allowed Caligula to kill of its children. Eventually they both healed. It was growing too, becoming larger and prettier. Medean watered it for her, the only useful thing he did in her room.

Stupid witch.

"Zyra?"

If he really wanted to be useful, he could have found her some furs instead of that hideous canopy.

"Zyra!"

"Yes?" She blinked, the witches still shuffling about.

"Are you alright dear?" Etaceh asked.

Zyra nodded. "Sorry. I wandered off."

Caligula smirked, lowered his hands. "To where I wonder."

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I would."

"Zyra, you two mustn't fight at the table!"

Etaceh's face turned red as she shrieked. "We will be civilized at this monthaversary celebration. Civilized!"

"We were merely teasing one another," Caligula chuckled. "Weren't we?"

"Not really. I was serious."

Caligula huffed in mock disappointment and waved a hand. "Then we shall cease our uncivil behavior. It is time for dessert."

The gray witches lifted the cover of the platters and walked out in that same uniform manner. Zyra began to have her doubts that they were individual at all. Maybe they were like the nymphs, physically the same, moving with the assistance of some strange hive mind.

"I'm sorry," Etaceh said pouting. "I don't think Zyra should get dessert. She didn't eat much of anything."

Zyra raised an eyebrow. Was Etaceh seriously scolding her?

"Come now Etaceh," Caligula said. "This celebration is for her, is it not? Is she to miss out on her own dessert?"

"She hasn't eaten her Kavgra, her Juku rice or her flower salad. She didn't even eat her...what does she call it? Ground children!"

"Ground babies Etaceh, and those were not, ground babies."

"They were!"

"They weren't. Etaceh, they were orange."

"You pushed them around your plate! And they're called potatoes for your information! Oh Princess Zyra, I had no idea we were in the presence of royalty!"