Rising Ch. 11

The next morning the couple woke early and prepared for the journey. They gathered their meager things into their travel packs and said goodbye to their small room. Ahma felt a moment of emotion she hadn't expected as she stood in the doorway, looking back into the bare, simple room. She was glad that they would be leaving Fernum; the city still made her heart ache from the injustices of its slave trade and the harsh nature of its cramped streets. Still…she had said goodbye to her maindenhood in this room, and embraced the love and desire she had harbored toward Master Methaniel for months. It gave her a kind of hope, that such wonderful things could be found even in so dark and horrible a place.

As the opportunity wouldn't arise again for some time, Ahma and Methaniel decided to take a thorough bath in the bathhouse before they left. The bath keeper, like most sane people, was sound asleep when they roused him from his bed. His sour mood lifted, however, when Methaniel gave him a silver coin in exchange for drawing a bath for them.

Methaniel and Ahma had the bath to themselves. All that lit the bathing chamber was a few candles the drowsy but pleased bath keeper had shoved into Methaniel's hand, and the very first glimmers of sunlight coming through the airing slits near the ceiling. The light was muted by the steam filtering through the room, giving it a soft, hazy look.

"Ahh," Methaniel murmured as he sank into the water. "I'll miss this in the next few weeks."

"You don't think we'll find an inn along the way?" Ahma asked as she removed her ugly dress, folded it neatly, and placed it on one of the low benches lining the walls. She fluttered her wings and preened them a moment before she slipped into the water beside him. Methaniel put one huge arm around her. She scooted into his side and placed her hand on his chest.

"I doubt it," he said. "We'll only be on the main road for an hour or two before striking off into the countryside. Much of it is farmlands, so if we're lucky we might happen upon some folk willing to let us rest for the night in their barn. But we will try to avoid contact with people while we're on the move."

"I understand," Ahma nodded. She let out a soft, lingering sigh as the hot water eased the tension from her muscles. She sank against her Master's form and shut her eyes.

"Your lessons will resume as we move," Methaniel said. One of his hands rose to caress her back, rubbing gently at the space between her wings.

Ahma shivered despite the warmth of the water and gave herself over to his ministrations. "I'll try to do well,"

"You'll do fine," he assured her. "You'll have more time to train as we travel. The weather will turn more hospitable the further south we go, so you won't feel the ache quite so keenly. In a little under a week we'll be out of the hills and beyond Rojinla's borders."

"That makes me glad," she admitted. "I…didn't like what I saw here."

Methaniel nodded. "Rojinla is a harsh place. It bothers me that Durinum courts them as an ally. We should be above seeking aid a group of rabble and cutthroats. There must be a better country to side with against the Naemer."

"Mmm," the Wingling girl mumbled as she relaxed into him.

The pair spent several more long moments soaking together, luxuriating in the rare moment of peace. Finally, Methaniel sat up and grabbed the soap and a washrag.

"Please," Ahma said, taking the items from his hands and smiling softly. "Let me."

"As you wish," Methaniel nodded. He sat up a bit straighter.

Ahma enjoyed washing him. She did not feel it was a duty she was required to perform, but rather something she wanted to do for him. She enjoyed the closeness, the contact with his skin and being able to do something to relax and sooth him. It felt right.

Her small hands rubbed the sliver of soap over his skin. She started at his back, working until it was covered with suds before switching to the rag and using it to rub the soap in even more, cleansing any dirt or sweat away from him. After working along his back, she went down one arm, then the other. After his arms were clean, she stepped in front of him, standing in the bathing pool with the water lapping just under her navel.

"You have wonderful hands," he told her. His eyes briefly swept along her naked form and he smiled softly. "You have many wonderful things.

"Thank you," Ahma blushed softly, smiling. "I am glad I please you."

Methaniel smiled and reached out to run his fingers briefly through her rich brown hair. "You are very pleasing to me indeed."

Ahma giggled and after finishing with washing his torso and his calves, circled back around behind him. Her delicate fingertips began to rub at the corded muscles of his shoulders.

"Are you going to let me bathe you?" Methaniel asked.

Ahma hesitated a moment, then began to massage him again. "If you wish, Master…it, well…nevermind."

"Tell me," he suggested gently.

"It's nothing…just Wingling things."

"I would like to hear, if you will tell me. Your people's beliefs are important," Methaniel said.

Ahma brightened a bit. "If you wish…Wingling's just have particular views on bathing. It's the same as wing grooming…it's a social act. Traditionally it's only done parent to child, or, well…Mate to Mate. It's just…I never thought I would really find someone to bathe me like this."

Methaniel smiled as Ahma continued her massage. "Wingling culture puts a lot of emphasis on couples, doesn't it?"

Ahma blushed slightly. "I suppose. Some of the courting rituals are very specific and intricate. I'm actually kind of glad I won't have to go through some of them."

Methaniel chuckled softly. "Perhaps that is for the best. Some of it would probably be lost on me."

The Wingling giggled as she poured water onto his head and began working soap into his long copper locks. "I hope all my people's strange practices don't bother you."

"They're not strange," Methaniel assured her. "They're different, yes, but there's nothing wrong with that. Besides, I find them fascinating. If Human society encouraged closeness and sharing rituals as your people do, perhaps our husbands and wives would share stronger bonds."

Ahma's brow rose as she worked the soap into his scalp. "I thought Human mates were close?"

"Some are," Methaniel shrugged. "As in everything else, we Humans are a fickle lot. Some of our married folk are so close it surprises those around them, and are a shining example of domestic happiness. Others fight tooth and nail and are far more miserable together than they ever would be apart. But I do not think many are as close as Wingling couples are, from what I'd heard…from your brothers."

"My parents were very in love," Ahma said softly after a long moment of silence. "So much so they were happy to give up their old life in the Wingling kingdom so they could be together. I don't know if all Wingling mates loved as they did, but my mother made it seem like such love between Mates was commonplace."

"Humans could learn much from your people, if only they would learn to listen to them," Methaniel replied.

Ahma rinsed his hair and then moved to massage his chest. After a long moment of comfortable, relaxed silence, she said, "I hope this library grants me entrance. I once went with your father to the Royal Library and they wouldn't allow me in. Your father insisted we leave immediately."

"I'll be sure they allow you in," he assured her. "It's likely to be a boring stay. Nothing but endlessly rifling through books."

Ahma shrugged. "I like books. I used to read to your father after his eyes got bad."

Methaniel nodded. The muscle of his chest rippled under her soothing fingers. "My father loved to read," he said absently. His hand came up to lightly stroke Ahma's tight, wet belly.

Ahma smiled at his attention. "Do you? Like to read, I mean."

"I'd say I enjoy books more than most…but I'm not nearly the enthusiast my father was. For me, reading fuels knowledge and expands our minds. Books are…a tool, I suppose. For my Father, they were magical. Sometimes I think he would have made a better scholar than soldier."

She nodded and continued to work her soapy hands into his broad chest. She shuddered at the feel of the corded muscle under the skin. Her wings fluttered as sensual memories of the last two nights flooded her mind.

Methaniel smiled and drew her close, pressing her to him.

"I never knew baths could be so enjoyable," he commented with a mischievous smile. He bent forward and lightly kissed her.

Ahma smiled into the kiss and they lingered in that sweet embrace for a moment. "It's about finding the right person to share the bathing with," she said when they finally separated. "Hannah always told me that."

He touched her side, rubbing it softly and causing her to giggle. "I'll get you nice and clean whenever you're ready."

"Soon," she smiled. "I have to make sure you're clean first. You should relax more, Master. You've been working so hard these past months, for both of us."

"It's nothing," he told her.

Finally, after several more moments of her attention, he convinced her to allow him to bathe her. She settled down in the water, relaxing as he began to wash her back. He carefully worked the soap into the flesh between and around her wings and down the smooth sweep of her lower back. Her entire back was tight with muscle, powerful tendons anchoring her wings to her shoulder blades and overlapping flight muscle that allowed her to launch her graceful form into the air. Even as heavily muscled as her back was, it still had the appearance of neat femininity, packed in tight, trim groupings that avoided an overabundance of bulkiness. She was a testament to the graceful power of a Wingling's unique physiology.

Ahma noticed his ginger touch as he washed the base of her wings. "Don't worry, they aren't sensitive. Well, not in an unpleasant way, anyway. You can touch them however you need to."

"Just don't smack me with them if I do something wrong," he teased playfully. She laughed.

Methaniel helped her wash her hair as well, dipping the long, thick length into the water. Rinsing her chestnut hair alone took several moments.

"I'm never having such long hair," Methaniel stated as he ran his fingers yet again through the length of her hair, combing soap in as he went.

"Yours is long enough now, Master," Ahma smiled.

Methaniel chuckled and dipped her hair into the bath. "I wear my hair in the way of our warriors. Otherwise I would probably cut it shorter."

"Mine is as Wingling Maidens are made to wear their hair," Ahma nodded. Then she looked thoughtful for a moment and said quietly, "But I'm not a Maiden anymore, am I? Perhaps…perhaps I should cut it now."

Methaniel smoothed out her wet hair, getting the last of the suds out of it. "I like your hair like this. It is beautiful."

Ahma glanced back at him and smiled happily. "Then I will keep it as it pleases you."

Methaniel pulled the Wingling girl to him. Ahma smiled, giggling softly as his wet muscles slid against her flesh. She turned to face him, squished her glistening breasts to his firm chest. His arms enfolded her, holding her close to his warmth. Ahma's wings, damp but still soft and supple, wrapped about both of them.

His soft smile brightened and he bent down to kiss her. Ahma sighed and leaned into the kiss, tasting his lips. She relished his gentle strength. His hand slid slowly, sensually along her flesh as the kiss turned deeper. She returned it in earnest. His tongue traced her lips and she happily allowed it entrance. Ahma quivered, her body becoming heated. She loved the intense response he kindled within her.

"Did you know," he whispered into her ear as they broke the kiss, "That you have the most fabulous breasts I could possibly imagine?"

"Thank you, Master…they are all for you, for your pleasure," she replied.

He drew her close and she nuzzled into him.

"Are you ready for another Journey?" he asked after they held one another for some few perfect moments.

She smiled contently at him. "Yes, Master. I'll be with you, and that's all I need. Besides, I like libraries. I'm looking forward to visiting such an old and well known one."

"I imagine you'll have a chance to read while we're there," Methaniel smiled. "If not, perhaps we can return someday."

Ahma made a face. "I don't know…if it means having to travel back through this…country…I don't really think I want to."

He gave her a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry, Ahma. We can travel a different route next time. And anyway, no one will treat you as a servant as long as I have a say. Some day, I'll be sure to have your mark removed as well."

The Wingling glanced down at her hand. "This can come off?"

"There are a rare few people in the world that can remove it. Sometimes servants are released from their duties, and if they're able to scrounge up the coin, they pay well to have their mark removed," he explained.

Ahma looked at her marking for several moments. "Interesting…um, Master Merie, what are we looking for at this library?"

Methaniel shrugged. "I'm not totally sure, to be honest. I have very little to go on at this point. I'm hoping to find some kind of reference to known assassin groups and work my way from there. The people who attacked us are obviously professional…and somehow they went in and out of Durinum without being caught. There's something strange there, and I intend to find out what's behind all this."

Ahma nodded and sat up. "I'll do everything I can to help you find whatever you need."

Methaniel smiled. "Thank you, love. I just hope we aren't going on a wild goose chase."

After their bath, Methaniel helped Ahma to groom and arrange her wings as the Wingling sang her morning prayers and braided her hair. The green and white feathers were still slightly damp as the couple dressed, but Ahma assured him they would dry quickly. Dawn had broke an hour or so ago and the city was well awake by the time they were prepared to leave.

"That dress really doesn't suit you at all," he said as he looked on her brown wool dress.

"I want to burn it," Ahma said softly. "I don't mean to complain…but I can't help it. It itches."

"I know," he said, drawing her into his arms and squeezing her gently as he smiled at her. "Perhaps if the cold has receded, once we're away from the main road you can change out of it."

Ahma nodded happily at that notion. They gathered their things, talking quietly and closely as Ahma pulled on her cloak, gathered her dagger and short sword, the small pack containing her waterskin, as well as her changes of leggings and trousers, and the tunics and jerkins he had gotten for her. It also held an extra vial of wing-dye should she need to touch up her feathers during their journey, and her small hairbrush.

Methaniel had his blade strapped to his hip, and the longbow and two quivers of arrows on his back. His clothes, extra supplies, their flint and tinder box, small odds and ends, and emergency rations were stowed in his pack.

The Nobleman pulled the Wingling to him, bending down for one last kiss before their departure. Ahma stood on her tiptoes, arching her back delicately, something she had noticed he approved of. His lips lingered on hers, tasting, savoring her flavor. His tongue lightly flicked across her plump pink lips before he drew back to kiss her forehead. Ahma smiled and he hugged her close, then they left the inn and started their way to the stables to retrieve Lanion.

***

He stepped into the busy trade station alone. Ahma waited just outside with Lanion. He felt he had to complete this errand alone. He was not happy with what he was about to do.

The towering warrior stepped up to one of the counters, the only one without a line. The graying man behind the scarred countertop gave him an indifferent stare. "What're ya lookin' fer?"

"Coin," Methaniel answered. "I have something to sell you," he hastily added at the wary look the storeowner gave him.

The man spat into a spittoon at his feet. "Lesse what ya got."

Methaniel grit his jaw as he reached into his pack and removed a small suede sack tied shut by leather thongs. He opened the sack, revealing a smooth, rectangular box of polished oak.

He pulled two gleaming, perfect horseshoes from the box. The shoes shone brilliantly in the sunlight filtering through the store's window. He placed them on the counter, and the merchant quickly took one up into his hand. The old man stared at the horseshoe, his mouth gaping open. The craftsmanship was that of a master shoemaker and smith, the material the finest silver to be found in all the northern mountain chains.

"What's this then?" the merchant asked, pointing to the crest on both shoes. It was the insignia of the Durinum Knighthood, the fierce mountain lion standing in front of the crags that Durinum was founded upon.

"Smith's mark," Methaniel lied. He was glad the old man didn't recognize the crest; someone would, eventually, but that would take some time for the shoes to switch hands and wind up in the possession of someone who knew of such things. By the time someone actually recognized the shoes for what they were, he and Ahma would be long gone.

"How much ya wantin'?" The man asked.

"Every coin you have on hand."

The merchants eyes went wide and he placed the shoe on the countertop. "Yer mad!"

"No, I'm not," Methaniel countered. He leaned forward and spoke softly. "I'm betting I could demand you go to your storehouse and get twice the coin you have on hand, and I'd still be making a perfectly reasonable barter. That shoe could buy half this trade-house and you know it. Don't haggle with me. Take the generous deal I'm giving you before I walk out."

The merchant hesitated a moment, then picked the shoe back up. He looked at it closely, turning the shoe over and over in his hands as if to check every angle for imperfection. Methaniel knew he would find none.

"What's the catch?" he whispered suspiciously.

"No catch," Methaniel told him softly. "I need a good deal of coin, and I need it now. What do you say?"

The old man sighed and nodded. "Okay. Every coin I got on hand then."

Methaniel waited while the man stepped into a back room to retrieve his payment. The warrior hated that he had to resort to selling the shoes. They had been presented to him upon graduating with honors from the Durinum Knight Academy. The shoes, more than the Knight Crest, more than the Knight's uniform, more than anything, was a symbol of his achievements as a Knight. Only the most elite of Durinum Knights earned the honor of possessing the silver shoes forged by the King's own smith. They were precious to him, the very embodiment of all his hard work and sacrifice as a Knight, a soldier, and a warrior. Under normal circumstances, he would sooner part with his own hand than the horseshoes.

But the circumstances were far from normal, and he had no choice. Without coin, their journey would become impossible.

The gray haired Merchant returned a moment later with a large, jingling sack. He placed it on the countertop and poured the contents out.

"Count it up," he suggested.

Methaniel did so, counting fifteen gold, six silver, and twenty copper coins. The amount would have been enough to buy a functional house in the city. It still wasn't enough to compensate for the loss of the shoes. But it couldn't be helped.

He nodded and put the coin back into the sack. "Done."

The Merchant quickly scooped the shoes up and placed them in their wooden box, then scooted them under the counter as if he feared Methaniel would change his mind. "Pleasure, Sir."