Bound in Spirals Ch. 07

Sam remained silent for a while, wondering just how vast the number of uses for magic was. Eventually, they stopped again when they found a small, abandoned house in a copse of enormous trees that closely resembled the redwoods Sam had seen back in his world. Their thick trunks nearly 15 feet in diameter, were covered in dark, reddish brown bark.

They remained at the dilapidated hut for the rest of the day, and Sam decided to start his training with Samson.

'You already seem to have a certain affinity for the sword that I didn't have when I began my own training.' Samson had told him as he drew the dark gray sword from it's sheath on his back. 'Alright, I've been thinking about it since last night, and I believe I've found a good way to start. I'll take temporary control of your body and show you the technique, so you can get the feel of it, then you try it yourself.'

'Okay, that sounds pretty good.' Sam replied. 'Go ahead and take control.'

And with that, Sam spent the rest of the day practicing his stance and footwork, with Samson pointing out his errors and guiding his hand on occasion. For the most part he didn't even swing the sword, just learned how to move with it.

'Based on what I can tell, your style would probably be best suited for a highly mobile, lightly armored type. So, knowing how to move around quickly and efficiently will be most important for you, striking techniques will come next.' Samson told him as he headed back to the hut, his T-shirt damp with sweat.

'I see...' Sam said, his hands already aching to feel the sword in them again. He was surprised to find how invigorating it was to train with the blade. Perhaps it was due to the haziness of the memory of the one actual fight he'd been in, but he couldn't remember it being so exciting.

He found himself thirsting for more, the urge more powerful even than the one he got after finishing a good book, when the sequel had yet to come out. That was the only thing he had to compare it to, he'd been dispassionate for most things after his father died and the abuse began. In time, he would come to realize that the only thing on par with his current lust for the sword, was the lust that most men felt for women, the first hint to which came a short time later.

After a minute of silent walking, Samson asked him a question, his voice tentative. 'Sam, I was just wondering, er... How do I say this? Well, do you perhaps have a proclivity for the same sex?'

Sam was bewildered by the question. 'Are you asking if I'm gay?'

'If that is how they refer to homosexuals in your world, then yes.' Samson replied, still sounding somewhat hesitant, but regaining composure.

'Huh... No, I don't really think so. I've always found women to be attractive. What made you think that?'

'Ah, well it's just that you've had a couple of women, one of them particularly beautiful, trying to gain your attention, and you just rebuffed their efforts. I thought that perhaps you were just dense in that department, but it seemed like you noticed what they were about.' Samson said simply.

'Oh, uh, yes. Well I did notice them. I suppose Lorry's sister, Darlie, is the main one you're referring to.' Sam said, then had to examine his own thoughts more closely. 'I honestly don't know why. Maybe I just didn't know them well enough or something.'

'Blight, man! I would have jumped at the chance to have a night with her. You don't have to know a woman well to want to have sex with her.' Samson said, sounding indignant now.

'I don't know, I guess I'm just different or something. I've never really felt much of a desire for sex, not after...' Sam said, his tone becoming cold as he went on. '...I don't really remember why I changed, actually. I think I might have used to have that desire, maybe. Back when I was 13 or 14 I think, I don't really remember.'

Samson didn't say anything, and Sam felt a sense of worry coming from him. Sam frowned, 'Is it really that strange?'

'Well, it's certainly unusual... Ah, well perhaps it doesn't really matter. Just forget I asked.' Samson finally said, but despite his words Sam knew he was deeply worried about something.

Finally, he saw the small house. A silhouette of smoke rose from the brick chimney, darkened by the deep purple of the sky as the sun fell below the horizon. He saw Letta sleeping behind the house, her huge form wrapped around it, giant nostrils flaring as she breathed. He pulled open the fractured wood door, it's red color dirtied from lack of care.

Inside, Fenella had cleaned the dust from the wood floor and lain their blankets upon it. Theodore was snoring softly, half covered by a blanket. Fenella turned as he entered, and she frowned.

"Oi, you need to bathe." She said and stood. "There's a stream a little way behind the house, go there and clean up first." She started rummaging in his chest and pulled out the second set of pants, socks and shirt that Lorry had bought him, along with the shirt he'd received at the army's camp. "Wash your dirty clothes while you're at it, you can hang them out to dry overnight."

Sam was shoved back out the door without getting the chance to say a word. For a moment he was so stunned that he just stood there, but eventually he just shook his head and rounded the small brick house. As he walked, he gazed about at the magnificent trees, their long branches covered in dark needles, and the pungent smell of sap emanating from all over.

'Samson, what was your childhood like?' Sam asked, not sure why the question had come to mind. 'And your family, what are they like?'

It took him a while to reply, '...Well, I suppose my childhood was rather mundane. My family is of minor nobility, so it was relatively easy. Not rich enough to be in danger, but enough to live well. We have a manor on the outskirts of the inner city, which my sister will inherit when my mother passes.

'My father is a rather weak willed man. Small of stature, with a rather mouse-like appearance. He is more of a scholar than anything else, he does the finances for the house. Very kind, if rather aloof at times.' He said, his tone of fond remembrance, but his tone turned sour as he spoke of his mother. 'I suppose his meekness was why my mother chose him over the many other suitors. She has a predilection for people who are easy to control, which is why she never liked me.'

Sam was listening closely, and forgot to pay attention to where he was walking. "Ow." He said as he pushed himself off the ground. He turned to look at what he'd tripped over, "Whoa, what the hell is that?!"

The thing he'd tripped over was a big crustacean like creature, with a large, round shell on it's back. The shell was nearly identical to the numerous rocks he'd seen around the small forest, it's surface a grayish-brown, with small patches of dark green moss dotted across the surface. Glossy black legs peeked out from beneath the shell, and tiny claws poked out, picking pieces of plant life from the ground.

'Huh? Oh that thing? That's a stone widdel.' Samson said. 'They're harmless. Dumber than a tate, they are. They just crawl around, eating grass and other fodder off the floor.'

'Ah, alright.' Sam said, turning back to his path. He glanced back again at the odd creature, remembering seeing something similar back in the forest where he met Letta, but he'd been running away at the time. 'Strange little thing.'

'Yes. Anyways, as I was saying, my mother and I never got along too well. She had planned to train me to replace my father when my sister took the house, but I was too stubborn. I'm more like her than I'm wont to admit. It got worse when she realized how attached my sister had become to me, and she tried to marry me off many times after that. None of the women liked me much, except in bed. Too impertinent, I suppose, and they only like that when it's roleplaying.

'And because of my failure to be husband material, my sister became more attached to me and my mother wasn't able to create the replacement she wanted for herself. My sister has always been too kind anyway, even if I wasn't around I doubt she would've changed much. And so, she ended up following me to the army when I was drafted. Not particularly strong, but she's a good archer.'

'I beg to differ.' Sam said, incredulity clear in his tone. 'That beating she gave me was neither kind nor weak. I can still feel it.' He felt an echo of pain in his crotch, and he winced.

'Well, aren't people supposed to be stronger when angry or something? Gah, that doesn't matter right now. You'll understand if you meet her again, if she managed to make it out of that place alive.' Samson said, sounding worried. 'Anyways, other than my mother's antics my life was plain. I went to the SAMM, Stralden's Academy for Male Mages, was trained in the sword and bow, and learned how to manage money, among other things.'

'Huh, interesting.' Sam said simply, truly intrigued by the strange intricacies of this world. Then he decided to tease Samson, 'Maybe I can get your sister to marry me to make up for the traumatizing damage she's done to me. She might even prefer it since I look like you.' He said, with a chuckle.

'Hey pal, my sister's off limits. You can stick to your own sister.' Samson replied, his tone was lighthearted, but he realized his mistake too late.

Sam just laughed, 'What are you talking about? Neither of my sisters are fond of me, not like yours. Well, Janine doesn't hate me, I guess, but Madeline would kill me if she could get away with it.'

Samson was silent after, and Sam again was bewildered by this feeling of worry that came from him. 'What's that about?' He wondered.

'Ah, there's the stream Fenella was talking about. Now give me some privacy to bathe.' He told Samson, and he felt his presence become distant. He nodded and began stripping down. He looked at his boxer briefs fondly, which he thought would normally be a bit strange, but they were the last thing he had left from his world.

He chose to clean his clothes first, so he didn't have to be cold and wet when he did it. After he'd cleaned them as best he could, he wrung them out and laid them over a boulder next to the large stream. Then, he gingerly toed the water, shivering at the chilling coldness. 'Shit, that's cold!'

He debated just rinsing out his hair and pretending he'd bathed, but decided against it. "Fuck it." He said and jumped into the deepest part of the stream. The water came up past his bellybutton and he let out a rather feminine squeal as his balls shriveled up from the icy cold.

Initially, he was scrubbing frantically, trying to get it over with, but as he got accustomed to the temperature he relaxed a bit. He looked down at his body, marveling at the drastic change it had made in just a week. His body now had a some definition to it, two rows of faint bumps now appearing on his abdomen being the most obvious difference.

He ran his fingers over the numerous scars he'd accumulated over the years since his father's passing. A large discolored patch marked where his stepmother had poured bacon grease on his shoulder. Another scar, long and jagged, ran across his sternum, bringing up the memory of her hitting him over the head with an empty wine bottle. Then, after having knocked him out she carved the reminder with the fragments of glass. He sighed, 'I wonder what I'd be like now if Dad had never married her... Probably more normal. Less scarred, that's for sure.'

He shook his head and finished scrubbing his body, shivering as he stepped from the stream. "Brrr!" He hastily pulled on his damp underwear, then dressed in the clean clothes. He rebound his sword to his back, and began the short walk back to the house, yearning for the warmth of the fire.

———

"I see the village just ahead, princess." Darrel said, his voice as inexpressive as usual. "We shall secure lodging for the night, then purchase a new carriage come morning. That should be enough time for the remaining members of the guard to catch up."

Dettella was first jubilant at the sight of the village, then baffled at Darrel's unusually large amount of words. Her joy returned a moment later, and she felt like crying. She had made it. She had proven to herself that she could beat the weakness inside her. 'I have a long way to go, but I can do it.' She thought, her jaw set in determination.

Yalene, who looked exhausted, brightened at the news. "Milady! We will find an inn soon, then we can clean you up and all will be good. No more need to strain yourself."

Dettella's smile in return was strained, "That sounds wonderful." She said, not trusting herself to continue further. 'Damn you Yalene, you stupid stone widdel. You're jus... ' she gave herself a mental jerk, 'My, what am I thinking?! Has my tongue groan so coarse already?' scolding herself with a minute shake of her head.

Darrel's eyes flashed as he saw her face as she looked at Yalene. 'Was that... annoyance? Frustration? No... could that have been amusement?' Dettella turned her glare on him and that look crossed his eyes once again. 'He finds this humorous! Perhaps he isn't so flinty after all. Oh you must find this so hilarious you blighted brute, laughing away at me on the inside... Ah! I'm doing it again! I really am at my limit, aren't I...' She shook her head, trying to clear it of the rude thoughts. 'Oh how nice it will be to sleep in a bed at the inn. So soft and warm, I'll sleep better than I have in years.' This time, her smile was genuine as her mind shifted. 'And we can eat a delicious breakfast in the morning, then we will continue on to the elves. No more walking.'

Dettella gripped her dress in both hands and increased her pace, desperate for that comfortable bed. Nearly all the pangs and small hurts from her body forgotten.

———

Sam glanced toward the broken window at the sound of Letta's loud yawn. 'I am going to go hunt. I will return soon.' She said. The wall of dark fur disappeared from the window and Sam heard the soft thumps of her paws as she trotted off. He sat with his back to the brick wall next to the fireplace, eating a hearty bowl containing the last of the soup. Fenella had already fallen asleep by the time he had returned from his bath in the stream, curled up under her blanket next to Theodore.

'I'll have to make more food now that the soup's gone.' He scratched his head, 'Did we even pack anymore food?' Worried, he checked Fenella's chest and was relieved to see a small assortment of vegetables and spices, along with the noodles he'd used for the soup. 'I guess she had better foresight than I did...'

He sat back down on his blanket and crossed his legs, grimacing at the soreness already plaguing his body. Surprisingly, he wasn't upset by that, it meant he was already making progress. Besides, it actually felt pretty good. Before coming to this world he'd never been particularly athletic, he didn't have much time for it with school and a job to worry about, but he decided he would change that if he managed to make it back.

'Do I really want to go back at this point...?' He wondered, thinking of the sword which sat a few feet away, leaning against the cracked wall of brick. He just shook his head, nothing good would come from pondering that. He didn't even know if there was a way he could get back.

After finishing the soup, he set the bowl aside and laid down to sleep. His aching body wishing he had something other than old, moldy wood to sleep on. On a whim, he said, 'Hey, Samson?'

'Hm? What is it?' Came the reply.

'What do you do when I sleep? Can you sleep too?' He asked.

'Ah, no I just sort of remain here in the dark, mostly I just try to find the perimeter of your magic pool. Why do you ask so suddenly?'

'I dunno, just curious. Can you still hear what I hear or anything?'

'Yes, I can. Do you remember when I told you to wake up when that enemy party raided the fleeing group from the army, right before you met Letta? I was able to hear the shouting and the carriages leaving.' Samson said.

'Oh yeah, that's right! I completely forgot about that.' A grimace forming as the events once again played through his mind.

'So yes, when you're asleep I can still feel your surroundings a bit. It's faint, but still there, same as when you're awake.'

'That's pretty useful.' Sam said after a moment of thought, 'Can you sorta keep watch for me while I sleep? If necessary you could even take over control, it's probably fairly easy if I'm asleep.'

'Yes, that's what I planned on doing, though I hadn't thought of taking over. It's a good idea, since your mind would be clouded for a time.' Samson said, sounding thoughtful. 'I have some ideas regarding this now, but I'll have to think over them.'

'Uh huh, sounds good...' Sam replied, yawning tiredly. 'Well, good night. We can discuss more tomorrow.'

'Mhm, I'll wake you if I hear anything unusual.'

———

Samson remained silent, his mind ensconced in the intricate, comforting spirals. He traced along the vast expanse of that darkness, only lit by the iridescent patterns. A short time later, he heard Sam's breathing relax into a steady rhythm, the sound muffled as though hearing it through a thin wall.

He sighed, wondering how to best help his new, overly trusting friend. 'He forgives too quickly. Even I haven't forgiven myself yet...'

While lost in thought, a soft thumping sound came through the bond. Samson was immediately alert, ready to wake Sam in a second and take over. A contented growl followed the sound a short while later, and he relaxed, realizing it was just that argwolf.

'Damn you, scaring me like that...' Samson thought, his mind returning to Sam again a moment after. 'I wonder why he's lost those memories... Is he just denying it or does he really not remember? If it's the latter, should I confront him about it?'

He spent the majority of that night pondering that dilemma, uncertain of the best course. 'I'm not getting anywhere with this... I will just have to wait and see. Perhaps it is best that he just forgets that anyway.' He shuddered at the few flashes of memory that he'd glimpsed.

Samson tried to shake his no longer existent head, and waited patiently for morning.

———

Sam blinked. 'Where am I?' He wondered for a moment as he glanced around. 'The small house in the forest. Right.'

"Time to get moving again. We shouldn't tarry here long, your friend is still in a precarious state at the moment." Fenella said over her shoulder as she saw that he was awake. "I can only keep the wound prepared for healing so long."

"Alright, then we'll leave right now." He said, standing and folding up the quilt.

After finishing packing most of their supplies, Sam ran back to the stream where he cleaned out the dirtied food wares and, filled the green leather canteen he'd found at the bottom of his chest. He'd boil it later when they stopped again. As he jogged back, he saw another of the stone widdels, crawling at it's slow pace.

He slowed his stride as he saw the house a minute later, Letta stretching her long legs. Sam noted the much reduced scabbing where the slime had chewed away at her and felt a rush of relief. He'd been worried they were pushing her too hard and that she was hiding her pain, but it appeared she had not feigned it.

'We'll leave in just a few minutes, so be ready.' He told her.

'Yes, master.' She replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm, and gave him a wolfish grin.

He chuckled as he pushed open the door to see Fenella trying to pull Theodore's slack form toward the door. "Hey, uh, leave that to me. You just take care of your chest." He told her as he opened his chest and replaced the items inside.

She gave him an oddly stubborn look, but conceded after a moment with a sullen sigh. 'She's pretty strange...' He thought as he hefted his chest. 'At times she's completely expressionless, then randomly shows hints of emotion.'