Daughter of the Witch Wood Pt. 04

Author's note: this chapter is one of a series, and does not contain erotic elements.

-rb

04.

Village of the Wolf-Men

The next morning dawned clear and hot, with enough humidity that Min could've swam through it without touching the ground. She woke up alone, wonderfully sore and battered again, her body a mess of frazzled nerves, smells and senses. She crawled out of her little tent, squinting her eyes at the sun. When she tried to put weight down on both arms, she tumbled to the dirt with a cry.

"What, what is it?" Sergen asked from nearby.

"I...I'm not sure," she said, wincing. Looking over, her healed shoulder had swollen up to half again it's normal size; trying to move her arm or even flex her fingers sent waves of unpleasant heat up her neck. "My arm...my shoulder hurts again."

"What? Let me see." He walked over, taking a firm grip on her swollen forearm.

Just the touch of him burned like touching a sun-baked rock; Min screamed and crouched down in the dirt. "No! It hurts!" She squeezed her arm with her good hand, whimpering, missing the bliss and pleasure of the night before. Why did that have to end so that pain could take its place? But then, pain and pleasure were always constant with each other. Perhaps this was the price she had to pay for last night's pleasantries.

"Get up." His voice was firm, yet it somehow lacked the impatience from before. "We can't tend to it here. My people can help, but we must make it there first."

Min bit her lip, nodding. While she wanted to curl up on the ground and wait for the pain to subside, instead she pushed to her feet, took a sharp breath while cuddling her injured limb to her chest. "Let's go. Please."

Something on his face said she'd made the right choice. That mattered to Min, maybe more than it ought to have.

What unfolded next was one of the most agonizing days in Yasemin's life. Traveling while holding her arm made for slow going, but she swallowed her complaints and kept Sergen in sight and in front of her. Every step was difficult, and every time her arm was jostled and shaken, it put more fire in her veins, made her sweat more, made her shake harder, which just made the pain worse.

It was midday when Min had no fight left in her. At the bottom of a dry river bed she slid to a stop and dropped to her knees. Her eyes were clouded over with sweat and tears; her entire side was burning with fire. It was so bad she wondered if cutting the arm off would've been the better choice.

"No, we can't stop!" he said, circling back towards her. "We're so close now." He reached down, took hold of her uninjured arm and tried to pull Min to her feet.

She screamed, then turned her head and vomited, bile and water spilling into the stones at her feet. Min sagged in his grip, a rag doll with nothing left. "Can't...can't go on." She whimpered. "Hurts too much!"

She was certain that Sergen would leave her—it would be a sad, unwelcome end to her story. But instead, the wolf-man bent down and, as gently as one could, he laid her across his shoulders. When he straightened, it jostled her arm.

Min shrieked.

Then he started running, and she was shaking too hard to cry out anymore. The pain didn't go away, but thankfully, before her arm could burst into physical flames, she blacked out.

"Mama! S-sorry Mama..."

—

Min opened her eyes and saw a hand-sewn ceiling over her head. It was still daytime, but the light came as though from far away, until she slowly turned her head and saw it was coming from underneath the hem of the tent. It reminded her of her mother's hut, but this tent was made of some woven fabric. She was lying on a bed mat and covered with a matching blanket that was wonderfully soft.

But where was she?

Min had a dozen questions. A hundred of them. But before any of that, she said: "W...water." Her throat was so dry that she barely recognized her own voice.

"Ah, she awakens." The voice belonged to a woman.

"M-mama?"

"Shhh." The woman's face came into focus; it wasn't Erden, but someone even older—her hair was pure silver shot with white and black streaks, cut short to just above her shoulders. The only thing she wore was a kollik, a necklace of beads and adornments just like the one her mother wore—hers had animal teeth as decoration, strung between beads of polished wood and ivory.

"Here now," the old woman cooed, sliding a hand under Min's head, lifting it, while a small bowl of clear water was pressed to her lips. Min felt as weak as a newborn kitten, with barely enough energy to breath and to swallow what she was offered. "Careful now!" the old witch woman said, pulling the bowl away. "Too much and you'll spit it all up again—silly girl."

"What... Where..." Min closed her eyes for a moment, summoning up the strength to open them again and speak. "Where is...Sergen?"

"Oh, gone, by now."

"W-what?!" Min felt her stomach drop and she pushed up to one elbow, eyes wide with sudden fright. The sudden jerk of movement left her upright but incredibly weak; she almost toppled over.

The old witch stared at her for a second, then started sputtering with laughter, slapping her bare leg from the force of it. She had a loud sort of laugh, and was so amused with herself that she had to wipe a tear from her eyes. "Oh! Oh, child, mercy!" Cackling for a moment longer, drumming her hands on the rug under them until she wiped both eyes dry. "No. No, dear, he's close-by, I promise. I only sent him away for some rest after he sat up all night tending to you."

Min blinked, confused. "Sergen...sat with me? All night?"

"He's quite protective of you," the old woman said with a sly smile. "And..." She leaned in close to Min, nose right in below her navel, taking a deep, long breath. "...given that he laid with you, and recently, I'd guess—" She took another hard sniff, nodding in the affirmative "—I suppose that explains that."

Min took a breath, slowly pushing up to a seat; she felt warm all over, especially after what the old woman was referring to. Her strength was returning, albeit slowly, but even the effort to sit up made her head spin. "Explains what?"

"Easy, child, eeeeeasy," the old witch said affectionately, squeezing Min's shoulder. "You've been through quite an ordeal, my lovely, what with fighting off a bout of infection and deep magic the way you did. It's a miracle you're alive at all."

Min rubbed her eyes, testing both hands. Her injured side felt sore, same as before, but now she took a closer look at her injured limb. The swelling was gone, but her forearm and shoulder were covered in fine, dark lines, swirling out in dream-like circles from a round lump of scar tissue in her shoulder nearly the size of her palm.

Fearfully, gingerly, Min touched and probed the flesh. "I...I don't feel anything," she said, her voice soft with horror and fascination at the same time.

"That is the curse's effect," the woman said in a sad, small voice. "It numbs pain and suffering, making the bearer all but invincible! But it also corrupts the body and soils the soul. Someone bearing that curse will fight and never falter until the heart bursts in his chest; he'll never feel death's approach until it's too late. I've done my best to seal its power, but it can't be banished from you so easily as that."

"But...I thought that—" She coughed, cleared her sore throat. "Sergen said he healed me."

"He said that?" The woman snorted. "Twat and twaddle—'healed you' indeed. Licking a wound closed is a valuable enough talent to have, I'll grant him that, but not even the children of Kelash are skilled enough to cure your ailment. Your injury was far more dangerous than some mere flesh wound." She reached down, touching Min's cheek with evident tenderness. "I'm just relieved he got you here in time."

Min looked over at her. "You called it 'deep magic?' My mother never taught me such a thing. Who are you, witch woman?"

"Ah, me." The woman smiled, and Min thought it was a beautiful smile. Her breasts were full and lovely. She had a firm belly, and bore a thin, soft strip of silver hair above her mound, between her crossed legs. Her smoked-ivory skin was smooth from her neck to her knees, with just the slightest tracing of darker veins across her calf muscles. "Such manners. Yes, deep magic—you may call it kar, a force of chaos and madness. Such magic is very dangerous, my pet, very dangerous." The old woman shook her head. "But come, more of that later. For now, introductions! I am Ilay—Erkin's wife; mother of Selin and Sait, my pride and joy; witch woman of the this tribe, and one of vuk magic, in that order." Ilay's smile was a mother's smile, warm and loving. Min instantly liked her.

"Ilay, then." Min knelt respectfully, hands folded on her lap, as her mother taught her to kneel before an elder witch. "I am Yasemin, a witch of aku, although not full-grown yet." Min would not be her own woman until she wed, or had children. Until Erden, as both mother and tutor, declared Min a full-fledged witch woman, she was still as a child—an apprentice.

"Truly?" Ilay's eyes widener slightly, then she rolled her eyes. "That man. Goddess save me." Ilay rubbed her temples, as though struggling against a sudden headache.

Min tipped her head, too puzzled to respond.

"Sergen," Ilay said. "Brave to a fault, a warrior as this tribe hasn't seen since I was a little girl on my Papa's lap, but..." She snorted. "The man lies with you, drags you across near-half the Witch Wood, and never bothered to ask you your own name!"

"Oh." Min bit her lip. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Yes, I wonder why." Ilay's smile was sly and knowing why made Min felt herself go red, from one set of cheeks to the other. Ilay laughed again, leaned over and pressed an affectionate kiss to the young woman's cheek. "As my mother often said, it's the way of young things to fawn over one another—and then fondle one another after." She winked and handed Min the bowl of water to finish. "Welcome, Yasemin."

Min finished her drink, savoring the water's coolness on her tongue and sore throat. "Min, please."

"Min, then, even better!" Ilay pushed to her feet, looking down and offering a hand. "Can you stand, sweetling?" She was a pale beauty, soft curves and shining hair. Whoever Erkin was, he was a lucky man.

Min nodded, taking Ilay's hand and standing under her own power. Her legs trembled for a second, but held. "If I might, Ilay...may I trouble you for something to eat? I'm awfully hungry."

"'May she trouble me for something to eat,'" Ilay said, forcing a huff, as though offended. Then she smiled, blunting any perceived offense, pressing a hand to Min's cheek as tenderly as her own mother ever had. "You are one of us, my dear, for long as you remain here. Of course you may eat. Come this way, let's find you something for your empty belly." Ilay took the young woman's hand, fingers laced together, and gently pulled her out of the tent and into the world beyond it.

The camp was a simple one of hand-sewn tents, gathered in close proximity together for protection, Min guessed. A rudimentary pen nearby housed several milk-making animals called rabzoa, a breed of wild goat that lived within the confines of the Witch Wood. She heard the sound of children playing nearby, but the smell of smoke and cooked meat got her immediate attention when her stomach began to growl.

Ilay laughed. The sound of it made Min blush again. "Sorry."

"Don't be—my Sait had eyes bigger than his stomach growing up, so I know the look well." Ilay led the way through the camp, leaves crunching under their feet and Ilay's necklace clicking and rattling gently, bouncing across her bare breasts as they walked together. The camp wasn't particular busy at that time of day. She spotted several women sitting together and working, mending the torn fabric on a spare tent, talking together while bone needles rose and fell with a regular rhythm. A couple of men passed by, paying Ilay and Min no mind as they talked, absorbed into some deep conversation.

Above the roof of the nearest tent, Min saw the telltale trail of smoke creeping into the thick branches overhead. As they approached, Min saw three figures seated around the fire, two men and a younger woman. The men were broad like Sergen was broad, with wide shoulders and large hands, with thick patches of hair in places it almost looked like fur. The older of the two, his head and shoulders covered in grey curls, had fingers as thick as sausages. The younger man and woman were both blonde—he was stirring something in a small metal pot with a carved wooden spoon, which he used to test and taste his concoction. The woman sat cross-legged on the ground, eyes closed, but it seemed to Min that she was upset about something.

The men were related somehow, Min was sure of it: they stood with the same position, carried their weight the same way; their bodies were of a similar thickness and masculine form, right down to the hair on their chests trailing down to the curls between their legs. And if Ilay was a beauty, the younger woman was stunning, a younger mirror of Ilay in body and face—they both had pale, round breasts with wide hips, and a matching strip between their legs, although the younger woman was a natural honey-blonde.

Min was fascinated by the sight of the other men, standing there, emerging from her dreams after so many years. But even that was nearly smothered by her feeling of awkwardness at the young woman's features and stunning figure, on par or maybe even more beautiful then Min's own mother.

"Ah, my dear." The older man reached out a hand, and Ilay took it in her empty one. They shared a kiss, a long show of affection, and the man followed it up by brushing her cheek with his other hand. "Welcome back."

"Erkin, my love." Ilay smiled and pulled Min closer, linking their arms together. "This is Min, Sergen's chosen—she's to be our guest."

"Truly?" Erkin gave a little huff, then smiled at Min. "Welcome then, my dear." He took a slight sniff of the air and paused, as though contemplating something.

"Min," Ilay said, "this is Erkin, chieftain of this tribe, and my mate."

"Ah, thank you. Sir. For having me." It was one thing for Sergen to be close-by, mostly because he'd run roughshod all over her fears and uncertainty about the opposite sex. Now another man was standing in front of her, just the way her mother had described them: fleshy, long-limbed, brutish and so strange-looking in comparison to a woman.

The woman seated on the ground snickered, which soured some of the beauty of her face. The younger man stirring the pot frowned at her, shushing her with a gesture. To Min's surprise, it worked instantly—the beauty went quiet and looked down, obedient and compliant.

If Ilay noticed the exchange, she didn't say anything. "And these two are my children, though long-since grown: Selin, my beauty, and Sait, my strong one. Sait is our Speaker, who memorizes and recites our laws and our stories." Ilay left Min standing next to her husband and greeted both children with a tender kiss on the mouth, though not as long-lasting as the one Erkin received.

"Thank you, Mother," Selin said with a smile. Min noted that while the mother wore a kollik, the daughter did not.

"Mother," said Sait, his smile softer, yet more genuine somehow. He was taller than Min but not by much, and practically dwarfed by his grey-haired father.

"The poor girl is famished," Ilay said, drawing back to Min, taking her by the hands, sitting her on the ground between Ilay and Selin; mother and daughter both sat cross-legged so Min felt obligated to do the same. Her own mother only required Min to kneel during their lessons, so perhaps it wasn't something to be concerned about.

"Yes, Mother," Sait said, and fetched a bowl and spoon from a nearby flat stump that served as a table. Erkin took a seat opposite his wife, his own legs crossed as well—perhaps that the significant part, that they were across from one another.

"So, Sergen found you out in the wilds, did he?" the chief asked, thick hands resting on his knees.

Min tried not to stare at the soft flesh between his legs, or the mass of bristling, grey hairs that it lay nestled within. "He did," she said, looking around the camp, or what she could see of it. "Have I been here long?"

Ilay patted Min's leg as if to comfort her. "Sergen showed up yesterday afternoon, carrying you and looking as though he'd run the whole way without stopping. It took the remainder of the night and into the morning to tend to your injury until you were fully out of danger." The older witch brushed her fingers up Min's tattooed arm and shoulder.

Sait sat next to his father, across from Min, and offered the bowl and spoon with a smile. It smelled of meat and spice, of heat and thick sauces, and after she took one tentative bite, Min couldn't stop eating.

"Perhaps I should go check on Sergen to see that he's resting comfortably," Selin said in a deliberate, sly manner.

"Selin. Sergen chose Min, so no more talk of that," Ilay said, her tone more of warning than scolding. "I could smell it plain as if he'd whipped out of cock and showed it to me—if I could tell, so can you."

"So he chose a human." Selin shrugged. She stretched both arms above her head, thrusting her bare breasts out with a deep, exaggerated groan. "He can always change his mind."

"Can he?" Min said, the spoon poised before open mouth.

"Oh yes," Selin said, leaning in closer with a long, happy smile. "Wolves are often known to change mates when it suits them."

"That's enough, Selin." Sait's voice was harder than his mother's.

"Well, the girl deserves the right to know how we wolf-men do things, doesn't she?" Selin let her hands fall, her stretch finished, running her hands down either arm and over her full breasts. She cupped them critically, looking down at her own bosom with a thoughtful frown.

"Change mates." Min let the spoon fall back into the bowl as her appetite was quite taken away. "He..." She looked over at Ilay. "You said he chose me. Is that what you meant? As a mate?"

Ilay threw Selin a look that Min couldn't decipher, then reached out to touch the young witch's cheek. "As Selin says, that is the way of the Kelash—they take a mate of their own choosing: wolf, witch...there are even human women here with us, as well. They choose to stay if they wish it."

Just thinking about it made Min's stomach do a flip. "And if they don't?"

"They leave us and return to wherever they choose. That is the most common reason a wolf may choose more than one mate in his lifetime."

"And some may have the choice made for them," Erkin said. He sat an elbow on one knee, chin in his hand, and smirked at his mate.

Ilay coughed, throwing her head back. "Well, yes, perhaps on some rare occasions, a woman might choose the wolf for herself instead...even a witch woman, for instance." She coughed, toying with her necklace, as if she were self-conscious on that particular subject. "But those times are rare, I'm sure."

"Yes, quite rare," Erkin said with a toothy grin. The tension of the moment was broken, and Selin stood up, walking off with a little sigh and a shake of her head.

Sait immediately reached over, taking Min's hand. "Forgive my sister, please. She was upset when Sergen rejected her the last time—she still hasn't forgotten it."

The old witch sighed. "My daughter can be very bitter when it suits her."

"She acts out because she thinks it'll get my attention," Sait said. He sounded resigned more than angry at admitting it.

Ilay reached across, gently nudging her son in the shoulder. "Some days I wonder if any woman will get your attention," she said. "I'd like to tend to some cubs that belong to my own offspring someday. You could do far worse than a pretty girl like Selin."