For a Song Pt. 10

My fingers work in her next, spreading and stroking and meandering in her. That is a bit more known to me. I find more spots she likes, just like last time. They were there yesterday, and they will be there tomorrow. And if they aren't, then I get to have so much fun finding them all again.

Her tongue works slowly and engulfs me. She is very good at the tongue in long loving strokes. Just like the rest of her. Just like everything she does. Weight and strength, grinding stones and earthquakes and hammering anvils dropped from the heavens. I take it well, bending and keeping myself strong. I refuse to be reduced to rubble underneath her.

I play her and she fights me. It's both of our arts made together, both beautiful and earnest. It is what we are. Plucks and tickling strums, feints and decisive blows. It builds against us both. Hers is coming. Mine is as well. It shared and beautiful and the same. The window of our world put against another one. They find their slots and they meld into one.

I think mine hits first, although I am not in the best mind to keep the finish line clear. And hers is right there. It only takes my own moans and waivers to pull the shapes into alignment and I keep the pattern in her. That does it and our shared collapse begins.

Even our pulses and clenches align, if a bit staccato. It is beautiful music we make together. It is a glorious contest of our bodies. It is both and neither. It is everything and nothing. It is all we are and just another night spent together. Routine and normal, but still miraculous and amazing. It will always s be this way. And even if it doesn't, then I will have fun trying to figure out how to recapture that spark.

Gawain kisses my cheek and helps me rise. I'm dazed, shifting my weight as I ride out the last shots of in her mouth. Her tongue has gone still, but the pressure is there. That's enough. That's more than enough.

Her throat works me until I am empty. Her hands hold me deep until I am done. The stars move and the fire flickers. There's an open tent with a set of bed rolls that butt right against one another. Our mounts are nesting together as well.

I could go again as I pull myself free. Maybe, probably, definitely. Absolutely, I could go again. I watch Gawain's ass as he puts out the fire. It's tantalizing. I look down and Eliza's certainly ready for it. But my limbs are a bit too heavy for anything real. So, I just let it lie on her cheek, dripping the remnants down her features. Her tongue lolls out and cleans me. Gawain helps. I am clean and shivering and tired.

Together, we all work to clean Eliza, to clean Gawain, to get us all back in the tent. She sleeps naked. Gawain likes a long tunic. I wear my undershirt and small clothes. Together, we climb as one under our blanket and share one last moment to get everyone comfortable. I'm right in the middle, unable to move. I don't want to move, so I can't really complain.

---

Maman watches the moon, pulling on her cigarette and lets a long plume of smoke escape her lips. It carries soft golden glitters into the stars. She looks good, hair in a simple braid and everything just the right level of wrinkled and ruffled. A good night's sleep behind her and just about to head out to pasture to tend to the cows. Kind of surprised that she doesn't have a whip or a prod or something.

"You have a good time?" she asks like she doesn't know. I nod and come out of my tent, alone. They weren't in there once I slipped into the dream. They'll be there when I wake up.

"Did you have a good time with Mutti," I ask as I slide next to her. I lay on the soft earth. I don't see our birds around either. Shame. I imagine that they would work pretty well as pillows.

"Do you even have to ask? Rocked her world. Made her scream loud enough to cause a tidal wave. Had a wonderful seafood dinner and I can't wait to call on her again."

I should probably be somewhat uncomfortable with how casually I talk about my sex life with one of my mothers. I should probably be even more uncomfortable with discussing hers. But I'm not. That's just the house I came from.

"Finchwing and Soddal," she says, "You going to get those two when you get into town."

"Not even a dot of obscurity this time around, huh?" I ask.

"Nope. Didn't want to deal with anything of that when I had my turn, so I imagine you don't want to either."

"Kind of like it. It's a puzzle."

"And that's how I know you're not really my kid."

"Oh please. I'm your son. I'm just Dad's and Mutti's kid too."

She snorts a laugh, and she looks like a bull. For whatever reason she refuses to look at me. It's part of whatever she is now. She likes the moon. She likes the stars. She likes the sky.

"That said," she says through another pull, "Don't know who's coming and how they're going to spin it. So there, you get your puzzle."

"Good. Don't want it to be too easy."

"And there's where I came in. Good. You learned something from me at least."

"That and how to fight. And Dad taught me how to fish."

We fall back into our shared silence. She's never been one to talk and that's fine. She's a good listener. But right now, I don't have much to say. I have other people to talk to when I get up.

"I want to apologize," she says.

"For what?"

"For this. I didn't know that it would get like this. I didn't even know I would become this."

"You don't have to apologize for anything, Maman. None of this is your fault. You did a thing, and it has consequences. People didn't like the thing you did, so they're taking it out on me and Kay and Mutti."

"That's the part I feel bad about. I've tried to turn that tide. Talked with my new friends and tried to pull strings, but none of us seem to be able to do that. Nudge things, sure, but only so far. Other people are pulling strings, even if they don't know it."

"There're only so many strings to pull. I start to cut them down and they try to cut me down. At the end, we all cut and tie and bind and weave and I don't want to think about any of this anymore. It's just a mess."

"It is. It really is. I just hit things with a hammer. You just play songs. And that's all there is to it, really."

I nod. I do play songs and she does hit things with a hammer. When she can. She offers me her cigarette. I take it after a moment's consideration. The smoke hits my lungs. I let it out and feel the fog ride up into my head.

"How are you not hacking up a lung right now," she says. I shrug. I've done harder stuff, I guess. I'm not sure where that lands, but it's not the hardest. It's kind of relaxing in its own way. Numbing. Keeps everything blunted and dull. I hand it back and she shakes her head.

"Been thinking about settling down soon," I sigh, "Apparently Eliza has a castle somewhere. That seems like a good chance to find some good work. I could be a court jester or something. Be the subject of the court's gossip as we fuck in the background of it all. It would be scandalous."

"Look, I'm not going to tell you if that's a good idea or not, because I have no clue. I can only tell you what I think you want, and that's a shot in the dark as well. And I don't think you want that."

"I think I do. I like not meeting new people. It was nice to see Kay again. It's nice to have Gawain and Eliza hanging around all the time. And I'm excited to see Mutti again. I'm liking familiarity and its weird."

"Never slept around as much as you, so I can't say. Every so often, I picked up someone when I was on a campaign, but not every town. I like it. You like it. That's reason enough to do it. And I would' mind having these talks indoors. Maybe a place with a bathtub. I haven't had a good bath in forever."

"I'll see what I can do."

She huffs out another short plum and stands up. Something cracks and something creaks. Deities still have sore joints, it seems. I know her knees bothered her right before the end. She holds out a hand and hoists me up. All the soreness in the world wouldn't cut down her strength. She could move islands out to sea, level mountains and fill valleys with a flick of a wrist. She can and does give great hugs, just beyond the perfect level of tightness and into crushing. Just a bit. Her arms are strong, and she smells like clover.

"I love you, kid," she says kissing my cheek.

"I love you too," I say, "I wish we could have more time like this."

"Not how this works and that is terrible. I wish I could make myself appear when I want to, but I can't."

I don't say anything for a long, long moment. I let the hollow ache in my heart grow and grow until I am suffused with a dull blue sorrow. Nothing choking or shackling or halting, but an ever-present weight on my shoulders. It's pleasant, in its own way. It's her presence on my mind and in my soul.

I break and she is no longer with me. I am in the campsite under the growing morning. The world stirs and churns around me, smearing down into a canvas of oil paint suggesting. I take a deep breath, one last time. I catch the faintest hint of clover on the wind and that is enough for now.

I wake up with Gawain hanging on me. I wake up hanging on Eliza. I wake up in an interwoven net of limbs and body parts that I never want to extract myself from.

"You were having a good dream," Eliza purrs sleepily, "You kept rubbing up against me."

I don't want to think about how dreaming of my mother made me somewhat excited. I just stay with the moment that I am in and put nothing else on it.

---

Shoar is cold. The wind from the sea is biting and sharp. It invigorates the senses and sharpens the mind. Gawain's having a terrible time. Eliza seems to like it. And I could use a heavier coat, but otherwise I'm fine. That and a good bowl of hot soup. Although, I could go for that pretty much anywhere.

Together we pull up to a hitching post just in front of the main street. The birds shuffle and kweh. No one is around. Everyone's all holed inside and hidden from the world. It's that time again and it is one of the things I don't particularly care for about this place. It dies. Every day. I shrug my shoulders and start walking. Gawain and Eliza come with me.

The town is quiet and that is new to me as well. Sleepy quiet. Calm quiet. Riverbend was nice and tense quiet. A bubbling pot with a lid on. This is just a cold pot on a cold stove with cold water in it. I feel snow, natural snow coming some time in the future. Not soon but coming. For the first time, I'm actually looking forward to it. I have bodies to keep warm and keep me warm. It would be fun. Not some tired inn where the keeper's daughter keeps making passes. And I never could act on that fun little part because said keeper keeps not only the inn, but a cudgel under the counter as well. Now, in this case, I can make as many passes as I want. It would be amazing.

Gawain shivers again and I don't know how else to fix that. He's already deep in his cloak. Toasty and cozy and snuggly warm, and the slight breeze off the shore is enough to break it. I think he's faking it for attention. Last night, he didn't get enough. He sticks to me and acts like I have warmth to give. Eliza actually does something useful. She's a good windbreak. Her enemy lifts up her robes and I catch glimpses up her legs and that is nice.

"Why do people live here," he chatters.

"You should see Shatterhail here," I say, "Snow over the roofs. Wind sharp enough to cut glass. The sea actually freezes over some times."

I can feel Eliza's smile poke through. That does seem like something she would like to see. It is oddly quiet at certain times when it gets like that. She would like that. I wonder how the castle deals with the cold like that. I'm looking forward to it.

"We're going up there," I say, pointing to a cliff on the edge of town. A lone tree, still green despite the late season, stands tall and proud. It's the one. Not the one, but I see a figure watching the ocean from on high. My soul smiles. I'm oddly nervous, for some reason. The wind is turning, and I don't like the way it feels on my skin. I walk a bit faster. Gawain doesn't like it, since it means he can't stay close to me. Eliza doesn't mind. If anything, she appreciates the chance to actually walk with a more natural stride.

I miss noise and that's something to consider for the future. People milling about and doing things and getting work done. Just the aura of others around. I don't remember Shoar being this quiet. Even the grave had worms in the dirt writhing about. This is advanced death. We come to the last row of houses and start the climb to the tree.

"I've been patient, but it was bearable.

I've had a gray haze for a long time though.

I never found out, what it was I?

It's my stress, that's for sure," she sings. All of my worries drift away with the meandering lyrics. Its ghost whispers along my spine. That voice is nightmares chased away, blankets tucked tight, scraped knees kissed away. It is everything remember and nostalgic. It is what I know at my core to be safe and warm. I walk faster. The incline's steep and my legs start burning. I don't mind it. I don't mind the shortness that comes with my breath. I don't mind the rock in my shoe. The smoothing lyrics make all that unbearable sharpness round out into gentle rolling hills.

"I can't go home because I'm afraid.

Something will change. Me without me

I'm the one to blame," I sing back.

The music stops for a moment and that is sin made manifest in noise. My heart breaks in that gap. Tears in my eyes, pure and utter sorrow.

The wind carries a soft laugh, and all that joy comes rushing back in. I walk faster, outpacing Eliza's stride.

Mutti stands in the shade of a kind old tree, looking over the water like it carries every secret she wants to know, every answer to every question she can fathom. It gives nothing in return other than gentle waves and an all-knowing shrug. Secrets are secret and questions do not deserve answers at all. They just hang in the air and float down into the bottom of the water. She's humming again. I'm humming with her. I weave blue and she weaves green.

She turns to me and she looks tired. Probably from the walk up. I'm getting a bit fatigued as well, but the brightness in her eyes makes up for it. The shine on her horn, ground to a needle, the luster in the fringes, all forest emerald green are still bright and shining and beautiful. Her arms open wide, taking her shawl with her like a pair of wings.

"There's my little jackalope," she says. I fall into her arms. She's shorter than I remember.

"Hi Mutti," I murmur, "Sorry I've been gone so long."

"Don't even start. It's fine. You needed to walk, and this town is only so big. So, shush and hug me more."

I do that. It's easy to do. She is very huggable. I am very huggable. Everyone I hang around with is very huggable. It's a through line and one I imagine I will keep.

"Mutti," I say as I pull myself free, "these are my friends. Eliza and Gawain."

"That's all they are," she says with a cocked eyebrow, "I doubt that. C'mon. I know you."

"We're friends in polite company," Eliza says.

"Good thing I'm not that. Is he treating you right?"

"He can be mean," Gawain says, "But good mean."

That gets a good chuckle from Mutti that only deepens into a real laugh when she sees my blush.

"C'mon. I'm not getting anything from the ocean, and I need to sit down," she says.

And just like that, there's a bounce in her step that puts her in the front of the pack. Gawain matches it as best he can. He does a good job, although his gait is simpler, simple beats to Mutti's varied swing and off beats. Eliza doesn't even try. I take one last lingering look out to sea. It's cold and I like it more than I thought I would.

---

"He was so proud of it," Mutti says as she sets her tea down, "And Claire had no idea. The way she looked at him when he brought that stupid fish in was so adorable. But it wasn't a sturgeon. I couldn't do it to either of them."

Eliza chuckles and Gawain looks somewhat confused. I don't know the whole story and I never really asked. It was the start of Dad's wonderful relationship with fishing, as far as I know, and he had no clue what he caught. Maman didn't either. To be fair, I don't know what fish I'm currently eating. It's good. It pairs well with the corn and potatoes. And it all makes me warm and sloth.

I have no clue how I got this tired and kept moving. I am exhausted, almost every single act of mine trying to drag me down to bed. I know this house and my bed is just over there. I think I'm too tall for it now, but I could curl up like a cat. No guests, but that's fine. Probably. I can probably fall asleep without anyone right next to me. I take another bite of the potatoes and I am warm.

"But it was good for him," Mutti continues, "Never had the chance to try it before, as far as I know, and that was a love affair of the many he had. Even when we were in Solglow, he fished. And we weren't supposed to do anything there."

"I'm still surprised you never actually moved to Solglow," I say, "You always talked about it."

"I know, I know. But that place has too many good memories and here has too many bad. Besides, the beaches there have a very strict no old lady policy. Only the youngest, freshest bodies for the sun down there."

"Bullshit. You'd put them all to shame," says Gawain. I blush again, but she laughs. She also doesn't deny any of it. I don't deny it either, but I don't think I can comment anywhere in this discussion. Mutti likes the attention though and Gawain likes giving it. Eliza is too lost in her meal to really care one way or another.

"Have you had a chance to talk with Maman," I ask.

"I have. Just last night," she says with a dreamy look in her eyes, "Told me Kay got married apparently. Good for him. I now have a daughter in law, and I can't wait to make her life hell. And before you say anything, yes, I know. She might like that."

"Good. I'd hate for you to be one of those mothers-in-law that exist to torture people."

"What else did you two talk about," Eliza asks. She's fishing and I don't blame her. Her eyes keep darting out the window to look at the horizon. Fleets and navies, so many things could be coming down the waves with cannon fire and cutlasses. She's used to terrestrial engagement, but the principal is the same. Kill or be killed and deal with the aftermath.

"Yes, there is that little bitty thing to worry about," Mutti sighs, "So much fun. So much trouble. Don't even know why they bother with it. I'm not doing anything up here other than singing in the tavern to earn my keep and counting the days."

She slinks back down in her chair, and she is tired. I don't blame her. I would be tired too. I just feel like that is the best thing to be right now.

"Just a Soddal and a Finchwing," she sighs, "I put out word to the town and they've boarded what windows they can. That's why everything's kind of dead right now. Just people trying to duck out of the way. That's all she could give me."

I rub my temples and it helps. I don't know. I don't know what to do. I don't want to figure out what to do. Ever since I've wandered in, I hear the beck and call of my bed and it's right there. Mutti sees it and gives a simple look of concern.

"You've been traveling for who knows how long," she says, "Go get some rest. Whatever's out there can wait a nap or two."

Eliza nods and Gawain seems excited. Our rest usually means another round of play together, and he still carries the loss from last night with him. So, this is a grand chance to make everything all square and even. Books balanced and ledgers full. My shoulders hurt and I want to lie down.

We do Mutti the courtesy of cleaning up at least. Dishes stacked and wiped down, table put back together, a bit of choring just to earn our keep. I hug her again and she hugs me back. We have a long, long moment together with Eliza and Gawain politely looking for anything else to look at. They settle for a long row of wood carvings and remark upon their intricacies silently.