Harrow's Wife Ch. 02

Note:

Welcome to part two of a seven-part fantasy series. I apologize for the ridiculous delay between chapters one and two -- life simply wasn't cooperating at all -- but I'm committed to releasing a new chapter every two weeks or so. I should also mention there is some violence in this chapter. Comments and feedback are welcome and appreciated, and thank you to everyone for reading!

*****

"I can't believe this is happening," Harrow said.

Two fist-sized spheres, one of water and one of flame, hung suspended in the air in front of him.

"It's happening," Gwen said. "How do you feel? Any tiredness or headache?"

She held his hand tightly as her magic manifested itself through his body, powered by his life essence. Physical contact wasn't strictly necessary, but it made things easier. Even with the contact, her control was sloppy; running her magic through Harrow distorted her feel for it the same way shallow water distorted the view of a riverbed.

"I don't feel any different."

"That's good. Elemental magic is the weakest form. I'd hoped it wouldn't be taxing. Let me know if you start to feel fatigued or short on breath."

"Will do."

"Okay, let's try something a little tougher." She relaxed her control. The ball of fire dissipated and the water splashed back into the river.

Harrow had recommended they practice on the riverbank deep in the woods close to his house. Safe from prying eyes, he said. The practice of magic was a capital crime, punishable by disfigurement and death. She'd already suffered the former -- an ugly brand seared into her face below her right eye, locking her magic within her. She'd managed to escape her execution, though, and Harrow had found her before the Guardsmen did.

She pushed her magic through him again and the fast-flowing river leapt from its bed, gathering instead into a rapidly-swelling sphere of water that hovered unsteadily over the now-dry trench. As new water from the river was absorbed into the bloated ball, the size and weight of it grew.

"God's eyes!" Harrow swore, eyes wide and mouth gaping. "How much water can you hold up there?"

"The question is: how much water can YOU hold up there? The control is mine, but you're supplying the power. How do you feel?"

"Like I'm dreaming. It's incredible."

The globe of water swelled to house-sized, then barn-sized, enveloping the trees on either side of the riverbank but bending around the spot where she and Harrow stood.

"Any tiredness?" she asked.

He shook his head.

She held the spell for a few more moments, then reversed it, allowing water from the giant sphere to slowly drain back into the river. When all the water was back in its place, she sighed and released Harrow's hand.

"That's it? I can go longer. I'm not even winded," he said. She smiled at the hint of protest in his voice. He'd been enjoying himself. Quite a change from a couple days earlier when she'd had to beg on her knees to get him to consider the magical Bond.

"Let's leave it for now. It's only our second day and the Bond may be taxing you in ways that aren't obvious. If you're still up to it tomorrow, we'll have some real fun."

With every moment that passed the mortal danger to her daughter increased, and Gwen felt a desperate sense of urgency to mount a rescue. But she had to be practical, too. Any rescue attempt would fail if Harrow wasn't able to manage the demands of the Bond, or if she over-exerted him and his strength failed at a crucial moment. A little time sown now would reap a harvest of opportunity later.

In truth, Gwen was more than pleased at how well the Bond was working out. True, it was...inconvenient...that the effect only lasted until the dawn of the next day, and that the only way to renew it was during the heights of sexual climax, but even that had become less troublesome than she'd expected. Harrow, it turned out, was a skilled and gentle lover; lying under him was less a hardship and more a guilty pleasure. A pleasure she only grudgingly conceded, but genuine nonetheless.

The two of them turned towards the house.

"Have you decided how you'll use the Bond to save your daughter?" he asked as they walked.

"I'm still working that out," she said. "But at least my magic is available through the Bond. I can't express my gratitude for how you've helped me, Harrow."

"I've been well-compensated," he said, then dropped his hand to her rear and gave a quick squeeze through the thin, linen tunic.

She squealed and launched a punch at his shoulder, but he spun out of the way, grinning like a mischievous child and staying a cautious few steps ahead of her the rest of the way home.

****

Night had come and the two of them shared the dim kitchen in companionable silence. Harrow had thrown a half-log into the wood stove to stave off the autumn chill and now dozed in a rocking chair nearby, teetering on the edge of sleep. Gwen sat in a straight-backed chair, her elbows resting on the table, staring into the flickering light of a candle.

Somewhere, her daughter was fleeing for her life, maybe pursued by The Hound -- the greatest witch-catcher there ever was. He could sniff out magic better than any human alive -- thus his nickname. Her girl was clever and resourceful, and knew a few magical tricks of her own, but Gwen knew it was only a matter of time before The Hound prevailed and Ana's time ran out.

Gwen had limited use of her magic again -- subject to Harrow's continued goodwill -- but she couldn't decide how best to use it. She still didn't know where her daughter was and had no reliable way to locate her. She could go in search of Ana, or possibly hunt The Hound himself, but Harrow wasn't willing to travel and since the Bond only lasted a day at most, Gwen's range was severely curtailed.

Another option was to try to send a message to Ana somehow but again, she had no idea where to look. Still, Gwen was sure there was an answer, and she was determined to wrack her brain until she'd come up with something, no matter how far-fetched.

And then she noticed it.

The flame of the candle had stopped flickering and hung immobile in the air, as though frozen. And she could see her breath; the air in the room was suddenly as cold and crisp as a midwinter night.

"Harrow?" she said, suddenly afraid. He didn't respond, didn't move from his chair.

"Harrow!" It was a scream now but he didn't stir. His eyes were closed, as though in slumber...or death? She began to shiver violently.

She tried to go to him but her muscles didn't respond; she couldn't rise from the chair, nor push herself away from the table. Panic seized her and she struggled against the paralysis, but in vain.

Then she heard the sound. A quiet scraping noise, approaching the kitchen from the dark hallway, growing steadily louder as it drew near. From the corner of her eye she saw a figure materialize in the shadowy doorway. Human, or at least human-like, it moved slowly into the kitchen accompanied by the scraping noise that set Gwen's teeth on edge.

Gradually the figure emerged into Gwen's field of vision. The faint candlelight revealed a girl. A girl of perhaps eleven or twelve, wearing a white, linen night dress that fell to her ankles. Her hair was blonde; so light as to be nearly white. It fell across her face, obscuring her features.

The girl dragged a huge sword, gripping it by the hilt so the tip of the blade dragged along the floor behind her, leaving a thin trail as it it cut into the wood. The pommel bore the likeness of a stallion's head.

She didn't acknowledge Gwen but continued her plodding march in the direction of Harrow, who remained motionless in his rocking chair.

"Who are you?" Gwen said, trying to hide the terror in her voice.

The girl didn't turn, didn't pause. She single-mindedly closed the gap with Harrow. Six feet...five...four...

Gwen called her magic. Her Bond with Harrow would last until dawn, and even though she wasn't touching him it should still be possible to route her magic through his body. Physical contact strengthened the Bond but wasn't a necessity.

...Except she couldn't feel the Bond, couldn't locate that conduit into Harrow. And without the Bond, her magic remained bottled up inside her.

The little girl stood in front of Harrow now, and struggled to raise the point of the sword off the floor. With great difficulty she maneuvered the weapon around, finally resting the tip against his chest, to the left of his sternum, then gripped the hilt with both hands. Harrow didn't flinch, didn't stir.

In desperation Gwen summoned the full force of her magic, every glimmer of power within her, and directed it at the blade, seeking to knock it aside.

But no magic answered her call.

With a mighty heave, the girl threw her full weight against the pommel of the sword, driving it deep into Harrow's chest; a foot of steel blade emerged from his back just under his left shoulder. Having fully impaled him, she stepped back, leaving the great sword lodged in his chest. Blood began to drool down the blade and a dark bloodstain began to bloom under his tunic, gradually creeping lower.

Gwen closed her eyes and tried to fight back the dread long enough to concentrate. There might still be time to save him, if she could access her magic...but how?

She opened her eyes again...

And it was gone, all of it. The girl, the sword, the blood, even the scratch on the floor. The candle flame flickered on the end of the wick.

Harrow still slouched in his chair, and Gwen could hear deep, regular breathing. He was asleep.

It took several minutes for Gwen to stop shaking. The chill in the room had vanished, but the horror had seeped into her bones and was difficult to dislodge. Had it been a dream? A vision of the future? An apparition? Some untold side-effect of the Bond?

"Harrow?" she said, her voice unsteady.

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

He moved then, sitting up and stretching, then pushing himself to his feet.

"A little tired. I might retire for the night," he said, then leered at her. "Unless you'd like to renew the Bond a few hours early?"

Too unnerved to flush or even to retort, she gave a weak smile and picked up the candle, then walked with him out of the kitchen. She didn't understand what had just happened, and decided to give herself time to absorb it.

One thing seemed certain -- whatever had happened involved Harrow in some way, and she resolved to be alert for anything that might help her understand the meaning of it all. Until then, she would keep the matter to herself.

****

"You want what?" she asked, almost choking on her spice-herb tea. Leave it to Harrow to make her blush even during breakfast!

"We're going to be down at the river anyway, and it's fairly warm outside for this point in the season. So we'll bathe together before we renew the Bond," he said again in a tone that suggested he found her outrage amusing.

He showed no ill effects from the disturbing events of the past night, nor any sign he'd even been aware of them. If anything, he seemed to be in high spirits. Annoyingly high.

"I'm not bathing with you in broad daylight, out of doors. It's indecent!"

"All part of being a wife, I'm sorry to say."

She'd agreed to perform the duties expected of a wife, but surely this lay well outside the marital realm! "I was married long ago, and I never once bathed outside with my husband."

"Pity him."

"Pity you, if you think I'll agree to this...this lewdness."

He chuckled. "You are admonished to obey your husband in all things; find comfort in his wisdom and peace in his benevolent guidance. Do not turn upon him an unkind eye nor a shrill reproach, but rather be led by him along whatever path he chooses, for this is the will of God," he said, intoning the words as would a holy man at the altar, a smirk on his face the whole while.

"Spare me," she scoffed.

"Those are the traditional Vows of Marriage, are they not?"

"Written by a man, no doubt."

"No doubt. But they are the Vows nonetheless. So you can't deny that the duties of a wife -- which you have agreed to perform -- include obedience to the husband's wishes, correct?" The smirk had widened into a broad grin.

Her eyes narrowed and she contemplated throwing her cup at him, hot tea and all. Perhaps sensing her intent, he pushed himself back from the table and stood.

"And your husband wishes to bathe with his lovely wife prior to renewing the Bond," he said. "So I will meet you down by the river."

With that he wisely hurried from the kitchen.

****

"It looks cold," Gwen said from the riverbank, still clad in the over-sized tunic and sandals he'd lent her the first day. The baleful glare she gave him made her objections obvious.

"The mountain people of the East Reaches believe cold water aids virility in men and fertility in women. Young couples bathe together in the icy mountain streams in hopes of conceiving many children," he said, smiling up at her as he sat awkwardly on a mossy stone in the middle of the shallow river. He was naked but didn't seem the least bit bothered by it. Other than dozens of ugly and painful-looking battle scars that adorned his chest, arms, upper legs and back, he had a physique to be proud of.

"What part of that is supposed to convince me to bathe with you?"

He laughed. "Bring the bucket and cloth when you come in." He pointed to the items sitting on the edge of the bank.

She sighed. For Ana, she told herself. For her daughter's sake, no indignity was too great a price.

She turned her back and quickly shed the tunic and sandals, as though somehow it would be less embarrassing if it all came off in a hurry. She quickly grabbed the bucket and held it modestly in front of her pubic region while trying in vain to cover her large breasts with one forearm. She steeled her resolve, then set one foot in the river. It was cold, but not quite as icy as it looked.

Stepping carefully on the stony riverbed she waded further in. At its deepest, the water barely rose above her knees. Taking a breath, she quickly lowered herself into a sitting position in the middle of the river. The shock of cold water forced a gasp from her, but at least if she hunched her back a little she could submerge herself to her shoulders, preserving some modesty.

"I tend to avoid the deeper part of the river. Too many leeches," Harrow said.

With a startled cry she jumped to her feet and ran. She was back on the riverbank before she figured out he'd been joking and only then realized she was standing naked and fully exposed to his amused gaze. She quickly covered her thighs with the bucket, then changed her mind and flung it at his head instead. Her aim was true -- Harrow had to dive sideways into the shallow water to avoid being struck, laughing all the while.

As an afterthought, she threw the cloth at him too.

*****

"Now admit it -- this isn't so bad," he said, scrubbing her back with the wet cloth as she perched on a stone in the river. She clutched her forearms to her chest and pressed her knees together tightly.

"I'm half frozen," she said as he wiped her shoulders roughly with the wet cloth. In truth, the friction of the washcloth against her back was a pleasant sensation and more than compensated for the chill of the water, but she'd be damned before she'd tell him that!

"If you're around long enough I'll introduce you to snow bathing. The Ice People of the Northern Range-"

"I won't be here that long."

He chuckled. "I suppose not. Well, if you happen to pass this way again, I'll be happy to acquaint you with the practice."

"I consider myself duly warned, then," she said, and allowed herself a wry smile, confident he couldn't see it. "Harrow, it's mid-morning. Might we...you know...proceed?"

"What man could refuse an offer like that?"

Gwen stood and hurried back to the riverbank, then dried herself on one of the towels Harrow had thought to bring. Seeing no discreet way to begin, she spread the towel out on the ground and sat down with her legs together, knees drawn up to her breasts. Harrow shambled up onto the bank as well and came to a stop in front of her. She turned her head to avoid looking directly at his nudity. With another chuckle he laid out a second towel and sat down next to her.

She sighed, then deliberately dropped her arms to her sides and allowed her legs to stretch out in front of her, exposing her breasts and pubic region. He'd surely want a feel and probably a good leer, and if that's what it took to get things underway, she'd permit it. For Ana's sake, of course.

Instead, he stretched out on his back, resting his head on his hands.

"Very well. Proceed," he said, closing his eyes.

"I beg your pardon?" She glanced down at him, wondering what kind of game he was playing.

"Commence. Get us underway." He didn't open his eyes but the faintest trace of a smile tugged the corners of his mouth.

"Harrow, enough games." She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice.

"Games? I merely wish to receive your wifely attention. When I'm suitably inflamed we can invoke the Bond."

She sighed loudly, then resigned herself to further indignities. "What would you have me do?"

"Hmm. Perhaps the feel of your gentle fingers would be a good place to start?"

"You want me...to touch it?"

He gave no response other than a too-satisfied grin.

Realizing she'd get no further until she succumbed to his lewdness, she looked down at his cock. The cold water had taken its toll; he was greatly reduced in size, barely the length and thickness of her thumb. Tentatively she reached out and grasped it.

"God's eyes!" he swore, causing her to jerk her hand back in alarm. "Your fingers are like ice!"

"That's because you've had me sitting in the river, you damned fool!"

"Cold fingers drain the ardor from a man." He still hadn't opened his eyes.

"Then what do you suggest?"

"Your mouth."

"My..." she trailed off, not believing what she'd just heard. Blood rushed to her face; her flush was as much outrage as embarrassment.

He opened his eyes but didn't move. "Surely you're no stranger to the joys of-"

"If you think I'll get my mouth anywhere near that filthy thing..." She failed to think of a credible threat to finish with. Unfortunately, her position made threats untenable.

"Filthy? It's as clean as the river itself."

"It's indecent and perverted."

"That's part of what makes it feel so good." His smile turned wolfish.

"Absolutely not. You go too far, Harrow."

"I'll happily reciprocate."

"You'll...what?"

"I'll gladly indulge you in some oral affection. One of life's finer pleasures." She couldn't tell from his tone if he was serious or just trying to be as offensive as possible.

"I've never heard a more repulsive suggestion."

He laughed. "I'm not sure you're in a position to refuse. We've already established that obedience is required of a wife, correct?"

"I'd sooner take my chances with the Guardsmen," she said, though her tone sounded unconvincing.

"A wager then. I'll sample your feminine charms for a few minutes. After that, if you can truthfully say you hated it, I'll not ask you to return the favour. Agreed?"

She fumed silently for a few moments, realizing her position was a weak one. She needed the Bond to rescue her baby, and she needed Harrow's consent to establish the Bond. And to get his consent, she'd have to play his obscene games.

"Do as you please, then. I can't very well refuse, can I?" she said, her voice icy.

"That's the spirit," he replied with an infuriating grin. "Just lie on your back; I'll happily do all the work."

She lay back, her arms rigid at her sides, glaring up at him.

"You have a lovely figure, my dear Gwen," he said as he lay next to her on his side, his face close to her abdomen.