Majutsu-shi no Chikara Ch. 09

"Matta's last prophecy... from." Prende looked him in the eyes, her solidity in question a moment as she steeled herself. "From last night, when he was murdered."

"Tell us." Nurcan crossed her arms over her breasts, the fabric of her tunic bunching and wrinkling roughly. She itched at her breasts a moment and re-positioned her arms more under her breasts rather than over. "Tell us slowly."

"When Matta was..." she refused to use the word 'dying', even though she would use 'murder' -- a curious distinction that Akuji shrugged-off but Nurcan found troubling. "...there... he was there, and she hit him, and he couldn't talk -- but his lips were moving."

"Alright, so he was trying to speak." Nurcan nodded understanding. Prende's pleading gaze brightened, and her smile was less manic.

"Yes -- he was repeating over and over." Prende's locks bounced around her face as she nodded, her eager smile giving comfort only by virtue of her magical presence -- her appearance setting Nurcan and Akuji on edge, as she still seemed to only be half in the living world. "Black-sunrise, Coward-fall... I think... and South-born."

"I don't understand it." Nurcan exchanged a glance with Akuji. "We should ask my father -- he may know..."

"It's a prophecy." Prende sighed, rolling her eyes and heaving her hands up and down in frustration, lifting and dropping the magnitude of what she was saying. "It won't make sense to simple scrutiny -- you have to see the signs."

"Then anything could be its fulfillment." Akuji shrugged, trying to offer some weak support to Prende's animated argument without letting go of his wholehearted doubts. "What makes you so certain that you understand the meaning behind the Black-sunrise -- or that you even know the right words when he was not able to speak?"

"Because..." Now Prende's red eyebrows knit together and a curious wrinkle danced between them as she began to doubt herself. "Well, it's... when you... it's because of you!"

Triumphant, she pointed at Akuji, eyes bright and mouth smiling -- much of her fierce mein smoothed and restored to the previously captivating beauty.

"Oh? What did Akuji do?" Nurcan gave him a sidelong glare and smile, motherly patronizing of the subject more than the speaker.

"His mouth made the words." Prende met Nurcan's eyes, which unsettled the older human woman. "His mouth like Matta from before."

Nymph magic. Nurcan sighed and re-positioned her feet, busily moving her arms and shifting her tunic broadly before recrossing her arms in a frustrated huff.

"You read his lips?" Nurcan canted an eyebrow at Akuji, whose own brows raised in surprise and his shoulders and hands gave an unknowing shrug.

"If that is the way of it. His mouth made the same motions and I heard him." Prende nodded again, clapping her hands together and giving a childish giggle. "I heard him! I heard Matta!"

"Easy, now." Akuji motioned again for her to slow her exuberance, lest she trample them all in her haste. "Unless you think this prophecy is happening right now, we can probably take a few hours..."

"Weeks." Nurcan offered.

"...take a few weeks to get it all sorted out." Akuji nodded in approval. "We don't need to go meddling in some great dragon's affairs. South-wold is still... well, we still need tending here."

"Of course." and like that, Prende's smile was the gentle, relaxed glistening in her lips that had been before -- the bubbling cauldron of her excitement vanished behind some imagined curtain of her own guile. "I'm glad you understand."

"Well... so are we." Nurcan gave Akuji a nudge, and they both bowed briefly to the nymph.

Prende's smile erupted into a manic grin once more and she clapped her hands together in giddiness.

"I'm just so excited!" Prende laughed, and her glowing light carried a warmth Nurcan had come to dread in their short acquaintance. "You'll see! It's going to be something... something wonderful!"

The nypmh thrust her arms wide and spun in a circle, laughing up to the sky. From there, she danced about South-wold, singing and bounding between the remaining homes; to the edges of corrals and fields where other villages heard her and gave heed. Her song was not a working song, or even a human song, but it buoyed and bolstered their flagging spirits mightily. So fortified, the villagers set to their work with easier movements, savoring in the sweat of their labors as the nymph's magic drew a corral of its own around their grief for a time. Able to witness it without being trampled, much of South-wold found the day much improved, despite the shrieking horror that had crowed the morning.

Tomas and Wanda even gave faint smiles as they shepherded their youngest wards to and from one pasture or field to the next -- ever with the askance watchfulness of their elders, as the red-headed twins took to watching the nymph more often than their charges. It was to no great ill, as the youngest of the children would mostly become transfixed by the sound of Prende's voice when the nymph was singing -- and there was no longer any great harm threatening to befall a small cluster of a dozen-odd children surrounded by hawk-like sentinels who would guard their every step at the slightest provocation.

"Is she mad?" Akuji leaned toward Nurcan, trying to speak behind his hand for fear of Prende overhearing them. Nurcan scoffed and slapped at his arm, the nymph too far away -- and too magical by half, if it ever mattered -- to be concerned with her opinion of their human opinions.

"As mad as any young girl in love. I know not how an immortal fae can be so -- yet I ken it when I see it."

"What does that say for our chances, here?" Akuji squinted at the sky, watching clouds roll over the Willow Wood in promise of more rain for their fields.

"I don't know, yet." Nurcan frowned, itching her arse through her breeches. "I'm for a belly of bread and a hard fuck."

Nurcan cupped her hand to her forehead, blushing terribly at her outburst. Akuji could but laugh in surprise.

"Not that I'm surprised -- but since when are you so shy about anything?"

Nurcan clamped her mouth shut and shook her head, motioning over Akuji's shoulder where Tomas and Wanda were leading their tumble of children in slack-jawed silence. Of those children more than six winters, many eyes were wide with awe or shock -- which the younger children took as prompting and began laughing and shouting to stir the reaction.

"Belly of bread and hard fuck! Belly of bread and hard fuck!"

Akuji laughed, even as Nurcan stormed away in embarrassment. To their credit, Wanda and Tomas managed to shush the crowd after only a few cycles of that refrain -- long before any parents or well-meaning cousins among the elders took more direct action.

"Best take them out to check on the cattle." Akuji snorted, his face dark, ruddy brown from laughter. "Let them get their wits about them... they'll be a mess all day, if they don't do something."

"Aye." Tomas nodded dutifully and angled his walking stick to begin herding the giggling gaggle like so many cats.

...

She dropped to her knees again, losing count (if ever she cared to count) how many times now since it happened, and began fingering herself furiously. Her body ached so terribly she felt ablaze with lust and thirst -- the damned nymph's magic still tearing through her body like an unending storm where each blast of lightning brought the hunger of her sexual desire to its fullest, just shy of tipping her over the edge of ecstasy, and left her stalled there. Stuck, hovering between release and anguished pleasure, she dropped down and tried desperately to climax. She could only get so close, rub so hard, pinch and caress and prod -- and with each failed attempt ending in violent, painful masturbation with as many digits as she could squeeze into herself... all for nothing... the ache would slowly draw back like a retreating wave, she would gather her thoughts and try to remember a spell of any kind as she shambled (she hoped) closer to Renks Cairn, and the wave would slash upon her and drag her to the ground again. How many steps between? A few dozen? A score? Less?

Had it not been for the multitudes of interlocking wards on her body, the metabolic changes, the magical augmentations to sustain her in the most hostile environments... If not for being a powerful wizard, she would have collapsed from exhaustion and embraced death gladly. Hours ago, if not days. How long had it been? It was too soon to even consider clearly.

Then, it stopped.

Like the most vigorous and invading cock she'd ever known had suddenly vanish from inside her... or maybe it was like giving birth... or maybe it was the sudden sucking sound of the surf as it falls away in deference to the coming tidal wave... but the next cymbal crash did not sound. The next horrible torrent of desire was still in the distance, waiting for her. Her mind felt clear. Terrified like a rabbit running from a fox, but clear. Her thoughts were her own, and she knew the nymph had marked her with an enduring curse. Whether it could fade with time, she didn't know. The nymph was not actively pursuing her with it, and so she had a moment's respite.

Emseray Saran groaned in complaint, the fatigue threatening to keep her slouched in the tall grass where she lay. Fighting herself to stand, she wobbled to her feet and took in her surrounds. Vast plains. The mountains -- days away to the east. To the north, the tell-tale haze of cattle or horses on the move... whether a rancher's herd or not, should couldn't quite remember. She needed to put more distance between her and the nymph before the fae attacked through the curse again.

She sought through her mind, finding the hollowed-out spaces on the walls where wards had been before her attack on the Elemental. Wards that had been intended to guarantee a smooth, silent victory... Wards to protect, diffuse, and retaliate... all gone.

"Shit."

Her voice sounded rough. Dry. Days without water. Her eyes took in the angle of the sun and her relative position along the mountain range. It couldn't have been more than a day, or even that very morning that she attacked the Wizard of South-wold... now, he was dead and she lived.

"One down." She huffed, clutching her aching ribs as she staggered forward.

Some of the older archives looked scorched, a curious corruption of the mnemonic magic inside her mind. Perhaps breaking the nymph's curse would restore those recordings -- but she couldn't be certain. No simple fae should have been able to stand against her. She reasoned that it must have been some other protection, perhaps from the Wizard himself... or some powerful charm he possessed? It didn't matter now, as she would eventually die of thirst once her magical endowments were exhausted from preserving her. That could be months... or days, if her aches and pains were any indication. Another curiosity.

She searched for a spell within her memory. Something to break a curse -- or shield her from it. If Nabid were still intact, the homonculus would have helped keep her thoughts (and spells) in meticulous order. Now, she wandered the corridors of her mind sluggishly, haltingly. The panic adjacent to her nudged, keeping her acutely aware of the imminent threat the nymph's curse presented to her. It didn't help.

She growled her frustration, still relieved to be observing the distant obelisk of torture on the horizon of her awareness -- rather than planted firmly inside her where she definitely didn't want it. Not entirely, anyway.

"Shit." She swore again, trying to shake the fugue from her mind.

The cuts and burns had already healed, and the stabbing of sharp rocks meant little to the magically hardened surface of her feet. The terrain inched by slowly, ignoring her as she tromped forward in haste. Enhanced speed was not among her remaining supports, and magical flight took far too much focus to maintain in her current state. Walking remained her avenue forward in the trackless grassland between villages and city.

If cattle or horses drew close enough, she might be able to use a spell to snare one to use as a mount. She'd found a spell for that, in her searching. Spells for animal servants, armor, bulwarks (a spell to fortify buildings), ballista (wonderful on battlefields), cooking (a must for traveling)... ah, curses.

"Curses." She scowled at the tome in her mind.

Inside the imaginary corridors of thought, she opened the tome and reviewed its index -- skimming through until she found a crude foot-note with an image of Nabid making several rude, graphic suggestions with various parts of its ductile anatomy.

"See 'Enchantments, Breaking'." If she could sweat, she would have. Instead, she cursed the imp's cheek (again), and directed her attention to another volume.

Get Fucked. Scrawled in profane letters taller than the walls themselves, where the magic used to bind the infernal spirit into the construct was stored. Esmeray gave a grim smile, admiring how the punctuation somehow managed to scream from the furthest corner of this particular hallway. The imp had been petulant in the most juvenile of ways -- but always servile when it mattered... at least, that she could remember. Most of Nabid's antics barely earned footnotes in her own journals, and what few memories she had were of a truly acidic demeanor trapped in its tiny clay cage that was bent, unerringly, to her will at any cost. Replacing such a servant would be expensive... and would have to wait until her current condition was ameliorated.

Several enchantment-breaking spells involved countering the magic as it was being cast -- useful if you had time to prepare for such an attack. A few others were designed to trap or release specific energies into an item... trapping lightning was a favored mechanism for use as a trap on magical vaults, while some items were used to strip-away poisonous vapors from the air or even steal the life from the smallest of creatures that touched it. Here, at last, was the section she needed. She scoffed at Nabid's deliberate embellishments.

"Breaking Inchantments, Troths, Curses, and Hexes." She wasn't smiling. At least, not inside the halls of her memory. In a fit of superstition, she remained stoic inside her mind, even as the sun shone down on her as she walked through the plains and light glinted on her teeth.

She didn't take the effort of re-cataloging the spells in her memory, she needed to make use of the most appropriate spell or spells as quickly as possible. Too many required materials she wasn't carrying, and likely wouldn't be able to quickly find. One required ready access to another plane of existence. Two others, predictably, required the heart's blood of the original creator of the curse (in varying quantities)... Nabid's graffiti likeness was heavy on these two spells.

If some artisan with clockworks had fashioned a personal device to measure the grains of sand spilling through an hourglass and put it in her head, the urgency she felt could not have been greater as the moments passed. The crunch of grass as she tread on it or brushed through it was ticking enough.

With trepidation, she considered a spell that could not fully break a curse -- but would instead dilute its effect over a longer time. A dangerous prospect, as it would take energy to maintain and she didn't know if the nymph's curse would end without stronger magic... or the fae's death.

"One thing at a time." She assured herself.

The reagents she needed were mundane-enough, and several ready to hand (air and earth aplenty) or secreted on her person. The academic names in a half-dozen languages became blurry soup before her eyes and she collapsed to her knees again while she struggled to focus her thoughts on the intricacies of this spell. She didn't have time to practice, and needed it to be right with a single attempt. Her body shook with a fever chill, even as she took a calming breath to steel her mind for quiet study of the magic necessary to accomplish this feat.

The grass hissed in the breeze, the air tickling her neck as her hair became tangled with the wind and loose strands danced about her like the feelers of some wispy insect. Allowing her eyes to shift their focus, she watched the undulating waves of magic around her. The crests and valleys were always moving, always stationary -- trapped in a paradox of movement and stillness between realities, keeping them forever apart and bound inextricably together. Mapping the pathway would be simple enough, relatively speaking -- and her components were easily arranged into the impossible geometry that allowed her voice to resonate with her movements and weave through the molten boundary.

She slurred, each word panging like a half-struck bell inside a sneezing cat's nose beside a sailor vomiting music over the gunwale of a ship made of wax.

With a bloody hiccup, she felt the countering enchantment wriggle in through her ears and out her eyes -- and the obelisk of the nymph's curse toppled toward her, becoming an inky cloud made of several shades of yellow and red and smelling of sugared meats. She gagged.

Until the nymph attacked again, she wouldn't know how effective this new defense might be... for the moment, Esmeray set her mind to finding fresh water or slow-moving prey. Her remaining endowments seemed near as strained as she had been, but were otherwise sustaining her as she scanned the horizon for the glinting reflection or dense vegetation that would mark a water source.

She had not been expecting to see her shelter, camouflaged as it was, a welcoming beacon. It was back the way she came and slightly west. It put her in the mind of just how little distance she had put between her and South-wold. A winnowing plume of smoke from the south told of South-wold's proximity, and her guts twisted coldly. The nymph had dogged her steps for hours, plaguing her for a paltry two miles (if that). Esmeray's hands and jaw clenched, wrestling primal fear down in favor of the pragmatic solutions that could yet be found within her tent. While far from being "everything" she would need -- it was a fair head-start.

Getting into the shelter would protect her from prying eyes and offer a source of nourishment not entirely dependent on magic. It might even give her time to replenish most of her spent wards. Already, the swirling mass of the nymph's curse was being swept toward her in faint tendrils and streamers. The outermost edges were a solid wall, too far for the eye to see, and its weight pressed inward toward her.

"She's no slouch." Esmeray frowned, not yet feeling but knowing that the pressure would begin to increase.

Quit whining. Esmeray shook herself and opened the flap of her tent. You knew this was a one-way trip.

She picked through her belongings with some relief, able to quench her belly's thirst before taking a few moments to attempt her own sexual release. A the lightest touch made her grimace with pain, in spite of her insistent arousal. Using healing and restorative magic, Emseray undid much of the damage done to her loins in the hours since her encounter with the nymph. Had she the time and her laboratories, she could easily remove all trace of injury -- but those luxuries lay several days in the past and unknowable days distant in the future. Among her most "crucial" traveling supplies were numbered a small cache of devices designed for her entertainment: security against Nabid's absence or -- as in this case -- destruction.

With the nymph's hex diluted, Esmeray was able to reach orgasm... far too quickly and for far too long... but it bled-off much of the urgency. The slender, barely pronged phallus hummed against her skin and the waves of orgasm dulled slowly. At last able to think more clearly, she ran several calculations. She would need a prepared space for a sizable ritual circle in order to break the nymph's curse, if she wanted to be rid of the curse with any speed... likely, the "diffusion" counter-curse would buckle under any sustained attack -- but it could buy her a few minutes to... do what, exactly?