Summerwine & Wintersweet

"Sir? Sir?" the boatman asked.

I did not answer.

I had arrived on the continent in spring and had made landfall on the Aquamarine Spire. Had ridden the drake tram; had walked the narrow roads and had seen all the other marvels of Aspyra. Had even attended the Seventh for a spell. But never, not at home, not in my wanderings through the city, nor during my travels along the old trade roads and up the Tang, had I seen anything like the giant insects yoked in front of his boat.

"Sir?" he lowered his voice. "You are Master Mehym, are you not?"

"Yes, I apologise - I was just... ." I pointed at them.

"Birchpeepers," he nodded, "won't find them anywhere, but on the Noon Lakes."

"They're marvellous. Can I touch them?"

"Sure."

I walked the rickety boards of the jetty and leaned tiptoed over the swampy water. Gently, I touched the closer one's chatoyant wing and its chitinous body. It chirped - happily, I thought. "Marvellous, simply marvellous."

"What brings you here, then?" he asked as he led me to my cabin.

"The continent?"

"Nah. We get all sorts here. The festival."

"Business."

"That so?"

"Well, the wine is supposed to be the best there is... ."

"Indeed 'tis."

"So I figured, I'd buy a barrel or two and sell them up north."

"Wasted on 'em barbarians if you ask me," he said.

I laughed.

"What?"

"Well... ."

"Oh." He smiled knowingly and patted my back. "I reckon we all seem more alike to you than not."

"Well... ."

He laughed. "You Islanders are a cultured people, it is known, but, you oughta at least make sure you taste 'em proper before you buy. It'd be a shame elsewise. And unbecoming."

"I will."

"Watcher be praised."

The cabin was small, but clean. By the odds and ends I found on the shelving, the tightly bundled clothes and the strange, tentacled statuette, I guessed that the boatman used it himself, whenever it was not rented out.

Around midday, however, the heat inside became overwhelming. We had left the tree-shadowed banks of the Tang behind and out on the lake the sun burned down without mercy. On deck, a moderate breeze blew and the half tent hung from the cabin across the stern provided some cover.

There, lazing on her back, I found the other passenger. I offered a polite nod, but she was fast asleep. Quietly, I too leaned my back against the darkened wood and -though I had planned to continue drafting my notes- found myself lost in the sights.

Myriads of iridescent fishes flittered in the clear waters. And across the shearstone-green lake, on the distant shores and on the isles the wirries were toiling in the padpad fields. And beside me, across the deck, the boreal woman was snoring.

Even deep in dreams, she occasionally grabbed for the oversized battleaxe by her side. A bundle of likely armour sat nearby and she wore the marks of her possible equipment on her skin. Uneven tan and light bruises which criss-crossed all over her arms and shins. . She shifted and turned on the stuffy fur coat she used as a mattress. The topmost buttons of her off-white blouse were undone. I could follow along the coppery braids from her head, down along the blue lines and runes of her tattoos. I followed them along her sizeable bust and almost to her nipples. Again she shifted, insensate to the blade hilt now pressed against her side. Her ass, however, did look fetching in the tight, brown soft-leather pantaloons.

Despite lacking her bedding, I must have fallen asleep. For I awoke, shivering and alone, in the evening twilight. I could hear their voices, rough and dwarf-accented, from the bow. And after rubbing the stiffness from my limbs, I joined them.

"Sir," he bowed. The woman arched her brow. I nodded.

"I've prepared your diner. It's in your cabin."

"Thanks."

We fell silent.

"My cabin?"

"Sir."

The dried fish and padpad flat-cakes made for a surprisingly decent meal.

*

The bell rang out and I almost hit my head against the cabin's low ceiling.

"Comin' up on the Eye," the boatman called out.

I quickly threw on my clothes and, munching on leftover cakes, joined them by yoking and rudder.

Warrior and boatman were looking out over the waters. On the Eye, beyond the bathing families, the locals had raised tents and placed long rows of heavy wooden benches. Bright garlands of flowers and multicoloured fabric hung from massive carved poles. The masses were teeming between them.

"Lawbringer's mercy." I had not expected this many. "There must be thousands."

"First time?" For the first time the woman addressed me directly.

I nodded and the red-head smiled. She wore a legionnaire's knapsack, stuffed to the brim with clothes and armour, and little else. With her skin darkened by rich oil, feet clad in sandals and in the tailored leather-straps girded to her loins, she almost looked the proper athlete, a thrower - or maybe a runner. Only her linen chest-binding was a nod to continental mores.

I had not planned to follow her, but as soon as we debarked on the island I was pushed and pulled around by waves of revellers, while she easily parted the drunken masses. I was shoved past tightly packed benches and only in passing did I smell the zesty wine. Pressed into the openings by the poles, I caught glimpses of the masterful cuttings. Of krakens, beavers and foxes. Then I stumbled onwards, until I found myself in her wake and could walk straight again .

The crowds thinned as we neared the island's wooded centre. Rather than impenetrable thicket I found countless small paths and other warriors. Like my red-headed guide, they carried more weapons than armour. And like her, they all were drawn towards the woodland.

I paused at the treeline, but after looking back at the sweaty hordes, I entered. Amidst the green, past pines and warders, I espied her head and followed along the overgrown path.

In a small glade stood a smaller tent. Fringed blankets instead of massive benches covered the leafy ground. The warrior had already claimed one for herself. From inside the tent, a small, straw-blonde woman hurried to her. I lingered at the edge, as the red-head passed her a few coins and was promptly served wine in a pewter cup.

"Sir?" The blonde had noticed me.

"I'm honestly not sure if I should even be here."

The warrior turned her head, smiled and winked at me.

"Are you a child?" the blonde asked.

I raised an eyebrow. "No."

"Are you married?"

I denied that too.

"Have you ever dishonourably fled from the field of battle?"

I laughed. "Can't say that I have."

"Be welcome then," she beamed, "sit and try some wine."

She asked for three scales and I paid with a half drake. She served my pewter cup with a grateful smile and a playful wink. The rim was cold and the drink was colder. I tasted the fruit and rich spices. Fresh and sharp, rather than the cloying sweetness of traveller's paradox. "Ahh." I exhaled and savoured another sip. Behind me and through the woods, distant waves broke softly on the shore.

Another sip and I rose. Standing and shifting, I moved. I could see the empty shore through the trees. Yellow sand sparkled, undisturbed, in the blazing sun. I emptied my cup.

I was about to return to my place when I heard something. Two shapes walked the beach. I thought I even heard the sand crunch under their feet, but they left no prints. Mist swirled at the edge of my vision. Ice floes crushed and creaked beneath the suddenly foaming water. And something else moved under the surface. I blinked. Only sandy beach and crystal water remained. Lonely and unspoilt.

"Sir, are you alright?"

I followed her back to my seating and gave her another silvered coin.

"I need another drink."

She smiled and hurried to her tent.

"Could you...?" I asked.

She hovered, smiling. I drank deep.

"You like?"

I nodded. "In fact I'd like to buy a whole barrel - if at all possible."

"Certainly," She smiled, "if you'd follow me."

I chose the largest one. She marked it with chalk and again apologized for not providing a sample from this particular barrel: "Breaking the seal would spoil the wine. Still," she offered me another cup, "it's from the same batch."

It tasted warm and icy cold and like the fireside memory of summers long ago. "I made the right choice."

She beamed and beamed even brighter when I handed her the golden coins. "Two dragons. Fair?"

"Fair." Her hands touched mine. Her fingers lingered without picking up the money. "Thank you," she whispered. Her cheeks were flush.

"Thank you," I said.

She leaned forwards, until I could smell her sweet breath. She touched her half-opened lips with the tip of her tongue and inched closer still.

Then she snatched up the coins and left me standing there.

Alone, but with wine for company.

I drank slowly. She stayed close to the warrior and I did feel the heat. Despite the shade, despite the gentle breeze, I was sweating.

I have climbed the sun-baked rocks of Mount Strix. I have walked the blazing path to the temple of the Lawbringer. And never did I desire water more.

I had wine.

Another sip. The liquid chilled my tongue and throat; brought temporary relief. Then the heat returned. I took of my boots and undid the cloak. My boozy mind did wander.

Soft hands on my chest. The cloak was not enough and she ripped open my shirt. My heart was beating fast and I did no longer feel the heat. Only tender fingers remained, her renewing touch cold as ice. Down and down she went. She almost reached my belt.

A kiss.

I opened my eyes. Shifted and readjusted my pants. She kissed her again.

The blonde seller sat on the warrior's lap. The larger woman had embraced the smaller and drew yet another kiss from her lips. She had undone both pins of the blonde's apron and now moved her hands downwards. Fabric rustled as she flipped up the skirt. I watched as she cupped the exposed cheeks.

I looked down and saw my own hardness. Felt the pressure and tugged. Swallowed or moaned.

Her eyes opened. Green and deep. Deepened by the flash of recognition. She touched the seller's ear with her lips and whispered something. The other woman turned. First her head, then her body.

We looked at each other. She winked. Her smile was wicked and her teeth were white. She mouthed something and pointed down. She had pressed together her knees. As I read, by the wrinkling and stretching of her skirt, the subtle curvature and movement of the redhead's pale arms, she slowly lifted the hem.

A glimpse of hair, then she turned again. Kissed her lover and showed off her naked ass. She placed her hands on the shoulders of the larger woman and let herself be lifted up.

They shared another kiss; before the warrior walked away. The seller smoothened her dress and, with her apron draped over her arm, walked over to me.

I looked up at her and she down at me. Then down further still. I moved my palms, then stopped. I again felt the heat and touched my face.

She had moved and had lowered her torso. Most buttons on her blouse were undone. Her head was close to mine.

"I... ." Her breasts were not large, but large enough.

"Anything I can help you with?" she asked.

"Another wine?"

When she laughed, her upper body moved. "That all?"

I grimaced. I could feel the blood rushing in my ears. "I'll have what she had."

She laughed louder.

"Bold." She wiped away a tear. "Bold if nothin' else."

I grimaced again. "I guess this kind of boldness suffers from repetition. I wish I had her quick tongue, though." I pointed at the warrior's empty seating.

She grinned. "You've got no idea. And she really isn't one for flowery words. But she did know what she asked for and didn't blindly stumble into danger."

"You're dangerous, then?"

"Very." She smiled. "But I wasn't talking about little old me." She touched my face and placed a finger on my lips. "I should explain."

She undid another button. "But first I should get you that wine." Another button. "You'll need it." She opened the final one. "Hold this." She pushed a small flask into my hand and hurried back to her tent.

The coarse fabric clung to her small mounds and flattered her body like much smoother thread. Her swaying gait and cup-bearing arms did not fully reveal her.

She lowered herself, slowly, down on my lap. The first sip was hers. "Drink." And so I did. Our first kiss tasted like wine. "Most outsiders don't know about the games." She kissed me again. "And we send away children, married folk and cowards. I suppose there's even locals who steer clear of the northern isle and don't know why. But I can show you the other island. Are you ready?" I nodded, hesitated, nodded again.

"Wintersweet," she whispered, "gimme the bottle." I handed the flask back to her. She drank. Thick, golden liquid flowed from her lips and dripped from her chin down on her breasts. She grabbed my head and pressed her lips against mine. I tasted sweetness. Honey made from fire or some unearthly flower. She ran her hands through my curls and guided me downwards. I drained the nectar from her well-like cleft. Something itched in my nostril, but she pushed me on. I kissed her neck. She moaned when I reached her breast. "Your clothes," she whispered, "still too much."

She ripped open my shirt. She was rougher and certain. Twice she touched my naked skin, then she undid the belt. Dagger and coin-purse hit the blanket with a soft thud. She helped me pull down my trousers and marvelled at my underwear: "You look like - you look proper." For a moment her hands remained close to my erection. "Go now. Too the beach and win me some flowers."

I did not move.

"Go. Do you not want to see more?" She placed my hand on her knee.

"What?" I searched for words. I wanted to experience the island's wonders, but I wanted her more. She moaned when my fingers reached her wetness.

"Go." She leaned into my probing. She moaned into my ear. "Go. Prove yourself and I'll -ahhh- I'll show you so much more." She slipped away.

I staggered upright. Looked down on her form, almost naked and smiling. "Go," she whispered. I almost fell over. "Drink," she offered up the cup, "take succour. Then go." I drank and then I saw.

White smoke and ice crystals in the shape of feet. I followed the warrior's tracks from the clearing through the forest and down to the beach. There I found more. They came, starlike and cold, from every trail and from every path. And all led me to the beach and towards the mist-covered bridge.

I looked behind me and saw my own icy footfalls. Ahead the frost bridge stretched out into the lake. Carefully, I put down my toes and felt solid ground. The bridge was colder than the sand, but did not feel like ice. I took the first step. Then another. Soon I saw nothing but fog.

With each step I grew calmer. Even surrounded by mist, my sight became clearer. I could smell the flowers. Another step and I could hear. I ran towards them.

The isle was covered with knee-high blossoms. Dark red and larger than a babe's head. The same fiery sweet smell I had drunk from the seller's lips and body. Revellers stood, mostly naked, among the bloom. They had trampled paths and placed down wicker baskets and refreshments by the barrel.

To my left the archers. They wore quivers on their backs and little else. Five at a time lifted up their darkwood bows and took aim at a target out on the water.

To my right the wrestlers. Only the grunting pair in the middle of their circle had removed their weapons. The others cheered and slammed the butts of their spears against the ground or beat metal against metal. The red-headed warrior was among them, but she did not notice me.

On the far side, by the beach, the third group. They had assembled around the small stone altar which was covered with fur, fruit, sea shells and a single beeswax candle. None carried weapons and most were only dressed in the familiar straps and bindings - or wore nothing at all. Closest to the altar stood, however, six cloaked in long and flowing robes. Five, four women and one man, wore white and the last, a man, wore black.

Unarmed as I was, I approached this final group.

"Swimmer?" the black one asked and beckoned me towards him.

I nodded.

My parent's house is carved into the cliffs of Lesser Tatter and our baths rival even those in Payn. We learnt swimming before we learned to walk and my brother went on to gain some renown as an athlete. Between my studies and travels I never had opportunity to excel at swimming, but I figured I could hold my own.

So I nodded again.

"Be welcome," he pointed at the candle. The flame had burned down close to a notch in the wax. "The ritual will begin shortly. Drink and make merry. The Watcher delights in joy and exertion, both." He brushed a clammy strand of hair away from his milky grey eyes. His fingers were long. Pallid skin, paler even the the red-headed warrior's, sagged from thin bones. I had questions, but he sneered with thin lips and began to whisper to his hooded companions.

From the closest barrel I drew sour wine.

"Tastes like piss, eh?" a naked man said and raised his cup to mine.

"Yeah."

We both drank.

"Free is cheap enough and it won't waste you like proper wine."

"You seem to know your stuff," I said. He had the build of swimmer, lean muscles and not a trace of fat.

"I'm a diver. Born to the water and I reckon I'll do well enough again. Farmers," he pointed at the bystanders, "strong enough, but clumsy. They splash around in the mud, but they don't swim. Few'll reach the finish."

"That bad? Are they - are we in danger?"

"Those that go, go 'cause they want to. So the priests say, anypaths. And most just give up when they feel the Watcher's touch. I did when I was young and it hurt me none." He looked me over. "Not much muscles under that skin. Still, Islanders are born to the sea - right?"

I smiled. "Something like that."

"Well. I wish you luck. And there's no shame in giving up." He grinned. "Not much, anypaths." He paused for a moment. "Lemme say this: I started young and wanted to show everybody and by the second - no fourth- time I thought I had it. I struggled and near panicked my buddies, but I'm here now and not in the Deep Halls." He nodded.

"The Watcher delights in joy and exertion, both," I said.

"Didn't want to assume, but one does hear the wildest rumours 'bout your people. Someone I knew, a woman though, went for it. Said she saw the Halls. And she returned too - obviously."

I cleared my throat. "I meant the exertion part. Struggle and exertion, right?"

He patted my shoulder. "Sure thing. No shame either paths."

A deep sound rang out. The candle-fire had reached the notching and the black robbed priest blew the conch. We fell silent.

"Are you ready?" he had put the shell back on the altar.

"Yes, Elder Eye," the white ones answered in unison.

He plucked berries from the altar and offered one to each in turn. "May this sacrifice be joyful."

"Thank you, Elder Eye."

With berry red lips they entered the calm waters.

We stood in silence and watched. Small waves, miniscule disturbances with every eager step. The waves grew. Something was moving under the surface. Yet the five strode on.

Growing waves, thrashing and splashing reached the leftmost woman. I caught a glimpse of a tendril, black and fleshy, snaking through the spray. She stopped. Was turned around. Threw back her head and started to moan. The wet robe clung to her shivering body and a rolling mass moved under it. Up from the wild waters it coiled around her belly and suckled upwards at her breasts. She screamed and moaned, until the bulbous appendage reached up and entered her mouth. I could not hear her gasping and gagging.

The others must have moved on, beneath the water. I thought I saw a shock of hair amidst the man-high waves, but nothing else. Even the leftmost woman was now surrounded by waves and foam.