The Guardian

The Shinjito Mountain shrine lay twenty seven miles from the nearest village. Barely a village at that, boasting four shacks, half again as many chickens, and one solitary yak so fat I supposed it ate the rest of the herd. One of the shacks was a waystation, or so they claimed, available for rent to the wealthy pilgrims who sometimes passed. Looking at the ramshackle structure, I could not imagine anyone with a shred of taste taking but a single step under its roof. Still, many of the rich were fools, a fact I so often profited from.

Twenty seven miles of hills and valleys brought me only to the first of five thousand steps. I paused at the base, lowering my sword and pack, both of which had grown quite heavy over the last leg of my journey. Prevailing upon the nearby stream, I decided that it was time for tea. There are niceties to be observed, after all, at least for any civilized person.

Perhaps two miles back I had passed a lone hunter carrying his heavy kill slung across his shoulders. He nodded in greeting, but did little to hide his disdain. Yes, peasant, stare at the flamboyant stranger with his elegant clothes and fancy sword. Why yes, he is dripping with sweat dripping as a result of climbing up and down your damnable mountains. Isn't that hilarious?

Go on, keep walking. Go back to grubbing for dirt in your tiny village. I'm sure you enjoy yourself.

Tea was exquisite, at least, despite the meanness of my wooden cup. Nothing quite matches the subtle taste striking your lips as you watch the sun climb over a mist covered mountain forest. I'm certain the view was better from the shrine itself, but it was for those that I had come.

Despite its remoteness, the shrine was famous for three reasons. Foremost of these were its legendary healing waters, said to be the primal waters of life, fed from the beating heart of the great mountain until it came bursting clean and pure from a sprint at the summit. The villagers held even the tiny mountain streams holy, and were quick to say so when hawking their sealed containers.

I smiled again, sipping on my "holy" tea. I felt no magic in it, no great lifespring of health or energy, but it was refreshing. As are all good teas.

"Well," I said as I packed my bowl and eyed the endless stairs, "I'm not getting any closer as I sit."

Smiling wearily, I took the first of many steps.

Though not exactly worn, the steps certainly showed signs of passage. The shrine was often a spot of pilgrimage for the wealthy and superstitious, not to mention the desperate. Those who could made the grueling trip up the mountain that they might drink directly from the great spring. The ill and infirm sent servants or relatives, who would (after making lavish gifts) be permitted to dip a flask into the pool that they may deliver these most potent of healing waters.

Over the centuries, those treasures themselves had become legendary. Heirlooms of kings and emperors gone by, the rulers had long since passed from this world along with whatever ailments they possessed. Only their treasures lingered. Even had the spring dried up, still some would come to see the wonders of craftsmanship and elegance that had collected over the centuries.

Then there were others - like me - who would claim those treasures for themselves.

Thus enters the third legend of the shrine. The fabled maiden guardian of the mountain. Last daughter from a long line of women warriors, their skills and power passed down from mother to daughter over the centuries. Or, if you believed wilder tales, there was but a single guardian, kept immortal over the centuries by that selfsame water they guarded.

I was more inclined to believe the first, their strength more attributable to this blasted steep mountain than some mystical water. Genuine magic was a rare and precious thing, after all, and I had seen little sign of it so far.

At the last set of one hundred steps, I paused to comport myself. Setting aside my pack behind a hollow tree, I made certain my clothes and grooming properly displayed the native elegance I believed myself to possess. There was power to be had in the art of a first impression, and I would settle for nothing short of perfection.

Though I had been observed throughout my ascent, I found her waiting and composed as I made my way to the shrine's base. Knelt before a statue, white robed and sword at her side. Motionless, as one locked in the deepest meditation, she seemed more fixture of the shrine than a person.

As I approached, she stood and bowed. A formal gesture that I returned freely. As always, proper etiquette was an essential foundation for any meaningful life, and I would not shirk it here just because I intended to pilfer her holy shrine.

At a glance, I saw her take in every facet of my appearance. My costly garments not the typical fashion of a pilgrim, but clearly fine. The sword at my side. A reasonable precaution for a lengthy and uncertain journey, but also a threat. Taking in my lanky frame, I saw she judged me little threat. A blow to me pride, but only a small one, given what was to follow.

The lady herself was something to behold. Perfectly composed, her pure white gown was immaculate. Not a fiber of cloth out of place, nor even a single strand of her lustrous black hair. I had not expected her beauty, the radiance that shone clearly in her delicate face. No squat, mannish brute of a warrior as I had been expecting, the woman before me was utterly exquisite in every way. Just as much a treasure as those she guarded.

Neither had I expected the cold intelligence in her eyes. The stark, all observing regard held within. All poise and grace, yes, but with hidden power too, and clearly used to being in control. This was a formidable woman.

"Welcome, o weary pilgrim," she said formally, "I greet you and bid you enter. May you bring peace with you, and find peace within."

In other words, don't start trouble, and I won't have to put you down. Prettily said, despite the menace it veiled.

"I greet you also, maiden of the shrine," I said, again bowing formally, "blessings be upon you, and on your house."

Eyes still upon my sword, she ushered me inside the foyer of the shrine where tea was waiting. The shrine was as impressive inside as out, make no mistake. Lovingly carved from tall hardwood panels not native to this prefecture, every inch was a magnificent ode to style and beauty. The artist within me weeped to behold them. And yet, the thief within noticed a marked absence of gold, jewels, and all the rest of their fabled wealth. Had I been lied to?

My eyes scanned the room, seeking out what a cursory glance had missed. Along the back wall, I found it. What I had taken for a decorative panel was actually a stout wooden door. As lovingly crafted as all the rest, save that it also guarded the passage beyond. Clever, why risk your wealth when it might also be held safe behind lock and key? No matter how good your guard.

Or had her legend been exaggerated?

The tea was marvelous. The gift of some distant traveler, perhaps. Or else another carefully guarded secret of their mountain, for I did not quite recognize the flavor. No wooden bowls here, instead we sipped carefully from dainty cups thin as an eggshell. The view was quite different here, to be sure, but considering the lady across from me, it was no less lovely.

Our conversations included much careful ceremony, but little in the way of substance. I allowed that, following the proper forms as the conversation moved towards its intended path.

"Though I have come to pay homage to your fabled waters, and return some - if I may - to my ailing grandfather, I have also heard rumor of the great and marvelous wonders held within this shrine. I would see them, if it is permitted."

"Of course," said with a small bow, "Though as they are held within the inner shrine, five days of fasting and purification must precede your visit."

I bowed again. Another formality. I had known of the rituals, though not of the hidden door.

"Ah, but my grandfather is quite ill," I told her. Though it had been many years since I'd seen him, and unlikely the old bastard was still alive. On the plus side, she had at least confirmed their presence. With luck, she might open the door before we reached our inevitable confrontation.

"Alas, I have not the five days to spare. Might I be favored with just a short glance."

"I am sorry," she said, "but the demands of propriety are quite strict. Perhaps you could return with your grandfather for a proper visit, when he has recovered, and witness them together."

She tensed, and I could see that for all our pretty words, we both knew where this was headed. Through meaningless pretense, proper form must still be observed.

"Be that as it may," I told her, rising, my sword in hand. "I nonetheless insist."

"Be warned, traveler," she said as she too rose, "the sanctity of this shrine shall be defended to the utmost."

Translation: Back down the fuck down and leave, or else I will gut you. How interesting. I must admit, I was no mean swordsman myself, and curious to see how the lovely guardian's reputation would hold.

I nodded, this time refusing to take my eyes off of her. A pause, so quiet you could almost hear the altar candles flicker in stillness. All was silent, save for our muted breath and the beating of my heart. A gust of wind came, catching the leaves outside, shaking the trees and waving her implacable hair.

We drew, steel clashing together as our swords met. Uncomfortably close to my body, I realized, discomfited at how near I had come to losing everything in that first (an potentially final) strike. A lesson, then, in overconfidence. We sprang back, careful to avoid the tea service. I nodded in appreciation.

Circling, our swords met again, then once more in rapid succession. How quickly she moved, and with such grace, even in her formal robes. I could see now that they had been designed for freedom, despite their elegance. Her every step was an art form, each movement a poem composed of death. My death, if she had her way.

Seven strikes into our duel, I came to a very unwelcome realization. She was holding back. Carefully probing with each strike, her every move revealed more of my style and weaknesses without surrendering even a hint of advantage. I would lose this fight.

Oh well, I suppose it was never more than a pointless vanity. Smiling, I stepped back and raised my sword in salute.

"Truly, guardian, your prowess has been understated, and your beauty as well. Your mastery of the sword is magnificent."

"And you are no swordsman at all," she said bluntly. "Leave, while I will still allow it."

Ouch, another blow to my pride, though I could hardly fault her assessment. She had defeated me soundly, after all, and could have cut me several times over had she been inclined. Instead she showed mercy, and I respected her all the more for it.

Yet still I smiled, for she did not understand the true nature of our confrontation.

"You speak the truth," I told her, "The sword is naught but a hobby, a long fancy that I have pursued when able. As I was already making this journey, it seemed worthwhile to test myself against the guardian."

Great plan there. I'd nearly lost my head for that bit of indulgence. In truth, I'd thought myself better than this, having long trained with the best teachers. Though having met her blade, I now wondered at the truth of their widely professed skill. Questions for later. Already, I could see her reevaluate her decision not to kill me, incensed by the idea of a rank amateur had dared to openly challenge her.

"In truth," I admitted, "It is sorcery to which I have long applied, and have made my primary profession."

At this, she openly scoffed.

"Ha! Now I know you for what you are. A madman, or a fraud! And surely a madman, for who else would stake his life on such nonsense. There is no such thing as sorcery."

I grinned. Bold words, for someone living beside a mythical spring. Nodding my head, I raised my sword again, as if in salute, and in one swift motion released the spirit held within.

She frowned, not yet understanding her predicament. To her untrained eye, there would have been naught but a flicker, a shimmering displacement in the air that might have been nothing more than a trick of the candlelight.

Mine saw better, watching with glee as the red, amorphous cloud flew at her. Roiling almost sensually, long grasping tendrils wrapped around her body, gripping close as the spirit merged with her own essence.

A twitch, just a brief spasm as she responded slightly to a sudden prickling sensation. I watched in satisfaction as she tried to ignore it. Just a small gust of wind, she no doubt told herself, long disciplined and trained to ignore such petty discomforts. We circled still, but I had no intention to engage her.

She too circled without striking. No doubt thinking herself virtuous for refusing to cut down a madman, yet not daring to let her guard down until I disengaged. It didn't matter if she had. Already, a sheen of nervous perspiration developed prettily on her face. Courtesy of a sudden warmth that had nothing to do with her carefully metered exertions. Even were I defeated, it was too late for her. Already, my little beauty had found its way inside, and its work would continue quite well without me.

Of course, I'd prefer being around to enjoy the fruits of my labor.

That spirit had been one of my most clever creations. Born in the unsentimental carnality of a whorehouse, it was a spirit of pure lust, a creature of fleshy desire. Driven half mad with long captivity in the household of a sworn virgin, it now possessed a near mindless desire to inflame and corrupt. Its one all consuming goal to unleashed the restrained, to drive the rational mad with need, to strip away any and all self control.

The perfect tool to break this haughty statue.

In my plans, I had brought it only as a distraction. Something to keep her incapacitated long enough to take what I had desired. Now, staring at this lithesome beauty, with her lean, graceful figure, wild hair, and full lustrous lips, I could not help but imagine other ways I might benefit from the lust spirit already at work within her.

It was beginning to affect her, and now she knew it too. Long suppressed feelings bubbled deep within, stirring towards the surface. New hunger shone in her eye, and there was a marked change in her regarded for me.

Still she attacked, driving towards me with sudden and direct fury, now seeking a quick end to the battle. Perhaps she told herself it was to remove the malign influence, but I knew the truth. Deep down, she wanted this battle to end not so she was rid of the curse, but that she might freely pleasure herself. Still too restrained to imagine doing so where another might watch, that reservation would not last long.

Had she struck so against me earlier, that might have ended me. Now, she was far too distracted, her blows too crude and desperate to be any real threat. I might have even struck true myself, despite her superior skill, but of course I did not. It was not my blade that would be penetrating her.

"Vile monster," she said as she backed off, panting for reasons that had nothing to do with sword play. "What have you done to me?"

"What are you talking about," I said sweetly, "How could I do anything, when we both know that sorcery is a fraud? Surely whatever you feel must come from within? Please, feel free to explore them. Do not stop on my account."

"It... it isn't going to work," she said.

"Then why are you touching yourself?"

She gasped, looking down and noticing that her hand had snaked its way into the chest of her robe. She snatched it away, but did not fix her garment. The sword hung limp at her side, and I watched her stare at it, laughing when I noticed where her eyes were landed.

Locked firmly on the handle, she no longer evaluated it as a weapon. Instead, her only concern was for how long the handle was, and where she might put it. I, too, had something long and solid for her, thought it was not quite time to say such words.

The sword clattered against the ground as she sank to her knees. Robe opened wide and heedless of my presence, she openly touched herself. I might have thought she'd forgotten me, save for the needful way she stared. Tearing aside the bindings at her chest, I realized the shrine held a hidden fourth wonder, for there was no other way I could describe the bosom that came pouring forth.

"Please," she begged now, barely propped up as he fingers plunged frantically inside her. "Please make it stop."

"Make what stop, my dear? Is there something you want? Something you need?"

She shuddered at that, throwing her head back as the once stoic guardian moaned openly. I had her now, time to make sure.

"Please! Please!" she begged, no longer knowing what for.

"Please what?"

She cried out, her body squirming frantically with a need she could stoke but not fulfill on her own. Yet still she shook her head.

"No! No, I can't say it."

But she wanted to. Wanted it very badly.

"Say what?" I asked innocently. Another pause, and then she broke.

"Please, fuck me!" she cried. "That's what you wanted, isn't it, you monster? Well now I offer, nay, I beg. Take me!"

Inwardly, I admired her fortitude. It wasn't every woman who would be so lucid in the face of the powerful spirit. Alas, it was not quite the time for admiration.

"I don't know," I said, feigning unwillingness even as I eagerly awaited using her.

The response was almost laughable. In one moment, her unwilling surrender shifted to frank terror at the thought that I might not fuck her.

"No! You must. Please! Is this not what you wanted?"

"Really, I had been planning to fuck in the inner sanctum. If that's not open, then I suppose I'll just have to leave."

I thought that would break her, but again the fortitude of this woman astounded me.

"Oh, but we can't! It's forbidden. The sanctity of the shrine must not be breached. It mustn't! I beg you, sir! Can we not fuck here? Is my body not pleasing enough? Or outside, if you prefer, or I could leave with you. As your servant, your slave. Wherever you want so long as you just fuck me!"

"Tempting," I said, and it really was. Who wouldn't be stirred to desire, watching this lithe, graceful woman beg you to own her. Alas, even if I wanted to take her up on the offer, that isn't quite how this spirit worked.

"But there is only one place I wish to fuck, and that is the inner sanctum. I will fuck there, or not at all."

She whined pitifully, and for one brief moment I almost expected her to defy all logic and resist the potent spirit churning within. But she didn't. No woman could.

"If I let you into the sanctum, you'll fuck me there?"

"Absolutely."

"Key," she gasped, so overwhelmed with need that every word came in a ragged gasp. "Waist pocket, hidden inside. Please, hurry!"

Obliging the lady, I searched her clothes until I found the key. Unsurprising. I suppose I could have done that from the beginning, so much more fun to hear her say it. To hear her beg.

"Hurry," she moaned again.

I opened the door, and gasped as light shone upon the glistening gold and gems of countless figurines and idols. Each rendered carefully in expensive metal or precious stone. One jade statue with rubies in its eyes was nearly as big as my forearm. For a moment, I actually considered leaving the broken guardian where she was. But no, a promise was a promise. Besides, I'd almost trade all the treasure in the room just to lay with her.

Almost. Besides, why not both?

Lifting the writhing maiden from the floor, I carried her into the chamber. Finding her driven almost insensible at my touch, I laughed at the way she ground herself so needfully against me, savoring her desperate desire as she showered me with kisses. The juices which had already made a puddled against the floor now flowed down onto my shirt, but I counted that an inconsequential loss.