tagNonHumanThe Half-Breed's Journey Ch. 02

The Half-Breed's Journey Ch. 02



It was nearly sunset in the tiny (though not as tiny as some) village of Kusta when a barefoot, ivory-skinned, steely-eyed girl walked through the very outskirts and farms on her way to the center. The village that the strange girl had come from was so tiny, that market had only been held one day a week. Kusta was large enough so that market was every five days, and a small trading post was open at all times. The population of Kusta was just over five hundred. Six hundred if you counted the far-away farms and a small bachelors community of laborers some six miles from the center of the village.

Helen drew eyes as she walked. Her clothes were ragged and dirty, though her face and hair were well-groomed. Her skin was pale and creamy, and her eyes were bright poison-green. Her features were feline, and her movements were brisk and businesslike. More like a catamount's lope then the stride of a woman on her way to market.

She carried some meat wrapped in the raw hides of the animals the meat had come from. She carried a bundle of fabric rolled up tight. She had a small pouch at her waist. Otherwise, the strange girl had no possessions. She looked neither right nor left as she blazed down the dry road with her bare feet raising small puffs of dust. She ignored the weight of the villager's stares.

The villagers who lived in Kusta knew that the girl had come from the narrow rarely-used track that led to an unnamed backwards little commune on the edge of the great forest itself. She was strange in every way, and something about the determined set of those slender shoulders and the steel in those bright tilted eyes discouraged the villagers from trying to slow her down.


Helen stopped in front of the little trading post. All of the buildings on the main street of Kusta were dusty and small, with some business, but not much. A pub, the trading post, and large stable that housed oxen, mules, and horses. Kusta was too small to need any large amount law enforcement, so there was a small stone building that was the head peacekeeper's office, courtroom, and gaol all in one. The rest of main street just held the large homes of the town's wealthiest.

Helen entered the open doorway of the little trading post. The room was small, and she could survey the store in a single glance. Bins of seed and flour across one wall. Open barrels with tongs so you could take out whatever was within. One had pickles, one had salt pork, another salted fish, and the last had coarse brown sugar. A few bolts of cloth hung on a shelf, and another wall was devoted to farming tools and shears and plow blades and the like. The last wall was divided into three sections. One was horse tack, the other was a small grocery, with a small supply of fresh eggs and butter and dried meat and vegetables, and the last was taken up with the shopkeeper.

Helen sized up the shopkeeper in a glance. He was an older man, the hair that was left on his head was iron grey, and he covered his bald pate with a soft cloth cap. He had a heavy grey mustache, and his face had both smile lines and heavy crow's feet, though he couldn't be older then fifty-five. He wore a simple white shirt and wool breeches, and over that a leather apron. He had been writing some figures down on heavy coarse brown pulp-paper with a carved ink pen that had the look of something made in the capitol.

He looked like a kind man, Helen thought. And he looked like a lonely man. He smiled at her, and waved.

"Hello young miss, you're from out of Kusta, aren't you?"

Helen had a bit of flair for acting, she would discover. Her clever brain was already ticking away on how to turn her bare assets into something a little more substantial.

Helen looked around the store and outside the dusty window. She flinched a little when he spoke to her, as if startled, and gave him a wide-eyed rabbity look. She took a moment to answer him, as if so distracted that she didn't know what to say.

"Ah... Y-Yes. I'm from u-up the road."

Helen had never stuttered in her life. Or spoken in such a strained, frightened voice. Already the shopkeeper was looking at her with his innocent, concerned eyes. Helen felt a pang of guilt, but it was small, and she needed his help.

"Young miss? Are you alright? Come here miss, sit down and I'll get you a dipper of water."

He got up out of his rocking chair and ushered her to sit in it, barely touching her. Helen saw his eyes briefly dart to the hint of cleavage at the top of her chemise. He didn't have a wife, she knew that out of a pure intuition, or perhaps some low-grade sixth-sense from her heritage. Either way, now she knew that he was interested in her, and that he was kind, and that he had no obligation to some wife. Now Helen only wished that she had loosened her vest and pulled down the chemise.

He scooped up a dipper of cool water from the bucket near the door and came back to her. She drank very deeply (she really had been thirsty) and then wiped her mouth with a slightly shaking hand.

"I'm so sorry Sir, I j-just... I just..."

Tears welled in her eyes. Helen just had to think about her mother, not even a full day dead, and act distraught. The shopkeeper's eyes crinkled up with concern. Helen started to sob into her hands.

The shopkeeper hobbled (he had a slight limp) to the door to close it and he rushed back to her, pulling a crumpled (but clean) handkerchief from the breast pocket of his homespun shirt.

"There there miss... Please miss, what happened to fret you? Are you hurt?"

He was so kind. Helen hoped that things would go well. "I... I'm so sorry Mister, I shouldn't b-bring you into this. I'm j-just so scared!"

Helen's mind raced, thinking of the perfect story, while she broke into another volley of sobs and the shopkeeper worried around her, patting her shoulder with his hand, afraid to touch her too intimately.

"Miss, if you don't have anyone waiting for you, please come back with me. I don't mean you any harm, but perhaps I can make you a cup of tea, and you can tell me what is fretting you so?" He sounded curious, and hesitant. Despite that glance at her breasts, this was really a kind man. Perhaps even too kind.

Helen let her voice tremble, and she looked up into those gentle blue eyes with a look of pure gratitude and devotion. "W-Would you? Oh, thank you Sir! Thank you so much!"


Helen stopped sobbing, but she did her best to look and feel fragile. The shopkeeper was named Carter, and she didn't tell him her real name. Instead, she invented a person to be. She did her very best, and soon she wasn't acting. She felt the fear and loneliness and betrayal of a girl named Elle.

Carter sat on the other side of a small wooden table, sipping tea from a chipped ceramic mug and listening to 'Elle' as she told him what had happened.

"Penelope? She always hated me. She hated me more when Andru, this man in the village, started courting me."

'Elle' choked a weak little sob into the well-dampened handkerchief and continued.

"One day, when I was bathing in the stream, she saw me." She saw Carter blush a little, and felt more confident. "I have, a birthmark on my thigh, right here?" She drew her finger along the line of her thigh through the skirt, making the fabric dip between her legs to clearly show the shape of them.

Carter would only look out of the corner of his eyes. He looked flustered, and his voice was a little hoarse when he whispered.

"So what happened then?"

"She started spreading lies to Andru, and to all of the villagers. She said that she saw me speaking to animals, and that she saw that I had the devil's mark on me. She turned enough of them on me. Th-they t-t-tried to have m-me b-burned at the st-stake!"

'Elle' dissolved into sobs, and Carter moved forward and hugged her into his arms. She threw herself at him and hugged him tight, pressing her body fully and frankly against him, so he could feel her breasts and so she could feel something against her thigh. He pulled from the hug with a little bit of panic, his cheeks flushed.

"That's terrible!" He whispered.

"I need to get to the next village, they will chase me here! How many miles is it?"

"It's nearly forty miles to Patras!" Carter murmured. "You will have to spend two, maybe three nights in the wild if you walk..."

Helen took a few deep breaths. "Mister Carter? I need supplies, but I promise to pay you! I can work hard..."

Carter looked frozen. His eyes darted to her breasts, and then back. Helen knew that she almost had him. She was like a fisher, and he was the fish. She played him gently, carefully. If she played him right, she would have a bedroll and perhaps another set of clothes.

'Elle' looked down, a blush reddening her pale cheeks. "I... I am a virgin Mister Carter, but Andru and I..., he didn't want to make me pregnant." She lowered her voice to the softest little whisper, and Carter leaned in, his eyes wide and full of need. That look of lust was so strange on his mild kind face.

"We did things." She whispered. "He taught me how... If I show them to you, may I please sleep here for the night? Please Mister Carter! I will do whatever you say, just please don't put a baby in me!"

Helen was worried. She had tried to go for just the right mixture of humiliation and naivete and desperation. Carter was looking down, and she couldn't see his face very well. If he tried to insist on fucking her, things would be ruined. She was too sore to take him there for one, and he would also feel that she wasn't a virgin.

His voice was strange and a little choked when he spoke. "Go through that door and into the bedroom miss. Close the curtains and blow out the lamp. I need to lock up the shop."

The shopkeeper fled to lock up the door, and Helen breathed a massive sigh of relief as she stepped into the narrow bedroom. Out of curiosity, she reached under the waist of her skirt and the shorts she wore under it, and she was soaking wet. Part of her was eager and ready for this man, the part of her that the circle demon had unleashed.

She blew out the lamp, singing her fingertip slightly on the hot glass surface. In the darkness she slid out of her vest and chemise, feeling the cool air bring up goosebumps on her sensitive breasts. Her nipples were like hard pink marbles.

The door opened, and the shopkeeper slid into the darkness. Helen slipped forward, and reached for him. She could hear his breathing, ragged and fast.

"It's okay mister." She whispered, making her voice soft and innocent. "It's okay. I'll do all the work mister."

She licked her lips in the dark. She reached out and found his hand. She placed it on the firm young skin of her breast. He let out a wounded little moan and his hand began to squeeze eagerly. Helen moaned at the exciting feeling of his clumsily groping paw.

He started to use both of his hands, squeezing her firm tits together, holding them up and letting them swing down, pinching the rock-hard nipples. Helen hissed softly with pleasure.

"Oh mister!" She whispered innocently. "Oh, that feels so good, Andru never made me feel this way!"

She was lying, Andru was real, but he had never touched her. Helen didn't feel the least bit guilty for leading this man on. It was really just a business transaction. He wanted something, she wanted something. He just needed a little convincing.

He moaned with lust and buried his face in her chest. He was kissing and sucking, and it did feel very good. His tongue moved between her breasts like a slick worm. He was breathing loudly, and hoarsely.

Helen hissed softly as he bit her nipple with his teeth, and she cradled his head in her hands, feeling the smoothness of his bald pate. She reached out to touch his chest, to feel his shoulder through the cloth of his shirt.

He was gasping, mewling, caressing her breasts. Helen had to gently nudge his head away, so she could carefully drop to her knees on the dull carpet. He moaned and was unbuckling his belt and removing his apron. He was such a kind man, but his arousal turned him into something of an animal. His breath was very nearly a sob.

"Mister?" Helen whispered, feeling guilty and aroused in equal measures. "Are you okay?"

He moaned guiltily and shoved his erect cock into her face. Helen took ahold of his member and felt it with careful light hands. His cock was long and slender and smooth, she could feel the slightness of his circumcision scar. Precome oozed gently from the tip.

Helen snuck her left hand under her skirt, and carefully nestled her first two fingers on either side of her wet swollen clitoris. When she leaned forward to wrap her lips around the slender turgid head of Carter's cock, she began to move her fingers in slow luxurious little circles.

So with a hand between her legs and a hand resting on the slender shaft of his member, she continued to suck his hard throbbing cock. He was groaning loudly, the sounds were nearly comical, and she had to do her best not to choke with laughter. Maybe it was mean-spirited of her, but the shopkeeper just seemed funny to her. Her fingers started to move faster under her skirt and she moaned, slurping up and down on his cock.

He tangled his fingers in her hair and started to shove her mouth up and down on his cock. The rough treatment turned her on, and she moved her hand so she was fingering her cunt with her first two fingers, still rubbing her clit with her thumb.

He didn't last very long, she sensed that he was about to come, so she pulled away and continued sliding her hand up and down his cock in fast twirling motions while she vigorously rubbed her clit.

Then the wet warmth of his come splattered on her face. Carter moaned. "Ooohh... Ooooohhh!" Sounding like a man in pain.

Helen rubbed faster, panting softly. She stopped, startled when Carter thumped onto the floor next to her. In the faint light of the door, she could see the furrowed guilt and lust on his face.

He pushed up her skirt and lowered his head. Helen grinned and yelped when he roughly pushed her thighs apart to attack her with his mouth.

His tongue was warm and slick. Using far more pressure than her fingers. He pursed his lips to suck on her clit and Helen squeaked with pleasure. Helen leaned back so far that she fell onto her back and spread her legs wide. Carter moved so his hands were squeezing and massaging her inner thighs and he had unrestricted access to her sopping pussy.

He flicked his tongue in and out of her cunt. He sucked and pummeled her clit, he even lowered his head to lap at her taut little asshole. Whatever guilt the kindly man had felt, it had not stopped him from his nearly feral assault on sweet virgin 'Elle'.

Helen arched her back and screamed.


"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Helen lifted her head from she was resting on the floor. With a bit of guilt and a lot of annoyance, she observed that Carter was crying. Consumed with his guilt and his lust.

She sighed, and put on her 'Elle' face. Wide-eyed, sweet, worried. Carter was sitting on the floor, naked, rocking. His limp cock drooping sadly in a thatch of thick grey pubic hair. He was surprisingly frail. His skin soft and wrinkled, no spare flesh save a small fleshy tummy.

"Mister?" 'Elle' whispered. "Mister, are you okay?"

Carter looked up. Helen's eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but his eyes were searching.

He can't see me. Helen realized. She suddenly had reason to wonder if she didn't have a bit of night vision as well. The thought pleased her immensely.

She cuddled into him, pressing her small breasts into his chest. "You made me feel so good..." 'Elle' whispered. "Much better than Andru... Don't cry."

He sobbed into her shoulder, and Helen rolled her eyes.


Carter was asleep. Helen was tired of the charade.

Quieter than a mouse, she slipped down into the store. Light no longer leaked through the cracks on the tightly closed wooden shutters. She scooped up a thin linen sack of oats. Five big potatoes, some apples. She inspected a long bone-handled dagger, and exchanged it for her four-inch knife.

Then a tinderbox, a cake of soap, and a woolen blanket that she rolled up tightly to tie under the rucksack that she put on her back. The weight was evenly distributed between the two canvas straps on her shoulders, and the canvas weight-bearing strap on her forehead. The wood-frame back had room for more.

Before leaving, she caught a glance of a thin charcoal taper-pen and a ledger. She took the taper and wrote a brief note on the back of the ledger.

'If you want a woman so badly... You should go three miles up the road to my village, and then five mile directly to the left of the road. Directly west. You'll find something better. Make her promise not to hurt you, and promise to let you out after an hour. Otherwise she will fuck you to death.

Tell the circle demon I keep my promises'

She signed 'Elle' with a flourish, and slipped out of the store. It was evening, and the streets were near-empty. The eyes that were there were curious. Too curious for her liking. She barely had to walk for half a mile before she was out of the town and into the sparse farmland that Kusta had to offer.

A kindly older couple saw her ragged appearance and insisted that she stayed with them. Helen donated the rabbits, which honestly would go bad soon if they weren't eaten. The couple mixed them into a creamy stew full of leeks and potatoes. It was the best meal Helen had eaten since before her mother died. They gave her a place to sleep in the hayloft.


Helen bolted upright in the middle of the night. The pull. She could feel it.

Had the circle demon escaped? Could he pull at Helen from so far away? She sprang awake. She wore her loose chemise but the vest was in the straw. So was her green skirt. The chemise hung just below her hips as she sprang lightly down from the hayloft like a cat. The knife was steel, no good. She snatched the hoe from the wall. Hefted it appreciatively.

She hated iron. Touching it gave her a light rash. Now she knew why. The hoe wasn't shaped like a rectangle, like the hoe back on her farm. This hoe was shaped like a triangle. It had a slightly blunted but sharp point. She practiced a hooking swing with the hoe, and went towards the pull.

She looked out into the turnips and leeks. Every hair in her body on end, her eyes wide and cat-green. The tendons on her slim forearms stood out in sharp-sharp relief from gripping the splintered ash handle of the hoe.

It was magnetic. She jerked her head to the left and saw a single eldritch light. Suddenly, she saw through the light. It was a disguise, a skin, like when she turned herself into moss, or wood, or stone. When she spent hours subtly changing the appearance of her face in the reflection of a bronze pot. She looked through the disguise of the line of floating blue lights.

"You're not fooling anyone. I can see you." She growled.

The lights didn't dissipate or flash out, they simply disappeared while a small swarthy man appeared in their place. The man had a long horsey face and bright yellow goat-eyes. They made him look wall-eyed and bizarre.

"Humans never escape him-from-the-circle. Now this one sees why this human could. This human is not quite a human at all, now is it?"

The man appeared short not because of his normal sized torso, but because of his short muscular goat legs. Covered in thick matted red hair, and tipped with shiny black hooves. The hooves were polished and demon faces were carved into the surfaces. Gold rings hung from both of the large goaty ears that drooped from either side of his long face. His short bone-colored horns were polished and carved with a spiral pattern that went up each one.

Helen hefted the hoe, spinning it in her hands. The goat-man bleated with displeasure, the frown making his long face even longer. "The half-breed does not fight honestly. The half-breed fights with bitter iron, not honest bronze, or sweet steel. Not with bone, or stone. The half-breed fights with lies and tricks."

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byCruel2BKind© 6 comments/ 11866 views/ 13 favorites

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