The Song of Roland Ch. 13-14

The Harpy would stay, curled up near them in a nest of shed clothing as the fading embers died and the remaining three slid beneath the covers of their bedrolls to get an exhausted, half-sleep from the rigors of the day. Surprisingly to Roland, Kelsea nestled up behind him in his bedroll. She was naked, her now expanded breasts pressing tight against his back as her arms threaded around behind him. Her hands moved slowly up and down his chest, her lips pressing gently to the back of his neck in a show of affection. When he didn't respond to her movements, she began to idly toy with his red locks of hair.

"You didn't join us." She whispered, nearly an hour after true darkness had fallen and the steady breathing of their companions indicated everyone else was asleep - as if it mattered. "Why didn't you try to have some fun with me?" Roland didn't answer. His face was dimly lit by the barest illumination from the smoldering cinders, and his weather-beaten face betrayed naught but the slight twinkle of his open, unblinking eyes. She pulled closer, her grip tightening as she took a more possessive grip of his body. "You could have just asked." She said, as if answering a question that he'd posed. Still he did not speak. "I'm sure the Harpy wouldn't have minded."

"Did you ever care for someone," He said, his voice on the edge of hearing. "Before you became... what you are?"

She let free a slight murmur of contemplation. "Define 'care' for me, Roland."

"Did you ever love someone?" He said. The pillow his head rested on felt rough and uncomfortable with both of them upon it.

"My mother." She said easily, her voice as light and free as a spring wind.

"Did you ever love someone?" He asked again, in the same tone and inflection. She went silent for a moment, her fingernails tracing ticklish marks of sensitivity across the weak spots on his body. He felt her tail curl up the side of her leg, trace the bend of his hipbone. "I loved someone." He said, his tone slow and deliberate. "A woman. She worked in the kitchens, as a scullery maid. We used to jape about grapes and wine. Never much cared for the stuff, myself; but she would sneak me a skin of red wine from the Count's cellars every so often, when a feast was on and no one would notice the loss of a stray bottle."

"Hm." Kelsea said, her body melding to his form tightly like a glove. He felt the navel of her body against his rear, her knees bending into his as they spooned.

"I'd bring her gifts, insignificant trinkets and shiny baubles and the like. I don't know what I was thinking, trying to impress her on a guard's pay." He said. "But it's the little things we do, that truly matter."

"Im sure she was very lucky to have you." Kelsea said, her voice in his ear as she planted a peck upon his cheek.

"No." Roland said, remembering the smell of sunflowers and that final, apicaltwangof the bone white bowstring as the arrow whistled forth like a harbinger of fate. He closed his eyes and pretended that he could somehow find sleep. "She really wasn't."

________________

The sun rose coldly on the purple, dawning horizon. There was a freeze in the air, and Roland awoke shivering. Their fire was gone, along with the last, vanishing wisps of his dignity. His back was warm, from the simmering Succubus who clung to him like a leech, but there was something faintly sardonic about the way she pressed her body tight, like nothing had happened, like the deed of the moment hadn't been done. She didn't sleep - sheneverdid; so when he made the infinitesimal shift on his side, she knew he was awake. He did not respond when she strokingly reached for his manhood, turning his shoulder away as he leaned into his blankets and closed his eyes. Her hand moved hesitatingly to squeeze his ribline, but he did not respond. She withdrew her grip.

He slept in, a rarity more astonishing than his projected chastity. Even the snoozing Harpy had awoken and groggily lifted her plumage from her makeshift nest before Roland so much as stirred from his bedroll. Carl Hale was out hunting in the forest long before Roland staggered out of his blanket into the sunlight of the late morning. Kelsea stood, fully dressed, in her false form of humanity, staring out across the high cliffs. She turned when he approached, a small smile building on her soft, innocent looking face. He did not return it.

"You must have been tired." She said, as he took his place next to her, wordlessly gazing out at the same chasm that she did. "I've never seen you sleep so late."

"I had good cause to." He replied, his hands clenching into fists. So that was how she was going to play it... pretend it had never happened.

The two turned to the sound of the Harpy's soaring cry, and stepped aside just in time to see her leap forward past them, straight off the edge into the void that awaited her. Roland was caught momentarily off guard as the large woman extended her wide blue wingspan, now healed thanks to the tainting saliva of Kelsea's tongue as she let out a joyous cry of freedom. She plummeted like a rock, her body angling itself as it hurtled towards the treeline far below. Roland thought for a moment that the creature had committed some strange form of suicide, but the blue-feathered beast pulled out of her dive in time to gain enough lift to soar above the canopy, her body buffeted by the wind as her legs extended outwards behind her. She flapped hard, and soon she was sailing in a lazy, triumphant circle beneath them.

"...What are we going to do with her?" Kelsea asked, her face contemplative as she looked with what seemed like pride at the singing, calling creature. Roland shifted his weight, stepping away from her to begin the arduous task of packing up camp.

"What are you going to do with her?" He corrected, striding back into the cave.

Hours passed, but the Harpy did not leave. Though she soared on vaulting pinions through the mountain air, something kept her tethered, like a long, invisible filament tied to a pole that only she could see. Sometimes she'd circle down below the canyon's breadth, other times she'd fly far overhead, occasionally she'd even disappear into the green treeline above the rocky cairn, where the four had fought their brutal struggle. But always she'd return to view, cawing and singing to her newfound comrades below.

Roland packed up the camp in silence as Kelsea watched the Harpy fly. Carl returned from the forest empty handed, and the three shouldered their packs and continued onwards. They moved up, the air only getting colder as they made the arduous climb through the winding turns of the trail, the road narrowing more and more as they moved: a sheer cliff face on one side, the empty abode of the sky to their right. Carl took the lead, Roland in the middle, Kelsea behind. The Harpy circled high overhead, but it was clear that she was moving with them as well. Roland watched as Carl picked his way forward, well past the others, an unnatural energy in his step.

He'd been recharged. Roland's face tightened, his breath huffing in visible gouts as he pulled his brown cloak closer about his person. The glamoured mongrel strode forward with a unity of purpose wholly absent from his own, tired steps. He drove ever onward, ever forward, like a golem set loose to its prerogative. It made the red-maned man feel empty just watching him. Kelsea sidled up next to him, her legs moving with the same exertion as his as she matched steps with him, standing side by side on the shorter trail. "She talks, you know." Kelsea said to the sound of the blowing wind. "In her own way, of course. It's not like our language, but I could feel her intent. She... told me what happened, why she came down from the mountain. There was a big creature that was following-"

"To be perfectly frank," Roland said, huffing from the exertion of the climb. "I don't give a whore's cuntflap what that thing 'said' to you."

"Testy!" Kelsea said, her voice light and teasing. She turned her head to meet his gaze with a playful smirk, but he didn't even look. The mercenary simply kept walking. "...something wrong, Roland?"

"So many things," He said, purposefully increasing his pace so that he strode past her. His ankles burned with exertion, "I wouldn't even know where to begin."

She let him be after that, thank the Gods. Roland did not know what he could say or do to communicate the sheer weight of the burden that now hung across his chest like prickling needles. He focused on the trail, on the road, winding and climbing and picking their way up miles upon uncounted miles of mountainous terrain. He pushed himself, moving with reckless vigor up ahead, towards that pinprick of human in the distance that was Carl. It was almost an hour of work to catch up to his retreating specter, as he kept moving, searching for any stops or blockages in the rarely used road. The Harpy circled high overhead.

Finally, as the afternoon sun was beginning to hang in a direct line of his eyesight, Roland came upon Carl, striding forth heedlessly towards a short downswell in the roadline that picked up several hundred feet forward from a nadir up to nearly twice the height they stood at now. The downward road was split and divoted by the clear erosion of rainwater that had allowed miniature fissures and rocky outcrops to form along the length of the trail, becoming a haphazard and uneven segment of roadside that looked more like a mudslide had occurred. Roland moved up quickly to him, glancing back and seeing Kelsea a long distance behind them. He stepped forward and gripped his shoulder, stopping both of them short before they began the slow, treacherous trek down the hillside.

"Carl," He said, but the man did not respond, his eyes turning to him with a dull sense of incomprehension. "I know that somewhere in that mop of yellow hay you call hair you're in there. It's me, Roland." Carl did not respond, Roland's grip tightened on his arm. "Answer me."

He really was unresponsive. Whatever mystic pall she'd placed upon him had utterly restrained both his personality and his sense of self. His green eyes registered Roland no more than they would a flutter in the air. Roland wanted to punch him more now than he ever had when he'd just been an annoying, chatty busybody. "Carl, listen to me." He said, "If there isanypart of you that can hear this: you have to leave."

The stoic expression that greeted Roland's proclamation made the mercenary's brow tighten. "You can still get out of this, she's only using you, and she's going tokeepusing you." It was unnerving the way the blonde, handsome man matched his gaze with no intellect or even basic guile. Roland undid his pack, peeling it off of his back and handing it to him. Carl mechanically accepted it, the strap hanging uselessly in his hand as he seemed to await Roland's order on what to do with it. "Take this, it's all I have, but it should be enough - with some hunting - for you to make it over the mountains to Arjal. The Briar Dogs are probably a no-go, after your forced 'defection,' but you can find work, with that bow of yours. You can get out of this."

Carl didn't respond. "I'm going to go back and talk to her, keep her busy her long enough to let you get a few hours' head start. Take the High Road, and never look back." Roland searched desperately, gazing into Carl's complexion forsomekind of trace or image of comprehension. He only saw emptiness, and raw obedience. "You can leave." He said, his face clenching as the intransigence of his companion began to grate upon him. "You don't- you don't have tobehere..."

The air was still. Carl stood like he was an immovable statue, as ancillary to the scenery as if he was a mere rock or mountain shrub on the roadside. Roland shook his head from side to side, "You fucking fool." He growled, gripping him by the scruff of his shirt with both hands. "I'm trying tohelpyou, you bastard!" Roland swung him around, doing everything he could think of to shake the slave from his stupor. "Wake up! Get going!" He cuffed the back of his head, the man's hands weakly moved up to grip Roland's wrists. "Get thefuckout of here!" Roland shoved him away. Carl stumbled, righting himself before he fell over.

Roland stood, his lungs emptier than they should have been, his voice hoarser than the circumstances called for. His cheeks were burning and his hand subconsciously lifted and lowered his dagger in its sheath, a clear sign of his unease. He stood and watched as Carl calmly walked over to Roland's dropped pack, picking it up with a hand and holding it out to him. The mercenary stared at it for a long, painful moment, before accepting it in disgust. Carl started to clamber down the path; Roland did not follow. He turned to watch the Harpy flying high to his right, and wondered if she would listen to his entreaties - if, of course, she were even capable of understanding him.

Kelsea caught up to him a few minutes later, her steps like silent tread marks on his sanity as she approached. It astonished him howawarehe was of her, whenever she was near. Beyond the mere physical knowledge of sight and sound, he could feel her presence. She moved behind him and put a hand upon his back. Her eyes followed his, and the two watched the Harpy soar. "...She said there was a creature that was following her." Kelsea said, continuing her thought from before as if he'd never interrupted her. "Something big. It was hunting; that was why she came so far down from the peaks."

Roland said nothing, his eyelids lowering as he felt a supreme weariness wash over him. Kelsea kept talking, a nervous cheerfulness coating her voice as she struggled to find something to say to him. "She said she saw you after she ditched the thing, out alone in the woods. You... you were good prey for her, she thought." Roland took a breath to steady his heartbeat, "She said she wanted you all the more after you made her work for it. She wasn't used to men being so...spiritedin their resistance."

Roland's face contorted into a sharp, twist of anger. His fingernails dug deep fissures into his palms. He wanted to draw blood, but only managed to bring biting physical pain.. "You..." He said, his voice kept deathly level, dreadfully still, lest he burst out into unrestrained violence. Against whom, or what, he did not know. "You really don't understand, do you?" She tilted her head, seeming to be confused by his reaction. "It doesn't even occur to you; it was just a flash of indignance, a malicious grudge you played out till you were satisfied. And then you tossed it aside, like it was a 'mood' you were in, or an inconvenient tantrum for you to indulge."

"Roland what are you-"

"Youfuckedthem, Kelsea!" He yelled, the whole of his form looming like a barbarian's over hers as his chest thrust out, his biceps bulging. She startled back, her body hunching against the squall of his enraged face in unintended surprise and fear. He held his hands up to look at them. They were shaking. "You fucked them like you were a brood mare in a barn stable, and you don't even care!"

Kelsea's confused expression fell away. "I do everyone, Roland." She said quietly. "Everyone, and everything."

He shook his head, turning away from her as his body hunched into itself like a ball of seething rage. He couldn't get his fists to stop shaking. "You... " His teeth gritted. "It's so easy for you to say that, yeah? To deflect it like it's a sword blow." His shuddered breath came out more emotional than he intended, his voice breaking as a wave of feeling swept across him. "GodsI'm a bloody fool. I've joined a troupe of puppets dancing to your strings. I thought-"

"Roland-"

"What do you want from me?" He asked suddenly, his gaze sharpening on her like a blade across a whetstone. He strode up to her, causing the uneasy Succubus to retreat back towards the cliff wall; her eyes were wide and uncomprehending. In the distance, the Harpy's circling took a sudden, sharp turn. "You once said you wanted nothing from me, but if you wanted nothing you wouldn't have cared enough to fuck them both in front of me. You'd have believed me, when I told younothingbut the truth."

She looked at him, her eyes wide with emotion as the weight of what he'd said settled onto her slender shoulders like a heavy fog. "I- I didn't know it would affect you this much, Roland."

"Yes you did." He replied, his voice dropping away in the mid afternoon hush. "Elsewise, you'd have just told Carl to fill me full o' arrows, like you did with that Harpy... Till you up and changed your mind, and decided she was a better fuck than me."

"Is that what thisreallyis about?" She asked, stepping forward and circling his arm with her hands. She pulled him tightly to her, "There's plenty enough of me to go around. You of all people should know that, by now."

"You goddamned whore." He said, shaking his arm free. His red mane shifted across his face as he refused to coddle in her affection. "You think this is just aboutfucking? You think I give an Ogre'stoeabout who you sleep with, or what you do with others? Fornicate with a dog, or a chimera, orCarl cunting Halefor all I care! But don't persist with this sham, stop pretending that I'm anything but your slave."

Her eyes widened, "You're not my-"

He grabbed her by the shoulders, shoving her bodily up against the wall. Kelsea let out a frightened squeak, her spine arching as the uneven rock wall dug into her lower back. The two's eyes were locked together in a death spiral. "I'm your 'master' you said. 'I love you,' you said. Do you not understand that wordsmeanthings? That actions meanmore?" She met his gaze, her face long and morose. "Don't you get it? Even as you are, there has to be some part of the Kelsea who once was, who realizes thatthis is wrong."

"What are you talking about?" She said, her low tone of voice saying she knew.

Roland threw his arm up to indicate the Harpy circling above. "You see that?" He said, "That thing was trying to rape me, yesterday; it was a wild animal that damn near killed us both. And now it follows us like an obedient pet. You see him?" He thrust his thumb to indicate the slowly receding figure of Carl Hale down the hillside. "The last time I saw that man before we kicked his teeth in at the bar, I left him and his friends to die. And now he's sitting across from me at the campfire, sleeping in the same place as me, breaking bread with a traitor."

"I was contracted to cut your head off and display it on a pike for some local peasants to gawk at," His hand reached out, cupping her face. His thumb trailed the curve of her cheek and he felt a quiver run up his spine, "like you were a monster in a menagerie, only fit to scare children with bedtime stories about you. Everything I've ever been told about your kind is to avoid them or slay them on sight. But I didn't- Icouldn't. D'you want to know why?"

He felt the crushing weight of something in his chest, "Because you're the only thing that matters to me in this world, anymore, and you're tearing me to pieces." He saw her pupils dilate, her breath tremble from her lips as she took an asthmatic inhale into her palpitating lungs. One of her hands reached up hesitatingly to touch his weather-worn face.

"You're the only thing that matters to me, too." She murmured.

He began to laugh hysterically, his voice gaining a note of manic delirium. "You know, I might have almost believed that, before last night. I should have known better: You're ademon, Kelsea. Your very nature makes you want control. ThesecondI wasn't yours, you decided to do..." His hand fell away. "-that. Look at what you're doing; lookaroundat the people you're collecting." He leaned his head against hers, unable to resist his own physical impulses, despite his desperate wish to be rid of her. Their foreheads knocked together in an arch of tortured tenderness. Roland's voice fell to a hushed whisper. "We're here because of you. You're building a coven around you, and you don't even realize it."