The Sword and the Soul Ch. 03

Author's note: Got this one out a little faster than Chapter 2, so that's good! Hopefully the release schedule will be a bit faster now that all the holidays are over. December was rough for writing, but January has been good to me.

This chapter also has a ton of sex, much more than Chapter 2, but it's got a plot-related purpose, I swear! What do you mean, you don't believe me?

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Marilla's dreams were plagued by searing visions. Her gazebo was shrouded in inky darkness, murky and thick like mud. It writhed and coiled, obscuring all without and leaving her trapped within. She sat on the gazebo's stone bench, completely nude, her tanned skin seeming darker due to the tenebrous ink surrounding the structure. Her heavy breasts rose and fell with labored breaths, and her light brown nipples stood erect. Wetness drenched the insides of her thighs, and Marilla rubbed her legs together, shivering in the pleasure that radiated from her sex.

Before her stood Mag the swordsman, still fully clothed and armored, but he had a hungry look in his eye, and she knew he meant to fuck her, and hard, she hoped. But before her eyes he transformed into an abomination. With a feral howl, Mag stretched and swelled, shattering his armor and rending his clothing. Fur sprouted from his skin, coarse and midnight blue. Bright claws extended from his nails, wicked and curled. His face elongated into a muzzle, and his teeth sharpened into slavering jaws. A tail sprang out above his backside, and swished through the air with agitation. His feet tore through his boots and transmuted themselves into canine feet, arched and claw-tipped. Yet most of her attention was focused on his manhood, which, as Marilla watched with trepidation, swelled into a terrifyingly immense member, engorged and jutting up and out, the skin a deep purple.

Marilla wanted to scream but her mouth was sealed shut. She wanted to run but her limbs were frozen. The wolf-thing stalked towards her with purpose, breathing heavily. He grabbed her by the shoulders, his nails digging into her skin, and tossed her down, smashing her face into the stone. She could feel it behind her, the tremendous cock dragging along her legs and inner thighs, and in spite of herself she felt a thrill. She shut her eyes, clenching her jaw for what came next as the monster placed the head of his cock at her sex, preparing to penetrate her.

It hesitated, as if waiting for a response from her, and suddenly Marilla could move again. She rocked back, stroking her soaked slit along the head bestial cock, daring the creature to take her. She wanted it with every thrum of her being. Rearing its head back, it gave a howl of triumph and drove forward, piercing her cunt with its titanic manhood. There was pain, certainly, but it gave way to ecstacy. Her Soul was on fire as the wolf-like creature Mag had become pushed forward relentlessly, stretching her insides with exquisite agony. The head of his cock crashed brutally into the mouth of her womb and she shuddered at the intensity of it. He reared back and thrust forward again, like a battering ram at a gate, and Marilla's eyes went wide. He meant to break her, to shatter her Soul, and gods above, she welcomed it.

The beast speared her savagely, and with a howl it clamped its jaw down on her shoulder, sending white-hot pain along her nerves, but it only mingled with and intensified the carnal ecstasy she writhed in. Marilla came painfully, moving her quaking hips to meet the creature's thrusts. She could smell the heady, masculine scent from its fur, and the hot breath steaming from its jaws, and the sensation heightened her pleasure. Her cunt squeezed desperately against the invader, but despite her grip it continued fucking her through her peak, refusing to abate its feral lust. She wondered dimly if this was Mag's true nature: a beast that took what it wanted and cared nothing for its mate's needs.

The wolf-thing gave a particularly violent thrust and she could feel something inside her start to give. She thought it meant to pierce her womb and wondered if such a thing were possible. But as the beast continued roughly fucking her, digging its claws into her smoothly rounded hips for purchase, Marilla found she didn't care. She only wanted this to continue, and damn the consequences. The pleasure was already rising in her again, stronger than before, and she could feel the beast's member twitch as it neared its own release. Her core fluttered with each crashing thrust, and she could feel her sense of self weakening, her Soul surrendering to the creature. She felt that when she came again, all that was Marilla Silver would dissipate, leaving only pure, radiant Soul behind.

You are not ready.

It was a strange voice that echoed in her mind, distant and somehow familiar. She opened her eyes, and the scene before her had shifted abruptly. The creature vanished, leaving her sex bereft and hungry. Marilla writhed helplessly, her climax denied, but she was still on edge. She had nearly let go completely, and now she came back to herself almost painfully, aware and slightly ashamed of how wanton her thoughts had become.

Sitting up, Marilla saw an unfamiliar woman across from her. She was pale and delicate, almost like an alvar, with lustrous golden hair. The woman was nude as well, her body glistening with sweat. Her breasts were pert, with pink nipples pointedly erect, and the fingers of her left hand were between her legs, stroking her sex up and down. The woman's brown eyes were fixed possessively on Marilla.

They were in a dark space, confined by stone, with six walls to form a hexagon. The woman sat within a pentagram inscribed on the ground in viridian chalk. At each angle of the shape was a complex glyph inscribed in the same chalk, and each burned with eerie effulgence. A brace of fat red candles guttered on the floor before the woman, their flame billowing as if caught in a strong wind, though none blew in the close space.

The pale woman held up her hand, palm outward, and Marilla saw a white glyph burned into it, which flashed blindingly.

Wake up.

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Marilla had fallen out of bed. The sheets were tangled up around her, and she'd hit her elbow on the flagstones of her bedchamber. It throbbed with pain, and she rubbed at it, wincing at the touch. She extricated herself from the sheets with great difficulty and climbed to wobbly feet, all the blood rushing to her head. For a few dizzying seconds she though she might faint, but the fit passed, leaving her upright but still disoriented.

How did I get to bed last night? Marilla remembered the dinner celebration for the mine expansion; and her father's speech congratulating the vagabond Mag and the lizard clansman Varak for slaying a Soulkin; and she recalled also how Mag had made Lieutenant Glabber look like a fool, and how she had invited him to walk with her in the garden, feeling more aroused than she had in ages by Mag's toned physique and his bluff, irreverent attitude. And of course she remembered their encounter in the gazebo: how he'd used his mouth to bring her off and fucked her from behind -- "in the manner of wild beasts," as they said in the capital. Marilla was not one to shy from sex, like so many prudish ladies, but even she was shocked at her lack of inhibition. It was as if she had been possessed, and yet she felt no regret, for she had yearned for it and relished every moment. That must be what inspired that depraved dream.

But after that her memory was a blank. She could not recall parting from Mag, or leaving the gazebo, or returning to her bedchamber. Perhaps I had more wine than I really should have.

Marilla stumbled away from her bed, an immense four-poster with a soft mattress, and crossed the room to her washbasin. Her chamber was second in size and appointment only to her lord father's, and her walls were hung with paintings of famous gardens from across Angrael, as well as fantastic ones full of otherworldly plants and creatures. She kept a small collection of potted plants by her window, mostly herbs that would bear the indoors well enough, and they infused her room with a calming floral aroma that did much to calm her malaise. At the washbasin was a tiny mirror, and Marilla was shocked at her disheveled appearance. Strands of hair had come loose from her braid, and the skin around her blue eyes was red and puffy. She bent over and splashed the water on her face, gasping and feeling braced by how cool it was.

As she dried her face with a hand cloth she glanced in the mirror once more, and nearly screeched when she saw someone standing behind her: the woman from her dream, pale and elfin, her red lips curving in a wide, satisfied smile. Marilla spun about, her heart hammering in her chest, but she was alone. She shook her head, amazed at how jumpy she was, and told herself she must have imagined it.

You did not imagine it, said a voice, that of a woman, pleasing and musical.

Marilla's heart nearly stopped, and she scanned her room in a panic, wondering if someone could be hiding there. In a frenzy she got to her hands and knees and checked under the bed frame, finding nothing but dust and cobwebs.

Stop this foolishness. I am not physically present, obviously.

She tried to stand, startled by the voice's return, and bumped her head on the bed frame. Now both her head and elbow throbbed with pain. The voice had not spoken aloud, she realized, but inside her head. Strangely, she could sense the woman's tone and pitch, and sense her temperament -- calm and composed, with a hint of arrogance -- despite there being no actual sound. It was certainly magic, though Marilla knew not what kind.

"Who are you?" she asked aloud.

We met last night. And again in your sleep. I am afraid you were a bit disoriented after you coupled with our dear Mag. I was forced to take over and see you safely to bed. There was some powdered valerian in your herb case, which I bid you take to help you sleep. I thought it best we wait until morning to discuss our... arrangement.

Marilla thought back to the night before with dread. She remembered the exquisite pleasure of Mag thrusting inside her as she lay on the bench, and how they had both climaxed terrifically, and how strange his words has been towards the end, as though another was speaking with his voice...

Yes. That person you sensed was I. Part of my Soul was within Mag, and I borrowed his body temporarily. He is somewhat cross about it, I am afraid.

The room seemed to spin, and Marilla stumbled to her armchair, practically falling into it. This was a lot to take in. Some person or creature was speaking inside her mind, the voice as clear and bright as though it came from beside her, yet she was alone. She had fucked Mag, but it had not been Mag, or not entirely. Clearly some sorcery was at work, but she felt overwhelmed by it.

It is entirely normal to feel confused. Most humans choose to ignore that which they do not understand. Few pursue the magical arts, and fewer still comprehend the mysteries and terrors of the Other Place. There are certain magi and shamans and other such folk who dabble in these powers, and there are Soulkin which sometimes slip through the cracks between our realm and Fal'angrael. But very rare are they who seek fulsome comprehension of these subjects. I am one such, and my sisters have been called Soul Witches in times past.

Marilla shook her head. It wasn't that she didn't understand, for the words were clear enough. It was that they made no sense, and that she had no reference point for the speaker, other than a phantasmagoric vision sprung from a nightmare.

"Yes, but... who are you?" she pleaded.

Please know me as Norn, for that is what most have called me, though I have had other names before it and since.

"Norn," Marilla repeated, and with that utterance much of what disturbed her came into focus, like glazier's lenses she'd seen which could make the small appear large, or the indistinct appear clear. "Then you are the creature my grandfather feared, and for which Magus Brand convinced my father to offer the reward."

The very same. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, My Lady.

Marilla suddenly found herself wishing she had some thack close at hand, but of course there was none. Her father detested the stuff, and it was rarely to be had within the castle. There was some nice white wine from Saltea, however, and it sat decanting on a side table nearby. She stood on shaky feet and poured herself a glass, clutching it between both hands as she quaffed deeply, draining the whole glass in one go. The warmth of it sliding down her throat seemed to help immensely.

"You're Norn," she repeated, as if to reinforce the notion to herself, to make it real. "A Soul Witch. And you've somehow invaded our castle and my thoughts."

Oh, 'invaded' is an ugly word. I prefer to think of myself as a guest.

"But how can you speak in my mind?"

Because I am inside you. Or at least, a small piece of me is. It was within Mag first, and he transferred it to you. I see what you see, hear what you hear, feel what you feel. This wine is very good.

Marilla felt something hot in the pit of her stomach. At first she took it for the wine she'd drunk, but as she focused on the feeling she realized it was not liquid, but something solid and palpable. It was like a small bead that burned with heat which radiated through her lower abdomen, not altogether unpleasantly.

A sliver of my Soul. Radiant, is it not? You know, I could see your dreams as well. It was quite a... daring vision. You are clearly open to experiences that less open-minded folk might find disturbing. But there are some things you are not ready for yet.

She was blushing furiously, remembering how in the dream she had wanted the monster to take her savagely. It was true Marilla did not much care for the gentle caress when it came to sex, but the vision in her dream had been beyond anything she'd considered before. It was like she'd been rutting with a Soulkin, and it felt more real and substantial than any dream she'd had before.

It was not a dream, not exactly, but rather a Soul-vision of things that could yet be, probably brought on by my influence. Still, for you to experience such a thing without training is most impressive. But before you could attempt to really mingle with such a creature, even in a vision, you would require training, of a sort. The kind of training I could provide.

"I want nothing of the kind," said Marilla hotly, so insistent that she found herself blushing, and she wasn't sure she believed her own words. "I just want you out of me."

That can be arranged. But I have an errand for you first, one that benefits us both. I require information on one Magus Brand and his doings. I need you to go to his tower and investigate his apartments. A relatively simple task for you, the Lady of Seleca. You can go where you please and none will question you. In addition, you already possess much knowledge relevant to the situation. It is why I chose you for this and not Mag, who is, bless him, rather low-born.

Magus Brand. Marilla distrusted the man, but to know he was wrapped up with this Norn and whatever her aims were put things in a new light. She wondered just how much Brand could be trusted. For that matter, she wondered who was more deceitful, the wizard or the creature that possessed her.

Neither of us are trustworthy, from your perspective. But if you investigate for me, at least you'll know whether or not you can trust one of us.

She had to admit, it made a certain kind of sense, not that she relished the idea of spying.

"If I do this, you'll leave me in peace?"

Happily. If that's what you want.

"And there's nothing dirty involved? No theft, no destruction?"

No. Only looking, so that I may see through your eyes.

Marilla pondered the idea. She was, more than anything, intensely curious, and despite herself, she didn't fear Norn. The witch didn't seem hostile, although she had certainly taken liberties. There was something attractive about her proposal, and it was hard to see a reason not to agree.

"All right."

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The coins clinked into Varak's outstretched hand, one by one, until he had what Mag thought was twenty-five. Varak stacked them on the table next to the others, counting them methodically, scrutinizing each circle of metal with his beady eyes until he was sure of the sum. His forked tongue darted out, as if tasting the flavor of the air around the coins.

"Duke paid us five hundred," said Mag. "And you were in for a fifth. So that should be a hundred, plus the twenty-five I owe you, for a total of a hundred and twenty-five. Right?"

Varak had done the math. Mag was terrible at counting, but the lizard had proved adept when it came to sums and fractions. He scratched at his chin now with one claw, staring intently at the stacked gold coins.

"Mag man speak correctly. One hundred twenty-five. Varak satisfied."

Mag shrugged. "Well, that's that, then. We've been paid, we had a nice dinner, we met the Duke. Now we're square. What's next?"

They'd shared a room in the castle the night before, which, though one of the more modest chambers in the Duke's residence, was still a nicer and more well-appointed room than Mag had ever slept in. There were two beds, though Varak had preferred to lay his blankets on the floor and use the flagstones as a mattress. There were flowers in a vase, a wash basin, a chair to sit in, and even a painting on one wall of the sun rising over Seleca. Morning light was coming through the window, and it seemed to cast a somber light on things, as though they were waking up from a dream.

"Varak must return to clan hollow. Report to Vusz. After that, not know."

"You gonna take the Duke up on his offer?" asked Mag. "To... what'd he say? Advise or whatever. Pretty sure he meant he'd pay us to kill Soulkin."

Varak swished his tail absently, as if working something over in his head that vexed him.

"Not sure. Mag man take offer?"

"Not sure either," said Mag.

He'd thought about it a lot since last night. After his scorching encounter with Marilla in the garden, he'd stumbled back to the party in a daze, feeling disoriented and not quite at home in his own body after the way Norn had taken it over and moved it against his will. Not that he entirely hated the experience. The way the witch had used his body, and particularly his now-ensorcelled manhood, to fuck the Lady of Seleca had been an incredibly pleasurable experience. But the idea that Norn could do that to him, and possibly now to Marilla after their joining, made him feel kind of sick and not a little angry at the witch.

Really, he had no reason to stay in Seleca a moment longer. He'd never see the full two thousand that the Duke and his magus had offered for the death of the Soulkin, but the nearly four hundred coins in his purse was more than he'd had at one time in several years. And what did he owe Norn? She talked all mysteriously about dark powers buried in the mine, and nefarious works of magi, and creatures from the Other Place, but what did that have to do with Mag? She said she wants to make me a Soul Warrior. More like a Soul-slave, seems like. At least she was out of his head now.

And there was Marilla, of course, the vibrant, intelligent, and not to mention gorgeous Lady of Seleca. He wouldn't mind another round with her, but after the way things had gone last night, he wasn't sure she'd be up for it. A shard of Norn's Soul was inside Marilla now, and Mag was partially to blame for that. Probably best if he split town.