DarkFyre Ch. 14

Then there was nothing beneath him, and for half a sickening, stomach lurching moment, he was weightless, floating as airy as the snow swirling around him.

The moment passed, and as all flightless creatures inevitably must, he fell.

In the very last, desperate moment, his frantically grasping hands found hope in the form of the thick, gnarled roots of an old fallen tree still stubbornly stuck in the mountain just below the edge of the path. He gripped the sturdy roots as if his life depended on them, which it surely did, and held fast. Rael's body came swinging forward, smashing into the mountainside and knocking the wind from him, but he refused to lose his hold.

The wind snatched at his heavy wet cloak, pulling and tugging and swirling it about to tangle around his dangling legs. Rael held on, unable to move, hardly able to breathe as blood seeped from his nose and a cut on his chin where the stone of the cliff had gouged him. He felt immensely heavy, all the weight of his impressive body, plus his sodden clothes and cloak, and the packs strapped to his back, all pulling him down to that exhilarating and all too deadly fall. It took all his strength, all his power to hold to the roots, panting in a cold sweat.

Small, hard fingers gripped his arms with surprising strength. Rael looked up to see Silmaria crouched down at the edge of the cliff, her hood fallen away and her black hair whipping about in fierce tendrils and curls.

Silmaria grit her teeth. She strained to pull him up, and her emerald eyes were wild. "Don't you dare! You promised you wouldn't leave me! Now get your heavy ass up here! Pull, damn you!"

Rael set his jaw, gathered his strength, and heaved. The thick muscles in his arms and shoulders strained and bulged and rippled. Silmaria yanked and tugged and pulled, putting all her strength into hauling the Nobleman from the abyss.

It took all their combined effort, but Rael came clawing up from the fatal fall, and at last rolled back onto the path. They both collapsed into a heap, gasping and shaking from the near disaster.

"Let's not do that again, please? I'm pretty sure I just gave up at least a good five years of my life," Silmaria shouted as she pushed up from him.

Rael stared up at her from where he sprawled on his back, and despite the terrifying incident, grinned a bloody grin, and then laughed. "Agreed. No more mucking about on the edge of cliffs."

"It's not funny!" Silmaria glared, and punched him in the chest.

"It's not. Only, right now I'm alive, and anything is funny," Rael replied.

When he got his mirth under control, Rael wiped the blood from his leaking nose and split lip. He dabbed at the small gash in his chin and they rose to continue their way along the deadly pass, their footsteps even more cautious than before.

***

In spite of their brush with disaster or perhaps because of it, like some balancing of fortune and fate, luck was with them just as night fell and it became too dark to see the treacherous path ahead. They happened upon an outcropping of stone jutting overhead above the path. The ledge was low, forcing Rael to bend over nearly double, but it pressed out over the pass far enough to offer almost complete shelter from the blowing ice and snow of the ever worsening storm.

"We'll stop here for the night. There's no point trying to push on with night falling," Rael nodded as they scanned the little alcove under the overhang, finding it mostly dry and free of snow.

"Thank the gods," Silmaria groaned, and let her packs fall gratefully to the hard packed dirt underfoot.

Rael stood at the edge of the overhang, looking out at the rapidly darkening sky and the heavy, low clouds covering any hint of moon or stars. "If this storm doesn't let up soon, we're going have a time of it."

Silmaria sat on the floor, pulling her cloak in tight and rubbing her hands briskly up and down her arms. "What do we do?"

"Take it as it comes," Rael replied, shrugging his broad shoulders. "We can't tarry long. But if we have to wait a day or two for the storm to die down, this is as good a place as any. The worst of the ice and snow is kept at bay. We may even be able to make a small fire, I think. It looks like the smoke should be able to escape well enough that we won't suffocate."

"Well that's reassuring," Silmaria returned dryly. She shifted her packs onto a drier spot, and began to pull out blankets and her sleeping roll, as well as some of the dried meat, roots, and berries they'd scavenged a few days ago before the storm had barreled down on them and they'd started up the pass. "Do you think we'll find any good hunting up here?"

"There's some," Rael nodded slowly. "Mountain goats, mostly, and some smaller game. We might get lucky and be able to take down some hawks as well. But we won't be able to hunt a thing until this storm relents. Nothing worth going out there for, that's for sure."

Silmaria frowned softly as she contemplated their supplies. "This isn't going to last us much longer."

"We'll make it last," Rael said firmly.

He slipped back under the overhang, crouched low. Despite the grimness of their situation, Silmaria couldn't help a frozen smile at the sight.

Rael noticed her smile and shot her a perplexed look. "What is it?"

"You look ridiculous."

Rael contemplated that for a moment, and then gave a wry chuckle. "I suppose this isn't my most dignified moment, is it?"

"No, not at all," Silmaria laughed.

"Being tall isn't always the wonderful thing people make it out to be," Rael smirked as he sat down beside her. He pulled off his packs, placing them beside hers, and propped his greatsword and longbow up against the cliff wall.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure it's awful," Silmaria rolled her feline eyes. "I bet your head gets cold at such a high altitude and everything. It probably gets hard to breath with the air so thin up there, too."

Rael gave her a blank stare. For a moment, Silmaria thought maybe she'd truly offended him. Then he smiled. It was a crooked smirk, mirthful and teasing. Silmaria rather liked it.

"You've got a wicked tongue, you know," Rael observed.

"You don't even know," Silmaria muttered.

"What?" He asked.

Silmaria realized what she'd just said, and flushed. She was glad of her pelt; if she'd been human, she probably would have been horribly red, all the way down to her toes. "Nothing. You said we can have a fire. Can we have a fire?"

Rael gave her a confused look, but nodded.

As the Nobleman worked with his flint and tinder, Silmaria pulled a blanket around her shoulders and huddled deep into it, trying to keep warm. The temperature was, if anything, dropping as night fell. She began praying that they would make it through the night; and with that, she realized there was a real possibility they would not, and then she started to shake all over again, and not just from the cold this time.

Just as she was about to ask him what was taking so long, Rael sat back and rested his elbows on his knees, scowling. "I can't see a thing."

Silmaria gave a start, and she realized just how dark it was. He was right; between night falling completely, the storm obscuring the sky, and the overhang above them, the darkness was so deep there was no way a Human would be able to make anything out. Even with her heightened night eyes, her vision was iffy.

"Here, let me do it," she offered, and took his hands. He relented and gave her the tools. After a few false starts, a small, precious flame blossomed, licking at the dry wood and illuminating their small little shelter. Rael leaned in and blew on the flame. Slowly gaining confidence, the tendrils of fire spiraled higher, growing and spreading over the wood as small, hot roots of orange and red took stubborn, fierce hold. The wood cracked and crackled, and just like that, the flames were alive.

Silmaria sat back, satisfied with her little fire beyond measure. She held frozen fingers out to the pirouetting flames and gazed into the cycling kaleidoscope of orange and yellow and red, all blending and flaring, spinning in a dizzying array of fascination.

"I've always thought fire is so beautiful. I think this is the most beautiful fire I've ever seen," Silmaria said.

"It's a fine fire," Rael said as he took some of the cured meat and placed it on a flat rock that he placed at the edge of the fire to give it a bit of warmth. "And right now, it's the most welcome sight I've seen in a long time."

"Sometimes I feel like it's calling me," Silmaria continued as she stared. She wasn't sure why she was telling him this, only she was starting to relax for the first time in days, warmed by the swelling heat of the fire. Her bones were finally beginning to thaw, and as usual, the nearness of the fire had her mesmerized. Lulled. "Like it's calling me to dance with it. Let it embrace me and spin me in its arms. I know that's stupid. I know I would burn up and turn to ash. Everything that feels fire's touch does. But that doesn't mean the call is any less promising."

Rael listened quietly. He sat beside her, staring into the flames with her. At last, he said, "Fire is power. Like power, it's comfortable. Warm. Inviting. Beautiful. And like power, in the end, it will consume you until there's nothing left. Ashes and black bones and burnt up promises."

Silmaria had no words for that.

They ate in silence neither uncomfortable nor wholly companionable. Now that they had settled in for the night, they simply had no energy left for conversation. Instead, they ate slowly and thoroughly, savoring every bit of the meager meal, knowing their next may be even smaller, and the one after that miniscule indeed.

After the meal, they laid out their sleeping rolls and laid down for the night. Once again they huddled in close, sharing blankets and warmth to ward off the freezing cold.

Silmaria pressed in close against Rael, and his thick, powerful arms wrapped her up. She was still amazed as ever by the incredible heat of the man; with the blankets insulating them and the heat coming off the Knight, she was actually comfortably warm in a freezing snowstorm. She'd been pressed against plenty of men before, and never had she experienced a man that radiated the raw body heat Rael did. The Gnari girl curled up against his broad chest, rested her head on his solid shoulder, and let out a soft sigh as she relaxed fully. She was warm here, comfortable. Safe. Silmaria knew that, curled in Rael's arms, she would make it through another day, even frightful and dangerous as they'd become.

Rael was already close to sleep, holding her close in his warm embrace, one big hand resting on the small of her back as she curled to his side. His breathing was slowing into the relaxed rhythm of rest. Silmaria soaked in his warmth, drawn and lulled by it the same way she was drawn and lulled by the warmth of the fire. She began to drift, secure against Rael's solid, reassuring form.

A hair's breadth from sleep, the Stirring overcame her. It lanced through her like an arrow, sharp and startling and painfully penetrating. Her breath hitched, and she shuddered roughly, muscles twitching as her senses came alive, snatching her from the precipice of slumber and giving her a violent, lecherous shake. All at once, she felt the hard, defined muscles of Rael's defined shoulders and chest, the strength of his big arms, like corded steel wrapping her up.

Every inch of Silmaria's body quivered, hot. She could feel the pulsing hunger racing through her, spreading and expanding, and every bit of it hot lined to the insatiable, slick ache between her legs.

A whimper tore from her lips, a lame, injured sound of need, a pleading to make the suffering agony end, please gods, make it stop. Hardly aware of her own actions, Silmaria pressed to him, molding her body to his, heedless of the unflattering, uncomfortable bulk of their clothing. She wrapped her legs around the thick solidness of his thigh, hitching her weeping core against his leg. Even fleeting and scant as it was, the friction there was delicious and wonderful. She bit her lip, sleepily cursing in her mind, cursing her hunger, her need, her endless wanton, unrelenting desire that under most circumstances she would have reveled in. But tonight, like this, with him, it was nothing but purest torment. She cursed and railed, and squirmed about, her hips shimmying and undulating despite her very best efforts to be still. The burning in her loins was overwhelming, maddening, a heated need in her cunt that even the raging blizzard outside their meager shelter wouldn't cool.

"Silmaria. What are you doing?" Rael asked.

She almost moaned aloud; his tone was thick with sleep and low, gravelly. His words ran down her spine and a violently lustful shiver chased down after them. Silmaria couldn't recall ever being so close to coming undone by such simple, innocent words.

And then those words registered, penetrating the fog of her mind addled by her Stirring. Silmaria came fully aware, and realized while she had been so distracted by the demands of the Stirring and her heated internal conflict, her hand had, quite independent of any conscious decision on her part, made its way into Rael's trousers. Her fingers were wrapped around the length of him, gripping tenderly and eagerly, and his flesh was growing and thickening and lengthening so absolutely perfectly, just like she wanted, and it was warm and solid and oh so very thick and alive.

She looked up at the Nobleman, staring up into his eyes of quicksilver. He was still a bit hazy, woken so strangely after just drifting off. She expected to see disapproval, outrage, and disgust. She'd hoped, and silently prayed even as she vehemently railed against herself, that she would see lust and desire in his gaze. What she found instead, was an expression of puzzlement, uncertainty, and, heartbreakingly, tender concern.

The look on Rael's face undid her completely, in a way she'd never experienced before. Somehow, that look of concern and compassion did what no look of contempt or judgment or scorn had ever managed; it made Silmaria so deeply ashamed and disgusted with herself and her traitorous, uncontrollable body that she was near physically sick with it.

The tears came hot on her cheeks. She hated him for making her cry, again! But he wasn't making her cry, was he? She didn't know if she hated him, or herself, or just the damnable fucking tears and whatever cruel gods had cursed her with a life ruled from between her legs.

She was sobbing so violently now that she was jerking in his arms. And still, through it all, she didn't release her hold on his flesh until he gently disentangled her fingers. That just made her sob even harder. His parting his flesh from hers was the gentlest, most tender slap in the face she'd ever received, and it felt like a knife in her breast.

Gods, she was so tired of falling apart!

How could this, of all ridiculous and meaningless things, send her into such a profound spiral? After the Manor. All her friends dying. The terror and panic of being hunted. The hardship of braving the elements on this journey. How could she have so many tears left? And how could she have any for this? It was sex, and it was meaningless. She'd fucked and been fucked, and it was never pretty, and often downright cruel, and she was absolutely no stranger to being used and then scorned, or outright cast aside. And it had never, not once, cut her this deeply. Why? Why now?

Because, for all the callousness she'd been treated with, she'd never before been rejected.

And because, for the first time since Master Edwin, it wasn't meaningless.

The thought of him was another dagger to her heart, and just when she thought the tears would slow, they fell hot and heavy as ever.

Silmaria was lost in her pain so long, she didn't know how long she cried. She cried until the tears were gone, until her body had no more to give, and even then she was a pitiful, shaking, keening thing for more than a few moments. When at last some awareness returned, she found she was wrapped more firmly than ever in Rael's powerful arms. He held her close, and her tears had soaked his shirt just as they did that night in the forest seemingly a lifetime ago. One hand rubbed in slow, soothing strokes along the small of her back, and the other was working at the tense muscles of her shoulders and upper back with strong, capable, patient fingers. He kept her head tucked just beneath his chin, and he was making soft, soothing wordless sounds in his throat. He didn't try to talk to her. He didn't rush her. And he didn't move away.

Slowly, as if fearing what she would find, the Gnari girl peeked up at the Nobleman. His eyes were on her, that intense, focused gaze. There was sympathy there, and she hated the thought that he pitied her. But the upwelling of shame was calmed by the compassion in his bright, sharp eyes, even as it broke her heart all over again.

His eyes never left hers as he slowly reached up and brushed the tears from her slick cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she said, and meant it. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Tell me," he said softly, and here was no judgment or scorn in his voice. Only a desire to know.

"Tell me your pain," he said, in gentle command.

So she did.

***

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