Ogres and Ogresses Ch. 26

Zyra swallowed her racing heartbeat down. Why was she sleeping with him again?

She had never...she wasn't like—No, she didn't...

"I'm just...confused," she said incredulously. She really was confused. "I don't know what my feelings are. I can't process them. I'm trapped by the witches and...my love for Kail. And my guilt. I feel like, maybe, this is wrong."

"It is not."

"I can't move on. I can't believe you just because you say you won't hurt me. Kail hurt me, and I actually loved him. No offense."

Medean sighed. "You need closure."

"I need something." Her eyes clouded with a vision of the man who was supposed to be holding her. Medean could almost see this formidable ogre.

"I have to understand why Kail did what he did. Someone has to have the answer."

Medean turned her to face him. "And are you sure you are ready for the answers, not matter what they might hold?"

Zyra nodded. "I need them, in the same way I..."

She blushed and he rose an eyebrow."

"The same way I...guess I need you...for the moment...platonically. Or as platonic as one you are intimate with and are possible superior to can—"

Medean's heart lightened as he listened to her ramble.

"...once both parties agree..."

He was necessary to her.

"...in the most logical but unburdened sense of the word..."

His Mistress had finally admitted it.

He held her close and she sighed in his chest, warm and sated.

"...parties in temporary and voluntary agreement."

"I understand, Mistress," he said softly. He ran a hand through her hair. "Don't worry about it. For now, sleep. Sleep, and dream of a new tomorrow."

"All tomorrows are new Medean. Don't be simple."

Medean smirked. "I'm glad to hear you joke again."

Zyra smiled. "I'm glad as well."

-

Henna's arms shook from the effort it took to drag the wild beast to the cave. The Rovian hunters were a useless breed, but they had taught her a few things. For one, a large beast with a fast heartbeat like the Nemlock would be more likely to bleed out from a wound than a smaller, calmer prey. The Nightlock, who were twice as ferocious, would spill too much blood to be useful to her Master. So Henna brought him, struggling and live, her legs sporting from the wounds the beast had given her.

She had watched the cave front for a number of days to determine which Nightlock was the most fearless. A large purple beast with a black streak of fur at his chest hesitated the longest when going back in for the day. It was as though he was itching for one more fight, one more foe.

So Henna baited him. She made sure to bait only him. When the others went inside, she threw a rock at him and ran.

The Nemlock were pack animals, but a personal affront would overrule their pack mentality. The Alpha chased after her, her light body barely making it to the appointed place. With practiced skill she pulled the rope and the Rovian sleep net fell down upon the beast. She had covered it in sap, so the creature would only entangle more.

A growl interrupted her regaling and she looked back at it warily.

"Hush up," she snapped.

She could see the animal was in pain, having been forced out into the day. It twisted, churning and yanking her small body down to get another swipe at her. She howled in pain.

"Arg! I can't wait until you die!"

She made sure to hit it against every rock and log until exhaustion made her hurry. When she reached into the cave she took out her knife and stabbed it. It cried out, far from dead.

"I don't want you to get any ideas," she hissed. "I won't be able to light a torch and I won't allow you to get the best of me."

Henna dragged the bleeding animal that glared at her in hatred, unaware that she was being followed.

She entered the cave and pulled him to her master, to the glowing center where he laid.

Creedon turned to her, resplendent as ever, eying the sack with amusement.

"Did you not have the heart to finish it yourself my sweet Henna?" he inquired in his soft, powerful voice.

"They bleed quick my lord," she said, dragging him to his feet. "I wanted you to drink your fill."

He nodded and gestured to the beast. "Very well."

Henna nodded and took her dagger, for a moment she felt pity for this beast. Then she remembered being chased by them, being half drowned and indebted to her enemy. Hatred welled up inside of her and she sunk the blade true. The creature let out a wail and she struck again to silence its human-like cry. When she was done, Henna was up to her elbows in purple blood.

"Here," she said eagerly. "Drink my lord."

Creedon kneeled to the beast and lifted it with a wave of his hand. The blood circled in the air in a swirl, vaporized, and he breathed it in. The blood on Henna's hands also pulled away, the creature flying higher and higher until it was drained, nothing more than bones and fur.

Creedon's form flashed three times. Then it rippled as he regained corporal flesh. Henna watched in amazement.

"Yes..." he chuckled. "Yes!"

Henna could only kneel in the presence of his majesty as his face gained a warm flush, his impossibly beautiful eyes brightened, his hair fell in soft curls around him. Surely no man could be so gorgeous. This man must be a Maker.

A hand blocked her view of the floor.

"Rise, loyal Henna," he said. She took his hand and looked at him with adoration and lust. It had been such a long time since she had felt a warm touch. Since she had felt, the warmest touch.

"My lord..."

He smiled at her and she stepped into him, putting her hands on his chest.

"My lord, I—"

A low growl interrupted her. She whipped to look behind her.

"A Nightlock!" she cried reaching for her dagger.

Creedon patted her, chuckling. "Oh do not fuss Henna. Is your Master not beside you?"

Henna gazed up at him. "Yes, Master."

Creedon smirked and looked toward the creature easing its way forward. Henna saw its hesitance, which was uncommon for a Nemlock of any grade.

"What is wrong with it Master?"

Creedon looked at the Nightlock carcass beside them.

"The creature is confused. It does not know whom to attack. It sees the broken body of its mate, but smells her mate's blood inside me. She does not understand if her eyes are fooled or her nose. The only enemy here is you Henna."

Henna swallowed. The Nemlock was twice the size of her, the females were bigger, more vicious, and stayed by the cave mouth to guard the pups. In a time of famine a female might hunt, but it was rare.

"This doesn't make sense," Henna said. "She's a female. She'd never leave her cave."

"She's not like other females." Creedon released Henna and walked forward to the Nightlock, whom took a step back.

"Are you?"

She looked at him confused and bared her fangs before retracting them and baring them again. Creedon bent down and took her face in his hands.

"Tell me...how is it I feel magic inside you?"

He gazed into the creature's eyes and whispered words Henna could not hear. The creature suddenly went feral, trying to bite and scratch him, but he merely laughed. A wall of magic kept her at bay.

"Come now," he chuckled. "Your mind had revealed to me your true nature. You made a blood vow with a beast, and now I have his blood." He stretched a hand to Henna. "Henna, welcome our newest addition. Call her...CoCree. I like that."

The creature growled.

"Silence," he hissed. "You are mine now."

"You can understand her?" Henna gasped.

Creedon nodded. "I would love to explain what I have learned about this..."Nightlock," but time is of the essence. We have time, but..." Creedon brushed a strand behind her ear and she shivered.

"It is best not to waste effort."

He walked around the animal, who sat miserably in the corner. It appeared to be crying. "I'm going for a walk," he declared. "I'll be back. Do behave yourselves CoCree, Henna."

"Yes Master," Henna said bowing. She looked at the Nightlock. CoCree growled at her through tears.

Heart-racing Henna yelled back at her.

Then they stood, waiting for their lord in the cave's green glow.

-

"Mm...Kail get off...I said get off I'm trying to sleep."

"Zyra."

"Shh...shh, just, come back to bed."

"Mistress, I must insist you awake now."

Zyra sprang up. Medean stood by her bedside, clean and dressed. His face was a mask of porcelain. She wondered if he was offended that she had called him Kail.

"Isn't it a bit early," Zyra judged, looking around the room illuminated with candles.

"We have to make an early start."

"Oh, for Caligula? For that sick, demented—"

"No."

"But why?"

"I am taking you somewhere," Medean said briskly. "Somewhere I feel you need to go. It will take some time to make you presentable and to depart, so I have awoken you at this hour. If you would be so kind as to proceed to the hot spring I shall have your breakfast settled by your return."

Zyra raised an eyebrow. "You aren't coming with me?"

Was it her birthday?

His mask cracked for a second when his lips twitched. "I am sure doing so would interfere with our schedule. Generally, when unaccompanied and freshly woken, you bathe for 8-10 minutes. After the end of a long day, 30-45 minutes, in which you must depart or become disoriented by the steam. If I come with you, there is an average of two hours. I shall fetch you should you break your pattern."

Zyra sighed and tossed the blankets off. "You know Medean it's not normal to know so much about one person. It's strange."

"I don't believe so," he said, handing her a towel and a basket of toiletries. "Please wear this robe while walking through the halls."

She put it on and ran a hand through her hair. "I need a haircut."

"When you return. Now Mistress, please begin your daily rituals."

Zyra rolled her eyes and walked out. "One minute he's screwing me every waking moment for the sake of "duty," the next he's a stone with legs. Is everyone I know insane?"

Then again, who was she to talk? Images of her behavior last night flashed before her eyes and she wanted to drown. What was she thinking?

She went into the spring and eased into the water. Zyra moaned, the feel of the warm water still strange, but not unwelcome. In the winters they would warm the water gathered from a hole kept open in the river. If it froze, they use ice and snow. The water was never as warm as the spring though, never as bubbly.

Zyra scrubbed herself quickly, wishing to be out before he came to fetch her. Medean was up to something. Something important apparently.

"What are you planning, pale one?"

No one answered her of course. She scooped up her things and headed back to her room.

Medean was pouring an orange liquid into her glass. Her green keromedio clothes lay folded on the bed. Drying quickly she tugged them on, sniffing when Medean came to her side and retied the laces on her boots.

"They were sloppy," he said without provocation.

He led her to the vanity, where he began to brush and comb her hair down, tossing all manners of potion in she was sure. He cut her hair, but curled it inwards towards her face. She frowned.

"Straighten it. I look too..."

"Too what, Mistress?" Medean asked. "Is the word you're looking for approachable?"

She stared at herself a little longer. "It makes me look like I have a fat face."

"You don't have a fat face."

"They won't know that."

"Zyra..."

"I do with this hairstyle!"

Medean sighed and straightened her hair. Instead he added a cornrow braid above her bang, and secured it with a simple green pin. Damn, Medean was talented.

"Complaints?" he asked, as he ushered her to the table.

She looked at him grumpily. "No."

"Good. Please finish your breakfast. I need to make a few more arrangements."

He left her, the wheels turning in her head as she tried to think about what mischief he was intending. Medean was so straight-laced. This was very unlike him, and he seemed...cold, on edge. Was he taking her for a picnic on the other side of the valley? What else could it be? This was Medean. He was all about baths and picnics.

She finished the last bite seconds before he returned.

"Tell me you don't know how long it takes me to eat."

His lips twitched.

"Are you ready Mistress?"

"Seriously?"

"Allow me to grab your cloak for you."

Medean placed the thick green cloak over her shoulders, and the hood over her hair. He put a belt on her waist, and slipped her sword on with a nod. Then he put on his own cloak. It was, of course, black. She noticed he had an odd looking staff on his back, and a basket on his arm. She didn't feel like asking.

Medean escorted her swiftly out of the Marble Tree and they walked on, heading away from the training grounds and the nymph forest. Zyra had never gone in this direction before.

She swallowed, nervously. "Medean...where are you taking me?"

"Trust me Zyra," he said calmly. He took her a bit further into the forest when she heard a rustling in the trees. He stopped, putting out a hand to halt her. Zyra put a hand on the hilt of her sword.

"Medean...is the place you're taking me dangerous?"

Medean didn't answer, eyes trained on the woods. The dawn was breaking, but the sky was still splattered with stars, and the forest was still dark. Zyra took a step back and fully drew her sword.

"Zyra, there's not need—"

"Quiet."

Zyra's ears picked up the distinct sound of horse footsteps, and her eyes widened.

"The monokeros."

Medean shook his head, his features relieved.

"No."

"Then who the hell is it? Selkies? Night Mares? What bedevilment approaches?"

"Bedevilment? Oh, I do believe she speaks of you brother."

Zyra's jaw dropped as the creatures stepped forward. In front of her was a man and a horse, who had obviously fused in a most unnatural way. The upper torso of a man jutted from where the horse's head would be. The rest, a brown horse of some kind. He smiled at her, a wicked smile filled with mischief. She took a step back.

Another man stepped out beside him and he gave him a look.

"Do behave yourself in front of the keromedio," he snapped. "Must you continually shame me with your existence brother?"

She stared in astonishment as he kneeled very dramatically on his front legs.

"My liege, I am May Son and this is my younger brother Gray Son. We are centaurs from the Nengen Shyla tribe."

Zyra stared at them wordlessly. May Son and Gray Son were well built, their chests carved so perfectly they reminded her of a certain ogre. May Son had a pointy brown goatee, and Gray Son did not. Their hair was a mess of chocolate curls. They had massive shoulders and sun-browned skin which made them quite attractive for...horse...people. And their lilting accents were strange, musical in quality.

Attractive or not, it was too much for Zyra, and her tact suffered.

"Zyra, will you not introduce yourself to these fine gentlemen?" Medean urged.

She tilted her head. "You have horse bodies."

She heard Medean choke. If possible, Medean grew paler.

Gray Son laughed goodnaturedly, his gray eyes crinkling in amusement.

"Well said keromedio! We are indeed half-horse. I bow to your superior observational skills."

He kneeled beside his brother, who looked at her funnily.

"Am I to assume we are the first centaurs you have seen, my lady?"

Zyra nodded, sheathing her sword. "...are there women centaurs?"

With their breasts flailing about smacking bystanders?

"No," May Son answered. "Why do you ask?"

Who else would survive mating with you?

"No reason."

Gray Son stood, taking a small step that put him unnervingly close to her. "We have no shortage of mates, I assure you," he said smirking.

Zyra's brow furrowed and she took a step to the side, to curious to be annoyed.

"Hm."

She walked behind them and stared at where human met horse, the thin blending of fur and flesh making him real and not a figment of her imagination. Gray Son turned to see what she was doing.

"...Amazing."

Gray Son's eyes took on an impure gaze. "Oh, I like her."

May Son chuckled and stood up. "You flatter us keromedio. You have our thanks. It has been a privilege to be the first centaurs to have blessed your sight."

"Oh, we can be many firsts Madam keromedio."

"Gray Son!"

"What?"

"Have you forgotten why we are here?" Medean interrupted.

Zyra looked back at him. If he was a bird, his feathers would have been ruffled.

"Of course not," May Son said apologetically. He extended a hand to Zyra. "My liege, please allow me to give you the first ride."

"What?"

Zyra whipped to Medean. Who raised a hand to halt her tirade.

"The place we are going is far and through very dense jungle. I cannot teleport both of us there. The Centaurs of the Nengan Shyla clan are loyal to the keromedio, as are all civilized creatures."

"Where are we going?"

"I contacted them last night requesting they aid me in your safe passage and they agreed. Centaurs have incredibly swiftness."

"Medean!"

"If you hurry, you should be there in twenty minutes, perhaps."

Gray Son pushed his brother out of the way and held out a hand. "Perhaps you'd like to spend those minutes with me, my liege."

Zyra stormed up to Medean, refusing to be ignored anymore.

"Where are we going?" Zyra demanded. "I'm not taking another step until you tell me what's going on!"

"That's fine. We're carrying you."

"Gray Son!"

"Hehehe."

Medean let out a long heavy sigh. "Zyra...you told me what you needed. Despite my best efforts I have failed you time and time again, but I believe I can assist you in at least this. You told me you needed closure, correct?"

Zyra nodded.

Medean put a hand on her shoulder. "To the east of the Marble Tree lies the Shyla tribe. All those who worship Shyla, the 2nd keromedio who brought prosperity to the ogres, centaurs, fawns, and their like reside there. It is also close to the Nymph Mother tree, which was moved as a precaution after your first valley escapade."

"Ooh. So you nearly burnt the poor bastards to death, eh Princess?"

"Gray Son if I knew you would disgrace me in this manner, I would have left you home."

Medean gave her a tired smile. "I am taking you for an audience with the Shashanen Shyla, the ogres who blacksmith for the witches of the valley so you may find your answers."

"You're taking me to Kail's family?"

Zyra's eyes watered and she hugged Medean tight.

"Thank you."

Medean patted her and pulled away. "I insist we begin moving. Caligula will not be the best of adversaries in such early morning."

Zyra nodded and turned to the centaurs. "Um...are you sure you don't...mind carrying me?"

"Well," May Son began. "It is rare that a centaur allows anyone but his captured female to ride it."

"I see, but I still...wait captured?"

"Yes. Since you are our keromedio, it is an honor you may ask of us anytime. Now, which of us will have the honor of your first ride?"

Gray Son stared her down insistently, but she walked over to May Son and pressed her fingers to her shoulder in a show of respect.

"If you would be so kind."

"But of course."

Gray Son glared at his brother as May Son extended a hand to the keromedio and hoisted her up onto his back. She sat awkwardly, trying to find a way to hold on. She had never seen anyone ride a horse before. Zyra put her arms around his back and tried to link her arms under his belly, her face smushed against him.

May Son was unable to see what she was doing, but it felt odd.