Ogres and Ogresses Ch. 31

Chapter 31: Children

She'd met Zyra at the age of 8. Before that she'd been with her mother. Ginger mostly remembered the sound of her voice, and the soft catch in it as she told her "Stay here," and disappeared into the forest. Her hair was thick and brown like her own, the soft waves brushed her face more than rags and soap. She was a dirty child, and they were always on the move. She was not sure why her mother had abandoned her on the Rovian lands. She'd sat there in the forest for three days until Chieftess Kyzyra had seen her out the corner of her eye, curled up in a patch of wild onions, her face dirty and her eyes wild. One of the huntresses had to drag her from her little nest and throw her over her back.

She had fought and cried. She told them she was waiting for her mother. They carried her in silence. That woman like many others had perished in the Akeeran raid.

Sixteen years later Ginger was sitting high in a Rovian tree net, staring at her fire on the ground. She had not thought about it until now. This was the first time since then that she'd been alone in the forest.

Heck, she'd never been in a Rovian net alone. She hardly slept alone either. Being alone was like being dipped in the river on a brisk morning. It was jarring, it cleared your mind, and when you looked at the vastness of the horizon, it made you feel very small. She wondered if Zyra felt that way.

Ginger rolled onto her back. It was a full moon tonight.

Her skin tingled with the memory of Luneh. The boy as pale as moonroot milk, who had stolen her heart, and run away with it when he became a man. Typical. Ever since he'd shed those blue eyes and fluffy white hair, he'd been lost to her. Not that she had ever had him. Still, her heart ached for him. She had no more interest in the Ursie men the celebration brought, only their extremities, and from her own exploits she had come to realize that the main joy of the celebration would not be hers. Her womb was cursed. She'd been fucking without restraint since she came of age. She had not been a mother, not even once, and furthermore she was not sure if she had it in her to be a mother. Taking care of Zyra was a tough job

and they were close in age. Nima was like her niece. Perhaps that was good enough.

She let out a sigh. The stars reminded her of a bright blue boy with bright blue eyes. She paused. Actually, they weren't blue anymore. In a way she had lost that boy already. She'd lost him the moment he crossed. She would not lose Zyra. Ginger turned on her side and squeezed her eyes shut. She should have brought a fur. She'd forgotten the key of the Rovian net was the shared body heat which made travel lighter. Oh well. With any luck this trip would disabuse her of romantic notions. Right now she had a mission. Find Zyra, tell her about the strange circumstances around Paj's death, and get her to come home.

----

It had been four days since Caligula left the valley. Some of the gray witches had left with him. Others were unsettled. Witches rarely fought and when they did, they upset the balance every time. Zyra had not slept in The Tree since the incident, and Medean did not sleep at all. Etaceh felt the emptiness of their beds.

Her beautiful marble nest was empty.

Etaceh stared into the pool and watched Zyra as she huffed, an ogress on her back as she trudged to the Selkie's pool. And for what? Some aimless quest to find a young ogre who was currently having the time of his life? How Zyra had come to know of the properties of Nymare's pool was unknown to her, but she hoped this day off would give Zyra the clarity she needed. It was a petty errand, one that could have been easily handled if Zyra had gone to her, but Zyra was smart. Too smart to believe this childish charade had any meaning. She was purposefully stalling.

Zyra had as much certainty about whom to live with as Etaceh had about Scallen's underground network. She could map them all out and still stumble onto another. Scallen was in fact powerful, and Etaceh was the strongest witch in the Marble Tree, but neither of them could best a resurrected witch. Not even together. A witch was almost impossible to kill, and it was banned by the Dark Council for any witch to slay another. Yet they had found a loophole, and with it made him as dead as they could. He should have been ripped apart body and soul from the grief of his son, and the emptiness of the void. He should have gone mad as bit by bit he dissolved into the fabric of the universe, instead he had clung to a string, clawed his way back, and became a resurrected witch.

A resurrected witch could not die. Any doubts of Creedon's return had been swept away. His gall at entering into the valley to speak with Zyra, going so far as to use an astral projection could have made the witch scream. He had shown himself and yet they could not seek him out. It made her ill, but she no doubt deserved this.

Etaceh knew she was not stainless in this venture. She knew she would pay for her sins, but not the valley, never those under her charge. She was a sadist not a monster. She took a step from the pool and the water turned black. Outside the grass was glistening with dew, and the gray witches bustled about in the shadows collecting it for divination spells. I

Caligula got a hold in the valley of the Marble Tree, they'd be the first to go. It was inevitable. She looked at her thin white fingers unmarred by callous or wrinkle. How old was she? How long had it been? Surely too long. She'd been careless.

The peace those creatures felt as they charged about in revelry and sex was coming to an end. The only force that could defeat Creedon now was the GanMo.

As if dealing with Creedon wasn't hard enough.

Etaceh waved over the black water, and saw one of its four scattered pieces. She knew where the hilt was at least. The GanMo sword was the most perfect weapon ever to exist. Or it had been before it was deemed too powerful and broken. The GanMo was crafted piece by piece from four sacred implements, and she would need Zyra to retrieve them. The hilt was on cursed ground starved dry of magic and so desolate that a creature like her would be stripped of her powers the moment she stepped foot on it. The poor land would suck up her magic to repair itself and fail.

Someone like Zyra was needed. She had magic, but spellcasting was not her primary power. She could use her natural human abilities to attain the piece. Unfortunately the other three pieces were a mystery. Legend said that the pieces called out to one another and the chosen one would be able to hear them. Legend also said that anyone foolish enough to touch the unfinished sword would be cursed by it and die a slow agonizing death. Legends were funny like that. Chosen one or not, they could use a locator spell once the first piece was found, but they were running out of time. Zyra still had to be trained in the four basic divisions of magic.

She had progressed at a wondrous rate but her magic was almost entirely instinctive. Her offensive magic was great, but her defenses were weak. She could make a shield. Elementary. Soon Zyra would face real opponents, and if she thought her ability to take hits would win her a fight she was sorely mistaken. She needed elemental magic, defensive magic, and practical magic. She needed to be able to solve any problem that arose, levitate to a high window, create a bush to break her fall, deflect an attack or heal broken bones. She could so none of those things, but worst of all, the girl lacked strategy. Her strategy was to hit things. True her methods yielded results, but collecting the GanMo would take finesse and concentration.

Once created the GanMo would pierce Creedon's hold to the physical plane, but also kill him in the afterlife. If a half-dead Creedon could not be allowed to exist, Creedon needed to be scrubbed from existence. Zyra was so unprofessional about all of this, so unpredictable. It was going to make managing her much harder alone.

Etaceh held her head in exasperation. "This would have never happened in Paris."

She needed help, just not Caligula's. She thought to Scallen and her blood boiled. That damned favor. If Zyra chose Scallen he would be in charge of training her. No doubt he could teach her adequately, but she was more concerned with the ideas he would put in her head. A week with Scallen and Zyra would never trust her again. Etaceh knew she had spent their first encounter torturing her, but that was before they'd become friends. Or she realized she was...well, a person.

She hadn't seen a human in a few hundred years. She was a surprise, a new toy she'd wanted to play with. She regretted not protecting her more

ot doing something when she'd come to her lesson smelling like the lust milk of Acaron. Etaceh suspected Caligula was up to no good and told lies to make Medean assure Zyra would not be drugged again. An "outbreak of sprite powder poisonings," how idiotic had she been? Well the time for ignorance was over.

She strode back to the pool and waved a hand over it. Nymare was bathing herself, looking around her cautiously. Closing her eyes

Etaceh dipped a pale hand in the pool. She felt her astral projection dive into the water, and when she opened her eyes, she stood in front of the Selkie.

"Enjoying your bath?"

Nymare jumped and hissed, her face contorting. It immediately became fearful as she realized whom she had hissed at.

"My lady, forgive me! You startled me. I..."

"Spare it Selkie, you're about to get a visitor."

Nymare flinched and stood up, her back rigid.

"If this is about failing to mate, I assure you my lady—"

"I don't care about that," Etaceh scoffed. "If you intend to be the last of your kind so be it. There are other Selkies in the realms that will sire children. The Valley will be fine without you."

The Selkie winced and lowered herself in the water. Eh, perhaps she'd been too honest.

"What I mean to say is...you know what? It doesn't matter. Zyra the keromedio is going to pay you a visit. She is friend to Rell the Ursie if you recall him."

"I do," she said.

"Good. Then you will remember that she is a violent direct person. She comes to you to seek answers for a question she dare not ask. You will provide her with that answer. Quickly if you care for yourself."

"How my lady?"

Etaceh rolled her eyes. "Do I have to do everything? Make something up! Show her something that will ground her. This Valley is going to be destroyed if she doesn't get her well-defined ass in line! So show her something that will stop her distraction. Give her clarity or comfort, or common sense, a C-word! I want you to give her a C-word that will stop her foolishness, is that clear?"

Selkie nodded slowly. "...Crystal."

Etaceh smiled and waved a hand, dissipating her image. "I'll be watching..."

---

"You remember what I asked you Henna?"

Henna looked up at her Master who even now sent chills down her spine.

"Yes, Master. You said I need to fetch something."

Creedon adjusted a sleeve, and gestured towards the cave opening.

"Night has fallen so this endeavor will be easy. I want you to go the river, when they send your deceased, and retrieve that black flower for me. You will no doubt find it...altered, but you will bring it here without question, understood?"

"Yes, master."

Henna gathered up her cloak and trudged out to the woods. The night was warm considering the season, and her footsteps crunched fallen leaves without fear. Nightlocks were the least of her worries, and she had no more desire to fear them. Especially after such a display of affection from Lord Creedon, and especially since he needed her. Henna had never felt more necessary in her life. She'd never known she had craved that feeling, to be of use and irreplaceable. Perhaps that was one reason why she hated Zyra.

Zyra, who was the Rovian model of excellence, who with Kyzu banished her from the huntress life, who had given her no choice but to abandon her home and wander the woods like a beast of the field.

She thought back to Kail and the pleasure he had brought her as he pounded her, touched her gently, softly, unaware to whom he fornicated with. Many times she had to restrain herself from dropping her guise. She always wanted to do it right before his orgasm. When he clenched and his face contorted in pain, past the point of stopping, she wanted to reveal herself. She wanted to laugh in his face.

When she reached the river's edge she immediately noted that it appeared changed somehow more sinister. Dark shadows rocked on the river floor. Looking closer she realized that the water was in fact darker. She bent down, slowly put a hand and waited for a reaction, or pain. Nothing. Henna's fingertips extended, brushed the shadow and her heart jumped in her chest when she felt something soft.

Gingerly she pulled at it and it came loose in her hand.

"A black rose?"

Roses were not indigenous to the Rovian lands, but Creedon had explained them to her. Yet this was unlike the ones he had shown her or the original one. Where were the thorns? It was a thornless rose. The entire river floor was covered in black thornless roses.

"Huh."

Henna turned it in her hands, admiring the water that fell off of dry petals, and the black stem. It was almost as—

"Ow!"

She dropped it and grabbed her hand. It had cut her!

"What in Maker's name..."

Her curses were silenced when the bloodied rose fell back into the river and in unison the flowers went still. Her eyes widened and she stumbled back, a low hum resounding in the air, growing louder and louder as the river thrashed and the flowers remained immobile. There in the center where scorch marks still remained from those fire arrows, a dark mass began to near her, covered in large black petals. Henna got to her feet and pulled out her knife, trembling in fear as it grew closer and closer.

"S-stay back!" she screamed. "Stay back or else!"

The figure was not deterred, and the flowers parted and bent out of its path. Dark water churned with every step as it defied the glistening moon, who was unable to cast even a beam of light on this damned shadow.

When it reached the water's edge, Henna prepared to stab it, but the dark water rolled away from it and Henna fell to her knees. Hot tears trailed down her cheeks as she began to shake with sobs.

"What...have...I done?"

There in front of her with eyes as black as pitch, wearing the dress she had been buried in, was Paj.

---

"...I dare...you...to ever make...a comment...about...my weight...again!"

Zyra's patience was running thin. She'd been following the path for at least an hour and she didn't appear to be getting any closer. Instead, Mourabet was becoming heavier and heavier as she drifted farther and farther into unconsciousness. She had half a mind to put her in a tree. Tied up with some strips of her shirt, she'd be safe. She'd never seen a nymph climb a tree, and it seemed most creatures in this part of the forest were earthbound. Still, there was that nagging feeling in the back of her mind. "Don't leave her," it said. "Be patient," it said.

Well fuck that voice.

"Sorry Mourabet," Zyra huffed. She placed the ogress down against a tree. "Ride's over."

She was about to make a comment about returning for her remains when she heard a giggle behind her. She whipped around and her eyes narrowed.

The giggle came from the north this time and she glanced and saw that it was once again not there. She wondered...

There had been a lesson with Etaceh or Caligula, she could not recall, where they had told her that her eyes would deceive her.

She raised her hands, and slowly waited for magic to flow through them and show her the source. Her fingers hummed with energy, and slowly but surely she pinpointed Nymare's pool out of the corner of her eye. Turning with a frown, she hoisted Mourabet onto her back and trudged over.

When she arrived to the idyllic glen, the Selkie was waiting for her. She was in her pretty form, her pink nipples puckered from the cold, her peach colored skin shimmering and her golden hair adorned with flowers.

"I was wondering when you would stop circling around," she giggled. "I almost felt sorry for you."

Zyra put Mourabet to rest against a tree and pulled out her sword. She pointed it at Nymare and her irritating voice cut off mid-chuckle.

"My lady—"

"Don't you 'my lady' me," she snapped."I have not forgotten what you did to Rell, and I do not trust you."

Nymare cowered to the edge of her pond, arms raised in submission.

"I was just doing what I was told."

"You endangered my friend!" Zyra snapped. "You nearly drowned him."

Nymare whinnied, a strange sound coming from her humanoid form.

"Well...yes. I am a Selkie. I drown things."

Zyra snarled and the Selkie winced bowing her head.

"Keromedio, I would no sooner harm you or your followers than I would my own self. Things are different now. You are different now. You are one of us."

Zyra spat on the ground with rage. "I am the daughter of a Rovian Chieftess, and a brave Ursie male. No foul additions can change the manner of my birth. I am nothing like you!"

"Yes, I suppose violence is not in your nature." Nymare swam in a circle, her body gliding through. "Not as it is in my nature...but somehow your moral code seems to neglect such things. Such a high standard." She batted her long lashes playfully. "Or did you forget that code when you wandered into a nymph's den?"

Zyra flushed, feeling the Selkie's eyes wander over her form. She resisted the urge to hug herself.

"So you do spy upon me?"

"I spy on the nymphs," Nymare corrected. "I like to know where they are."

"Why?"

Nymare didn't answer, her face twisting. To her surprise Zyra saw disdain.

"You dislike them? Are you not kindred—"

"No," the Selkie snapped. "We are water beings just as you humans are earth beings. We come from the same creator, but we are not the same."

"I see." Zyra smirked, lowering her sword.

Finally someone who understood reason, a murderous water horse. "I'm guessing you do not like their nature any more than I like yours."

"It was amusing at first," Nymare said tiredly. "But one can only tolerate being ravished over and over for nothing at my age! Going to pick a flower, ravished. Going for a bath, ravished! And you know how they sense arousal. I am a water spirit! Whether I want it or not I am always wet. How can I dispute them when I always give the invitation?"

"What is the invitation exactly?"

Nymare shook her head. "Who knows? Each nymph can sense arousal to a different degree. For some they require to taste it in the air. Others can sense vibrations in the air, and merely a wince or a shiver going down your spine is enough. The wild ones on the edges require nothing at all. I have yet to know what sets them off."

Zyra nodded. For reasons unknown to her, she sheathed her sword. It was nice, to talk to a woman who wasn't trying to mother her, or hated her, or wanted her, even if she had tried to kill a close friend.

Zyra sighed, running a hand through her short, thick, hair. "So I'm guessing that you're wearing a bag of bones from someone you drowned?"

Nymare scoffed and pouted, twisting her neck with a crack as she slid back into the water. When she emerged her skin was its deathly pale blue and her cruel lips were grey.

"I suppose my true form isn't as pretty as your young nubile flesh, but it serves its purpose. I have not worn a skin of a victim in centuries! The form I assume was earned through extensive study. I assure you that in each

form I have no end to my suitors. Something we share no?"

Zyra stiffened. "You know why I'm here right? The boy. Where is he?"