Talla's Fallen Temple Ch. 30

"They won't do it for long," Shanata promised. "They can't. It doesn't make sense to tire yourself out the day before you're expecting battle."

"So why do it at all?"

Shanata straightened, her eyes focusing on a horizon not visible to Talla, buried as she was in a sea of leathered shoulders, and spoke with a formal reverence tinged vaguely with enthusiasm.

"To prepare their minds. To recall their training and reacquaint themselves with the idea of working in perfect synchronization with their comrades. To remind their bodies of the strength at their command."

"You really think Beshenna will be that bad?"

"Indeed, I do."

At that moment, Zhair'lo came through.

'They say Beshenna is terrible.'

'That's the consensus,' Talla answered.

'Do you believe it?'

'How could they lie, Zhai? Won't we know when we get there?'

'Depends who they're fighting.'

Zhair'lo laid out, in images and words, his thoughts on what they might find in Beshenna.

'How do you plan to escape?'

'There's no plan,' Zhair'lo imbued his thoughts with as much confidence as he could manage, 'I look for the moment of greatest confusion and make a break for it. My squad might come with me. I don't know.'

'What? Why would they do that?'

'They think I'm going to die ... that somehow giving the Goddess the magic is going to be the end of me.'

'Shanata seems worried about that, too,' Talla's cynicism came through clearly. After all the double upgrades he'd done, her confidence in Zhair'lo had strengthened to the point where she dismissed such concerns out of hand. Nothing to do with the Temple's magic could kill her man that easily.

'I feel better today,' Zhair'lo pointed out. 'I didn't fight so hard last night. I'll do the same tonight. I might have enough strength to make a run for it tomorrow.'

'Can you warn your squad?'

'Not right now,' Zhair'lo showed her an image of his the space around his wagon, packed shoulder to shoulder with armoured Fighters. 'Maybe later.'

Talla gave him a mental nod and felt the contact break as some distraction took Zhair'lo away.

-----------===================-------------

"Zhai!"

Zhair'lo shook off the mental link as he recognized the voice cutting through the creak of the wagon wheels and the sounds of hundreds of marching feet.

"Kenji?"

"Thought I'd come to see you myself," the Hunter regained his quiet composure. "You seem to be doing well."

Kenji gave a suspicious once over of his wagon and the luxury it implied. For his former mentor, Zhair'lo supposed, this constituted humour.

"It's not his choice," Tara protested.

"One is aware, young Fighter," Kenji nearly smiled.

"What are you doing here?" Zhair'lo tried to remember if Kenji had ever alluded to being a Fighter.

"Hunting."

"Hunting?"

"You think the meat in your porridge appears there by magic?" Kenji asked. "We left ahead of the army when the bell sounded. We've been catching and dressing meat for you people for the last few days."

"Oh. You're not going into Beshenna, then?"

"We'll be with you only to the last camp," Kenji raised a hand of caution. "Hunters aren't Fighters. Not all of us, at least."

A strange pause occurred as their conversation halted. Given the marching speed of the army, brief pauses shouldn't have induced awkwardness, but this pause did.

"Zhai?" Kenji's voice became uncharacteristically casual.

"Kenji?"

"When the army breaks up from this ..." - Kenji waved his hand to encompass the hard, formal marching - "... make sure you get up and walk. Loosen things up, y'know?"

"Walk around?"

"Good for your health, after all," Kenji made very brief eye contact with Zhair'lo. "Take care."

As quickly as he'd come, he disappeared into the mob around him.

What, Zhair'lo wondered, had that been about? Had Kenji been concerned about the rumours of Zhair'lo's impending demise? That didn't line up with the look in the Hunter's eyes, though. Zhair'lo had nearly detected ... mischief. What strange trouble making did Kenji have in mind?

"That guy's weird," Tara noted as she sat on the back of wagon, preparing to hop off.

"Have you ever met a Hunter before?"

"Naw," she replied. "Most Hunters are too old for me to Serve yet."

"They're pretty much all like that."

"Oh," Tara shrugged before turning away. "Zia, you're up."

-----------===================-------------

When Zhair'lo estimated the sun had reached a bell before noon, a call came out from far ahead in the train of wagons.

"Fighters! Easy!"

The heavy marching boots softened their gait and the Fighters broke up. Though his wagon didn't slow, space suddenly opened up around it and he got a look at the well worn path as it streamed by. No question about it, the wagon masters had orders to drive their horses hard today.

Turning to Del, he spoke quickly, "I want to walk for a bit. See if my legs are any good. Maybe even jog, y'know?"

Zhair'lo saw a protest rise up into her throat, but it halted before it reached the sadness in her eyes, making a gesture very much like a hiccough.

He threw his legs over the side, making sure no one had time to object, and sat on the small ledge on the outside of the wagon's box. The ground moved past his feet in a steady blur. Looking back, he realized a stumble could actually end in a messy intersection with one of the wagon's wheels.

'No matter,' he chided himself. 'The wagon isn't going that fast.'

With a quick hop, he dismounted, found his feet and started walking. The pace felt too brisk at first, at least to legs far too accustomed to the laziness of transportation, but his body soon remembered its Fighter training. His heart slowed as he calmed down and took control of his breathing. He determined, this time, he would not faint.

'Behind you!' a voice hissed in his mind, giving him a bare moment of warning before the woman he hated came up to him.

"What are you doing!" Sonja shouted into his left ear. "Get back on your wagon."

A part of Zhair'lo wanted to shout back at her, to call her bluff, but he held himself in check. He needed to stay relaxed. Any burst of excitement now could wear him out and he needed to get his legs back.

"I need to move," he told her without turning his head. "Fresh air. Loosen up the muscles, y'know?"

"You are the sole purpose of this mission," she breathed in his ear. "If you -"

"If he falls," a welcome voice called out resolutely. "We'll pick him up."

It hadn't taken long for his squad to get from its rank in the marching order back to what they considered their proper place: his side. And for their loyalty, Zhair'lo once again thanked the gods. Bree had stepped in front of Sonja and, walking backwards, faced her down despite a head shorter.

"And if we have to," Tara stepped in beside Bree. "We'll get one of them Abundance women with her big milky titties to get him feeling better."

Sonja, finding herself solidly surrounded by seven angry Fighters, reared up and thrust her chest out. A burning ember of anger ignited in her eyes and Zhair'lo thought, just for a moment, she might strike Tara. With a slow blink and a compression of her lips, Sonja instead extinguished the fire inside herself and backed away.

"Your duty is to guard him," she reminded through clenched teeth, and let the trailing Fighters overtake her as she disappeared into their midst.

"What the fuck is with her?" Tara wondered aloud.

"I think she hates me," Zhair'lo waved his hand wearily as if it didn't matter. "She also thinks I'm stupid. A personal thing from a while ago. It probably galls her to have to protect me."

"No," Renzi scratched his head and turned to scan the crowd for Sonja. "That's not it. Something else -"

As much as they supported him when they vouched for his strength against Sonja, Zhair'lo noted how they also walked awkwardly close to him, a far more honest indication of their evaluation of his state.

"We're getting close to the city now," Bree explained from her position directly behind him. "Up at the front of the column, they're rotating which squads are out in front of the lead wagon."

"Why?" Zhair'lo asked over his shoulder.

"We don't know when we might get Enraged stragglers running out of the city. They've pulled the Rangers in a lot tighter now, so we won't get as much warning."

"You know all this?"

"We've all been briefed, of course," Z'rus chided him. "Everyone knows everything."

One of great axioms of their training stated clearly that every Soldier ought to know not just her place in the line of battle, but the overall strategy as well. That knowledge fortified her loyalty and buttressed her resolve. Even if an unexpected order came down the chain of command, a Soldier moved more quickly who both trusted her leaders and felt trusted by them.

Zhair'lo took a deep, invigorating breath and felt blood flowing smoothly into his legs at last.

"So what's the plan tonight, then?" he asked.

"Same as always," Bree pitched her voice flat, killing all emotion in it. "We pitch camp, but with a much larger watch than the previous nights. You do your ... thing ... with one of those women and in the morning-"

An awkward pause came, as if her voice failed her.

"... to Beshenna and battle," Kit put in, his voice colder somehow than Bree's. "We stick as close as we can to you and ... ah ... get you to the Goddess, no matter what."

Irony tainted his voice, and Zhair'lo still heard in Kit's undertones an offer of rebellion.

"If I'm careful tonight," Zhair'lo offered, "I should have enough energy to run tomorrow."

"Then we'll be running right next to you," Bree spat out, and six more voices murmured their assent.

Zhair'lo smiled and, through his link, he felt Talla smiling with him.

"Just make sure to take breaks," Kit muttered under his breath. "This much marching isn't even easy for us."

-----------===================-------------

Following Kit's advice, Zhair'lo managed to get his legs back. An aching desire to lie down told him his strength and endurance hadn't reached their old levels, but the ability to march with the army made him believe he could run if he needed to.

He began to believe he could survive this ordeal after all. Zhair'lo acknowledged that many of those around him expected him to die, and the continued eavesdropping carried out by his squad mates only enunciated the certainty of this belief throughout the higher ranking Soldiers in the army.

Even if Zhair'lo made a run for it and found safety amongst whatever rebels currently assaulted the Temple – assuming such rebels existed – what could he do with the magic in his body? Certainly, his efforts to restrain himself during his nightly ordeals granted him some respite, but he knew the endgame of that strategy. Strung up against a weakening dam, Zhair'lo could refrain from kicking and screaming to extend his time at the precipice, but a dam so poorly constructed would eventually break.

What became of him when the dam broke? Whether he shed the magic into a Goddess soaked with Synergist, another woman without the drug, or on the floor of his tent at night, he didn't imagine the consequences working out differently for him.

How could he clear his body without killing himself?

These thoughts swirled about him at the army marched toward Beshenna, and continued swirling right up until he walked into the colourful tent that night.

-----------===================-------------

Zhair'lo ducked under the doorway of blankets as a strange wave of incense hit his nostrils along with the faint smoke from the braziers.

"You look well," a soft voice spoke to him.

"Mistress?" he called out to the darkness.

"Call me Areese," the gentle roll of her drawl put him at ease. "Please."

His eyes adjusted quickly and he made out the form of a woman in blue sitting cross-legged in the centre of the large bed, her hands resting on her bare knees with the palms open and upward, her body managing a look of relaxed meditation even while she kept her spine straight.

"I've had a good day," he twisted his lips in sardonic response.

She smiled wearily, tilting her head slightly, an agreeably sarcastic gesture that told him she, too, had had more than enough of this journey.

"The other two were protecting you," Zhair'lo pointed out as he approached.

"With good reason," Areese replied. "I'm quite a bit older than they. It is likely this will be my last journey."

Zhair'lo peered at her carefully, wondering if he could detect some sign of her age, but nothing obvious caught his eyes, at least not in this light. What, he wondered, did old people look like anyway?

"You don't seem that old."

"I've seen enough to know flattery, young man," her eyes twinkled in the light of the braziers and he caught wisdom echoing from deep inside them. "Even if it's meant honestly."

He took a deep breath and reached for the goblets.

"What's the scent?" he asked. "You put something in the fire?"

"A small brass cup, resting on the coals," Areese nodded to one of the braziers. "A few drops of oil from the flowers that grew near the windows of my childhood bedroom."

"Lilac," Zhair'lo detected, sniffing the air tentatively as he rounded the bed. "And ..."

"Jasmine," Areese added. "And satsuma."

"Satsuma?"

"I wasn't born in Gern, Zhair'lo," she turned her head to watch him, even while her body maintained its mediational pose. "Satsuma is a fruit much like an orange, but it's ... not quite the same. Nothing brings back the memories of home quite like the real thing."

Zhair'lo sat on the edge of the bed beside her, offering the goblet.

"Does it grow here?"

"No, sadly," she took the silver goblet with both hands and let its base rest on the stretched fabric of her skirt. "And even getting the oil here is rather expensive."

"And you're using it today?"

"Yes," she featured him with a sad look. "I was saving it for a special occasion, and it may be that I'm running out of opportunities."

Zhair'lo waved his empty hand at the tent, "This is about as special as it gets for me."

"Indeed."

Areese paused briefly, looking thoughtfully at him, allowing him to notice the greyness in her eyes and the hint of an epicanthic fold that made him think of Yua.

"Come sit in front of me, so I can see you better," she nodded at a place on the bed.

Shrugging complacently even as he wondered at her unwillingness to move, Zhair'lo slipped along the blankets and sat cross legged facing her.

"Now we drink," she held out her goblet to him, still clasping it with both of her hands.

Imitating her pose, he clinked his silver cup against hers and drank it down.

"How long before you feel it, usually?" she handed him her empty goblet and he twisted around to deposit both cups on the small table.

"Not long," he sighed as he turned back to her.

"Good," she nodded. "I'd like you to remove my blouse."

"Now?"

She nodded again, cheerfully, and stretched her arms above her head, pulling her shoulderless blouse up to reveal the smooth flesh of her mid-riff.

Finding the blouse loose about her body, Zhair'lo placed his palms against her sides and slid them upwards, under the fabric, pushing it up over her head. Her breasts, heavy with upgrades, hung gentle and wide, stretched to exaggeration by her pose.

"Do you know how many Abundance upgrades I've had?" she asked when he'd laid the garment aside.

"May I?" he replied, gesturing toward her chest with his hands.

She nodded agreeably and he gently cupped her breasts, palms underneath at first, then sliding over her nipples as he lifted and pushed.

"Six, maybe seven," he guessed, feeling his blood rush to his loins. "Four in Point, I think, too."

"Very good," she lowered her arms as her eyes widened in admiration. "You have some experience."

"I've done a lot of upgrades. Mostly Virgins, but ..." he trailed off, losing his train of thought.

"But you've learned much from the Sources," Areese peered at him carefully and folded her arms under her breasts. "I bet you could tell me the clothing of every rank the Temple has, couldn't you?"

Zhair'lo tilted his head in weary acknowledgement, blinking away the first bleary waves of dizziness the potion thrust upon him.

Moving gingerly, Areese stood up to tower over him.

"The skirt, Zhair'lo," she prodded, bending her right knee over toward her left.

"Yes, Mistress," he sighed and unlaced the sides of her skirt.

Silky soft, the garment flowed out of his fingers and down her thighs to rest in neat circle around her feet.

"Do you know how to count these upgrades?" she spread her legs just enough to give him a view.

"Pussy?" he asked. "I don't know. Maybe nine or ten? It's usually so dark when I do upgrades, and it's not right in my face."

"Nine, of course," she said, and used her fingers to push her hair aside and open her lips to him. Pink folds and puffy reds blossomed before him. "And inside?"

"Must be ten," he murmured, feeling his grip on reality begin to slip away to the potion's effects. "You're a Second, aren't you?"

"Smart boy," she complimented him. "Now you stand."

A part of him wanted to rebel only for the sake of it, but belligerence would get him nowhere tonight. His goals, entrenched in his brain, required him to save all the energy he could. Obediently, he stood and Areese began to undress him.

She took his shirt first, and gently squeezed and caressed the muscles of his shoulders and neck before working her way down his chest to his abs. Kneeling, she unlaced his shorts and gently worked them around his burgeoning erection.

"Well, well," she admired. "You certainly are ready."

"The potion does ..."

Zhair'lo failed to finish his sentence when Areese interrupted him by suddenly thrusting her open mouth over his manhood. Her tongue slithered quickly underneath, sliding along the sensitive bit of skin exposed by the stretching of his glans out of its sheath.

He exhaled spastically as she continued to thrust her mouth at him, stroking that tender bit of his penis with the wide back of her tongue.

'Pointless,' he thought, agonized by the pleasure. 'She knows I can't come.'

"Why?"

"Hm?" she murmured around the enlarging mouthful of manhood.

"There's no reason ... for ... this," he panted, willing himself not to react.

Areese slid back and looked up into his eyes with an impish smile on her face.

"I need you wet, for one thing," she pointed out.

"And for another?" he heaved a sigh of relief.

"It pleases me."

She seized him again, and this time set herself to swirl her tongue around the head of his shaft, slathering it with her saliva.

"Nine hells," he muttered aloud, and placed his hands on her head.

Areese moaned her approval and pushed forward until he felt his manhood bump up against the back of her mouth. She backed off and looked up at him expectantly.

What, he wondered, did this woman want from him?

As he looked down at her in confusion, she pulled completely off his erection but left her mouth yawning wide open. She batted her eyelashes, managed a playful pout for a moment before opening her mouth again.

'Oh,' he thought. 'One of those.'

The talk of Areese's age had fooled him, and he'd somehow assumed that certain kinds of sexual play were the province of the young. How he'd come to that conclusion, he'd have to decipher later. For now, he knew what Areese wanted.

With both his hands on the back of her head, he pulled Areese onto his erection. She'd gone out of her way to show him exactly how far she could take it and Zhair'lo understood these sorts of games from numerous encounters with those few unsealed Virgins who had viewed him as some kind of superhero. What difference but age lay between Areese's desires and Mindi's fantasies of being ravaged by the Fighter of her dreams?