The Song of Roland Ch. 21

Kelsea continued to walk, making a circuitous path clockwise around the outer wall, searching for nothing save peace of mind. The next church was far smaller, not 'built' of anything so much as 'grown.' The overturned trunk of a massive, hollowed redwood formed a deep defile within which dwelled a multitude of growing things, the brush so thick that the other end could not be seen. The floor was made of grass, the ceiling a nest of downward facing flowers, wild and untamed. This was the domain of Tilear and Tolara, the twin Gods of the Elves and oldest deities of the so-called 'civilized' species. As Kelsea passed, the verdant foliage within wobbled. It sent a strange sensation through her stomach, and she felt a similar stirring within her. The sickness inflicted on her by the silent rider twinged again.

Beyond the Elven sanctuary, she crossed the narrow path that separated the previous churches from the two northern ones. Ignoring the growing chorus of sobs arising from the center of town, Kelsea approached the strangest of the shrines she had yet encountered.

It was completely different from the previous places of worship. Instead of some sturdy structure, it was merely a long, angular canvas a dozen feet wide and long, held up by a series of small wooden poles that perforated the roof. The tarp was only good for keeping the rain out, and little else. Inside the strange structure were laid a large assortment of wounded Guardsmen and villagers, stretched across mats and leaning against the poles. Spotting a familiar face amongst the groaning bodies, Kelsea picked her way through, lifting the hem of her floor-length robe to keep from tripping across them. As she stepped, she felt a sudden, swift breeze roll across her face. Blinking in surprise, she looked around. The air was still again.

Almyra sat near the very center of the building, slumped against a chair, huddled before a woman whose glazed expression and shivering body told the story of her own ordeal. No wounds were upon her - physical, anyway. But Kelsea could see what kind of pain she had suffered. The experience was all-too familiar to her.

The injured woman had been laid out on the ground near the middle, in a well trod place that had been worn free of grass, as if someone had paced back and forth across it over and over. Almyra glanced up when Kelsea approached, seeming to sense her in a preternatural way, not dissimilar to Roland in these latter days. The Priestess' eyes affixed to her, staring for a long moment before gesturing at Kelsea to join her.

"Come." She said, her voice hoarse and croaking. "Sit. Speak with me for a time. I have need of counsel."

"I'm... not much of a councilor." Kelsea murmured, taking a seat at the Priestess' feet. Her eyes trailed slowly across the unconscious woman's haggard form.

"No matter." Almyra replied, tilting her head skyward and closing her eyes for a long moment. "I don't seem to be much of a Priestess, either. I could not defend myself, nor my flock from that..." Her voice lowered with heavy malice. "That beast." The Priestess' copper eyes locked to Kelsea. "I have you to thank, for my life."

"And I, you." The Demon replied, shifting uneasily in place. She was unused to compliments, even as a mortal such simple pleasantries had been an uncommon experience for her. "You and your people have suffered through so much, m'lady."

Almyra scoffed. "What sweet, honeyed words you let slip through your mouth; I cannot believe that I've lived to hear them, from one such as you." The Priestess blinked, a long, slow motion that betrayed her absolute exhaustion. There were dark circles around her eyes. Her dignified head drooped, and she balanced her forehead in her hand, leaning against it as her shoulders slumped.

"You didn't sleep." Kelsea said.

"I haven't slept in three days." Almyra replied. "Tonight was the worst, though. I doubt I'll find the strength to withstand a fourth."

Almyra's eyes rose, though her head didn't. She took in the sight of the assembled wounded. "I have tried to heal those I could, and ease the passing of those I couldn't. They whisper my name and our God in the same sentence, as though I were something of equal worth." She shook in place, "We have lost so many friends, Kelsea. So many brothers and sisters we will never see again. All for the sake of a jilted Goddess and her ill-begotten children." Kelsea swallowed heavily.

"I do not know if anything you've said to me is genuine. Perhaps you are playing some long, twisted game with me, as your kind is often wont to do." Almyra reached out, taking Kelsea's hand in hers and squeezing it. "But right now, I do not care. You saved me, when you could have easily joined your fellow's butchery. I have been unkind to you and your companions, but no longer. When you find the time, bring Roland to me. I will bind his wounds."

"Thank you, m'lady." Kelsea said, taken aback at her words. Almyra allowed a small smile to grace her lips.

"Almyra." She said. "My friends called me Almy when I was a girl, before I joined the Priesthood."

"Almy." Kelsea said, trying the overly familiar name on her tongue. Almyra's smile widened.

"A good start." Almyra said. Kelsea could feel the woman's heartbeat quicken through the touch of her fingers. She forced the feeling down as deep as she could, though the obscene urge remained.

"Carl has been wounded. Badly." She said. "I sent the Harpy away with him... but I haven't seen either since."

"When they return, I will minister to him." Almyra said, her body relaxing in Kelsea's presence. "He has bled for our people, and we will not forget it." She sighed, "So many of us have died. So many of us-" The Priestess paused, slumping into her chair. "Gosvin give me strength, I can't believe she's gone."

"Who?" Kelsea asked.

"The old crone. Emilde. This is her church, you know." Almyra weakly lifted a hand and gestured about her at the makeshift hospital. "Church of Blessed Sphanor, lady of the eight winds and bearer of the heavens across the eternal sky."

Almyra smiled. "Not a proper divine for a Human to worship, yet she did so anyway. Emilde was always an odd bird. When our community first began to come together, we had no Godsman to worship the Wind Goddess. How could we? Her people dwell in the highest reaches, far and away from the petty concerns of the earth below. Emilde swept down upon us on a gust of wind. She launched into a ten-word sermon and then leapt into the sky again, blowing her robe up and giving the startled parishioners a gander at her bare, wrinkly legs." Almyra giggled at the memory, her tired eyes betraying a light of wistful fancy.

"I never learned where she came from, or how she found us. But she was a Godsend." There was a fluttering in the air, and the tarp above them rippled with the rolling waves of wind. "She told me this place was a channel to the afterlife. Every gust was a whisper from a passed parent, a lost love, an old friend." Almyra's grin bled away. "Had I the strength to weep, I'd sob for hours. As it is I just feel... empty."

She glanced over at the assorted buildings lining the Inner Cloister's walls, her eyes bearing something in them that gave Kelsea pause. "Another Priest lost. Another church to barricade and leave barren, and empty. There used to be seven of us. Now there are four. The Gods do not care much for prayer, it would seem."

"Perhaps we simply haven't been saying the right words." Kelsea whispered, mirroring an old thought she'd had while trapped in Grevich's cave. Almyra looked down at her. There was a small twinge in the Demon's gut as she felt another urge arise.

"You are not at all what I expected you to be, Kelsea." She said softly.

"Would you... allow me to pray with you, Almyra?" Kelsea asked, her voice quavering as the weight of her existence seemed to press down hard upon her. "I must confess: you are a great comfort to me."

Almyra smiled. "Another time. I still have many wounded to tend to, and my own flock has need of a strong voice to hold onto hope. There is still much to do, and we are not free from the Demon's grasp quite yet." Seeing the chastened look that fell upon her unlikely companion's face, she reached out and brazenly cupped Kelsea's cheek, turning it to her. "But yes: I will pray with you, sister. And I deeply look forward to the opportunity."

She leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Kelsea could feel the Priestess' full lips plump and press against her. It sent a nervous shiver down her spine.

* * *

Roland lay in the darkness of the huddled masses of villagers, his breath steady and his eyes closed. He was curled up in his bedroll, his body relaxed and his mind at ease for the first time in what seemed like months. He heard the breathing of those around, the muted groans of dreaming minds collected together in search of warmth, and safety. It had been a long time since he'd crowded this close to so many others, not since his time in the military on campaign. And these were far more comfortable accomodations.

He felt something approaching, though the footsteps were beyond his hearing. The soft pads came closer, like rippling echoes on a glassy lake. She could no longer sneak up on him, like she used to.

Her very presence inflamed his senses and set his heart to beating. Roland's tongue swelled in his mouth at her approach, his hips tilted as he adjusted his weight to accommodate the awkward swell of his crotch that came from the merest hint of her. He could not see her, nor hear her, nor smell her. Yet it was as if she was in his arms already. Roland trembled.

A figure sidled up behind him. Slender fingers slid between the gaps of his arms on either side and wrapped him in a tight hug. Her breasts, bare beneath the bedroll, pressed firmly against his naked back. Roland could feel the teasing trail of her nipples to his, the soft cushion leaning into him as he felt a woman's breath tickle the back of his ear.

"Roland." She said. He always marveled at the way she said it, in a way no other had ever uttered before. Not his mother, nor his father, nor his estranged siblings. Even Callie's voice had lacked that single, unifying tone that made him blush as cold tingles whisked down his spine.

"Aye." He whispered back, struggling to keep his composure. His eyes opened, and he stared at the piled assortment of persons lying all around. He needed her so badly, but-

"...Can't sleep?" She asked.

"I'm trying to." He grunted. Her hellishly warm hands reached up, cupping his chest and rubbing against his sternum; Roland's blush deepened. It was far into the night, near everyone was asleep; the Gods only knew what she had been doing up to this point.

She let out a low hum. "You're doing a poor job of it, love." One hand reached up and rubbed against his shoulder, the other trailed downwards. He groaned when she reached her illicit destination.

"I won't be able to if you don't- nnh!" He gasped as her fingers clenched about his growing manhood. She chuckled.

"Shh, Roland. Calm yourself, take a breath."

He did as he was bid. The air coaxed out from his lungs and back in again as he felt his side tremor. She was so close to him. Her breath a soft breeze upon his skin.

"Look at me."

Roland turned over, his eyes alighting upon her. Kelsea: the blue eyed, shy-faced girl he had been utterly overthrown by. Her innocent smile held to her face, in perfect accordance with her youthful visage. The short, cropped locks of her hair hid her face in places, though Roland could still see the rosy blush that she bore. When their eyes met, her smile deepened, her free hand reaching up to cup his cheek. She was so beautiful.

I need you. Roland's cultivated expression nearly broke. He wanted to fall into her arms, to hold her to him and beg to be near her forever. His very sanity was at stake, the last lingering bits of his will bade him to pull away from her. He was not himself; he could feel the tug against his mind as she drew her deeper and deeper into her psychosis.

Kelsea let out a heavy breath: trembling, joyous, half-laughing. There was a deep look in her eyes. "I didn't think we'd..." The hand at his crotch began to pump him faster than before. "I'm so glad you're safe. When you left me with Almy, I thought..." He didn't respond. He couldn't, lest the dam break loose and he cast aside all subtlety for her wondrous touch.

"I've had a pang in my stomach all day." Kelsea joked, her smile turning into an enticing grin. "Do you think you can help?"

She was already pulling to him, her leg reaching about his person as she pulled tight to his body. Kelsea buried her head in his chest, her hair so soft that he found himself running a hand through it. She sighed at the touch, pulling his erect penis through the gap of her thighs and hard against her opening. Kelsea had grown so accustomed to his entry that she managed to angle him perfectly into her on the first attempt. Her warm, soothing insides surrounded and suffused Roland, his hips thrusting forward subconsciously in a manic attempt to feel more of her.

"Mmh!" Kelsea gasped, biting her lip to stifle her moans. Her eyes flicked up at him and the corners of her lips curled. She hadn't disliked the sudden intrusion.

Slower. He heard a voice in his head say. Go a little slower.

Roland listened, drawing back from her like a dagger from its heavenly sheath. More in control of her own actions than her lover, Kelsea ran her hands up and down his chest. It was a silent acknowledgement of his success at following orders. She kissed him, her lips pressing to his own as her felt her tongue lick him, tasting his essence. He slid into her deepest place, and she gasped in his mouth.

You're inside me. The voice said, marvelling at the truth of it. Gods, I can feel every bit of you.

Kelsea pushed back, locking her hips to his as she began to grind and pump against him. Roland held her by her hips, rocking in place as the lithe Succubus clenched against his penis. Her walls were tight, rippling and inhumanly warm. She kissed him again, her fingers running through his hair and toying with his beard. Roland's hands slipped lower, clutching at her bounteous rear in a vain attempt to take possession of something that owned him down to his very soul.

"Haah." He breathed, his voice feckless and tremulous. He could barely contain himself. Every time she thrust against him he felt a wave of pleasure across the whole of his body. It was not even a mere physical euphoria; the sensations themselves were at best a secondary feeling. It was the knowing that it was her, that he was making love to her. The very comprehension of his companion in the intercourse, made his body shiver and his cock thicken to an iron-rod's consistency.

He hit a weak spot, and she whimpered. There. The voice said. Go there again!

He went there again, and she clung to his arms for support. Heedless of where she touched him, the took him by the shoulder, where the other Succubus had slammed him into a wall. He hissed in pain as she grappled at the large, purple bruise. Kelsea's hand leapt away from him like he was on fire. She stopped her methodical mating, turning her head this way and that, for fear that someone nearby might have heard them.

"Roland, I'm-"

"Shh." He murmured, "I know. Don't stop."

"Here." She said, gently pushing him flat onto his back. With him still in her, she repositioned herself atop him, straddling his body as the bedroll covered them both. Her hair trailed down her face as she looked at him, hips lifted so that his penis was mostly outside of her quivering snatch. Another small smile spread across her face, coated with the heat of arousal. "Is that better?"

She didn't wait for an answer to the redundant question. Instead, Kelsea sank down upon him, lowering onto his hips as she took the whole of him inside of her. She bottomed out, rolling her waist about in slow motions as he felt her rear tickle his legs. The Succubus leaned forward, draping herself atop him and clutching to his chest again. She licked the sweat that built upon his chest, and he in turn ran a hand up along the curve of her spine.

They moved together, his erection inundating her insides, and her vaginal walls in turn milking him so tight that he felt like he might burst. She didn't let him though, her growing pace revealing to him her long-term intent for the experience. They mated for several minutes, moving to the slow tune of one another's breaths. Roland kissed the top of her head as she rested it upon him. She lifted it, matching eyes before once again meeting his lips in silent affection. She was upon him: laid across the whole of his form like a living, heated blanket. He felt her toes tickling the outside edges of his heels, her legs laid out on either side of him as she spread her own wide enough to oblige his thrusts.

He couldn't stop touching her. Even as her slow, steady thrusts began to quicken and their breaths caught in each other's throats he had to feel more of her, to hold and possess her. She let him; she always let him do it. Yet somehow, she was still the one in command. Her last, muffled moan slid along his tongue as her eyes clenched and she squealed out a short orgasm. At the same moment, Roland came, his chest heaving as he struggled to make no noise, even as he filled Kelsea with his seed. His cock pulsed, his testicles twitched, and one again he was erupting within her, feeding her and continuing the cycle of sexual assimilation.

You're marvelous, Roland. The voice said in his mind. Never stop.

Heeding the words that crawled about his brain, he began again, wondering to himself if any of his godly neighbors would hear or notice.

* * *

Days passed, but there was no sign of Carl, nor the Harpy. The Inner Cloister remained packed with the parishioners in the aftermath of the battle, the ruined walls of the Outer Cloister providing no safety from the monsters that dwelled in the night. The assorted Guards split into groups, moving with methodical care from house to house in an attempt to identify and annihilate any lingering stragglers of the Demonic attack.

Many had been injured, or killed. The town, which had already suffered much in the past weeks of siege, had now been cut to a fraction of its original size. Worse than the injured, however, were the afflicted: those who had been taken by the Demons, but abused, rather than slain. It took days of restful care to dislodge them from their manic stupor, and even then they emerged from the harrowing experience much changed: quieter, more brooding. Many lost their taste for physical affection, preferring solitude to the comfort of their loved ones. Roland had seen it before.

After mourning for their lost loved ones, the Cultists buried their dead. Presiding over the mass-funeral inside the graveyard, Bogdan managed to strike a surprisingly sympathetic tone. His voice was strong and comforting, reminding the townsfolk of the inevitability and peace of the beyond. Those they had lost were not gone, merely passed on to a place that they would someday all follow.

"Weep not for the dead." He whispered in a voice that carried through the rolling eaves. "For they sleep now in Horax's domain. Think now to your own well-being, for it is only the living who feel such sorrow, such pain, such loss." His odd words seemed almost comforting to the melancholy congregation.

Last of all to be buried was Emilde, the brave old woman who had spared Roland's life in the early hours of the fighting. He watched with grave solemnity as Almyra spoke a few words, her voice cracking and lost upon the wind as the brave facade she tried to bear broke. She became, for a few moments, just a tired woman who missed a friend. Roland's cheek tightened as the Priestess rubbed at her eyes, sniffling to herself as the rest of her flock looked on, equally moved.