Yrba's Travels Pt. 11

Yrba swiveled around again.

"Back to you, Mirca, goddess. What did I tell you about your breasts? You need to practice more! You need to get a better hold of yourself. Delaying a burst? De-lay-ing? Please! You've been doing much better than that before you got all flabby-titted and lazy! Have you not learned a thing from me?"

"Yrba, please, I really wanted to, but — but it all happened so fast."

"Tell that to poor Yolanda!" she hissed, nodding towards the gently wobbling, snoring ball right by their side. "Do you know what would've happened if I came here too late? If my bedroom had been just a few dozen yards further away? You'd be scraping minced Yolanda off your tits, airhead! I've seen what a sword to the belly can do, and it ain't pretty, but your hooters are much—"

"Oh please, stop! I — I didn't want to —," Mirca wailed, tears running down her face. Yrba went on, screaming over the blonde's interjection, "Now imagine what she'd look like, ripped apart from the inside! Bones and entrails all ar—"

"Silence! What is this—"

Carwon came running into the room, bleary-eyed, wearing but a nightgown tied with a girdle around his waist. He startled for a moment and stopped in his tracks, but held his composure pretty well in the face of the abomination that wobbled in the room. In fact, his voice was stern and chilly as he turned to the witch.

"That's enough. I heard you screaming from the far end of the hall. You're forgetting your place. Friend or not, you're upsetting the goddess."

Mirca gave him a thankful glance from teary eyes.

"Yeah, goddess my ass!" Yrba exclaimed, standing akimbo with her fists half-raised.

The whole room gasped. Carwon's face went wooden.

"I must ask you to leave now. We gave you a lot of leeway, but we will not tolerate such insolence!"

"Mirca, tell this buffoon —"

The blonde clung to the vizier who had put a soothing arm around her shaking shoulders.

"Go. Just — go," she cried, her face buried in his gown.

Carwon cocked his head and nodded mutely towards the door. Yrba lowered her eyes and gritted her teeth. Then she exhaled in a heavy sigh and turned on the spot. She stamped down the hallway, her body ramrod straight, while the servants cast confused and hostile glances after her.

~

Back in the privacy of her room, Yrba sat down heavily on her bed and stooped, clutching her arms to her body. She slowly opened her fists while her face contorted in pain. Both of her palms and the insides of the fingers were raw and bleeding. She panted as she reached for the little bottles by the side of her bed. The vial slipped from her trembling hands and landed on the thick rug in front of the bed. Crimson smears now covered the glass tube.

"Here, let me lend you a hand."

She startled and looked up. Carwon had entered the room without her even noticing.

"What do you want?" she snarled as tears stung in the corners of her eyes. "Can't you see I'm busy? I'm not in the mood for your preachings! Or is it coming down to threats and lies again?"

"You're bleeding. Oh my. The magic you had to force too fast, right? I've heard stories about that." He stooped and picked up the small container. "That's your medicine? Want me to open the bottle for you? — There. Gods, I'm so sorry for what just happened. It's not easy, running this shire. All this acting and grandstanding, but it's all I'm good at—"

He bit his lips and turned his head. His hands, the smooth hands of a man who never had to do hard work, uncorked the vial and poured thin lines of the viscid lotion into Yrba's cupped palms. Then he proceeded to gently rub the liquid into Yrba's hands. She sighed as the numbing effect took the worst the pain away.

"So do you think she's a goddess, or what?" the witch inquired.

He snorted. "Mirca? Heavens, no! She's a beauty, and a genuinely nice girl. But a goddess? Well, in a way. She gives my subjects something to admire. She gives them hope. That's more than I ever managed to do. So yes, though she may not be a goddess by nature, she's one by function. We're a small, poor shire, but at least with her around, my people can look up to something."

"Small? Poor?" She ostensively glanced around the guest room. Yrba had seen whole farms smaller than it.

"The palace? Inherited, that's all. This used to be one of the old Empire's outposts. We're lucky that it's easy to maintain. Half of it is just a dusty old barn these days. Of course we don't lead our visitors through these parts. And sure as hell we couldn't afford to build a palace, these days."

He turned to her and looked her in the face, all the while gently massaging her aching hands. "Yrba, there is much more of the divine in you. I didn't want to come between you two. It's just that I was looking for a — a symbol for my people. I needed something that promised abundance and maternal love." He smiled. "You can't deny that she fits the bill quite well."

"Lots of women do. Why did you pick her? How could your guards even know—"

"I've learned about the 'Tincture for the discerning Madame' you're selling."

Yrba's forehead wrinkled. He hastily added, "Don't worry. Few do know about it, and those who buy it don't usually tell. Anyway, I noticed how one of the old, dark mirrors would show the boobs of any woman who ever used it, glowing in bright light even through their clothes. I shattered the glass and passed pieces of it around to the guards at the gates. I hoped for a really stacked woman to show a little public growth on a couple of holy days. I honestly didn't think I'd hit the mother lode."

The lotion had soaked into her skin, yet he was still holding her hands. Yrba eyed him, frowning.

"You're a strange man, Carwon. There's a lot to you that doesn't meet the eye."

"You haven't seen half of it." He looked down and sighed. "How long will it take to heal?"

"Couple o' days. I've been worse," she shrugged.

He put his warm hand on her shoulder.

"I'll give order for one of the girls to stay by your side, day and night, to be your hands. Give your real ones some rest. Mirca's all worked up and in tears over that — that — I don't know what to call it. It might've turned out to be a horrible accident, but you managed to turn it into a blooper instead. Thank heavens you were around."

He hesitated.

"Yrba, something like that has happened once before, a few weeks ago."

His hand disappeared into a pocket, and he pulled out a corked vial. Yrba frowned more and more while Carwon continued.

"This is what I've suggested to her. It's a recipe from the ancient tomes. The scriptures said, it would keep these bursts away. I — did I do something wrong? You're a witch, you surely know —"

Slap.

Yrba howled in pain and stooped over her aching hand. Her reflexes had gotten the better of her, once again.

"Yrba, I didn't mean —," he stammered, wiping blood and salve from his burning cheek.

"You're no wizard, are you?" she groaned through clenched teeth and shot flaming stares at him from under her eyebrows.

"No, I — I only read about it, and the recipe seemed simple enough —"

"You've got no business messing with these things. Could've gotten everyone killed, you jackass. Now hold it in front of my face, you fool." She pinched her eyes. "That's what you gave her? The very same recipe?"

"Yes, a drop a day. Why? Oh gods, Yrba, tell me, what have I done? Was it — too little?"

"I guess it was nothing. Tell me the ingredients."

He did.

"Nothing else? No special cup to stir it in or something?"

"No. No, just —"

She laughed. "Well, could've been worse. You cooked up a nice herbal spice mixture, that's all. Won't do any good for her troubles, but at least it won't do any harm, either. Unless you rely on it, because it just won't work."

He gulped.

"Won't work?"

"Either she can hold it in by herself, or she can't. It won't matter what kind of weed juice she swallows. At least it might boost her confidence, and that goes a long way. And that stuff might taste great on a salad."

"Well, I better go then and calm her. And I'll see to it none of the other maids tries something that stupid again. Best if you keep Mirca at a distance until your palms are better. She'd break into tears each time she sees your chafed hands."

Yrba nodded. "Yes, that's her all right. Oh, do me a favor and please don't pick one of those mindless chatterboxes as my maid. I'd have to strangle her after an hour, and that'd be murder on my hands."

He laughed.

"How punny. Can do. Promise me you won't corrupt your maid's brain too much with your heathen blasphemies?"

She held her deadpan expression for a few seconds longer before a twitch in the corner of her mouth started. She lowered her head and chuckled along.

"I'll try not to instill feelings of revolution, all right."

"Good, because that's the viziers' job anyway."

"And seeing how you're your own vizier..."

"I never said it's an easy job."

He put his forefinger on his pouted lips and winked at her. She replied by slipping thumb and forefinger along her mouth, though she cringed a bit as she bent her hand.

He turned to go but stopped at the door frame.

"Yrba — I'm sorry that I chased you from the palace on the first night. I didn't know if I could trust you, and I had to be cautious. I didn't hate you then, and I don't hate you now. But I need to keep up my role with others around. I just want you to know that." Then he sneaked out the door and was gone.

Now that was entirely unexpected, she thought. It's all politics. Huh.

~

Chapter 60: Helping Hands

~

A knock on the door woke Yrba. She squirmed awake and lifted her head, blinking into the inky blackness of the bedroom that was only dotted by the faint halo of a single, flickering oil lamp on the far wall. The witch sighed. She just had managed to fall asleep and to forget about the constant itching and the numb, throbbing ache in her hands.

"Oh bugger me," she groaned, slumping back down on the bed. "Am I going to get any sleep on this cursed night?" Another quiet sigh, then she growled much louder, "All right, come on in."

The woman who cautiously entered the room seemed to be about the gypsy's age, or maybe a tad closer to the end of the thirties. She wore one of the ubiquitous white togas, wrapped tight around her average body. Her brunette hair was tied back and braided into a single, short pigtail. She was about half a head smaller than Yrba, and not quite as stocky.

The maid glanced over the room with a skeptical expression that disappeared the moment she saw the spread-eagled witch on the big bed, her curvy body barely covered by a nightgown that had opened and slipped down from the left half of her torso. The woman stepped up, crossed her arms with flat hands over her chest, bowed to her and kept her head down as she straightened and addressed her new mistress.

"Milady, Carwon sends me. I'm to stay by your side for the time of your healing." And then she slapped her hands on her mouth and burst out, "Oh wow! You're a true Darkskin! Head to toe! I wasn't sure, I only heard stories — "

Her face shattered, and she averted her eyes. "— Oh, forgive me, milady, I didn't mean to be disrespectful —"

Yrba wearily raised her eyebrows.

"Yeah? You mind my tint?" she mumbled while she stretched her back and twisted slowly to coax her stiff and tired muscles into action.

"Milady, no, it's just — wow! That's so exciting! I'm so honored!"

Yrba laughed, and the woman twitched at the sudden bellowing noise.

"That'll pass, dear, once you've wiped my butt for the first time. An advance sorry for that." She raised her bruised and bloodstained palms. "I'm a bit lacking in the hands department right now, so you'll have to lend me your fingers for some icky things."

The woman shrugged. "I know. I don't mind that, milady. The last months of the previous goddess weren't pretty, either. She was very old and had — troubles."

"Yes, we better leave it at that. You surely got a name?"

The servant raised her head and smiled, though her face's open and friendly expression was tainted with a little sadness.

"Choose one that pleases your ear, milady. I will learn to heed to it."

Yrba struggled up to her elbows, carefully avoiding to use her hands. She looked long and hard at the woman.

"Your real one," she finally replied. "How bad can it be? And lay off the milady. It's Yrba, nothing else."

"Patra," mumbled the woman, with a quirky pronunciation.

"Pak—chra? What kind of name is this?"

"No, it's Pat, and then you roll the ra in you throat, milady"

"You're not making this any easier, you know?" Yrba winked. "Oh well, Pat'chra it is, then. Patra, come here and tie my gown, it's getting chilly in here."

The woman eyed the witch's brown melons that hung only slightly flattened over the sides of her ribcage, their ample volume crowned by a pair of big, erect nipples in contracted, wrinkly areolae. Her fingers wrapped Yrba's naked body into the nightgown and tied a girdle around the thin silk. She bit her lips as her elbow accidentally brushed against the witch's weighty breasts.

"I'll say," she mumbled. "It's true what they all whisper. You do have the knowing of how to forever keep your abundance!" She gasped and averted her eyes. "Forgive me! I — I keep forgetting my place. I'm sorry, mil—mistress Yrba!"

Yrba chuckled, and the undulating motions of her breasts showed through the cloth. "Don't be. And, thank you. Let's finally get some rest now. Oh, and Patra — keep doing your job well, and I might show you that trick with the abundance." "Really? That would be awe—"

Patra blushed and fell silent. She hurried out of the room, with tiny, fast footsteps.

Yrba's eyes followed her until the door closed. The witch slumped back into the pillows and smiled as she closed her eyes. Soon afterwards, she was fast asleep.

~

Yrba jerked awake and winced at the sudden sting in her right palm. Opening one sleep-crusted eye after the other to the light of the new morning, she found she had rolled around and trapped one of her charred palms under her thigh. Groaning, she tried to free it without heaping any more strain on it. The rough crust of clotted blood had again split open in places, from the pressure alone. Her bed's sheet was soiled with dried bloodstains all over.

"Milady! Wait —"

Patra's arms suddenly were there, grabbed her leg and hip and rolled Yrba's naked body around. She moved with years of routine, and her arms had surprising strength. That, or the witch still felt the numbness of sleep in her bones. She looked at the damage done. Another day to add to the recovery, at least. Yrba ground her teeth.

"Splendid. Do I need to get tied up just to sleep? Fuck. Oh, and, Patra?"

"Milady?"

Yrba sighed resignedly. "I told you to not call me that all the time."

"Yes, milady."

"You'll keep on doing it anyway, I guess?"

"Yes, milady."

"What are you doing here?"

"Milady?!"

"I sleep. I utter one groan, and bam, you're by my side. Don't you have your own chamber or something?"

"Milady! I was ordered to your side, and of course I will be there! I am your very own personal servant, milady, and I will not leave you. You were asleep when I returned with the night candles, so I laid down on the rug by your bed."

She saw Yrba's face, and hastened to add, "It was comfortable, milady! I like the rug."

The witch shook her head. "Seems I've still got a lot to learn about that milady and servant stuff. Right, then." Her face screwed up. Another problem announced itself rather urgently. "Heavens, I really need to take a leak now. Come here, help me untangle this mess of covers and put me on my feet. There's still a privy down the hallway, isn't it?"

"Milady! You can't go and use a common outhouse like a servant! I'll fetch the bucket for you right away!" And she was off through the door.

"Bucket?!" Yrba called after her, in the half-whisper, half-scream so typical of someone confronted with an embarrassing fact. "What bucket?! Not that kind of b—? Hey! Am I a fuckin' bleacher's apprentice?!" She struggled with the twisted blankets that held her tied to the bed.

"Will you come back and just help me get out of these tangled sheets? Patra?! — Dammit!"

~

"Milady?"

"What now?!" barked Yrba and stopped squirming and wiggling on the wooden embarrassment. As much as she tried to spread her legs, she suspected that without fingers there was no way she'd be able to get her gap wide enough to get this over with without soiling herself, and she hated that thought.

"I might be of a certain help, milady," Patra replied meekly, talking to the wall. She stood with her head down, her hands folded in her lap and her back turned to the whole scene of humiliation, as Yrba had ordered her.

The witch sighed. "Oh, really? Can hardly get any worse, I guess. Well, then come and make yourself useful. Get the fountain out in the open."

And Patra did. The servant's cool fingers spread the witch wide. The woman had a sure touch and knew how to open the brown outer lips to lay bare the upper folds of Yrba's pink petals to the desired effect, and the gentle ministrations of a small, flower-perfume soaked towel afterwards left the witch feeling cleaner and fresher than even a dip in a chilly mountain stream.

"Patra, we will not use this bucket thing again. We will not even talk about it again!" Yrba sighed as her mortification waned. "I've burned my hands, nothing else. And I won't settle for wood when there are, ahem, marble thrones available, okay? I'm not bed-ridden!"

"Yes, milady."

"Good! So what do you suggest I do to pass the time?"

~

"Aaah," Yrba sighed happily and sunk into the heap of freshly fluffed pillows on the divan. Over the course of last three days, the first, thin layer of new skin had slowly made progress under the charred, red cracks in her flesh. Patra had just finished rubbing another coat of Yrba's home-brew healing lotion on the witch's palms. Now her servant returned from washing the sticky ooze off, and she brought a small dinner dish with pieces of bread along.

"Dinner, milady?" She offered one of the canapés. Yrba's head jerked forward. Her lips snagged it from Patra's fingers, and she raised her eyebrows to a questioning expression while she chewed.

"Oh will you ftop wiff fe milady already? What were you muttering just now?"

Patra hesitated. "I — uh ..."

"Come on, out with it! Can't be that bad."

"Open up wiiiiide — mmh, yes, that's a good witch ... milady."

Yrba smiled. "Heh. Cute." Her voice rose to a squeaky falsetto. "Witch wanna more. Wanna munchy. See? I don't mind goofing around. No worries."

After a few moments, Patra chuckled and kept on spoon-feeding her mistress. While she chewed, Yrba inquired, "Now, tell me a little more about your master."

"Master, milady?"

"Carwon."

"That twerp is not my master," Patra spat out.

"Oh? Bad experiences?" Yrba raised an eyebrow. "You can tell me everything, if it makes you feel better. Uh, and let me try that one over there with the cheese and the grape next."

Patra shook her head. "No, no bad things, milady. He's doing a pretty good job. But — he's just a damned thespian. You haven't noticed, milady? He's always playing the obnoxious, zealous priest, but he's not that good at it. So why does he even try? Can't trust someone who always just pretends things. He thinks he needs to do this, don't know why. Maybe he's trying too hard to please everyone. All day he's advising the townsfolk when they come with their petty complaints, and half the night he disappears into his study, working for hours on end. And then he goes and picks the first band of washed-up gypsies running along and sits them on the throne!"