Chapter 8

In the depths of a cold and still winter night, Bethsany stood by the window and committed an act rare and precious to her: she prayed. It was Tuesday, and in keeping with their agreement Aimee' was supposed to come and study with one of her girls. It had been three weeks since the last tale; on the two occasions since, Aimee's appearance had shown clear signs of abuse and struggle, and of the two occasions, she had looked worse the second time.

Bethsany wondered if Teltirray was getting what he wanted out of Aimee', and if so, would it be enough. She knew now of Teltirray and his hunger. She understood him so clearly it terrified her. She knew, ever since she had killed the Centaur who had enslaved her, what it felt to take the pain of an enemy, and eventually, to take the life. She knew that an innocent could bring even stronger sensation. She knew how to feed on that. And she knew she could draw pleasure from it.

It no longer made her wonder. She knew what kind of person could draw that kind of pleasure, for she was that kind of person. But she was also stronger than that. She knew what it meant to be human and not an animal. Few animals killed for pleasure. Man was one of those few. More than the pleasure of power, she understood the pleasures of love. She understood the joy of sharing. She knew that life was for living and not taking.

So she prayed, quietly, to a name she had not invoked in many years. Kasho, the goddess who gives women strength, had been her guiding name for many years when she had lived in Darachmod, and now she called on the name again.

A knock came at the door. She had been staring at the sky for some time, and now directed her attention at the ground. Footsteps in the snow marked the passage of a lone walker, footsteps that were slowly being obliterated by the fall of white flakes. She rose from where she knelt and walked to the door. "Yes?" she asked the girl who stood there.

"Aimee' has arrived. I have sent her to see Rissim."

"Was it that bad, Brandy?"

The girl nodded slowly. Tears stood in her eyes. Bethsany drew her breath and sighed. Perhaps there would be no chance to tell Aimee' the final tale. Perhaps it would be better if she crammed both stories into one day. She debated.

What she wanted, more than anything else, was to save Aimee's life. To preserve her from the horrors and pains that Teltirray inflicted upon her in his demands for more. She knew that he must have been making demands of both her personal strength and the magickal strengths that Darynn was helping to build within her. Although no mage can give another magical strength, when it exists in one, another can help give it meaning, focus, exercise. Like the muscles of the body and the mind, the strength of magic must be exercised. Like the strength of love, and even that of compassion, doing leads to the strength to do more. Bethsany had chosen her path, as Darynn had his. She hoped Aimee' would have a worthy path to choose.

"Take me," she finally said. Brandy turned and walked down the stairs. Down one flight, and then another, into the basement where Rissim, the chirgeon Beth kept in her employ, was applying alcohol to a wound over Aimee's left breast. It looked like a burn. Although she bore it stoically, the pain in the young girl's eyes was both apparent and undeniable. There could be no surcease.

"Forgive me, Miss Bethsany, I... The chirgeon will not allow me to kneel."

"Don't you dare, Aimee'," Bethsany said, reaching down to touch Aimee's face. "You need not bow to me. You know that better than I do. Do not bow to me."

"Yes, Miss."

"Aimee', he will kill you."

"Probably, Miss. This may even be our last talk."

"I feared as much." Bethsany closed her eyes. "I had, at first, the wish to tell you two tales in as many visits, one of my day amongst the Braban, and of the day I lost Myr. I shall, instead, tell both together, although they were separated by many years. I want you to hear both of them, Aimee'." In her sickened heart, Bethsany cursed Teltirray. He at least had the "common decency" to allow his girls to hide themselves and then kill themselves when he reached this stage. Aimee', though, continued to play out the role of student with her teachers. Teltirray was as much as telling Darynn and Bethsany what he did to Aimee', and he did not care if they knew.

Aimee' stared, not saying a word. "Do you want to hear them?"

"Yes, Miss."

Bethsany glanced back at the chirgeon and at Brandy. Both had heard this tale once or twice before; another sit-through would hurt neither.

It was in the early summer of the first year I lived in Darachmod that the Braban came to visit. Six of them appeared at, or perhaps I should say over, the gates of the city, smiling and waving. One has trouble imagining the Braban, but if the Darachmod have a living model, the Braban are it. Each woman of the Braban stood over twelve feet tall; each towered over any woman in Darachmod. One does not fear women like that, for one cannot; I merely stood in awe of their immensity. Having known the love of both Myr and Cyl, together and separately, I felt free to admit that I immediately knew lust for the women of the Braban.

They were led into the city amongst singing and waving and cheering. These were clearly friends, beloveds. I had heard many stories about the Braban, of how they assisted their smaller sisters in many a battle, often appearing at the last minute. Nobody knew if they were goddesses or mortals or giants; all we knew was that they were our allies and, sometimes, our final help.

That night, Darachmod became engulfed in a celebration honoring the arrival of the women of the Braban. A fire was cast in the center of the city on that hot summer night, pigs were slaughtered and spitted over cooking fires, and the wine flowed freely.

I had a great surprise that night, although thinking back on it, I suppose it shouldn't have come so greatly. As a well-known warrior amongst the Darachmod, Cyl clearly could hold the attention of even a jaded Braban. But I was still speechless when she stepped up behind me. "I know that look in your eyes," she spoke to me slowly. "I know lust when I see it in you." She laughed gently then. "I see it every day when you look at Myr."

I swallowed. "Cyl, do you feel upset that I feel that way for Myr, but not so strongly for you?"

Cyl shook her head. "No, Beth, for I do not question the natural order of things. The moons, the seasons, and the snows come at their own times and sometimes not at all. The moons are always on time, the seasons usually, the snows usually not. Love... love is never on time. You love me in a different way. You warm me, Beth, and you make me cry."

"Cry?" I asked, turning around. "I... I do not want to make you cry!"

"It is a good cry, Beth. Do not be ashamed because I have tears of joy for you. I cannot explain. It comes from within. Myr is another different thing. She is your age, lithe of limb and strong of bone and lovelier than the summerest flowers to watch. Do not be ashamed of your love and your lust for her. It is nothing to be ashamed of. Please. Now, would you like me to introduce you to my friend?"

"You have a friend amongst the giants?" I asked.

"Viselle!" Cyl called out, attracting the attention of a blonde Braban, one of the largest, sitting by the fire with a large mug of beer and a larger grin. "Viselle, I would like you to meet Bethsany. Bethsany, Viselle. Both of you are amongst my most counted friends."

Although she was sitting on the ground and I standing, her head and mine were at the same height. "It gladdens my heart to know the friend of a true warrior like Cyl. How did you come to know her? Cyl, she was not born here I take it?"

Cyl shook her head. "We rescued her from a band of brigand Centaurs, the leader of which was using her as a toy for his gross lusts. After we attacked them, we found her standing over his dead body. A few of our arrows had slowed him down, but his final death had come from the blood he lost after she cut off his privates in revenge."

"Truly?" the Braban asked me, stunned.

I nodded, ashamed. I felt both pleasure and fear at the memory. Sometimes, the nightmares came back.

"Well," Viselle said, "That is truly the kind of friend Cyl should know well, and take care of. You are so young. Myr's age?"

"Yes, Miss."

Viselle roared with laughter. The sound echoed throughout the city streets and passed over me like a spell of stunning. I'm afraid I pulled away slightly in fear. Her monstrous hand reached out to touch my shoulder, and I shied away further. "I will not hurt you, Beth. I want to know you as Cyl and Myr know you." I eased; her voice and manner were no longer threatening; with one simple sentence all my terror drained from me. Her hand gripped my shoulder gently, and I sensed the great strength held within it, many times that in my own hand. It covered me from my collarbone down to elbow. Try that, Aimee'. Place your hand on your shoulder and see how much it covers. Imagine that kind of touch over your entire body. I think few people try this experiment and would be surprised if they knew just how big their hands truly are. Perhaps artists, especially those who can get the hands right, know.

"Vis! Vis! Vis!" she said. "Call me Vis! I am nobody's 'Miss, ' Beth. I am a bloodied warrior and a true lover of women and nobody calls me anything but my name!" She laughed again. "I cannot imagine being a 'Miss' anything." She paused, thinking soberly, then said "Come, sit. Tell me your tales."

I sat by her side and did as she asked, telling her my tales. I had very few by that time, although I think I had more than Myr. She had heard all of Myr's before, except for the ones about loving me. Myr managed to make me blush strongly with her talk, embarrassing me with her frank talks about my beauty and my enthusiasms. I had a little revenge by replying back in kind, although it became clear later in the conversation just how much I had revealed about myself in the doing.

I drank beer, too, and I'm afraid I became a little drunk. Eventually, as the night grew cool I found myself lying against Vis' body, my head on her thigh, when I felt her hand caress the top of my head. That may not sound like much, but it was ecstasy to me. "You are very beautiful, Beth'Sany."

"Th... thank you, Vis."

"Don't thank me, Beth'Sany. If you have a deity, thank Her, for she gave you that beauty." Her hand stroked my arm slowly. I felt her massive body shift slightly, then felt her breath against the side of my face. "It is hard for someone sized as I to be subtle, but truly, I would like you and Myr to join me for the night."

I didn't quite know what to say. I was frightened; would I even be noticed touching a body of her size? Would even two of us matter to her? She weighed many stone more than we did.

My curiosity and lust won out. I wanted to know; I had to know. Apparently Myr did as well because the first thing she said after Vis spoke was, "Do you really mean that?"

"I do," Vis said. "Your mistress, Cyl, and I had a few occasions between us many years ago. Do you remember, Cyl?"

"Well I do, Vis. Take them, if they'll go."

"I am going!" Myr replied.

"Then I am too!" I insisted.

Vis smiled and nodded. As she stood up, I had a strong awareness of several things. That she had drunk as much as Cyl, Myr, and I put together, that standing she was even larger than I had imagined seeing her sitting on the ground, and that should she fall over anyone in the path of her dropping body would be in serious danger. So we were careful to stay with her and yet to also stay quite far out of her way.

She led us to her tent. The city had not rooms large enough for her or her friends anywhere, so they had set up tents in the center. Not that tents were required; the weather was both at its warmest and certainly was also surprisingly dry. Cyl had told me that it frequently rained at this time of year.

Inside, all was as one would expect, with the one obvious difference: Everything was scaled to her size. She sat down hard on her sleeping cot. "Come here," she said, gesturing to us. I was easily in range of her grasp and she was still steady enough to catch me almost without effort. I giggled and as she gathered me up I grabbed ahold of her tunic and held on. "Vis?" I asked.

"Yes, Beth?"

"May I tell you you are beautiful?"

"It's a lovely lie, Beth."

Myr demurred. "But it is not a lie, Vis! You are beautiful."

Vis smiled and held out her other hand. Myr took it; it was like seeing a massive glove cover Myr's hand and part of her arm. The delicacy of Vis' touch surprised me, as her hand stroked my back and dragged purrs from my lips.

It's hard to forget that night, so special and different. I instantly fell into a wishful trance of wanting to help Vis, wanting to make her feel a pleasure that we all get so very rarely from the world around us. As the three of us stripped off our clothing, Vis tossed her shirt carelessly away, and it landed on me instead. I realized just how large she was; the cloth of her tunic was a tent to me; I could sleep under it and feel protected from colder winds.

Naked, we descended upon one another, we three. My mouth found her chin first, as she pulled me up towards her.

I cannot get across to you how large she was. My feet rested literally in the tangle of her pubic hair even as I strained to reach up and kiss her cheek. She was simply a giant. Her fingers were as thick as sausages.

Myr and I crawled down between her thighs and, with plenty of room, licked at the enormous expanse of her sex, pulling her lips into our mouth. Her clitoris was the size of my thumb, large even for a woman of her size, and it took both of us to suck on it, in turns. I filled her by placing my arm within her, halfway to my elbow before I reached the end of her vagina and touched her cervix.

That, oh! Aimee', it was like touching magic. It was a doorway into that chamber that made her a woman. Everything else about her was made to support that one purpose, and there was none other. I'm sure others disagree with me and talk about the warrior spirit or the communal strength or whatever, but to bear children, that is the pleasure of a woman only. Men have warriors and men have communities, but they do not carry child.

I feel... I feel so inadequate describing this night to you, Aimee'. I want to tell you the joys of touching her, of feeling the wet slickness of her insides surrounding my arm, my wrist, my hand, of feeling the pulse of her blood against the skin.

And when she returned the pleasure, her massive tongue against my cunt, Aimee', how can I describe it? There is no feeling like that in all the world, her broad pad, a little less accurate, a little more impressive. The slick wetness that invaded not just my cunt but covered my thighs. As she licked me, Myr covered my face with her own sex, doubling my pleasure until I was utterly lost to it. I came in spasm and moans that only Myr's muff prevented from being heard 'round the city whole!

Once my pleasure was sated and we sat down to sleep, I reflected that no pleasure like that would ever stream through my body ever again. In a way, I was correct, for even though I saw Vis every year for the next five years, and though I was to love with her in many a warm summer visit, nothing ever reached the joy and wonder of that first time.

The same, Aimee', was true of my loving of Myr. Yet my pleasures with her grew greater, not less, at the turn of the seasons. With her, I grew to treasure constancy and comfort, not adventure and change. She returned that comfort in equal measure. We were lovers and friends, stability in the changing sea of women. And I did love her so.

What changed? Ah, that is the question. For Myr asked for her freedom from Cyl because of my friendship. And Cyl granted it without reservation. I thought myself the happiest woman that ever lived.

What changed, dearest Aimee', was a discovery that started with Vis and ended with a tragedy. The tragedy was not something unusual or dramatic, except perhaps to my story. Myr died. In the most simple of ways, too. We were picking apples in the city orchard, doing our duty to ourselves and our city, when she fell from a branch and broke her leg. The leg never healed; indeed, it grew worse. Something within her grew out, burst in pain. Finally, she slipped into that merciful sleep where the embattled go to escape the pain, and she never returned. She died within a month.

Bethsany wiped a tear from her eyes as the girl named Brandy wrapped her arms around her. "I am sorry, Momma," the young girl said, kissing Bethsany's face.

Bethsany reached back and hugged her. "I will be fine, Brandy," she said softly. "It is an ancient tragedy. I know, that makes it no less tragic, but the wounds of it have healed and now I face a world with less fear. But perhaps with less love."

"Bethsany?" Aimee's face was stained with slight tears, like the old matron's. "How did you come to leave Darachmod? That was the second half of your tale."

"Aye," Bethsany replied. "So it was. And we have not much time to tell it. But I shall endeavor to do my best."

In the spring of the following year, as in every year, the women of Darachmod prepared to travel down to the city of Melefar to trade the products of the past winter's efforts. Darachmod was poor in metals but rich in growing things, and frequently the lower cities coveted the fruits of our fields. We used this to our advantage, dressing our travellers in great baubles of steel and copper, outfitting our warriors with the brightest of armors. Lost in all that and as badly in grip of their testicles as ever, the metalsmiths of Melefar were easy prey for the deals of our best merchants.

I asked to go with them. It was a trade I wished to learn and, truth be known, I could no longer stand to live in the house that Myr had built. Perhaps not the outside shell, but every trace of the indoors looked of her and smelt of her. Her herbs I still found in the pantry; one whiff of her favorite cilantro and melancholy swept me. I needed to get away from my memories, and alcohol did not answer my needs.

Dyn readily agreed, as did Cyl. Both knew that I might not return, that the men of Melefar would easily treasure a beauty of Darachmod for themselves, and although I no longer presented myself easy prey to their crude wishes I knew I could easily summon the desire of any of their lesser minds.

We headed out on a rainy morning in early spring. Although the weather was wet, it was also lovingly warm. I had come to view all the blessings of nature as gifts, and this was truly one of them. Better, perhaps, was that by afternoon the rain cleared, the road never so badly mudded as to foul the asses. The company was twelve strong; eight warriors lightly armored astride beautiful chargers guarded my three merchanting companions, who were named Tann, Fahr, and Fela. Tann was by far the loveliest of the three, a raven-haired woman with eyes the palest blue the clearest sea had ever seen. Soft and round, she quickly chose me as her bedmate and I joyfully agreed. Although the beautiful strength of Myr and Cyl and Vis and Dyn had their attractions, I recognized that I was destined to be a big woman, as I am now, and I found such a body as Tann's beautiful to behold.

At first, I was concerned that I had become attracted to a woman who had no interest in lovemaking, but I found a few days later that I was wrong. She was simply slower than most. I found that reassuring. She wanted my pleasures, but only if we were both sure of our willingness to share.

On the fourth night we camped in the forest at the foot of the mountains, six days from Melefar, when she finally turned to me. "Beth, do you think me beautiful?"

"Tann?" I whispered, surprised. "How can you ask? You are the most beautiful woman in this entire dozen!"

"Don't let Fahr here you say that," Tann whispered back in the dark, "She's not known for her lack of jealousy." I nodded, smiling, as she closed the distance between us and her lips found mine, kissing earnestly. I knew by then how not to keep my hands off a woman and reached out to stroke her belly through the rough texture of the lace she wore underneath her heavier dayclothes.

We tumbled to the bedding as her breasts tumbled out of her outfit. Hers were very large and lovely, with a touch of droop that accentuated her completely. I could bury myself in them and inhale forever.

On the other hand, although I was destined to be a big woman I was forever doomed to have small hills for teats, firm but not very impressive. I was to forever envy women who had large breasts, but I was also to find great pleasure in them, too.

She giggled as I played with hers, caressing them back and forth. "Now, Beth," she chided playfully, "Let me have my fair share, too."

She pushed me back onto the bed and undressed both of us, tossing aside her clothing. She smelled of lilacs and light, and her hair had the scent of honey as it fell in straight lines down about her face. She kissed me as her fingers sought out my privates and stroked my lips. We kissed with our tongues. She slowly pushed my legs apart as her fingers sought deeper. I coated them with my wetness. She gasped at my enthusiasm, I think, because she told me later her nipples were not all that sensitive, and in a city of women large breasts were common. But I had gone for so long without the attention of anyone that the caresses of one woman were more than enough to inflame me.

Her fingers went deeper within me. I was completely entranced by the feeling of her within me; Myr, for some reason, had not liked having fingers inside her and avoided putting her fingers into me. What Tann was doing was something of a treat.

She slid down between my thighs and pressed her sweet mouth to my lips, licking the insides of my thighs. She told me to look at her, and I did just in time to watch her pull her fingers from my cunny and place them in her mouth, her lips pursed around them to catch every last droplet of moisture. Then she slid them back into me, her warm breath sweeping over my mound, and then the touch of her tongue to my mound. I grew light-headed with the pleasure she gave me.

She licked as well as any woman knew how, her mouth absolutely talented with its pressures and pleasures. Her tongue flickered over my clit and her fingers stroked the walls of my cunt, finding all the secret places here and there within me, making my chest heave with gasps and moans.

She was a merchant, but like me she was also a farmer, and one of the many things we carried to market were early summer squash, shaped like a man's sex. Although I don't think any healthy man has had a sex that was dark, textured green, nor have I ever seen one that really had the rounded corners this one did to make it look round. She reached into the basket by her bed and pulled one out; I watched, a little scared, as she pulled it up under her chin between my thighs. "Easy," she said gently as the cold tip of the vegetable touched the insides of my thighs. It slid along my leg until it pressed against the skin between them. Her fingers pulled me a little more open and the tip of the squash slid into me.