Excerpt: Blarg

Anrid

“I don't know if I like them,” Simon said, running a finger down the faint tattoo on his arm. “It looks a bit. . . I don't know. Overdone.”

“Warrior's marks,” Anrid said, smiling. “You slew many Scyrren, and their god as well. It is our tradition that a warrior wear his deeds on his skin. Just like me.” She touched her own tattoos, now permanently driven into the skin, the symbols of her own mighty deeds. They seemed to cover the scars of her injuries, what few that remained thanks to the Wise Woman's skill in healing. She wondered what it meant that her appearance now mattered to her, that she felt some jealousy towards the smooth-skinned ladies who did not bear the marks of past fights on their bodies.

Perhaps it didn't mean much. Simply that someone else cared about such things now as well.

Time had passed, and life had returned, such as it was, to normal. The sudden rescue of a hundred young women had changed life in the village: although some were human, and others elven, the majority were Balem women, most of them considered lost. Many would never recover, their minds shattered by their ordeals, their bodies torn apart from the inside by the horrible monsters they had conceived and given birth to. Many others, however, would, their wombs cleansed by foul-smelling concoctions mixed by the Wise Woman that would expel the Scyrren god's seed before the infant monsters could take root, their sickly bodies growing stronger every day under a diet of good meat broth and fine gruel.

None of them had much of a taste for honey any more, though.

Those women who were fully recovered were the ones who caused Anrid most of her distress, though. Under Balem law, a wife belonged to the male whom she allowed to embrace her, and he who first lay with her had the first right. Most of the young women rescued from the Scyrren god, however, had their maidenheads taken from them by that monster. This had caused many some consternation, as no Balem male would ever wish to take to wife a woman who was the bride of a Scyrren, before the Wise Woman had pointed out that, as Simon had slain the Scyrren god, the right to these women now belonged to him. In a moment, the young mage had found himself husband to over a hundred women: most of whom were not in any mood to ask for any kind of marital duties, thank the God's mane.

The few who did, however, made her tail puff up with rage.

It was that damn Veila. She'd been one of the first to recover, as her captivity had been the shortest (second only to Anrid), and she had immediately begun to drape herself all over Simon again, much to the disgust of her two younger sisters. So far, Simon had managed to avoid that hussy when she came around with her eyes a fluttering and her body adorned with feathers and ribbons, but hiding places were getting harder to find, and Veila was becoming more insistent. Anrid fingered the haft of her war-club as she glanced at the trees around them, hoping that the mere thought of her name would not summon that shameless little harlot.

There was the sound of a footstep, and Anrid grabbed her war-club, her lips curled up in an angry snarl. The Wise Woman smiled indulgently as she emerged into the clearing. “If you wish to kill me, girl, please do me the favor of at least letting me train my replacement. It would not be good for the village to go without their Wise Woman.”

“How is Yavina?” Simon asked.

“She learns quickly. Her body may be maimed, but her mind is good, and her heart is strong. She will lead the village well when I have returned to the earth,” the wise woman said.

“I only wish that I could have saved her sooner,” Simon said softly. “Her foot. . .”

“She will learn to live without it. A cane or crutch will suffice, and it will make her legend greater. It is necessary to appear the part, and a maimed body often gives one the air of greater power,” the Wise Woman said.

“But what about finding a husband? I thought that no male. . .”

“Pah! Rubbish! They said the same about a woman with one eye, but if I still enticed the strongest young man in the village to father upon me a fine child, who would give birth to a beauty like this one,” the Wise Woman sneered, gesturing to Anrid, who blushed in embarrassment. “It is not only the body that entices, it is the heart and the soul, and when those are strong, the body will follow. Yavina shall be fine. It is of you whom I wish to speak.”

Simon nodded. “You spoke of this before. I'm sorry we have delayed so long.”

“You were in no shape to travel. . . and then, when you were, you managed to hurt yourself again. I must admit, our god is a bit annoyed with you for constantly hurting yourself over and over again. He almost believes it were deliberate, if it weren't for the fact that no one would be foolish enough to hurt themselves like that just to get out of meeting a god. But we have delayed too long as it is. Tomorrow, we set out for the Cave of the All-Father.” She rapped her staff against the ground in a gesture of finality. “We will worry about what he has to say later.”

Simon nodded. “As you wish.”

“I do. We set out tomorrow at dawn. I suggest that you spend some time preparing for your trip.” She glanced at Anrid, who had been quiet the whole time, biting her lower lip nervously. “You too,” she said, and Anrid's shoulders relaxed. “I think the All-Father has things to say to you as well.” She stalked off into the trees, returning to the village in silence.

Simon sighed. “So, tomorrow, I meet this All-Father of yours,” he said, softly.

“You are nervous?” Anrid asked.

“A bit. I've only really met a few gods, and the ones I've met seem to be a bit unfriendly towards me.”

“The All-Father is different,” Anrid said, laying next to him and resting her head on his shoulder. “He is not bad. He is. . . childish, and a bit arrogant, and he is silly and perverted, but he is good, and he does love us.”

“I know, you've said it already, but I still need to admit to being a bit nervous,” Simon said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe not so much nervous, as. . . tense. On edge.”

“Hmmmmm.” Anrid reached behind her back and undid the ties of her loincloth, straddling the young magus as he sat up with his back against the tree. “Then perhaps I can do something for you there.”

“Perhaps,” Simon said, smiling gently.

Her lips touched his, and their bodies slowly enfolded into each other. Up above, a brilliantly feathered bird of paradise spread its red tail feathers and danced back and forth in front of a dull grey female, chirruping loudly. She cocked her head to one side and preened herself, feigning disinterest. It was, she reflected, better not to let them know you were too interested. After all, one did have one's pride.