Mud and Magic Ch. 01-03

"You won't believe it but I'm sure that old herald of Carver's, he must have made my dress fly!" Dara whispered. "One moment I'm here, doing the bloody laundry after the mess these pigs made and the next, there's quite a draft around my pussy. I'm certain that old fart magicked up my dress!"

"You sure it was him?" Rhys asked innocently. "He's probably up in the castle." And there's no telling what they're doing to Mirrin right now, he thought darkly.

"Prob'ly starin' into his crystal ball and going 'alakazam,' peeking at my lady bits. Next time he shows his face, I'm going to give him what for," she promised, balling her fist.

"Especially after what he had done to Old Man Harrol," Rhys grumbled.

"That too. I'll probably spike his wine the next time he comes round, make him shit his brains out." They shared a laugh at that.

"Speaking of Harrol," Rhys said. "Some of Carver's men raided his place around sunrise but they missed the shack between the trees. If no one else got there already, you might find a dozen kegs of Moonshine there."

Her eyes lit up. "You're a peach, Rhys." She reached down, dragged him from the water until their faces were level and planted a big, hungry kiss on his lips. "Tell you what," she whispered suggestively, "why don't I show you a bit of moonlight myself? When we're done at the inn later, come around and toss a pebble at my window. I'll make it worth your while."

"Are- are you serious?"

"Yes, I very well am. You are one of a very few lads in the village who is good for more than a short toss in the hay and a few choice grunts afterwards. You know words." She released her hug and Rhys slid back into the water.

"That's Gran's fault."

"She raised you right, unlike that no-good slob of a father you have." Dara tossed the last sheet back into her basket. "Anyway, it's time for the toss in the hay, hm?" She stood up and raised her dress, exposing her hairless nethers. "Since I had to show this off involuntary-like, you can have a look." She spread her thighs and caressed herself invitingly. "I'll see you later then, handsome!"

She turned around and strutted up the quay, humming to herself. Rhys waited until she was out of sight and the chill became utterly unbearable before he crawled from the water, one hand cupping his hurting erection, and dashed back up the riverbank, to where he had hidden his clothes. There was nothing better to ease his thumping heart than having to wash shit-stained clothing. The thought of naked Dara, waiting in her small room atop the inn, nearly made him forget how cold he actually was.

* * * *

Rhys loitered around the village until dusk, when he knew dinner would be served. By now his clothes had dried and the last whiffs of manure stench had dissipated. When he closed the door behind him, the family -- minus Mirrin, who still was at Carver's castle -- sat around the table. The mouth-watering aroma of roasted meat and spiced vegetables hung in the air. Even Gran happily nibbled on a piece of chicken breast.

"What is this? No cabbage soup? Did one of the chickens die?" Rhys asked, taking his place near Gran.

"Shut up and eat," Padec snarled, tearing a drumstick off. He tossed it onto Rhys' plate.

"Where does the meat come from?" Rhys asked.

Lissy, sitting on his other side, closed her hand over his. "One of Carver's men came around and brought a pack of food," she muttered, barely audible over the eating noises of the others.

Disgusted, Rhys shoved the plate away. "That's why no one complains, huh? Food in exchange for whatever services Mirrin can provide?"

"I said shut up and eat," Padec growled, pounding the table.

"No thanks. I'd rather go hungry," Rhys snarled, leaving the table.

"You get your scrawny ass back this instant and eat," his father roared.

"Let him," Delf snickered, snatching the drumstick. "If he don't want it, I will."

Rhys slammed the door to the sleeping chamber behind his back, fighting to keep his bile down. Why had he not seen these things before? Had some cruel deity finally opened his eyes to all the madness in the world?

He slumped onto his pallet. Not even the thought of visiting Dara later that night was enough to distract him. Besides, it would be hours before the inn would wind down enough. He balled his fists. He had never been this angry before, but there was no way to relieve the anger. He wished he could storm Carver's castle-

Wishes. Wishes will solve nothing, Rhys chided himself. But by Desire's shriveled tits, what could he do? Nothing. He was a scrawny, useless farm boy, his father never ceased to remind him of that-

There was a rattling coming from the shoemaker's box next to Delf's bed. And another noise, a clicking from under Gorf's.

Rhys looked up. Around the room, several pebbles were jumping across the floor. The rattling in Delf's box -- was that the long nails he used? Rhys rose, slowly crossing the room. Like tiny ducklings, the pebbles lined up behind him. He carefully reached out and flipped open the box. Inside, the tools shook. The nails rolled from side to side frantically, small arcs of lightning flashing between them.

From the main room, he could hear Padec yell then another thump on the table, followed by the sound of metal clattering off the floor. Rhys jerked upright, quickly closing the lid. The pebbles had stopped moving.

"You will do no such thing!" Padec roared. "He deserves it, for being such a bone-headed, useless runt! Let him starve, see if I care!"

Someone seemed to answer him but the voice was too soft, too muffled by the thick stone walls.

Rhys marched back to his corner, plucking up a pebble as he went.

That was the third time that day strange things had happened around him. First the pitchfork, then -- and he smiled at that -- Dara's dress and now...

He looked at the pebble. It didn't move anymore.

Maybe you have our family's witch blood, Gran had said.

"Nonsense." Rhys muttered to himself. It didn't show up before. Why should it now?

Another look at the pebble. Nonsense. Pebbles don't move on their own.

But what if?

What if all it took was to imagine the pebble moving?

The argument outside faded into the background. There was only the pebble on his palm. Someone must have brought it in from the river, maybe wedged under a shoe. It was almost triangular, with edges rounded by the river's eternal flow. In the dim light of the singular oil lamp, sputtering on Rowlf's nightstand, Rhys could see metallic flecks embedded in the stone. It felt good in his hand. Solid. Unlike the world around him which seemed to teeter ever closer to complete madness. Not that it had felt much better before but before the Tithing, before Mirrin had been dragged off to entertain Carver's disgusting commander, it was only the daily abuse his father and brothers heaped upon him, interspersed by moments of joy when Gran was involved. Or Celeste. Or Ilva before her. Or Dara.

Maybe all it takes is a change of view, Rhys thought. 'Stones can't fly' may not be the only truth.

He stared at the pebble until his head hurt. And suddenly, the sensation of movement. The triangular stone twitched. Rhys clamped his free hand around his wrist, to keep his hand from shaking. But his hand holding the stone didn't shake. It was as steady as the table outside. The table heaped with food which was meant to ease the family's conscience while one of them was forced to entertain Carver's men. Rhys gnashed his teeth until his jaws creaked. The pebble rotated on one of its points, stable like a spinning top. And slowly it rose, surrounded by a faint glow, an azure glimmer like frozen lightning.

Someone moved the pull sling on the door, trying to move the warped boards. Rhys slapped his free hand over the pebble, stopping its ascent. A lance of pain exploded behind his eyes.

"Rhys. Help me get this door open, please." It was Gran's voice. He got to his feet and gently pulled the door open. Gran shuffled into the room. Rhys saw the angry faces of his father and Delf stare after her. The unmistakable aroma of cabbage soup tickled his nose.

"Take this off me please," Gran said, pushing a wooden bowl, a slice of fresh bread and a spoon into his hands. Rhys took the items and the old woman used both hands to push the door shut behind her. Then she took him by the elbow and walked until her knee bumped into Ulf's bed.

"Sit and eat."

"What are you doing, Gran?"

"Since you rejected Carver's offerings, I thought I'd do what every caring mother would do. I cooked your favorite food," she said, sinking down onto the edge of the bed.

Rhys snorted. "I hate cabbage soup."

"But it's better than guilt meat, isn't it?" Gran asked brightly.

"Much better." Rhys picked up his spoon and ate. Compared to the slop he usually got, the soup was a marked improvement. It was much spicier. Small bits of sausage swam in it. "Actually, much, much better. This isn't Ma's."

"She never got my recipe right, poor thing," Gran chuckled. "And I happened to have some pepper on me. You know, for my my nose?"

Despite himself, he chuckled. "Pa wasn't happy."

"Fuck him. What could he do? Hit an old woman for his own guilt and cowardice?"

Rhys was not quite sure if the tears in his eyes came from the pepper or the sudden rush of love for the old woman. He hugged her close with his spoon arm.

"Eat up before it gets cold. Cabbage soup is vile when it gets cold. Even mine."

"I know," Rhys said between spoons. Eventually, the bowl was empty. He looked up. "Where are the others? By now, Delf and the others should be here."

"They probably think Gran is tucking you in and don't want none to do with it," Gran said, grinning.

"Like you used to do when I was little, eh?"

"Yah, just like that. Do you want to be tucked in?"

"Gran, I barely have a blanket left to be tucked into," Rhys snapped

"Now, there's no need to get angry with Gran," she said.

"I'm not angry at you. How could I ever be?" He sighed. "I feel so helpless, Gran. Everything around us goes to shit and I can't do anything."

"No? And what about that witch blood?"

Rhys bit his tongue. "I don't-"

Gran placed her fingers on his lip. "Rhys. You have never lied to me. Don't start now."

"How-?"

She sighed. "I may be old but I can remember very well how untamed, angry magic feels. It rattles every knife, every spoon on the table, charges the air and seeks desperately for a release," she whispered, with a far-away look on her face. "Ursa was a very angry girl. Today I heard the spoons rattle. Twice." She sniffled, dabbing at her eyes with a corner of her frayed sleeve. "You are very much alike. So strong. So furious."

"Strong? I can hardly make a pebble fly," Rhys whispered, afraid that someone might hear him. "It would fly better if I threw-"

"Show me," Gran pleaded.

"I don't know if it will work," Rhys hissed.

"With that attitude it won't," Gran snarled. "Show. Me."

Rhys placed the pebble on her outstretched palm. Move! The thought was harsh, a painful lash through his skull. This time, the pebble obeyed much sooner. No long wind-up time. It spun then rose. Gran raised her hand and turned the palm downwards. Rhys willed the stone upwards. With a triumphant grin, the old woman snatched the stone as it touched her skin and shook her fist.

"Rhys," she croaked, her own voice suddenly choked off by tears. "Rhys. You have to promise me -- you will leave as soon as possible. Go away from here and learn how to use your gift. Go tonight."

"Gran, I-"

"Listen!" She grabbed the front of his shirt. Rhys recoiled, surprised at the old woman's outburst. "Don't make the same mistake Ursa made. Don't stick around for foolish loyalty to your family," she hissed.

Rhys snorted in disgust. "What family? I only have you and Mirrin."

"And the best thing you can do to protect us is to go away and become a proper magic user."

"I-..."

"What is holding you?"

Rhys hung his head. "Dara wants to see me tonight."

Gran sighed. "I wish you'd forget that harlot. But who am I to stand between a man and a wet pussy." She chuckled. "Fine. Go tomorrow then. Don't tarry. See Celeste. Ask her for a confession. She will have no choice but to help. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Promise me."

"I promise I will go see Celeste first thing tomorrow and ask for a confession."

Gran sighed and crumpled against his chest like a sack of wet rags. Rhys nearly fainted. "No. No. Nonono. Gran?" He ruffled her silver hair. "Gran!"

She sighed. "I'm tired, Rhys. Not quite dead yet. Someone has to wait until Mirrin comes home. Would you carry me into my room?"

"Of course."

She was much lighter than he had anticipated, barely more than skin and bones herself. Smiling serenely, she held on to Rhys' neck as he shuffled up the stairs to the former hay loft. The eyes of the whole family were on them. Rhys suddenly understood what it meant to be the center of attention. He shuddered.

"Now, that was quite something, wasn't it, Rhys?" Gran loudly crawed. "No one can tuck you in like old Gran can." She cackled, which turned into a helpless cough. Her elbow nudged him.

Halfway up the stairs, the family staring at him like a particularly nasty rat, Rhys stopped. All his life, he had fought for their approval, only to be treated like a particularly diseased rat which was not bothersome enough to outright kill. No matter what he did, he would never be like his brothers. A perverse delight took hold of him, now that he fully understood the futility of his struggles to that point. Grinning grimly, he pulled Gran closer, cradling her like a bride as he resumed ascending the stairs.

"Yes, your hands were a wonderful distraction from that awful mood," he proclaimed, shaking his behind. Missy gasped and Delf made a disgusted sound, as if he would puke any moment. On the landing, Rhys bent down and placed a loving kiss onto Gran's lips.

"That's me boy," Gran crooned, caressing his hair. He opened the door to her room. Behind him, the silence was deafening.

* * * *

Rhys had sat at Gran's bed until she had finally fallen asleep then climbed out through the window. The large beam protruding out from the wall was still there. It creaked threateningly but Rhys had clambered down the wall before it could give.

Despite his earlier bravado, he didn't want to chance another encounter with his father. The old man was itching to administer another beating, especially since Gran had defied him in front of the whole family. At least under his own roof, Padec was a very proud and petty man. Rhys heard his name being called inside the house, loud enough to even wake the dead. He dashed from the yard, into the night. By the time Padec would notice he had vanished, he'd be at the inn.

There still was light at the inn when he arrived. The door was open and he could hear voices. Celeste left the inn and walked back to the small shrine of Mercy. Daffyd's huge shadow filled the door frame. He looked around then ducked back inside and barred the door.

Rhys moved around the building, into the flagstone yard. There were only three buildings made wholly from masoned stone -- the watch tower at the northern end of the village, the shrine and the inn. It was by far the largest building too, with two stories and a spacious attic. It could easily house a dozen guests, with their horses and belongings, but in recent years only the riverboaters and desperate traders wound up here. Even they stayed only a night at most, hoping to be long gone before Carver's men would inevitably demand trade tax or road tolls or whatever they could imagine to wring a sack of coppers from the hapless travelers. The stables were dark and empty since the villagers came by foot. On the second floor, he saw light through shutters left ajar.

His heart beat in his throat. Hopefully that's Dara's room. Otherwise things will be very awkward soon. He picked a pebble off the floor and chucked it against the shutter. A moment later, the window opened. Holding a small lamp in her hand, Dara leaned over the sill. She beamed at Rhys.

"Catch!" she hissed. Something small, catching a glint of the flame as it tumbled down, clicked onto the cobbles.

Rhys picked up the item. It was a slender, sturdy key. He looked up at Dara and waved it.

"The back door, you dunce," she hinted. "Up the small stairs, first door. And please lock up behind you."

He shook his head. The back door lock was well-maintained and moved with nary a sound. Hoping he would not run into Daffyd, Rhys locked the door and snuck up the dark stairs, slipping into the first door he came across.

Warm radiance engulfed him. He blinked until his eyes had adjusted to the light. Dara sat on the edge of her bed, wearing a white, sheer gown. Her hair was an unbound cascade of copper, going all the way down to her behind. On the windowsill was the small lantern, snuffed out, but several oil lamps bathed the room in golden light and comfortable heat. The faint smell of herbal soap filled the room and an empty bathtub had been pushed against the wall. One wall nearly disappeared behind a monstrous wardrobe. Rhys flicked her the key.

"Thank you," she said, dropping it into the drawer of her nightstand.

"What would have happened if I had run into Daffyd?" he asked.

"He would have courteously guided you up here of course," Dara said, a friendly smile on her lips. "My brother and I have no secrets. And we're both in your debt. When we arrived, no one had plundered Harrol's shed yet. The house was a scorched crater though. Daffyd is pleased as punch with our new supply of Harrol's Best."

"I arrived just when Daffyd closed up behind Celeste."

"And had you arrived half an hour earlier, you could've seen both of us naked," Dara purred. "I helped her shave."

Rhys blushed furiously.

Dara was on him in a flash, digging her fingers into his threadbare shirt. "So, you have seen me lady bits today, huh?"

"That was... kind of unavoidable-" Rhys began. Dara interrupted him with a kiss. She tasted of fresh apples, but there was another note as her tongue slipped between his lips, something musky. Their tongues fought for a moment, then Rhys managed to extricate himself. "I'm sorry."

Dara laughed. "Don't be. I've told you often enough -- I'll gladly show you if you ask nicely. You never asked. Speaking of which, how 'bout...?" She tugged at his sleeve suggestively. "Shy, all of a sudden? With all these women around you, you should be used to tits and pussy by now."

Rhys blushed. "That's different. None of them wanted to toss me in the hay."

Dara laughed. "True, that would have been awkward. Well, let me start then."

She took a step back and slowly slid the gown off, revealing the pale skin of her shoulders, then her breasts came free. They were two generous, freckled handfuls, with small pink nipples which hardened when the air caressed them. Dara crossed her hands demurely in front of her navel, holding the dress. She shot Rhys a feisty grin. "Your turn."

He pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it to the side. "Not nearly as graceful as you, I'm afraid," he said.

"If I wanted grace, I would have asked a dancer," Dara snorted, closing the distance. She laid her hands on Rhys' naked shoulders. Her gown, now without support, slid down her long legs and rustled to the floor. She shook it off her foot and stopped, her nipples gently grazing his skin. Now, face to face, Rhys realized he was easily as tall as she was. Dara pursed her lips. "Your. Turn," she breathed between kisses.

His sack-linen pants were only held in place by string, the button had disappeared a year ago when he and Ulf had fought in the field over some nonsense. He fumbled around, trying to undo the knot which had inexplicably formed when he was sure he had properly looped it before. Dara's hands joined his, her long nails making short work of the pesky obstacle. She pulled him into a tight embrace, her hands on his butt. Rhys tensed up. Not because she pressed her soft, curvy body against him. She had done that before, when they were younger. Not because his throbbing hardness was nestled between them. That felt wonderful and he wondered how it would feel, nestled elsewhere.