Seeker of the Four Winds: A Galatia Novel Page 5

  “Is the ritual over?” Feenie asked, while her inebriated husband snored a few inches away from her among the furs and blankets.

  “Do you want it to be over?” he asked, trying to hide the desire in his voice.

  “I do,” she said quietly.

  That reply disappointed him, but no matter.

  “Quit being so self-centered,” he scolded. “Think about how much Barrett wants to have a baby. Would you deny him that?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then let me complete the ritual.”

  “But he’s asleep...”

  “As he’s supposed to be for this part of the ritual. Shall I proceed?”

  “I guess so.”

  That was a good enough answer for Mull. Pushing her knees apart for maximum penetration, he inserted the walnut-sized fertility pack with his fingers. Unable to control hiimself a moment longer, he dropped his drawers and plunged his shaft into her quivering flesh. Closing his eyes, tilting his head back with great pleasure, he savored the explosive entry. After years of denying himself, he had finally taken what he wanted. And it was even better than he had expected. Gently, he rocked until her internal muscles began to tremor.

  She struggled a little beneath him and he heard her shocked gasp.

  “What are you doing!”

  “Shhh,” he groaned. His conscience nagged at him how it was wrong to take advantage of Barrett and Feenie’s trust this way, but her warm body felt so wonderful beneath his, how could he stop? “Remember, Feenie, this is all part of the ritual to help you conceive.”

  “Don’t…” she pleaded.

  “Remember, you and Barrett both agreed to totally give yourselves over to me. What did you think that meant?”

  As his pelvis worked back and forth, building into a crescendo, her pathetic attempts to push him away ended. Good. If only she would release her last inhibitions, Feenie would realize that a Volaxan’s male anatomy came with many surprises. Mull could ripple his penis, make it vibrate, twist like a snake, and expand it beyond ordinary dimensions.

  “Relax, my dear,” he said. “Your husband’s seeds are already there. I’m just opening the fertility pack. I’m sure you’ll be a mother by the end of the year.”

  “Do you really think so?” she asked hopefully.

  “If you completely surrender to me—to the pleasure—without a doubt.” She nodded as a tear trickled from the corner of her eye. “Think about that baby in your arms and open yourself wider.” The moment he felt her melt back into the bed, he gripped her buttocks, and with a grunting heave, nailed her with all of his might. She cried out in surprise.

  He pleasured Feenie with his entire arsenal of tricks. She was watching him now, eyes filled with admiration. Their eyes were locked. She had surrendered herself to the pain and pleasure, and was grinding her hips in rhythm with his own. Just when he thought he had her in his complete control, he felt her charisma latch onto something deep inside of him, something he hadn’t known existed, and lift him up.

  Until that moment, he’d thought the descriptions of the Galatians’ love-making techniques exaggerated. Only now did he realize those whispered descriptions hadn’t done the experience justice. Feenie and Mull were climbing the sky on her charisma. It was a mystical thing—he had no other way to explain it.

  “Oh, Feenie,” he cried out, shocked that her name had come out of his lips so needfully. “Oh, Feenie!”

  His ejaculation was a shower of pure nirvana. His body convulsed beyond ecstasy. A state of utter tranquility followed. He collapsed on top of her, nuzzling his face in her hair.

  “Is the ritual complete?” she asked innocently. “Am I going to have a baby?”

  “Yes,” He laughed and inhaling the jasmine scent lingering on her skin. “And yes.”

  She wrapped his arms around his neck and gently kissed his cheek. “I love you so much—” Mull’s heart soared for a second, only to be dashed on the rock of reality by her last word, “Barrett.”

  Mull froze, while Feenie slipped into drug-induced oblivion.

  After pouring everything he had into this woman, hearing another man’s name cross her lips filled him with jealousy. Despite knowing the elixir had muddled her mind, his intention all along, he became irrationally angry. The credit for such an amazing performance belonged to Magus Mull. He raised a hand to slap her in the mouth.

  It was me, you stupid whore, he thought, but he couldn’t use those words to refer to the woman who had just given him so much joy. Lowering his hand, and gently brushing her hair out her mouth, he murmured, “Balaroth, exirtallh. Magus Mull gives me endless pleasure.” He kissed her flushed cheek. “Balorath monomtel, Magus Mull is my lover. I want him every moment of the day. Nibintek Everlock”

  Afterward, he couldn’t believe he had uttered an entrapment spell. Master warlocks knew better than to look for love through magic. Unless there was more than the magic between them, the spell would dissolve in a few months’ time, leaving the spell caster more miserable than before, and the victim spiraling toward insanity. Glonare, his demi-god master, had ordered him to take her only this one time. But no worries. An entrapment spell had to be repeated dozens of times to remain effective. He vowed to never utter those words again.

  But he couldn’t stop thinking about how she had carried him to the stars. How badly he wanted to go there again. No, I can’t do that... Mull sat on the edge of the bed, wrestling with his conscience. Who is going to know if I take just one more liberty? After all the work I put into this, I deserve a little something. Don’t I?

  Before he knew it, he was entering her forbidden cavern again. Now totally spent, his voracious appetite appeased, he returned Feenie to the arms of her husband, who would be none the wiser. Pulling his pants back up with a grunt, he left by the front door, feeling simultaneously guilty and exhilarated.

  Conception did not come that night. Fortunately, nobody complained about having to repeat the ritual. Mull gave Feenie a little less potion in her drink each time, and she became increasingly aware of what was happening after Barrett passed out. It got to the point that she didn’t need the potion at all. She only tolerated Barrett’s lovemaking, and couldn’t wait for him to fall asleep, so Mull could leave his perch on the ceiling to scurry down the bedpost into her waiting arms.

  ..............................

  The warlock laid on his cot fondling himself as he remembered their first time. Feenie couldn’t walk the next day; he chuckled just thinking about it. The couple had assumed it was Barrett’s doing. Watching his Galatian friend strut around like a proud rooster had been amusing, yet frustrating. Strange how life worked sometimes. He had grown up thinking the master human race was a myth—now he was in love with two of them—and tracking a group of their kind through the grasslands and forests.

  When Mull finished jacking off, he finished undressing and went outside. Sometime after midnight, he guessed by the position of the moon. The Red Squad would be bedded down for the night. They would surely have a watchman on duty, so he would have to work fast and smart.

  He didn’t want to kill anyone—not if he didn’t have to—Galatians were a rare breed and Glonare wouldn’t be happy if he wasted one. Perhaps the Bulwark or Regalan would be on duty. Their species weren’t important to the cause, but they’d be the most difficult to kill, so he was counting on the element of surprise.

  Filling his darts with liquid sleep, he counted out ten drops. Three for Hogard: Basher of a Hundred Skulls, two for Dante Armstrong, and the rest of the squad would only need one drop each to go to dreamland, but he packed spare darts on the off chance he missed.

  Now—time to prepare the transport spell. Once mixed, the powder would dissolve within ten to twenty minutes, pulling him back from his destination, leaving him plenty of time to get what he wanted.

  Chapter Seven

  Earlier That Day

  (Josephine Rose Albright)

  Rain fell throughout the morning. After a soggy afterno
on of riding followed by humidity so dense that Josie could see water droplets in the air, Prince Loyl decided to make camp early.

  The squad went through its usual routine with Hogard doing a security check, Josie and Lindsey foraging for fruits and vegetables, Dante and Loyl hunting for game, Rolf tending the horses and picketing them out to graze. Lars’s job was to start the fire and to guard the camp. Food prep was shared by all. After supper, Lindsey and Josie slept side-by-side in the middle, while the men spaced out in a circle around them, to protect against the slave traders, still active though banned by all the Western Nations. After another hard day on the trail, sleep came easily to Josie.

  Fog swirled around her feet in her dreams. She was running along a narrow path, overarched by leafless trees, toward a Gothic cathedral. A huge dome glowed like a beacon in the dark night. She hefted up her long white skirts as she fled from a metallic bull the size of a dump truck. Black moss hung from its rake-like horns. Steam came from its nostrils. Its blazing orange eyes pierced the night, seeming to bore into her very soul, filling her with deepest foreboding.

  Scrambling up the cathedral’s brick steps, she flung herself through its heavy double doors and dared to look back into the fog. A horde of monkey-like demons had stopped a few feet away from the door, wanting to enter, but afraid to come any closer. Heart thumping, limbs trembling as she wondered if they would cross the invisible barrier between the outside world and her inner sanctum, she watched their eyes fill with hateful jagged orange flames. The doors shut of their own accord.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, she glided down the aisle of the cathedral, between endless rows of wooden pews. White pillars rose majestically to a groin-vaulted ceiling trimmed in gold leaf. Massive golden chandeliers, burning with dripping candles, hung suspended from the ceiling by golden chains, but the building was so large that their light barely penetrated the darkness, leaving the edges of the cathedral shrouded in mystery. White marble cherub faces, frozen in perpetual expressions of judgment, looked down from on high.

  Somewhere in the distance a hammer clanged. Curious, she walked toward the sound. The cool floor under her feet looked like dark wine veined with white and black tendrils. A huge glass dome the color of blue topaz spiraled gracefully over a bonfire of dancing blue and white flames, where an angel dressed like a gladiator stood with a golden hammer. His feather-white wings, tipped in gold, were spread open. The angel’s glorious appearance made her feel dowdy and small.

  He pulled a sword from the smelting fire, its blade glowing white-hot as he set it upon a large stone anvil. Metal clanged like the toll of a church bell as he pounded and shaped the blade. That’s when she noticed a table stacked with swords just like the one he was making now. Hundreds of them. No—thousands. Each one had a crystal blade. When she picked one up, an euphoric electrical sensation ran through her palm and spread through her entire body. “Whoa,” she gasped, closing her eyes to savor the feeling. As it ebbed, she ran her fingers along the edge of the blade, pondering its smooth double edge. Intricate patterns, like hollow veins, swirled inside the center of the transparent blade, but no two swords were identical. She had never seen anything so beautiful and so perfect.

  “Amazing,” she gushed, “but won’t it break the first time it’s used against a metal blade?”

  “Who can wield the divine blade of the master?” the angel asked. Flipping over the sword in his hand, he continued to pound it between the hammer and the stone. The sound morphed into war drums, causing her heart to thump to the beat.

  “Tell me, holder of the four winds, what do you seek?” he asked.

  She wanted to hide behind a pillar, but her feet wouldn’t move. Shaking hard, she held up the Seeker of the Four Winds.

  “I am looking for the Blood Map,” she replied timidly. “Can you tell me where it is?” He frowned, but did not reply. “Can you at least tell me if we’re close?”

  “You are seek the wrong things in the wrong places.”

  “What should I be seeking then—if not the map?”

  “Seek the map and you shall find the word. Seek the word and you shall find the truth.”

  “Uh,” Josie felt like a little cricket under the gaze of a mighty eagle. It took every ounce of courage to question him again. “By word—do you mean like the bible or something?”

  “Repono Scientha Three. Eleven. Seventy-seven.”

  “Huh?”

  “For the glory of Galatia!” a man’s voice sounded behind her. She turned to see Red Wakeland the First coming at her with an ax. Again.

  “Whah!” She dodged to avoid having her head split.

  His faithful dog, Zena, sprang straight for her chest.

  “Arise, Galatians!” she heard the angel call. “Arise!”

  Her eyes flipped open to see the stars peeking between the leafy trees overhead. The smell of smoke was in the air, and some kind of commotion on the other side of the campfire. Disoriented, Josie sat up to see the huge black and brown shaggy dog from her dream attacking a naked man who had wandered into camp. Zena?

  “Huh?” she said, trying to rub the sleep out of her eyes, wondering if she was still dreaming.

  The man was speaking in a strange language, but she was sure he was cussing. Zena had sunk her teeth into his wrist. The rest of the camp was sleeping, but Prince Loyl’s sword was under the dog’s front paws. Speckled feathers drifted down around them. The man punched Zena on the side of the head, but she refused to let go. He vaporized into a puff of gray smoke, leaving only his wail of frustration echoing through the forest.

  The dog barked ferociously at Josie.

  “Good girl,” Josie stammered placatingly.

  Reaching out with her right hand, she tried to touch Zena, but the animal dissolved into thousands of tiny white birds that flew off to plant themselves in the heavens as flickering stars. So groggy, her heavy lids fell, and sleep overtook her once again.

  ..............................

  Josie was roused by someone shaking her shoulder. As her eyes adjusted to the bright light filtering through the treetops, she saw the squad gathered around her in a huddle. Smacking her dry lips together, feeling numb all over, she sat up with a groan. All the while, harboring the feel that she was forgetting something important.

  “What’s up?” That’s when the pain began to register. She looked down at the starburst pendant and seeker. The chain was still intact, but the skin around it was torn, bloody, bruised. “Hey!” She grabbed it, wincing on contact. “What did you guys do to me?”

  “Nothing,” Prince Loyl assured. “But we think there was an intruder in camp last night.”

  “I did a rewind,” Lindsey said, “but I couldn’t pick up an imprint, which means one of two things: magical interference prevented an imprint or there was no intruder.”

  Lindsey’s words seemed muddled, not making sense at all.

  “Red had an ax.” Josie said, barely remembering the dream that had jumped into the real world. “There was a naked dude fighting with Zena right here.”

  “Red?” Lindsey’s voice went up a notch. “He’s in Galatia.”

  “No,” Josie shook her head. “Not the mayor. It was Red the First and his dog.”

  “I saw human or humanoid tracks,” Hogard grunted, “a bunch of bird feathers, but no dog.”

  “I smell the humanoid.” Loyl sniffed the air. “Definitely male, familiar, but I am unable to place the species, face, or name.” He sniffed again. “But there is no dog scent.”

  “That’s because it was a ghost dog,” Josie said, realizing how crazy that sounded only after she’d spoken. “The spirit of Zena.”

  The Galatians glanced uneasily at one another.

  “You must have been dreaming,” Dante suggested.

  She held up her aching wrist. “Is my blood a dream?”

  Lars knelt next to her, examining the cuts on her arm and had her bend her wrist.

  “Any pain?”

  “Some, but no biggie...I
was dreaming about a cathedral. The Angel of Galatia was there making swords and he told me Seek the map and you shall find the word. Seek the word and you shall find the truth. Repono Scientha Three. Eleven. Seventy-seven.”

  “That’s weird,” Lindsey said. “He tells you to seek the word and then he proceeds to give you numbers.”

  “I’m just repeating what I heard.”

  “But back to the naked guy,” Loyl interrupted. “Was there anyone else with him?”

  “I didn’t see anyone else,” Josie said.

  “Did you recognize him?”

  “I was so shocked about him being naked, uh, my eyes weren’t exactly on his face.”

  “How did he look?” Lindsey asked in interest. “Was he buff?”

  “Not bad,” Josie had to admit. “All I know for sure is that he had black hair—I mean on his head—well, that was black too.”

  “Girls, stay on topic please.”

  “Look,” Rolf said, picking up a blade of grass coated with dried blood, and handing it to Loyl. “It could be Josie’s.”

  Loyl sniffed it and then Josie’s arm, wincing when the fumes of Lars’s antiseptic hit his sinuses.

  “I can’t confirm anything,” Loyl admitted. “Regalan senses are acute, but they have their limits.”

  “We were drugged,” Lars said, showing him a fistful of thorns. “These were hollowed out and filled with an anesthesia of some kind. I found four thorns on Hogard. Three on Dante. The rest of us were shot with one or two.”

  “Jumping Jehoshaphat,” Josie said, holding her neck. “He could have killed us in our sleep.”

  “Whoever did this is still out there—perhaps with plans to steal the Seeker of the Four Winds.” Loyl’s sharp green eyes scanned the forest. “Pack up. We’ll try to lose him on the trail ahead.”

  As the excitement died down, and the dart drug wore out of her system, Josie became aware that something besides her wrist felt strange. Her legs felt somehow exposed. Peeking beneath the blanket, she suddenly realized that her jeans were unzipped and pulled down to her ankles along with her panties. Her breath caught in her throat, the twittering of the birds silenced, the woods faded away, and for a brief moment the world stopped turning.