Chapter Sixty One – Union Part Two : Body
He looked up and was amazed. A group of villagers must have come here as soon as they had left this afternoon and working quickly, done this. The entire room had had a light timber framework constructed inside it. All the furniture must have been moved out. From the frames hung lengths of cloth, of different materials. Some were heavy woolens while others seemed to be semi-transparent silks, but they were all either blood-red or cream. Then he saw timber battens on the floor and realized that some of the cloth panels could not be pushed aside. He could move some but not others. It was a deliberate maze, a textile hall of mirrors.
He stood for a moment listening, not moving. His heightened senses could hear the wood in the hearth crackling and outside a light breeze ruffling the young leaves on the trees. But inside the room he could hear nothing more. He could sense her though. She was close by, in this room. She had left the kitchen and was very near. The strong flavour of the incense, flowers and the oil lamps, and his own perfumed body prevented him from picking up her special scent but he just knew she was close to him, somewhere beyond these cloth partitions.
Moving, gently moving. Hidden. But close to him. As unclothed as he was.
On his right was a faint glow and he pushed aside a cream panel to reveal a pottery oil lamp sitting on the floor in a wide flat earthenware dish. Covering it was a wire mesh cage – presumably for safety, to stop a cloth panel blowing over it.
"Pazu."
His name was called, softly.
"Sheeta? Where are you?"
"Nearby. Find me."
She was definitely in the room. He pushed aside a red sheet and moved ahead.
"Pazu, do you want me?"
He stopped. Her voice carried that sweet, breathy edge he loved to hear which always made him feel that way.
"You know I do."
"Come then. Come and get me."
There came a little giggle and suddenly he was aroused, he felt that urge in his groin he had felt when she had beckoned him to her before. He felt the blood flowing into himself but not flowing out again. He quickly became ready. He was surprised how quickly it happened. He felt his readiness that much more acutely. Was this the telle affecting him? His fingertips seemed to flutter and tingle, and his head floated gently.
"Sheeta, be careful. I'll find you. You may not expect my approach."
"Oh, I expect it. I want it. But will you decide when we meet… or will I…?"
There was movement nearby, the gentle sound of a bare foot on wood.
Sheeta, you excite me.
I… I want…
...to touch
He moved on. He found a wall. He had come in the door and gone right. He needed to turn left twice towards the hearth. It sounded like she was behind him. He pushed ahead through several panels and past a second oil lamp before finding a door. He opened it. It was the kitchen. He still needed to go left. Another giggle came from that direction.
"Taeg Pazu, not the kitchen my clumsy boy. I am… hm… I am warm."
He thought warm might mean warmed by flames rather than any other kind of warmth although he couldn't be sure.
"I don't need the kitchen," he said, "even though I'm hungry, this hunger can't be satisfied there."
"Eat at my table," she said, "please, husband… feast on me."
Pazu was so ready for her. Was this her game, to get him excited? If so, it was working. The man-part of him was hard and he tingled there, his need was becoming acute. He looked down at himself and was shocked to see that he was bigger than he could remember being before. Was this the telle's doing as well? Another giggle came to him.
"It is warm where I am. There is a he-ayerth here. In fact, there are two. They are both warm, Pazu. They are both… hot."
His breathing was faster, his heart beat faster too. She was so… different, so teasing. Was she affected by the telle as well? He hoped so. He moved from the kitchen door to his left, pressing against panels that would not move.
"The two he-ayerth are hot. One will burn you. The other, when you touch it, will burn me…"
He couldn't bear to be this excited. He moved again. Then he saw movement. A cream panel had the firelight behind it and he saw a shadow, a silhouette pass in front of the flickering firelight. It was slender and curved and moved quickly, daintily. He moved around the panel and found himself in a space before the fire, the panels were set away from the fire, he guessed again that this was for safety.
A panel opposite was moving and giggles receded behind it, growing fainter.
In this space now he could smell her. His timsu-sharpened sense of smell picked up the fragrant oils she had been wearing in the hall, but under that smell was something else, something unmistakably her. It was her scent, earthy and spicy and mingled in was something new, something in addition. It was even sharper and it reminded him of the air near Porthaven, down on the quay those salty smells of the sea and the kelp on the foreshore. There was a very rich female smell. This was her, he knew, and more than her it was how she smelled when she was ready. He remembered this wonderful smell from the cave, their first time. A crazy recollection came to him. He had smelled this on his fingers. He breathed deeply and his excitement sharply increased.
Turning away from the fire he went towards the stairs. Her voice came again, it had a leaner, more urgent, more throaty edge to it and it came from above him.
"Yes, husband. The stairs. I am here, come to me. Come to the bedroom… My he-ayerth burns."
She sighed and he heard her feet padding up the wooden treads.
He pressed on, upwards, in pursuit.
"I am close. I am coming for you," he said, "Be ready."
"I am ready, so ready."
Even up the staircase coloured panels had been hung like baffles. He pushed them aggressively aside and went up, his need was strong now. At the top he paused and looked at her painting of the summerbird, its wings spread, its beak open and the sunshine pouring from it, like a golden waterfall it fell on the land below.
I am the summerbird, I will fall on her land, I want to wash her in golden fire…
He turned along the upper landing, his hand on the banister. To one side was the door to her sewing room and the room he sat and worked at his book translations. Out of curiosity he turned the handle and opened it. It was dark but he could see strange shapes within. He took a step inside and found it full of furniture. From downstairs and from the bedroom, everything had been carefully stacked in here. Now he knew. As far as he could recall there was only one piece of furniture not here.
The bed.
"No, I am not in there, husband. Come here, come to bed…"
He reached the bedroom door. The scent of incense was stronger in here and there was firelight too, and the glow of oil lamps. It was a mystical place, dark, warm, inviting, like her.
"One day, one night, one moment…"
He went in and began to press through more coloured panels, he turned left then right, right again. Damn, their friends had been busy.
"…one step, one dream, one touch…"
"Where are you?"
"Touch me…"
As he advanced, her voice receded in front of him, always teasing. He was raging hard now, his whole body tingled and needed her touch, needed to touch.
He was the summerbird, his beak ready to open and pour out its life giving heat. She was the Green Girl, pretty, mischievous, sensual, receding ahead of him into the forest, drawing him in with her song.
"…one way, one girl, one boy, one voice…"
"Sheeta?"
"Pazu, my voice is here, I'm here."
"I love you. I love what you do."
"I haven't done anything yet. I haven't even started…"
Another giggle. Her laughter burned him.
"Stay. Don't keep moving. I want to find you."
"Mmm, you will. You will find me. And have me. But not just yet… Not yet…"
He reached the bed. The heavy autumn coloured drapes that usually hung between canopy and base had also been removed and swirls of silky red and cream material were in their place, twisted together into entwined patterns, the cream mingling with the red. What was it with these two colours? On the bed were scattered armfuls of red petals. Tulip petals.
"…one kiss…"
"Sheeta?"
"Pazu, kiss me."
…
"…one moan, one love, one cry, one having…"
"My love…"
"Have me."
"I want you. When I reach you, I will make you sing. The summerbird will make you sing."
"Have me this day, make it our book of days. Take your pen and write in me. Write deeply, scar me with your writing…"
Pazu stopped, his heart was pounding, he felt as though if he touched himself or suddenly came upon her, he would explode. He went to the end of the bed, the fireplace glowed warm and there was apple wood burning there, he knew its fresh smell. There were only a few feet between the end of the bed and the hearth and it was clear of panels. A deep soft yaoko pelt rug lay before the fire. She must be on the far side, towards the window that gave the view over the orchard. That space was less than half the room, not large. He could find her now, there were surely not many places to hide.
He stepped around the bed, went right. A soft mellow chuckle came and some panels ahead of him moved. He darted forward and reached out but grasped only red silk. Pushing through he found the window, an oil lamp burning on the sill. The night air flowed in the open window and its breeze disturbed the panels. He turned again facing a sound behind him. He closed his eyes and imagined her, her delightful shape, flowing and curving and shaking as she laughed.
"Wife?"
"Hm, yes husband?"
"These colours? The red and cream. What are they?"
"Hm, well now, they are you and I."
"In what way?"
"You are the cream."
"I know, my wedding suit was cream."
"No, husband, you are the cream. It represents you."
"How?"
"Guess."
He tried to. He wracked his brains but couldn't make a connection. It had to be a Gondoan thing.
"Is it to do with Gondoa? Folklore?"
"No, I don't think so. You are the same colour as all men, I think. So I am taught."
"How do you mean?"
"When you finish."
what? what did that mean? when he finished what?
"I don't understand."
"I could tell you. But it is better if I show you. Or rather," she paused, "if you show me."
There was a hint of a smile in her voice, she was smiling as she spoke. Then, quite unexpectedly, she began to sing.
"Huhn, ny'muhl la daloeh om-e
La fohr u-la lirhmoth tu puhr sem
Ah u-la ah la whinnoh
Imroh la suerte o-fodh ehroth
"Fluh yau skur
Myet yau stor
Yau he-ayerth al om-e tuh
La lirhum om-e
Hewn gier yau-tal're
Yau he-ayerth al om-e tuh"
As she sang he moved slowly, as quietly as he could, back the way he had come, back towards the bed.
"Brinnoh au-seth, ust for la
Silyeth au la bruwynd yau lus neh'mher
e-Shuurn yau-al coertens tau mor
Ensur la urt-thome au herthme duh
"Yau brwyneh o-goh tau
Uth'uru yau huernen tau caesen
Uesen gu fuhr aeyond ueh'stunen
Na maerteh dunstuch la
Yau-teh huldhe om-e"
He could see the glow of the fire on his right, feel it's warmth. Her singing came from his left. She was close and no longer moving. She was either at the end of the bed, or on it. He pulled aside a final red panel, saw the fire, and turned. She was there.
"Fluh yau skur
Myet yau stor
Yau he-ayerth al om-e tuh
La lirhum om-e
Hewn gier yau-tal're
Yau he-ayerth al om-e tuh"
He stood and watched her sing. She was standing at the foot of the bed, leaning back against one of the bedposts, her bare white legs crossed at the ankles. Wound around her middle was a red banner of silk. It was wrapped tight against her and he saw her shape through it, the dome of her belly, the curves of her chest, even the two places she loved to feel the nip of his teeth where her body had stiffened and was ready. These places dimpled the thin material and invited him.
Her hair had changed again. Gone was the formal tight rose-trimmed construction she had worn earlier. In its place her hair was wild and loose. It was still piled up on her head but it was completely without control. It looked like the formal style she'd worn before had been quickly undone and shaken out and fingers had been scooped into it, ruffling it. The resulting storm had then been piled back up and quickly pinned in place with a few clips. Into this amazing red-brown whirlwind of hair had been stuck several red tulips. Pazu knew what this meant; she had taught him about flowers and their meanings. The tulip stood for passion.
She finished her song and looked at him, eyelids half closed as though bored. He loved that look. It was his favourite expression. She smiled.
"Welcome, husband."
She looked down at him, below the waist.
"Sheeta, you are such a tease. Where did you learn to be like this?"
"Are you enjoying it?"
"I am, you're a different person."
"I don't know what you learned this week but I was taught lots of interesting things. How to please you. How to do things. And like you, I'm a quick learner."
She smiled mischievously, still looking below his waist.
"I'm slower than you. I seem to be struggling with this red and cream thing."
"The cream is difficult for me to show you now, that comes later. Would you like me to show you the red?"
"Hm. And I want to see you."
"Unwrap me then."
He stepped close and took hold of the end of the red silk. Pulling on the panel it began to unwind from her body. It was attached to the canopy of the bed, to the top of one of the posts, and since it was fixed, she had to turn as it unwound. She revolved slowly, twice, her arms lifted so that they wouldn't tangle. The material fell away. She leaned back against the post, her arms raised, hands gripping it above her head.
She wore her wedding band, and the red velvet choker. And that was all.
He stared.
What else could he do?
She was beautiful. When he'd told her, that evening in the farm, in her bath, that she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, it had been the truth. She still was. If anything, like this, teasing and sensual, and ready, she was more beautiful still.
For a minute there was no sound in the room but the shifting and spitting of the apple logs and two people breathing.
Then he came to her. He could wait no longer, he could resist the siren call not a second more. He put his hands on her waist and their mouths touched. They kissed, they pressed together. They pushed, they strained. They entwined. It became not a kiss but a struggle, a battle, a deep, twisting, exciting, raging thing. There was wetness and tongues and lips and teeth and breathy gasping delight. His hardness crushed into her belly and her softness pressed flat against him. There were pounding heartbeats and fingers digging into hair and gripping tightly across shoulders. Names were gasped and moaned even though neither knew they were speaking. Holding her face in his palms he pushed her head back and kissed her neck, her jaw, her ear, her hair.
Gasping, they came apart.
"Uh, Sheeta… you're different," his breathing slowed
"Mm, for you. Different for you. Tonight is your night, husband. I am taught this."
"No, our night. We share it."
"Yau ulve om," she only smiled.
He noticed she was different, and not only in how she was behaving. There were several things different about her body, one of them was obvious, he had seen it. The others came to him as he looked. Under her arms where before there had been tufts of thick reddish hair now there was nothing. Under there now were two beautiful smooth white hollows.
"Your hair… here," he pointed.
"Hm… a ritual I knew of but have never experienced. The wife is exposed for her husband, so he can see all of her. Do you like it?"
He put his fingers there, the skin was impossibly soft, like the skin of her lips and her chest. He wanted to… he had to.
Kiss.
I want to. she is so beautiful there
He moved his face there. She was deliciously fragrant with perfume. He kissed her side where her soft liquid breast became merely muscle, where the shape of her began. He moved his lips up and drank in the scent of that perfect hollow. She smelled wonderful, fragrant and yet her girl smell was strong here, he loved it. With his lips he worshipped her…
With her lips she moaned.
He put his face in turn to each sweet hollow and with his tongue bathed them. She was exotic and pure and enchanting and mysterious and wonderful. She was everything he needed. Kissing her here he pressed up against her and the hard part of him pushed against her stomach. Feeling his hot presence she moaned again, turning her head from side to side.
I want…
him…
it…
oh, so soon, I want him…
"You're beautiful. I love it."
"I'm glad. I'm pleased that I please you. And, my legs."
"I thought so. There too?"
"Hm. Touch them."
He did. He ran his hands down her thighs to her knees. She had been covered in fine reddish-brown hairs here too, and now they were all gone. In their place was an exquisite expanse of smooth white beauty.
"How is it done?"
"A fine stone, called raseihren. When split it forms a sharp edge and it can be scraped over soapy skin. Men use them too for shaving."
"It doesn't hurt, or cut, like a steel blade?"
"It can do if you use it wrong, but the women who shaved me were experts. I still have to learn properly."
"The hair will re-grow, yes?"
"Hm."
"Can you do it again? Yourself? In future?"
"You like it?"
"I love it, it's lovely. You feel wonderful."
"Of course then, I'll do it. If it pleases you, it pleases me."
"And I've seen the other thing as well."
"I thought you would," she smiled, that Green Girl smile was back, "I would like you to…"
"Hm?"
"Look. I'd like you to look at me. There."
"A moment first. Before I do."
He kissed her again, this time slowly, so very slowly. That first kiss had been a violent summer shower, a deluge of the senses. This second kiss was like the dawn mist curling on the river and creeping gently out to cover the meadows with its cool softness. It was a deep kiss and again she did what she liked doing, she sucked on his tongue. They were stirred by it but it didn't become a desperate thing, merely slow and tender and beautiful. She drew back.
"Now, kneel. I want you to look upon me."
She uncrossed her ankles and shifted them a little apart. He knelt down.
he…
…looked.
At her.
She was. Different.
Before, she had displayed a thick soft mass of reddish hair. He remembered tangling his fingers through it, how silky and fine it was, unlike the strong wiry hair of her head. Now it was different. It was very short, trimmed right back to a fine downy covering the hair no more than a quarter inch long. Through the fine down he could see her flesh, see the rounded shape of her. It also covered less of her. It was shaped into a tidy triangle. Before her soft carpet had extended out to her legs, and even onto her legs. Now it covered a much smaller area. To the sides was exposed more smooth skin. He could see a clear clean crease where her upper inner leg met… where…
…he wanted…
to.
put.
…his fingers. He touched her at the side and felt her smoothness. She started in surprise at the contact. He moved his finger from her inner thigh to that fine crease where leg met the lowest fold of her stomach. He drew a finger down this delightful crease that she had never shown him before.
"Pazu. Underneath as well. Under me…"
He had never looked closely before so he couldn't see what the difference was but now, at the base of the downy triangle there was a pale pretty divided thing, a little like a mouth and there was moisture here and this was the place that delicious scent came from. He loved that salty sharp tang. Breathing it in, it filled his lungs and his mind, it excited him. There was no hair under here at all, but he wasn't certain if that was different from before or not.
"Open… yourself. Open… your legs."
He heard her breath jetting down her nostrils, a sigh held in. She obeyed his request and moved her feet a little further apart.
"No, further."
She put her head back and let out a low moan. Her arms were still raised, still gripping the post above her head. Staring up at the canopy of the bed she did as he asked and spread herself. Her heart was thumping inside her and her chest ached to be touched. But down below, in her burning centre was where her body screamed for contact. The image of him in the cave, above her, his arms, his beautiful muscles taut, his hardness in her, spearing her to the ground, making her go mad with pleasure…
I want…
you.
husband.
"You are so beautiful, so pretty."
She felt his breath on her and this made her moan again.
"Pazu… the red colour… is me. Do you wish to see it?"
"Yes, where?"
"Inside, Pazu. Inside me. I am red. The dress, the cloths, the flowers, my flesh. Inside."
"I want to see."
"Oh, yes. Yes, open me."
She let out a groan that came deep from her gut as she felt a touch. His fingers, so light, so gentle, so damn good. He used two or three of them, palm upwards as a scoop to touch under where she curved, where she opened, where she was dripping. She knew she was dripping, she could feel it, scalding her. She moaned again, louder as she felt him press in, opening her, spreading her.
The timsu in the telle smoke had many properties. In men it caused changes in their bodies that made them swell more, some men more than others, the results were unpredictable. It also heightened the senses, made the sense of hearing, vision, taste and smell stronger, sharper. It also jangled the nerves and excited the sense of touch. In the skin or the fingers or the tongue this could cause a person to experience quite unusual sensations, a tingling, a buzzing. But in both men and women timsu particularly excited those parts of the body that attracted a lovers touch. When a man and a woman lay together they might smoke timsu leaves or drink timsu tea beforehand simply in order to enjoy it more. Tonight, right now, this girl was already almost on the edge of reason and they had hardly done anything yet. Her pleasure was great just from the teasing dance in the maze, from his kisses, from simply seeing him enjoy her so much. And now that he was touching her, she was distracted nearly to the point of madness.
Pazu pressed two fingers in, then the other hand, two fingers with that hand and with both hands he parted her and held her open. He knelt and simply looked. He had never seen anything like it. She was the most beautiful thing he'd known and this, this amazing red flower was the prettiest part of her. He simply had no idea she was like this here. The ruffled pink edging parted to reveal a deep red soft interior and from it came a wonderful wetness and heat. This was where he had been in the cave. He had felt this part of her gripping that part of him but hadn't visualized the place he was embedded at all. The smell, her delicious salty scent filled his senses. It was wonderful, he couldn't get enough of it. He looked up. Above her softly curving stomach, above her breasts, her head was bent back and she was moaning.
"Pazu… kaesu om-e. Nehme, puhlko nehme…"(1)
Kaesu, he understood. He made to stand up, but as soon as she felt his hands move, his shoulders begin to shift she darted her hands quickly down and held him in place.
"Na, ro-thome, ro-thome. Dhom-thome. Kaesu om-e, Pazu, ethu om-e."(2)
Distracted by pleasure her mind reverted to her native tongue. Pazu understood the words, understood what she was saying. What he didn't understand was the idea of it. The simple concept of it. Kissing…here?
here?
her centre?
Kissing was for the mouth, the face, the neck, the hands even. But then again he had kissed her soft chest, hadn't he? And she had kissed his stomach. So… was there any place you couldn't kiss? Any place you shouldn't? He didn't know. This had never happened before. He received his answer by the gentle pressure of one of her hands on the back of his head.
"Pazu, please, my love. Kiss me there. Now."
…
"Eat at my table… feast on me."
Holding her pretty place open he moved his face forward. Her hand on the back of his head told her he was moving and she moaned in anticipation. In front of him she shifted position a little and pushed out toward him. It was clear what she wanted. Suddenly wanting it too, wanting to do this for her he closed the last small gap.
Sheeta moaned deeply from the gut and brought out from low in her lungs a growl of pleasure as his soft mouth touched her. And then, oh, yes, and then his tongue came out and she began to fly. She swooped and rose in the sky like a bird. This beautiful feeling she had so rarely before experienced, just twice before, she could feel it beginning again, already his touch was causing sharp spikes in her mind, spinning whirling bright daggers that bit and stabbed at her, cut deep into her belly and made her want to cry out.
He tasted her and loved it. The sharp bitter tang of her pleasure tasted like nothing else. It no longer reminded him of the coastal air, the sea shore, of bitter kelp or salt sea breezes. It had its own peculiar musky sourness that underneath was delicious too. The sharpness and sourness were combined into a sweet thing he simply wanted to taste. He pressed further in and then, remembering their very first time when he had touched her with his fingers, he knew there was a place she responded most. It was at the top. Moving his fingers he opened her wide. There was something there, like a little berry, like a nut it its shell. It was small and deep red and pretty and by pulling back the hood of skin above it he could expose it. He touched it with his tongue, lapping gently like a kitten laps milk. The instant he touched it he heard her groan again and her hand pressed harder at the back of his head.
Pleasure, she was feeling pleasure. And that pleased him.
He loved to please her, this was love. Something he willingly would give.
everything I have is shared with you. all that I am is given to you. my body is yours, it honours you.
Pazu honoured his wife. His fingers honoured her, his tongue honoured her and his heart did, his very soul did. She suddenly forced his face hard into her and cried out, he rasped his tongue against her more, faster and harder, flickering it rapidly like a flame. Her cry became a scream and she broke and shattered and tore apart and spewed out a stream of Gondoan words he had never heard before.
And she was honoured.
Sheeta, one hand gripping her husband's head against her centre, the other arm taut and holding herself upright against the bed post, bent her back over almost until her head touched the bed and she burst with pleasure, screaming and screaming, gasping, plunging and falling, her mind a writhing, whirling, leaping thing, her body spasming and burning.
And with his body, he honoured her. With his body, he worshipped her. With his body, he served her.
And with her body, she obeyed.
Pazu though, didn't stop. He kept on gently touching, now more slowly now a little faster, now reaching forward and grazing his teeth across this little thing, this tiny place that brought her so much pleasure. Sheeta came down from her screaming wild mountain and moaning, lifted her head. Her mind came back to where and who she was but suddenly, busy at her centre where she expected warmth and calm and a sweet cuddling peaceful feeling there darted something else, something light and flickering and birdlike. It ate at her, it teased, it built up, it made her draw breath and gasp in surprise. Whatever this thing was, it wasn't gone. It was still there. This sweeping powerful creature that had overcome her and shattered her within minutes hadn't finished with her. It was back. It had never gone away. It was still here working at her tiny centre, teasing her, beckoning her onward.
She leaned back on the wooden post and thought
my…oh, no
again
it's happening again
how can it?
how can something so good
be…
…again?
"Uhn, Pazu, sweet Pazu, beautiful husband, oh, yes! YES! Again, please!"
The flickering of his tongue and the rasping of his teeth was bordering on agony, it was so good. She was so sensitive. Once had been fantastic, twice would be unbearable. But she couldn't stop it; she didn't want to stop it. If she had been burned by discomfort and writhing in pain, as long as his mouth and lips and tongue and teeth were there it would be enough, it would drive her on, over no matter what mindless hurt or agony it would take… if pleasure was at the end of that pain, she would endure the pain, she wanted the pain. The bitter soreness was part of the pleasure. Like running barefoot over sharp pebbles to get into the cool water of the lake on a searing hot day. To reach the pleasure you endured the torment.
And she could see, in the distance, the pleasure. It was coming again for her, it was coming to take her hand and lead her to distraction, to a place beyond reason with its beautiful maddening embrace. She wanted it, she reached for it. It was almost in reach. A little more torment, just a little. She could endure a little more.
If only…
she could…
…get there.
Long before her second peak the girl had become a useless limp thing. She lost her grip on the bedpost and slipped down, flopping backwards onto the bed. The boy who worked away at her centre, knowing by now her sounds and what they meant knew that these weak gasps and moans of pain were not cries of stop, were not calls of enough and were not urgings of no but were guttural demands, broken orders, they were her way of begging for more, pleading for it to go on, no matter how much it cost, no matter at all. Just more, please more…
And when it happened the second time her eyes rolled back, the whites showing and she simply dug down deep into her gut and drew out a shattering animal groan, a deep hoarse pitiful cry that said yes and no and thank you and enough and more and stop and please and love all in one furious surging convulsion. And it went on, and on, longer and more searing, both more beautiful and more agonizing than the first time.
Pazu lifted his head.
It was over.
He lay his forearms on his wife's thighs and stroked the palms of his hands gently over her stomach. Her body twitched and jerked as the last spasms faded. He dipped his head and kissed her pretty downy place and nuzzled his lips there contentedly, licking up the shining traces her pleasure had left.
I worship you. ask me to do it again and I would. I am yours. make use of me. I exist to make you happy.
Sheeta returned from the place she had gone. She lifted an arm and ruffled the mane of his hair.
"Pazu. Beautiful Pazu. Thank you. Oh, thank you. Hold me."
He rose and climbed onto the bed beside her. He rolled her onto her side and held her against him, hugging her to him. For a while there was no sound but her ragged breathing that slowly eased. And then.
"Husband, I thank you. Husband, I love you. I love all of you, all that you do."
"Do you want to sleep?"
"No," she looked at him, alarmed, "of course not. Husband, I want you."
He looked into her eyes.
"Sheeta, you are such a lovely girl. Everything about you is pleasing."
"I haven't even started pleasing you yet."
"What would you like to do?"
"I want to do that. To please you."
"You already do."
"No, I mean touch you. I want to touch. You. Where you are most beautiful."
--I--
---o-o-oOo-o-o---
I I
"A moment."
Pazu got up and put some more apple logs on the fire. His wife lay on the bed, on her side watching him.
"Husband, enough of your housekeeping, come here."
He crawled up the bed and lay with her. She reached for him and kissed him, she pulled the flowers from his hair and discarded them.
"Look at your hair, it's so long now. Don't you want it cut?"
"I don't mind it like this, its practical in winter, warm."
"It'll be hot in summer."
"Then when you want to, cut it for me."
"I will. When it gets hotter. I want to."
She grabbed a handful of it and pulled his head back so that she could kiss his neck and his throat and down to his chest. She pushed him onto his back and kneeling up beside him paused, looking. She ran her fingertips across his shoulder and breast, enjoying the firmness of him.
he makes me feel
indecent.
he is so…
wonderful.
the hard feel of him…
I want…
"Is there anything you would like?"
"Of course," he grinned, "that's the silliest question."
"What would you like, hm?"
She smiled and ran her fingers in a circle on him, lower, towards his stomach.
let me have you, now…
"Your hair, loosen it. I want to see."
That surprised her. She lifted an eyebrow but complied. She raised her arms and pulled the flowers out, throwing each tulip at him as it came free. As each landed on his face, he laughed, knocking them away. Sheeta reached up for the clips which held her hair and pulled them out. These she dropped on the floor by the bed, then she let her hands fall and shook her head. The great mass of colour fell and swept about her. It hung now halfway down her back, thick and dense and with the firelight behind it, glowing like a promise.
"Now, what else?"
He put a finger to his lips, a shush, sign. He lay there, just looking. Her hair was lovely.
"Please, lift it again, hold it up."
Happy to please him, she did so. He needed to touch. He knelt up and facing her reached out his hands. He touched her front, gently stroking, cupping, lifting, his fingers and thumbs caressed her. She knelt, happy, but wanting to touch him. She out a long breathy sigh, a moan.
he makes me begin so easily.
"Hm, not fair. My turn. I want to play."
"In a moment. I need to…"
He bent his head and kissed the two little places where her body had stiffened. He had thought these to be his favourite parts of her, after her eyes of course, and her mouth. But tonight he had discovered an even more wonderful place. But here, here he could make her respond as well, by slow movements of pinching fingers, squeezing hands and nipping teeth she again began to make those gasping urgent sounds he so much loved to draw from her.
"Husband, please, my turn."
She sounded a little put out, as though this wasn't fair. He released her soft chest and lifted his hands to her face, cupping it and kissing her mouth.
"Alright, your turn."
"What would you like?"
"What did you learn this week?"
"Hm, I'll show you."
Where he had knelt up, one of his knees was between hers. She wiggled forward so that his knee pressed between, and into her, then she reached between his legs and lifted him.
"You are bigger than you were before, you know."
"I thought so. Did the telle cause that?"
"Hm. How does this feel?"
He watched her face, he felt his hot soul held and touched and her nimble fingers moved around him and against him and gripped and cupped. His breathing quickened.
"Don't look down. Don't look at my hands. Look at me. Look at my eyes."
He did so. Her face was calm and kind and open and loving. Down there where her hands worked he began to respond, the sensations began to build, he felt his nerves tingling and dancing. She seemed to grip him hard and pull back part of him and he felt exposed, then the most wonderful sensations filled him, her fingers were on him, right at the every end of him gently scooping under, rubbing over and pressing across the end of him. His breathing rasped and he found himself unable to stifle a moan.
"Oh, Sheeta…"
"Is that good?"
"Hm, yes… you are good."
"Pazu, in the darkness of the night…"
"Urh…nnnn… yes…"
"…you will know me…"
"Yes."
"…by the light of my passion."
"I do… I…"
"Can you feel my passion?"
"Yes!"
"I do this through love. I love you. Doing this pleases me."
"Mmmm…"
"Do I please you?"
"Sheeta! You know you do."
"Do you want more?"
"Uh, yes!"
"How much more?"
"I want… I want you… please…"
"Do you want to be inside me?"
"Yes."
"Do you want to open me?"
"Oh, yes."
"Do you want to stretch me?"
"Hmmm…"
Her fingers swept around and around where he was wet and most sensitive. He could feel the end approaching and he wanted to be in her. He wanted to give himself to her. It had to be this way, finishing like this was wrong, this part of him was hers, not his.
"Do you want to spear me, plant in me, be my plough?"
"Sheeta, now. Yes, now."
"Pazu, overcome me."
"Am I enough?"
"Your eyes, your hands, your tongue, your voice, your imagination; they are enough."
"I want to."
"Be enough for me. Be my conqueror, be my prince."
He could bear it no more, he pushed her backwards onto the silken red and cream sea. She folded down on her back, smiling, her hair a whole world around her, spilling off the bed. He knelt astride her, her legs, widely parted, folded back, begged him to enter. Her arms lifted, welcoming him, embracing him. The summerbird rose in the sky, its wings spread, its beak open and the sunshine pouring from it, like a golden waterfall it fell on the land below. It both fed and nourished, it took and gave, it filled and emptied. It loved.
"Pazu! Yes! Ur he-ayerth mo."
He did, he ruled her hearth, he knew her body, he made love to her and she to him. This was not a thing two people did to each other, this was one thing two people created. This was not an urgent hot thing, the thing that desperate people crave, not a thing that happens without love, a crude base thing merely of sweat and muscles and pleasure. This was nothing at all to do with what those men in the Red Cow Inn talked of. This was love; it became a thing of worship itself, a thing of truth and joy. Obedience and submission, caring and worship.
This man and this woman had begun the day as two separate reasons. They ended it as one, not joined together where his blade ploughed her soil but joined as two lives join, by oaths and vows, by commitment and love, by spirit and devotion, two imperfect souls were brought closer to perfection by sharing a truth in which they both believed and, much more important, in which they were both prepared to invest. Each brought their fears and doubts and worries to this place, this room, this loving union. And from the imperfect contribution of each was born a new thing. Young yet, and uncertain it was but over the months and years like a child it would grow strong and confident and assured. And this thing, this marriage was born here, this night, in this bed among these cries and kisses and moans and loving touches. It was born of this communion, this urgent beautiful joining. Now she would cry out and now he would. Now he would be atop her and spreading her and then she would be astride him, writhing on him. Now she would be on her knees near the fire, her forearms and face to the floor, her cries pressed against the rug and he would be kneeling behind her and repeatedly entering her. But these details mattered little.
What mattered was them. What mattered was love. Love was there in that room. Love was there at the very beginning, the very root of that marriage. Many things came and went over many years but love stayed throughout. It never went, it never died, it never took second place to anything, and it never grew stale.
It mattered the most, and it remained until the end, the brightest strongest thing.
--I--
---o-o-oOo-o-o---
I I
It was late in the night. And silent. How late Sheeta did not know. Dawn would come at about six. She turned her befuddled head, the night air drifted in the window. Was the sky paling yet? It seemed to be. Five o'clock perhaps? She lay across the bed on her back, her wonderful husband was across her, his head on her chest, his lips nuzzling at her breast like a babe.
They had not slept. They had celebrated their marriage again and again. She couldn't remember how many times he had made her lose control. No idea. Six times? Eight? More? She had never known it could be like this. And he had been beautiful, how could he not be worn out? She didn't know. Her mind whirled as she remembered the night; his fingers, his tongue, his delicious rasping, nipping teeth, his spear. At one point he had made her kneel up, had taken her fingers and put them on herself and made her touch herself. With words and touches elsewhere he had encouraged her and she'd sent herself gasping and squealing beyond the point where she could stop. And as she went he had kissed her, his tongue in her mouth as she cried out. She was truly blessed with a husband who could be like this. Beautiful to behold, strong, skilled with his hands, willing to learn farming, friendly of disposition and exhaustingly virile. She reached down and stroked his sweet face. He was like this, as though a child. Yet an hour ago he had been a demanding master. Maybe this was why the stone had taken her to him? Not because he was the forgotten prince, but because he was simply beautiful in every way. The stone had thought he was the best person for her. It had been right.
"Are you asleep, love?"
"Nnn…"
"I forgot."
"Hm…wha?"
"To tell you."
"Tell me what?"
He turned his head and let her puffy wet nipple slide from his lips.
"About the cream."
"Hm. I think. I understand."
"You do?"
"Hm. Taeg Pazu isn't all taeg."
She smiled at him, stroked his tangled damp hair.
"You're not even a little stupid."
"Taeg Pazu is, you said so."
"I was just teasing."
"All those times you said it?"
"Uh-huh, all those times," she reassured him, "all teasing. You're not really stupid."
"Hm. Taemo. Anyway, I've seen enough of it tonight."
"The cream?"
"Yes, the cream. It's what comes out of me isn't it?"
"You're right, it is. In that fluid is your seed. The thing you plant in me that makes my egg into a child, your cream is one third of life being made."
"A third?"
"My egg is another third. That really is the red symbol. My blood. Each month when the egg is renewed the blood flow shows I can create life. I showed you the red inside me, it's the closest thing to the blood I could show."
"And the other third?"
"Lucita of course, although it's wrong to say she is only a third of it. She's all of it really because she is your seed and my egg as well, we just help her."
"Is she here tonight?"
"You know, I'm not sure. I think she is with us, watching over us but tonight I don't think she has created life."
"Oh."
"Hm. It's just a feeling I have. I don't know why. You know, she was in the cave with us."
"She was?"
Pazu pushed himself up on his elbow and looked at her carefully. Her face was partly turned away and lit by the dying embers of the fire. Across it her gorgeous hair rained down.
"Yes, definitely she was there. And I felt her make a decision not to create life that night. It's not for us to know why, she has her reasons."
"So you don't know why tonight either?"
"No. We can't presume to know her plan. Although…." Sheeta thought carefully, "You know, what I hope for is that it's her wish that you and I should enjoy each other a little more, before a child is made."
"You do want a child don't you?"
"Yes, of course! And you?"
"Yes. You know. Something funny happened in the hall," Pazu recalled that odd meeting, "Councillor Kamaesa came to me and said something odd."
"What?"
"The child she will have blonde hair, is what she said. Just that. She was peculiar too. Her eyes, not like I've seen her before. You know her, how sharp she is, those beady old eyes, how they know everything?"
"Hm."
"Well in the hall she looked very strange, her eyes were clouded and unfocussed. And she walked up to me and said only those words."
"But blonde? With us two? How?"
"I don't know, it's just what she said."
She turned to look at him.
"That is strange."
"Let's just see."
He got off the bed and stoked the fire, the room flickered and danced with its glow. He raked the ashes and added more logs. The small hours were the coldest part of the night. Sheeta rolled onto her front and leaning on her elbows, watched him, watched his shoulders, his hips, his fine legs, his muscular rear. He turned. He saw her back, white and smooth and slender and dipping down to her tiny waist, and beyond that her white beautiful swelling bottom, her lovely legs.
again. how can I want her…
…again?
am I not exhausted?
no...
…she excites me.
He had caught her looking.
"What?" he asked
She spoke no answer, her smile was her answer.
"Come here wife."
She uncoiled herself from the tangled damp bed sheets and feeling a little unsteady, went to him. Near the warmth of the fire he held her, hugged her and stroked her back.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Loved," the girl replied, "hm, and sore. And, hm… wet. Messy," she smiled up at him.
"Tired?"
"No, not really. Why?"
"Touch me."
"What? Again?"
"Hm."
"Pazu! You must be exhausted! How can you want me again?"
"You send me, with emotions I've never before felt, you send me to places. I just…want you… more."
His hand came up, holding her soft tender front. His fingers stroked. By the fire, in the cool pre-dawn darkness the girl and the boy held each other, and kissed and touched.
Taking her hand he led her to the window. Standing behind her he pushed her neck and bent her over. Using her forearms she supported herself on the windowsill. The boy pressed up against her, behind her.
"What do you see?" he asked her.
"The mountain," she answered, "the lake, the woodland. Our fields, our shed, our yard."
"Our farm, hm?"
"Yes."
She squealed as he pulled her open, forcing her legs apart, he entered her. She was wet and he came into her hard and deep. She growled and moaned. How could he need more? He was as big as the first time.
"Where have we been?" he asked
"Uh, I don't understand…mmm…"
"What has happened?"
"To us?"
"Hm."
"Oh. Uh, Pazu. I can't think. Everything."
"Our journey?"
"Yes, oh… yes, our journey…"
"Is it over?"
Now she understood. She looked down the river and over the forest, pale as the first fingers of dawn caressed the trees. Beyond it were the southern hills and beyond those an inn on the high moorland. Beyond that was Restormel and another forest and a ruined flying city, a place in a cave where some people had taken shelter from the first snows of winter, a crashed air-machine. And south again was a war torn mangled land, a grass airstrip, hills, a farm with a tin bath, a ruined barn where unknown travelers had lit a fire to shelter from a storm. Where they had kissed.
Then – oh – he moved inside her and made it hard to think – then a muddy debris strewn country, a railway line, a deep mineshaft and the rusting junk of a glider at the bottom. And under the sea the wreck of a giant airship and the ruins of Laputa's great weapon. And further still, Dola and her boys somewhere there and Tepis Fortress and then The Ravine, Pazu's cabin, the doves, his friends.
And scattered through it all were the traces of their passing, this boy and this girl, these shallow marks they had left on the land, on people, on places. Time would come and wipe away those marks, time would soon forget them.
Their journey…
"Yes. Pazu, yes. Mmm, it's over. Our journey is ended. I'm with you. We are here."
He pushed into her again and she cried out and gripped him. She was sore but wanted more, he could make her want more even when she burned with too much use, even when she craved sleep.
"Wrong. It's not over."
"Uhn… oh…"
"It's just starting."
"?"
"The road doesn't end here Sheeta. It starts. Our story begins here."
"Pazu… please, don't tease me. Harder…"
"Our journey, uh."
"Yes…"
"My life is your life. Live your life with me."
"Yes."
"Live my life. Live me."
"Oh yes."
His movements became faster, deeper. She began to push back against him.
"The journey hasn't even begun, my love."
"Oh, no, Pazu, no."
"Today, it begins. Come…"
"Mmm."
"Come with me, on this journey."
"Mmm, my life."
"Yes?"
"Is yours."
"Yes, wife."
"Take my life. Take me. Uh, take me Pazu, take all of me. Please!"
He did. They took each other. Clothed only in love they went. This was not the end but the beginning, they journeyed together, as lovers do, not caring about the worries and troubles ahead, not considering the way life would lead them, nor the steep hills their path might follow. Like lovers do they cared not for such as that. They cared, as lovers do, as newly married husband and wife do, only for one thing.
Each other.
--I--
---o-o-oOo-o-o---
I I
Dawn, she came, stealing gently over the land, with hints of colour and a sweet promise of another day in which life would go on, she came. She touched a mountain with her virgin hand, she caressed a dark lake, and pausing for a moment her lips kissed a farmhouse and the two lovers who lay there. On a bed they were tangled as one, entwined and finished, poured out into each other they were, in perfect repose the dawn found them, still without sleep.
"Thank you, you were beautiful. Thank you, thank you. Ever since the day you caught me as I fell you have been a wonder to me."
Said the girl.
"It wasn't me who caught you, it was your stone that sent you. You should thank your stone."
Answered the boy.
She looked at him sleepily, he had no idea had he? What he had done for her, everything he had done, her life he had changed, and yet, here he was, still denying his role in her days. He still gave credit to her stone.
"Well, thank you stone. Thank you for bringing me to my prince. And thank you, prince, for the rest. You know, that other stuff… just a few small things, hm?"
"Sheeta, thank you for marrying me. Be with me always."
"Goodnight Pazu, my love, sweet dreams…"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
30 April – 1 May 2007
(1) The only new word I introduce here is "nehme" or "now". But the whole sentence reads: "Pazu, kiss me. Now, please now."
(2) Again I introduce only one new word here which is "dhom" meaning "down". So this whole sentence reads "No, stop there, stop there. Down there. Kiss me, Pazu, lick me."
For author notes about Chapter Sixty One, please see my forum (click on my pen name)