An original story from Liquid Silver Books author, Darragha Foster

Please read Chapters One, Two, Three, and Four if you haven’t already.

Prince Hlini, or Lin, for short, is a man’s man. He enjoys riding, archery and killing animals in days-long hunts with his courtiers. He is also royal pain in the ass—literally. His voyeuristic and sodomite penchants have kept him much too busy to find a suitable wife in which to sprout his noble seed—because it’s safer to make love to page boys and stable-hands than it is to possibly produce a child who will someday poison you to usurp your throne. Prince Lin also suffers from a tad bit of paranoia. There is one woman whose tremendous beauty (and delicious potatoes) has caught his eye…Sigyn of the garden corner. But greeting her from horseback is about as close as he’s ever been.

Sigyn is the daughter of the village witch and the village undertaker. She is of the lowest caste in the kingdom, for she works on her knees in the dirt, mixing in compost created by her father from the burning of the kingdom’s dead. Still…she has the most successful vegetable stall in the realm. People come from far and wide to buy her fruit and veg. With strength, beauty and a height most women will never see, Sigyn could have many suitors—all lower class, uneducated dirt-farmers. She wants more from life. She wants to be king.

Eventide… a gratis lectori salutem (free to the readers) e-tale by Darragha Foster about that magic time between the end of day and the beginning of night. Beware the mist, the call of the geese and horny wood-wives.

Warning: If you’re familiar with Darragha’s work, you know this story will contain sex, violence, and all-around… quirkiness. If you’re not familiar with Darragha’s work…

And now the fifth chapter of Eventide…

Chapter Five

There was an ache in Sigyn’s gut that she could not diagnose. A knot. A fire. A burning ball of tension that shot from her breastbone to her privates. Is this what it feels like to desire? To miss terribly warm, soft arms and lips? To mourn the passions lost between crisp linen sheets? Yes…I am experiencing the deep ache over parting ways with my lover. My first lover. I taste her still, on my lips–and my hands still grasp the yielding flesh of her breasts. Her scent lingers on me. I am longing for her. Sigyn pulled her bag tighter around her shoulders. “Interesting turn of events,” she whispered. Very interesting and quite unexpected. No matter. When I am king, I shall have no time for such things. Until, perhaps, I have set my counsel in place. With them acting on my behalf I’ll have a bit of free time to pursue matters of the heart. And who’d of believed that my heart lies within the hollow of an old cedar?

Sigyn shook off any fantasies of love and set her mind squarely on her purpose at hand. The woods were dangerous this time of decreasing daylight before evening. Eventide had arrived. And spirits were afoot.

She silently blessed cedars as she passed, hoping the blessing would fall on the ears of any spirits inhabiting them. It was that droplet of fairy cider, and she knew it. That single droplet of cider had warmed her soul to realms of light and air and now, she would forever long to be a part of that world.

The forest grew quite dark as not even a glimmer of moonlight could filter through the thick canopy. Sigyn built a fire and set out a magic grid of white stones to ward off any tricksters.

She took a potato from her sack and roasted it. The purple skin sizzled to a delicate crispiness that would have tasted best served along side a fat sausage. She ate in silence, hoping her next roasted potato would not be eaten alone, in the dark forest, surrounded by the watchful eyes of woodland creatures wishing she was their potato on a stick.

Nightfall should never be quiet.

But this night was a quiet as a grave.

And from graves come spirits.

A single orb of light appeared between two tall trees, dancing as if on a string hung between them. Sigyn giggled at its antics, but dared not stray from the protection of her fire. “I see you will-o-wisp, but I shall not follow you this night. Go and find yourself another playmate,” she called.

A faint weeping noise swept in on the breeze. Since the forest was devoid of the usual sounds of the night, the sobs sounded all the more clearly and all the more ominously to her ears. “It is a banshee,” Sigyn whispered.

The sobs grew more intense.

Certainly it was not a banshee that wept in the night, for a banshee wept not from pain or fear—but as a warning of impending doom. These cries reaching her ears stemmed from great sadness and the pain of loss.

Sigyn tipped a long branch into the fire to set it alight. Warily, she carried it before her as she traipsed into the darkness toward the ominous sound.

As the glow of her fire revealed a small waterfall filling a pond that made absolutely no sound, she knew she had entered an enchanted region of the forest. Sigyn crossed herself, hoping an invocation of the Holy Trinity would add to her protective forces. Of course, fire was probably stronger in this case. Spirits knew not the God of humankind, but fire, they knew well.

The sobbing became wails and the wails nearly discernable words as Sigyn past the pool. There was a cave hidden behind the falls.

“Please…no more…” came frightened words from the mouth of the cave. “Not again…please. I beg you.”

Sigyn doused her flame and stole into the mouth of the cave. The portal was mossy, damp and fetid-smelling. Worse than a wagon full of corpses on a summer day. As she crept slowly inside, the flickering glow of another’s torch led her way.

Hiding between two large rocks with barely enough room between them for her to peer out with one eye, Sigyn discovered the source of the cries.

She could not see the man, as he was pinioned under a voluptuous beauty who was riding him for all he was worth. Sigyn watched with some interest as the man cried out—no pleaded–for the woman to cease and desist while his body responded to her overtures as any man’s body would.

There was not only one woman, but two. For the moment the rider achieved her pleasure atop the man, she rolled off and was immediately replaced by her twin—save the masks they wore were different metals. Gold mask crawled to a pile of furs and drank wine greedily as Silver mask mounted.

Though she could not tell for certain, Sigyn assumed the sex-slave captive of these two cave witches was the prince. And now to formulate a plan…

Sigyn crept out of the cave as silently as she had entered it and sought refuge from the night in a rocky alcove to wait out the coming dawn.

Stay tuned next week for Chapter Six…

Ripped from her LSB bio:

Darragha lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and daughter in a one-hundred-sixteen year old house continually under renovation. The house is haunted by the spirit of a Union Civil War-era soldier who seems to enjoy watching the construction every now and then. Someday, he may turn up as a character in one of Darragha’s stories.

Note: Hey, other writer-types, do you want to contribute to The Serial? If so, email me and I’ll hook you up, yo. Peace!

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