Song of the River
Nope! No. Definitely not. This's not an April Fools joke on my part. I've not written any M/F stuff in a long time, so those that tune in to my usual M/M dealings should hush up a bit. I'm not mucking about! Of course, AFTER this I'm probably going back to that stuff, so... sorry, M/F fans!
Wrote this a while ago, and while I'm a terrible, terrible songwriter, this story needs to be uploaded somewhere. That way, everyone can gawk at how bad I am. Some people who've read other parts of my work might also recognize the setting as my kingdom of Renthani. Said setting is BIG, and evolves over its own time. This story takes place late in that universe's chronology, so everything's a bit different to what some people might expect from it. In my other works, all those warnings of Renthani's destruction? This is the aftermath. The event itself is the subject of a novel I intend to write.
Anyway, enough of me blathering on. Read on, and enjoy! I hope.
- Hydromancer Meridian
The Song Of The River
_So far you be, my love, my all,
Can't you hear my lonely call?
Right here I wait; no stone nor sea,
Could from this place sweep me._
A single otter sat still and alone, her eyes closed to the world around her. Her clothing was simple; a drab, grey robe covered her from neck to webbed footpaw. It was what she wore every day. In fact, it was what most beings in the area wore every day; like the world around them, colour was in short supply in such troubled times. In her right paw was tightly clutched a small and battered flute, and in her left a fistful of barren soil.
It hadn't always been barren, certainly not for where it was found. Her eyes opened slowly as her long, jet-black hair rippled in the wind, a pair of icy blue eyes surveying the river beneath her. She sat where the banks of the mighty Merosa River had once flowed. The river that had spread life-giving water across most of the Renthani lands, the river that had helped give rise to the kingdom as a whole. But no longer.
The river had dried up, years ago. It was a powerful sign to the otter, of how times had changed and shifted in Renthani. The rise and fall of darkness, the ebb and flow of evil forces... all had taken their toll on the once-great kingdom. Once upon a time, great Elementalists gifted with the powers of the gods would walk the world, preventing such things as the dead river splayed beneath her. But no more; like Renthani herself, the Elementalists were all but dead and gone.
A sigh rolled from her lips as the otter lifted her flute to her lips and began to play. The sound that emerged was quiet and mournful, and seemed to ripple through the wind and sink down into the dead river below. The Song of the River, passed down through her family and the families of many otters like her, dated back to the dawn of the world, not just the dawn of Renthani. It was a relic, an enduring reminder of the past, of better days. She played the song every day, by the river's dried banks. It had evolved over the countless generations; the core verses were so much shorter than the whole song as she had learned it. Darkness and strife had found their way even to such a relic of the past, though rather than tarnish its beauty, it seemed only to add another dimension to the music. To her, at least, the song in its current state rang especially true.
_Away you're pulled, through storm, through fire,
‘gainst shadows that not rest, nor tire.
By sword you go, with axe and steel,
Yet sorely I miss your touch, your feel._
Renthani was not still without heroes, even in such a dark time. The laws of magic were different, and new and powerful spellcasters existed in the lands, though True Elementalists were a rare breed. The absence of demonkind lent a new power to those not inclined to arcane might, and warriors and archers roamed the world freely once again as they had in the days before The Second Gift of the Gods; magic. Those heroes were needed perhaps then more then ever in the changed world.
Once more the otter's eyes closed, an image slipping into her mind of just one such. Ajiir, he was called. Another otter, he had proven himself to be quite the skilled warrior in the time she had known him. They had met perhaps six years earlier, while the lands were still reeling from the start of the new age. The Age Of Chaos, the Renthani were starting to call it. The Age of Dawn had seen the gods give life to their creation. The Age of War had seen strife and battle struck by the legendary demonic hordes that had so long plagued Renthani. Chaos. The name felt appropriate, since all the world's rules had been turned completely upside down.
Ajiir was gone though, as he often had to be. A member of a localized resistance, her mate was perhaps one of their most skilled warriors. His services were often sought to assist in the fight against the dark power that now occupied her homelands. While she herself could fight, it was not her place to do so. She was charged with the protection of their lands, their home, and their family.
It was something she riled against constantly whenever Ajiir was home. She could fight, and she had taken her time to learn some small measure of magic now that such arts were not restricted by birthright. She knew techniques that would make the Elementalists of old need to set their jaws back in place, even though they would still have been far more powerful than she was. She was also skilled with a bow, she'd told him, and more than capable of fighting.
_It is I you keep, so safe and warm,
Though your absence I hate, I scorn.
Why not today be you returned to me,
Why not the gods shine down on we?_
And yet Ajiir had always resisted. Told her that without her remaining, there would be no home for him to return to when victory was assured. She would always begrudgingly listen to him and accept his reason, even as she hated each time she had to watch his back as he left for war. The knowledge that he only wanted her safe was of but small consolation to her. She cursed the lord of Chaos, she cursed his darkness, and she cursed the world that had crashed down around her. All she wanted was her mate, her love. Even that was denied, by a cruel, jaded world.
As she played her song, the otter glanced up at the sky. She remembered it had once been a beautiful blue, as brilliant as that of the river that lay beneath her. That too was gone, lost in the war, consumed by darkness. A sickening, rippling orange hue was the sight that greeted her, black clouds slipping by to blot out the sun. She knew not what dark enchantments that the lord of the new world had wrought, nor did she know how it had been done. She simply longed for a return to the world of old. It had had its problems, but they were but a trifle compared to the evil the lord of Chaos had ushered in.
In the old world at least, Ajiir was not required by war. He was not taken from her into battle, into a tempest of blade and arcane fire, of vicious lightning and energies far beyond understanding. In the old world, Ajiir would be with her still. In the old world, there was little to threaten their life together, so far did they keep their affairs from the mighty Renthani cities. All that the world was, to them, was each other. They had seen to that with the most ancient of bonding rites amongst Renthani's otters, a ceremony of Choal, of marriage. A bond broken not even by the end of life, one blessed by the Four and that would pass beyond life into the realm of the gods themselves.
A warm breeze rippled across the deadened river, sweeping back the otter's hair as she played on. It was too warm for what it was meant to be; the days were short, indicating the days of winter were upon the lands. Such things were no more; like the land itself, the seasons too had been twisted into aberrations. Where the days of winter had once chilled her through her fur, now she was assailed by storms of dust and dirt and ash. And yet, through the perverse landscape that Renthani had become, still she played.
_Still you're pulled, through winding time,
I left only with song, with rhyme.
My memories ‘most all that is not lost,
And my prayers that war not exact this cost._
The landscape fell away in her mind, replaced behind closed eyelids with images of the insides of her home. Of the table, at which she and Ajiir would eat together. Of the garden they tended together outside, where only with the assistance of her magic could the small seeds planted there hope to ever bloom in the dead soil. Of the desk Ajiir would sit at, scribing down fantastical stories of whimsical heroes... a pastime of his that few of his fellow warriors were aware he enjoyed. Of the easel, where she would spread colour and life in honour of the world lost beneath unrelenting shadow. Of their bed, where they would lie and writhe in the throes of passion and love.
The notes of her song picked up a new energy as her thoughts drifted to memories of their last night together. They had little in the way of food; crops refused to grow in the barren earth beneath their footpaws without the aid of powerful magics, and what few animals had survived the twisting of the world had become vicious, ill-tempered beasts that refused to give up their meat but to a superior fighter. And yet they managed to survive however they could, always making do. Each night, the night before Ajiir was to leave to war once again, they would feast.
It was the most extravagant decadence they had in such a time, but she knew that they would be laughed at for even calling it a farewell feast if they had done so but ten years earlier. Yet it warmed their hearts to do so, to enjoy the company of one another as best they were able before the storm of war swept them away again. She, at least, could not bring herself to refuse them their little joys. The world was bleak, but there was always and forever room for happiness to bloom like the dedicated little flowers in her garden. Happiness, like those little flowers, simply needed dedication and love. And, perhaps, its own special breed of magic.
Such a magic was always present in both her and Ajiir, and the magic of their love supported them through the trying times. Each felt it in the touch of the other, as paws clasped tightly tighter. As arms wrapped around the other. As one heart beat firmly, loudly, against the heart of the other. Two bodies, held in intimate embrace, the dead world around them lost and forgotten as life itself was celebrated.
_Your touch and feel, your scent and taste,
My heart beats for you â€" so fast, such haste!
For heated Summers, gone by so fast,
Of chill Winters, through which our love does last._
Not since the night of their Choal had they so completely let themselves go with one another. Perhaps it was something in the air, or the wine saved over from the old world they kept in the cellar. Perhaps it was the news of the Chaos lord's armies mobilizing once more, or the thought that that time could be their last time. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. The reasons did not matter, in the end; any celebration of life such as the joining of their bodies was a union blessed.
She had been the one to begin it, she recalled. Her arms around his middle had slipped away and back, fingertips slipping up to lift his shirt. She still remembered the feel of his chest, the sensation of his fur moving between her digits, rubbing against the webbing between fingers. The definition of his musculature was always something she enjoyed exploring; she knew that each time he returned to her, his body would be strengthened further, forged in the flames of warfare as it was. It was an ever changing thing, and she never grew tired of tracing beneath Ajiir's fur and over the lines and bulges of his muscles. Truly, his was the physique of a warrior.
Her paws were not the only ones to explore across the sensuous landscape of the other's body. Ajiir's fingertips, roughened by war yet softened by tenderness, stroked and rubbed over her hips and waist. His paws slipped down still lower to caress her rump, to draw her tighter against himself, to pull her tighter into his embrace. Never could she resist such an invitation, no matter how many shadows haunted the world. Nor could she have contained the gasp of air that escaped her lips as those fingers squeezed down tighter. Ajiir's intentions were clear; her nose twitched as she detected his musk on the air. A stroke, a squeeze, a locking of their lips together, and her own scent of need mingled with his own.
The air grew thick and heavy, inhaled deeply through two pairs of nostrils as the lovers met in the passionate embrace of their lips. She squeezed tightly at Ajiir, holding her love close to herself as she pressed her body into his own. Against her belly could she feel his need, growing and throbbing and pulsing as he eagerly leaned into their kiss. His taste, his feel, his scent all mingled together and jumbled up, leaving her in a haze of want and need. Sensations of the present mingled with memories of past trysts, and she felt herself growing moist as she pressed herself up and against him eagerly.
Clothes were shed, strewn haphazardly across the room. Their kiss broke but for the barest moments before meeting once more, transmitting the passion and urgency both felt in the shared touch of their lips. Her bare fur met Ajiir's as they collapsed atop the bed. She writhed and arched her back, pressing herself against her mate even harder as she squeezed him tightly. Ajiir's malehood, that hot and firm spear of flesh, pulsed between her thighs as he moved atop her. Oh how she quivered, every time, at even the feel of it trailing over her fur. How she relished her mate's murrs and moans of pleasure as her pelt tickled his sensitive flesh. And oh, by the Four Gods Themselves, how she quaked when she felt him push down firmly, sliding the tip of his malehood down and against her sex.
_I feel you flowing in me, so deep,
A warmth that eases my fitful sleep,
Fulfilment of heart, of spirit and soul,
The binding of bodies, as love in Choal._
Smoothly he pushed inside her, always so very, very smoothly. The feel of Ajiir's girth slipping down and inside the warmth of her body spread her legs wider around him. There was not a moment wasted; she wrapped her legs up and around his waist immediately, beckoning him deeper inside her. Ajiir too could waste no time, so caught up was he with the pleasure of sheathing himself in his love, wrapping his shaft in the moist heat of her body. Every moan stolen from his lips she coaxed from him, her insides wrapped tight around his flesh as he hilted in her. Every grunt as his hips drove forward was mirrored, echoed with a cry of her own. There was no foreplay, no building up to their love on such nights. There was the act and nothing more. There were two bodies, given over to primal drive and greatest need. Fiercest lust and deepest love, converging upon their bodies in the act itself, repeated over and over.
Again and again did he slam himself down and into her, the length of his malehood sinking within her to the hilt. She felt his body collide with her own as he filled her, and scarcely was there time to lament the loss of that full feeling as he drew back. Before her sense of loss could translate to a whimper of need and want, he would fill her once more, sheathing his malehood completely inside her again. Her whole body was rocked with his thrusts; every buck of his hips pushed her down and into their bed. His eagerness drove her on just as strongly; the fervour and passion of Ajiir's motions coursed too through her own body.
She squeezed down around him hard, her muscles clenching around that pumping length of flesh burying itself in her as if to try and keep him within. Her fluids stained her thighs and his orbs, so vigorously did Ajiir mate her. Her fingers dug into his sides. He grasped her hips and held them tightly. Her back arched. He leaned forward. Their lips met. The heat of their mating grew stronger and stronger, saturating the air. Their bodies soaked in their sweat as they moved together, neither one relaxing for a moment. Time ceased to have meaning. Moments, minutes, hours passed. Their dance of passion continued unabated, so lost in their love and the act of sharing it were they.
Heat. Her body became as pure heat as she ground herself up against Ajiir. Her mate continued to work himself into her as she trembled and shook around his malehood, every twitch and squeeze of her muscles around him coaxing him deeper, harder, faster. His body too became warmer, their thick tails slapping together as the force of Ajiir's thrusts sent his rudder down and against hers. Their moans faded away as their lips met once again, pouring out all of their love and devotion and need into the other. And in the heat of their kiss and their passion did they both reach the peak of their pleasure. Her back arched as his hips slammed forward. Her muscles rippled and squeezed around his malehood as his tip erupted. His seed spilled forth into her body, spurting deep, so deep inside as she writhed against him. He drained himself into her, and she took every last drop of his essence into her depths.
The heat remained as their kiss broke, and they panted for air. The air itself seemed to be absent; their gasps for breath finding only the musk-laden room. That musk alone did they breathe in, the scent of their heat and their passion and their love. Their blood burned hot with renewed want as they looked upon one another, flushing their bodies with fresh warmth. A grind of Ajiir's hips met with a grind of her own. A chittered giggle shared between them, with a knowing smile. The knowledge that it was their last night together. That the night was long. That they had plenty of energy left. And with a fresh kiss did the dance of their bodies begin anew.
_Yet still you're pulled, torn from me,
By a tide to slippery, too quick to see,
A path that takes you much too far,
To fight and kill, to maim and scar._
The music continued to flow from her flute as she drew back from her memories and into the present. Her eyes opened, and the desolate wasteland Renthani had become once more greeted her vision. The sounds from her flute once more took on a mournful tone as she surveyed what had become of her homeland. Even as she glanced around, taking in the barren landscape, she continued to remember what it had been like before.
Evil always rose up in Renthani. Always it had. Demons and dark gods had cast their shadow across the lands. Dark Elementalists had sought power and to control Renthani's throne several times. Assassins and thieves walked the marble streets of Merosa like they'd owned the great trade city. And the lord of Chaos himself, of course. One could not look at Renthani's history without seeing the impact that had been made by that one being. Where so many facets of evil had failed, one could always succeed. One had, in the end.
As she played, she turned her gaze up the dried river. The river had once been Renthani's lifeblood, carrying water from the mountains down and to the center of the formerly-great kingdom. It had touched Derinor and the king's palace. It had touched Heren, and fed the great healing springs that had once made the town so famous. It flowed nearby Syrina, and some of its waters had been diverted by the Elementalists of the then-occupied magical academy. It flowed past Merosa itself, the trade city famous for buying the goods that traveled down the river and trading them off to smaller towns along the Renthani south coastline.
Perhaps when it had flowed, the river had spread out further than the sea itself. Perhaps it had negotiated the treacherous waters off the Renthani coast that had kept even Hydromancer-borne ships from crossing to distant lands. Perhaps it touched those lands, too. She could only wonder. After all, with the river dried and dead, and her lands swallowed up by darkness and chaos, it was unlikely that she would ever know. The few Renthani who fought against the darkness were in hiding, in retreat. There was little time to even consider the notion of building new ships to traverse the tormented seas.
_You fight for we, those left behind,
To keep us safe, body, soul, and mind,
You fight for I, for me and our home,
You fight for our land, our king, our throne._
And yet, as her thoughts turned inward again, she knew she was not the only one experiencing the loss of her mate. As remote as she and Ajiir lived, as far from the other Renthani survivors and the dark lord's reach as they were, there were other people of heart and faith nearby. Liaan, a househusband who tended the land while his mate Cylina fought the darkness alongside his sons Ryan and Nathanial, was a good friend. He was the most prominent farmer in the area, working with other practitioners of the new magic to create food for those who needed it.
Badriel, too. The vixen had lost her mate entirely to the lord of Chaos' forces. Her firstborn son, too, had perished beneath the sweeping paw of darkness. Her two daughters continued the fight, and her secondborn son was already seeking a blade to join the war himself. Though she knew Badriel would never listen, the otter hoped that the vixen could keep at least one of her children from war and battle. It left such an impression on the young-minded.
She hated to even think of Jikara, a Tashik survivor who lived sequestered away from the others in the area, further even than she and Ajiir did. The Tashik and the Chosen had been amongst the first casualties of the war, and Jikara had lost his mate, Keeran, in the first major offensive against the lord of Chaos. That had been even before the sky had been scorched and the life of the soil had been purged. He had adopted a young Tashik girl who he'd named Veena; she had been born after the rise of the dark lord. She had never even seen a blue sky. Never seen a flowing river. Her parents were both killed during the initial offensives against Derinor... and the otter shuddered to even think about what the state of the world might be doing to the poor kit's mind.
There were more, of course. Countless others, in pain and suffering the loss, temporary or permanent, of their loved ones. She played not only for herself, but for them all as well. They might not have understood the significance of her music, had they heard it. They might not have understood why she felt compelled to move to the banks of the dead river each day, and play her tune. Some did. Some came some days specifically to hear her. Travellers passing through would often stop and listen to her play. Sometimes they would talk with her. Sometimes they would simply move along after she finished. She never made a move to stop them. She just wanted a visit from her mate. She only wanted to see Ajiir again. Just once more.
_And yet still, you're so far from me,
So far away, I can barely see.
Will be returned, the one I love?
Will once more I be blessed, by the gods above?_
She had faith, of course. In the Four, in Ajiir, in the people of Renthani to set things right. It was in them to do so, of course. It always had been. The greatest gifts of the Four themselves had been invested in the Renthani people, and the Renthani people had survived. The strongest magics of the gods were gifted to the Chosen, and the Chosen too still held on to life. The people of Renthani were the children of the gods, the progeny of divine power. The lord of Chaos was not. Where the potential of the Renthani was without limits, his powers were finite. No matter how he fed on the power of the lands he dominated, he was forever outmatched by the divine might of the gods.
Too, she had spirit. All Renthani did. They who had held for generations against unrelenting demonic assault, they who had harnessed the elements for the good of all, they who stood firm against all evil in their path... they still existed. They had still survived, despite all that the darkness had done to eradicate them. The Renthani spirit was enduring and undying, as unshakable as the Renthani faith in the Four. Such a thing was always present, as long as the Renthani people drew breath. She drew solace from that knowledge, and it only fed her spirit. She grew stronger, as did the Renthani people as they worked together.
That spirit was the core of her faith. Where darkness was seen, where shadow was felt, a light had to cast that shadow. The lord of Chaos might have been the shadow, his rule the darkness that stretched over the land, but the sun still rose each new day. Above the lord of Chaos, forever above and beyond his reach were the Four, and the Four still looked down and favoured Their children. No amount of forbidden, dark power could shield the Renthani from the eyes of their creators. And those creators had struck down the dark lord once, when he entered Their realm. Nothing he could do could possibly destroy something with the infinite power of the gods.
And yet, the Four had invested Their greatest strength in Their people, in the Renthani. Their divinity, Their compassion and wisdom and the true strength of the gods rested within Their people, to be wielded by strong and just paws. That was truly why Ajiir fought. That was why she defended their lands. That was why families were torn apart. That was why innocent blood was sacrificed before the might of the lord of Chaos' armies in the fury of war. Only the divinity of the gods could defeat the blasphemy of the dark lord. Only the swordarm of the Renthani could strike down the evil that twisted its lands. It had been written before, in a book of prophecy. All other predictions had come to pass. The time for Renthani to rise up against the darkness was soon to come, she knew it.
_I do not know, I cannot see,
If the river will bring you back to me.
She winds as she likes, her waters strong,
Though she takes you from me, so very long._
A smile spread slowly across her lips as she finished her song. Her flute was lowered, resting in her lap. Yes, the world looked dead, but death was a necessary part of the natural order of things. And without death, there could be no rebirth, no new life. New flowers could not bloom, new trees could not rise, without the old giving way first. The dark lord had swept aside the old. The Renthani were building back up again. They were creating the new. They were rebuilding the world, breathing new life into the lands again.
Her eyes closed as she released the flute, letting it rest across her legs. Her freed paw slipped up to her belly, swollen and large, and stroked over it gently. It had been quite some time since she had seen Ajiir. Quite some months indeed. The seed that he had planted within her had grown, nurtured in the barren world by the magic of their love. With such a thing, she reasoned, anything was possible. It was hardly an empty platitude to her.
She'd not expected it, not in the slightest. The news had surprised her, and immediately she'd panicked. The last thing she felt was a good idea was to bring a new life into such a dangerous world. But as time had gone on, and Ajiir had not returned, she had found her mind shifting. A part of it might have been loneliness, her missing her mate. But the greater whole of her decided that there was no true choice. Ajiir was gone, away at war or, heavens forbid, worse. He had left a part of himself inside her, though, and she knew that there was nothing she could do. Her child would be born into the world, and Ajiir's legacy would continue.
As would the children yet to be born. So many lives not yet born into a world of darkness and pain. Perhaps hers would have no father. Perhaps it would be blessed by both parents surviving the perishing world around them. If nothing else, she knew that she would see to it that, in one form or another, Ajiir would live on. The future was uncertain, and the river still refused to flow, but if nothing else, she would remain. No matter how much darkness existed in the world, always would her hope remain. And within her own body, in that joining of her love and Ajiir's, a new spark of light was awakening. A new glow, spreading warmth across a cold, dark world.
_Though I curse her, and darkness and war,
I know truly that my heart alone is sore.
And so I sing to honour thee,
That the Song of the River return you to me._
Aaaaaand done. Yes, I know; light on the sex. Originally this wasn't going to have any in it whatsoever, but... meh. It evolved, much like Renthani evolves. Hopefully you all still appreciated it!
Questions, queries and comments are very much appreciated, as are scores and favs. Don't hesitate to reply simply with, "I came!" if you did so! Any kind of support you can show is very very nice to hear, and it keeps me going.
Final plug, before I go! I am endeavouring to impart some wisdom to the masses out there that will hopefully assist in writing their own stories for upload here, or for anything, really. For those interested, it can be found here! How to overcome writer's block, keeping yourself motivated, and crafting characters are all things that'll be touched on in time, and an important issue has already been dealt with there! So go on, and check them out!
Well, that's it for me. Take care, furballs, and hope you enjoyed!
_You will be born. You will die. Your souls will come to Me.
You will suffer eternally before Me. Your pain will empower Me.
I will draw strength from your anguish. You will feed Me.
Through your eternal agony, I will arise. You will free Me._
- Heretical Scriptures of Errith, ‘A God, Risen'
The darkness is reaching out...