Talla's Fallen Temple Ch. 30

For the first time in his memory, Zhair'lo didn't want to wake up. The wagon rumbled underneath him and he knew the other Soldiers would view his lack of desire to rise as a weakness. A day and a half ago, he had crawled off a caisson to prove the strength of his legs on behalf of the comrades who had stood up for him. Yesterday evening, he had managed to walk down to a river to wash himself up.

Today he felt the dark circles under his eyes, saw the flashes of shadow in his poison-battered recollections of the night before. He'd put every last bit of his effort into overcoming their potion, attempting to spoil the Temples' collective intentions not out of rebellion or because of a desire for freedom, but simply to spite them for the pain they'd inflicted.

If the miserable pettiness of his intentions hadn't sufficed to humiliate him, his failure had completed the mission.

Zhair'lo had felt so wise when he'd outsmarted their test and they'd cleared him for weapons training. He'd warmed with the sense of his inner strength when he'd endured so many women at the Fighter's Initiation. Even when he'd become the Conduit for this expedition, he'd told himself his goals of subterfuge and investigation made him the one in control.

'Sheer delusion,' he now concluded. 'Their potions can make a fool of me with ease.'

The cart rumbled on, following a relatively smooth, well-worn path, and Zhair'lo became aware of breathing at his side. Amidst the grinding of gravel underneath the wheels, a faint, foreign heartbeat, radiated up through the wood under his head. His body had reached a new level of sensitivity. Listening carefully, but never opening his eyes, he knew who exhaled beside him.

"Bree," he croaked.

"Zhai?" a subtle hesitancy modulated her voice, so unlike the warrior's edge he expected.

He opened his eyes, looking up to see her face, and in the depths of her gaze saw a reflection of his own terrible state.

"That bad?"

Bree squeezed her lips tightly.

"You want something to eat?" she nodded her head toward his left. "There are almonds and stuff in a bowl."

"I missed breakfast?" Zhair'lo shook his head to clear it.

"And lunch," Bree reached past him for the bowl. "You've gotta eat something, okay?"

The pleading tone in her voice registered and a chill overcame him then as he wondered how bad he looked.

"Yes, ma'am," he looked away from her. The pity in her eyes would have stung too much.

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"He's awake," Talla whispered as she walked.

"I can't see through all these bodies," Shanata craned her neck. "Are you sure?"

"I don't need to see him to know," Talla pointed out. "Not when we're this close."

Shanata studied Talla for a moment, wishing she had some background on the subject of meshes of any kind, never mind whatever linked Talla to Zhair'lo. The scientists in Pussy or Within had access to all sorts of research. A Sorceress, Queen or Goddess probably had direct experience with the phenomenon. Without such knowledge, Shanata found the whole situation creepy, an impression enhanced by the glazed look that came over Talla when she sought the strange link she shared with Zhair'lo.

"How is -?"

"Terrible," Talla's eyes darkened. "They used one of their potions again, to make him have sex with one of the Seconds."

"To reinforce the Perfection," Shanata nodded, glad to find herself firmly on magical ground she understood. "Necessary because of his youth."

"It's killing him," Talla's voice had gone flat. "Whatever they're doing with their potions, it's wearing him down, eating him from the inside out, destroying who he really is."

Shanata, having no response, looked ahead.

"How much longer does he have to hold out?"

"Tonight and tomorrow night," Shanata said. "The day after that we'll be in Beshenna and his trial will end."

"Not soon enough," Talla's voice cracked, but she marched on, the pain in her legs now dwarfed by the pervading sense of dread filling her mind.

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Protocol generally allowed only one rider per wagon, an honour reserved solely for each wagon's driver. The front most wagon, however, always held a spot for a woman with a large number of Facial upgrades to stand and keep watch over the paths ahead. The women rotated through the spot approximately once per bell or half bell, on the theory that no one could maintain a perpetual state of alertness.

By the second bell after high noon, as well as an hour glass could track bells while being rattled aboard a wagon, the honour of that post had fallen to S'ree, an Acolyte II of Facial. She kept her eyes shaded and sharp, constantly scanning the winding trail ahead. For most of the journey, this duty required little effort for someone with her attributes. As they crested a hill and began to descend its far side, however, she had much more path to watch. Not only did it wind down into a valley, but also crawled back up its far side to a narrow pass.

As her sharp eyes repeatedly scanned the valley, she spotted movement and focused her vision, glad she didn't have to squint into sunlight.

"Master Kendrick! A runner!" S'ree shouted from her perch atop the lead wagon.

"From Beshenna?" a thick brogue replied.

"Certainly on the road from there," the Acolyte kept her eyes ahead. "She is accompanied by two Rangers. I can see their cloaks. They are walking down the centre of the trail ... they appear to be making themselves visible on purpose."

A moment later, a third Ranger appeared out of the trees near the front wagon, a woman breathlessly finding her way to where both Gillian and Kendrick walked. She threw her hood back off her golden hair.

"Hera?"

"She does come from Beshenna, Master Kendrick," Hera gasped for air, undoubtedly having heard the entire conversation between Kendrick and S'ree. "I have spoken ... spoken to her already."

"What does she say?"

"Much more, I imagine ... once she catches her breath," Hera's chest heaved with her own exhaustion. "But the Enraged are already making trouble ... and that was over a day ago when she left ... hoping to run into us."

"Was that all?" Gillian asked.

"No, Mistress," Hera's voice began to even out. "She has some detail as regards the most secure entry path to the Temple, but we felt it wiser to debrief her en masse."

Kendrick called up to S'ree on the cart, "How far away are they?"

S'ree paused thoughtfully, sizing up the path and the steepness of the valley.

"Quarter of a bell, sir," she replied finally. "Perhaps a bit more. I don't know how hard she's been running."

"Summon the Chiefs," Gillian turned to Kendrick. "We'll let her catch her breath and talk to her in half a bell."

"Aye, Mistress," Kendrick nodded and turned to find messengers.

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"What's going on?" Zhair'lo muttered as he tried to sit up.

"Dunno, Zhai," Kit sprang up next to the wagon. "Just sit tight, though, okay?"

"Yeah," Tara put in. "One of us'll go find out. Don't worry."

Del, who had replaced Bree as his personal guardian, pushed gently on his shoulder, "Just lie down and save your energy."

"I gotta sit up, Del," Zhair'lo pleaded. "Lying down all day like this is going to kill me."

"Please, rest," Del spoke softly, and his eyes met hers.

"Do I look that bad?"

Del looked around and waved a single finger at the others, a signal that made them fan out unobtrusively to give the wagon enough space to prevent eavesdropping.

"Look, Zhai,"she leaned over him and pretended to adjust the buttons on his shirt. "There's some stuff we've been able to figure out, just by listening. And we decided we have to tell you."

"Listening to who?"

"Everybody. Look, that's not important," she waved off his question. "The people here, the Form women, the Fighters, everyone back at the Temple ... they ... they don't think you're going to make it."

"Make it?"

"Like ... survive."

"That's ridiculous," he replied, hearing the weakness of his own defence. "Del, how could they send this many people on a mission like this if they figure I'll die on the way?"

"Not on the way," Del glared at him, her eyes faintly beginning to glisten. "They're pretty sure you'll make Beshenna."

A chill went through Zhair'lo's heart as he realized the implication, and his failure to overcome Tia's potion disappeared into irrelevance. Glancing around, he saw the grim faces of his other comrades, each of them carefully avoiding his eyes.

"How long have you known?"

"We couldn't be sure at first," she continued adjusting his shirt. "Chief Cameron's reaction when they came to get you really worried Kit, and he told us. Then we saw you after the Goddess charged you with her magic."

Del wiped at her eyes and had to look away for a moment.

"I mean, when has any man looked like that after an upgrade?"

"Del, c'mon," Zhair'lo protested. "They used a bunch of potions on me. The gods only know what. I couldn't come and the Goddess pumped her magic into me like crazy. I just ... I just couldn't handle it right then, okay? It doesn't mean I'm dying."

'You feel like it, though, don't you?' he asked himself.

"It's more than that, Zhai," she went on, her voice racing with words tripping over each other in a most un-Del like manner. "We listen to the women talking; the guards; even those Seconds they brought with us from Sweetness. They don't know we're listening, but we do. They all talk about you like ... like you're too young for this. It's meant for older men to do, but they didn't have any good enough, so they picked you. Oh, you'll make it. You'll make it to Beshenna, but after that ... they all know ..."

Del trailed off and inhaled heavily through her nose, glaring over his head to hold back tears.

"We're soldiers, though, right?" she asked no one in particular. "We go into battle knowing death could come anytime."

A long pause interrupted her thoughts as she continued to choke back tears.

"But gods damn it," she hissed, a tear rolling down each of her cheeks. "We're at least supposed to get a fighting chance."

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Talla, having found a thick, mental wall between herself and Zhair'lo, had walked behind his wagon in complete solitude for over a bell before Shanata returned from her quest for information.

"What news, sister?" she failed to keep her panicked enthusiasm out of her voice.

"A messenger came running from Beshenna," Shanata reported without hesitation. "As Abundance's representative, they permitted me to walk along during the debriefing."

"They wouldn't stop the wagons for that?"

"Of course not," Shanata twisted her lips at Talla. "They can do a better job with her tonight, when we're properly stopped."

"Fair enough," Talla admitted. "What did we learn?"

"The Temple has fallen, as we knew, but it's much worse," Shanata's eyes darkened. "First, the last of the late Goddess's magic ran out days ago, meaning the women who Served more than a day after she died brought nothing but sex to the men. Some men have already been 'detained' for outbreaks of violence and the rate is going up. Others have gone Catatonic and failed to report for their jobs."

Talla looked up at Shanata in disbelief, but the older woman, keeping her eyes on the road ahead, failed to notice.

"Her information is over a day old, of course. Things will be worse upon our arrival, but the rest of her testimony, which Master Kendrick quickly put a stopper in, bodes even worse."

"Worse than men rampaging in the streets and failing to bake bread," Talla couldn't hide the acid sarcasm in her voice.

Shanata quirked an eyebrow, "Is something funny here?"

"No, Mistress."

"Hm," Shanata intoned. "The rest is more interesting, though I'm surprised the messenger was so indiscreet as to mention it in open camp."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Shanata lowered her voice conspiratorially and leaned in close to Talla, "that she revealed things she should not have spoken of, perhaps due to delirium from the effort of her run. She began to speak of an investigation by the Queen of Form. It seems that, by the time this messenger left, Form had already arrested and planned to execute the Queen of Endowment for the crime of murder."

Talla found her mouth open without any recollection of her jaw dropping.

"So it wasn't an accident?"

"Indeed, Initiate," Shanata replied. "Speak of it to no one else, but you should at least know what we will encounter in Beshenna. Doubtless they will speak more of it in council late tonight, but they might not permit my attendance, no matter my status back in Gern."

Talla stood flummoxed. She and her sisters had steadfastly refused to countenance murder in their own plans for felling the Temple of Gern. As much as they hated the Temple's domination of their lives and, more specifically, their bodies, the idea of actually taking a sword to someone ranked among the lowest and most barbaric of their options – never mind the sheer impracticality of it.

Had they erred toward weakness? Did the fact that Queens murdered each other for advancement change the calculus of the situation? If women at that level, for their own greed or whatever rationalization they put behind it, could bring themselves to commit murder, why shouldn't a group of disenfranchised, younger women do the same?

It came down to, Talla realized quickly, Endowment's justification.

"Any idea why Endowment would do that?" she asked Shanata.

"I wouldn't know," Shanata said. "Kendrick and Gillian shut her up almost immediately."

Talla tried to remember the histories she'd read in Gern's libraries, but none of them had made the politics of internally destroyed Temples clear. This made a kind of sense. Who, in the midst of such chaos, would take time to write down the reasons? External historians, in their attempts to reconstruct such details, took great pains to be honest with the degree of guesswork involved.

So what had caused Endowment to murder a Queen and Sorceress of an opposing Division? Had she even meant to kill both and bring down the Temple?

Personal issues seemed out of the question. Had the Queen of Endowment held some concern for the treatment of lesser people, as some histories recounted? Had Sweetness abused the lower ranking women and men? Talla expected that sort of cruel behaviour from the women of Form, who rarely Ascended to Goddess level regardless, but not from the doctors and teachers. Could Form, then have falsified the accusation toward Endowment in a bid for power?

"What do you know about Beshenna?" Talla asked. "Anything that might give a clue?"

"A city many times the size of Gern and of greater prosperity," Shanata shrugged in ignorance. "They have built great towers as both works of art and for ease of communication. I know very little else besides a few maps I've memorized. Well, that and the fact they are nowhere near ready for expansion, which makes any attempt on Endowment's part to force her own Ascension ridiculous."

Shanata peered off into the distance.

"I confess myself mystified," she concluded.

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The men and women who laid roads and cleared forests back for the paths between cities took great care to provide excellent resting places on the roadsides. Zhair'lo wished he could better enjoy the fruits of their labour, as he stumbled downhill from his dinner perch to find a place to relieve himself and wash up.

Zhair'lo knelt at the riverside, splashing cold, clear water on his face. His male comrades kept watch around him, the four women forming a wider perimeter slightly farther back.

When he sat back on the grass, Kit knelt at his side. Renzi and Z'rus held torches high over their heads to protect against the approaching nightfall.

"I don't really need all the light," Zhair'lo rubbed at his temples. "I may look like shit, but my eyesight is great right now."

"No need to take risks," Renzi replied, his eyes awkwardly meeting Zhair'lo's before flashing away to scan the perimeter again.

"Two days left," Kit pitched his voice to carry in the quiet night. "Just gotta hang in there, Zhai."

"You guys are starting to bring me down," Zhair'lo tried to make his voice strong, but a coughing fit betrayed his courage as he choked on a gulp of water.

"We can get you out of here," Kit whispered. "We can do it tonight."

Zhair'lo tensed his body. He stared at his comrade.

"What?"

"They won't expect it," Kit's stared desperately into Zhair'lo's eyes. "We'd slip past them and they wouldn't know it until tomorrow morning."

"And then what?"

Kit started to speak, but only a choking sound issued from his throat and his eyes wandered away from Zhair'lo's.

"Listen to yourself," Zhair'lo leaned in. "Even if all of us could get past this entire army, there's a circle of Rangers outside of them, watching our flanks."

"Rangers?"

"You can't see them, but I can," Zhair'lo jerked his head toward the river. "At least five of them guard us from the southern bank. There will be more on the north side of the camp where there's actually a possibility of attack."

Kit gave no response.

"I can't even run, Kit," he tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. "And the nine gods only know what the punishment would be for all of you."

Zhair'lo rose, unsteadily, to his feet and Kit, lips tight with anger, rose with him.

"Cool down, alright?" Zhair'lo begged, reaching a hand out to clasp the other's shoulder. "I'm not dead yet. But - "

"But what?"

"But, 'thank you'," Zhair'lo finished. "I mean that."

He looked up the hillside toward the road and the van of the army with its distant, twinkling campfires. Behind Renzi and Z'rus, past his female comrades, stood four fully armoured Enforcers.

"They're here for me. I'll see you in the morning."

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"Right about there," Dol'ya whispered. "Just keep it up with the tongue."

Rittan, though he identified best with the swaggering brutality of the Fighters, knew his way around a woman's genitals. Lying on her back on the double wide cot, she could find no fault with his skill, tenacity nor tenderness. His lips and tongue worked gently around her clitoris, tasting and sucking at her inner lips, slowly arousing her. Yet, every time the smooth flesh of his chin touched her vaginal entrance, she felt the muscles inside her spasm painfully.

She needed an orgasm tonight, and a good one, and for the first time in her life she didn't want it. Duty demanded it of her, but pain cried out against it. She remembered her blindness from the night of her double Facial upgrade, recalling the fear and awkwardness, the chilling feeling of a conspiracy about her. Tonight evoked worse horrors. No woman should have to give what they needed from her body.

Laying this duty at the feet of Areese, formerly Gern's Second of Lips, remained the only other possibility.

'And Areese, poor dear, is in worse shape than I,' Dol'ya winced in chagrin.

Rittan nudged against her entrance again and she felt her legs tense in response.

"Sorry," he muttered as he pulled away.

A glance down her body showed the sincerity in the dark blue eyes framed by waves of dark hair kept uncharacteristically long for a Fighter.

"Just keep going," she kept her voice soft to help maintain her personal tranquillity, and carefully parted her lips a little farther, so he could see her more clearly.

"How will you possibly Serve tonight?" he wondered aloud, before delicately applying himself to her again.

"The potions will help, I am sure," she replied, letting her voice cast up to the colourful ceiling of the tent.

Dol'ya kept her left hand betwixt her spread legs, using thumb and middle finger to keep her lips open. The right went to her blouse, unlacing enough ties on the snug outfit to slide her hand underneath and cup her breast.