Free

Dearest reader

This is the second, and final, part of On a wing and prayer: I suggest that you read

the other part first

or it isn't going to make much sense to you.

Massive thanks to Migbird and Mykymyk2 for their advice, editing and feedback, and to Wandering Minstrel for their encouragement and inspiration. Remaining flaws are all my fault.

Lots of love and happy reading

T x

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On a wing and a prayer part 2: free

The crowd was silent as the two women were dragged out. They were covered head to foot in red, red for sin, red for hell, with gags over their mouths, but their fear and terror was clear for all to see. Though they could not speak, the pleading in their eyes was obvious.

The lead judge was speaking, pronouncing their crimes as they were chained to the posts, but Ruth could not make out a word over the roaring of the blood in her ears. She felt the gorge rise in her throat and thought she might soil herself.

One of the women, Deborah Johnswife, locked eyes with Ruth. There was fear and pain, but also understanding and compassion there; Ruth couldn't tell which was worse.

The other woman was bashing her head again and again backwards into the post. Ruth couldn't understand why, until she realised she was trying to render herself unconscious to spare herself more suffering.

Ruth's eyes flicked back to those of Deborah's, who had been looking wildly around the crowd, but now found Ruth again. Her eyes pleaded and Ruth swallowed then nodded. She stepped forward to pick up a stone, heavy and round. Other women did too. The woman formerly known as Deborah lifted her eyes skyward and then closed them.

Ruth pulled back her arm and aimed carefully for the space between Deborah's eyes.

She woke up screaming.

"Shhh, shhh, Ruth! Ruth! You're safe, we're safe, we're safe, we're safe."

Martha's arms were around her and her breath was coming in ragged gasps as she choked back bile and tears.

The tent fabric flapped in the wind as Ruth's sweat-soaked skin glowed in the green light filtering through. Outside, somewhere, a cockerel crowed.

They were alone in the Beard.

* * *

Ruth winced as Martha smeared antiseptic over the weeping gouge on Ruth's left leg.

"How did you do this?"

"I caught it on the window latch as I climbed out."

"You poor Sainted-blessed thing. You're so brave. I didn't realise at all last night."

"I'm sorry. I've probably got blood on the blankets."

"Saint save you, they can be washed. Your body is far more important to me."

Ruth blushed, across her whole body. Considering that her legs and feet were bare, and her upper half only covered by a loose shirt she had worn last night, she felt very exposed. But it was just the two of them.

They were sitting on a soft, moss covered ledge some hundred metres or so up in the air, on top of a wide cylinder of rock standing in the sky. The top was broken, leaving a natural semi-circular wall shielding them from one direction. Not that there was anyone to see. They were three miles into the Beard. There was nobody else here.

In front of them, the forest of rocky pillars, some up to fifty metres across and flat on top, others tapering to thin peaks, stretched as far as the eye could see.

The kettle that Martha had set on a solar stove began to boil. Martha splashed water into mugs for tea, then some more into a saucepan. "I want to bathe the area around your wound, before I bandage it. I'll let that cool though."

Ruth nodded as she blew on the tea. It would be too hot to drink for a while though.

"I have some of yesterday's bread and a pat of butter, if you could stomach some breakfast, sweet Ruth?"

The sun had warmed Ruth and she was feeling much calmer now. "Please. Thank you. How is it here though?"

"I came here first when I left, to bring supplies and set up the tent. Only then did I come to the Church to wait for you."

A tear ran down Ruth's face. "Sweet Martha, you have done so much for me, at such cost. Please, let me serve breakfast."

"No, let me wait on you."

"Can I not wait on you, by the Saint?"

"I'll let you wait on me tomorrow." Martha said with a grin. "But there is something you can do now for me, sweet Ruth."

Martha moved to the back of the pillar, by the rock wall, where there were several shallow caves, and came back with a pair of long-handled bolt cutters.

"I thought to do it myself yesterday, but decided that as I will never have a husband to share my body with, only you, the honour should be yours. Will you cut off my chastity garment please, sweet Ruth?"

Ruth gasped, in shock, love and dread. A hot wave swept through her, as her skin prickled. This was so sinful. "By the Saint..." Ruth began, but no further words would come.

She found Martha's eyes and saw the love, the patience there. But also the determination. She had done so much: Ruth could not let her down now.

She nodded. Her mouth fell open as Martha reached under her shirt and pulled down her skirt. Ruth's breath caught as she beheld the creamy smoothness of Martha's perfect long, legs, muscled and balanced. She blushed, half in embarrassment at the state of her own legs - knees skinned, shins scratched, the dark, purple stain of iodine on her left thigh - and half with a sensation she could not describe, which began in the pit of her stomach and spread across her chest. Her heart began to ache.

Her blush deepened as Marth reached under her shirt once again. Ruth dared not look, so turned her head away, her eyes registering nothing of the vista before her, but her mind's eye wandering instead to actions she could barely imagine but knew to be sinful.

"Ruth?"

Ruth turned her head. Martha stood now with her back to Ruth, her feet on the soft moss, looking back over her shoulder. Her blonde hair was lit up by the sun, and the white shirt glowed in the morning light.

She was an angel. And though they were carefully folded and stowed in the tent, she even had wings.

Ruth sat there, mouth agape, until she realised Martha was waiting for her.

She stood and limped towards her, picking up the cutters.

Slowly, Martha gently pulled up her shirt at the sides. Ruth's breath caught as her bare flank was revealed, with the chain of the chastity garment sitting tight across her hip.

Ruth's mouth was suddenly very dry. Gingerly, she tried to work the beak of the open cutters under the chain. There was not much room and she had to pull. Martha winced, but made no complaint.

"Go on, Ruth." She sucked in her stomach as much as she could to make room. "Free me."

Carefully, terrified by both this terrible transgression, and the idea that she might cut or hurt Martha, Ruth pressed down on the cutters.

There was resistance, and she had to exert considerable pressure. Then, with a clunk, the chain sheared, and with a clatter the chastity garment slid down Martha's leg.

They both released their breath, with a faint laugh. Then Martha, grabbed the broken belt, stepped towards the edge and hurled it as hard as she could. The chain caught the light as it soared, then dipped and was lost in the dark of the thick undergrowth between the pillars.

"Now you, my sweet Ruth." Martha's face was flushed, her hair wild. Joy radiated from her.

Swallowing drily, Ruth stepped back and carefully lowered her underwear, stretching the fabric over her wound. Martha turned her back to allow Ruth some privacy, not that it lessened the sin all that much. She made, Ruth noticed, no move to put her underwear back on. Her own were now on the ground.

A sudden rise in the wind meant that both girls had to hold the ends of their shirts down to spare their mutual mortification. The breeze on Ruth's bare sex was at once terrifying and delicious. Mercifully, the breeze died as quickly as it rose.

Turning her back as Martha had done, Ruth called over her shoulder. "I am ready, Martha."

The gentle touch of Martha's fingers on the skin of her bare hip was nearly too much. Ruth felt her legs shake and the area between them cool suddenly in the air even as a heat blossomed inside her. The cold metal of the cutters made her gasp, but luckily, perhaps, all the anxiety she had suffered of late had caused her to lose weight. There was plenty of room for them to slide in. There was the faintest of pressure, then a snick, and the chain fell loose and slid down her right leg.

Her heart in her mouth, fearing to be struck down and smote by the Saint at any moment, Ruth slowly turned. Martha was close to her now, looking at her with wonder and tenderness.

She bent in front of Ruth, who held her breath, expecting... what, she couldn't say. In a trice, Martha was standing again, holding the chastity garment in her hand.

"Would you like to do the honours?"

Grinning, Ruth took the chain from her, spun twice for momentum, then released the chain into the air. It did not fly as far as Martha's had, but in the weaker gravity of Jerusalem, still travelled a fair way.

Laughing and slightly dizzy, Ruth threw her arms around Martha's neck and squeezed her tight. Martha's hands formed a circle about her waist and hugged her hard, lifting her from the ground. Ruth let out a squeal of joy. She had never felt so light. She still feared but she also had hope. And there was something, some thing, some thing with no name, an idea she only saw the shadow of, that she knew was right there close by and that soon she would grasp. Was it this feeling of Martha's hot breath on her neck? Or this lovely pressure of her arms around her? Or the sinful silkness of her skin as their legs brushed together? Or...

"Ow!"

"Saint alive, did I hurt you sweet Ruth?"

"Just when you brushed my leg. It is no matter Martha."

"Oh my sweet Ruth, let me bathe and bandage it for you."

Despite Ruth's protestations, Martha was not to be dissuaded. Ruth stood, soaked in shame and a strange kind of hunger, as Martha tenderly washed her thigh in warm water, just inches from Ruth's bare sex, which was only hidden from view by the trailing edge of her shirt.

"Let me just pat that dry for you," Martha murmured, which she then did with such softness, that a sigh escaped Ruth. Although she was bare legged and wearing only the shirt over her breast support, she had never felt so hot, so deliciously sinful. It was terrible and wonderful in equal measure.

Martha said something and Ruth had no idea what it was, she'd been so distracted. Then there was another wetness on her leg, as Martha applied more iodine, followed by firm pressure as she placed a gauze dressing over it.

"Can you hold that in place, sweet Ruth?"

As Ruth did so, Martha wrapped a bandage firmly around her thigh. Not wanting it to slip down, she wrapped it quite high, her knuckles just brushing against Ruth's hair in the valley between. Ruth shivered in delight as a sinful thrill rang through her.

"My apologies!" Martha muttered, her voice thick.

"No, no!" Ruth began, reaching for Martha's head, driven by some instinct, but Martha had pulled back, searching for a safety pin. She tugged the end of the bandage tight, fastened it, then stood up and walked quickly away. Ruth caught a glimpse of her friend's flushed face as she did.

Ruth's heart sank: she had shamed and embarrassed her friend with her inexplicable behaviour.

Martha ducked into the tent, then came quickly back out seconds later, wearing a skirt and bearing another, plus a pair of clean underwear.

"By the Saint, I am hungry!" Martha declared. "Dress yourself sweet Ruth, and I shall prepare breakfast for us."

Ruth felt hungry too, but she wasn't sure that it was for food. Almost reluctantly, and feeling deeply shamed that she was so reluctant, Ruth dressed herself.

The sun was higher now, the day warming, so they sat in the little shade that the broken rock wall offered and ate their breakfast. The bread was soft, the butter rich, the tea full of flavour, yet all Ruth could focus on was the brush of Martha's arm against hers, the scent of her hair and the warmth that bloomed between them.

"We don't need to stay on this particular pillar, sweet Ruth. I noticed others with trees, which might create more shade... though I suppose they might make landing difficult."

Ruth swallowed. "This could make a fine home Martha. You have picked a beautiful safe space for us. We can always build shelters."

"Mmmm, this is true. Still, if you feel strong enough, I thought that we might test our wings and fly about the Beard. I have barely explored it. We might find more suitable sites. In particular, I wanted to investigate those pillars that seemed to have pools on top, as a water source would be more desirable."

"By the Saint that is true," Ruth agreed, "I will need a wash." She immediately blushed at the thought, wondering how she might accomplish this, here, in the open air, with no privacy.

Martha chuckled. "Me too."

She stood and stretched. Ruth watched her, admiring for the thousandth time the bounce of her blonde curls... and the bounce of other things. She shut her eyes to try to stop herself thinking so sinfully. But, if anything, closing her eyes was worse, and the images in her mind's eye were so much more depraved, if far less defined.

Opening her eyes, she found Martha smiling down at her, her hand held out. "What were you thinking of, sweet Ruth?"

"Of you." Ruth's cheeks burned. She wished for a moment she had not put her hair up in a tight bun, but had let her straight black hair curtain down, that she might hide behind it.

Martha merely nodded. "In the Saint's name, it is the same with me. The closer I am to you, the more you are in my thoughts."

Ruth took the proffered hand, marvelling at the contrasts between the calluses of the fingers with the softness of the palm, the strength and gentleness contained there. She sat, entranced by the touch, not moving, but examining with her sense the delightful vision of their hands together.

"What would you like to do, sweet Ruth?" Marth's voice was soft, entreating, private.

"I would like to kiss you," Ruth whispered back.

"I too," Martha breathed back as she bent over.

This kiss was as soft and tender and as delicate as their first. Hunger swelled in Ruth, hunger that had nothing to do with the faint taste of tea and butter on Martha's lips. But she dared not give into that appetite, lest whetted further, she could not stop, could not pull away until she had sated herself in her sinful urges and ruined the beautiful purity of this love she and Martha had. She didn't want to disgust her dearest friend.

So, although her stomach fluttered, although her heart trembled, although she gripped Martha's hand with a passion constrained, she fought against the allure of Martha's presence. Ruth stayed seated, kept her other hand still and her lips lightly caressed Martha's for but a brief moment.

With a slightly puzzled look, Martha pulled back.

Ruth gazed into her eyes. "I love you, Martha."

A smile lit up the younger woman's angelic features. "I love you too. One day, maybe I will show you how much."

"You have. You do." Ruth now allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.

"Mm-mmm." Martha shook her head. "Not completely, sweet Ruth. But Saint allow or no, I shall."

Ruth thought she knew what Martha was hinting at: she fervently hoped that she did. Whether they ever dared to take such a sinful step together, the fact that her brilliant companion seemed to share the same unspeakable desires filled her with a glow that seemed utterly at odds with twenty turns of Church teaching. But she couldn't be sure.

She felt a dampness below. "Saint's slippers!" She cursed quietly, "It can't be my moon time?" To her friend she asked, "Martha, have you any linen pads? I seem to need some."

But, after Martha had provided her with some, Ruth was startled to discover that she was not bleeding. Whatever the wetness was it was not her moonly bleed.

* * *

They spent the day flying. Sometimes, in those places where the columns were of nearly equal height, they would take short hops from pillar to pillar, a few flaps all that was required. At other times, they would beat their wings to gain height then circle on a thermal to take in the wonder of that forest of rock, the great stone spikes packed close together, with barely a few metres between them.

They startled wild chickens from concealed nests, and filled cloth bags with pilfered eggs which they packed among dried leaves. They always left some for the hens to return too. They found small, warped trees bearing tiny treasures of pine nuts, pomegranates and apples, which they gathered, and great tangles of brambles, heavy with purple fruit, on which they gorged themselves. There were fig trees too on top of towers, but none with fruit ripe and ready to eat. Some seemed to be topped with small lawns of wild cereals, oats and rye, as yet unripe, but offering a future harvest. They found wild rocket, along with mushrooms: puffballs, chanterelle and the Saint's trumpet, which they plucked and bagged. Some stone columns were encased in grape or passionfruit vines. Much of the fruit was inaccessible, unless they rigged up some kind of rope harness, but they still found plenty to pick.

Several columns housed hives of bees and, though they beat their wings a little harder to avoid these humming, murmuring masses, both agreed they might soon return and seek honeycomb once they had fashioned some equipment.

One wide-topped pillar was pitted with foot-deep circles that had filled with water. Ruth suggested that they make it their laundry, especially as a neighbouring pillar had some trees between which they might string a line. Another had a wide shallow pool that they waded in and used to wash their faces and hands. Disaster nearly struck there, when a gust of wind lifted their doffed wings and sent them skittering almost over the edge. Thereafter, they were careful to always tie them to something immobile whenever they took them off.

They found several that had sufficient collections of leaf mulch trapped in pits and wide crevices that had composted down enough to hold a crop; Martha had stolen seed potatoes, garlic bulbs and onions that they might plant. They set out stones in the shape of crosses on such pillars, so that they would hopefully be able to find these again, as well as taking note of their relative positions to other landmarks.

In places there were gaps between pillars, perhaps of thirty or forty metres, where the sunlight could reach the ground, and here there was a profusion of green growth. The more confident and practised flyer of the two, Martha dared to swoop low, in one such space startling a family of pigs, who plunged off into the thicket.

But no matter how or where they flew, Ruth never tired of the twin excitements of the movement through the air, and Martha's strong, lithe body by her. Bare legged but booted, Ruth had to fight not to be distracted by the brilliance of Martha's sumptuous skin. No ache of arms or shoulders, no struggle to rise up to the tallest of the stone towers, no sudden heart-in-mouth moment when they were hit by a sidewind that threatened to slam them into a cliff, could take away from the magic of this paired dance they carried out on a wing and a prayer through the rock forest of the Beard.

Their calls and laughter echoed through the canyons between the stacks, while at other times their laboured breath and the pounding of their wings seemed to create a ghostly orchestra of percussion as the sound bounced back.

It was a day of delight, a day of freedom, a day of daring. Ruth knew that, no matter what befell them, no future punishment, no future disaster, could mar the memory of this day. Her. Martha. The open sky and the beating of their wings. She had never known such happiness.