Beloved of Ashura: Solo Ascent

This is the third story set in this fantasy world. When I finished writing it, I found that there were far less sex scenes in it than in the previous chapters. I wondered whether I should add to it, just to shoehorn in some more sex. After all, this is an erotic story site. In the end, and with the advice of my editor, I chose not to. I also wasn't sure which section it belonged. It feels like Non-Erotic, BDSM, Lesbian Sex and Sci-Fi & Fantasy could all work equally well, but at its core it is really a fantasy story of swords and magic.

I owe a debt of gratitude as always to Terry for not just checking for errors but his advice on the story. Thank you so much!

Beloved of Ashura: Solo Ascent

by -Ripley-

The big sailing ship plowed through the waves, moving ever closer to land. The sky was dark grey with clouds releasing sheets of rain that passed over the ship to lead the way into the port town barely visible. A lone seagull braved the strong winds to follow the ship in hopes of food. It swooped around like a kite fighting to stay aloft.

From the deck, a lone woman watched it. She paid no attention to either the rain or the crew busy with their tasks. Her impassive face was covered with jagged tattoos like claw marks along her cheeks and a dark band over her eyes and back into her hair. They starkly stood out against her pale skin. There was another one over her lips, a rectangular block that went from under her nose to where her chin started to curve back. Her short blonde hair was shaved almost bare on one side. The rest of it was swept over to the other side of her head. She wore a tanned hide cloak to keep the rain off her clothes, but her hair, darkened from the rain, was plastered to her head. Streams of water ran down her face, but she seemed not to even notice.

The tattooed band across her face almost touched her eyes with only the slightest bit of unmarked skin around them. There was no one close enough to see, but the skin was red there and her eyes were puffy. If there were more tears now, the rain hid them.

The woman put her arms around her body and hugged herself. It wasn't because of the cold. The emptiness inside her seemed worse now that land was in sight. During the week it took to cross over from Emerald Island, she'd stayed in her hammock most of the time. She usually managed to make it up for dinner with the other passengers, and occasionally she went into the hold to check on her belongings and more importantly on her horses. It was as expensive to bring them as was her own passage. After all they were taking up valuable cargo space, but it didn't matter to her. Her horses had been with her for many years. They knew and trusted each other. She was lonely enough without missing them too.

She could feel the eyes on her. They were always there. Sailors watching her, noticing her lithe body even under her cloak. It wasn't a new feeling. There were often times when there was little she could do to avoid attracting that kind of attention. It was especially difficult away from those who knew her best.

Smiling slightly, she thought how surprising it was that she was most comfortable amongst fighters. "Maybe not surprising," she whispered to herself, "but unexpected perhaps." After 12 years as a mercenary and sell sword, where else would she be comfortable? Then the smile fell. There had always been another place, for even longer than that. Her hands reached around her even further and clasped her upper arms. Through her tunic, she felt the marks on each arm. Not the tattoos that covered her lower arms, as well as her torso, back and legs; those were almost imperceptible to the touch.

"She could feel them, though," she thought with a tightening in her throat.

Anyone could feel these other marks, if they were allowed to touch her. The raised scars from brands were as visible as her tattoos. If anything, more so as her arms there were unmarked with ink, the angry pink standing out to highlight her scars against her pale skin. The fingers from one hand traced the older scar, following the outline of a bird in flight. Its beak made it obvious that it was a raven. The comfort she once found in touching it was gone. It just was part of the emptiness now.

Unwillingly, her other hand couldn't avoid touching the newer brand. The first one held memories and deep meanings for her. The other did not, save one. She had only looked at it once, even though she had cared for it while it healed. She knew it was healed, but as she ran her finger over it, it seemed to once again hurt.

If her first tattoo was personal, this one was decidedly impersonal. As far as she knew, no living person wore this exact raven tattoo. The other was worn by many, with just the slightest variation. She traced it, and then found the number in the center of it.

"9746," she mouthed. It seemed absurdly low, but she knew it was accurate. It's how the magic worked. Throughout the known world, the Priestesses of Loknah were the gods' registrars. She had given them the papers that proved she'd been freed, and after verifying they were in order, they brought her into the outer sanctum where the Sacred Fire of the Goddess blazed. While they went through a show of checking the papers, she knew it wasn't really necessary. Anyone who tried to deceive Loknah was a fool. The Sacred Fire would know the attempted trickery and spread, consuming the deceitful one completely.

As if it was this morning, she could remember every detail. The bright glowing brand drew all her attention as the priestess approached her with it. The fire danced around the shape of the shackles, danced in the shape of the Goddess. Someone else might have thought it was just a trick of the mind, but she knew the feeling of a divine presence. For this moment, Loknah was there; her full attention focused upon the woman holding out her arm without the slightest tremor. There were no numbers on the glowing brand, just a dark space in the center, but when the priestess pressed it against her skin, she felt them appearing, marking her as the nine thousand, seven hundred and forty-sixth slave to be freed in a Temple of Loknah.

Others may have been freed without the Temple, but they were only partially free. They might have papers showing that they weren't runaways, but papers could be lost ... or destroyed. There was always a chance of being enslaved again.

"At least, I never have to fear that. I can be captured, imprisoned, tortured and killed, but I'll never be someone's slave. My Mistress wanted to make sure of that. She made the sacrifices and paid the cost to protect me one last time," she said quietly as she watched a skiff making its way out to meet the ship

"Pardon, Miss? Did you say something to me?" A voice came from just behind her. Starting, she turned and saw the ship's Quartermaster. More so than most of the crew, he'd been solicitous, making sure she was doing well and that when she didn't come for food, it was by choice rather than being unwell.

She smiled, although the wildness of her tattoos made it less reassuring than she intended. "No, Raktani. Just muttering to myself again. I do that too often." Her guttural accent reinforcing his assumption that her origins were far inside tribal lands.

Although she hadn't confided in him, it didn't take much to see her grief. His own daughter was about her age and already a widow, as he guessed the Kantari woman to be. Although he didn't think she lost her husband to a squall while fishing. She'd put on a display of her fighting skills during the trip in drills with the four ships marines. While they weren't master fighters, her ability to disarm all four of them at once made it clear what her profession was.

"Well, if you don't mind, Miss Dove, I need you to clear off the deck and go down to your hammock. The customs man will be by to check on you.

She nodded and turned without looking out at land again, although she spared him a glance. "And it's just Dove, Raktani, as I've said before. I'm no one's Miss or anything else for that matter."

"Not anymore," Dove thought, the pain swelling up in her, as she stepped onto the ladder down below.

Two mornings later, she led her horses out of the town. Her purse was lighter, but that wouldn't matter for long. All of their years together were how her Mistress prepared her for this moment without ever telling her. She knew everything her Mistress could teach her of fighting, tactics, strategy, healing, and rangering. Not only did she know how to set course and follow it to her destination, but she also knew how to forage in a wilderness. Signs of game were obvious to her, and she could track it through the kill, whether by bow, sling or snare. She wouldn't go hungry.

Although if game was scarce, the supplies she found in the market would do. That was another of the skills she learned over years; how to provision for long marches. As she gained experience, she found she had a talent for making bargains while also seeing when deals were too good to be true. Most of the time it was just for the two of them, but sometimes the company of mercenaries they traveled with saw her talent and asked her to handle supplies for all of them.

Coming back from the Jewel Islands was a lot like starting over. Much of what she owned, she sold rather than transport it. In any case, what she needed now was very different from what they had on those tropical islands. Even the most southerly one was warm most of the year. Already she felt the difference and her destination was weeks to the south. By the time she got there, she would need the fur lined clothing she purchased in the markets of the port. Her bedroll was equally as warm.

"It's all I have to keep me warm," Dove dejectedly thought. It didn't matter that it was two months now that she had been sleeping alone. The absence of her Mistress was as keenly felt now as it was the first days.

"Mistress," she said to herself, "why did you have to leave me?" Her eyes threatened to overflow again with tears, but she took in a ragged breath and found her control. There were still other people on the road out of town and she knew better than to show any weakness. To help distract herself, she checked the long knife hanging from her belt. It slid easily out. She weighed the heft of it, smiling at the familiar feel. She hadn't bought this. She'd had it for years, almost as long as she had been with her Mistress.

"I used you to make my first kill, didn't I?" she said softly, and wolfishly smiled. "I chose my life with you. I chose a life with Rayven." Her heart beat hard as she remembered the moment when she slit the warrior's throat; the warrior who wanted to return her to her father. How his blood sprayed and then gushed out the slice across his throat, finally subsiding in a dribble as his own heart beat one last time. She knew what she was doing when she chose slavery with that act and never regretted it.

The savage look on the face of the tattooed woman of the Kantari was enough for some of the travelers heading into the town to step off the road and let her pass rather than come within striking distance. Her conscious mind barely registered them, although a part of her never stopped watching out for threats. Rayven's training was thorough, occasionally setting up ambushes by other mercenaries to catch Dove off guard. Over time, she learned never to fully relax. The worst she would get from a testing comrade was a sound thrashing. Dove had enemies in the world who would gladly see her dead, if only they knew she lived. Like with everything else, Rayven spent her life preparing Dove for those who awaited her.

As Dove got further from the port, the number of people traveling began to dwindle. Many of them headed out onto other smaller paths. A few stopped at homesteads along the way. At midday, she passed through a village and a number stopped in at the tavern for a midday meal. She kept on going in the company of relatively few people now.

Surreptitiously, she examined them. Most of them looked like fellow travelers but there were a couple of Onjani men who might be more. Dove considered the possibilities. Assassins were unlikely. She chuckled. The odds were decidedly against anyone knowing that she was alive. It was beyond belief that even if they knew, they had assassins waiting at random ports looking for a Kantari woman of unknown description ... for twelve years.

"No," she thought to herself. "They are more likely bandits waiting to get far enough from town to strike." She moved around to the other side of her lead horse and checked to make sure her sword was unsecured and ready to be drawn. While she could defend herself ably with her long knife, if it came to a true fight, she preferred to have a proper weapon. It was far heavier and with a blade as sharp as her knife, it would slice through the leather armor the two of them wore.

Dove glanced at the other travelers. They were all bronze skinned Onjani. The other pale Kantari had disappeared hours ago. Unmarred by tattoos, they were clearly "civilized," having left the cold tribal homelands to the south some generations before. "Like I once was." Now all that were left with her were the ruling people of these lands. While she didn't hate them, she also felt no loyalty to them. Up until two months ago, her people were her comrades whose backs she protected and in return protected her.

"And my Mistress. That was my true loyalty," she thought. The mercenary bands were their home because Rayven chose them. Dove was content to be where Rayven was.

Now she was going home to her people; and the Onjani were the ones oppressing them. Ever since the rebellion, they had made the Kantari pay for conquering them two generations before. The other Kantari travelers had stayed out of the way, knowing how they were generally treated. Dove saw it herself, with the various bribes she paid, starting with customs on the ship. With enough coin, she made it out of the town without running into problems. Other Kantari she saw weren't as lucky.

If there were still Kantari among the travelers, she might have said something. As it was, she swung up onto her horse and lightly kicked. Her horse immediately doubled and then tripled her pace, quickly putting distance between her and the others. Looking over her shoulder to check on her second horse trailing at the end of his lead, she could see one of the suspicious Onjani eyeing her. She suspected that he had more on his mind than robbing her.

"Good luck to you," she thought to the other travelers. She didn't wish them ill, but she took no responsibility for them. "You made this world; live with it!"

Keeping up her pace for a while, she continued along the road until she came to a junction with a much smaller path that was generally heading in the direction she wanted. Checking up and down the road, she made sure that no one could see her before she turned onto the new path. It was travelled enough that her horses hoof prints were unremarkable. She wasn't taking extra precautions yet, but she still didn't want to make her route to easy to find. She kept pushing her horses a little to again get some more separation from the others. It wasn't until the path took her up and over some rocky ground that she paused and dismounted. Continuing on walking, she was between both horses so that when the path once again became dirt, their print marks had changed.

She kept this up for several hours, until when once again on a rocky patch of ground, she turned and led the horses off the path and through the brush. With care that would have made her Mistress proud, she meticulously removed any traces of their passing. It was a skill built over years where it made a difference on whether or not they would live. It probably didn't matter today, but she didn't give it any less attention.

"Make it a habit so that you don't even have to think about it," Rayven always said. As she pulled away a couple strands of horsehair from a branch, Dove could almost hear her and had to remind herself not to look for her. She was alone, aside from her horses and they rarely paid much attention to her when she was off them, unless food was involved.

Grabbing their leads, she led them away from the path, picking their way through the brush, always choosing the way that was least likely to leave any traces. She kept heading in a generally southeast direction. Her hearing was constantly alert for unexpected sounds, or the lack of expected sounds, anything that would indicate she was being followed.

Nothing.

For more hours, she continued; removing traces of their passing, hiding or burying the horses' droppings, using broken branches to wipe away the more obvious prints. It wasn't enough to fool the most determined or skilled trackers, but it would do for almost anyone else, and she didn't worry too much that someone like that was tracking her just now.

She patted her horses. "I'm pretty sure the Usurper has no idea I'm here." As usual, the horses ignored her voice and just followed her at the easy pace she set. Having traveled with Rayven for so long, the lack of acknowledgement bothered her a bit. Unless safety required it, the two of them often talked as they traveled. Sometimes it was Rayven teaching her more of what she needed to know, and then she expected Dove to ask questions and challenge her.

Other times it was more intimate, especially when it was just the two of them. Despite her role in their relationship, Dove enjoyed reminding her Mistress that she was no longer the innocent young woman from their first journey. As the day lengthened and they came closer to a spot to camp, Dove often teased her Mistress in hopes of hastening their lovemaking. She was somewhat rarely successful. Rayven was a methodically patient woman, whether it was in hunting or in pleasure.

Dove smiled as she remembered how much more frequently she was the one who got overly excited, barely able to contain it. What made it even worse was being aware that her Mistress knew it and was delaying to turn the tables on her.

How many times had she been reduced to begging Rayven to give her release? She had no idea. Even now she had to laugh at herself. "I can feel it even now. Even gone, her memory excites me," she thought. The excitement faded abruptly, replaced by tears leaking from her eyes. "Goddess, why did you take her from me?"

Another question she had asked countless times. This one had been answered but it didn't make her accept it anymore.

As the evening approached, Dove started to look for a place to spend the night. They had traveled many miles and while sometimes she would continue well into the night, not without good reason. Today there was nothing that made her want to take the risk of injuring one of the horses with something that could be easily avoided in the daylight. Finally, she found a small clearing with grass for the horses and space to pitch her tent.

"No fire tonight," she told the horses. It was not cold enough to need one, and after so much effort avoiding attention, she didn't want to throw that away. She would do with cold trail rations. She didn't want much more. For weeks now, she found eating to be a chore; something that just had to be done to fuel her.

She went about the chores of setting up camp as efficiently as she was taught. When she'd finished eating, it was almost dark. The horses were calm and quietly eating. With her pack in front of her, she reached in and fished for a small bundle. It was not hard to find. She did this every night.

Unrolling it, she looked down. Shining dully with the last gleaming of dusk, a small figurine demanded attention. She knew it well. Unlike many who had a similar statuette, she actually knew just how closely it matched the goddess it represented. Sharing her life with her avatar meant Dove had seen her many times. The warrior goddess Ashura was a sometimes third entity in bed with her, acting through Rayven but distinctly separate, feeding off their passion in a way that fanned it ever higher. Although always disconcerting, Dove accepted it both because she had no choice and Ashura was her own goddess as much as she was Rayven's.