Jori - a Fairy Tale of Sorts

Jori Part 2 -- Iteration

A Fairy Tale of Sorts

Author's note: This is part 2 of a 4-part story arc. Please read Part 1 first. As always, character development is important to me so most of my stories start slowly. All characters, mythical and otherwise, are over eighteen.

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He dared not move. He dared not stay where he was. He did not know what to dare.

If he moved, he might wake her. If she woke, she might be angry. Or simply consume him.

If he did not move, he could not escape, and she might simply consume him.

She had said that when he had healed, he could leave -- she would not stop him.

But can you really trust a Daemon? A Succubus?

Or Goddess? Or Angel? Or whatever supernatural being she was, because even if her drugs had only induced hallucinations, her presence was still powerful and commanding, and he was not ready to write off his memories as mere imaginings.

She stirred. He froze. She moved a bit more, leaning back into him and stroking his arm once before letting her hand rest on his.

"You needn't feign sleep, nor be afraid, Jori," he heard her say, though she stayed facing away from him. "I find it interesting that it is fear ruining your morning and not loathing." She sat up, facing away from him, then stood. "I will fix some breakfast," the cracked, familiar voice went on, beginning to pull on the shift she'd worn the previous night.

"Stop." Jori had no idea why he said it. It just came out. "Please, Mistress... please turn around before you cover yourself. If I am not being too impertinent."

She hesitated, then lowered the shift and slowly turned, the dull morning light playing over her wizened figure. He stared and she let him look. He remembered how she'd looked last night, when she crawled naked between his legs and used her mouth to give him pleasure, and what she'd looked like when she'd crawled up astride him, her wrinkles outlined by the firelight, her pointy little tits fascinating him. She had seemed so odd... so unlike any vision he would have called sexy.

But she had been. Even before the hallucinations and her apparent change into a goddess, he'd been fascinated. He didn't know why. He didn't care. He took one last lingering look before shifting his gaze to her face -- where he saw a slight smile.

"I suppose I should apologize, Mistress Angelique, for being so curious and fascinated," he told her. "Please, go about whatever you were going to do. I'll try not to be in your way."

"If you wish to remove the bandages and gently wash up," she continued to smile, "there is a rain barrel just outside and to the right of the door. After last night, it should be overflowing. It appears we still have some morning drizzle."

He nodded and continued to watch as she remained facing him while she slipped the shift over her head and let it settle down around her body. She turned and moved slowly, the aged crone with the inner grace who had rescued him last night, going to the fireplace to stoke up the fire and start breakfast.

He shook his head to clear it, then eased out of bed. He was sore in places, still, but for the most part he was amazingly healed. He slowly removed the remaining bandages from his thighs and forearms, inspecting them for any signs of infection, but saw none. Virtually all the cuts were now thin white scars and there was only slight bruising around some of the larger ones. He realized his tattered clothes were still by the fire with his equally tattered pack and only hesitated a moment before deciding that he was not going to hide his body from her.

She was puttering near the fire when he walked past her to the door, getting a passing glance and smile from her as he did so, then looking back to her work as he paused in the door, naked.

I have no reason to believe I am safe once I step out this door, he thought. Vigilance would be a very good idea. He eased out the door, scanning the scrubby clearing for any signs of immediate danger. It was grey and drizzly out as she had commented. He could hear birds in the trees but not much else. A slight murmur of crickets or grasshoppers, he thought, and the sudden rustle of a bird flushing, but not seen. What could have been a rabbit, streaking then freezing, off to his left. He decided the clearing was safe enough.

He went to the rain barrel and as expected, it was full, running out the little overflow spout from the additional water channeled from the light rain running off the roof. He noticed the roof was odd -- solid, not thatched. Apparently carved out of the giant tree itself, approximating wooden shingles. A small carved gutter collected the rain and diverted it to the barrel.

He found a large woven rag and a bound net of moss, obviously for washing. Gingerly, he used them to go over his body as best he could, heeding her advice to take it easy. He paused a moment, embarrassed, when he got to his groin. He seemed normally flaccid this morning, but he would swear he remembered being hideously swollen the night before. Well, maybe not hideous... but certainly abnormal. At least twice his usual length and quite a bit thicker as well. He looked around for anyone watching before realizing he was being silly. Anyone watching wouldn't give a shit if he jerked off. But he wanted to know.

Being careful not to reinjure himself, he began massaging his cock, playing with himself to bring himself to full erection. It was probably stupid, he thought, but he wanted reassurance he was still himself... at least, down there. He grew, and even the more rapidly when he began remembering last night. How she had felt, in all her forms, how she had pleasured him, how she had driven him to unimaginable heights of pleasure. How she had wanted him. How she had called him hers and all those cries and moans in that strange language. His skin was soon straining with the erection.

And he was worried. He was larger than before, but not as much as last night's climax. All of his genitals seemed larger, in length and width, and the size of his balls. And he was much, much more sensitive. He realized that about the same time that he came.

He stood next to the barrel, aiming his ropes out into the clearing as his ejaculation exploded. Very much like his head wanted to... he was seeing twinkly lights and feeling faint as he pumped his seed into the grass. He grabbed the barrel to steady himself. Eventually, he calmed down and used the rain water to wash off -- again.

When he had calmed down enough to be only semi-erect, he headed back into the hut, determined that he should leave this place before its magic transformed him into something he wouldn't recognize. He would have to make do for clothing and food, but in daylight and not fleeing an enemy, he should be able to find his way back to the road and perhaps to town. If his pack hadn't been rifled, he had enough coin to purchase new clothes and lodging while seeking work.

As he entered, she was laying out a plate and goblet on the small table beside the chair he'd used last night. And next to the table were a new pack and clothes piled on top, that he did not recognize.

"Do not look so surprised, Jori Earthmover," she smiled. "I have some skills. Your old pack and clothes were ruined. I am giving you these as replacements. I believe I've sized them right. The boots were a bit tricky. All I had was the ruined sandals to work from. I've also put a fresh waterskin in your pack."

"Come, eat, drink. You must keep your strength up," she gestured to him to sit. "I suppose it was necessary that you waste some of it for the reassurance, though." She gave him a slightly disapproving look, the first he remembered from her.

He moved to the chair and began putting on the clothes. She had provided a simple loincloth, linen shirt, soft leather breeches and tunic. There were also fancy satin stockings and high, soft leather boots. And a broad-brimmed leather hat. Much better than his own, even before the storm and flight ruined them.

"There is a change of clothes and also a linen nightshirt in your pack," she told him as she served herself and sat down.

"Thank you very, very much, Mistress Angelique," he told her as he finished dressing and sat down. She had provided eggs and some kind of sausage, bread and jam, a fruit he did not recognize and an herbal tea with honey. This was wonderful fare as far as he was concerned and he told her so before tucking in.

He was perhaps halfway through breakfast when it occurred to him to say something.

"Mistress, you are very generous," he told her. "Much more so than I deserve. It occurred to me, though, that if you can read my mind, then you must know that I will be leaving. And not because you are some kind of abhorrent monster I must escape. Actually, quite the opposite. I confess, I no longer know what is real and what is imaginary, especially about last night. But I do know that I am drawn to you in a way which I do not understand, and it frightens me. The 'too much of a good thing' my father warned me about, maybe."

"I do not wish to raise your ire, nor insult you. You have saved my life and I will always owe you for that. And I will tell you that if there is something you require of me, just tell me. I will do it for you, before I leave. I wish to please you as much as you have pleased me."

"Oh, my Jori..." she sighed. "There is nothing I require of you. It should be obvious that I wish you would stay, but I understand that you cannot. I know your plan is to seek the King's Highway and thence go to the town of Rivière-Pierreux. To that end, I have added a bit to your stash of coin in your pack, to make surviving easier while you seek work. And some sewn into this belt for you to wear, in case something should happen to your pack." She handed him a simple leather belt with a frog-type closure.

"When you leave, walk to the tunnel by which you entered. You will find a pathway this time. Keep angling up the slope to your right until you reach more level ground. You will see a break in the tree-line where the road passes by. Head for it and you will find the road and avoid the ruffians. Turn left and follow the road, and you should be in Rivière-Pierreux by sundown."

"There is naught I can do for you, Mistress?" he asked, hoping for something to repay her kindness.

"There is naught, my Jori," she smiled wistfully, and he thought he could see a bit of sadness in it.

He looked away from her and back to his meal. She had been kinder to him than anyone not in his immediate family, and even there she was near the top. But he had to leave. If he didn't get out of there, he would want to know what was going on... who she was and her story, what magic controlled her and the hut and the clearing, what life with her would be like going forward. All questions which would keep him here, probably forever.

He finished his meal as she finished hers, and afterwards he insisted on cleaning up from breakfast, doing the washing and drying and putting away. Then, he was ready to go.

She handed him his pack and told him there was a full waterskin of fresh water, a packet of jerky and a loaf of bread -- enough to make three or four meals -- and a dried soup mixture he needed only to boil. He thanked her again, profusely, then steeled himself to leave. And yet, he could not leave without one last kiss.

He took her gently in his arms, bending over her frail body to take her withered face in his hands, drawing her lips to his and gently, as a lover might on parting, kissed her. The energy he felt in return, the affection, surprised him greatly, but he was glad of it and tried to return the same. In time, they had to break the kiss.

"Merci, ma Jori," she smiled. "Va avec la Déesse."

"Um, sure..." he answered, not sure what she had said. "You, too." Then he turned and walked out.

The mist and drizzle hung heavy in the air as he walked across the sodden ground towards the hole in the briar hedge he'd been so fortunate to find the night before. He pulled on the hat and was delighted to find that it fit, perfectly.

Just one more thing about her that's perfect, he thought as he approached the hole. Except this time, the hole seemed to shift in front of him, opening a narrow passageway. He moved to enter it and it moved to form around him, not one bramble poking into him or even touching him in any way. He took one last look at the tree-hut over his shoulder, let out a deep sigh, and moved through the hedge.

The climb up the slope towards the road was not an easy one, most of it being very slippery from the ongoing rain. He paused to mark the base of a tree near the hole in the hedge with a circle of stones in a special pattern, one that he could remember and maybe find if he wished to return. For all he knew, as soon as the hedge closed behind him, the tree, its hut and its very special occupant could vanish forever. The legends of the Blackheart Forest did not rise from trivial anecdotes.

Every once in awhile he would stop and mark another tree, and every time he did, he kept asking himself why the hell he was running away from the best he'd ever felt.

Eventually he made it to the place she had told him about, where he could see the break in the trees, and he knew the highway was just beyond. He began to move towards it, but his heart was not in it. It was back at the tree hut and with the old crone who had taken such good care of him. He was in sight of the road when he finally gave up and sat down on a fallen tree trunk, taking off his pack and fishing out his waterskin.

He was slaking his thirst when the wolf appeared. Jori nearly soiled his brand new loincloth.

Not sure what to do, he eased the waterskin back into his pack and prepared his body and mind to run like hell. He had no idea where he could go that would evade the wolf, except perhaps directly to the road where the presence of Men might deter it. That is when the second and third wolves appeared, spanning an arc between him and the road.

There must be more, surrounding me, he thought as he realized he had no options. But they are not attacking... why? I am but a single man, no match for them. He sat still and watched them, chiding himself for being unarmed and promising himself that if by some miracle he survived, he would save up for a proper dagger. He had no fire handy, nor anything else to ward them off. He was, as the saying went, dead meat.

As he sat terrified, contemplating his last moments, the dark forest worked its eerie magic again.

The lead wolf, the first to appear, slowly approached, regarding him with those feral golden eyes as if analyzing what kind of intruder had entered their forest. The wolf walked up to him, ears up in curiosity, not fear. The fear was all Jori's. He sat literally frozen as the wolf moved within a foot, sniffing the air and the scent of this strange man-creature that had dared invade the forest.

And then the wolf rubbed him. As Jori sat trembling, the wolf turned his head and ran it against his leg as if marking him, then turned the other side of his face to rub back along his thigh. Jori had no idea what was going on. All he knew was that he was scared witless.

The huge brute suddenly jumped up, putting his massive paws on either shoulder, towering over him. Jori's heart felt ready to explode, and almost did when the huge wolf leaned down and licked him across his cheek. Then the wolf pushed off and jumped down, walking in a slow circle before him until finally halting a slight distance away and sitting, facing him.

That is when the other two approached and did the same marking-and-licking, taking their places seated next to their leader, facing the man-creature. He was so stunned, he forgot to tremble. His mind was racing and all kinds of forgotten trivia was flooding him, making it hard to think.

The Wolves of the Blackheart Forest. Not legend, but very, very real. Silva Lupi, the priests had called them. Or Los Lobos. Or Les Loups... Les loups de la forêt.

Marthe des Loups she had called herself. Marthe... something to do with the wolves. He should have paid better attention when the priests tried to teach him reading and writing and languages. He'd only wanted to be back on the land, to feel its strength and life coursing through him.

Marthe... Martha. Martha was Mistress, wasn't it? Or Lady? The Mistress of the Wolves?

His mind raced in circles, seeking answers to an impossible situation. The wolves had approached and accepted him. They were not acting threatening or hostile, nor fearful. They simply regarded him for several moments before rising together and trotting off deeper into the woods.

He sat frozen on the log for a long time... eventually his heart ceased its pounding and his mind calmed to his present surroundings, and he knew he couldn't leave the forest. He needed to go find her. To ask her. To understand her. He picked up his pack and walked unsteadily to a nearby bush where he relieved himself. He had managed not to piss himself with the wolves, but it wasn't for lack of wanting to.

With a final look in the direction of the road, and into the forest where the wolves had gone, he headed back in search of his stone markers and the path back to her.

* * * * *

The stones had led him back to the briars and to the small hole into which he had escaped the previous night. The hole was there, until he approached. Then it shifted into the narrow pathway he had used on his way out this morning. It was expecting him.

Unsettled but grateful, he moved through the hedge to the clearing. It was just as he had left it. A thin wisp of smoke curled up from the chimney in the tree hut on the far side of the overgrown clearing. She would be home. She would still be there -- but would she welcome him? He had left her, to leave her forest, to make his way back to the world of Men and away from the insidious evils of the dark forest.

Slowly, he eased his way across the clearing, looking out for unexpected attack. Who knew? Maybe she had guard wolves or something. The door was closed and in the daylight, the windows were the dull yellow of the curtains she had hanging over them inside. Fighting down the urge to turn tail and run, he tried the door. It was unlocked.

Again, with excruciating slowness, he eased the door open and looked inside. She was there.

She was sitting in her chair, facing the fire, her knitting in her lap. She was slumped over slightly and appeared to be asleep. He certainly did not want to startle her. He tried desperately to think of some innocuous, friendly way to wake her as he stepped into the hut and closed the door.

"Hello, Jori," he heard her say. "Welcome back. Did you forget something?"

"No, Mistress," he answered, moving to the other chair before the fire. "It was something I didn't forget... or couldn't. Namely, you."

"Ah..." He could hear the slight smile in her voice. "And why would an old woman be so important that you would not return to your world outside the forest? Oh... and there is hot water for tea, if you wish."

He took his time making his tea, trying to marshal his thoughts. How to explain it to her? She could easily read his mind, but she wanted him to say it, to acknowledge out loud his reasons for returning.

"I had a very strange experience," he told her as he settled into his chair and sipped his tea. "One you might know something about and help me understand."

"Oh?" Her voice was non-committal.

"Yes," he continued carefully. "As I sat resting, before I reached the road, I was approached by three wolves who sniffed me, then rubbed their muzzles on me, marking me, and then licked me. After that, they disappeared back into the forest. When I was done being scared shitless, I wondered about them, and some of your comments before... something about Marte des Loups, and it being your forest and some other things. Plus things like my hallucination of you turning into a gorgeous young girl, which I'm not so sure was a hallucination anymore."