Dancing with Gods
The dew still clung to the grass and flowers lining the path as Susan made her way to the first lesson of the day, in a nearby glade. A porridge made from nuts and grains sat heavy in her stomach, seeming to slosh from side to side as she walked. She kicked an errant pine cone, a vicious swing of the foot betraying her temper.
She practised in her mind the right words for Laoire, to keep his interest and let him know hers, while getting to know him. They would lunch together, walk to and from classes holding hands and tonight she would let him kiss her. Act natural, she thought, and he will never know about Oengus. On the other hand, maybe it would be better to tell him, to make sure he heard from her and not from somebody else. Oh, so confusing, what is the right thing to do?
She worried about her dress, selected with care and at least half an hour of indecision that morning, swapping one dress for another. This brought out the colour of her eyes, and subtle make up made those huge and luminous. Now she worried that she looked too easy, like a slut or a baggage, and wondered if she should wipe off the make up.
One of the first to arrive, she took a place on a fallen log, touching the foxgloves growing beside it and attempting to feel their vibration, to harness the energies Maelbelenus insisted where the key to using the potions. She closed her eyes, seeking to feel the movement of sap inside the plant, to feel the growth of the leaves and the life of the plant, when the subtle scent lilies of the valley brushed her face, warmth touched her hip and an arm slid around her. Warm lips pressed her cheek and she opened her eyes to see Fionuir.
“Good morning, darling. I changed my schedule to fit with yours. Thought I would help you with your studies, more fun with the two of us. The people on my schedule are so boring.”
Susan couldn’t help smiling. She kissed Fionuir back and hugged her, with sudden gratefulness for her friendship and presence. About to speak, her words caught in her throat as Laoire entered the glade.
With Orlaith at his side, holding hands. She glowed.
*
Somehow, she managed to get through the day. The lecture made no sense, she couldn’t recall anything from the day, except the sight of Orlaith’s face, enraptured and nibbling on Laoire’s ear, as often as not. Laoire seemed quite pleased with himself, though he did seem a trifle embarrassed at lunchtime when they came face to face. He mumbled something she couldn’t hear and went past. Orlaith stopped to hug her and thank her again for the powders. Susan thought she would snap a tooth off as she ground her teeth.
Fionuir did not say much, but remained a constant reassuring presence, warm and friendly. She guided Susan through the day, supporting her without saying anything. As classes closed in the early afternoon, Susan faced an empty evening staring at the wooden wall of her room, her cage. Fionuir led her away, pushing through some vines into a similar room to her own, with far more furnishings. She sat her on the bed and put her arms round her, stroking her hair.
“Just cry, darling, let it all out. Tell me how you feel, get all those nasty feelings out, set them free.” And Susan did, while Fionuir held her and stroked her hair.
Empty, and feeling much lighter in consequence, Susan’s words ran to a stumbling halt. Fionuir fetched a damp cloth and washed her face.
“Come, let’s go down to the stream and swim. After supper, we will talk some more and I will explain to you some of our Elvish customs. We are not so bothered about love as you humans. Pleasure is our goal, something we seek always. Life is for living, to be enjoyed to the full. There is no point in spending time doing something you don’t enjoy.”
Later that night they watched the glow worms playing underneath a tree in which a nightingale sang. Fionuir produced a small sack of nectar, and the two giggled as they sipped. Suspicion grew in Susan, and she quietened while she followed her thoughts. Although aware of women loving women, she possessed no direct experience, but she began to suspect Fionuir’s caresses lingered a fraction too long.
Old Susan reared back in horror at the very thought, but New Susan considered the idea with mounting interest. And when Fionuir asked her, a sweet and gentle proposition timed for the perfect moment, she kissed her in acquiescence, holding her hand as the two returned to Fionuir’s room.
*
The week passed, Laoire regressing in importance as she and Fionuir became inseparable. Her understanding of the Elven culture grew in leaps and bounds, till she relished the approaching party at the end of the week. Making up the girls faces with pleasure, even that of Orlaith, Susan smiled at the girl’s happiness.
She joined in the dancing and feasting, noticing the humans on their own table. She could see them looking around, guessed they searched for her but did not feel like the challenge of the conversation. Yet the urge to hear news of the Kingdom would not be denied. She nursed her goblet of nectar, a prominent sprig of elderflowers projecting from the side behind which she could hide. Sipping at the drink, she drifted behind a couple of elves discussing a new song and found a spot behind a bush from which she could eavesdrop.
“...and the war is over, just like that,” said Bishop Roseton to his comrades. “The result, so speedy, is unexpected. The Church did expect the king to receive a serious reverse and is waiting to hear from Count Rotherstone for his alternative proposals.”
“I still don’t understand how this could happen,” said a young, corpulent monk. “We expected to hear Hardenwall had fallen and the king to boot. He was outnumbered, Count Rotherstone should have given way in the line and left the king isolated.”
Susan’s face hardened. Rotherstone! That slimeball. She knew she should have sorted his insolence once and for all. She leant forward to hear the reply.
“He was outmanoeuvred. We expected the king to take command himself, but he gave command to that damn general, Roberts, made him Marshal. The good lords created objections, but the Marshal arrested Rotherstone which made life difficult. In the fray the line broke, as planned, but the marshal expected that and his reserve was enough to stem the tide.”
“That’s all very well, we’ve heard about the squares, but who are these wretched Lancers you mentioned?”
“We don’t know much about them,” said Roseton. “From the little I know, they are young boys from Fearaigh, not Churchmen, and they are demons in human form. Flew out of the forest, too fast for human knights, and murdered the poor Spakka by arcane means. We suspect they have sold their souls to the devil, for they are too fast and cannot be killed. No human could wipe out the Spakka as they did. The good Count Rotherstone cannot be blamed for the reverse, it is the devil’s work to be sure.”
There was a mutter of agreement around the table, the churchmen reaching for their goblets and a pervading air of gloom enveloped the table.
Susan chortled to herself, wondering who these Lancers could be, and why she had never heard of them from her network. At least the king was safe, and from the sound of it most of her friends in the Pathfinders would be as well. She slipped away as the conversation changed to a vision one of the clergy had experienced the previous night, some succubus he had resisted. Susan doubted the vision to be anything more than wishful thinking and wondered at the gullibility of his brothers who seemed convinced of his tale.
The rabbit dance commenced. Susan couldn’t face it, the thought of being captured again by Laoire or, worse, seeing him capture Orlaith. She slipped away, over to the tables still laden with food and found a skin of nectar, a delicate sniff confirming its identity: Goibhniu.
She hesitated, but a vision of Laoire catching Orlaith during the dance caused Susan to sigh and she drank deep. The core of heat in her belly exploded, rushing down her limbs and to her head. She dropped the empty goblet as the glade whirled around her, the trees changing colours with figures appearing in the branches, dryads smiling down on her. She waved at one beauty, a tall green woman with hair the colour of spun copper, falling past her knees. The movement made her lurch, and she fell into something hard and an arm clasped her to it.
She found her nose against a broad chest, bare, with white and black ochre stripes spreading in a complicated pattern. She traced the pattern with her fingers, muttering under her breath and the chest rumbled. She raised her face to find a being of regal bearing wearing an amused expression. His eyes swirled, green and gold, rushing in circles, large and luminous, while his hair writhed and swirled around his head, long and luxurious so she longed to wrap it around herself. Heat rushed through her, as she felt her nipples crinkle and she tried to concentrate on his lips, sculpted, firm, full and powerful.
“A God?” She said, her voice indistinct and blurred from the mushrooms. “Which one are you? And where is your dragon?” She swayed around, hanging onto his shoulder as she peered around the glade looking for a dragon.
The God laughed, and another voice replied, from another large God coming up alongside and also inspecting her with close attention. “He’s Cernunnus, see his horns, like a stag, showing his fertility.” Susan blinked like an owl, leaning back to inspect his head from which indeed sprouted great horns like the aurochs, leading her errant mind to reminisce about the size of his testicles, when the words percolated a little further and the horns twisted and metamorphosed into antlers, a great spread with upper spikes clustered into hands reaching for the sky.
“I, though, I am his father, Dagda, with all the power on the earth, to create what I wish,” he continued, and Susan turned her attention to him, gasping as his head shone, radiating brilliance as if it were a sun. She raised an arm towards him, entreating his grasp and he bent to her, lifting her up while she wriggled in his hands. The Goibhniu coursed through her as she raised her lips to the God.
*
Susan pirouetted in pleasure, walking between the two Gods, Cernunnus and Dagda, as they brought her back to the feast from a forest glade. She felt tremendous, like a cat who’d eaten all the cream. She had pleasured both Gods, not once but twice each, leaving them groaning and exhausted on the ground. Her triumph at this success soared through her spirit. The Gods loved her, accepted her, wanted her. Her cup overflowed with happiness.
She started another little dance step, and staggered as she was jerked away so hard she thought her arm came out of its socket and she gaped at it lying on the ground.
“Leave her alone, you dirty old men,” said Fionuir, her hackles up. Susan giggled, she looked just like a cat, why she even had whiskers and a bottled tail, stiff with indignation.
“Hello Fionuir, love,” said Susan, delighted to see her friend who would share in her triumph. “See, the Gods have come. This is Dagda and his son Cernunnus. They find me beautiful and desirable.” She twirled again for effect.
“They aren’t gods, Aine, they are dirty old men. This one is a forester while this one a swineherd. Oh, she isn’t listening, the Goibhniu is in her blood, I told you not to give her any.”
“They look like gods to me,” said Fainche, performing a little pirouette as well. She’d also enjoyed the Goibhniu. “So do you, we’re all gods tonight.”
“Pretty,” said Susan, wrapping herself around Laoire who smiled in appreciation, Orlaith notable by her absence to the toilet. She didn’t notice Fionuir advancing in anger on her Gods.
“More Gods! They are coming!” Riofach squealed in excitement, waving her arms in the general direction of the forest. A loud rumbling attracted attention and the two ‘Gods’ took one look and beat a hasty retreat, laughing.
“That’s no god, it’s a bloody bear, come on girls,” said Laoire, turning to run and pulling Susan after him. She tripped over her own feet and fell, pulling her hand free, bashing her head on a stool as she went down. She lay semi-conscious as the elves vacated the glade as one, and the bear ambled over to the tables, engulfing a plate of smoked fish and licking up a bowl of berries before discovering the Goibhniu in a large skin. She, for it was a female bear, sniffed the sack for a moment, before the scent of honey tried her patience and she bit through, throwing her head back to allow the contents to cascade down her throat.
The fiery bite of alcohol proved unexpected, and she coughed a few times, before jumping back as a flame shot out of her mouth. The psilocybin worked just as well on the bear as on humans and elves. The bear staggered as she circled around the glade, trying to get back to the table. She succeeded, finding the Elven biscuits just as Susan sat up, groaning and holding her head.
The bear snorted, peering at the strange vision uncurling out of the earth, a giant snake undulating upwards. Being a bear of limited vision, she turned to a more reliable sense, leaning forward, running her nose up Susan’s back and sniffing. Her reliable nose hoovered up the scent of man and rushed Susan’s death sentence towards the brain, only to be intercepted by the psilocybin which turned Susan into a bear cub, one of the two who deserted the mother to make their own way in the world just the previous month.
At the same time, Susan felt the snort and revolved for her addled brain to find herself facing a huge black dragon, leering down at her, wisps of smoke curling from each nostril.
“Fiotr,” said Susan with a happy cry. “Have you come to take me home? Is it already time to go? I want another dance.” She staggered to her feet and the dragon butted her with care and affection. “Where’s the music? Never mind, we make our own.”
The bear watched her missing cub rise onto her hind legs and revolve around the glade, following her and nudging her at intervals.
*
The fleeing girls staggered to a halt near the Teaching Trees, taking stock.
“Where is Aine? I can’t see her,” said Fionuir.
“Laoire has her,” said Riofach, staggering with a twisted ankle.
“No I don’t. Thought she was with you.” Laoire put an arm around Orlaith’s waist.
“Did those bloody hunters make off with her?” Riofach asked. “They were trying it on, pretending to be gods.”
“No, they went off into the woods. I think she went first – humans don’t like bears. I’m for bed, that running makes my head hurt,” said Fainche. Bears often interrupted the festivities. “Fionuir, can I share your bed tonight, it’s too far to go home.”
No one heard Susan’s laughter as she found another skin of Goibhniu and squirted it down Fiotr’s throat, before dragging him into another dance, one in which he even reared up to tower over her.