The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

‘Fey’

(mc, f/f, m/f, nc)

DISCLAIMER:

This material is for adults only; it contains explicit sexual imagery and non-consensual relationships. If you are offended by this type of material or you are under legal age in your area, do NOT continue.

* * *

‘Fey’

Part Three

* * *

Ferndew passed the melted stone bearing a waterstone in each hand.

She was nervous. The Queen had taught her to shield her thoughts, but she would need to return to the Elders soon. It was almost three quarters of a moon since she had been to the Elder glade. With each unexpected birdflight she thought she spied a pixie, sent to fetch her.

They would not come here, of course. There was no reason to; Ferndew would never come here. Not to the Forbidden Grove.

The thorns hated her still. But soon, bleeding, she was with the fallen Queen.

She put a waterstone into the cupped hand.

It turned to ash.

Ferndew followed it with the other.

Thank you, little nymph, came Her voice, and it was strong and clear.

Queen?

Yes?

I was wondering... can’t I use what You taught me to shield my thoughts from You, too?

The tinkling sound of Her laughter, echoing only inside Ferndew’s head. Of course you can, She said. What of it?

But don’t you... might you not want to...?

No, She said plainly. Secret conversions and subtle machinations are for the weak. I am powerless now, but I am not weak. I will never be weak. If I want you to serve Me willingly I will tell you to, and you will choose whether or not you shall. If I want to put My thoughts into your mind and force you to obey them to the echo, then I shall do that instead. But you need never, little nymph, worry about My doing something to you without your knowing.

Oh.

Come, She said, I am remembering much, now, and I have aught to show you-

* * *

The hillside was sunny and covered in little red and blue flowers. Jadeclaw was frolicking.

Great leaps, and pirouettes, and long sweeping strides through the meadow, circling bees and butterflies and enjoying the sun on her skin and the swoosh of her hair.

Mistress was far from her mind—as far as She ever could be—and Jadeclaw had given herself over wholly to enjoying a marvelous summer day. Laughing, she ran up the trunk of the oak at meadow’s edge, flipping back over herself, and took off running up the hill again.

The sight of men at the top brought her up short.

They hadn’t seen her, for she wasn’t letting herself be seen. But neither had she known about them, which meant that the Forest didn’t know about them either. She reached out with her mind and the trees, the meadow, the flitting insects, none of them were paying the men any heed at all.

Frowning, she crouched down into the radiant grass. The men had magic, then. Caution was dictated.

She called, and instantly her Queen was there.

They watched through Jadeclaw’s eyes as the men tromped through the meadow and down the far side. There were four of them, dirty, in high boots and smudged doublets. They had swords and the packs of travelers.

One of them, with greasy blond hair, seemed to be the leader.

“Down here,” he told the others, gesturing into the shadow at meadow’s edge. “quickly now.”

They filed into the trees. Jadeclaw rose from her crouch and followed them.

A stream flowed here in the trees; a trickle now in the high summer, it had carved a small canyon in the soil with its winter flood. The blond man put a hand on a toppled tree, and hopped down into the cleft.

“Here,” he said, his voice excited, “it is here!”

The other men clambered down. Cautiously, Jadeclaw followed. She lost sight of them, but now she heard the sounds of packs being tossed and the clink of metal.

At the edge of the streamgorge trees had fallen, undermined. Jadeclaw crept along one of them and peered around the rootball. She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

The water had exposed stone; not natural stone, but the blocks and toppled walls of a building. Jadeclaw had seen other structures like this in the Forest, but finding a new one came as a surprise. The tiled floor was visible but covered in sediment and flotsam; the stream bisected it, already half a foot into the ground below.

The men were busying themselves, unpacking tools. The blonde one was gesturing, remarking on the things he saw.

Mistress?

There is power here, Jadeclaw, power older and other than mine. I know of it; these men are doubtless here to claim it.

How may I serve You?

Kill them all.

Jadeclaw stood, and allowed her glamour to fall away.

The dark-skinned one saw her first, and he rose from where he was hunched over the tiles, his pick clattering to the ground. The other men looked up at him, then at her, and their eyes widened.

Jadeclaw leapt down to land lightly atop a stone block.

“She’s beautiful,” one of the men whispered, unaware that he was doing it. Jadeclaw paid him no mind, but kept her eyes on the leader. He was the first to recover.

“Who are you?” he asked, raking a hand across his forehead to move his hair. “What are you doing here?”

She said nothing, but stepped down off the block and walked among them. Stopping in the center of the four, she turned slowly to look at each man in turn.

As she was facing the man-boy with the close-cropped beard, she felt a hand on her backside. “Don’t worry,” hissed the blonde, “we won’t hurt you none.”

She turned to him; he was close enough now for her to smell the cloves he had been chewing an hour ago.

“How very kind of you,” Jadeclaw replied, with a small smile.

Her smile became a grin, and her mouth opened and her teeth grew until she wore the feral grin of a wolf, a tiger, a predator. Her fingers lengthened and sharpened to needle points as the greasy man stumbled backwards.

The men screamed as she tore them apart. A sword pierced her flesh and stuck fast as she healed around it, roots deep inside her gripping it tight. She slashed and bit and chased the last one down, stabbing into his neck with both hands and tearing his head from his body, and sprinkling herself with his warm, salty blood.

Jadeclaw roared, and the forest echoed with her fierce joy.

She pulled the weapon from her body as she sauntered back to the ruined building, the pale white stones spattered now with dark blood.

Mistress?

There is no more that needs doing, my nymph. I do not need the power that is there; I wish only that no others have it, and it remains well hid. You have served me well in this.

Love welled up in Jadeclaw, so strong that she felt her skin must glow. She had served Mistress well! There was no greater ecstasy than that.

She washed in the stream. And went back to dancing on the flower-covered hill, even happier than before.

* * *

Ferndew shook her head. Jadeclaw’s fierce joy and obedient ecstasy thrummed in her body and her sex, but...

She killed them!

Of course. I told her to.

But they hadn’t done anything.

They displeased Me.

Ferndew was on her knees, next to the fallen stone form of the Queen. Time had only slightly eroded the features; Her petrified eyes were closed under thin brows. Ferndew stared at her ruined, petrified face. She had forgotten, almost, the king murdered on the pyramid, but she remembered now.

But it had felt so good to kill those men.

And it had felt so much better to please Mistress.

Little nymph?

Yes?

I showed you this because I want you to bring Me that which is hidden beneath the hill. I had no need of it then; now it might mean much. Listen and I shall tell you how to fetch it.

Ferndew stared at the black stone eyes. Her sex was aglow; she tried to ignore it.

...

You hesitate.

I... I have to go back to the Elders. They must be wondering where I am.

The Queen paused, but when She spoke again there was no anger.

As you wish. I have no power to compel you.

Which was a lie, Ferndew thought, but only to herself and not out loud. The Queen was intensely compelling, and had a very great deal of power over her already.

* * *

Every step nearer the Elder Glade threatened to break Ferndew’s resolve.

They would know. They would know that she was working with, working for, their enemy. That Ferndew had done bad things, evil things, she had stolen waterstones and gone into the Forbidden Grove and now she knew the truth about them and about her and about sex and the Queen...

No. Be still.

Ferndew stopped, and tried to quiet her mind. The Queen had taught her how, how to fade the thoughts she did not want seen, how to illuminate others in their place.

If it did not work, at least it helped her become calm enough to walk among them.

The Glade almost took the heart from her. The serene majesty of it, of the Elders stretching far above and the stillness and the smooth, golden power that her flesh was part of...

But a small part of her was black at the core.

She reached out to them, tentatively, and they answered, inquiring about her doings. She told them of her trip to the mountain (but not why), of the animals she had seen and the feel of the high country and how

it was different than the heart of the Forest.

And they spoke to her about the world and the Forest and the weather, and she almost didn’t hear them in her wonder at not being caught.

And then they told her that there was an ancient power, an evil power, that sought dominion over the Forest and all things in it. This evil had long been dormant in the Forbidden Grove, but now it was shifting in its sleep and needed to be watched. They told her that she should never, under any circumstances, go near to the Forbidden Grove, but that she could be instrumental in helping them; they showed her a copse of trees in a wet meadow and the small statue that lay beneath them, and that it was something with power that the evil one of the Grove might want, and that Ferndew was to move it away from there to where it would be safe.

They told her all this and never once uncovered what Ferndew had really been doing.

When Ferndew left the Glade, she was numb.

* * *

She stopped outside the wall of thorns. She didn’t want to go back in there. She could have called out from the Forest, from the tree where first the Queen spoke to her, but there she might be seen. Only in the Forbidden Grove could the creatures of the Elders not find her.

But she didn’t want to crawl back through the thorns.

Queen?

Little nymph. Have you brought Me that which I asked for?

I... no.

I see.

I... Ferndew pursed her lips. Are you evil?

There was a pause.

No. I am above evil, little nymph. I am Me. I do what pleases Me; those who it harms call it evil. Those who it benefits call it good.

I... see.

Do you? Let Me show you.

* * *

Glossyleaf walked down the tree at forest’s edge, startling the woman who gathered sticks there.

The humans were allowed to do so; She permitted a whole community of men to live at the Forest’s edge, and men required wood to cook their food. Glossyleaf looked at the woman as she put down her sticks and bowed her head.

Glossyleaf was angry, for She was angry. A tree had been taken, a great runewood, taken by humans against Her will. Runewood grew only slowly, over centuries, and was impervious to the harm of insects or fire. It was worth much to those who would craft in wood, enough to dare Her wrath. But this fearful and reverent peasant was not the one who had taken it.

Finding out who did take it was why Glossyleaf had come.

Finding out, and punishing them.

“Woman,” she said, “cease your work and take me to the head of your village.” The woman scrambled to obey, beckoning and moving off. Glossyleaf followed.

The village was not far; neat mud-brick houses with thatch roofs. Long ago, when Glossyleaf was Carolie and mortal, she would have thought them fine, well-kept dwellings. The oldest grandmother here was not yet born then.

The woman ran into one of the larger houses, and returned quickly with a man; tall, broad, his short beard just going to grey. His eyes settled upon her and Glossyleaf watched as he swiftly banked his lust.

“My Lady,” he said, approaching her. “Please convey to your Mistress our most profound apologies. We did not anticipate that Lord Irven’s men would simply steal the tree.” He dropped to a knee. “We have failed Her.”

“You have,” Glossyleaf replied. “Tell me all.”

He looked up at her. “They came two days ago, seeking runewood. As your great Mistress has commanded, we told them that She allowed the harvest of runewood only with appropriate payment and reverence. Their leader, a sharp-eyed man, assured us that he had brought payment. We told him that we would begin the preparations to ask for permission to take a tree.”

The humans were gathering, now, staring at her from inside doorways and around buildings. Despite their allegiance, many of them had never seen a nymph.

“That night they sent men into the forest and felled one. None of us saw them, and they tree they took was far from our homes. The tracks tell us that they put wheels upon the trunk, and are taking it east, to Lord Irven’s domain.

“We have failed the Queen,” he added, dropping his eyes. “Great is our remorse and shame.”

“You have failed Her,” Glossyleaf replied, “but You have not disobeyed and She forgives you. The men who took the tree, however, must die. I shall follow them east.”

“Allow me and my men to come with you, my Lady,” the man said hastily. “We can recognize these men, and if we can in any way atone for our failure...”

“Bring horses then. We leave now.”

He turned and spoke in a loud voice to the people standing in the shadows. “Kurt, Ival, Thugar. Get your weapons; we ride after the tree-thieves. Otho, bring the horses, and one for the Lady.”

Glossyleaf waited; she was eager to leave, and did not need the assistance of these humans, but across grassy plains such as these she would travel faster on a horse. It took only a few moments for the men to ready themselves.

The horse which the young man (trying and failing not to stare) brought her was obviously the best they had, a brown and white stallion who rolled his eyes and shied when he smelled her.

Horses are fearful creatures because they are proud; there is no shame for a mouse when it becomes the prey of a wolf, but for a horse to be brought down is a disgrace. This horse was uncertain whether Glossyleaf was a human to disdain, or a predator to fear, until she reached out to its simple mind and told it. She further informed the horse in no uncertain terms what its fate would be if it disobeyed her. A wolf death would be infinitely preferable.

It knelt down so that she might mount.

Glossyleaf had never ridden a horse. But she willed herself not to be dislodged and told the animal what she wished it to do. It obeyed her commands completely.

They rode out after the thieves.

* * *

Finding the thieves was easy. The tree they had stolen was thirty feet tall, and the weight of its trunk pressed the wheels of the carts they laid it on deep into the ground. Around the laborers, twelve armed men rode with crossbows on their backs.

The villagers rode ahead of the thieves, hobbled their mounts in a copse of trees, and waited. To fight a dozen there were six, armed only with spears and short blades.

They were not needed at all.

As the thieves drew closer, the grassland around them began to rustle, and to whisper, and to move.

At Glossyleaf’s command, it came alive.

She did not tear into their flesh with her claws or pull them limb from limb with her strength; Mistress was angry. Instead she willed the grass to hold them, to reach and pull them to the earth and bind them fast. And then, one by one, she had it grow into their eyes, feathery blades piercing and reaching inside, growing deep within their skulls. There she had the grass slowly swell, sprouting into tumorous green nodules that split their heads apart from within.

They took many, many hours to die.

The men from the village found it hard to bear and asked to stay well away. Glossyleaf assented to their wishes.

The leader, whose name was Korthen, approached her after the last hoarse screams died away.

“And the tree?” he asked, shading his eyes from the setting sun. He did not look at the bodies sprawled on the ground.

“Your people shall take it back,” Glossyleaf replied. “Mistress will decide what to do with it.”

“As you say.” He mounted his horse, gestured for his men, and turned for the village.

Glossyleaf mounted as well, but faced the other way. “I must continue on,” she said. “This Lord Irven must be shown the folly of his ways.”

He turned his horse instantly. “We shall accompany you, my Lady.”

“You need not.”

“I know this. But it would be better, perhaps, were you to travel without undue notice. And in the lands of men that requires the companionship of a man.”

Glossyleaf recognized the truth of his words. It had been long indeed since she had left the Forest. Long since she been part of the world of men. But their customs changed only slowly, and Carolie had known what was expected.

She would have to wear clothes.

“Very well. But you alone. The others shall return my Mistress’ property. Let us go.”

* * *

When Glossyleaf had last been to a city, she had been a small Human girl.

Havar was a town on a hill, walled and made from stone. The roofs were slate tile, and the streets, from what Glossyleaf could see, appeared to be made of shit. Washing hung above the street and scores of humans thronged around, chattering and shouting and laughing. It was disconcerting.

She was far from Mistress now. Too far for Her to speak in Glossyleaf’s mind. But Glossyleaf did not need direction to be obedient. She would serve Mistress in all things, forever, as best she possibly could.

Her own devotion calmed her.

She was wearing clothes; they were constricting and uncomfortable. Korthen had stolen them from a farmhouse two days ago.

Her glamour kept passersby from noticing her unduly, but still she found herself forced to step aside as wagons shuddered past or children ran by in packs. The street was filthy, the cobblestones almost ankle-deep in shit. Merchants under tattered awnings shouted out the virtues of their wares.

Korthen was uncomfortable in the city, too.

They climbed through the streets; Lord Irven’s keep sat atop the hill which the city was built on like a hair protruding from a pimple. As they neared it, the traffic thinned. Soon Glossyleaf could even see the cobblestones.

Their horses were stabled outside the city, at an inn which Korthen thought trustworthy. The keeper had told them the keep had a postern gate, used by those with official business. Normal supplicants and deliveries and visitors crowded into the front courtyard, but the small door led directly into the residences.

The door was where the innkeep said it was, across a small square. Two guards flanked it.

They would be easy enough to kill.

“Wait,” Korthen said quietly. He raised a hand to touch her shoulder, but did not. “My Lady, if you would, I have a suggestion. It is... unseemly, but it would allow you to approach Lord Irven more easily.”

* * *

Korthen walked three paces behind her as they crossed the square. The sun had only just set; the guards were alert in the torchlight.

“Stop,” one of them said, as Glossyleaf drew near. “What is your business?”

Glossyleaf opened her robe.

Korthen had looked away as she had removed her clothes in the small alley. It had amused—and touched—Glossyleaf, for she knew that he knew that her actual body would be more erotic to him than any mental image he might conjure. But he had looked away just the same, until she had donned the cloak and covered herself.

The guards did not look away.

“My Lords,” Korthen whispered. “This is the courtesan Amalfi, from far Thessalia. Lord Irven has sent for her. Let us in.”

They continued to stare, so Glossyleaf drew the cloak shut again.

“My Lords?” Korthen inquired.

“Do you,” one of them asked, blinking and staring at the cloth as though given any chance that it might vanish he dared not look anywhere else, “do you have, have papers?”

Korthen snorted. “Do we need papers? Think, man! Do you really wish to delay Lord Irven’s pleasure in this matter?”

“We aren’t supposed to let anyone in without papers. No one said you were—” Glossyleaf licked her lips and the guard suddenly drew breath “— were coming.”

“My Lord,” Korthen said, stepping in front of her and taking the guard’s attention, “Lord Irven sent for this damsel himself. It is one to me whether I deliver her to him, or whether she and I leave the city this evening as we had planned. Do you wish to be solely responsible for Lord Irven’s lost opportunity?”

The guard looked over Korthen’s shoulder, and Glossyleaf winked at him.

Korthen got a quick look, and then a quick nod.

The guards opened the door.

* * *

Irven hung in the room, whimpering.

Glossyleaf considered him, her head moving loosely on her neck. Mistress would enjoy all of Glossyleaf’s memories when she returned, and Glossyleaf felt that this in particular would please Her immensely. She wanted to remember it from every angle.

Vines, grown from the tiny shoots outside the window, filled the room. And filled Lord Irven. At fingertips and toes, they burrowed into his flesh, filling him until he looked like a sack of skin stuffed with reeds. He could not move at all.

There was surprisingly little blood, but from his eyes Glossyleaf could see that he was almost mad with pain. If he could move his tongue or jaw he might scream, but the roots that burrowed through them did not move at his command.

Lady Irven came in. She had not screamed at the savaged bodies of the door guards, but she screamed now.

“Be silent,” Glossyleaf told her, stepping forward and raising a clawed hand. The threat was enough to still her voice.

Her eyes were wide as dinner plates.

“He lives,” Glossyleaf said. “And he shall continue to live for many years. You will feed him, and bring him water, and tend his sores. Do not let him die. If he does so by your hand, you will take his place. Do you understand?”

She was too scared to even nod, but she understood.

“This is the penalty for stealing from my Queen,” Glossyleaf hissed, and the anger filled her as hot as it had the day she was told of the crime. Behind her, vines moved, and Irven hissed in agony.

The Lady Irven fainted.

Korthen had waited in the antechamber across the hall. He followed Glossyleaf out of the keep without a word.

* * *

It was bliss to be back in Mistress’ direct presence. To be able to hear and feel Her was water to a parched root.

Mistress had enjoyed Her revenge, very much. The ecstasy of Her pleasure still ran through Glossyleaf’s bones.

Korthen was relieved to be home, but she could sense his tension. His people were trusted to keep other humans from the Forest, and they had failed. He knew now only too well the awful form of Mistress’ vengeance.

They rode into town and dismounted. The horse was visibly relieved as it was led out of Glossyleaf’s presence. Korthen would probably feel the same. The villagers watched from their homes as he awaited her pleasure.

“Mistress has instructed me what to do with you,” she said. “Which of these is your house?”

He swallowed. “That one, my Lady.”

She nodded. “Let us go into it.”

He led the way. It was large and well-kept, though nothing distinguished it from his neighbors’. Chickens scratched about unconcernedly in the front yard.

Inside it was dark and cool. The scraped hides covering the windows admitted but little light. A woman Korthen’s age stood uncertainly by; she had been watching through the window. His wife, doubtless worried about the punishment that was coming.

Glossyleaf looked around. “Where are your children, Korthen?”

He looked at the ground. “I have none,” he replied. Glossyleaf could hear the truth of it.

“Why?”

His eyes could not quite hide the old pain he felt. “Yearta had the fever, many years ago, after our first child died. We have had none since.”

The room fell silent.

“You think I shall punish you now,” she said.

He didn’t reply.

“Your people failed to protect the Forest as they are sworn to do.”

“Aye.”

“Do you think punishment is deserved?”

“Aye.”

“Then you are wrong. My Mistress does not punish failure. Only disobedience. You were foolish but you did not betray Her; and you have served Her well in taking Her just revenge. She has instructed me not to punish, but to reward.”

His head came up.

“You shall have many children now, Korthen. And Yearta shall not suffer in the having of them; they shall come easily and they shall be healthy. This is your Queen’s gift to you.”

The woman made a soft cry.

“Your people shall have the runewood log, to sell or to use as they see fit. For such wood some human lords will offer much gold.” She turned to leave, stopping at the threshold.

“But do not allow such a theft again.”

“We shall not, my Lady. Oh please, give my thanks to the Queen.”

“She accepts your thanks, and your service. Farewell, Korthen.”

As Glossyleaf left the village, she barely noticed the villagers rushing to Korthen’s house. Already she was dismissing thought of the humans, her heart accelerating as she began to run towards the forest, and towards Her.

* * *

The grass under her knees was chill. Ferndew wrapped her arms around herself.

Why did you show me that? To show me that disobedience brings punishment? Is this a threat?

No. No threat at all. You misunderstand. You have broken none of My rules, little nymph, and have risked much to help Me. I am actually quite fond of you. I only wished for you to understand. I am evil only to those who anger Me. To those who do My will, I am the most generous benefactor.

I… see.

Bring Me My magic, little nymph. Or do not. If I frighten you, if you wish only to be what you were before... then do so. I shall not harm you. I thank you for what pains you have taken on My behalf. Go and be well.

There was a pause before She spoke again, softly.

Or bring Me My magic...

* * *

Ferndew sat on the hilltop with the red and blue flowers, hugged her knees, and thought.

The tree which Jadeclaw had played on was gone, now, not even a stump remaining. That was how long ago she had lived. How long the Queen had slept.

The Queen wanted her. Needed her. But if she helped the Queen, the Queen would eventually make her into a slave like those long-ago nymphs, change her worldview until the Queen was the sun and Ferndew was just another plant that worshipped her.

It would feel wonderful.

But the Elders...

She could fetch the statue and place it in the hidden cave at Forest’s edge and return to the Elders and confess and they would make her forget. She would remember nothing of the statue or the Forbidden Grove or anything that they knew she knew about the Queen. She would never remember the things she had learned.

She had been happy, just being Ferndew.

A bee alighted on her knee, and she watched it drag itself around. Her skin still had little lines from where the Queen’s thorns had scratched her.

She had been happy. Before she’d ever come near the Forbidden Grove, she’d been happy.

But Jadeclaw and Vinelash and Glossyleaf had been ecstatic.

She looked at her own sex and suddenly felt the grass against it. Felt the presence of her own sexual potential, the palpable ghost of nerve-lighting pleasure that could be hers for the stroke of her fingers.

She didn’t touch herself.

Why did she have to choose? Why did she ever have to know?

The bee raised its wings and flew off.

Ferndew looked around at the hill. The magic which the Queen wanted was beneath it, beneath Ferndew where she sat right now, in the hands of a king who was dead even before the humans built those long-ago buildings with the tiled floors. The little flowers had probably been here even then, just as they were when Jadeclaw frolicked here and just as they were now.

Why did she have to choose?

She didn’t know what to do.

Ferndew pictured the grove of small trees in her mind, and the wet meadow, and set off down and away from the hill to find them.

* * *

Ferndew concentrated, and let herself sink slowly down into the marshy ground.

Clouds of midges hovered in the air; this lowland area was solid ground only in winter. In the summer it was a swamp, tufty grass amongst mucky pools, dotted with small stands of water-loving trees.

Such as the stand Ferndew was in. It was the one the Elders had told her about. The one with the magic statue underneath.

Normally, she skipped across the surface of the bog, but now she had to reach down into it to find the statue. She bent over and felt around in the mud.

“Ferndew!”

Hands coated in mud to her elbows, Ferndew rose erect and looked around.

Flutterleaf.

The other dryad was running towards her happily. Ferndew smiled at her.

“Ferndew, what are you doing here?”

“I’m fetching an old statue for the Elders. What about you?”

“Oh, I just love coming here. This place has the prettiest dragonflies in the whole Forest!”

And indeed, Flutterleaf was wearing them; crimson and azure and aquamarine dragonflies perched on her shoulders and on her dark green hair.

“You’re all muddy,” she observed, and giggled.

Ferndew snorted, then laughed. “I am all muddy,” she said.

“Then I will be too,” Flutterleaf announced, and then she was sinking into the water, coming to a stop only when her knees went under. “Oooh, it’s all slimy.”

Ferndew laughed, and splashed water on her. The dragonflies scattered.

She forgot about the statue for a while as she chased Flutterleaf around the bog. Soon they were both soaking wet and covered in mud. Flutterleaf tackled her and they fell onto a grassy embankment, giggling.

“Mud is fun,” Flutterleaf observed, drawing a circular pattern on Ferndew’s belly.

“Mmm Hmm,” Ferndew agreed. She snatched Flutterleaf’s wrist, forcing her arm back, and rolled over atop her. Flutterleaf giggled and writhed under her.

Ferndew’s sex responded.

Flutterleaf didn’t notice Ferndew’s sudden stiffness, still wriggling ineffectively, but then Ferndew looked at her with wide eyes and leaned over to kiss her.

Flutterleaf’s eyes went wide as their lips met.

“What are you...?” Flutterleaf asked quietly, but Ferndew just looked back at her and slid down her body, walking her hands backward and sliding her thighs down Flutterleaf’s legs and into the water.

There was Flutterleaf’s sex. It looked like her own, pretty much, a little different.

Ferndew breathed on it.

Flutterleaf blinked. “Oh?” she said.

Vinelash had had in her memory sex with women, and Ferndew tried to remember it. It involved her mouth, she thought, so Ferndew stretched her neck forward and stuck out her tongue to lick Flutterleaf’s sex.

“Oh,” Flutterleaf said, a strange emotion tinting her voice. “Ferndew, what are you doing?”

Ferndew’s mind was thick with memory, not her own but nonetheless strong, and she breathed on Flutterleaf and smelled her warm flesh, and then she began to lick, long slow licks, feeling more than tasting the other dryad’s sex, experiencing the soft flesh of it with her tongue.

Flutterleaf moaned and lay back.

Ferndew was losing the memory now but finding her own way, sucking, and kissing, and licking, and a snatch of memory told her there was something important at the top of Flutterleaf’s sex and she remembered touching herself on the mountain so she licked at it and Flutterleaf moaned, and she licked faster and softer and then harder and slower, and sucked, and then Flutterleaf was pulling away from her, arching her back and crying out just like Ferndew had cried out on the mountain and Ferndew was following her, keeping her mouth on Flutterleaf’s sex, sucking and kissing as Flutterleaf’s body twitched and her mouth whined.

A soft bubble burst in Ferndew’s head, and her lips came off of Flutterleaf’s sex with a pop.

Flutterleaf stared at the sky as Ferndew crawled back up her body. She stared at her friend’s wide eyes.

“Flutterleaf?”

Slowly Flutterleaf looked down. “F-ferndew? That felt... that felt... so good. What... what was it? What...?” She looked between her own legs, mystified. “Is it me?”

Ferndew nodded. “It is you. I have one too.” She rolled onto her side on the grass and spread her legs.

Flutterleaf looked at Ferndew’s sex for a long moment, then back at her own. “I don’t remember... how come I didn’t know?”

Ferndew shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I just found out a little while ago.”

Flutterleaf let her shoulders sink back to the ground. “That felt...” Words failed her.

“I know,” Ferndew said softly.

They lay next to each other. A dragonfly landed on Flutterleaf’s belly.

She looked at Ferndew suddenly, with a naughty smile.

“Lets do it again.”

* * *

Ferndew’s shoulders ached.

She was coated in mud; mud was fun when she was with Flutterleaf in the bog, but moving many thousands of handfuls of it to get into the hill was no fun at all.

Her hands were cramped from clutching at the earth; her back ached from crawling and carrying. She would have asked some badgers for help, but they would have told the Elders what she was doing. Not right away, but eventually the Elders would have found out.

But she did need light, so now fireflies trembled and complained in her hair as she slid down into the hole she had made.

There were still bricks at the bottom, old and crumbled, and she kicked them aside until she could slip past.

Ferndew fell for a brief worrying second, and then landed on cool stone. She looked around.

It was a tiny room. The walls and the ceiling were one curved surface, of ancient mud brick. Cracks in it radiated from where Ferndew had broken through, and made her nervous.

On a raised bier in the center of the room, a crumbled skeleton surrounded a sword. The sword was black metal, with not a spot of rust.

Ferndew picked it up, and a rib crumbled as she brushed by it. The sword hummed slightly in her hand.

She went to climb out, putting the sword into the tunnel and pulling herself up. A brick broke under her hand, dropping her back. She tried again, this time gaining traction, and pulled up into the tunnel. She told the fireflies she was finished and they flew away, spiraling up the dark tunnel like cinders from a fire.

Ferndew took hold of the sword and pushed it ahead of her as she crawled.

Girl.

She froze.

Girl. Who are you?

It was the sword.

Um. My name is Ferndew.

Ferndew. You have retrieved me. I shall grant you power beyond your dreams. With my aid men have conquered worlds. I shall give you dominion.

Um. Ferndew pushed the sword forward, climbed up.

Did you not hear me, girl?

I heard you, sword.

Then speak! Tell me that you will use my power and take hold of glory! Ferndew shall be a name spoken of by all with wonder, and your fame shall never fade from the memory of men!

That sounds impressive, Ferndew told the sword. She pushed it out into the sun, and clambered out after it.

Why do you not embrace my offer?

You’re not mine, Ferndew told it. I’m just fetching you.

But with me you can throw off your bondage. No one can rule you. My power is not your master’s to command, it is yours.

Thank you, Ferndew told the sword. But no.

But... don’t you want power? Glory?

I... don’t.

Then what do you want, girl?

* * *

The thorns stung her and cut her flesh.

Ferndew stopped in the little copse and shivered and bled a little.

You return, little nymph. Do you bring Me what I desire?

I do.

She couldn’t stop shaking. The sword quivered in her hand.

Good. Very good.

It talks.

Does it? No matter.

Do You want it in Your hand?

No. It may be more useful to Me in other ways. Place it on the ground.

Ferndew obeyed.

Little nymph... I sense turmoil in your mind. What is it?

I....

I’ve brought you something else.

Still shaking, Ferndew dropped a knee to the red earth, and placed the statue in the Queen’s outstretched hand. The statue the Elders wanted to keep from Her.

It hung there, a moment, overlarge, and then with a crumbling sound it broke in the middle, and fell in two pieces.

Ferndew wrapped her arms around herself.

Thank you, little nymph. I did not ask for this, but it serves Me well. As have you. Why did you bring it?

I... Ferndew swallowed. Her emotion broke.

I want to serve You.

She could sense the pleasure. Gooood. Very, very good. You are more valuable than all of the baubles you have brought.

Ferndew’s knees barely held her as the awareness of what she was doing clutched at her.

I accept your service, little nymph. You may call Me Mistress.

Ferndew bowed her head. My... Mistress.

Yess. You shall help Me regain My power, My nymph.

Yes, my Mistress.

I shall rise up and cast down those who were your former masters, and I shall rule over the Forest as Queen, and you and all your kind shall be My slaves.

Yes, m-my Mistress.

It felt so wrong and so good to say it.

Mistress instructed her. Ferndew’s trembling continued but it was fed by something else now; her sex glowed, and the black bird in her heart spread its wings and cried out its joy.

* * *

Ferndew stood at the edge of the Forest, looking at the distant tower.

Mistress had told her that she need not remain in the Forest, that her powers would be less but would not vanish if she left. That she would not die.

The Elders had told her otherwise.

Ferndew looked across the waving grasses that had bordered her all her life. Glossyleaf had crossed them, once.

Mistress was almost ready to walk again. To take a body and escape the stone prison Her death had left Her in.

In the ruined castle was a chalice. The magic in it was more powerful than anything Ferndew had fetched so far, and would be enough to bring Mistress back to life.

The last time Ferndew had stood in this place, she was with Petalcurve.

Petalcurve. What would happen to her?

Ferndew frowned. She didn’t want to hurt Petalcurve. Petalcurve was her very best friend.

What would Mistress do to Petalcurve? To Flutterleaf, and Dewspring and all of the other dryads?

What if Petalcurve didn’t want to be a slave?

What if Petalcurve did want to be a slave...

Ferndew would not think about it. She had a task to accomplish. She would fulfill Mistress’ will, and whatever happened after would also be Mistress’ will.

At a lope, she left the Forest behind.

* * *

Mistress, I have it.

The thorns parted smoothly and Ferndew crept into the hollow within. The chalice glinted in her hands.

Very good, My nymph.

She bent to put the Chalice into Mistress’ hands, but she was stopped. No, Mistress told her. Not yet.

Ferndew hesitated, confused.

It is time for you to truly become Mine, little nymph. Time for Me to wipe away your doubt and uncertainty and fill you with worship. Little nymph, are you ready to become My creature?

Ferndew paused only an instant. Yes, my Mistress. I am ready.

To serve without doubt. To know the pleasure that being Her slave would bring. Why would Ferndew resist that? She longed for it.

Then fill the cup with My blood, slave, and drink.

From Her heel, the black trickle flowed. Ferndew crouched down and let the blackness flow into the old gold. It was thicker than water.

She raised it to her lips, and drank.

For an instant, nothing happened.

Then it hit her.

Pain.

Ferndew cried out and fell forward. It hurt! It hurt her so much. Her stomach was full of needles, and her skin was freezing, freezing...

She whimpered and curled on the dirt. Why was Mistress hurting her so?

Then she knew, and the knowledge was worse than the pain.

She was a fool.

The Queen had no use for her. For a doubting, whimpering, silly-headed forest dryad. A servant of Her enemies. She wanted to live again, and She had used Ferndew and now She was finished with her. Was finished with the empty-headed easily manipulated little fool.

And now Ferndew would die.

Perhaps Mistress would take her body.

The pain got worse, somehow, and Ferndew was gasping for air and sobbing and crying all at the same time. She couldn’t really tell—could barely think—but she guessed that the Queen was laughing.

She was going to die. Now.

Such a fool.

The Queen had told her to drink the poison and Ferndew had done it and now she would die. Die, doing what she was told, because that’s what the Queen wanted.

What Mistress wanted.

It hurt too much to breathe, now, and Ferndew was going black.

Mistress didn’t want her. Didn’t want Her enemies’ stupid little dryad. It was understandable.

But Ferndew had given herself to Mistress.

And if Mistress wanted her to die... she would die.

Ferndew stopped fighting and let the poison kill her.

* * *

Juerm opened the door of his house and looked at the dark sky with consternation.

The air was... full. Heavy. Laden with power. Granite grey clouds muscled against each other, moving faster than he could ever remember them doing before. Roiling.

It felt like a bad storm. Very bad. The worst.

He looked inside at Gwynna and their daughter. Even Arden could feel the strangeness of it, stared quietly at him with her big blue eyes.

He met Gwynna’s eyes, and nodded. “It will be a bad storm. I’ve never seen one like this.”

She didn’t reply. When the clouds first began to gather and the air began to fill with the power of the coming gale, they had gathered the livestock, taken down the clothes, tied the shutters closed. Their farm was as prepared as it could be.

But not, Juerm worried, for this. This would be bad. There would be damage, roofs collapsed, houses washed away. Men and cattle drowned. He had done the best he could, put his house where it was high and where the soothsayers felt it best, built it strong and kept it well, but when the winds like those the grandfathers spoke of came, only fortune and the gods could save his walls and his family.

With a sound like war drums, the rain began to fall.

* * *

It did not rain in the Forbidden Grove.

Awaken, My nymph.

She opened her eyes.

Mistress.

She was glorious, glowing with darkling light, standing over her, nude and beautiful and radiant with power. And alive, which was somehow a surprise.

She held out Her hand.

Gingerly, the nymph reached up to it, marveling that such perfection would deign to touch her. And She was smiling, smiling so beautifully, and lifting the nymph to her feet. It was too glorious to be believed.

If Mistress had not raised her up, the nymph would have dropped to her knees.

My beloved slave.

The nymph keened as Mistress stroked her cheek.

Remember, my nymph. Remember who you were.

Forest.

The Elders.

ferndew.

ferndew looked around in wonder. She was alive, and Mistress was alive—and Mistress loved her.

She had been such a shadow before!

Mistress took her head in Her hands, and drew her close, and kissed her, and ferndew’s head spun with the joy of it, the joy and the excitement, and Mistress slipped Her tongue into ferndew’s mouth and heat washed over her and she sucked on it and her hands reached for Mistress’ body and stopped, for that was so... presumptuous, but then Mistress gave her leave and told her that she was Mistress’ beloved slave and lover, and then ferndew was touching her and feeling her hands tingle as they ran over Mistress’ flesh and then Mistress touched her in turn and her whole body melted.

Her knees went weak, but Mistress held her and then it was Mistress sinking, Mistress dropping to Her knees, her hands sliding down ferndew’s body, and then Mistress was at her sex kissing it and only Her magic kept ferndew from fainting at the joy and pleasure of it.

Her tongue was on ferndew and in ferndew and ferndew whined and twitched and came, again and again, and then She was sitting back, lying back in Her bower of thorns and ferndew dropped to the ground and kissed Her knees and Her thighs and moved up Her spread legs to the Holy of Holies, and ferndew came just tasting it with her tongue.

She worshipped Mistress with her tongue, worshipped Her sex and Her skin and the inner corners of Her mouth, and it lasted only an eyeblink and it lasted forever, for it was bliss.

* * *

Later, they lay together, and ferndew was more content than she could ever remember being. Outside the Grove thunder crashed and trees groaned in the wind, but inside the Grove ferndew was with Mistress and that was all that mattered.

Slave.

ferndew cast aside her blissful languor and was instantly alert. Yes, my Mistress.

You are no longer ferndew. ferndew was the name you had in your old life.

Yes, my Mistress.

You are now My pet, and I shall name you.

Yes, my Mistress.

You are Honeythorn.

Honeythorn. Yesss.

She was. It was as though Mistress had seen into her soul, seen who she truly was, who ever fiber of her being was meant to be, and had given her that name. It was perfect. It was her.

Yes, my Mistress, Honeythorn said vehemently, I am Honeythorn. I am Your slave, and I will serve You for ever.

Then rise, My slave, and serve Me. There is much we must do.

* * *

End part Three