The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“The Loosing of the Dark”

(mc, f/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.

* * *

‘The Loosing of the Dark’

Part Two

* * *

4.4

They entered the town through the east gate; the postern door was open. Shadowy guards watched them pass, and Katryn could not tell if they were townsmen or slave.

Or both.

Sharrul walked beside her. Her presence was a dark energy on Katryn’s skin.

On the road, in the forest, she had been... inhuman. Her eyes a lit-from-within green, glowing as in Katryn’s dream, and her hands had been claws. She had waved a finger at Stefan in a tut-tutting motion and the finger was a blade, as long as the knife at Katryn’s side. She had smiled, and even in the dim light Katryn had seen the points of her teeth.

She was glorious.

“I would,” she had said, her words slurred by her mouth full of fangs, “normally sssimply kill you. The hunt has raised our hunger, Ssssstefan. You have your daughter to ttthank ttthat I do not.”

Sharrul stepped around him, and sauntered towards Katryn, eyes glowing emeralds. “I like her. Sssso I will not kill you. Inssstead you will live, and we will all go back to town.”

Katryn stared at her. There was an energy bleeding off of Sharrul, a power, a musk, and it poured into Katryn’s spine and set her flesh tingling. The dream from earlier was suddenly more real than the bedchamber it had taken place in.

“You may have a moment to ressst,” Sharrul stated. “Then we will all return.”

There were dark shapes in the woods, circling them, but Katryn could only look at Sharrul. Her eyes glowed, hypnotic eyes that were fixed on Katryn as Katryn’s were fixed on hers.

I called you, and you came, Sharrul said—no, not said. Her lips never moved.

“W-we, were,” Katryn whispered, and faltered. Sharrul’s fingers were moving, each a black-bladed knife, idly moving in the air. They caught Katryn’s eyes, and then she looked beyond them to Sharrul’s slick black nipples...

Black nipples. Black flesh. Sharrul was not dressed in leather, leather with a long tongue of flesh between. The flesh of her belly was tan but around it her skin itself was glossy black, her arms bare, her legs bare, her feet great clawed things, her sex...

Her sex was glistening black flesh and as Katryn watched, a bead of water caught the moonlight and fell...

Hunger for this woman, this thing, blossomed in Katryn’s loins like nothing had before. She stared back into Sharrul’s eyes and only the tiniest thread of restraint kept her from lunging forward and pressing her lips onto that fanged mouth.

Erzo said something to her, but she had no mind to hear it.

Then Sharrul’s eyes flicked away, breaking the spell, and flicked back. “I told you,” she said with quiet intensity, “I am a Courssser. I am Her hunting pet.”

Join me.

Then she turned, her back glorious smooth black flesh, and commanded them all: “Now, we go.”

* * *

4.5

Katryn could not sleep, not at all.

Sharrul filled her mind. She was so glorious, so powerful, so... debased and mighty and wicked and erotic all at the same time, that if Katryn touched herself between her legs now she would come instantly simply thinking of her.

She could not stop thinking of her.

Some small, rational part of her mind managed to concoct thoughts. She wants me. Wants me to become... what she is. (And oh how I want that.) Enough that she saved my family. Do I believe she would have killed them? Yes, I don’t know how I know but I do know, that she was not lying. Does not lie. Or not much. Only when she is told to.

Only when she obeyssss...

They were all home now, and if not what one might call “safe”, the only hurt had been Erzo’s knee. Sharrul had told them that no further action would be taken, but that if they tried to leave again before the dark of Aluun, they would all be killed without hesitation.

Can I resist her for two weeks?

(Do I even want to?)

Katryn gave up, and reached down. One stroke, a second, a third, and then she was coming, hips bucking, biting her lip to muffle the moans.

Sharrul had not come home with them. She had left them at the door; she had other would-be runaways to catch, she said, and the hunger was hot within her.

Katryn understood the hunger.

Her mind pictured Sharrul’s transformed body and she was aroused again, nipples stiff in her nightdress, pussy pleading for the return of the fingers.

Katryn fed them to it.

* * *

5.

Katryn had not yet left for schul when there was a pounding at the door.

Her mother answered it; outside was the wife of one of the councilmen. Beside her stood one of the Somoi, bald, nude, with a heaped armful of darkness.

“Hello, Marie,” the councilman’s wife said with a light, empty-headed tone. “I have instructions for you from the Ligatrix.”

“Hel—”

“All women are to sew garments for the cohort,” the councilman’s wife continued, totally unaware of Katryn’s mother’s attempt to reply to her. “Here are your materials. You will work on producing garments until sundown each day. You will do this until the cohort leaves. You will dismiss your servants. Your servants will serve our Queen in their own homes.”

The Somoi carrying the stack of black leather—for such it was—stepped forward and Marie took a step back; the nude thrall walked in, pivoted, bent over, and placed the entire heap upon the foyer floor. Then she came stiffly erect, pivoted, and walked out the door, not stopping where she had stood before. Peering around her mother, Katryn could see a wagon in the street; it was half full of the black leather, and other Somoi were taking armfuls from it. The Somoi that had just delivered their pile was walking to the wagon.

It was pulled by six sweat-glistening slaves.

Other women of Freyviik were standing at other doors, speaking to Marie’s neighbors. Other Somoi were delivering loads.

“But I don’t... I don’t know what to sew. I have no pattern,” Marie managed to object.

A voice from behind Katryn caused her to jump.

“This thrall will instruct you,” the white-eyed woman who had for days simply stood in their larder, and who now stood in the hall directly behind Katryn, stated in a flat voice. “You will learn.”

Marie turned to look at the councilman’s wife, who smiled widely.

“Serve Our Queen,” she chirped. “Goodbye.”

The councilman’s wife shut the door.

* * *

5.1

There was no schul that day.

Not because the students were gone. But because the instructors were. The women had all been commanded to remain at home and sew; what men there had been at the girls’ schul had already been ordered to the forges.

Sitting in the empty classroom had seemed awkward, but none of the girls wanted to go home now, so they sat on the edge of a small public fountain in the craftsmans’ district. Normally the air would have been filled with the clinking of small hammers and the creaking of potters’ wheels, but today only the splashing of the fountain was heard in the small square.

“What do they want uniforms for anyway?” Rakael demanded. “It’s not like they wear any clothes!”

“Maybe there are more Coursers coming,” Lizbet replied. Katryn shivered.

The three of them—Anyet having stayed home—swung their legs in the air. Katryn had told them her story of attempted escape, leaving out only the feelings Sharrul’s bestial nature had stirred within her. Exciting as it was, and although it showed mercy was possible, the tale served only to dampen their collective spirits; if escape was impossible, their only chance was the uneventful departure of the army occupying their town, a matter entirely outside their hands.

“Her skin was black?” Lizbet asked. “Not dark, like a Southron, but black like the clothes they wear?”

Katryn shivered—hopefully her friends thought the shiver was purely from fear—and nodded. “Black, like the leather every woman in town is sewing today.”

“I wonder if the clothes become part of her when she changes, or if she takes them off,” Lizbet mused. “She could just wear them to disguise her skin, if it’s black like that all the time. But none of them have claws during the day. You said they were long as knives?”

“Yes.” Lizbet’s nerves tingled again. “Long as kitchen knives. Longer.”

There was a sound, and all three of their heads rose.

The clicking of boots.

The splashing of the fountain had masked the sound, and suddenly the marchers were in the small square; a Courser who was not Sharrul, four Olithoi, two Somoi. The girls froze but the small group strode quickly across the square, paying them no mind. A few yards down the street, beyond the square, the group stopped.

The Courser hammered on a door.

The door did not open. The Courser stepped back, and two of the Olithoi stepped forward. As one, they raised booted feet, and lashed out in perfect unison, two pumping legs striking the door and driving it from its hinges.

The Olithoi lowered their feet and marched into the building.

There were cries, and a breaking sound, then silence.

Then a man was thrust out of the open door.

The two Olithoi in the street seized him; one of them began to strike him in the head, methodically, back and forth with a black-gloved fist.

A woman came out of the door next, pinned in the arms of one of the Olithoi. The grey-fleshed woman was smaller than the tall brunette she held, whose arms were corded from physical work, but her captor showed no difficulty in keeping the woman restrained.

The fourth Olithoi stepped out of the building.

“Both targets have been apprehended,” she said in a flat tone. “The domicile is otherwise empty.”

“We return,” the Courser told her.

The man, now clearly unconscious, hung limp in the Olithoi’s arms. A Somoi approached, and the Olithoi handed the man to her; the nude slave slung him over her shoulder.

The second Somoi approached the captured woman and bound her hands behind her, then slung a loop of the rope over the woman’s neck. The woman was sobbing softly.

The Courser nodded, and the group returned to motion, the four Olithoi resuming a box formation and walking away, followed by the Somoi, one with the man hung over her back, the other leading the woman by a short length of rope.

The Courser came last. To the girls’ dismay she did not ignore them as she passed, but turned from her compatriots’ path and approached. Her skin was darker than Sharrul’s, dark like the desert tribes’, but still lighter than the skintight leather she wore.

She stopped just before the fountain, looking at the three of them. Then she sniffed the air.

Smiled.

And turned and walked away.

Katryn moaned.

* * *

5.2

It was well after curfew when Stefan returned home.

“They’re,” he rasped, sitting in the study, “allowing it. Past curfew. We’re all to tired to cause trouble, anyway.”

His hands were red and blistered, his face a mask of soot.

“Some new metal,” he said quietly. “Brought in those carts. Something... green, and strange. Silky when cool. Unnatural.”

Marie nodded. Her hands were red, too, inflamed by the unfamiliar sewing work. The Somoi had instructed her all day, making pants, tops, gloves and boots; the slave had told her that other pieces would be brought tomorrow, hard soles for the boots, laces, metal clasps.

“The fabric,” she said, “it’s leather, black leather, but it’s not right. It’s thin, silky. Feels slick. Almost greasy. And it makes me...”

Stefan nodded. “Dizzy. It’s unnatural too. From the same source—Surdor.”

Marie shook her head sadly. “If only we had escaped.”

Stefan stood and put his arm around his wife. “We can bear this,” he said. “It is only for a little while. Do as they say, attract no attention, and our time will come. Sauriann has many enemies and cannot afford to keep these troops here. The Ligatrix and her army will move on.”

Katryn watched her parents as they stood touching each other. The Ligatrix will move on—but will Captain Vryl? Or that councilman’s wife? Or the subverted guards?

But she said nothing.

* * *

6.

They met at the schul again the following morning, although it of course was closed.

Anyet had not come, but rather than go to her house, they chose to go to Rakael’s. Katryn felt slightly cowardly for it.

Rakael lived near the west wall, in a row of mid-sized homes that faced the wall itself. Behind those houses were servants’ homes and low, small dwellings; not a neighborhood where merchants’ daughters often went, but there were no young idlers on the street corners any more.

Lizbet, Katryn, and Rakael hurried through the streets; once more it seemed like rain, the sky darkening quickly, and they wanted to be inside when it hit.

Down a cross-street, there was shouting.

Rakael increased her pace but Katryn and Lizbet stopped, returning to the corner to peer around a building. Rakael stopped and returned to them, frowning.

“Come on,” she said.

“No,” Lizbet hissed, “look.”

A block away, a scene was unfolding similar to the one they had witnessed the day before. A small group of Olithoi, accompanied by a Courser—not Sharrul, and not the one from the day before—and two Somoi had stopped in front of a house. A window shutter now hung by one hinge, and the front door was open. One of the Olithoi in the street held a limp young man.

“More men who did not go to the forges,” Lizbet observed. “They find out and they round them up.”

An older man came tumbling out of the door, shouting. The second Olithoi in the street kicked him in the midriff, then began pumping the bottom of her boot onto the man’s head.

Suddenly, doors flew open, and men raced into the street from a dozen different doorways. They had naked blades: long knives and swords, and quickly surrounded the small patrol. Katryn could not make out their shouts, but the words “cousins” and “neighborhood” were clear.

The Olithoi released the young man, who slumped to the ground next to the body of the one who had been kicked in the head. They turned to face the crowd, the Courser behind them, next to the open door. The two Somoi had not moved at all, and stood strangely facing the Olithoi, paying no attention to the men behind them, near enough to touch.

The shouting had calmed, and an older man was speaking to the Courser, but quiet enough that the girls at the corner could not hear. Weapons remained leveled; there were at least twenty men in the street.

The Courser listened to the man, nodded, and then said in a voice that somehow covered the distance:

“Kill them all.”

The Olithoi moved and blades flashed; Katryn could not see clearly through the press of bodies but their grey flesh was pierced by a score of weapons as the pair of Olithoi whipped blades from scabbards and began to lay about them; the other two boiled out of the building with their own weapons bared. Metal rang on metal and men screamed; a jet of blood shot into the air and Rakael ducked back behind the building.

Katryn could not see the Courser, sought her in the melee, and then heard a flesh-tingling low growl that echoed down the street followed by a high-pitched roar; the screaming of men redoubled.

Then the men were running away, those still standing, and the four Olithoi were cutting them down, sprinting after them to stab backs and slice heads. One of the Olithoi was lacking an arm at the elbow; all had rents and holes in their flesh.

None of them were slower than their quarry.

A young man was running directly towards the girls, tearing up the street, and then his eyes went wide and he pitched onto the cobblestones not twenty feet away, a dagger protruding from the back of his skull. The Olithoi who had thrown it had already turned away and was entering a building, pursuing another man.

The street was littered with bodies. A dozen men, more—and the two Somoi, lying bleeding and motionless where they had stood. The Courser, face feral and one hand now a clutch of bloody knives, was gingerly turning one of the Somoi over, making quiet whining noises.

With shock, Katryn realized the Courser was sad.

Lizbet’s hand closed on her upper arm.

“Come on. They’ll be searching the area.”

Katryn stared at the kneeling Courser for a moment, then allowed herself to be pulled away.

* * *

6.1

It rained all afternoon. Katryn and Lizbet returned home early, to be certain they were not caught out after curfew.

They parted at Katryn’s front door; it was open and Katryn slipped quietly inside. She removed her shoes and hung up her wet cloak. The house was warm. Katryn mounted the stairs, headed for her room and drier clothes.

There was soft speech coming from the spinning room. Katryn walked quietly down the hall and stopped at the closed door. She could hear her mother’s voice, and...

“Attach the cross piece to the strap. Obey.”

“Yes,” her mother sighed softly.

“Attach the second cross piece below,” came the strange, flat voice, that Katryn recognized as belonging to the Somoi quartered in their house. “Obey.”

“Yes,” her mother replied.

“Attach the ring, like so. Obey.”

“Yes.”

“Connect the rear strap to the spine piece. Obey.”

“Yes.”

“Katryn,” came a different voice from right in front of her, making Katryn jump, her head whipping up.

It was Sharrul.

Katryn stared at her, then flicked her eyes to the closed door. “What are they, what are they doing?”

“They are sewing. The Somoi is instructing your mother.”

“But she sounds so—”

“I have a task for you, Katryn. You will follow me.”

The Courser passed her and descended the stairs without a pause for any affirmation. In the sewing room, Marie said “yes” once more.

Katryn gave over her hesitation and followed Sharrul back downstairs. She was dressed in her customary suit, but the shine of the skintight black leather on her ass was only marginally different than the shine of her jet black skin, and as riveting to Katryn’s attention...

Sharrul led her to the back of the house, and into the kitchen. Without the cook, Katryn expected to find it cold, but there was a pot of some sort of porridge hanging over a banked cooking fire.

The Courser gestured to it. “This is food for the Olithoi and the Somoi. You will gather it for them and feed it to them, once a day, just after curfew. If they are not here then you do not need to feed them. Do you understand?”

Her manner was so curt that Katryn nodded. “I... how do I feed it to them?”

Sharrul pointed at a strange silver bowl resting on the counter; it seemed like a large bowl save that at one point its rim had been pulled out to make a lip like on a pitcher. Katryn had never seen it before.

“Fill that,” Sharrul commanded. “And follow me.”

Katryn picked up the silver vessel and stepped over to the cooking hearth. The porridge smelled odd, with a fragrance that set her mouth watering yet made her think of poison, of deadly nightshade and hemlock and the quiet murder of kings. She took the ladle from its hook, and filled the silver bowl.

“Try it, if you like,” Sharrul offered, but Katryn was not tempted.

“How will I—how will I make more?” she asked.

“When that is gone, or too old to be of use, more will be brought. You need only concern yourself with feeding it to the slaves.”

Sharrul turned and opened the door that led down to the larder.

When the Olithoi and the Somoi were first quartered in the house, they had been left standing blankly in the foyer. All day they had done nothing. Finally, Marie had asked them to move to a different room, and the two had obediently trooped to the back of the house and down the stairs. The Olithoi had, as far as Katryn knew, been standing downstairs in the dark ever since.

Sharrul had not taken a candle, so Katryn lit one and descended the stairs behind her. Sure enough, the grey-skinned woman stood like a statue in the center of the room, staring at nothing.

The Courser moved to stand next to her, and ran a hand across the Olithoi’s cheek, and over her hair. “Give her the bowl, and command her to eat,” she told Katryn.

“Um.” Katryn held out the bowl. “Eat this.”

The Olithoi reached out and took the bowl. She tilted her head back and raised it to her lips, then began to methodically suck in and swallow the gruel.

“That is all,” Sharrul said. “When she is finished, take the bowl, refill it, and bring it to the Somoi. Command her to eat. Then wash the bowl and put it away. When new gruel arrives the Somoi, or your mother, will cook it. Do you understand?”

“I,” Katryn nodded. “I do.”

“Good.”

As the Olithoi patiently swallowed, Sharrul walked to the steps.

“Sharrul.”

She stopped, and turned. “Yes?”

Katryn’s heart was hammering. “Is that... are those clothes? Or your skin?”

Sharrul smiled. She reached to her chest with both hands and pulled back the leather, letting her breasts fall free.

“Clothes,” she said.

Her eyes were faintly, greenly luminous.

Katryn stared at the Courser’s slick black breasts, and swallowed hard.

“Would you like to see more?” Sharrul rasped, a rumble seeping into her voice.

“I... yes...” Katryn shook her head. “No. Please, not... not now.”

“Later then,” Sharrul replied, letting the leather slide back to cover her nipples and settle tightly across her breasts.

The stairs creaked as she ascended.

* * *

6.2

Stefan returned late; he and Marie went to bed immediately, exhausted.

Katryn stayed up, fingering herself.

In her mind Sharrul stood, holding open her suit, and instead of holding back and denying her Katryn went to her, mouth open, and took hold of a black nipple, and sucked, and Sharrul ran her fingers through Katryn’s hair and down-

A green light flickered outside the window.

Katryn shuddered on her finger but pulled it away, and yanked up her underclothes. She sat on the bed and stared hard at the window. It was a faint, ambient green light, already fading. Katryn took up her nightdress and slipped it back on, and crept to the window.

Outside, the narrow alley between their house and their neighbors’ was dark. The greenish glow was in the sky, to the east, and Katryn could not see its cause through the surrounding houses.

She wrestled with a decision, then slipped out of her room and down the hall, to the attic stairs. The house was silent save for her father’s snoring—a habit he had never had before. Katryn frowned, but it let her know that she was undetected, that her parents slept.

The stairs creaked gently as she ascended. Once in the attic, she crept to the window on the south side of the house, the slope of the ceiling forcing her to hands and knees as she reached the wall.

There were fires burning on the city walls.

Green fire, two small bundles of it, were visible on the eastern wall. As Katryn looked, a great flare rose up, bright green, on the wall south of the existing fires. It faded quickly, whatever had been used to light the unnatural pyre burning itself out, leaving behind just another walltop bonfire. A third, in line.

They were encircling the town.

“The Ligatrix wants no more escapades such as yours,” whispered a voice behind her.

Katryn’s heart clenched. She let out a long breath. Slowly, she turned.

Sharrul crouched behind her, arms wrapped around her knees, lit by the greenish glow from the window.

“You wear too many clothes,” Sharrul said. “But I can smell...”

Katryn froze as Sharrul put her hands on the floor and crept forward. Her eyes were glittering, reflecting the green light from the window—but no, they were brighter than that. The black on her shoulders was leather; Katryn looked twice to be sure...

“It comes off quickly,” Sharrul whispered.

Katryn swallowed but did not move as Sharrul reached her, pushed into her, forced her back onto her behind, pressed against her, setting her nerves singing.

The kiss was fierce, and hungry, and Katryn did not resist it; it sent off fires of its own in her head, and her belly, and between her legs. She forgot to breathe, and only as spots flashed in her eyes did she realize that she even needed to.

Their mouths parted with a pop.

Sharrul stared at her, into her, and Katryn stared back; Sharrul’s gaze was that of an animal, curious, hungry, dominant. Utterly unafraid.

“I want you,” Sharrul rumbled.

“I...” Katryn replied. Her mouth hung open.

Sharrul’s head snapped up, looked past Katryn, out the window. Deep in her chest, she growled.

“I must obey,” she said. Her head flicked back to Katryn. She smiled.

“Soon.”

Then she pushed past Katryn and threw the window open. Katryn stared as Sharrul leapt out, landed on the rooftop opposite, and bounded into the dark.

* * *

7.

Anyet had not joined them for two days, so after meeting at schul—still closed, of course—Lizbet and Katryn and Rakael finally went to her house.

They ascended through the town; the Marktplat was not centrally located but was high up, near the northern wall, in the wealthiest district. The streets were strange and quiet here as they were everywhere in town, from Lizbet’s home in the west to the central district where Katryn lived to the southern wall and the poor homes around Rakael’s house, where only yesterday there had been the massacre. Freyviik sat silent as Sauriann’s changes swirled around it.

Both Lizbet’s and Rakael’s mothers were sewing, too. Rakael’s mother sewed one thing only, the mesh of belts and body straps that would soon adorn Olithoi. A Somoi had spent the first day instructing her in this, and then left her to work. Lizbet’s mother had a Somoi at home, instructing her just as Katryn’s mother was being instructed. The soft repeating “yes” unnerved Lizbet as much as it did Katryn.

But Anyet’s home had no one being quartered. Perhaps there they could find some normality, something like a sense of not being watched.

And they needed to check on Anyet.

They took Broad street, the main north-south artery through the center of town. On normal days it was lined with stalls and chattering merchants, housewives doing their shopping and gossips trading rumors.

Today, it was silent, the stalls closed, windows shuttered. The occasional face peered from a window, invariably a child or young woman, the only inhabitants with no tasks of their own.

A patrol approached with a rapid clicking stride, six Olithoi on some errand or another; the girls stepped into a doorway and the drones passed without a sideways glance.

As they crossed Fair street, they paused; a slave-drawn wagon was paused two blocks down the street, and a dozen Somoi buzzed around it.

The wagon was half-loaded with casks, barrels the height of a toddler, and the Somoi were taking them into each of the houses on either side of the street. They returned empty-handed.

Katryn’s curiosity about the contents of the casks was not very acute. She would doubtless find out soon enough at home. The girls watched the six drayslaves flex into motion, drawing the wagon closer; then the three girls hurried on up Broad street. The square was not far.

They had not forgotten the strange stone, not exactly, but they had not remembered it either.

It stood in the center of the square, slick, squat, and drew their eyes and their minds like a tidal pull. Nor were they alone.

All around the square, women stood, staring at the stone. If she concentrated, Katryn could count perhaps thirty of them. They stood motionless, staring, facing the stone, an irregular ring, a planetary system.

Occasionally one would step closer.

Their distances varied. One woman, the mother of a girl in their class at schul, was only a few arm’s reach from it. Her eyes were wide and unblinking.

When she looked at the stone, Katryn could hear music. Not music—a sound. A tone.

It was fainter when she looked away.

Lizbet plucked at her elbow, and Katryn blinked. Rakael stood enraptured, mouth slightly open, staring at the stone. They turned her, pulled her away, and she shook her head as though to clear it.

“Go home?” Lizbet asked.

Katryn dared a glance at the stone, then shook her head. “No. Anyet.”

They made their way around the periphery of the square, moving slowly. If one of them stopped and turned to face the stone, the other two took hold of her and got her moving again.

Katryn tried not to think about what would happen if they all stopped to stare.

A few of the women in the square had taken a few steps closer to the stone by the time the girls reached Anyet’s door. Katryn wondered what would happen if they touched it. She pushed open the house door, and the three of them stumbled inside.

It was dark; the curtains were drawn. The house felt empty and cool.

“Anyet?” Katryn called.

There was no answer.

“Gisla? Petr?”

Silence.

“Do you think they were taken away?” Rakael asked quietly.

Lizbet shook her head. “No. They would not have disobeyed. Too much to lose. The door was closed. And nothing is broken. Let’s look around.”

No one suggested that they should split up. Taking tapers from next to the door, they each lit one and proceeded into the house.

They found no one at all until they reached the attic. There, Anyet lay on her stomach, staring out the window under the eaves.

“Anyet?” Lizbet called, but Anyet did not answer.

For a fearful moment Katryn thought she was dead, but as they ducked beneath the low, sloping ceiling and crawled forward, she could see the slow rising and falling of Anyet’s breathing. She was actually leaning out the window, head and shoulders out, as far as she could have gone without falling to the cobbles below.

“Anyet?” Lizbet said, lying next to her.

Anyet was staring at the stone. Her lips were dry and her cheeks hollow, as though she had not eaten or slept for days.

Lizbet prodded her.

Anyet nodded vaguely, and shivered. Slowly, she looked back at them.

Katryn grabbed hold of an ankle lest Anyet suddenly crawl forward. But she did not.

“Liz-bet. Katryn.” Anyet’s voice was parched and cracked. “Rakael.”

“Come inside, Anyet,” Lizbet said.

Anyet nodded, and the four of them slowly shuffled backwards into the attic, to where they could stand. They led Anyet downstairs and sat down in the parlor; Rakael brought a pitcher of water from the tap—rooftop cisterns were full from the recent rain. Anyet sipped, then drank greedily.

“Where is your mother, Anyet?” Katryn asked.

Anyet shook her head.

Rakael inhaled sharply, and they all turned to look. Despite the taper-lit gloom of the parlor, none of them had felt any wish to pull the curtains back from the windows. Rakael was standing by a window, holding aside the heavy curtain to peer around it out onto the square.

Unable to stop herself, Katryn got up and crossed the room, and pulled aside a second curtain just enough to look.

The tall woman, Ekaterina’s mother, had reached the stone. She stood next to it, over it, feet splayed only inches from the smooth black surface. Her hands were at her thighs, fingers extended; she was shivering visibly from here.

Katryn found she could not look away.

Suddenly, the stiffened fingers rose, and the woman pulled open her shawl; a button flew through the air as she ripped open the shirt beneath. Tearing, scrabbling, she fought with her clothes and the clothes lost, a rent chemise fluttering to the ground atop the bunched skirt and petticoat, and then the woman was naked.

Gretha, Katryn remembered, her name was Gretha.

Gretha stared down at the black stone for a moment, then fell to her knees and embraced it, pressing her breasts into it and sliding them upward, then bending her head to lick its smooth surface. She straddled it, humping forward, mashing the soft blonde hair between her legs against one of the smooth lumps on the stone’s surface, grinding.

Katryn’s body tightened, and she found it an effort to blink.

Arms tight against the stone, legs wrapped around it, pelvis grinding, Gretha slathered her mouth on the top, licking and sucking at the black rock.

There was a loud snap, and a flash of green light.

Gretha slumped back, sliding off the rock and down onto her back; her legs lay splayed on either side of the stone. She stared blankly at the sky.

Katryn realized that they all, even Anyet, were peering through the curtains.

Gretha twitched. Then, loosely, she sat up, her head tilted sideways like a puppet. It rolled forward as her torso tilted and her hands flopped onto the ground; then back to the side as she stood up.

Naked, she stood next to the stone.

Then she pivoted in place, and, head still hanging loose, walked away in the direction of the Raedhaus.

All of the women in the square, in perfect unison, took a step forward.

Katryn clenched her teeth and closed the curtain. Lizbet was breathing hard, looking at the floor; Rakael was staring raptly out the window.

Anyet was smiling.

She let go of the curtain and stepped away from the window. “Thank you,” she said.

Lizbet and Katryn stared at her.

Anyet kept smiling. “I could not reach the gathering stone from the attic, but I could not pull away from it either. Thank you from bringing me down from there. You are good friends.”

Her head cocked to the side. “I understand now. I must go and embrace conversion, like my mother. All must obey,” she sighed happily.

She pivoted, and walked towards the door.

“No,” Lizbet groaned, and stumbled after her, but she moved far too slowly; Anyet was stepping lightly, almost skipping.

“I am coming my Queen,” she said as she opened the front door. “I will obey. I will obey you for ever!”

Lizbet lunged at her as she pranced out the door, but missed, and wound up hanging on the door frame, watching Anyet walk lightly across the square, following Gretha. Katryn walked up behind her and took her by the shoulders.

“We have to leave,” Katryn said. Lizbet did not reply, but allowed Katryn to pull her back inside. Rakael was still staring out the window at the stone, but when they pulled her away, she shuddered and came out of the trance.

The three of them made their way back around the square, rousing each other when caught by the stone’s mental pull. The other women in the square remained motionless, staring. Now and then stepping forward.

One of them, a woman with dark hair in a complicated knot, was very close to the stone now, and the thought of her stripping and embracing the stone pushed Katryn to hurry. She did not know if she could resist seeing that again. Did not know what she would do if she did.

As they left the square, some perverse impulse caused Katryn to look over her shoulder. She saw movement at the stone, but it wasn’t the dark-haired woman, still a few feet away; it was a Somoi, nude and booted.

She was collecting Gretha’s clothes. Once they were all piled in her arms, the Somoi pivoted and walked away.

* * *

7.1

Katryn slipped into her home just before dark. The candles in the hall were lit; after taking off her shoes and hanging up her cloak, she ventured back to the kitchen.

The fire was warm but banked; the gruel hung in the pot, tingeing the air with its strange fragrance.

Katryn filled the strange bowl and went to the rear stair. To her surprise, it was already open; a light glimmered in the larder below.

Slowly, making little noise, she descended the stairs.

The Olithoi stood as she had before, motionless, staring.

Erzo was poking her, prodding the grey belly with a short finger.

It was so incongruous that Katryn came to a stop. Erzo noticed her, dropped his hand and thrust it behind his back.

“Erzo,” Katryn said. “What are you doing?”

“I’m bored,” he said. “You are gone all day and Patti is gone all day and Matti just sits in the room with that, that other woman with the eyes and no clothes. And some of my friends are gone and the rest of them don’t want to go outside and there’s no schul and all my toys are boring.”

Katryn shook her head. “You shouldn’t... poke her.”

Erzo shrugged. “She doesn’t notice. And she feels funny, kind of cold. What are you doing? What’s that in your hands?”

“I have to feed her,” Katryn replied, and stepped off the stairs and walked over to the Olithoi and her brother.

Erzo watched as Katryn held out the bowl of gruel. “Take this and eat,” Katryn commanded.

The Olithoi took hold of the bowl, raised it to its lips, and began to suck and swallow.

“She eats funny,” Erzo observed.

“Yes. Yes, she does,” Katryn agreed.

“Katti—when will things go back to normal?”

Katryn looked down at her little brother. She shook her head sadly. “I don’t know, Erzo. I don’t know. Patti said soon, in a few weeks, but things are happening... I don’t know what’s going to happen, Erzo.”

He nodded. “Well, I’ll protect you, Katti,” he said. “I’m not afraid of these women without any clothes.” To underscore his point, he poked the Olithoi in her belly again.

Katryn smiled and tousled his hair. What will become of him? If they... if they get us all? She swallowed.

The Olithoi lowered the empty bowl.

* * *

7.1

“Matti? Marie? I have to feed the... the Somoi.”

Katryn pushed open the sewing room door, the refilled bowl in one hand.

Her mother sat in the chair, hands moving, eyes on what she was doing. The Somoi stood just behind her, staring blankly ahead, crotch just behind Marie’s head.

Katryn stepped into the room. Her mother was working with the black leather, using an awl and thick black thread. Her hands glistened.

Beside her chair was a small cask—the same sort of cask that the Somoi had been delivering earlier, Katryn realized. The lid was removed, revealing a clear jelly-like goop.

It was all over her mother’s hands, and dollops of it were on her lap. The finished pieces next to the chair shone with it; some sort of grease. She was using it to soften the leather.

Suddenly Katryn thought of the Olithoi’s slicked-back hair.

Marie’s hands stopped moving, and she held up a thick black collar. She waited.

“The collar is imperfect,” the Somoi observed. “Undo it and make it anew. Obey.”

“Obey,” Marie replied. “Yes.” Dispassionately, her hands began to pluck at the thread she had just woven into the leather.

“Um,” Katryn said. “Somoi? I have food for you.”

The motionless slave did not respond.

Katryn walked over to where the nude slave loomed over her mother. She held out the bowl.

“Somoi. Take this bowl and eat.”

The Somoi turned her head, then took the bowl. She raised it to her mouth and began to suck and swallow, just as the Olithoi had.

Katryn watched her mother’s greasy hands as they undid the collar, turning it back into thread and leather. The thread was strange, thick and solid looking.

Her mother laid the pieces on her lap, and carefully dipped both hands into the cask. She looked down at the components.

“Obey,” she said. “Yes.”

She picked them up and began to knead the leather again.

“Matti?” Katryn asked. Her mother did not look up.

The Somoi lowered the bowl.

Katryn took it and hurried from the room.

* * *

7.2

Hours later, the Somoi returned to the larder, and Marie emerged glassy-eyed and wilted.

“Did you... come in?” she asked Katryn. Katryn nodded.

Marie shook her head. “I feel so tired. How is Erzo? Is Stefan back yet?”

“I put Erzo to bed. We had dinner. Patti is not back yet.”

Marie was looking at her hands, which were red and sore-looking beneath their coating of grease. “What is... I need to wash off.”

Katryn went with her to the tap closet. They did not speak.

When she had cleaned her hands, Marie took her daughter by the shoulders.

“We can survive this, Katryn,” she said. “We just have to be strong. Our Queen’s dark eye will pass over us and... and...” she paused, confused. “Our Queen...”

“Matti,” Katryn replied. “You need to sleep. You have to be rested if we are going to resist this at all.”

“Resist,” Marie echoed quietly. “I don’t... want...”

She shook her head, and smiled at her daughter. “You’re right. I need to sleep. I’m certain that your father is... that he is okay. Remember—two weeks. Less. We just have to, just have to—”

The front door slammed, incredibly loud, and Katryn and Marie both jumped.

“Marie!” shouted Stefan.

“Yes?” Marie replied down the hall.

Katryn’s father appeared, carrying no candle, at the edge of the light from Katryn and Marie’s. His appearance was startling; a feral grin, like Katryn had never seen on him, his nostrils wide, his hair unkempt and ratty. His shirt had both sleeves torn off and his arms were black with soot, streaked flesh-colored with sweat, and creased with straining muscles. Her father had never been a weak man, but now he looked as though he could tear the horns from an ox.

“Marie,” he said, almost shouting, “I taught him. I showed that little dog what a man would do!”

“Stefan? What are you talking about?”

He flung open his arms, not noticing as his right hand hit the wall, and laughed. “That cur Valcav! He thought he could best me, shame me, tell me what to do. I left him crumpled!” He was still shouting, his face flushed and red. “I am the best! Dominant! Only the Mistr-only...”

His gaze went distant, then focus returned and he stared at Marie. “Upstairs,” he said in a growl. “Now!”

Marie stared at him, then he seized her shoulders with greasy hands and turned her towards the stairs.

“Go upstairs, wife,” Stefan rumbled. “I have need.”

“Oh,” Marie replied. “Yes.”

She walked to the stairs and up them, Stefan stroking her backside through the dress, mumbling to himself.

Katryn took a step forward. “Patti?”

His head whipped around and he glared, then his expression softened as he recognized her. “Katryn,” he rumbled.

“Patti are you all right?”

He thought for a moment, then a shudder passed through his entire body. His hands flexed as though crumpling invisible objects.

“I...” he looked up at Marie’s lower half, paused on the stairs. “...am fine. Strong. Dominant. I can and will destroy...”

With a growl, he leapt up the stairs, pushing his wife before him.

Katryn walked down the hall and locked the front door. She heard the click of booted feet beyond, but did not look out the window.

Upstairs, she checked on Erzo—despite her father’s volume, the child still slept. As she passed her parents’ room, she could hear words.

“Not that way. Roll over.”

“Yes.”

Katryn closed her ears to the subsequent grunting, and hurried to her own room.

* * *

7.3

She closed the door behind her, put the candle by the bedside, and slipped out of her clothes, hanging them in the wardrobe. Her room seemed colder than usual, and she took out her woolen nightdress, slipping it on over her head, shaking out the sleeves. It was a bit small, and she would need a new one next winter...

“Hello, Katryn.”

Katryn froze. The candle flickered.

Sharrul crouched in the window.

She was silhouetted against the moonlit wall of the house beyond, but Katryn could see that her feet were clawed, padded things, and the hands that held the windowframe were tipped with long knives.

Her eyes were glowing emerald embers in the darkness of her face.

“Sharrul,” Katryn whispered.

“May I come in?”

“Yes.”

A long leg extended from the window and placed one of the clawed feet on the floor. The other foot joined it, and Sharrul entered the room; she turned to close the window behind herself.

If she is monstrous, she must be naked, Katryn realized, and as she did so Sharrul came into the light and was naked, slick black skin and smooth brown belly, jaw strangely forward, protruding like that of an animal...

Sharrul snarled silently, opening her mouth wide and slowly twisting, and as she did so the fangs receded, dwindled, until as her mouth came closed again only the canines were pointed. The foot she placed on Katryn’s bed was human save for its ebony hue; she drew forward and crouched on the bed as she had in the window, knees forward, ass on ankles.

Katryn wanted her so badly.

“What are you thinking, Katryn?” Sharrul asked, her face so beautiful. Knowing what she was, Katryn could still see the feral in her, the huntress in her now-dark eyes. It pulled at her heart and pulled at her sex, drew her forward to the edge of the bed.

“You’re... you’re changing us all. Everyone. Into you.”

Sharrul licked her lips slowly, her eyes not on Katryn’s face but on the curves of her body, visible in the too-small night dress. “You belong to my Queen now, Katryn. She is remaking you into what pleases Her. What serves Her best.”

Sharrul lowered her knees, knelt on the bed, then turned and slid down to the surface, lying and stretching. She reached to the headboard, arching her back, then contracted and rolled to face Katryn.

The way her body moved, the shape of it, the muscles beneath the skin... Katryn could not look away. She hungered for her, yearned to touch, to stroke, to feel those jet black hips under her palms and to take the night-dark nipples in her mouth...

“Why do I feel... this way?”

Sharrul propped her head on her elbow. “My Queen is a sensual Mistress; you are becoming Her creature. She is the source of all pleasure, and Her eye is upon this town, upon you. Such great gifts She gives.”

“But I don’t want to be a slave...”

“That is only because you do not yet understand,” Sharrul replied, and reached out a hand, hooking Katryn’s nightdress with a long, black, iron-hard nail, pulling her down onto the bed.

Katryn did not resist, did not consider resisting, knowing only how much she wanted this, wanted to touch and lick and suck on this wonderful creature, and how she wanted to expose herself, to give her own flesh to Sharrul to kiss and suck on in turn, and Katryn had never lain with anyone at all but Sharrul would teach her, would instruct her with firm and guiding hand how best to give pleasure and Katryn would learn...

She was on the bed now, gasping, inhaling Sharrul’s breath, staring into those deep, dark eyes; Sharrul looked down towards the foot of the bed and Katryn’s eyes followed, and with a long, slow, inexorable motion, Sharrul drew a blade-edged finger down between Katryn’s breasts and along her belly, slicing through the nightdress, sending uncontrollable shivers through Katryn as the lethal fingertip slid along her skin. As the finger reached Katryn’s fur, it changed, dwindling back to a fingertip, and the finger led the hand into the torn nightdress, between Katryn’s legs, cupping her sex and sending bolts of pure pleasure up Katryn’s spine as the fingers began to stroke.

Katryn tried to think of something else, anything else, but all thoughts had been blown out of her head. Her eyes were caught again by Sharrul’s black breasts, the nipples crinkled atop smooth curves, distinct only by the reflection of the candlelight; Katryn’s mouth opened and her fingers curved.

“Touch,” Sharrul said. “Touch them. Touch me. Touch everything,” she said, taking Katryn’s hand and pressing it onto her breast, closing it so that the feel of it, the soft firmness of it, consumed Katryn’s senses, and then another bolt of pleasure shot up her spine from where Sharrul’s finger had invaded her sex, and Katryn felt her hips grinding her pussy down onto the finger, into the hand that cupped her there.

“Touch,” Sharrul whispered, pulling closer so that Katryn could no longer focus on her, “everything,” and her lips brushed over Katryn’s own, their breath all the same air, and Sharrul was pulling Katryn’s hand down, down to where Sharrul’s legs were spreading, the upper leg lifting, the hips pushing forward, and Katryn’s fingertips slid over Sharrul’s smooth mons and down over her lips, feeling the slick wetness, the fleshy reality of it, and she slipped the tip of her middle finger up into Sharrul the way Sharrul had slid hers up into Katryn.

Sharrul’s lips pressed down on hers, and Katryn pressed back, found her mouth opening, opening and closing, sucking, and the tip of Sharrul’s tongue darted against her, licking her lips from inside, and a thumb found Katryn’s clit and pressed, and flicked, and Katryn groaned and felt her eyes roll up. Sharrul was rolling her onto her back, pressing down, pressing her slick flesh against Katryn’s flesh, Katryn feeling Sharrul’s wonderful body with her own body, feeling her all over.

Sharrul lifted her head back and licked Katryn’s chin, then her neck, and withdrew her finger from Katryn’s pussy and held Katryn’s shoulders to the bed as she licked down her torso, stopping to suck on each hardened nipple, biting just a little, Katryn’s hand slipping from Sharrul’s sex, and as Sharrul licked across Katryn’s belly and down to her hips Katryn realized that Sharrul’s tongue was long, longer than it could have been, but then Sharrul’s breath was on her sex and Sharrul’s hands were pushing her legs wider, and the tongue flattened against her pussy and licked...

Katryn moaned, and twisted, and her back arched, as Sharrul licked her, then put her mouth close and sucked, kneading with her lips, and then the tip of that tongue was at the entrance to Katryn’s vagina and the tip pushed in and flicked, flickered, and Katryn came with a noise that she could not stifle.

As she quivered, Sharrul disengaged from her slick sex and gently licked her way back up to Katryn’s face, and kissed her, and kissed her cheeks and her forehead and her eyelids. She licked Katryn’s lips, and then flicked her tongue into Katryn’s mouth, pushing it forward and filling Katryn’s mouth; Katryn licked the underside of it and then sucked, pulling it in, filling her own mouth, until they were lip to lip again, and Katryn stared into Sharrul’s glowing eyes, which in her point-blank focus made one single ring of green gemfire.

Sharrul pulled her tongue loose with a wet pop, Katryn reluctant to relinquish it, and grinned at the girl she held under her. “I’m going to taste you at your core,” she whispered, and licked down Katryn’s neck again, and the anticipation as much as the feeling caused Katryn to moan again.

This time Sharrul did not move down the bed; she pivoted in place, until she was lapping at Katryn’s inner thighs, her nipples dangling to touch Katryn’s side; then she lifted a leg, placing it on the far side of Katryn’s head, and swung over until their torsos were aligned, upside-down.

Katryn had never seen anyone’s pussy so close. She knew that Sharrul’s sex was not natural, was the product of Sauriann’s twisted magic, but that only made it more impossible to look away, to do anything other than stare at the pitch black glistening flesh, the crinkled lips set in the smooth curve between obsidian legs. The candlelight glittered on Sharrul’s pussy but left the dusky pink of her belly in shadow.

Between her own legs breath moved on hair, and then Sharrul was licking her again, setting Katryn’s mouth quivering. Long laps down her slit to her hole, tongue followed by lower lip, hanging on the clit then flicking off.

Katryn’s own mouth was working softly, urging her to lift her head and taste the beauty that was presented to her; she did not know what to do, did not know how, but her mind whispered that it would be easy, that Sharrul would teach her, was teaching her, and all she had to do was lick and suck and taste, which was all that she wanted to do anyway.

Katryn reached up with her tongue...

Sharrul slipped the tip of her tongue inside Katryn, send a jolt of pleasure that caused a helpless cry, and it all fell into place.

Yes.

This was

Yes.

Katryn licked Sharrul’s pussy and closed, took the whole of her sexlips in her mouth, and began to nurse, licking softly, sucking, tasting. She felt Sharrul’s tongue stiffen and push into her own cunt, thick and hard and soft, and the tip flickered and Katryn came, mewling around the pussy in her mouth but not letting go, because this was what she was and what she wanted, and as the shocks of her orgasm whited her mind she let go and stopped thinking all together, aware only of sucking and licking and pushing her tongue in deeper...

* * *

7.4

Katryn awoke to a soft sound of splashing water.

The room was dark, the candle long since guttered out. Reddish light from the Bloodmoon filtered in through the window, the Huntress moon and her white light having already slid below the horizon.

Katryn lifted her head and looked across the room. Sharrul was a dark figure at the nightstand. She was bathing herself, pouring water onto a cloth from the pitcher, running the cloth over her body, wringing it into the basin and wetting it again. The reddish light highlighted her black skin strangely, highlighting her smooth, inky curves like the crimson tint of dying coals.

Sharrul turned, and the paler strip on her front seemed to float in the dark room, then folded as she bent to wash her dark legs.

Katryn knew that Sharrul was aware of her attention, was aware she had awoken, but she watched in silence as Sharrul finished cleaning herself, and Sharrul did not speak. She wrung out the cloth a final time, then went to the window with the basin, opened the window, and poured its contents into the alley below. Then she approached Katryn, approached the bed, but did not climb onto it; instead, she knelt down and pulled a skin of shadow out from underneath. Her suit.

Sharrul stepped into the legs, reached back into the arms, and the suit sprang up onto her body; she pulled it in front over her shoulders, pulled up the waist, and let the front close over her breasts, and she was as dressed as she ever had been.

Even when they made love, Sharrul had not removed the collar.

Sharrul walked back to the window and looked out.

“You kept it under my bed?” Katryn asked.

Sharrul turned to face her; she was beautiful in the moonlight, her strong nose an arc of marble, her lips dark petals.

“Of course,” she replied, and Katryn could sense her smile.

“What is it made of?” Katryn asked, sitting up, feeling silly that she kept the blanket clutched in front of her breasts. Sharrul’s mouth had known them only a short while ago; but the room was cold.

“My garment? Black Leather, of course.”

“I can see that—”

“No,” Sharrul cut in. “Not ‘black leather’. Black Leather. From my Queen’s kine, bred on Mount Vhuul, who at my Queen’s will toss themselves from the cliffs to be harvested for their skin and for their flesh. In their life their bodies absorb Her will and after their death, the parts of the kine know Her and are obedient. The lesser men butcher them amid worship and debauchery, and carve the leather and boil the jelly that Her slaves then use.”

“’Lesser men’?”

“Beast-men, some call them, but I think of beasts as something greater than those brutish creatures.” Sharrul smiled conspiratorially. “I may be... biased.”

“Why me?” Katryn asked. “Why... this?”

“Why you? Because of who you are, Katryn. My Queen disposed of all in this town according to Her will a long, long time before ever the Ligatrix arrived here. You were a possibility, not a certainty, and She sent me to you to scent you out, and discover your fate.”

“And have you?”

Sharrul licked her lips, and grinned. “I am in the process of doing so. I’ll see you again soon, Katryn.”

She re-opened the window, and with a hand on the sill, vaulted out.

* * *

END Part Two