Love As It Was Made to Be: 2.
Mar. 24th, 2012 09:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
clare_dragonflyIt took the witch four nights to prepare the spell; Journey counted them in nights because that was when she seemed to work, spending the day either sleeping or sending Journey and Hemlock on errands. If she needed something from the village, she went herself, for which Journey was grateful. The child was left to his own devices for the most part, sleeping and eating when he wished and encouraging Journey to do the same. He wondered how much influence the witch had had in the raising of her own child, or if he had effectively raised himself.
Finally, on the fourth day, the moon rose pale and horned over the eastern horizon, and the witch came into the cave and stood looking silently at Journey until he put aside his supper of dried meat, stewed herbs, and dates. He stood, smoothing his hands against his skirts, suddenly nervous. He hoped she did not expect much of him in this spell. Much as he had endeavored to observe and understand the boys in his village, he had worked harder with the girls—trying to fit in—and he did not know how men should act.
But she simply said, “It is time,” and turned back to the entrance to the cave, evidently expecting him to follow. He did, to find that she had laid out a pattern of sorts on the ground. There was a rectangle made of smoothed wooden rods laid out, candles set at the corners and outside in the middle of the four sides. On the eastern side, several feet away from everything else, was a fire laid and ready to be lit. “Remove your clothing and lie down in the middle,” the witch said.
Journey sucked in a sharp breath, then began to do as he had been asked. He had always hated taking his clothing off; much as he hated the cumbersome women’s clothing, showing his female body was worse. The heavy breasts, unsupported by a bodice, always seemed to throw off his balance, and he was all over too small and delicate.
Once he was naked, trying not to shiver, the witch said “Wait,” placed one hand on his shoulder and turned him around slowly. Her gaze seemed to be purely clinical—she was neither judging him nor expecting anything sexual—which calmed him slightly, though goosebumps still rose all over his body and his nipples hardened uncomfortably. When he was facing away from the witch she stopped him, and he heard the sound of a knife being pulled from a sheath. Despite himself, he stiffened, and was rewarded with a low chuckle. “There will be pain later, but for now, it is only your hair.”
With that, the witch took his long hair firmly in one hand and, from the feel of it, cut off swathes with her knife. “You may turn again,” she said, and he did, casting his eyes at her hands. The golden-brown mass of his hair was still clutched in her left. In her right was the knife, glinting in the moonlight.
“It is well,” said the witch. “Lie down in the middle of the square.”
Journey did so slowly, wincing slightly at the cold grass, but his body quickly warmed it. The witch had him adjust his body and spread his arms and legs apart, which made him even more uncomfortable, but she did not seem to notice. With a wave of the hand that had the knife in it, all the candles flared to life. With the faint smell of burning wax he could also smell something sharp that reminded him of trees, though no tree he knew. The witch stepped out of Journey’s view, and the fire became lit as well. She began to chant.
Journey could not understand the words; if they were in a language that was still spoken, it must be far from here. He distracted his mind from what was to come by staring up at the sky and seeking out constellations. When he found the Jaguar, it seemed to smile down at him, and he was comforted.
Then a sharp spear of pain went through him from neck to groin. He screamed, his body arching away from the ground without conscious volition, but he could not escape the torment. All other senses vanished as the pain went on and on.
Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished, and he fell back to the ground, panting. He could no longer feel the grass—in fact, he realized, nearly his entire body was numb. The only thing he could feel was a throbbing in his groin. His eyes filled with tears of embarrassment—why was his body reacting in such a way? He tried to form the question, hoping the witch would have the answer, but his voice would not obey him.
As his awareness once again extended outside of his own body, he realized that the witch was still chanting, in the same soft, measured tones she had been using before he felt the pain. He wondered if she had even heard his scream.
Then his guts twisted, like twice the worst menstrual cramps he had ever felt, and he fell back into the awareness of nothing but pain.
When his senses began to work again, he discovered that the candles at his feet and his sides had gone out.
Pain now began to creep up his limbs, starting at the tips of his toes and the tips of his fingers, and not lessening as it spread. It felt, curiously, like a half-healed burn, or like jumping into ice water. He tried to decide which it was until he realized the chanting had stopped.
Puzzled and afraid, he tried to ask the witch if something had gone wrong, but once again his voice would not obey him. And now the burn-ice pain had reached his vocal chords, and he could not even want to speak. A strange sizzle, then an acrid smell, came from the fire. He had just enough time to wonder what she was burning before the pain reached his face and he had no more mental energy to spare for idle thoughts.
This time, when he came to himself, the candles around him had gone out, and so had the fire. The only light he could see came from the stars. The witch stood at his head, blocking the light of the moon from him. She was entirely in shadow, so her words, when she spoke, seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. “How do you feel?”
He was about to protest that he was in horrible pain, and what did she expect, when he realized that in fact, he was in no pain at all. He pushed himself upright. The grass was still cold, but his limbs did not even tingle. They looked different, and he tried to turn them in the starlight, but he could not see very clearly. “I feel wonderful,” he said, astonished.
“Good. Because if you did not, we would have to attempt this again, and I do not think you would enjoy that.” The witch sounded amused. After a moment Journey realized he was naked. This was not a terribly unpleasant discovery, but he did feel as though the witch was staring at him.
He scrambled to his feet, trying to shield himself from her. He rose more swiftly than he had expected, and rocked on his feet for a moment, trying to find his balance. When he was situated, he felt he was standing more sturdily than he ever had been. He also discovered, to his slight surprise, that he was nearly a foot taller than the witch now.
“Ah, you must want clothing,” the witch said, still amused. “By the cave entrance.” She gestured, and he turned to see a pile of cloth that he had not noticed before. He hurried over to it and dressed himself, finding, to his relief, that the fit and shape of them were much more comfortable than any women’s clothing had ever been.
“Now go inside and sleep,” instructed the witch. “There will be food waiting for you when you wake, for this has taken much of your energy and you will need it back. We leave for Atash the day after tomorrow.”
He nodded and began to stumble dazedly toward the cave entrance. Then he remembered his manners, turned, and bowed to the witch, feeling pleasure at the way his center of gravity stayed in one place. “Thank you.”
“There are no thanks,” she said, but she sounded pleased. “This is a transaction, nothing more. Now sleep, or you will be useless.”
He did as he was told.
Previous. | Next.
Finally, on the fourth day, the moon rose pale and horned over the eastern horizon, and the witch came into the cave and stood looking silently at Journey until he put aside his supper of dried meat, stewed herbs, and dates. He stood, smoothing his hands against his skirts, suddenly nervous. He hoped she did not expect much of him in this spell. Much as he had endeavored to observe and understand the boys in his village, he had worked harder with the girls—trying to fit in—and he did not know how men should act.
But she simply said, “It is time,” and turned back to the entrance to the cave, evidently expecting him to follow. He did, to find that she had laid out a pattern of sorts on the ground. There was a rectangle made of smoothed wooden rods laid out, candles set at the corners and outside in the middle of the four sides. On the eastern side, several feet away from everything else, was a fire laid and ready to be lit. “Remove your clothing and lie down in the middle,” the witch said.
Journey sucked in a sharp breath, then began to do as he had been asked. He had always hated taking his clothing off; much as he hated the cumbersome women’s clothing, showing his female body was worse. The heavy breasts, unsupported by a bodice, always seemed to throw off his balance, and he was all over too small and delicate.
Once he was naked, trying not to shiver, the witch said “Wait,” placed one hand on his shoulder and turned him around slowly. Her gaze seemed to be purely clinical—she was neither judging him nor expecting anything sexual—which calmed him slightly, though goosebumps still rose all over his body and his nipples hardened uncomfortably. When he was facing away from the witch she stopped him, and he heard the sound of a knife being pulled from a sheath. Despite himself, he stiffened, and was rewarded with a low chuckle. “There will be pain later, but for now, it is only your hair.”
With that, the witch took his long hair firmly in one hand and, from the feel of it, cut off swathes with her knife. “You may turn again,” she said, and he did, casting his eyes at her hands. The golden-brown mass of his hair was still clutched in her left. In her right was the knife, glinting in the moonlight.
“It is well,” said the witch. “Lie down in the middle of the square.”
Journey did so slowly, wincing slightly at the cold grass, but his body quickly warmed it. The witch had him adjust his body and spread his arms and legs apart, which made him even more uncomfortable, but she did not seem to notice. With a wave of the hand that had the knife in it, all the candles flared to life. With the faint smell of burning wax he could also smell something sharp that reminded him of trees, though no tree he knew. The witch stepped out of Journey’s view, and the fire became lit as well. She began to chant.
Journey could not understand the words; if they were in a language that was still spoken, it must be far from here. He distracted his mind from what was to come by staring up at the sky and seeking out constellations. When he found the Jaguar, it seemed to smile down at him, and he was comforted.
Then a sharp spear of pain went through him from neck to groin. He screamed, his body arching away from the ground without conscious volition, but he could not escape the torment. All other senses vanished as the pain went on and on.
Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished, and he fell back to the ground, panting. He could no longer feel the grass—in fact, he realized, nearly his entire body was numb. The only thing he could feel was a throbbing in his groin. His eyes filled with tears of embarrassment—why was his body reacting in such a way? He tried to form the question, hoping the witch would have the answer, but his voice would not obey him.
As his awareness once again extended outside of his own body, he realized that the witch was still chanting, in the same soft, measured tones she had been using before he felt the pain. He wondered if she had even heard his scream.
Then his guts twisted, like twice the worst menstrual cramps he had ever felt, and he fell back into the awareness of nothing but pain.
When his senses began to work again, he discovered that the candles at his feet and his sides had gone out.
Pain now began to creep up his limbs, starting at the tips of his toes and the tips of his fingers, and not lessening as it spread. It felt, curiously, like a half-healed burn, or like jumping into ice water. He tried to decide which it was until he realized the chanting had stopped.
Puzzled and afraid, he tried to ask the witch if something had gone wrong, but once again his voice would not obey him. And now the burn-ice pain had reached his vocal chords, and he could not even want to speak. A strange sizzle, then an acrid smell, came from the fire. He had just enough time to wonder what she was burning before the pain reached his face and he had no more mental energy to spare for idle thoughts.
This time, when he came to himself, the candles around him had gone out, and so had the fire. The only light he could see came from the stars. The witch stood at his head, blocking the light of the moon from him. She was entirely in shadow, so her words, when she spoke, seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. “How do you feel?”
He was about to protest that he was in horrible pain, and what did she expect, when he realized that in fact, he was in no pain at all. He pushed himself upright. The grass was still cold, but his limbs did not even tingle. They looked different, and he tried to turn them in the starlight, but he could not see very clearly. “I feel wonderful,” he said, astonished.
“Good. Because if you did not, we would have to attempt this again, and I do not think you would enjoy that.” The witch sounded amused. After a moment Journey realized he was naked. This was not a terribly unpleasant discovery, but he did feel as though the witch was staring at him.
He scrambled to his feet, trying to shield himself from her. He rose more swiftly than he had expected, and rocked on his feet for a moment, trying to find his balance. When he was situated, he felt he was standing more sturdily than he ever had been. He also discovered, to his slight surprise, that he was nearly a foot taller than the witch now.
“Ah, you must want clothing,” the witch said, still amused. “By the cave entrance.” She gestured, and he turned to see a pile of cloth that he had not noticed before. He hurried over to it and dressed himself, finding, to his relief, that the fit and shape of them were much more comfortable than any women’s clothing had ever been.
“Now go inside and sleep,” instructed the witch. “There will be food waiting for you when you wake, for this has taken much of your energy and you will need it back. We leave for Atash the day after tomorrow.”
He nodded and began to stumble dazedly toward the cave entrance. Then he remembered his manners, turned, and bowed to the witch, feeling pleasure at the way his center of gravity stayed in one place. “Thank you.”
“There are no thanks,” she said, but she sounded pleased. “This is a transaction, nothing more. Now sleep, or you will be useless.”
He did as he was told.
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no subject
Date: 2012-05-11 12:05 pm (UTC)It's wonderful to be rereading this. ^-^
no subject
Date: 2012-05-11 05:05 pm (UTC)