An original story from Liquid Silver Books author, Darragha Foster

Please read Chapters One, Two, Three, Four, Five, six, and Seven if you haven’t already.

Prince Hlini, or Lin, for short, is a man’s man. He enjoys riding, archery and killing animals in days-long hunts with his courtiers. He is also royal pain in the ass—literally. His voyeuristic and sodomite penchants have kept him much too busy to find a suitable wife in which to sprout his noble seed—because it’s safer to make love to page boys and stable-hands than it is to possibly produce a child who will someday poison you to usurp your throne. Prince Lin also suffers from a tad bit of paranoia. There is one woman whose tremendous beauty (and delicious potatoes) has caught his eye…Sigyn of the garden corner. But greeting her from horseback is about as close as he’s ever been.

Sigyn is the daughter of the village witch and the village undertaker. She is of the lowest caste in the kingdom, for she works on her knees in the dirt, mixing in compost created by her father from the burning of the kingdom’s dead. Still…she has the most successful vegetable stall in the realm. People come from far and wide to buy her fruit and veg. With strength, beauty and a height most women will never see, Sigyn could have many suitors—all lower class, uneducated dirt-farmers. She wants more from life. She wants to be king.

Eventide… a gratis lectori salutem (free to the readers) e-tale by Darragha Foster about that magic time between the end of day and the beginning of night. Beware the mist, the call of the geese and horny wood-wives.

Warning: If you’re familiar with Darragha’s work, you know this story will contain sex, violence, and all-around… quirkiness. If you’re not familiar with Darragha’s work…

And now the eighth chapter of Eventide…

Chapter Eight

Lin feigned exhaustion and pretended to fall into a deep sleep as the bed returned to the cave of Ama and Angr.

At morning’s first light, he knew they’d go into the forest as always, to hunt and do whatever their little ogress hearts chose to do. He wasn’t sure he wanted details. He was certain, however, that they weren’t half as evil as society made them out to be. So, he was starving and was being used sexually to conceive a child upon an ogress wench. At least they didn’t want to be king! King, like the lovely, odd, Sigyn. King?

The prince was awake, but again feigning sleep when Angr intoned the call of their enchanted goose. “Sing, my geese, with strains so deep, that Lin, entranced, may remain asleep.”

As soon as Sigyn believed it safe to emerge from her hidey-hole, she awakened Prince Lin. “Sing, my geese with cheer and glee that Hlini from sleep aroused may be.”

“Sigyn, did you bring me a potato?” Lin asked.

“To the devil with you, sire. Have you no manners?” Sigyn asked.

“Ask me after I eat a roasted potato,” Lin remarked, taking the blackened purple potato from Sigyn as she removed it from her pocket. “Oh, dear Lord in heaven there is nothing richer than your potatoes. I am a new man. Revived and saved.”

“Quit the poetry and let’s away before your lovers return and roast my head.”

“It’s too late for that, garden wench.”

Sigyn didn’t need to turn her head to know which ogress had caught her helping the prince to escape. She knew their voices and their body odor all too well. “Ama Silver Mask.”

“And her sister,” Angr added.

Sigyn stood. “So, here you have it. The prince is coming with me. Now.”

“Bravely spoken for a human,” Angr replied. “But the prince is ours and he stays until we tire of him. We are not tired of him.”

“Lin,” Ama began. “Do you wish to be freed of our love? I can’t believe you are unhappy in any way.”

Lin swallowed the last of his potato. Should he be charming or forthright? “A man imprisoned in a comfortable cell is still a prisoner. I am a prince of the kingdom and have duties beyond your sweet lips.”

Sigyn thought she might vomit. “There, you have it. The prince will take his leave now.”

Angr shook her head. “No, he shall not. Tell me sister, how do you think she will taste if we stew her with exotic herbs from the East Indies? A little red pepper and saffron, perhaps?”

“She has nice skin tone and not too much fat. I think she’d be lovely in a stew. Good idea, sister,” Ama replied. “Goose!”

The grey goose waddled forward.

“Sing, my goose. Sing them to sleep,” Ama ordered.

The goose looked up at Sigyn, then leapt with cat-like precision at the ogresses. Honking wildly, the goose flapped and bit, slapped and attacked, giving Sigyn the opportunity to ensnare the sisters in a fishing net she’d rigged to drop from the ledge.

Twisted up and trapped, Ama and Angr calmed themselves, the goose biting at them whenever they moved so much as a finger tip.

“Thank you, spirit,” Sigyn said to the goose. “Now, listen to me ogresses…I shall not hesitate to burn this cave and everything in it to ashes…”

Lin interrupted. “No, please…”

Sigyn silenced the prince. “Unless you meet my demands post haste.”

“What are your demands, clever girl?” Angr asked.

“Remove the enchantment upon this fine goose here. Give her freedom.”

Fuming mad—literally—for the smell of brimstone had filled the air, Ama spat at the goose, then said quietly, but clearly, “Goose of slumbering mist I release you.”

Angr turned with some difficulty to face her sister. “Is that it? Why do your spells never rhyme?”

“A good spell is powerful in as few words as possible,” Ama replied.

In a flurry of goose feathers, the spirit encased in the honker’s form rose up in her delicate ethereal beauty. Sigyn approached the spirit and kissed her gently on the lips. “Thank you, spirit of fog and mist. You shall always be welcome in my kingdom.”

“Your kingdom?” Angr protested. “Has our prince agreed to marry you in return for his rescue?”

Sigyn laughed. “I would no sooner marry him that I would that rotting deer carcass hanging from your ceiling hook—which, incidentally, is where I got the idea to string up your fishing net.”

“Then why risk your life to rescue him if not for love?” Ama asked.

“Oh, I am taking him away in the name of love. But he is not my love,” Sigyn replied. “And, sisters, never once have I believed my life was in danger while in your presence.” It was an insult and she knew it.

“You do find us terrifying?” Ama asked.

“No. Make yourself comfortable on the bed, Prince Lin. We’re off,” Sigyn replied.

Holding back tears, Lin approached the netted ogresses. “I must leave you for now, my lovelies.”

“Do not use a flattering tongue on us, Hlini! We know what you really think of us,” Angr replied.

Lin wiped away a single tear. “No, you do not, I’m afraid. Let me prove it.” Lin reached for the roasted venison, still sitting at his place at the table. He lifted the joint and took tore off a large piece of the charred, juicy flesh.

“No! Do not eat!” Sigyn screamed.

But it was too late. The deed was done. Lin had swallowed.

He reached for a cup and filled it from the wine skin hanging off the table’s edge. He drank the contents, letting if trickle down his chin. “There, does this not show you how I feel?”

“You have bound yourself to these beastly women,” Sigyn gasped.

“And they are bound to me, for, if God is merciful and willing, they each carry my child. They shall be my wives,” Lin said proudly. “I shall return for you. I shall return for you and our spawn.”

Reaching gnarled fingers through the netting, Angr and Ama touched Lin’s fingers, sealing their love.

“All women wear a mask, Sigyn. All men become blind to the truth at times. I see beyond the foul fetidness and illusions cast by their masks, and even beyond my own ideals of what true beauty is, to see that true love does exist for everyone,” Lin said, making himself comfortable on the bed.

“I am so going to wretch!” Sigyn gagged. “Comfortable bed, I command you hold us fast during flight! Roll, my bed, roll quickly on–whithersoever I wish thee,—be gone. Take us home!”

Tune in next week for the last chapter of… Eventide.

____________________________________

Ripped from her LSB bio:

Darragha lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and daughter in a one-hundred-sixteen year old house continually under renovation. The house is haunted by the spirit of a Union Civil War-era soldier who seems to enjoy watching the construction every now and then. Someday, he may turn up as a character in one of Darragha’s stories.

This an original story given generously to us by Darragha Foster. DO NOT post any part of this story on your site without attribution to Darragha or a holla-back at her site. That’s not cool. Always give credit where credit is due, yo.

Note: Hey, other writer-types, do you want to contribute to The Serial? If so, email me and I’ll hook you up, yo. Peace!

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