When Cale, Harriet, Isla and Sybil arrived back at the Helix, another door had appeared beside the one that lead to Piadrian’s bedroom.
Cale’s room was the same size as Piadrian’s, but lacked the rows of bookshelves. It was too spacious. In the far right corner of the room was his bed, and way over to the left was a writing desk and trunk. Cale lay in on his bed—on top of the covers. Three arched windows lined the right side of the room, though his room wasn’t high enough to see beyond the noble keeps. The warm breeze was a soothing whisper rushing over his face; it made his eyes feel heavy. His chest was melting into the mattress.
*What do you think she wants?* Ellie’s voice asked.
*Ashforth? Probably the same thing everyone wants. Power.*
*Over the magi? Why would she want that? The order provides the nobles with anything they could possibly want.*
Cale yawned. *Perhaps she feels she’s too old for a babysitter.*
*Well, that I understand.*
Cale woke to the warbling of songlizards inside his room. Sunlight flooded through his windows, casting reptilian shadows across the roof. These creatures weren’t like the lizards in Arnax; huge, venomous, aggressive beasts. These could fit in his palm, with crystalline scales of red, green, or white. They scuttled about the walls and roof, refracting sunlight into hundreds of feint, moving, coloured beams. The sights and sounds of the lizards were beautiful, yet Cale couldn’t help feeling a sense of unease. He couldn’t place his finger on it, but something was wrong.
“Cale?” Sybil called from the other side of his door. “Are you awake? You’re late for class.”
* * *
Sybil led Cale up four floors of The Helix. Being one extremely long ramp, climbing each floor of The Helix required one to walk the entire perimeter of that level’s spiral. Cale was breathing heavily by the time they reached a large lobby chamber, all around which were doors.
“All these are for the juniors,” Sybil said, brushing a stray lock of shoulder-length hair behind her ear. “Those aged between one and two hundred. The seniors do their schooling outside the capital. The second century can get a little… explodey.” She smiled and scrunched her nose.
Cale cocked his head at Sybil. *Her hood is down.* He hadn’t noticed in his haste to keep up with her. The three of them—Harriet, Isla, and Sybil—were the only witches who wore hooded cloaks as opposed to the silken robes of the other sororities. Harriet had left her hood down since arriving in the capital but this was the first time he’d really seen Sybil’s face clearly. *She’s beautiful.* Her eyes were grey and seemed to shift as they moved, like a soft fog. Her mousy-brown hair was mostly tied behind her head, though a few wayward locks had been gathered behind her ears. *Why is she raising her eyebrow at me?*
Ellie’s high-pitched giggles rang through his head. *Stop staring at her like that. You’re freaking her out.*
* * *
Cale spent the morning leaning against the far wall in Runeshaping class; a form of magic defined by the inscription of patterns—or runes—onto a surface. Though Instructor Viare had demonstrated them using chalk on a chalkboard, she’d explained that the patterns would be effective when drawn with any material, and placed on any surface. At first Cale had watched with amazement as the stylised chalk sun radiated both light and heat, but he’d soon grown as bored as the children that filled the two dozen or so desks arranged in two half-circles around the Instructor.
Though characterised by permanence, the effects one could produce with runeshaping were all quite dull; it lit the streets at night, it kept food fresh, it was even a series of complex runes that held The Helix upright. Cale pictured a squad of runeshapers in formation, each armed with a piece of slate and a bag of chalk sticks. The image was laughable. Viare and the others of her sorority might be powerful, but they weren’t soldiers, at least not a vanguard.
Cale had avoided asking Ellie how she was able to enter his mind. She would know how often he wondered about it, yet hadn’t decided to illuminate him. That must mean she didn’t want him to know… or perhaps she didn’t know herself. The other abilities she’d demonstrated—mending and telekinesis—were common among the witches. He’d have to see if he could audit one of those classes next. The possibilities of deploying those powers onto a battlefield excited him.
The lesson ended. Cale watched as the class stood and bowed to their Instructor with a solemnity that seemed unnatural from such small girls. Cale had always thought it some spell that kept witches alive for so long, but if these little ones were what a hundred year old witch looked like then they must simply age slower than humans. Instructor Viare curtsied—a gesture more forgiving on the back than a bow—and the air of dignity that hovered over the girls evaporated. All at once the group broke out into squeals and cackles as they rushed to the robe hooks on Cale’s left. They donned their plain black silks over blouses and breeches of various colours, then hurried off to their next lesson without giving him so much as a glance.
Viare tapped on a small rune carved into the corner of her chalkboard and all the runes she’d drawn during class vanished. Cale looked to the door, then hesitated. Instructor Viare was one of the few whom Piadrian had given him permission to try and recruit. Cale didn’t want a fighting force of runeshapers, but armies needed more than fighters.
“Instructor.” Cale stepped forward. “Could we speak for a moment?”
“Of course we *could*.” Viare said. “We could speak for minutes, or we could speak for hours. Days would be tough, but possible. We could talk and talk until one of us—probably you—dies from exhaustion.”
Cale weaved through the desks—grabbing hold of a student’s chair as he passed—and placed the chair before Viare’s desk. “Shall we?”
Viare pulled a long, green robe from a hook on the wall beside her chalkboard. “No, thanks.” She pulled her robe around herself as she walked to the door, then left the room.
Sybil stepped into the door frame a moment later. “How was your first lesson?” She was smirking.
Cale grinned as she walked over to him. “Oh it was thrilling. I learned all about how the complexity of-“
Sybil covered his mouth with her palm. “I’ve already suffered my share of her lessons.”
For a moment they stayed like that; Sybil’s hand covering Cale’s mouth as her stormy eyes pierced his. Cale hoped Ellie wasn’t paying attention to him. He couldn’t say why. He liked talking with her, he even thought the idea that she could watch him have sex was hot. This moment was different. It deserved privacy. Sybil took her hand away and for a moment Cale thought she was going to kiss him. Cale’s lungs strained and he realised he’d been holding his breath. He exhaled heavily and much to his surprise, so did Sybil.
She motioned as if to brush a lock of hair behind her ear and her cheeks burned when she realised none were loose. “You’re… you should get something to eat, you’re expected in the Conduit’s workshop this afternoon.”
* * *
“Oh! Fuck!” Harriet jerked upright on Piadrian’s bed, as his tongue pressed on her clitoris. He’d been kneeling on a cushion on the floor before her naked form for near an hour now, eagerly pressing her buttons and delighting in her responses. She could feel her third orgasm building and knew Piadrian could sense it too. He’d always been attentive like that.
This city hadn’t deserved a man like Piadrian. Kind, thoughtful, gentle. This was a city of liars, of schemers. Cale was right; this was a city of monsters. And yet, Piadrian wished to protect it so badly he was risking what was left of his life to do so, and so, despite her contempt for its inhabitants, that is what she would do too. Harriet hunched over and wrapped her arms around Piadrian’s near-bald head, feeling her orgasm wash over her and down into his mouth. Exhausted, she fell back into Piadrian’s soft bedsheets. He lay down next to her a moment later and she inched over, curled up against his chest, and pulled his arm around herself.
“Do you really think we can trust him?” Harriet closed her eyes, listening to Piadrian’s breath.
“He hasn’t said anything to you has he? And you’ve threatened him how many times?”
Harriet sighed. “Seven.”
“Well there you have it.” Piadrian said with a hint of smugness in his voice. “If you can’t frighten him into betraying me, I doubt anybody else can.”
Harriet grumbled. “It’s not keeping his mouth shut that I’m worried about, rather that his goals might not align with our own.”
“They probably won’t.” Piadrian traced his fingertips down Harriet’s arm then took hold of her hand. “Not exactly anyway, but I think there is good in him. He lead his father’s vanguard, you know.
Harriet opened her eyes and looked up at Piadrian. “What does that mean?”
“It’s the forward-most fighting force of an army. In any battle those brave bastards in the van do the heaviest lifting, and take the heaviest losses.” Piadrian frowned. “My once-Lord Vaston didn’t even bother donning his armour before a battle.”
“So Cale risked being killed to be a better killer.” Harriet frowned. “This makes him good?”
Piadrian’s cloudy eyes closed and he took a deep breath. “Something like that.”
* * *
Cale carried a half dozen freshly hewn square poles from the balcony to the inner wall and stacked them with the hundred or so others. They would be made into staves for the Conduit sorority over the next few weeks. Cale had been requested to do the heavy lifting—a strange request considering each of the six witches in the workshop had arms thicker than his legs. They dressed much like himself, though they wore no overcoat above their tunics and their trousers buckled at the hip. These looked like soldiers. Cale wanted so badly to speak to them about his plans, but Piadrian hadn’t given him permission to try and recruit any of them. They didn’t seem the blabbermouth type. They’d hardly said anything beyond giving him simple tasks, and several of those had been communicated through gesture.
One of the witches—she looked in her early thirties to Cale’s eyes, though that probably meant she was halfway through her fourth century—sat on a backed bench, shaping what appeared to be a chair with nothing but a carving knife. She’d introduced herself as Balia when he arrived and so far had been the only one to do so. The small blade passed through the wood as smoothly as if it were butter. After the shape was formed, she exchanged the blade for an even smaller one and started to whittle holes, intricate patterns and stylish designs into the wood. The legs became the twisted trunks of knot trees and the seat and backrest became a tangled web of their limbs. It was an incredible likeness to their much larger counterparts, found in his homeland. The final product was so smooth it wouldn’t need to be sanded, though it would need to be painted. It only took Balia about twenty minutes to sculpt the bench from start to finish and when she finally looked up from her work Cale realised he’d been staring at her all this time.
“It’s not made from a real one, is it?” The knot trees of Arnax were sacred things. Cale hated to think the witches might’ve felled down.
“Course not, boy.” Balia rolled her knives up in a rag and put them away beneath her bench. “Knotwood is far too brittle to work with. This is cherrywood.”
“Ah, cherrywood,” Cale said, leaning in as if to inspect the wood. He tapped on the backrest with he knuckle of his index finger. “That’s a good wood.”
Balia smirked. “You know your wood. We’ll have to get you working with it next time you’re here. Of course, you’ll have to pass the test first.”
A few of the other witches turned their heads to look at them.
“Test?” Cale asked.
“A craftsmen must be good with his hands,” Balia said, standing. She took Cale’s hand in hers. “Needs to be able to feel what the job requires.” She reached with her free hand to her hip and unbuckled her trousers, then guided Cale’s hand inside her undergarments.
Cale’s fingers probed at her slit, feeling her lips grow slick and slippery. Balia gasped as he slid a finger inside her. She was tighter than he’d expected. Her muscular body tensed as he started to work his finger in and out of her pussy, though it wasn’t long before she was matching his rhythm with sways of her hips. The five other witches in the workshop had stopped their work to watch them, but none of them seemed particularly surprised. Three were back at work before he’d gotten a second finger in, but after a brief and whispered discussion, the other two crossed the room toward them.
“How’s he doing?” A slightly—likely at least a century—younger witch asked Balia, taking a seat in the knot tree chair. “As good as Piadrian?”
“Never-“ Balia moaned loudly as Cale started to trace little circles on her clitoris with his thumb. “Never had him.”
“He did always have a favourite.” A third witch said, taking hold of Cale’s other hand. She was around the same age as Balia and had short hair of the same black colour, though hers was full of sawdust.
Balia tugged her trousers down to her knees. “Can’t you wait, Dalia?”
*Dalia… Balia…*
Come on, sis. You don’t need both hands.” The short-haired witch—Dalia—let go of Cale’s hand, then unbuckled her trousers and tugged them down also. She turned around and bent over the knot wood chair, leaning on the armrest.
Cale considered spanking the firm ass before him but thought better of it. Despite being bent over, the way she leaned on the chair her sister had just crafted seemed to be signalling a dominance of her sister rather than a submission to Cale. He ran his fingers along Dalia’s slit as he’d done to Balia and in moments he had two fingers buried in her cunt too. Dalia was less hesitant than her sister, spreading her legs and bucking against his hand. Cale’s thumb found Dalia’s clitoris and the two sisters moaned loudly in unison, drawing the attention of the working witches.
“Alright, let’s see what he’s got in here.” The younger witch said, leaning forward in the chair to reach for Cale’s buckle. She pulled his trousers down to his ankles and grinned at finding his cock already hard. She held it in her hand a moment, then inched forward and wrapped her lips around the head. Cale’s knees felt weak and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Her hand hadn’t had whatever made Ellie’s feel the way it did, but her mouth threatened to make him pass out. Her lips slid further down his shaft until her bottom lip pressed against his balls. She held him there, then drew her head back, sucking on his shaft as it left her mouth.
Balia watched with wide eyes. “I could see it in your throat, Penelope.”
The sitting witch—Penelope—smiled and a little saliva dribbled down over her chin. “He’s bigger than Piadrian.”
Cale plunged a third finger into each of the sister’s pussies as Penelope’s lips closed around his cock once more. Her tongue was doing laps of his head when something strange happened. A second tongue began to swirl in tandem with the first. A third tongue made its way down his shaft, followed by a forth that matched its movements on other side. Balia and Dalia cried out and Cale pressed hard on their clits, his arms tensing from the pleasure of an ever-increasing number of tongues. He couldn’t hold back anymore. Cale groaned, his cock throbbed and fired rope and rope of cum down Penelope’s throat. She drew back as his cock continued to pulse and the last few spurts painted the inside of her mouth. Cale almost fell to his knees, but Balia caught him and easily held him upright.
“You’re okay?” She asked with a raised eyebrow.
Dalia’s brow was also raised, though she seemed more impatient than concerned.
Cale grinned, then resumed his… handiwork.
Balia gasped, drawing an eye roll from Dalia.
“I’m not done with this yet either.” Penelope held Cale’s cock before her face as it started to grow flaccid. She stood up from the chair and walked over to a cupboard, reaching inside then returning with a small, covered wooden bowl. She removed the lid, revealing a small stash of red and blue leaves, divided by a partition in the middle.
Cale had seen leaves like these before. No, not *like* these, he’d seen these exact leaves. They grew on every farmstead in Vinitus.
Penelope took a red leaf, then held it out to Cale as she covered the bowl. “Eat this, please.”
Cale frowned. “What is it?”
“It’s for him,” Penelope said, nodding to Cale’s cock. “It’ll bring him back to life.”
Cale looked to the bowl in her hands. “And the blue ones?”
“Increase fertility.” Penelope shrugged. “Most of those that hire you will use them. I however, am a few hundred years away from wanting children.”
Cale took the leaf from her and studied it for a moment, then ate it whole. He felt the effects immediately with his cock growing as hard as it had ever been. Penelope giggled as she unbuckled her trousers and stepped out of them. She turned around, then kneeled on the chair and bent over the backrest.
“Penelope…” Balia moaned as Cale’s fingers continued to slide in and out of her and her sister’s drenched pussies.
“What?” Penelope wiggled her ass at Cale, inviting him to fuck either one of her holes. “There’s no rule against it.”
“You know that *she* likes him,” Dalia said, her knuckles whitening as her grip on the chair’s armrest tightened.
Penelope leaned backwards, pressing her pussy against the head of Cale’s cock. “So what if she does? He can do what he wants, and so can we.”
Balia squeezed Cale’s hand between her thighs as her pussy tightened around his fingers. “I know you’re allowed to.” She moaned and tossed her head back. “It’s just…. Oh, fuck….” Her juices trickled down Cale’s arm as she came.
“Just don’t be a bitch.” Dalia kissed Penelope, moaning into her mouth as her pussy gripped Cale’s fingers and her legs tensed up. She relaxed and stepped forward, letting Cale’s fingers leave her pussy. “Let the sorority of The Saint have him first, it may not be a rule but it is tradition.”
Penelope sighed. “Fine. I’ll let her go first. Only her, though. Harriet doesn’t want anyone but Piadrian, and Isla would sooner spend an evening with a book than a cock.” She eyed Cale’s cock then rolled her eyes again. “I guess I’d better take care of this.”
“I’ll do it if you don’t want to.” Balia wrapped a leg around Cale.
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to!” Penelope said, lifting her tunic over her head.
Above a set of firm abs was a large pair of soft, round breasts; Penelope leaned her head forward and let a trail of saliva leak from her mouth down between them, then pressed them together and thrust her chest outwards.
Cale took his already-slick clock in hand and slid it underneath Penelope’s large breasts. They enveloped him, gliding around his length until his head appeared above.
Penelope’s eyes widened. “Definitely bigger than Piadrian’s.” She grinned. “His cock used to get lost between my girls.”
Cale started thrusting slowly and as he did, Penelope leaned her head forward, taking his cock in her mouth with each thrust.
“I’ll do that part.” Balia unwrapped herself from Cale and bent over the chair where her sister had stood a moment ago. She lay her head on the upper portion of Penelope’s chest and opened her mouth, catching Cale’s cock on its upward thrust. She followed his downward motion and reluctantly let his cock escape her mouth, increasing her suction on its way out. Her lips waited above Penelope’s breasts and they were upon him the moment his cock breached the surface. Her tongue joined the fray and Cale was driven wild with ecstasy. His mind was empty of everything but pleasure and he placed his hands over Penelope’s, holding her chest with her as he thrust harder and faster, his cock just about reaching Balia’s throat.
“He’s going to cum soon.” Penelope’s legs clung onto his waist and she squeezed his cock with her slippery tits. “Can you feel that twitching?” She giggled, looking up to Balia.
Balia nodded, matching Cale’s rhythm.
Each time he thrust his cock upwards she pressed her head downwards, taking him deeper and deeper into her throat. Cale felt his orgasm building. He gave in to his frenzied urges and thrust his cock through Penelope’s cleavage and into Balia’s mouth like it was a sword and they were enemy soldiers. Balia continued to engulf him and grew ever more reluctant to let him out of her mouth until he found himself having to forcefully take it from her. On his next upwards thrust, Balia buried her face into Penelope’s chest and took him in her mouth before he even broke the cleavage’s surface. This time she didn’t let go. She seemed to snap into a frenzy of her own and shoved both Penelope and the chair out of her way before kneeling in front of Cale, taking hold of his waist and swallowing his entire length. Her throat bulged as Penelope’s had and she waisted no time. She drew her head back, sucking his shaft as she did before swallowing it whole again, and again, and again. Cale groaned and his vision momentarily went black as he fired his first rope into Balia’s throat. She drew her head back, her mouth filling with his cum until she finally let it out of her mouth and let the last few spurts hit her face.
“That…” Penelope rose from the chair and stood behind Balia, her hands balled into fists by her side. “was the rudest thing you’ve ever done.”
Balia wiped both Cale’s seed and a smile off her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want anything to get on the chair. It’s not been treated against stains yet.”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ka1134/vinitus_chapter_three_plot
Oh, YES. That’s what I’ve been waiting for. Good next installment!