Spear of Destiny by James Baldwin (little bear else holmelund minarik .TXT) 📕

“Wha...?” I stirred up out of my intoxicated trance for a moment. “Barbs? Where?”

“You know.” She expertly undulated her body against mine in a way that suddenly reminded me that human men were, in fact, down to fuck on any night or day of the year. I sucked in a sharp, surprised breath.

“Uhh… no.” Slurring, I tried to struggle upright to regain some control of the situation, but Solai had me pinned to the sofa by my hips. “No. No barbs.”

She giggled, then turned to her nearest handmaiden. “Please take my lovely companion here to my chambers. I will follow shhuuurrrr-”

Solai’s voice trailed off into a warm fuzzy blur. I was vaguely aware of being carried away on a litter, taken somewhere dark and quiet. I opened my eyes to see a slim Meewfolk woman helping me out of the jewelry I’d worn to the opera. I closed my eyes, falling into a swirl of color, and when I opened them again it was to the sight of Solai straddling me, her hand resting on my chest, claws spread. Everything beyond that was a pleasant, shadowy whirl into unconsciousness.

I woke in the morning with a start—mostly because of the pain. Groaning, I rolled over, clutching at my shoulders. They were gritty with dry blood. I cracked my eyes open, and immediately closed them again as the distant drumming inside my skull swelled into a booming chorus. I was almost certain that the drummers from the opera had taken up residence in my sinuses, playing the backs of my eyeballs with hammers and malicious, whiskered grins.

“Oh god.” I patted over my arms and chest. My skin was covered in welts and long, stinging cuts. Wincing, I looked back over my shoulder. Solai was asleep on the other side of the bed, her legs drawn up, her hands tucked in, her tail draped like a fan over her eyes.

“Did I...?” I rubbed my hand over my face, watching the swirling patterns on the insides of my eyelids. “Oh god. I did.”

Solai had wrung me out like a dishrag. My HP bar was throbbing. My Hydration meter was throbbing. A bunch of other things were throbbing as I wobbled to my feet, staggered over to a nearby vanity, and splashed clean water over my face. Then, against my better judgement, I drank some of it to bring my Hydration out of the red zone.

“Dude. She’s a priestess.” I peered at myself in the polished bronze mirror. “What the fuck are we going to do now?”

I froze in place as the air of the room subtly warped behind me, pulling in toward a central point. My head jerked up, as a lean, tall, dark-robed figure appeared behind me in the mirror. They were robed and veiled, but I could make out the shape of a muzzle, and the outline of triangular, upright ears beneath the ornate headdress they wore.

My reckoning had come. I had just defiled the holy virgin Priest-Queen of Meewhome, and now I was going to be flayed into little strips by the feline incarnation of Death Himself. I flattened back against the vanity. “Hi. You must be the Avatar.”

“You are correct.” The Avatar’s voice was deeper than I expected: masculine, not feminine. “I see you have enjoyed your time with us.”

I glanced at Solai. She was snoozing happily, curled into a smug ball on her bed. “She absolutely wanted this, okay? Please don’t murder me.”

“Of course she wanted it, and she obtained what she desired. She is the Priest-Queen.” The Avatar had the calm, measured voice of a monk or a priest. Disciplined. Quiet. Blessedly non-judgmental as I discreetly searched for something to cover myself with. “The ancestors have informed me as to who you are, and why you wish to see me.”

“And?” I found a washcloth to clamp over the front of my hips.

“And I consent to an audience.” The shimmering figure bowed from the neck. “You are the Paragon of the Sixth Great Cycle. The last Cycle, I fear. I have waited my entire life to meet you and your companions. Ready yourselves, and assemble in the Lotus Plaza of the temple. I will bring you to my sanctum when I sense you are ready.”

The illusion cut with a ripple of magic that passed through the room, rubbing over my skin like a cool breeze. Solai murmured, rolling over onto her back in a lazy sprawl of limbs. She still had some of my blood on her claws.

“Phew.” I went into my Inventory to equip my armor—then realized that I’d handed everything over to Suri the night before and not taken any of it back.

“Suri?” I tentatively shot her a P.M. “I’m… uh… trapped. Can I get an assist?”

“Oh, an assist, is it?” Her mellow, wry voice, lovely as it was, felt like an ice-pick to the brain. “Seems to me like you had everything firmly in hand last night.”

“Please. Not so loud.” I bit down a moan, sneaking around the bedroom to try and find something to cover my shame.

“Hair of the cat that bit you?” She dropped her voice, but it was full of laughter.

I found a discarded sarong and hastily wrapped it around my waist, hissing as the hem dug into some of the deeper cuts. “More like claws of the cat that mauled me. The Avatar wants to meet. He told us to get together in the Lotus Plaza, wherever that is.”

“It’s the big terrace just before the entry to the temple. You know: the one with the giant fuckin’ lotus stamped on it,” Suri replied drily.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t notice the decor over the six hours of sensory torture I went through last night.”

“Poor baby,” Suri said. “Does widdle Hector need his binky?”

“Widdle Hector is about to see