Chapter 7 - Salmacis

Author's note: I think I've learned some interesting things about myself in writing this story (story, not specifically this chapter). I think that's a very wonderful thing. Certainly not something I expected, setting out. Honnestly, I thought I was just setting out in prose a sexy little fantasy I had - I didn't even intend to show it to anyone. I certainly could not have predicted it'd grow into this! I mean, 57,000 words. If you'd have told me I could write that much I would have thought you a liar (Especially if you'd told me I or anyone else could write that much about centaurs peeing. It all seems somehow misguided when I think of it like that.).

CHAPTER VII
'SALMACIS'

We've been in this jungle for five days. Aristomache was right, I would be outpacing the centaurs if I did not slow myself for their sakes. In places the plant growth is so dense and close together that a centaur literally cannot squeeze through and we are often forced to take meandering detours until a way becomes apparent.

The jungle also has a psychological effect on my companions. Clytemnestra has reminded me several times that her kind are people of the plains and steppes. Wide open country where the horizon is all the limits the view. It's true, too. She, Aristomache and Eupraxia are all starting to go a little stir-crazy. The jungle is too cramped, the trees too close and the sky never visible through the canopy.

Of course, I do all I can to make things easier, which is almost nothing, and being rational adults, they are keeping their discomfort under control, but it's clear that none of them are happy.

That's why, when we find the path in the afternoon of this fifth day there is a great rejoicing. It's not much, but it is a real path, a bare earth path, just about two yards wide with not a speck of grass growing on it. It permits a view of a good hundred yards in either direction before corners seal it off. Even that little respite from the claustrophobic pressing of trees all around is enough to make my three companions happy.

“What do you think made it?” I wonder.

Clytemnestra answers a second before Eupraxia, “This is no game trail. It was made deliberately, by thinking people.”

“Do people live here?”

“My mother mentioned no one living amongst the trees, and no path,” Aristomache replies, “But if our way has been true, the river is squarely that way.”

She points almost directly parallel with the path and we set off, somewhat cautiously. Without conferring, all four of us have readied our rifles. Having seen that, I deliberately sling mine again. No one else does, but I'm at least going to try and look friendly should we meet whoever made the path.

“Wait,” I mutter, a little way along the way.

I squat down by a little triangular black stone laying right in the middle of the way, slightly embedded in the ground.

“What is it?”

“Magic,” I reply.

There's an intake of breath and Eupraxia mutters something I don't hear. I can feel magic flowing from the stone, little wafts of it like dry ice fog flowing across a floor. It's a little thing, the stone, only a few inches at each edge, pure black, but scuffed and a little dusty. All together rather dull, save for the magic within it. I touch the stone and try to feel the shape of the spell.

“Clever,” I mutter, impressed by the spell, and by myself for deciphering it. Not that it's that complex.

“What is it? Is it safe?”

“Perfectly,” I nod, standing, “It stops plants growing, that's what makes the path, I think. Unless I miss my guess, there will be others like it all along the way.”

“So... whoever made it used sorcery?”

I nod again, “Maybe. Probably. But somebody definitely is using, or used, sorcery to keep the path open after it was made.”

When we proceed, the centaurs are, if anything, even more cautious. Even Clytemnestra , who is generally fearless, and who even encourages my dabbling in the art has a wary attitude toward sorcerers in general.

For all that, though, I cannot quite bring myself to feel the same fear. The path is pleasant, edged with wildflowers and kindly-seeming, healthy trees. Nowhere do I sense any evil. Birds sing, some other, unidentified animals make their own right calls and all seems right with the world.

So we walk, cautiously, for almost another hour, encountering three more of the little triangular black stones, each with the same properties. From time to time the path makes a corner, probably avoiding some inconvenient bit of jungle, but always heading roughly in the direction we wish to go, on toward where we believe the river lies.

Rounding another of these corners I, who am ahead right now am the first to see her.

There's a bow in her hands, and an arrow nocked on the string, though both are held at rest. She's human, and not very tall, and has copper skin and short, dark hair flopping about her ears. Three hoops of fine gold wire are pierced through each ear. All of her clothes are in dull browns and greens, though, like her hooded cloak which is a random patchwork of different cloths and leathers in every jungle colour. I'm certain she could have blended perfectly with our surroundings had she a mind to.

She smiles a pretty, confident smile and casts a look over each of us in turn. Her eyes are gold.

“Which of you,” her voice is sweet as honey, “Is the sorceress?”

We glance at one another for a moment, all of us trying, I think, to work out what's going on and what's safe to say.

Suddenly the woman's voice cuts through our indecision, “I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

Aristomache, I realise, was raising her rifle and I forcefully push the barrel down with my hand.

“That wound be me,” I declare, with only a small tremor in my voice, I think.

She nods, smiling that nice smile again, “I thought so.”

“Why?”

“Someone examined my spells, one of you. You're the only one who's not cradling her gun and shying away from the trees like a witch is about to burst out.”

Well, if she wants to see things that way, let her. It'd be a lie to say I'm not scared. Probably moreso than the others since I know what a real sorceress could do to us where they only have their imaginations.

Trying to keep my voice level I engage her, “I meant no intrusion, I merely sensed your magic in the stones and wanted to make sure the path was safe to use.”

“A wise precaution,” She smiles devilishly at some secret joke.

“We mean you no harm, we only wish to go on.”

I wish someone else would say something. I hate talking for the group and I feel as though a single wrong word may doom us all, or possibly we're already doomed and nothing I say can make things better or worse. Damn. How many witches can the woods of this world hold?

“Er...” I stumble for something to say, “If that's okay?”

She laughs, “What is your name, little sister?”

I give her my name, and those of my companions and when I do she introduces herself as Salmacis. She tells us to follow her, and then turns and starts walking without a backwards glance. After a confused moment we all do follow and I trot forward to catch up with her.

“Wait, where are we going?”

Salmacis doesn't wait, but she does reply in a soft, lilting voice meant only for me, “I don't know, where are you going?”

“The... The river. That's all. We didn't know anyone lived here. We're just trying to reach the river.”

“My path will take you there. Do you fear me, my sister?”

It takes me a long moment to reply, “Yes.”

“Wise, but you may stop... If you can. I will not harm you. I could have shot you all before you were even aware you were attacked. Yet I did not.”

“We're shielded, you must sense that.”

Salmacis harrumphs, it's a disturbingly cute noise, “And what is that to a sorceress?”

“You mean you can break them?”

“You cannot?”

“Er... Well, no... I mean, probably... Yes, but I don't know how, so no.”

“I see,” she glances at me and I feel magic occur, too swiftly for me to react and it's over.

“What was that?” I'm panicked and frightened.

“Forgive me. I say again, I will not harm you. Now, sister, answer me this honestly... Or don't. It's one to me, but think on your answer: what manner of sorceress are you?”

I do think on my answer a good long time, and when I reply, it is honest, “A very, very poor one.”

“Oh?”

“My magic is very rudimentary. I can... change things, here and there, or stop them from changing, I can sense magic and feel spells, but real spells, performing them, making them is beyond my understanding.”

“Ah. Why is this?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes, if that is your way.”

“It's too difficult. I can't make a spell up in my mind and hold it there, together long enough to make it work.”

“Yes. Trying to do that would make you a poor sorceress indeed.”

“Trying to do what? How else can I...”

Salmacis raises her voice, including the centaurs in what she says, “For using my road I levy neither toll nor charge. If the river is your destination then you will not reach it before dark, but you are welcome to Salmacis' hospitality tonight.”

Now her voice is soft again, speaking to me, “I should like you all to take up my invitation, for I much desire to speak with you. I can teach you many things, little sister, but unlike my road, my knowledge has a price.”

With some fear, but also real desire for that knowledge I ask her, “What is that price.”

“It has been many years since Salmacis had a woman's company, and her home here sates all hungers and thirsts but one.”

“I... er... I should talk it over with my companions.”

“Do so, we are some way yet from my home. I will go no farther than that tonight, you may do as you will.”

My mind rapidly working I slow my pace until I fall level with the centaurs some way back.

“She wants us to stay with her tonight.”

“So she says,” says Eupraxia.

“So did Lecto,” Clytemnestra points out, very reasonably. Very, very reasonably.

“I don't think she means to hurt us... She could have done so already, if she'd wanted to. Lecto didn't know we were there until we pitched up on her doorstep. Salmacis knew we were here from the moment I examined that stone.”

Eupraxia asks us, “Who is Lecto?”

“'Who was Lecto', you mean,” Clytemnestra shakes her head ruefully, “A sorceress, abiding alone in the woods. We encountered her and she meant us ill. Dead now and well served.”

“She, Salmacis, she said she could teach me things.”

“I dare say she could, lady, but don't let that possibility blind you to other less wholesome designs she may have too.”

“What does your heart tell you?”

“Ah, there's the question, no? By my nature I am inclined to trust all who have not shown themselves untrustworthy, yet, also I do beware sorceresses.”

At this moment, Aristomache, who has been silent throughout takes a few swift strides forward until almost alongside Salmacis and calls out to her.

“Sorceress, have you ever heard the name of Zenaida?”

“And if I have?”

“Tell me of her.”

“She was considered a great poet, and a sublime beauty, after the manner of your kind. A great favourite of the previous Grand Master of Zoa, who heaped every kind of favour upon her. Every kind of favour... Yes.”

“Did you know her?”

“I did, for my part, once. Since you ask of her, and are in form very much like her I shall say you are her kin? Daughter, I think?”

“I am that. And you, Salmacis, you are the sorceress who served Grand Master Phoebe.”

“I am she.”

The rest of us, of course can only look on in wonder as we listen.

“Does this knowledge make you more or less inclined to trust Salmacis, oh travellers?”

“That may depend,” Clytemnestra replies, “On how the court magician of Zoa came to be living alone in the jungle?”

“You risk much by asking. Perhaps it is a thing that might rouse my anger? Perhaps once, but time dulls the edge. Suffice it to say, Grand Master Kallisto is not one tenth the woman her mother was. So inferior a ruler as she does not deserve Salmacis' service.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Ask no more else I shall become angry, daughter-of-Zenaida. Your mother once earned my respect, to her daughter I owe nothing.”

There's not much Aristomache seems able to say to that and she falls back to walk with the rest of us. She does seem to want to trust Salmacis' benign intentions though, and so do I, for whatever reason. So it is that when, after almost two hour's walking, Salmacis says we are at her home, we all of us elect to accept her hospitality, whatever that may be, and go no farther tonight.

“We can't get up there,” Clytemnestra points out, obviously.

She is putting it mildly. Salmacis home is well over fifty feet above even Aristomache's head, suspended upon the trunks of three almighty trees. Tree house is to give only the meanest of names! Tree mansion, tree palace? Perhaps? A great number of structures, walkways, balconies and mezzanines are visible clinging to the three trees, all hung with bright, multi-coloured lanterns and speckled with growing flowers. Salmacis smiles, obviously proud of her home and enjoying my look of awe – a look shared only ambivalently by the centaurs.

“I invited you to partake of my hospitality, but not of my home,” she clarifies, and then looks directly at me, “Unless you wish to learn what I have to teach.”

I swallow hard, and look at Clytemnestra, and at my other two companions before turning back to Salmacis.

“I do,” I say, nervous and excited, “If that's okay?” I address that to Clytemnestra.

“You need my permission for nothing, lady. Do as you will with my blessing.”

Salmacis looks up at her home and instantly a long, snaking rope ladder falls at her feet, stretching all the way up, she begins to climb and, though she hasn't told me to, I follow. It's a hard, tricky climb. The ladder wobbles all over the place and a long, slightly billowy red silk skirt isn't the ideal attire for climbing it.

With little grace and much slowness I reach the top and haul myself vertiginously over the parapet. Salmacis is already within her home and I follow. It's a wondrous place. All wooden floors draped with skins and carpets, the walls are wood, or sometimes leather stretched tautly between stout staves. Some parts seem built, others excavated from the living wood and some parts of her home seem in form to have been grown from the trees themselves. There are obviously magical lights scattered all about, not physical objects but little floating points of light.

Salmacis ushers me deeper into the slightly labyrinthine structure. She has a sextet of large, silver amphorae and holds one out to me until I take it. It's quite empty but when Salmacis touches it again, I feel a significant swell of magic and suddenly the amphora is so heavy in my hands, sloshing with water. Another touch of the vessel, another sense of magic and the liquid within is dark and aromatic and clearly wine.

“This is but a taste of the things I could teach you, sister. All I ask in return is your company for a night, or two.”

“Why?”

She gives me a strange look, as though that's not the answer she expected, “Is it so wrong for one who has lived alone these long years to crave the company of her own kind?”

“No... I meant, why are you willing to teach me? Most people, most sorcerers guard their knowledge quite jealously.”

“And Salmacis does not? Do not mistake me, I am offering you no great secrets, nothing I pass to you will see you unmaking armies and conquering cities. If Salmacis knows such magics, and perhaps she may, she keeps them for herself,” she laughs quietly, “But I'd not have you go on calling yourself a sorceress, and my sister, and not knowing the meanest crafts which should go with that title.”

“Then I gratefully accept.”

“Good,” she fills each of the remaining amphorae, one after the other with clear water and turns each to wine, “Now take these to your companions and tell them that they may shoot Salmacis game, if they wish, and drink her wine, but that they shall not see you or her for a day and a night.”

So I do, though it presents me a problem. I cannot imagine how I might descend that twisting, swaying ladder with just one of these heavy amphorae, let alone six and I stand at the top for long minutes trying to puzzle it out until the obvious solution strikes me. Just as I did once before when escaping from Lady Kanna's house I dial my mass way way down and step lightly from the balcony, floating gently down to the ground, much to the awe of Eupraxia and Aristomache.

I tell them what I've been bidden to say, and I apologise for leaving them out here on the ground, for which I genuinely do feel bad. I feel even worse, in fact, when all three of them are magnanimous and do not begrudge me at all. Especially Clytemnestra, who I think suspects that we aren't only going to be playing at magic spells up there.

Still, they're no worse off than they would have been had we not met Salmacis. Very much better in fact, given that a sufficient quantity of wine will win over almost any centaur and each one of these amphorae probably holds half a gallon. Clytemnestra gives me a lusty kiss goodbye, and a hard grope before sending me on my way.

Salmacis is waiting for me when I clamber again to the top of that horrible ladder, she's shed her cloak and her tall leather boots and is smiling a pretty, eager smile. She's a peach. Sprightly, lithe as anything with excited, golden eyes and a face made for laughing and loving.

“I'm ready,” I say, as she motions me within, following on herself directly, “Ready to learn everything you will teach me.”

“Patience, little sister, be patient for your prize as I have been for mine... Come morning I will keep my promise, but the night is for lovers, and for love.”

I wonder how old she really is, obviously more than she looks, much much more if she was already an adult, and a powerful sorceress in the time of Aristomache's mother. I wonder if she will teach me the magics to stay young.

Her arm snakes around my hips, her body is pressed against mine and she guides me, steers me through the winding wooden corridors and over the narrow bridges of her home. Now we are climbing a long staircase – a staircase so obviously grown, not carven or built - which spirals all about the trunk of the greatest tree, up and on up until we come at last to the highest point of Salmacis' home. It is a great oval platform girt about with a low balustrade and scattered all over with furs and silks and cushions.

So high are we, so tall is this one tree that we are well above the canopy of the jungle and our view is unobstructed all the way from the mountains to the lake and to Zoa itself. Overhead tiny points of magical light twinkle amongst the foliage like the stars which are now coming out in the bottomless purple-black sky. Wind chimes softly tingle-tangle here and there about our perch and nocturnal birds sing back at them.

Salmacis bids me sit, recline in fact, with her amid the disarrayed furs and silks and rich velvet and satin cushions. There is nothing rustic about the way she lives. Nothing rustic about the rich, soft materials on which we recline, nor anything but fancy finery about us, nor anything wanting from the silver platter of ripe, fresh fruits, tempting meat and bread and dainties, nor the stemmed glasses from which we drink, nor the cut crystal decanter from which she pours fragrant wine, so dark as to be black under the twinkling magical stars.

We recline, facing one another, each of us propped up on her elbow, supported by cushions and dining as we please from the single platter. It is by far and away the best meal I've eaten in months. There are fat little olives in spiced oil, and pheasant and rabbit and rich white bread still warm enough to melt the fresh butter, oh, and dates, which I love very much. I suspect my enthusiasm shows.

“Salmacis hospitality is to her sister's liking?”

“I... I've, that is to say, we've been on the road a long time. Where does it all come from?”

“I told you, my home satisfies its mistress.”

“Milk? Olives? Dates? The jungle provides them?”

“Some things I create myself, some, the jungle provides me, some are given me in tribute.”

“Tribute?”

“Grand Master,” she puts such scorn into the title, spitting it out like poison, “Kallisto may not be worthy of Salmacis' power, but there remain some in Zoa who remember who she is. Some come seeking some boon, some try to buy my favour, else willingly give me gifts in thanks for the path you followed today.”

She smiles to herself, and then at me, “Salmacis lives well, does she not?”

“She certainly does,” I have to admit.

“It is the way of things, an you become so powerful as I, you to shall find many people offering tribute to you, without your asking or earning. Should this happen, you shall accept. Yes, you shall, for people can become offended if you do not. It is the right way of the world.”

“That will be a long time, if ever.”

“Maybe, maybe. But you will remember Salmacis' words.”

At that, she pushes the laden silver platter away and rolls over until her body is hard against mine. The last morsel of food is snatched from my fingers and carelessly flung over the edge of our eyrie.

“You will remember Salmacis' words, and maybe you will remember Salmacis too, who had not had woman's company for too many long years, and bid you make love to her 'neath the stars.”

Well what can one do, or say to that? I kiss her gently on the lips, they are warm and soft and open eagerly. Her arms fly around me and her body pushes me back until she is atop me, kissing hungrily. Her body presses tight against mine, eager for the physical contact, her tongue in my mouth, her hair tickling my face, her hands roaming my body wantonly.

Salmacis' breathing is hot and ragged and there is a desperate, animal need in her eyes when she breaks our kiss to tear my blouse open. Bone buttons ping and skitter around and Salmacis licks me all the way from navel to sternum and then kisses me again, hard and eager while both her hands grope and squeeze and rub at my little breasts.

Her breath is hot on my skin in the cool night air, but her mouth leaves a cool, wet trail that makes me shiver delightedly. Her hands roam all over my body, just for the sensation of touching a woman again, I think.

Forcing my arms up and over my head Salmacis spends long minutes licking at my armpits, long, hard, flat licks at my dark hair making me squirm and giggle until she has to kiss me quiet again and I almost swear I can taste my sweat in her kiss.

She kisses me again and again, long and forceful and driven by so many years alone. Only when I pull her top off over her head does she stop, eyes shining in the twilight, hair in disarray from the garment's passage and chest heaving with excitement and lust. Oh my! Both her nipples, her long, eager brown nipples are pierced through with fat golden rings!

Immediately she is free she turns her lust upon my own naked chest, kissing and sucking and biting at my nipples and then kissing my mouth again, and my breasts again and again.

Now eager, grasping hands seize my waistband and pull, dragging my skirt and knickers off as one and she gasps with pleasure at the sight of my engorged, wet sex. Her face is instantly buried in my thick hair, not eating, just smelling. She inhales great breaths of the scent of my arousal. Over and over she breaths in my scent before finally tasting me. Once. Just one lick, so deep, so slow, her tongue gilding deep between my open petals. Salmacis quivers and so do I.

Now she's kneeling up, fumbling at her belt. She forces the clasp open and I seize her trousers about the waist, hauling until they turn inside out and she must fall back, kicking and wriggling out of them and leaving her clad solely in a pair of tight, wet, sky-blue knickers. The moment she is, she is on me again, her lips to mine kissing me in blazing passion, her hands to my chest, her sex to my hip.

Waves roll down her flexible spine and her hips roll against mine, her wet womanhood grinds against my pelvis, Salmacis sighs rhythmically, tribbing herself against me through her wet pants. At first her body against mine, but now vertical, towering above my supine form, her hands on my breasts, groping me, tweaking my poor nipples, holding purchase to enhance the power of her grinding, rubbing, milling cunt.

She grunts coarsely in time with her hard, thrusting hips. Her dark face alive with lust and joy in the fading light. White teeth and wide, golden eyes exult her conquest of my body. The heavy gold rings transfixing her nipples sway pendulously with every motion of her body. A rhythmic, hypnotising display.

My hands go about her hips, and down and up and all over her body, caressing her as she fucks herself against me. Her tribbing increases in speed and intensity, scarcely possible though it seems. With every thrust of her wet, cloth covered quim against my firm thigh she utters a little cry of joy, her eyes no longer open, screwed tight closed as she comes, sighing and falling back into the cushions and furs behind her.

I can hear her panting, her soft 'mmm's of satisfaction. I right myself and crawl to her. Oh! Her knickers are so wet! A great big, dark, wet patch of blue cloth covers her crotch. Coarse, excited tufts of hair emerge eagerly from every edge of her pants.

As she did to me I press my nose to her and inhale her womanly scent. I taste the sopping wet cloth, licking over it again and again as she coos in pleasure. I lick at the border of her knickers, licking the hair which sticks out all around. I lick hard, right above her pleasure centre, nuzzling and stimulating her through the cloth.

For long, wonderful minutes I lick and sniff and rub and tease at Salmacis' tight, wet pants while she recovers from her orgasm. My hand sneaks down to my own womanhood, burying my fingers in my long, wet hair. My fingers circle over my excited clitty as I'm lost to her wonderful, love-infused knickers.

My first little moan of building pleasure brings Salmacis back to me, rising and taking my head in her hands she kisses me once again. Less forcefully now, less hungry, more sensual. A kiss two women share for equal pleasure, not to sate the hunger of one alone.

Again though, her hands push me down into the silks and furs and cushions and Salmacis lips trail kisses all down my body, stopping only just short of my waiting sex. Perhaps just for the delight of frustrating me... Ah! But lightly her finger traces my spread, outer lips and then she tastes my nectar, licking it from that same finger.

“Sister!” her voice is husky, breathless and exciting, “Sister, sister... You cannot know how I have craved...” She licks my spread flower deep and hard, making me gasp, “You cannot know the long nights and empty hours when I'd have traded fortunes for just one taste...”

She licks me again and again, she rubs her face against my crotch, she seizes a goodly clump of my thick pubic hair between her teeth and tugs until I gasp.

Sudden inspiration strikes and in a trice she wriggles out of her sky-blue pants, casting them away, beyond my reach and I sigh in disappointment. But only for a moment as Salmacis turns, swinging her leg over me, planting her womanhood right on my face even as she eagerly sets about my own, eating me now properly and not merely losing herself in the joy of my body. Her cunt is a beautiful mess of thick black hair, glistening and matted with her juices and she spreads her legs so wide that it is instantly within my reach.

Such flavour, such scent, and so talented and joyful a mouth working its magic between my legs. My hands seize her about the bum, spreading her cheeks, forcing her sex tighter to my licking, kissing, slurping, drinking mouth. My tongue drives deep within her, else licks lustily at her hot, wet lips, tasting everywhere, stimulating her most intimate folds and taking for myself the love which flows from within her.

I take care not to come too close to her clit, she's just come and is probably rather sensitive. Salmacis shows no such restraint, making me cry and writhe beneath her as she explores every part of me.

So good! So good, so good! I'm holding on so tight about her massaging her pert bottom with my hands, massaging her oh-so-juicy quim with my mouth, but she? Oh, Salmacis' knows just where to touch me, just where to lick me. Her tongue traces my engorged outer lips, else dives deep within me, else licks up and around my very pleasure centre or down again along my sensitive inner lips and she is so good!

Such a fire is she building between my spread legs I can scarcely concentrate on pleasuring her, scarcely even just enjoy the cunt thrust against my face! But I try. With every care and ounce of effort I can muster I eat her long neglected sex. Wetting one finger in her abundant love I now massage her tight little sphincter too. Eating, licking, touching stroking trying to pour as much pleasure into Salmacis as she does into me.

And losing. So close... I'm so close now that all I can do is gasp and sigh and let her juices roll down my cheeks, my eyes screwed tight shut, my hips rising on their own. One hand still, still rubbing franticly at her secret place, the other gripping so tight around a fistful of silk and fur. My mind is lost in sexual bliss as I find my release and collapse, spent under her body, panting and staring stupidly at her dripping, spread cunt. It's a good sight.

In an instant, it's gone. Gone and in it's place Salmacis' beaming, wet face. She kisses me hungrily, sharing my flavour and admixing it with her own. The thick golden rings dangling from her breasts feel strange against me. Strange and exciting.

We kiss for a long moment and then Salmacis withdraws, taking up her wineglass and draining it in one. She's still lying on me, her body heavy and very, very naked. I can still feel her piercings between us. She looks so happy, looking into my eyes, smiling like a child. And yet, so like a woman.

“Ahhh... Salmacis' has not lost her touch, it seems,” she looks down contentedly at me, chin resting on one hand while her other plays with a lock of my hair.”

“It seems not,” I smile back, wrapping my arms about her, kissing her again and tasting red wine.

Hours later... Many hours later, It is cuddling time. Our bodies wrapped around one another, sharing the sated lazy feeling of love well made for so, so long. We lie on and under her silks and furs, just holding one another. How long has it been, I wonder, since I've done this?

I love Clytemnestra, but she's restless, not made for staying still too long, and, well, too large to cuddle. This is nice.

“I know why you missed it,” I say.

“You love the dark centaur,” it's a statement, not a question.

“Yes.”

“That is good. Salmacis does not care for centaurs' charms, but that is good too. Love her, and make love to her as your heart directs, but do not forsake your own kind entirely.”

“You never made love to a centaur? I... I just assumed, living in Zoa.”

“Never.”

“I love them. So much... Everything... They're so... Sexual. There's no other word for it.”

“You will enjoy Zoa, and it, I think, will enjoy you,” she titters softly and snuggles tighter against my body, “But Salmacis still has you for herself, now.”

“You're right though, I never thought I'd say it but I think I would miss my own kind, eventually.”

“This is the nature of things, I think beneath us your companions pass their time in the way that is right when humans are not present, just as we have passed our time. Like calls unto like.”

“Of course.”

She's quite right though, I am starting to realise that I would miss humans. I would, do in fact, miss, well, just being able to lie and cuddle with one's partner after making love, to hold her in my arms, to feel her heartbeat. Powerful as a centaur's heart is, it is buried deep within her equine body and quite undetectable most of the time. Something I only now realise I do miss.

“I do love her, though,” I say, softly.

“Good. Love her, be with her, make love to her, but know that it is only for a season. One day you and she both will want what the other cannot give. Like calls unto like, centaur calls unto centaur, human calls unto human.”

“Woman calls unto woman?” I ask, I don't know why I say it.

“Of course.”

“Just the way the word works?”

“It is the nature of things.”

I hold her tighter and enjoy the warm, soft feeling of the furs and of her body against mine, drifting slowly closer to sleep.

“Spells are beyond you because even the simplest will not fit into your mind,” Salmacis taps me lightly on the forehead.

We slept long into the morning and awoke still in one another's arms, tangled together and more tangled still in silk and fur. Even now, while Salmacis makes good her promise, we are still naked and entwined together.

It's not remotely how I imagined a lesson in magic, but it is magical. I think Salmacis just does not want to miss a moment of my body. We are making a gentle, casual breakfast of fruits left over from last night and pausing now and again to watch colourful birds that flutter nearby.

I bite into a plump, ripe pear left over from last night and Salmacis licks away the juice which escapes my lips before she goes on, “Had you had any formal training at all, your mistress would have aided you in the creation of a Rod and Plate.”

“And those are?”

“Spells. The foundation of almost all magic, both are permanent spells bound into your own body. The Rod permits you to alter the world around you without needing to physically touch it, the Plate is a spell onto which any other spells may be engraved, so that you do not need to hold them in your mind.”

I think I just about get the picture. Salmacis takes my hand and bids me open my magical senses. I do and all of sudden I am utterly surrounded by spells! Or, no. Like spells, but not. Like the difference between a blueprint and a building. For one moment I see spells waiting to be.

“Feel fortunate. Never before has Salmacis allowed another to see her Plate.”

I understand, The Plate is like a spell book, or a disc full of programmes waiting to be executed. Salmacis does not have to create a spell when she needs to cast, she has only to select from the ones she has already written to her Plate.

“You can help me make one too?”

“I can, and will, a Plate and Rod.”

It's... Not how I imagined. Learning magic. I'd not imagined it happening, lying naked with this enigmatic, copper-skinned beauty with her cheeky little boobies peeking out of the silks wrapped around us. No, not like I might have pictured it at all, much, much better!

I watch her write a spell into my body, into the code of my being. Two spells in fact, first one, then the next. It makes me want to laugh. I do that, sometimes. I watch someone skilfully doing something very difficult and I just... Laugh, I don't know why.

The sun climbs higher into the sky and some hours pass in the creation of the spells and presently, as lovely as it is to snuggle up with Salmacis and watch her work her magic, we do have to get up.

Salmacis, when the spells are complete, tells me that we are done for the present and simply departs. She descends from this high platform, naked save for the rings pierced through her body and I can only assume I'm meant to follow. I'm not quite so comfortable though and I dress in clean clothes before following. Well, obviously, I dress in clean clothes and have a good long sniff of her abandoned knickers before following.

To thine own self be true.

It's empty. Her home is empty and there's no sign of where Salmacis may have gone. I wonder from room to room, and over bridges and up and down ladders from structure to structure and see not a sign of my host.

The ladder to the ground is tightly curled and held fast by magic that I am not brave enough to try and undo. I could easily reach the ground, floating safely down, but if I did I'd never be able to get back up again. I'm not troubled, exactly but I am rather confused, and rather uncomfortable at being left along in the home of, well, if not exactly a stranger, then someone I do not know well.

Wow! This world is having a powerful effect on me, I realise. Unless I think about it, it does not seem at all strange that two strangers may simply choose to make love upon meeting for the first time. I never would have behaved as I have, but I cannot bring myself to feel either shame or unhappiness about my sexual escapades. A strange thing indeed.

Lost in introspection I spend perhaps an hour in wondering Salmacis' home, or examining the surrounding jungle from one or other lofty balcony before the lady herself is suddenly with me again. Her arms sneak around my waist and I feel her naked body pressed against mine. She turns me around, still embracing me and now resting her head on my chest. I cannot help but hold her too.

“Last night was a pleasure I'll long remember,” she purrs.

“Me too,” I give her naked body a squeeze.

“Tonight will be better still.”

“Difficult, but it will be fun trying.”

She looks into my eyes, smiling strangely, and with a little of that lustful hunger of last night, “Tonight we make love as sorceresses.”

I cannot help but gasp as a wave of warmth and wonderful joy radiates from my centre out, all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes. Salmacis giggles softly at my reaction to what must be some kind of pleasure spell.

“How...”

She kisses me silent and says, “All in good time, sister. The night is for lovers, remember?”

Salmacis takes my hand and leads me back inside her home, and deeper within to what I think serves as her study. She has many, many sheafs of thick, yellow paper written with red and blue ink, magic writings, I can tell instantly. They have similarities to Lecto's but are not identical, but then, my own are slightly different too, such is the nature of magic, I think. Mine are far closer to Lecto's than Salmacis' are.

She bids me sit in a pile of soft, fluffy cushions and immediately I do so, she sits on my lap, snuggling her naked body against me and flicking through her papers.

“We shall write this to your plate, this too, and some more,” she waves various sheets at me, though I'm having a hard time concentrating with her firm, sexy body so available.

She slaps one of my exploring hands away, “Stop that.. Ooh! No... Well, if you insist.”

Salmacis permits me a kiss, a very long, deep kiss before pulling away, and I think it took her no little willpower to end it.

Once again our magics commingle as our bodies have, Salmacis spells flow from her into me and I engrave them upon the Plate spell already written through me. Slowly, piece by piece, element by element I form these new spells, taking care to understand each part. Salmacis is patient and allows me to study what she is giving me.

The spell she'd used on me is very simple, just an instant, transitory sexual thrill, but some of the others! With what she is teaching me, I could make almost anyone feel almost anything, from pleasure beyond consciousness to agony to hunger or just tickling... More spells too she teaches me, but the last one... Ah, now I understand what she means. Now I understand how Sorceresses make love.

“Show me what you have learned, sister.”

“With pleasure.”

In a trice I'm up and peeling my clothes off. I'm excited, but also nervous. I let her feel it, I touch her mind with my own, let her feel what I feel. She smiles and so do I. I can feel her pride, and her lust, and she feels my lust for her. She reclines farther back on the cushions and I can feel her comfort and the sense of pleasure she gets from the soft silk against her skin.

I feel her building lust for my body, her great sense of thankfulness for my presence and her pride in having taught me such things as she has today. I know that she feels my my emotions too, my desire, my sense of power and intimacy and my brute wonder at the ability to do what I can do.

My heart beats fast as I advance on her, I'm trembling as I stand over her, lowering myself to her. Our kiss is electric, I swear I can feel my lips on hers, hers on mine. I'm lying nestled in soft silk cushions as I kiss myself. Salmacis writhes as she presses herself against her own body. We are one, lost between ourselves, feeling all, sensation passes from one body to another and back again with no beginning or end.