They had been in the forest for four days and had slept together twice.
Castaspella’s hands were planted firmly to the ground and she sat cross-legged, as she tried to divine the secrets of Etheria by sending pinpricks of magic through the soil. They had reached this grove yesterday afternoon; the magic was so potent and strong here that Shadow Weaver had deemed it a rift, a tear in the temporal plane, a place where they could get a sense of what protection had been put around the Heart, and see how deeply and carefully it had been masked.
Shadow Weaver was lolling against a nearby tree, silent, but her presence was relaxed and she had looped her hands over her stomach. Casta had grown used to reading the expressions of Shadow Weaver’s mask – which Casta now realised must be bewitched, to move slightly in tune with her face – and Casta suspected she had dozed off.
Casta shivered and leaned back, drawing her cloak closer around her, as a breeze whipped through the trees, stirring some of the particles of gold dust that lingered in the air.
She glanced again at Shadow Weaver and wondered what in Etheria she was doing here, what she had allowed Shadow Weaver to do her, and what she had done to Shadow Weaver in return. She shivered again, but this time not because of the wind.
When it happened first, they had been euphoric. It was overwhelming in the grove when they first happened upon it; the dust had been swirling and Casta had felt the surge of magic in her veins, prodding her atoms, and leaving her drunk on the overarching raw energy that churned around them.
“I can see why.” She had gasped at Shadow Weaver, who had been standing close to her, capturing the gold dust in her palm and explaining it’s significance. Shadow Weaver looked at her, letting the dust trail from her finger tips. “I can see why this is so hard to resist, I can see why you have pursued this, I feel like if I don’t keep drinking this up I will die.” It had come out in a rush; Casta felt as though all the colours and the sounds in the world were amplified and she was babbling. For indeed, if you had ever tasted this amount of sheer raw power, how could you say no?
Shadow Weaver seemed strangely unaffected by the dust and the energy, but Casta now realised that was because she wasn’t as adept at reading the mask as she was now and that Shadow Weaver’s senses were bulging and her mind fizzing. Casta felt foolish, silly, and to her horror she felt tears in her eyes. She stepped back from Shadow Weaver.
Shadow Weaver stepped with her, and grasped her elbow with one hand. With the other hand, in one sweeping, elegant gesture, she removed the mask.
Casta gasped again; not because the visage was terrible, but because it was so unexpected. Shadow Weaver’s face was marred, certainly; there were incisions running across her cheeks, nose and forehead, and fangs were visible, poking out from flared lips. She dropped the mask, and with her free hand she cupped Casta’s cheek and pulled her in so their lips touched.
Casta froze, and then gave in, opening her mouth and twinning her arms around Shadow Weaver’s neck. It had been a long time since she had been kissed like this – a long time since she had been kissed at all, in fact – and she found that she was the one that backed Shadow Weaver against the nearest tree, her hands moving to roam over Shadow Weaver’s slender frame.
That was that, and they had lain silently together when it was over. Casta was getting used to the buzz of energy in the grove, and her mind was racing, as she looked at Shadow Weaver, who had picked some daisies from the grass and was weaving them between her long fingers, humming.
After a while, they had sat up and slowly redressed, and started talking awkwardly about how they would go about mining as much information as possible about the Heart. Shadow Weaver had replaced her mask, and Casta felt a twinge, contemplating saying that she didn’t have to, Casta didn’t mind, but did not, looking away, smoothing the her ruched shirt which had been crumpled.
If it had only happened once, under the influence and sickness of magic, then Casta could have convinced herself it was nothing; but she had watched Shadow Weaver for the rest of the day , as Shadow Weaver paced, hitching up her skirt to climb over the mounds in the earth, muttering to herself and pushing twigs into the ground to mark where she felt a particularly strong pulse. Dinner had been a mainly silent affair, Shadow Weaver creating a fire with a few flicks of her wrist.
They had slept with their backs to each other that night, each huddled in their own blankets and in the morning, Casta had woken as dawn was breaking and found that Shadow Weaver had turned in her sleep, and she was facing her, her mask off and her face open. Casta looked at her for a few tentative moment, before reaching out a finger to touch one of the grooves across her nose.
“You shouldn’t touch people without their permission, Castaspella.” Shadow Weaver’s gruff voice said and Casta snapped her hand back. However, Shadow Weaver opened her eyes, blurry with sleep and smiled at her.
This time, it was Casta who initiated the kiss, pushing Shadow Weaver into the ground, her hands dipping underneath Shadow Weaver’s nightclothes, making the other woman moan softly, a sound Casta hadn’t expected but it only increased the desperation with which she pushed her mouth against Shadow Weaver's. When their kiss broke, Shadow Weaver moved to nibbling Casta’s neck, as Casta’s hand drifted to between Shadow Weaver’s thighs.
“Castaspella.” Shadow Weaver said, breaking Casta’s reverie. Casta looked over her should, at the woman underneath the tree. She had reclined even further, crossing her ankles delicately. “Come, have a break; you’ll be useless if you exhaust yourself.”
Casta stood, brushing the dirt from the knees of her gown, and walked slowly over to settle next to Shadow Weaver. They were sitting hip-to-hip, much closer than Casta would ever had done before this sojourn in the woods together. Casta tentatively leaned her head against Shadow Weaver’s shoulder, speckles of gold twirling around them.
Shadow Weaver hummed. “Tired?”
“A bit.” Casta admitted. “I thought you had fallen asleep.”
“I had.” Shadow Weaver replied. “Years in the Fright Zone means I can fall asleep anywhere, really.”
Shadow Weaver touched her hand and Casta opened her palm to accept it. They were silent for a moment, hands resting together.
“Is this…this real or is this the magic?” Casta asked, finally voicing what had been on her mind.
“I don’t know. It will be difficult for you, if it’s real.”
Casta laughed, in spite of herself. “Always with your sharp observations.” She plucked at the grass.
“Hardly my most scintillating or astute observation.”
“No; I’m sure my family would object to this.”
“Not to mention the Sorcerer’s Guild at Mystacor.” Shadow Weaver was smiling behind her mask, Casta could tell.
Casta smirked. “Oh, I could handle those old jokers.”
She thought she felt Shadow Weaver squeeze her hand, but she wasn’t entirely sure. “Maybe we shouldn’t think too much about this, for now.” Shadow Weaver said quietly.
“Not a very Shadow Weaver recommendation.” Casta teased gently; she wondered how in Etheria she had gotten to the point where she felt she could tease Shadow Weaver.
“Ha.” Shadow Weaver stretched, but kept hold of Casta’s hand. “We have a few more days here, by my reckoning, and the war will only get worse from now onwards. Let’s try and not think too much about what this means.”
“And just enjoy it?” Casta asked.
Shadow Weaver looked at her, and Casta, feeling bold, reached out and unhooked her mask, setting it gently on the grass. Shadow Weaver looked tired, but not displeased. “You like touching people frequently, I’ve noticed.” Shadow Weaver said.
“So do you.” Casta replied, as Shadow Weaver’s hand brushed her cheek.
-
End