Bondage and Other Tales

I woke up with all my thoughts on Sylvael. If any spirits had dropped by after his dinner’s herb mixture, I hoped they’d enjoyed the very physical show. I was a bit tired, a bit stiff, but in a good way, and very inclined to just cuddle contentedly with my wonderful husband for a while.

Unfortunately, the same bodies that let us feel so good sometimes have inconveniences, and mine wanted the privy immediately.

I dragged myself reluctantly out of bed, pulled on the first shirt that came to hand—one of Syl’s, actually—and my own trousers, and ventured down the hall barefoot to take care of that. This whole business of running water indoors was fascinating, although Syl said that several ancient cultures had invented variations on it that had been lost. Who would let something so useful be lost? I’d have to wait for a bath, though, since there was a single bathing room down on the ground floor, with several compartments each containing a tub that could, on request, be filled with hot water. It was still cheaper here than in other places we’d been.

I trudged back to our room, yawning.

I wasn’t expecting to see Sylvael on his feet, naked back to the door, pawing hastily through the contents of the folder that were now spread all over our small table.

“Syl? Something wrong?”

“Hold on,” he said distractedly, seizing one sheet of paper and scanning through it rapidly. “Aha! I thought that must be it.”

“What must be what?”

“Um... remember that gold-and-tourmaline tablet the wizard had me hold and read?”

“Yes.”

“I figured out the context. And now I know why he did it.”

“Did what, Syl? If he hurt you, I swear I’ll gut him.”

“Not hurt.” He turned around, bracing both hands against the edge of the table. “But, um, the cloister apparently has a barrier that will only let women cross it, and...” He moved one hand to gesture, needlessly, at himself.

The changes were, really, startlingly small, or rather, startlingly focused. Syl never was a big hairy bear. Those were unquestionably breasts, though, mediumish ones that suited his frame, and his waist looked a little narrower, his hips a bit wider. Possibly his skin looked smoother, although that was subtle. Between his legs, I saw only a tangle of wiry blonde curls.

“I might kill him after all,” I said flatly.

“What? No, it’s okay. He said he’d give us whatever we needed to get in, and if the cloister won’t let men in, then it makes sense. I’m all right.” He raised a hand and looked at it, forehead furrowed. “I’m glad we have an extra day, though. My hands are smaller and my feet are smaller and my centre of balance is lower. I’m going to have to get used to that. I’m not very happy with him either. I mean, he could have just asked, or told me what it was going to do, but it’s not really a big deal. Probably once we’re done the same artefact will reverse it.”

I was fairly sure I’d never met another man who would not have reacted to this with some variant of panic or rage or hysteria. Hypothetically, at least, since I’d never seen this happen before. We’d experienced a few strange effects as a consequence of our job, but this was new.

For the moment, though, we had no way to contact our employer until we saw him tomorrow, and Sylvael was looking at me with growing concern about my lack of response, but was otherwise accepting this with no distress.

So, I crossed the room, wrapped both arms around him, and kissed him. That was mostly the same, but different at the same time, since there was no trace at all of scratchy stubble. The hug felt a little odd, too, with the addition of a second pair of breasts against mine. “All right. If you’re okay, then I’ll let it go, but he’d damned well better have a plan to undo it once we finish this.”

He rested his head on my shoulder, hands linked behind me. “You worry about me too much, Keva. I’m bad with social cues, but I’m not a little kid, and I’m not that fragile.”

“I know. But you’re still the best treasure I’ve ever found and I’m not letting anything bad happen to you that I can prevent. That wizard should not be messing with my husband.”

Sylvael looked up, blue eyes mischievous. “Wife, I think. You’d better start using girl forms of words and female pronouns now, so it’s less likely you’ll slip once we’re at the cloister. And it might help me get in the right mindset.”

There were gods that would object to the idea of two women being married, but they could go find some celestial lake to divinely leap into. I’d never really understood that, least of all from the ones claiming to value love. Besides, we were already married, and I refused to concede that bond to any law of god or mortal.

“Wife it is.” I gave her another kiss. “At least your name works either way.” I let go, peeled off the shirt I wore, and handed it to her. “Go visit the privy, and we’ll find some breakfast and make plans for today, eh? Remember you have to sit down, and you have to clean yourself up after.”

“I know, Keva.” Sylvael pulled on the shirt and the first trousers she found, and retraced my path down the hall.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, mind spinning. I’d only upset Syl if I threw fits over something that he... she was accepting so calmly, and when Syl is upset, she starts having trouble processing her environment. I definitely wanted to have words with that wizard over that, if nothing else: he’d inflicted this on Sylvael with no idea what kind of impact it would have. Even if it was absolutely essential, even if he had every intention of undoing it afterwards, he’d done it without so much as a warning, let alone consent. He could have left me dealing with hours of Sylvael wrapped into a muscle-achingly tight ball, rocking and biting her fingernails down to the quick unless I could find something safer to chew on, flinching from every sound and every touch.

Fortunately, Syl was more resilient than that. While she certainly was aware of the physical differences between men and women, I wasn’t at all sure she really had much of a grasp on the social differences. Possibly that helped.

All right. I needed some perspective here. No catastrophe. Sylvael was handling this easily. It was highly probable that it was a temporary situation, something necessary for this damned job we’d been blackmailed into. The best thing for me to do was follow Syl’s lead and just accept it as it was for the time being—act normally, with maybe a few extra nudges as far as information about owning female anatomy that she wouldn’t be likely to know.

I got up, and found clothes that would be acceptable down in the dining room for breakfast.

Sylvael came back with one hand holding the waistband of her trousers.

“They fit differently,” she observed. “Too loose around my waist, but tighter around my hips.”

“Mm. We might need to find you some clothes that fit properly.”

“Can we afford that?”

“We made lots off the last job, and we’ll make lots off this one once we finish. We’ll be fine spending a little extra on clothes. Just do what you can for now. I doubt mine will fit you any better now than they normally do.”

“Okay.”

A belt, tied more tightly than usual, helped a lot, but I could tell it still wasn’t comfortable. It was like her own body right now: almost familiar, but not quite. Her movements had a hesitant edge to them, and sometimes her steps looked unsteady, like she wasn’t quite certain of her own balance; when handling things, her grip on them was just a little tight. I did notice, though, that it was mostly an issue when she was focused on that, so I did my best to keep her attention on immediate practicalities. I hoped fervently that all she needed was time and practice for everything to feel more familiar.

I brushed her hair for her, something always guaranteed to help us both relax, and tied it back into a tail out of her way.

She brought the folder with her downstairs, and gave me the highlights, distracted for a while from toying with her bracelet—which fit a little more loosely but would at least not slide off.

The temple or cloister in question was believed to belong to a sect that worshipped a primeval goddess who had, in her loneliness and boredom, literally dreamed all of creation into existence. They believed that everyone was, in a fundamental sense, an aspect of the goddess, who experienced her dream reality through every living thing within it. It wasn’t entirely clear how sequestering themselves in an obscure cloister that very few people knew existed was consistent with that, but I’d long since given up on expecting religious beliefs to make sense.

It had been built at least a thousand years ago, maybe more, in a valley the sect referred to as the Omphalos, the navel of the world. The cloister itself, by extension, could be referred to as the Omphalos. Accounts of anything within it, however, were thin and inconsistent. From outside, the entire valley had impressive protections. If someone were unaware of its presence and nature, they might catch the occasional indistinct glimpse of something, but would find themselves simply walking at an angle that took them around it, not directly towards it; usually, they were unaware that they had ever been close to anything of note. A deliberate attempt to approach revealed that the whole valley shimmered like a heat mirage, and nothing could be seen clearly within. Walking up to it, in defiance of the field that tried to turn one aside, made the shimmer more pronounced until it solidified into a wall that resembled pearl. Men who approached the single gate found that the wall continued across it; for women, it was simply a curtain they could pass through without difficulty.

Honestly, the thing I found strangest was that no one had ever been able to persuade any woman who had been inside to talk about what she’d seen in there. In my experience, the promise of a reward will loosen tongues even about the most sacred mysteries. That worried me a little. Was there some sort of geas placed on those who entered, making it impossible to reveal what was inside? An amnesia spell? A threat so huge and horrendous and inescapable that it literally frightened even the most greedy or desperate woman into silence?

There wasn’t even enough information for Sylvael to hazard a guess. This whole sect was completely new to him, which of course meant he was fascinated. She was fascinated. Damn it, I had to remember that.

We could only hope that nothing in that valley would keep us from escaping with that bloody carnelian cat.

Meanwhile, we needed to drop by our caravan, which was safe in the inn’s carriage-yard while the two sturdy easygoing cobs that drew it were being pampered by the stablehands. That extended period out in the wilderness had left us short on a number of essentials, and without knowing exactly what we were going to find at the so-called Omphalos, I was unwilling to take a chance on coming up short.