Season 2, Episode 3: Frost – Part 1
Written by Tof Eklund
Read by Tawn Krakowski
“Ahhh,” Isa moaned.
“Unh!” Bess grunted.
Two figures, their forms abstracted by rough and heavy winter wear, rolled in the snow. Mittened hands clenched coated backs, and legs several layers deep in stockings and leather trousers twined together. If there had been any onlookers, they might have thought the scene a strange parody of lovemaking, rather than the thing itself.
Ohhh!” Bess exclaimed. “I don’t think I can take much more.”
“Tell me,” whispered Isa. “Is Ja on your…backside?”
“Uh! Yeah…” Bess confessed, a flush of embarrassment adding to the color in his already flushed face.
“You like that, right?” She kissed him.
Bess groaned again and arched his head back as the formless spirit of Ja simultaneously caressed his cock and pressed deep into him.
Isa tugged Bess’ scarf out of the way in order to plant kisses on his neck. She was fascinated with the pleasure Bess got out of being penetrated like that. She still hadn’t let either of them touch her up inside, front or back, but maybe, just maybe…
She shivered as Ja traced the line of her slit.
“Unh! Unh! Aaaaaah!” Bess came, shuddering and convulsing in her grasp. She stared at his crooked nose and angular face as the pleasure overwhelmed him. His thigh pressed up between hers, and she rubbed herself against him.
Then Ja’s full attention was on her, like the heated breath of a hundred lovers, like soft, knowing hands all over her body, like hungry mouths lavishing attention on her breasts and between her legs. Her eyes closed in bliss.
Isa accepted a kiss on the lips from Ja’s phantom mouth, and then there was another kiss, more solid. Bess’s tongue met hers and, touched by both of her lovers, she floated up to climax.
Afterwards she lazed for a while as Bess went off to change undergarments. It hadn’t been easy, convincing him that it was okay to own more than a single change of clothes. It had seemed an excessive luxury to him. She still had a hard time wrapping her head around the crushing poverty he’d grown up in.
The first time they took Ja’s funerary purse to a moneychanger, they’d almost wound up dead, as the man lost his head at the idea of an entire purse full of gold and came at them with a knife. After that they were more careful, but in the small towns they passed through, even a silver coin was enough money to change the course of someone’s life.
The second time, Isa had gone alone with a single small coin while Bess stood watch just outside the shop. She’d accepted a rather paltry amount of copper pence for the tiny yellow disc, knowing she was being taken advantage of but desperate to get something.
They’d left town immediately and spent only the common pennies for as long as they lasted. Isa had learned a few things about household budgeting from her mother and aunt, so those few coins lasted for weeks.
After that, they’d come to a larger town, one with a bazaar, but the moneychanger there had called for the guard the moment he saw the yellow glint in her hand. Another narrow escape.
They’d planned to stay a while in the last town they stopped in, but when a blizzard hit, a “little while” became weeks, and they ran out of common coin. Isa had gone to the town’s only moneychanger, hoping this time would be different.
The difference, in the end, was that this time it was the innkeeper, not the moneylender, who got greedy. Bess had a keen sense of when people meant him harm, and noticed the change in the man. They were trying to slip out in the middle of the night when they almost ran into the innkeeper and two strapping young men, all with clubs, sneaking up to their room.
Ja had a hard time “seeing” people other than Bess and Isa, but when one of the lads struck Bess, the spirit had been able to feel his presence, and did something that made Bess’ assailant yelp and drop his club. That caused enough confusion that they were able to escape.
They had proper winter clothes now, at least, but the cold was still biting, and Isa had been getting chilled despite the exercise of walking. Ja had been silent, resting, but Isa hugging Bess had roused the spirit, and one thing led to another…
Isa’s reverie was interrupted by Ja’s reedy voice.
“Are you warmer now?” the spirit asked.
“Yes, Ja. Thank you.”
Bess returned. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah… I just need to pee.”
A little later, they were walking again, putting more distance between them, the innkeeper, and yet another town they could never return to.
“Wait,” Ja spoke up abruptly. “There’s something…interesting…north of us.”
“Interesting?” Bess asked.
“I am not sure,” Ja replied. “All I can say is that it’s something a little like me.”
“Like you?” Isa spoke. “You mean, a ghost?”
“I do not know.”
Bess’ brow furrowed “Is it dangerous?”
“I do not know. I want to find out what it is, but I do not want to endanger you.”
Isa glanced at Bess. “I think we should take a look,” she said.
Bess frowned, then nodded. “Ja, just be careful. Tell us if it does anything threatening.”
“Of course,” the spirit’s thin voice hung in the air. “I would never hold back what I know. I feel like I should know so much, but I remember so little.”
“Ja,” said Isa, “I think what Bess meant is that we both love you, so be careful for your own sake as well as ours.”
Bess’ frown deepened, then lifted into a broad smile. “Huh. Yeah, that’s it. You’re better at saying these things than I am, Isa.”
Isa smiled back, and Ja spoke, “Thank you both. You two are my anchor—you are the reason I am here.”
They traveled the rest of the day in silence, and it was getting near dark when they beheld it. There, in a clearing, were the ruins of an old temple. There was snow on the ground, but the incomplete walls and broken columns were free of frost and ice, covered instead and improbably with vibrant green vines and sharp thorns.
Stranger yet, the vines were in flower, blossoming everywhere into delicate crimson-on-mauve roses.
“Oh!” Ja gasped.
“Welcome,” came a stranger’s voice.
Isa and Bess jumped.
There, off to one side of the temple, stood an older man, dressed only in a simple robe despite the cold. His face and bare forearms were covered in pock-marks.
“Welcome,” he spoke again, “to the temple of the Goddess.”
© 2012 Copyright Tof Eklund
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