Chương 65: Chapter 19: Into the Woods We Go!

I didn't sleep as well as I'd hoped, but better than expected. For a while, all Wynnie and I could talk about was the brilliant reaction of bright blue as it fluoresced around the edges of Shivai's rune. I'd blinked away spots for minutes, and lingering yellow dots still appeared when I closed my eyes. When we finally blew out the bedside lantern, I tossed and turned. All I could think about was what Shivai could do with a bit more practice.

In the morning, it appeared our passionate little demonkin companion felt the same. She was waiting a dozen or so paces from the path to the protected beach where I'd been training with Lady Talia. She sat on a boulder, perched upright and adjusting her position anxiously. Her face brightened into a smile when she saw me hike up. In her hands were a scone and a mug of milky coffee. Her grip shook enough to tell me that she'd had several helpings of the same.

"Come on, before Lady Talia gets here and ruins the mood, let's go practice some shit together. Unless you want to go back down to the beach. Then I can play nice and follow you back down." Before we'd turned in for the night, she'd mentioned wanting to continue our training as soon as possible. I didn't realize that she meant this soon. I couldn't tell if she was just excited to explore more magic, to spend time with me, or a combination thereof. Probably that last one.

"How'd you know where I was?"

"Oh, come on, Drew. We both know I've been following you in the morning to watch you train."

"We do?"

"Okay, well, I knew, and now you do, too. I thought it was obvious." She shrugged at me almost pityingly, then bounced off the boulder and landed delicately on the balls of her feet without a sound.

"Here. Drink this. You'll need the energy." I accepted her offering. Loath as I was to drink hot coffee during a heatwave, I was a sucker for the stuff. Yet the mug was almost ice cold.

"Wynnie said you like cold coffee with lots of milk. Said you kept calling it a latte." The texture of the coffee was almost slushy, frozen by a kind, magic hand.

"I love a good latte. This is closer to café au lait, but who cares?"

"You do, I guess. I sure don't." She watched me take another appreciative sip, smiling expectantly.

"Well? Do you like it?"

"It's great, thanks."

"Good! So, better make your choice quick. Lady Talia's on her way up. I can hear her grumbling up the trail." I looked behind me to the circuitous path leading down to the beach. The first time I'd taken the path down, I'd held onto overhanging branches and craggy rock faces to steady myself. A few unceremonious times, I'd slid down difficult terrain on my butt like a crab. Already, I could climb up and down without an issue, measurably lighter on my feet than when I'd started.

Maybe all that training really was paying off. Maybe Lady Talia's insistence on calisthenics and form, and her insistence on balance, had a point. Still, I wanted to actually do something with blades. Despite having just worked out in the heat, I didn't want to say no to actually playing with something dangerous.

"Let's skip the beach. It's too hot. Ask me how I know," I said. Shivai eyed me suspiciously. The "ask me how I know" thing hadn't quite caught on in this world the way it did on Earth.

"Okay. How do you know?"

"Oh. Um. Because for an hour. It was already hot as balls before sunrise." The phrase "hot as balls" also didn't translate too well across worlds, but I was too tired and overheated to think of something better to say. The two of us lounged in the main room together, sweating profusely on the couch. It looked sloppy on me, but the glistening beads of perspiration gathering on the succubus's purple skin just made her look… juicy.

"Yeah, but you looked good down in your skivvies. And Lady Talia looked… less uncomfortable than last time." She frowned, fanning herself.

"Okay. Maybe someplace with a bit of tree cover? And running water nearby."

"Got a place in mind?"

"I know a spot. A secret spot. You can't tell Lady Talia about it, though. Swear it."

"Sure, I swear."

"Great! It's in the woods in the hills above the town. Maybe a couple of miles," she said, already leading the way.

"C'mon. Before your anal-retentive personal trainer arrives." I let out a labored groan.

"I don't wanna hike in this weather." She smirked.

"Don't be a bitch." Now that was one of the Earth phrases I'd taught her that seemed to land just fine. I almost wished it didn't, but I liked using it too much. If I had to be on the receiving end of it now and again, it was worth it. Shivai picked up her pace, beckoning for me to follow her for an excursion into the hills. Despite the heat, she scampered, cutting a spritely figure through bowing undergrowth.

Doggedly, my kept one foot moving in front of the next, determined to escape into the full canopy of foliage. It worked. Without the beating sun overhead, the breeze felt a little less caustic. A mixture of towering pines and unrecognizable deciduous trees blocked all but the most enterprising rays from reaching the forest floor. Thick swarms of buzzing insects formed clouds all around us. I'd almost forgotten what it was like to live in a world with bugs.

This place didn't have pesticides, and the result was an uncomfortably overwhelming ecosystem of them. Finally, Shivai led us to a secluded spot more than a mile from the last house in town. The muted trickle of running water burbled nearby, and a handful of large, mossy stones looked ripe for sitting. There was just enough flat area for us to walk around a few paces, but most of the terrain was uneven and showed barely any signs of foot traffic. I dug a toe into the dirt.

It was pliable and almost springy, covered in an inches-thick layer of decomposing pine needles.

"How do you like it here?" she asked.

"It's beautiful. Peaceful. How did you know about it?"

"Sometimes, I need a place to hide out away from the law. I've camped in this spot more than a few times. Serene, isn't it?" It reminded me of a few of my favorite camping spots I went to with my family as a child. That was back before the pandemic, when camping wasn't quite so popular, and you could show up at just about any campsite in the country without needing a reservation. I set down what was left of my not-quite-a-frappe and the last few bites of my scone.

Shivai revealed a thin, clinking bundle of kitchen knives. She tossed them to the side. They landed with a cacophonous clatter on the soft forest floor. Then, she produced a leather-wrapped satchel and placed it gently at her feet.

"Careful with that," she told me. I inched away as though her pouch contained live, venomous snakes.

"Okay. What's the plan? You said training, right?"

"Precisely. You're going to train in how to use knives, and I'm going to practice writing magic runes."

"You're not training knives, too?"

"I don't need to."

"Right, well." She had me there.

"Do you really think you can teach me while you practice something else?" She shrugged confidently, like a cool girl who never had to try hard to achieve anything.

"Sure. Why not? You saw how I did last night, right? I can't be that far off." It didn't take a great leap of imagination to conjure up images of her glyphs' reaction to Wynnie's infusion of mana. Whereas mine had merely fizzled and popped around the edges before going dark, hers lit up a brilliant, multidimensional blue. It pulsed and flickered brightly for several minutes before slowly dimming and going dark again. I didn't have a stopwatch, but I estimated that it held mana for at least ten—maybe more.

Wynnie had been impressed. I'd been gobsmacked. Seeing how it worked right in front of me was nothing short of incredible, just like the first time I saw Wynnie use her powers. At first, Shivai was disappointed that her glyph didn't fare better than it did. Yet when Wynnie explained that the amount of mana a glyph could contain was determined largely by what it was inscribed on, the demonkin felt better.

According to the elf, mediums like dirt, sand, paper, and other easy-to-destroy surfaces would be lucky to hold more than a five or six hours' worth of mana. Carvings, however? Those were a different story. The right glyph etched in stone, wood, or metal could easily last more than a fortnight if done right. Apparently, some master runescribes could carry a charge for months.

"But you want to practice on paper still. While you tell me how to avoid stabbing myself with a real knife." She looked at me like a cool high schooler looks at a band geek.

"Yeah. Exactly." Kneeling down, she pulled a quill and parchment from her bag. A small board followed, and she set the paper on top of it to give herself a flat surface. When she realized I wasn't moving, she raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"Well? Are you just going to stand there?" I shrugged.

"What am I supposed to be doing?" Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"Practicing. You know, to stab. Dagger, dagger, dagger."

"I've never actually stabbed anything with a dagger before. Or a knife, I guess," I added, remembering that's what we had—and that there was probably a meaningful difference.

"Want to give me any tips?"

"Sure. You know which end's the sharp end, right?" I rolled my eyes.

"Obviously."

"Okay, good. That's the most important thing to know. That's the end that points away from you." She flashed a teasing smile and winked as though I wouldn't get it otherwise.

"If you're doing it right, the sharp part is what goes into somebody else. A few times, ideally."

"I'd rather cast a charm spell. Or a fireball," I muttered. But Shivai didn't hear me. Or if she did, she wasn't paying attention. She'd already turned her focus to the parchment in front of her. The quill was a veritable blur in her fingers as she traced the edges of the single glyph she'd learned. I watched her work for several seconds as it became more cohesive. Its shape quickly came into being like she were birthing a living thing. Yet compared to last night, there were fewer flourishes.

"You're going pretty fast there. Aren't you supposed to be putting feeling into it? You know, going slower and taking care if you want it to work well?" Her tail flicked like the tip of a bullwhip. She regarded me thoughtfully.

"Yes. But I don't need this one to work."

"What are you doing, then?"

"Practice. You know, the thing you were supposed to be doing?" She looked down at the shape, then over at the knives I still hadn't touched, then back to me.

"When I make a carving, I need to make it right. I can't second-guess what the shape looks like, and I can't wonder if it needs a flourish here or a curlicue there. I have to know it inside and out. Only then will I know that what I'm working on is something that even makes sense."

"So you'd rather work from an outline than by the seat of your pants?"

"Every artist works differently. I can freestyle with the best of them, but I do much better if I know where I'm going with something from the start." I approached the knives and picked one up gingerly. Just in case Shivai was watching, I made extra certain to point the sharp end away from me.

"Maybe a few more pointers from you will help? I just want to know where to start."

"Right. Right." It almost sounded like she was forcing a grumble. She stood, limbering herself up as she did so. Her shoulders rolled back dangerously, and she cocked her head to both sides, cracking something in her neck.

"Okay, let's go over a few rules for dagger fights."

"Rules? I thought there were no rules?" I couldn't help but smirk. And she couldn't help but allow a genuine smile before putting on her stern face again.

"That's rule number one. Rule number two is that range is a huge advantage. Crossbows beat swords at every range beyond about five feet."

"Well, that seems obvious." She swaggered up next to me. With a faint flick of her wrist, a long, curved dagger appeared in her hand. The blade measured as long as her forearm. Pitted nicks and scrapes marred its otherwise clean surface. She twirled it in her palm like a bartender's working flair. All practice and instinct, no hesitation or risk.

"Sure, obvious," she said.

"So is this: swords beat daggers at every range. You'll probably never get close enough with a dagger that a sword wouldn't put you at a disadvantage. If the person with the sword takes a step back, they've created all the space they need to win. Usually." Again, that checked out. I'd done a bit of MMA in the past, and though I had pretty good reach, there were several abnormally tall guys in the gym. I'm talking six-four, six-five. The extra few inches of reach made engaging with them a nightmare.

Given that swords were usually a couple of times longer than daggers, at least, I could see how an extra foot or two of blade would make a significant difference. I looked down at the knife in my hand like it were a mere kitchen utensil. Which it was.

"So why train with daggers, again?"

"Three reasons. First, you can carry them on you at pretty much all times. They don't get in the way and they're lightweight. Second, you can't really conceal a sword now, can you? I have three daggers on me right now—six if you count my throwing knives—and I bet you only saw this one when I brought it out." She was wrong about that. I'd seen another one as well. Then again, I'd been checking her out a lot more closely than appropriate for a family-friendly movie. It was subtle, but so was my ogling.

Because I was a gentleman, however, I didn't explain that a faint extra muscle on her shapely legs gave her away. She continued.

"And the third reason you should train with daggers is that you can unsheathe them much faster than someone can unsheathe a sword." I had to take her word on that. I'd never unsheathed a thing. Well, there was one time that I'd tried to date a LARPer girl. She wanted to introduce me to boffing—which, if you're uninitiated, isn't as kinky as it sounds. Not like yiffing. In a part with several dozen other unbathed nerds, she'd tried to get me to wield a foam-coated PVC pipe like a warrior.

Someone kept throwing beanbags at me and calling them eldritch bolts. A guy in full, splendid, color-coordinated regalia that he'd probably sewn himself kept shield-bashing me. So, I'd unsheathed—once—but only if you count that sort of thing. Shivai gave her dagger another twirl and cocked her head. I started putting two and two together.

"If I'm concealing my weapons… and if I unsheathe first…"

"Go on."

"Then, um." I just had to double-check to make sure I'd done the calculus correctly.

"We're not talking about getting into fair fights, are we?"

"Oh, absolutely not!" she laughed, something between a giggle and a cackle.

"If you're doing it right, it won't be a fight at all."

"Just a backstab?"

"Or a front stab. I really don't care. Do you?" I did care, actually. I didn't want to do any kind of stab, back or front. Once was already one time too many. Killing Strider was probably one of the worst moments of my life. It may have been in self-defense—and defense of another—but I couldn't stop thinking about it as murder. I know. Stupid. But I was in a fantasy world where pirates were an everyday threat. Might as well lean into it.

"When I stab, I prefer to do it in the front. I like to see the life drain from their eyes." As soon as the words came out, I knew they weren't quite right. All bravado, no backbone.

"Or rather, I just want to be honorable." She nodded approvingly, if a bit smugly. Then she winked.

"Well, if you ever feel the need to poke me with a long tip, I hope you'd consider doing it from behind." I'd be lying if I said that line didn't do something for me. According to Earth lore, succubi were among the most sinful creatures out there. And here was Shivai, proving the stereotype at least partially correct. She was corrupting me a little bit at a time. Her innuendo wasn't lost on me, either. Yet somehow, despite being almost routine for her at this point, it stood out.

Ever since we'd gotten into the hills, she'd been aloof. The sex joke was a welcome break from the distance she'd been cultivating. A bug flew lazily past. Shivai tracked it with her eyes. Then, like a dart, her tail whipped out and skewered it. I cleared my throat.

"Usually, Lady Talia has me run through drills," I reminded her.

"Little things to get me ready for an encounter in case I need it."

"Well, Lady Talia is holding you back. And probably teaching you shit you'll never need to know. Good thing I'm here, then." She flicked the bug off her tail.

"So, how about giving me something to do, then, if you're such a great teacher?"

"Fine. Here's your practice. Hide three daggers on your body. Every day. I'll check you. If it takes me more than ten seconds to find all three daggers, then you win."

"What do I get if I win?" Her voice dropped an octave.

"You get to spank me."

"And if I lose? Do you spank me then?"

"Oh, no. If you lose, then you have to spank me." There she was. Classic Shivai. The rush of blood below my pants. And thanks to the thin linen trousers they made in this world, it was more than obvious how I felt about the wager. And there was that luscious grin again, all predatory canines and dark cherry-black tongue.

"But that's for tomorrow," I said, collecting myself.

"What do I practice today?"

"Eh. Whatever. Try waving the blades around all crazy-like. See how weird you can get without cutting yourself."

"That seems dangerous…"

"Oh, it is. Definitely. But we might as well make the stakes real, right?" She had a point. Still, no matter how wildly I flailed about with a couple of pointy boys in my hands, I wasn't sure I was going to learn anything from that. If I were going to get anything useful done here, I'd have to suggest some alternatives and see if they'd be good ideas.

"Should I try practice-cutting a tree?"

"What, like a wooden dummy? Sure. Why not?" She returned her focus to her drawing supplies in front of her.

"Or maybe I could try throwing the knives?"

"Yeah, maybe that would work." She was barely paying attention, engrossed in her glyph artwork once again. I got the feeling she was almost deliberately rushing me off, like it was a challenge of some sort.

"I'm sure you'll figure something out." Dammit.

"Should I try unsheathing the dagger as fast as possible and then stabbing it into a tree trunk around neck height, without losing my grip when the blade plunges just past the bark?" Her eyes flickered with a bright purple gleam, and her chest heaved with a heavy breath. I imagined that was the exact same reaction she would've given if I'd pulled her tail. Or her horns. Or her hair. Her head swiveled my direction slowly, and she chewed her lip for a second.

"Why, Drew. Did you come up with that all by yourself?"

"Yeah." Of course I did. What did she think I had in my pocket, a smartphone with ChatGPT?

"Well, then you passed the first test. Yes, that's exactly what you should do. Daggers aren't for winning sword fights. They're for ending fights before they even begin." I remembered something she'd told me a few days before.

"Stab them before they realize they're in a fight."

"Pointy end goes in the face. You're halfway there. You win the prize." I knew I shouldn't have asked the question, but I just couldn't help myself.

"What prize?" Her tail lifted up slightly, still swishing, exposing an ass that would make a '90s hip-hop vixen jealous. The shape was more perfect than any thirty-dollar TikTok leggings could possibly achieve through visual trickery. Her shorts looked painted on.

"You can spank me. If you want." Then, her tail lowered.

"Now quit bugging me. I have runes to scribe." She stuck her tongue out and furrowed her brow as she redoubled her efforts. I watched for a few moments, once again entranced. Even her hasty scrawls came out looking far more expressive yet restrained than my tedious linework. Somehow, she made a simple glyph look like something meaningful. Her tail twitched. She pursed her lips.

"Well? Are you just going to watch me?" I felt the weight of the knife in my hand. it was relatively balanced, with a smooth wooden handle that barely fit my palm. The blade itself tapered into a thick point, classic chef's knife style. Her charcoal pencil rested loosely in her hand.

"Why are you being so, um, cold today?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know. Keeping me at arm's length. Acting all sassy and tough."

"I'm sassy! I'm tough!"

"Sure, but this is different. It's kinda throwing me off. Did I do something to make you mad?"

"No! You just…" Suddenly, the facade of calm broke. Emotion flooded her eyes, and her body language softened.

"It's just that I've never trained anyone before. And—and you've already been training with Lady Talia. And she's so mean and stuck up." I laughed.

"So?"

"So, I've seen how you follow her every command. How much you respect her. I… I wanted to try to be like her." She shrank slightly, disappearing into the dappled shadows by the mossy rock.

"I thought you'd like that."

"What? No."

"I know it's silly. Just… wanting you to respect me the way you obviously respect her. To… to like me like that." I dropped the knife and stepped over to her. The soft ground swallowed the weight of my footsteps, letting only a dry crackle escape. My knees popped as I knelt beside her. I rubbed her back, feeling where her shoulder blades stretched her skin. Where the topography of her spine smoothed into small valleys of delicate purple, like a sea of wildflowers. She looked up at me, blinking back tears.

"I like you just the way you are," I said. She sniffled.

"And I do respect you. You don't have to do anything different."

"Well, hells. Now I feel stupid. That's, like, super embarrassing. Here I thought you were into tough babes with bad attitudes. And I can be tough, but. Um." She let out a breath, and her mouth twisted into something small. The pen in her fingers twirled absently, just like a dagger.

"I should probably at least show you how to hold the thing, huh?"

"And how to stab." She rose, steady but meek. It looked like she wanted to follow my lead despite being the instructor. Her shoulders lifted in an unspoken apology.

"Sorry about acting like a stone-cold bitch. It even felt wrong while I was doing it. Hiding my emotions makes me feel, like, physically ill."

"Succubus thing?" She tried to smirk, but failed utterly.

"Air of mystery. I'm still trying to make it work." So, yeah. Succubus thing for sure.

"Want the rest of my scone?" I offered her the last few crumbling bites. It wasn't much, but it's what I had.

"Might settle your stomach."

"Sure. Yes. And maybe a hug?" Her arms stretched out loosely, no longer sure of themselves the way they were with a paper and pencil. They hung in the air between us like a raincloud, heavy, yet full. So, it wasn't a no on the scone, but this came first. As I held Shivai close, I could feel her heart beat in rhythm with mine. Maybe it was just a coincidence, or maybe it was just another succubus thing. Yet one thing was for certain. Our connection was growing, and I still didn't know what it meant. Not exactly.

But I was getting a pretty good idea. It was time to talk to Wynnie again.