The call of the Fay

Felurian, the faerie woman no man can resist, and who no man has ever survived…until Kvothe. The weary travelers hear music drifting through the forest they stumble towards sound until the forest opens up into a wide clearing well-lit by moonlight. The stream broadened out, forming a bright pool.

THE FIVE OF US stood frozen for a moment. The slow rippling of the pool reflected onto the fair form of Felurian. Naked in the moonlight, she sang:
cae-lanion luhial

di mari felanua

kreata tu ciar

tu alaran di.

dirella. amauen.

loesi an delian

tu nia vor ruhlan

Felurian thae.

The sound of her voice was strange. It was soft and gentle, far too quiet for us to hear across the entire length of the clearing. Far too faint for us to hear over the sound of moving water and stirring leaves. Despite this, I could hear it. Her words were clear and sweet as the rising and falling notes of a distant flute. It reminded me of something I could not press my finger to.
The tune was the same Dedan had sung in his story. I did not understand a word of it save her name in the final line. Nevertheless I felt the draw of it, inexplicable and insistent. As if an unseen hand had reached into my chest and tried to pull me into the clearing by my heart.
I resisted. I looked away and set one hand against a nearby tree to steady myself.
Behind me I heard Marten murmuring, “No no no,” in a low voice as if he were trying to convince himself. “No no no no no. Not for all the money in the world.”
I looked over my shoulder. The tracker’s eyes were fixed feverishly on the clearing in front of him, but he seemed more afraid than aroused. Tempi stood, surprise plain on his normally impassive face. Dedan stood rigidly to one side, his face drawn while Hespe’s eyes darted back and forth between him and the clearing.
Then Felurian began to sing again. It felt like the promise of a warm hearth on a cold night. It was like a young girl’s smile. I found myself thinking of Losi the cute maid at the last tavern our party had stopped at, the Pennysworth, her red curls like a tumble of fire. I remembered the swell of her breasts and the way her hand had felt running through my hair.
Felurian sang, and I felt the pull of it. It was strong, but not so strong that I couldn’t hold myself back. I looked into the clearing again and saw her, skin silver-white under the evening sky. She bent to dip one hand in the water of the pool, more graceful than a dancer.
A sudden clarity of thought came over me. What was I afraid of? A faerie story? There was magic here, real magic. What’s more, it was a magic of singing. If I missed this opportunity I would never forgive myself.
I looked back again at my companions. Marten was shaking visibly. Tempi was backing slowly away. Dedan’s hands made fists at his sides. Was I going to be like them, superstitious and afraid? No. Never. I was of the Arcanum the university where mastery of magic was expected.What could this fay have that could possibly hurt me.
I felt wild laughter boil up in me. “I will meet you at the Pennysworth in three days’ time,” I said, and stepped into the clearing.
I felt Felurian’s pull more strongly now. Her skin was bright in the moonlight. Her long hair fell like a shadow all around her.
“Sod this,” I heard Dedan say behind me. “If he’s going, then I’m g—” There was a short scuffle ending with the sound of something hitting the ground. I glanced behind me and saw him facedown on the low grass. Hespe had her knee on the small of his back and one of his arms pulled up tight behind him. He was struggling weakly and cursing strongly.
Tempi watched them impassively, as if scoring a wrestling bout. Marten was gesturing frantically in my direction. “Kid,” he hissed urgently. “Get back here! Kid! Come back!”
I turned back to the stream. Felurian was watching me. Even from a hundred feet away, I could see her eyes, dark and curious. Her mouth spread into a wide, dangerous smile. She laughed a wild laugh. It was bright and delighted. It was no human sound.
Then she darted across the clearing, swift as a sparrow, graceful as a deer. I leapt to the chase, and despite the weight of my travelsack and the sword at my hip, I moved so quickly my cloak flared like a flag behind me. Never have I run like that before, and never since. It was the way a child runs, light and quick, without the least fear of falling.
Felurian ahead of me. Into the scrub. I dimly remember trees, the smell of earth, the grey of moonlit stone. She laughs. She dodges, dances, pulls ahead. She waits till I am almost close enough to touch, then skips away. She shines in the light of the moon. There are clutching branches, a spray of water, a warm wind …

And I have hold of her. Her hands are tangled in my hair, pulling me close. Her mouth eager. Her tongue shy and darting. Her breath in my mouth, filling my head. The hot tips of her breasts brush my chest. The smell of her like clover, like musk, like ripe apples fallen to the ground …

And there is no hesitation. No doubt. I know exactly what to do. My hands are on the back of her neck. Brushing her face. Tangled in her hair. Sliding along the smooth length of her thigh. Grabbing her hard by the flank. Circling her narrow waist. Lifting her. Laying her down …

And she writhes beneath me, lithe and languorous. Slow and sighing. Her legs around me. Her back arches. Her hot hands clutch my shoulders, my arms, pressing the small of my back I thrust deeply into her the movements assured and confident but my mind hazy like a dream there seems to be no definite sequence of events, one moment I’m on top in charge and looking down on her exquisite figure, her luxurious breast bouncing with each thrust into her inviting my mouth to latch onto those nipples, to flick and lick them my tongue seeming to know her desires better than I knew my own. But she is also astride me. Her movements wild. Her long hair trails across my skin. She tosses her head, trembling and shaking, crying out in a language I do not know. Her sharp nails digging into the flat muscles of my chest. my hands roam over her exploring her body that I already seem to know in exquisite detail yet still experience the thrill of discovery at every feature down to the individual hairs.

And there is music to it. The wordless cries she makes, rising and falling. Her soft lips slightly ajar letting out a soundless whisper of pure ecstasy at every move I make. Her sigh. her hot breath passin over my skin as we combine together. My racing heart. Her motion slows. I clutch her hips in frantic counterpoint. Our rhythm is like a silent song. Like sudden thunder. Like the half-heard thrumming of a distant drum everything stops. All of me arches. I am taut as a lute string. Trembling. Aching. I am tuned too tight, and I am breaking. I don’t even notice her above me eyes closed moth slightly open hips jerking onto me in time to an internal rhythm, gasping for air as waves pleasure pounds through her body. I break a pure moment of clarity as I unload into the soft warmth of the daemons womb. Again and again I shot cum deep inside her pulsing for what seem like an eternity. I don’t remember it stopping I think I eventually blacked out the human body is not made to take such stimulation.

I WOKE WITH SOMETHING BRUSHING at the edges of my memory. I opened my eyes and saw trees stretched against a twilight sky. There were silken pillows all around me, while a few feet away Felurian lay, her naked body loosely splayed in sleep.
She looked smooth and perfect as a sculpture. She sighed in her sleep, and I chided myself for the thought. I knew she was nothing like cold stone. She was warm and supple, the smoothest marble grindstone by comparison.

My hand reached out to touch her, but I stopped myself, not wanting to disturb the perfect scene before me. A distant thought began to nag at me, but I brushed it away like an irritating fly.
Felurian’s lips parted and sighed, making a sound like a dove. I remembered the touch of those lips. I ached, and forced myself to look away from her soft, flower-petal mouth.
Her closed eyelids were patterned like a butterfly’s wings, swept in whorls of deep purple and black with traceries of pale gold that blended to the color of her skin. As her eyes moved gently in sleep, the pattern shifted, as if the butterfly fanned its wings. That sight alone was probably worth the price all men must pay for seeing it. I tore myself away from her face, a face that i could have spent a lifetime studying and still found new features of it to amaze me, and allowed my gaze to travel over the rest of her body down the soft curve of her neck to her supple breast capped in the center with areolas that it took all of my will power to not immediately touch them. Instead I continued on her stomach smooth and beguiling seeming to direct my gaze with its subtle contours. her legs were closed the top leg dropping down in front of the other obscuring both that leg and allowing only the small amount of hair to hint at the treasure that lay between her legs.

I ate her with my eyes, knowing all the songs and stories I had heard were nothing. She is what men dream of. All the places I have been, all the women I have seen, I have not met her equal.
Something in my mind screamed at me, but I was bemused by the motion of her eyes beneath her lids, the shape her mouth made, as if she would kiss me even while she slept. I swatted the thought away again, irritated.

I was going to go mad, or die.
The idea finally fought its way through to my conscious mind, and I felt every hair on my body stand suddenly on end. I had a moment of perfect, clear lucidity that resembled coming up for air and quickly closed my eyes, trying to lower myself into the Heart of Stone, a state of consciousnesses where emotions do not cloud the mind.
It didn’t come.