With outstretched arms and silky fabric pooling around her feet, Karyn stood on the sunbathed hill amidst Zertrin’s wilderness.  Tiny white flowers budded through the sheath of solid green weeds and grass.  Today was a day for prayers of thanksgiving and Karyn would honor her family, being the only child in her father’s household.  The birds had begun returning from the underlands and the great beasts were out of hibernation.  All was well in the Land of Zertrin.

            “Thanks to Retta in Ettonelli.  Thanks to Retta from the House of Wanswin in the Land of Zertrin,” Karyn called to the hills.

            She stood for an afternoon’s time, arms outstretched in appreciation until the sun began to fragment from behind treetops of sister hills.  When the prayer time ended, she fixed her dress in place with satisfaction.

            Tonight there would be a great celebration in the village.

            Karyn navigated through the trees and underbrush just as any skilled hunter, quickly and in silence.  Deer flitted away.  Woodland rodents scampered over twigs and mud.  Birds zipped through the tall, thick trees. 

            The walls of the village appeared ahead. Decorative banners and strung up candles created an enchanting vision against the setting sun.  Karyn stepped into the clearing with the intention of joining her family and friends.  She was empty and spent from prayer and solitude.

            “Karyn,” a voice boomed from the bottom of the hill.  The girl, barely a woman, looked towards the sound of horses and men riding hard in her direction.  For a moment, she panicked.  Perhaps they would be clothed in violet – the color of those from the Land of Holon.  But these men wore red, suddenly bright in the shadows of the hills and setting sun.  All was well, for they were friends.

            Karyn squinted towards the slowing riders, recognizing her father in lead.  His face was a mask of worry and sorrow.  Before he voiced his grounds for sadness, Karyn already knew what had occurred during her absence.

            “Karyn,” he said.  The remaining six men halted a short distance away, clearly a show of privacy.  “Karyn, your grandmother has died.”

            “May she thrive in Ettonelli, the blessed land of after,” the girl responded, hoping to alleviate her father’s grief.

            “No,” he said, “May she be damned to the Caves of Terr and never once invade the bodies of the living.”  His voice was a snarl and he spat on the ground.

            “Father, you speak of horrors!  What could possibly possess you to violate the memory of your own mother?”  Karyn was livid. 

            “Because, my dear Karyn,” he said, “your grandmother has spoken truths on her deathbed that damn the future lines of women in the House of Wanswin.”

            Karyn was perplexed, her pretty face drawn in lines of grief and wonder.  There were but a few terrible deeds that would lead one to the Caves of Terr.  But what would damn the future lines of women?

            “Father, I fear for this turn of events.  What did grandmother confess?”

            “She was touched by a Crigon during her days as a healer at a Zertrin outpost.  She was touched by a Crigon and she lived amongst us, tainted, for all the decades after her twentieth birthday.”  Her father’s horse snorted and stomped, as if it shared the outrage of its rider.

            “A Crigon?” Karyn asked.  Being touched by a Crigon was a touch of damnation.  Those contaminated must live as outcastes in the hills and forests.  Upon death, nothing could save those already damned by the Crigons from the Caves of Terr.

            Before her father could answer, a four horse coach barreled up the hill.  It was the locking coach, the one meant to transport prisoners or slaves.  Karyn suddenly feared for her own future. 

            “What’s this?” she asked, looking intently at her father. 

            “I’m sorry, my love,” he said.  “This is the only way to keep you safe.”

            Strong hands pulled Karyn towards the prison coach, the village’s most intimidating guards lifting her into the air.  She resisted like a wild beast, screaming and kicking with the vigor of an untamed rolabear.  But it was all for not. 

            “Father!” Karyn screamed from behind the tiny square of bars, the only window to the outside world.  “Father!”

            His head bobbed in the window, his horse shuffling with alarm.  “You are to remain on the Cold Top for all of your days.  And though the chance will never present itself – know that you must never have a child.  The line ends with you on the Cold Top.”  And his head disappeared without warning, without goodbye.

            Karyn screamed out, reached her fingers outside the little bars and began weeping as the prison coach peeled off and away from the village walls.  She thrashed about the coach, looking for a weakness to exploit.  But it was solid.  There was no way out.  Come three days time, she would be forever stranded in one of the forgotten cabins on the Cold Top.

            The next three days were a blur of strange landscapes accompanied by Karyn’s constant nursing of her father’s betrayal.  The coach made haste towards the Cold Top, escorted by several armed riders.  Forgotten bridges were crossed over and herds of beasts unknown were scattered about the rising plains.  On the third day, Karyn awoke to the coach stopped along the edge of a great forest that was unlike anything she’d ever caste eyes upon.

            She rose from the bearskin bed and banged a fist upon the door.  Getryn opened it reluctantly and motioned for her to exit.  Breakfast was waiting by the fire, and Karyn navigated through the hovering guards.

            “Not going to try running away this morning?” asked Reten from beside the fire. 

            Karyn shot him a hateful look, but remained silent.  Reten had been the one to catch her during her last two escape attempts, and he goaded her at every opportunity.  Most of the men treated her in the same harsh manner.  Even Getryn.  They were missing the spring festivities and the annual mass nuptial ceremony because of this trip to the Cold Top.

            “Eat quickly,” Getryn said.  “We’ll reach the Floating Fields by morning’s end.”   

            “Getryn,” said Karyn.  “Could I have a minute?”  She motioned away from the guards, feebly attempting to draw a former suitor away from the gathering. 

            Before Getryn could answer, Reten snorted and rose to his booted feet.  “I guess she’s not hungry this morning,” he said.  Karyn’s face burned as she was locked inside the coach a final time.  There would be no more opportunities for escape.  A key would be passed through the bars just before the coach was pushed into the Floating Fields.  And Karyn knew what everyone else did about these fields – they only floated up to the Cold Top.  Never down to the lands of men.

            There was no escaping the Cold Top.  It wasn’t a definitive death sentence, but it would be a lonely existence.  The Cold Top wasn’t nicknamed the Prison Top for no reason.  It would be a frigid, misty cage without bars.

            As the morning came to a close, the trees gave way to dirt and rock.  The mist grew thicker, forming a suffocating, white blanket around the prison coach.  Karyn pleaded to be left in the misty forest, thinking it might be better to live amongst the groups of outcastes.  Reten rattled his sword against the bars to quiet her begging.

            The coach finally stopped and Karyn heard the horses being unhitched.  Getryn’s face appeared between the bars, a blurred vision behind the hot tears pooling in her eyes.

            “Getryn, please.  Don’t do this to me.  Whatever my grandmother did, I shouldn’t be punished for her mistakes.”

            Getryn threw the key inside.  Karyn’s heart broke as it clattered to the floor.  “I’m sorry, Karyn.  Your father insists this is the only way to keep you safe.”

            “Safe from what?  I don’t understand.”

            Getryn looked from side to side and moved closer.  “Safe from the roaming Crigon who would have vengeance against your family.  That is all I know.”  And then his face vanished, replaced by the haunting mist. 

            “Push!” a loud voice called.  Karyn felt the coach moving, knowing it would tip over the rocky cliff and ride upon the Floating Fields towards the Cold Top which was cut off from all land.  “Push!” the voice boomed again.

            Karyn hit the floor and fumbled for the key.  Perhaps she could open the door and run through the mist before she was traveling in the air.  But to her horror, the key was too large for the keyhole. 

            “Oh, Retta, they’ve given me the wrong key!” she said aloud.  Karyn banged against the door and shouted.  They couldn’t just send her to the Cold Top forever locked inside the prison coach.  She would surely die.

            In the next moment, the mist was moving faster and the rough pushes had ceased.  The prison coach had been edged off the cliff and she was riding the current of the Floating Fields.  Karyn threw the key against the wall and pulled at her long black hair in exasperation. 

            This was a death sentence.  Wasn’t it?  With a quiet sob, she wondered why her father hadn’t just ordered her execution.  Surely that would’ve satisfied whatever debt her family owed the mysterious roaming Crigon.  A quick, public beheading would have been preferable to a slow death inside this coach.

            Karyn crawled across the wooden floor to retrieve the large key.  As she fingered the metal, she thought of the key maker who mysteriously slept all day and left glows spilling from his workshop each night.  The urge to peek through the cracks had taken many children to task after sneaking out of bed, for some believed the key maker was an ogre or some other unnatural creature of the woods.  But one night, she’d witnessed a bit of magic that until now had seemed but a dream.  After finishing a rather large key, the tiny key maker had held it with anger.

            The key seemed to glow from inside the man’s disfigured hands and he began to sing a strange song.

            “Feed my hands and feed my hands.  Oh, Horyl, I sing and I remind.  For taking gift that once was solely mine.  Oh, Horyl, I sing and I remind.”

            And then the key maker had gasped and dropped the smoking key, somehow significantly smaller than before.  Karyn had run off then, never again daring to peer into the key maker’s workshop.

            Damn you, Getryn, she thought.  You high and mighty guard of Zertrin, thinking to delay my escape from the prison coach. 

            Clutching the key, she sang the very song sung by the key maker all those years ago.  “Feed my hands and feed my hands.  Oh, Horyl, I sing and I remind.  For taking gift that once was mine.  Oh, Horyl, I sing and I remind.”

            Before she was sure it had worked, a burning pain seared her palms.  She hissed and let the key fall to the floor.  It was smoking!  And it was noticeably smaller.

            The outside was still nothing but swirling white mist.  Karyn sunk against the door with the cooling key, sorrowfully waiting for the prison coach to reach land upon the Cold Top.

#

            Deep mounds of snow nearly concealed the cabin, but it was definitely there.  Karyn’s feet were numb.  Perhaps exile on the Cold Top was a death sentence after all.  Though the inside was frigid, at least the wind was no longer sanding her face away.  Karyn strained to shut the door and focused on the dim interior of the small one room cabin.  She fumbled along the wall towards a rustic table with candles and tap stones.  She lit the tallest candle first and then all the rest.  Dust and cobwebs testified that she was alone, though someone had undoubtedly once called this place home, likely before the Cold Top had been raised up and away from any joining lands.

            After spreading the candles around the cabin, Karyn decided to ignite the fireplace.  Neatly stacked wood rested on a metal platform, as if it had been waiting to burn for a century or longer.  She fell asleep beside the fire upon a bearskin bed, cursing her father for not explaining the circumstances of her exile in greater detail.

            Karyn awoke in the middle of the night to a dwindling fire.  She lazily added more wood and wrapped a blanket around her arms.  “Oh, grandmother,” she said, “What in the name of Retta did you do?” 

            “She killed my wife with an impure fertility potion, casting her soul into the rebirth cycle so that she is forever lost to me,” a male voice thundered from the shadows near the farthest window.

            Karyn’s blood ran cold and her guts to water.  “Who’s there?”  She moved closer to the fire, seeking the warmth her body was losing from fear.

            “I am Edwin of Strellia,” said the voice. 

            “Show yourself.”  Karyn gasped when a large Crigon slipped out of the shadows.  He was tan and well-muscled, soft leather clothing covered his chest and boot-tipped legs.  Like all Crigons, he was so tall that he towered more than an arm’s length above her.

            “So it’s your fault that I’m here, exiled to the Cold Top until the end of my days.”  Karyn was afraid, but she was equally as angry.  As far as she was concerned, her grandmother killing a roaming Crigon was an accomplishment worth celebrating.

            “Your grandmother’s sins against me will be repaid,” he said and stepped closer.   

            “So, you’re here to kill me then?  Why did you not kill my grandmother if you were so angry with her?”  And then Karyn wondered if perhaps the Crigon had killed her grandmother.  The old woman had been sick for some time, but maybe . . .

            “Your fool of a grandmother escaped my clutches and managed block my dream spirits all these years.  Upon her death my dream spirits came to me, and I sought out the inner lands of Zertrin and came across traveling men in the surrounding forests.  They provided me with your location.” 

            Karyn knelt on the floor, her back to the fire and the blanket still upon her shoulders.  She cared not how Edwin of Strellia had come upon her location.  But this was the end.  “So, kill me already,” she said, hating this Crigon with all her might.

            “You misunderstand my purpose.  I cannot return to Strellia without the child that Stretta requires for reentry.  There is no place for me amongst the paired immortals without a woman and our child.”

            Karyn regarded the Crigon who was now standing above her.  She was tired and cold and had no reason to live, and now he dare refuse to kill her?  If only killing oneself wasn’t a path to the Caves of Terr . . .

            “I know nothing of Strellia.  I know nothing of Stretta, save she is the wicked sister goddess of Retta.”    

            “Speak of Stretta in such a foolish manner again, and you’ll feel the sting of my belt.” 

            Karyn shuddered.  “I am the granddaughter of your wife’s murderer, yes.  What is it you require from me, if not retribution by death?”

            “I cannot return to Strellia unpaired and childless,” he said, looking down at Karyn.  “The days of mortal men offering prayers to Stretta are gone.  I can roam the lands of mortal Earth until the Caves of Terr spark consuming fires, or I can have vengeance by another manner and find my way home to Strellia both at once.”

            Karyn shuddered again.  Surely this Crigon did not mean to take her as a wife?  He was standing close above her.  If he so much as touched her, then she would be damned to the Caves of Terr where tormented souls spread through the mist in search of mortal vessels to corrupt.

            “Please,” said Karyn.  “Behead me with your sword.  Do not touch me otherwise, for while I loved my grandmother, I do not wish to join in her damnation.”

            Edwin the Crigon crouched before Karyn, an arm’s length away.  Too petrified to move, she simply stared into his twinkling blue eyes. 

            “It doesn’t matter that I touch you,” he said.  “You won’t be going to the Caves of Terr.  You will carry my child and enter Strellia, offering prayers to Stretta all the while.”

            “No!  Get back!”  But before Karyn found the courage to move her melting legs, Edwin reached a thick arm towards her face.  A single finger brushed her cheek for a moment, and his twinkling blue eyes narrowed as roguishly as his curling lips.

            The Crigon!  He had touched her!  Not only that, but he found humor in her horror.

            All hopes of joining her lines of family and goddess Retta in Ettonelli were forever gone.  Her future held two ugly possibilities – the Caves of Terr or Strellia.  But unless she escaped this Crigon, she would be bound for Strellia without a doubt.  The Caves of Terr seemed like the better option.  At least the souls lurking there loved goddess Retta, tormented though they were.

            “I do not age.  You, however, grow older by the day.  Speak a meaningful prayer to Stretta and I will have you as my wife.”  Edwin stood and reached a hand towards Karyn. 

            “I will praise the goddess Retta until my dying breath.  I will praise the goddess Retta from the Caves of Terr.”

            Edwin straightened.  “How old are you?”

            Karyn tightened her mouth and stared at the floor.  She knew he was wondering about her ability to bear a child.  Was she old enough and how many fertile years were left?  She gasped as his large, callused hands pulled her up.  She peered into his face, terrifyingly mesmerized.  All his features were large and dark, skin and hair like that of the night, and devastatingly handsome.  His eyes were alive like the blue diamonds of the Old Hills, scrutinizing her as harshly as she examined him.  She gasped again when he groped her breasts with either of his hands, and hot tears prompted by fear and embarrassment flooded down her pale cheeks.

            “Well,” said Edwin.  “You seem of age.  But one can never truly tell.  How many years have you lived?”

            “Nineteen,” she whispered, not wishing to be examined any further.  To her relief, the Crigon released his hold entirely.  She remained standing, looking at the floor and willing herself to stop crying.

            “Nineteen is perfect.  Now say prayers to Stretta.”

            “I will resist even a forced prayer to Stretta until my womb shrivels like a drying fruit.  I love the goddess Retta in Ettonelli where my lines of family roam.”

            Edwin fumed, but spoke politely after apparently reigning his flicker of anger under control.  “Stretta and Retta are not the rivals that you have come to believe.  There are windows between these immortal worlds.”

            “Blasphemy!  You lie!” Karyn screamed, abruptly slapping Edwin across the face.  Her eyes widened and her hand stung.  She inched back from Edwin’s angry glare, fearing retribution.

            His eyes flashed.  “I will remain with you until you realize that there is no true separation between Ettonelli and Strellia and you offer prayers to Stretta as you do to Retta.  But I will not allow misbehavior on your part to go unpunished, despite the fact that we have just met.” 

            Edwin advanced towards Karyn with a piercing gaze.

            “Wait!” cried Karyn.  “Get back!”  She inched away from the fireplace and from Edwin, but he lunged forward and grabbed her arm in one swift move.  Karyn’s heart leapt into her chest and she felt small in his grip.  The Crigon was mighty large, his hot breath fanning her face from above.

            “You will be my wife when you come to your mortal senses.  Though I have not bedded you yet, I will punish you as a man would punish his wife.”

            Karyn recalled what she knew of husbands and wives.  Most women in the Land of Zertrin were married at the age of twenty; the men were usually a little older.  Once, she had witnessed a husband and wife quarreling in the woods near the village.  When the woman tried to walk away, the man had forced her over his knee upon a tree stump and administered a heavy spanking.  Karyn shivered in Crigon’s grasp.  He was a stranger!  Surely he would not . . .

            “Please,” said Karyn, trembling.  “I don’t even know you.” 

            For the first time since he’d emerged from the shadows, Edwin’s eyes gleamed with a hint of compassion.  Hope flickered inside her chest, brief but strong.  Maybe he would let her off with a warning.

            “We will know each other soon enough, but I’m afraid I cannot even be persuaded to take it easy on you this first time,” Edwin said, still with that glimmer of deceptive compassion in his eyes.  “You will treat me with respect, or you will suffer the consequences under my hand.”

            Karyn panicked.  She hadn’t been spanked in years.  And Edwin was a Crigon!  Anger and embarrassment combined, with neither emotion prevailing.  She pushed at Edwin and desperately attempted to escape his firm hands, but it was no use.  He was dragging her protesting form towards the center of the cabin as if she were light as a feather.  He abruptly paused, glancing around as if he searched for something specific. 

            “You will stand right here while I get a chair,” Edwin whispered into her ear, “If you move your feet a smidge, you will feel my belt upon your bottom instead of my hand.”

            Karyn gulped, but said nothing.  She believed him.  She also knew there was nowhere to run anyway.  It was dark and cold outside and the cabin was but one room.  Her insides churned as Edwin pulled a tall chair from the shadows, but she fought the urge to run.  This spanking was sure to be painful, given the size and strength of this Crigon, and she feared the slap of his belt even more.

            When the screech of the chair being pulled across the floor ended, Karyn met Edwin’s gaze with pleading eyes.  Only pride kept her from breaking her silence to beg him to be gentle.  Edwin moved to her side and looked down at her with resolve.  “Remove your dress.  It will offer you little protection from the sting of my hand anyway.”

            Karyn stepped back.  “No!”  It was true that she was wearing nothing but a thin dress, but it at least hid her nudity from this strange Crigon who would claim her as a wife.

            “Remove your dress at once, or I will remove it for you.”

            Karyn slipped the dress from her shoulders, and it pooled around her feet just as it had on the hilltop when she’d offered prayers to Retta on her family’s behalf not too long ago.  She stood in front of Edwin, completely naked and trembling with terrible anticipation.

            “Smart girl,” Edwin commented.  “It’s good to see that you can listen to a man’s orders.”

            Karyn fought the urge to slap his face again.  No one in the village would’ve ever dared speaking to her in such a manner, not when she was the granddaughter of the magical village healer and the daughter of the village leader.  She fought the urge to scream and to run.  But before she could decide if she would follow any of her urges, he descended to the tall chair, pulling her naked form down and across his huge legs. 

            Edwin’s warm hand rested upon Karyn’s upturned bottom and he wrapped one leg around her struggling legs.  His other hand grasped her hands against her back, leaving her perfectly pinned in place.  “Now,” Edwin began, “This is what happens when a wife disrespects her husband.”

            Karyn felt his hand leave her bottom, and then . . . smack!  She gasped and attempted to twist from his grasp, but . . . smack!  Again and again his hand came down upon her bare, upturned bottom.  Edwin punished her with vigor, alternating cheeks and even slapping the tops of her thighs.  It stung terribly and her bottom quickly reddened.  Karyn was writhing on his lap, desperately trying to escape the torment. 

            “Please,” she finally begged, “Please, that’s enough.”  Her bottom was stinging furiously, throbbing under the slaps that rained down.  She was hopeful for a moment when Edwin paused.  She expected to be released, but to her dismay, he pushed her further over his lap so that her bottom was more spread.  Never in her life had she felt more terrified and vulnerable, her thighs open to his gaze.

            The next few slaps were extremely painful, and Edwin concentrated on the sensitive area where her thighs and bottom met. 

            “Now,” smack, “are you going,” smack, “to respectfully listen,” smack, “to what I have to say?”  Smack!

            “Yes!” Karyn yelped.  She desperately wished to be upright with her thighs closed.  She desperately wished the painful spanking would halt, most of all. 

            Edwin delivered several more hearty slaps, one after the other, across the very tops of her thighs, alternating his hands as he further reddened her smooth flesh.  Karyn whimpered and lay limp across his lap.

            “Now . . . I am going to tell you about Ettonelli and Strellia, Retta and Stretta.  You will sit quietly and listen.  Do you understand?” asked Edwin.

            “Yes, I understand,” replied Karyn in a whisper.