Page 5 of The Sea-Ogre's Eager Bride

Crawling onto the back of a sea turtle feels strange, yet it’s not the strangest thing so far this day. I should think nothing of it after all that this day has brought. And yet…it’s not like being on land. It bobs like a ship, though with a different sort of motion, and one that makes me instantly queasy. I shiver, my slave-shift soaked and clinging to my skin. Every bit of my body is outlined under the thin fabric, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I tug it off of my skin as best I can, cross my arms over my breasts, and study my new environment.

It’s very…flat. Empty. Underneath my bare feet, the turtle shell is warm and rough, a bit like a cow’s hoof, and the most surprising thing of all is the thick clumps of moss that grow in cracks on the shell. They hang from the back like tufts of pale green fur, dry from the sun’s rays and crusted with salt from the water.

The turtle is also even bigger now that I’m upon it. When I was a young girl back in Parness, we once walked half a day to see a traveling menagerie at an amphitheater. The amphitheaterhad been huge, like a giant bowl set down by the gods in the midst of the city. I remember the base of the bowl being sandy and large enough that you could fit several buildings inside. That’s how big the turtle’s back is.

As I get closer to the center, I see that the tree on its back is not actually a tree at all. It’s a bony protuberance—a spike—in the dead center of the shell, and more of the strange moss hangs from it. A wooden cage of some kind has been attached at the top, and it looks like more moss and seaweed hang on it to dry. I turn to look at the sea-ogre’s tent. It’s made of the same strange glossy leather that he wears, and I don’t dare go inside if I’m not invited.

I might be brave, but I’m not that brave.

I rub my arms, continuing to shiver as I look around. There’s no spot for a fire to warm the camp. Of course there’s not. This is the back of a turtle, I remind myself. Why would anyone build a fire? And yet it’s disappointing to realize because I’m freezing with cold and there’s no relief to be had. I glance over at the sea-ogre but he’s ignoring me, and I suspect it’s not the time to demand dry clothing.

The turtle moves into the sunshine and it feels good. Maybe if it stays here, I’ll warm up. I sit near the tent and hug my knees close, watching my new “husband.” He moves around the turtle’s back, looking busy. I watch as he checks the strands of moss and seaweed hanging on the cage and then ducks into his tent. He emerges a moment later with a nasty-looking trident and gazes out at the waters as the ship slowly moves past the turtle.

It’s a warning. It’s him telling them that he’s letting them pass, but if they try anything, he’ll attack. You wouldn’t think that a single man could intimidate an entire ship full of soldiers, but they watch him warily. He might not win if they all attacked at once, but he knows these waters. I have no doubt he could tipover the entire ship with a few movements and I doubt many of them could swim. If it fell to hand-to-hand combat, he’s nearly twice as big as the men and could take down a great many of them without breathing hard.

No one wants to risk their lives over a single slave—me—and I don’t blame them.

I continue to shiver, watching as the ship drifts past, the oars digging into the waters. Just when they’re about to pass, Lady Dywan struggles to her feet, the chains dragging on her arms. “We won’t forget you!” she cries. “When I’m free, I’ll find a way to save you from this monstrous fate!”

I’m touched. Perhaps I’ve misjudged Lady Dywan. I doubt she’ll be able to do anything, seeing as how she’s heading for a Sunswallow brothel and likely to a fate worse than mine. I’m actually not feeling too bad at the moment.

When my father was killed and I was sold into slavery, I cried bitter tears. When my first master died, I cried again, knowing that my fate was uncertain. I’m far more used to the cruelties of the Lords of Fate. There are no tears this time, only planning. I need to please this sea-ogre. I need to be a charming companion, one that makes his life easier. A happy master is a benevolent one, and I don’t kid myself into thinking I have any rights as a monster’s bride. I’m a slave again, regardless of the title. But I know what’s expected of me. Make the food, tidy the house, be willing in bed.

Except there’s no fire to make the food.

There’s no house, just a lone tent on a turtle’s back.

That leaves just one task for a slave, and it’s not one I’m particularly looking forward to. My new sea-ogre “husband” is oversized, and he’s sure to have a huge cock. Nothing to be done about it save for practicing my “why yes, I love a huge pike shoved into my innards” face.

I smile brightly as the ship passes, only for the sea-ogre to jump over the side of the turtle and disappear into the water. Oh. Perhaps he’s going to follow and make sure that the ship leaves his territory. I wait patiently for him to return, keeping my expression eager. Like this is all I have ever wanted, to be a sea-ogre’s bride. Like I have no thoughts and dreams of my own, and that I want nothing more out of life than a giant prick in me.

Time passes, and there’s no sign of the sea-ogre. I scan the waters, looking for the sail atop his head, but find nothing. The ship is long gone, and I’m alone on the turtle’s back.

It makes me nervous. He’s coming back, right? If he leaves me here, I’ll have to swim to shore. It’s just that…there’s nothing but sheer cliffs in this strait, and there’s no shore to be had without a very, very long swim. I’d drown before I made it to shore. He’ll come back, I tell myself. It’s his turtle. His territory.

Something splashes in the water, and I automatically look over. It’s not the sea-ogre, just a fish jumping, but it reminds me of my promise. I swore to the god Vor that I’d find him a huge fish and offer it up as thanks. I clasp my hands and bow my head, thanking the god for saving me from the brothels, and that as soon as I figure out how to get him his fish, I’ll offer it. I’m grateful that the capricious Lord of the Waves saved me. Being a sea-ogre’s woman isn’t exactly what I asked for, but I hadn’t been specific, either.

You get what the gods give you, and you’re grateful for it.

The sun warms me for a time, but then the shadows move and the turtle’s broad back falls into the shade of the cliffs once more. I’m chilled to the bone, shivering and hungry, and there’s still no sign of the sea-ogre. Am I supposed to be doing something, I wonder. Does he expect me to make him dinner? Set up a bed? Something?

I get to my feet, stretching, and my muscles protest. I’ve held myself in the same cramped position for hours, and I don’t knowwhy. I’m free. I rub my raw wrists, now rid of the manacles, and love how light they feel. Whatever else happens…I’m free. I stretch, my arms over my head, and then shiver at the cold.

“Are you here?” I call out. “Lord Sea-Ogre?”

There’s no response. I didn’t expect to hear one, but I figured it was worth a try.

“Your bride is in danger of freezing her tits off,” I call again. “Have you anything warm I can wear? A fire I can build? Something? Anything?”

No response. I’m alone on the turtleback island.

Right, well, if he’s not coming back, I’m not going to sit out here in the open. I dust off my ragged gown, noticing that it’s practically falling apart now that it’s gotten wet, and head for his tent. I’m curious what he’s hiding in there.

Inside, everything is in bags. There’s no bed, no cozy sitting chair, no nothing. Just bags and bags. Well, sort of. There’s dead fish as well.

The strange, puffed-up fish look like a child’s ball, each one as big around as a circle I can make with my arms. The mouth of each one is sewn shut and they’re dried and hard and hollow. There’s a cord through the mouth, and on the other end of the cord is a small bag made out of more of the strange leather. I run my hand over the leather itself, because it looks scaly and strange. Is it from a snake, I wonder. Or something else? I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s tied tightly in one spot and then stuffed with a cloth rag and tied lower down below the rag. It seems like a lot of work, and I’m not entirely sure what the reasoning is behind it. Ritual? Spellcraft?

I finally get the last knot worked through and peek inside the bag. It’s dark, but I can make out the gleam of…gold? I reach in and my fingers brush over cool metal, encrusted with gems. A few more touches and I realize the entire bag is full of jewelry.

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