4. The Maid
Summer in the western continent was drawing to a close. The climate varied by region, but around the Shiras Plains, where mining areas were clustered, summer stretched from June to September—and by late August, the heat was relentless. But this year's swelter was on another level entirely. Everyone called it an unprecedented heatwave, the likes of which they'd never seen. For days now, people had been huddling indoors during the midday blaze. The streets were suffocating, too thick to even walk through. The sun beat down like a furnace, living up to its name of scorching heat. The dry earth scorched like a blast furnace, and every step sent illusions of burning toes. Sweat poured like rain from every inch of skin. Clothes clung sodden, and even slight movement sent rivulets down the spine. Sweat from foreheads and faces trailed along jaws into cleavages. The sticky heat seeped deep into pores, amplifying the misery. Even standing still felt like boiling from within, the outer blaze invading relentlessly. The heat tormented the whole village. The cloudless, piercing blue sky overhead was almost hateful at noon, with only the glaring sun raging and not a whisper of wind. The entire village felt trapped in a frame of blistering heat.
"Heatwave, scorching sun, broiling blaze, steam bath... it's so damn hot."
Olivier muttered as she scooped tepid water with her fingertips, letting it slosh. She kept ladling handfuls from the tub and dumping them over her head.
"How many days has it been now?"
Olivier asked Emily, who sat limply against the tub's edge, soaked through. Emily grimaced.
"Three? Four? Who knows. It's just been hot nonstop."
For the past few days of this endless heat, Olivier had spent noons in the ornate bronze bathtub filled to the brim. Cold groundwater warmed to lukewarm in hours under the midday sun. Better than sticky outdoor sweat, though—she'd soak until her fingertips pruned, crawl out for a nap, and stir only when cooler evening winds blew. Today, even that felt tedious; she lounged with arms draped over the tub's rim, murmuring drowsily in the tepid water.
"The heat's making my head spin... pour some more cold water?"
"Yes, miss."
Emily hurried over with a bucket of cold groundwater from downstairs and poured it in. It barely dented the warmth—Olivier sloshed the water around petulantly. Outside the tub, humid air and clammy sweat choked the room. Movement brought heat; stillness brought lethargy. An unbeatable swelter.
Emily set down the wooden bucket and leaned against the tub, slicking sweat-matted hair behind her ear. Sweat trickled down her nape.
"You think anyone's working outside on a day like this?"
Olivier asked in a drained voice. Emily thought back. Had her dad ever skipped the mine last summer?
"...They work inside the mines."
Olivier nodded slowly at Emily's reply.
"Right. It's actually cool in there."
Deep mine tunnels channeled cool underground breezes outward. Steady temperatures year-round meant weather rarely halted work.
"The mines..."
Olivier sank deeper into the tub's lukewarm water, face barely above the surface, murmuring. A mine came to mind—one tied to unpleasant memories. Early last winter, Olens had dragged a protesting Olivier onto his horse and taken her to an abandoned one. Past the narrow, collapsed entrance lay a vast cavernous workspace. Olens had boasted it was his secret find. On the barren edge of the vast Shiras Plains, she'd slaved to satisfy him there, jaw aching. The winter mine had been bitterly cold—icy groundwater seeping from depths, chill creeping up. She'd hated it since, but in this heat, it might feel refreshing.
"I heard villagers are cooling off inside the mines these days,"
Emily murmured wearily. A noble like her couldn't loiter in mines with commoners. But the days were brutally hot... Olivier frowned, brow furrowed. Splash—she submerged fully, crown of her head bobbing, long hair undulating like seaweed. Emily watched curiously; moments later, a deep puha as Olivier surfaced, water dripping from her hair. Eyes squeezed shut, face twisted in reluctance, she grumbled curtly.
"Let's go early tomorrow morning. It'll be too hot to move by noon."
Emily tilted her head, puzzled, but Olivier just scowled silently.
*
"Whoa, it's cool in here."
Emily's voice echoed in the vast cave. Olivier shrugged. Midday light filtered through the narrow, rubble-blocked entrance, faintly illuminating the edges. Dim corners of the tunnel remained shadowy.
"...The deep parts are too dark to see."
Emily said, having walked to the back where outlines barely showed in the gloom. She stopped—groundwater lapped at her toes. Olivier beckoned.
"Come back here. That goes deep. Last time, I dropped a hairpin; it floated in and never came out."
Emily peered: beyond the black water pooling halfway, utter darkness stretched endlessly into the depths. Damp, cool air wafted from cracks and the surface.
"This is more chilly than cool—we're lucky we brought wraps."
Emily handed over a thin gown; Olivier took it, nodding. The broad cavern was refreshingly brisk, almost nippy. Good thing they'd packed outer layers against shivers. A twenty-minute ride from Exangciras toward the Shiras Plains brought steep hills to the northwest; between them, a ravine hid a cave mouth half-buried by fallen boulders. Olivier didn't know how Olens found it, but early winter, he'd forced her here on horseback...
"Oh? There's a big flat rock here. Long and even—perfect to sit on."
A rectangular slab lay in the corner. Emily brushed off dust with her palm and sat, gazing into the dark tunnel. It burrowed mole-like into solid rock, walls cracked by age but sturdy. Without the pooled water, it wouldn't feel so eerie. Eyes adjusting, she spotted branches: some narrow and steeply sloped, rocks fissured badly around them. Dangerous-looking. After surveying, Emily beckoned Olivier from the opposite corner.
"Miss, come sit here."
Olivier grimaced faintly at the call, clutching her gown's hem, rooted. Her mind replayed agony on that very slab. Memories surged vivid as if moments ago.
"Lick it."
Olens grunted commandingly, veins bulging. Pinned by his hands on her shoulders atop the rock, Olivier faced the rigid, dark-red shaft thrusting forward. Lips pursed tight, body rigid, she scowled. Olens gripped her jaw roughly, wrenching it open, forcing fingers between lips before shoving himself in, eyes boring into her trembling gaze.
"Mmph, mmph..."
The intrusion ravaged her throat mercilessly. As his pace quickened, filling her mouth, her face contorted. Saliva dribbled from stretched lips down her chin amid the relentless thrusts. Eyes clenched in pain, she tensed her jaw in resistance—Olens plunged deeper.
"Guh... guh, hack..."
Gagging from the assault, she writhed; he didn't stop. Eyes swelled red, jaw throbbed, lips glistened slick. Choking desperation—she twisted her head with all her might.
"Hahk... hahk..."
Finally wrenching free, head bowed, gasping. Olens yanked her hair viciously. The ribboned hairpin flew, bobbing on black water before vanishing into the abyss. Forcing her head up, he smirked, saliva-slick shaft bobbing.
"Good little sister. We're not done yet?"
Olivier shook her head violently, dispelling the eerie whisper in her ears. Emily watched worriedly from afar.
"You okay, miss? Your face..."
"Uh, yeah. Just... thinking."
Olivier shrugged her hunched shoulders reassuringly, clutching the gown-wrapped body. After that day, things quieted awhile—until parents left, and she fled to the guest room, meeting Emily there.
"Really okay?"
Olivier walked slowly to Emily.
"...I'll be fine."
She plopped down beside Emily, murmuring softly. Meeting Emily's concerned gaze, she turned toward the light pouring from the entrance, whispering.
"You've got me."
Wise Emily stayed silent, gazing at the entrance too—letting Olivier calm the dizziness. After a quiet pause, Olivier spoke.
"We can hole up here till summer's heat breaks. With you, it's not scary."
"I can't ride... won't it be hard dragging me everywhere?"
Regaining her usual bravado, Olivier puffed up.
"Pfft, no problem. With me—a master of sewing, embroidery, lacework, piano, painting, and riding."
"Lucky us," Emily said. Olivier smiled faintly. The western continent's sweltering summer days flowed on like that.