The Geomancer Chapter 1

 The Geomancer

Originally created and written by Fulgur

Illustrated by Crosschan

Reimagined by Yu May and Ojota

Note from the Editors:
On March 25, 2004, Fulgur wrote and posted the first chapter of Geomancer online. It is notable for being one of the earliest, complete spanking-centric fantasy novels ever posted on the internet. Both the editors were early fans of Geomancer, and Ojota even commissioned Yu May to write a fan fiction spanking story set in Fulgur’s world. While discussing concepts for this short story, Ojota and Yu May also agreed that the original novel was in need of some editorial polishing, and with Fulgur’s blessing, they decided to begin work on an edited edition. 

The Geomancer is an attempt to update and revise Fulgur’s original story, staying true to the core themes and ideas, while also adding new material where it seemed fitting. In addition to minor changes to grammar, punctuation, and spelling, the editors also wanted to flesh out the story and world in a way that respected the author’s vision.

The author gave permission to attempt this project, and was consulted throughout the process. In keeping with the author’s wishes, we have kept the original illustrations for Geomancer, drawn by artist Crosschan. We also kept the unedited bonus commentary sections, “May’s Retrospective Reader’s Corner,” in the appendix. We felt presenting the main chapters together resulted in a cleaner narrative flow, but the Reader’s Corner posts provide significant insight into Fulgur’s creative process and artistic intentions. These were originally written when the author republished Geomancer with a new webhost, and coincided with each chapter. The original version of Geomancer has been archived on asstr.org.

Geomancer is set in a world where both spanking and other forms of corporal punishment are viewed as a common-place, culturally-acceptable practice. It contains frequent disciplinary spanking scenes, including the depiction of corporal punishment being used on minors, and references to wives being spanked by their husbands and adult daughters being spanked by their fathers, usually with consent. Some scenes also depict judicial corporal punishment, and there are brief depictions of torture, but these scenes are placed in the context of a narrative of good vs. evil. This story shouldn’t be seen as an endorsement of the actions depicted.

However, Geomancer is also not primarily a spanking story. In the words of the author, “The spankings don't drive the story, they ride along with it.” We hope you will enjoy experiencing this world as much as we did.

Prologue: The Natural Order of Things

For as long as I could remember, Dad’s sheathed sword and shield had hung on prominent display in the kitchen, right behind the head of the table where he usually sat.

The shield was decorated with the coat of arms of the City of Cant, which depicted a man in chainmail holding a sword aloft with his right hand, while cradling a finely-dressed woman close to his chest. Despite the simple drawing style, there was no mistaking one key detail: the woman’s ornate skirts were pinned up in the back, and her chemise had been unbuttoned to reveal her bare bottom in the shape of an upside down heart, painted bright red, right at the center of the shield. It was the famous hero and heroine of Cant’s traditional courtly ballad: The Knight and the Lady. It also happened to be my favorite story.

I remembered one time, I must have been about nine or ten, when Mom had caught me gazing at Dad’s sword and shield displayed on the wall, and sighed. “One day, Zack, you will be responsible for taking care of a young woman, and to spank her, when she needs it. And when that day comes, do try to pay attention to more than just her bottom.”

Back then, 6-year-old May had been especially bratty, to the point that Dad in desperation had finally carved her first spanking paddle. May had peered at me with a sly smile. “He was looking at the lady’s butt! Aren’t you going to spank him?”

Mom had shaken her head. “Of course not. It’s only natural for a boy to take an interest in…good workmanship. Besides, Zack is nearly at the age where he’ll be too old for a spanking.”

May had let her mouth hang open. “Huh? How old is too old for a spanking?”

Mom had hummed. “Probably about eleven or twelve, for a boy. Definitely not after age thirteen. That’s when a boy becomes a man.”

May had rubbed her hands together, her eyes full of mischief. “So that means, when I turn thirteen, I’ll be too old for a spanking anymore!”

Mom had shaken her head, and removed May’s little spanking paddle from its hook on the wall. “Oh no, May, I’m afraid girls like us never quite outgrow the need for a good spanking. After you turn thirteen, you’ll be too big for the little spanking paddle, but that just means we’ll have to use something heavier–like a hairbrush, or a wooden spoon–to give you big girl spankings.”

“Huh? But that’s not fair! How come I get spankings if Zack doesn’t?”

“It’s perfectly fair. A boy learns his trade at thirteen, and how to care for himself. Even if he still chooses to live with us, Zack will be a man. But for girls, it takes many more years before we finish maturing. And as long as the man of the house is responsible for taking care of us, that means we women agree to submit to his authority. So what that means is, no matter how old a girl gets, she is never too old for a spanking, assuming she really deserves one.”

May had pouted, and deliberately started whining, her voice going shrill. “No fair! Girls shouldn’t get spankings! I don’t want more spankings!”

Mom had shaken a finger. “Stop that whining at once. If you don’t want a spanking, try acting like a lady.”

May had flopped off her chair, pummeling the floor with her fists and feet. “No! I don’t wanna’ be a lady! I wanna’ be too big for a spanking! Waaah!”

Then, to my astonishment, Mom had hooked the little paddle into her sash, picked my little sister up off the floor, screeching and squealing, and carried her up the stairs to her bedroom. Even from the bottom of the stairs, I could clearly make out the tell-tale sounds of a spanking. It only took Mom three swats to snap May out of her performative temper tantrum, and for May to start crying for real. Then Mom paused the spanking for a few moments, presumably to lecture May. “Shame on you, young lady. You’ve just earned yourself a paddling on the bare.” 

“No! Please, Mommy, not on the bare!” 

Then, the spanking started all over again, and from the sound of the slaps I was sure Mom was using May’s little spanking paddle. Whenever Mom or Dad had to use the paddle, May usually got a number of strokes equal to twice her age, unless she was being especially bratty, in which case she got a few extras. Whatever the number, by the time it was through, May was bawling and blubbering like a little baby.

I dared to risk climbing the stairs, but was too scared to approach May’s bedroom door. Then I overheard my mother cooing gently, and softly shushing May. “Shh…there, there, May. That was quite a spanking you got. I’m sorry I had to spank you, but you certainly deserved it for throwing that childish temper tantrum.”

May hiccuped, then answered in a soft voice. “I’m sorry…I didn’t…I don’t want to be a baby…”

I heard a soft patting sound, and guessed that Mom was giving May a few love-taps across her bottom. “Then remember this moment later, the next time you feel like acting out.”

“B-but…am I gonna get spankings for forever and ever, Mommy, even when I’m an old lady?”

I heard the sound of rustling cloth. Mom must have pulled May into a hug. “Oh, I doubt that. You know I was spanked by my father until I was well into my teenage years, until the day I married your father. And even after that, your father still had to spank me from time to time, for the first few years of our marriage, at least.”

“Daddy…gives you spankings, Mommy? Just like he spanks us?”

“Well, not that much anymore. You see, I decided that if I ever wanted to be too old for a spanking, then I’d better start acting like it. But yes, if I ever need a good spanking, then I trust your father to give me one. But not like the little spankings you children get. You see, May, spanking is an act of love. And all women need to feel loved. I think that’s why we girls need to be spanked so much more than boys.”

“But…spankings…hurt?”

“And they’re supposed to! Whenever I get a spanking, I expect to get it right on my bare bottom, until it shines beet red, and I’m crying my eyes out. That’s how we learn to be better. Aren’t you already thinking how you’re going to be a good girl, and never throw tantrums ever again?”

At the mention of a spanking on the bare bottom, I was tempted to approach May’s door, and take a peep, but I held myself back. I’d seen May get spanked plenty of times, but something told me that it wouldn’t be right.

I heard May hum thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose so, but…what if my husband is mean, and spanks me every single day, for no reason?”

I heard Mom giggle. “Ah, good question. There are lots of bad men in the world. So here’s a neat trick: never, ever let a man spank you, unless you’re absolutely sure you deserve a spanking, and you trust that he’s doing it for the right reason: because he loves you.”

“Like how Daddy loves us?”

“Exactly. A true knight never strikes a lady…unless she forgets to act like a lady. And even then, he’ll only smack her bottom.”

“Do you think I’ll find a knight like that one day?”

“If you look carefully, I’m sure you will. After all, every good man wants to be a knight.”

I shrunk back from the door, and crept downstairs. Once, Dad had told me that the days of knights in shining armor were coming to a close. After the end of the last war, there were almost no true knights left alive in the free cities. But as I looked up at the shield, I made my decision. One day, no matter what it took, I would be a knight.

Chapter 1: The Market Day

I woke up early.

The first light of sunrise peeked through my window, and the birds were singing.

Usually, I don't really notice things like birdsong, but this morning they were singing so loudly they woke me up.

Which was just as well, because it was a market day today.

With the summer harvest finished, my father and I would be traveling to the town of Ceris to sell any hay and grains we didn’t need for our own livestock. But most of our profits came from my mother’s prize vegetables. Ever since the end of the border war, the town markets had been growing steadily with each passing year. Now, the townsfolk of Ceris were rich, and the housewives of Ceris were willing to pay good silver for our wares. 

Dad never talked about the war, no matter how many times I pestered him with questions about it. But once, when I was little, and had asked him urgently if he had once been a knight, he had explained that he was only a yeoman foot soldier, not a proper knight. A knight had to be able to afford his own horse and armor.

That had only puzzled me further. “But…we have Sandy?”

But Dad had snapped at me gruffly. “Sandy’s too faithful a beast to let die in a bloody war, and anyway, she spooks too easy. Now, pipe down.”

And that had been the end of my questions for the day.

Later, Mother had taken me aside to explain things in private. Before he and Mom met, fell in love, and got married, Dad had saved enough from his salary as a soldier to buy a small plot of farm land in a nameless village between Cant and Ceris. 

Now, my father was a farmer, or as he liked to call himself, “An all-around man of the soil.” The farmer’s market was the only means of making money we had, not that we needed much money.

"A garden, a good field, and a few good beasts. What more could you want?" was what my Dad usually said. And I agreed.

As I was heading downstairs, I heard snoring, and noticed that the door of May's room was slightly ajar. Thanks to the dirty socks piled on her floor, I guessed that she hadn’t been able to close her door all the way last night. May was sixteen now, and she had just started what my parents called "the difficult age." I thought she was just being a brat.

I made my way to the kitchen. Mom turned at the stove to smile at me. "Good morning, Zack.”

"Morning!" I said as I sat at the table.

Dad just nodded. May and I had both inherited Dad’s golden blond hair, though his was starting to fade silver at the temples. But unlike my Dad, who was built like a solid wall, I took more after my Mom, especially her slender face and build.

For the past few years, I had been holding out for another growth spurt, but now that I was nineteen, that hope was growing dim. I stared at my dad’s sheathed sword and shield hanging on the wall, which depicted the titular hero and heroine of The Knight and The Lady.  

There were many versions of the story, from puppet shows to children’s books to traveling plays, but every version held one thing in common: at the end of the story, the Knight would always promise to lovingly spank the Lady, and the Lady would always promise to obediently submit to her spanking. Some of the versions even showed the Lady getting her first spanking, and it was always delivered on her bare bottom. 

I especially loved that part of the story in particular.

Mom caught me by surprise as she set my plate down in front of me. “Admiring the art on your father’s shield again?”

I felt my cheeks burning. “Yeah, it’s…good workmanship.” 

I had a weird feeling Mom knew my secret. Of course, it was only right and proper for men to spank women, when they deserved it. That was one of the most basic morals we’d learned growing up. 

As I wolfed down my eggs, I noticed Dad giving me a wry smile. "Ready to haul some hay for the market day?"

"Yes, sir. And what’re we selling from the garden today?"

Mom produced a basket of produce. "Cucumbers. We got plenty more than we need."

Dad stroked his chin. “That should bring in enough to replace the old plowshare. Plus a new wooden spoon for your mother, and…” 

Trailing off, Dad glanced at the stairs. "...Is May still sleeping?"

I sensed trouble. Only yesterday, May had been threatened with a spanking for missing morning chores. "Well, I didn't check her room, but I think she is. Why?"

"Go wake her up, please. She should help load the cart, in any case."

I went upstairs and knocked on May's door. "May? Breakfast. We’ve got work to do!"

But answer came there none. "May?"

I knocked again, and as the door creaked open, a pile of rumpled clothes tipped over. I almost fell down in shock. “Oh, Hell!”

May’s clothes were everywhere. 

 

And there was May, sitting in front of her looking glass, snoring loudly, wearing a mismatching skirt and blouse. She must have been so preoccupied trying on clothes, she’d forgotten to go to bed.

I grasped her by the shoulders. "May! Wake up?"

May’s eyes fluttered open, then fixed on me. Then she flailed her arms, slapping my face as she tumbled backwards. “Yeek! You creep! How dare you come barging into my room?"

I winced and held my stinging cheek. “This looks more like a battleground to me! Better clean it quick, or else–"

"Or else what? You gonna tattle on me, you sniveling, little…uh-oh…” May stammered.

I turned around. 

Dad was standing at the doorway, and he didn't look happy. "May, your mother told you to go to bed at sunset last night. Clean this mess up. In ten minutes, I’ll be back, with Mom’s big wooden spoon. If your room is clean by then, I will only use my hand.”

May's hands flew to her bottom. "No, Dad! I’ll clean it up, I swear! Don't spank me!"

"No, May, you will get a spanking in any case. But if you don’t obey, it will go worse for you. Much worse."

Dad put a hand on my shoulder. "Come back down. May needs some time to be alone."

Silently, I followed him downstairs. Dad found Mom in the kitchen, and gestured to her cookware. "Dear, I’ll need the big wooden spoon." 

Mom sniffed as she produced it. “Let me guess, May stayed up all night playing dress-up again?”

“Afraid so. She’s got at least one spanking coming. Hopefully I won’t need to use the spoon, but I don't want her to think I'm all words."

Mom nodded curtly, and put the spoon in Dad’s hand. “She’s obsessed with clothes these days! What will she do in a few more years? No man will want to marry her if she keeps acting like a flighty feather-head!”

Dad sighed. "You’re right. I have to put a stop to this."

I said nothing. The idea of bratty May getting her bottom burned appealed to me. For the past few weeks, May had been testing her limits, though Mom and Dad had been letting her off easy with a few warning swats.

Dad set the spoon down on the table, eyeing me seriously. "I hate to do this…But I think I would do her a lot worse by not spanking her for this."

I eyed the spoon. It had been over seven years since my last spanking. "Absolutely. She's getting way too snotty."

We ate our breakfast in silence.

After I finished, I helped clear the table, but just as I was about to start cleaning the dishes, Dad halted me. "You know, Zack, you are growing up to be a fine young man."

I grinned. "Might be, Dad."

"It's around the time you should find a nice girl of your own, you know."

I tried to scrub the dishes to hide my embarrassment. "Ha! Not likely to happen anytime soon"

Mom snickered as she bumped me aside, and took over washing the dishes. "What do you mean? I think you’re quite a catch. There’s bound to be a few girls round the village who’ve caught your eye."

My face felt hot. "What? This village? There are, correct me if I'm wrong, exactly three girls of marrying age. Sue is engaged to Jimmy the Smithy. Angie has her eyes on the schoolmaster. And Greta is...well…"

I didn't have to finish the sentence. We all knew Greta. Apart from her widowed mother, Greta was the village’s more fearsome husband-hunter. If I married her, I would end up a slave in my own home. 

Greta’s mother was rumored to be a wicked witch, with knowledge of making love potions, but I thought the comparison unkind to witches in general.

Last year, when Greta got young Richard drunk and pulled him in the bushes, the only thing that saved him from fate worse than death was when he saw her mother's eager face hidden in the undergrowth and ready to be a witness to her daughter's "shame."

Dad shrugged, and led me out of the kitchen. "But there are lots of fine girls in the city. They say Ceris is drowning with unwed beauties. Or there’s the college in Cant. Women love a man who knows how to read."

"Dad, I'm only nineteen. I have time! You didn't marry until twenty-five!"

Dad nudged my shoulder. "Fair point. I’m just saying…I think you’d make a good father." 

He paused. "Tell me, do you think your sister deserves a spanking?"

"Of course!"

Slowly, Dad took up the wooden spoon, and slapped it against his palm. "Girls, Zack! They are a peculiar bunch. Sometimes, they go hog wild! Who knows why. But as a man, you may have to be responsible for a young woman soon. And in that case, if a young woman in your charge misbehaves..."

"You spank them. I know." At the thought of spanking a woman, I felt my throat go tight.

As long as I had been alive, I had never once seen nor heard Dad spank Mom, though she told us often enough that, if she ever forgot to be a good wife and mother, she fully expected him to tan her hide. It was common sense, she claimed. 

But Dad had assured us that Mom was the epitome of a wise woman, and hadn’t needed a spanking for as long as he could remember.

Of course, I knew all husbands had the legal right to spank their wives, and that the custom was considered foundational to a good marriage. But the situation wasn’t quite that bad, at least not for decent, grown women like Mom.

But all the girls in the village (with possible exception of Greta) were spanked. And usually, the spankings continued even after girls were married, at least for a few years. 

It was different for boys. I got my last spanking at the age of twelve, for something I don't even remember anymore. 

But whenever I went out in the evening, I always overheard familiar noises coming from at least one house in the village. Hard crying, accompanied by even harder slaps. 

And I liked it.

"Son? Are you listening to me?"

I blinked. "Sorry, Dad, I dozed off..."

Dad chortled. "I was saying that there’s an art to these things. You have to spank a girl with care. You have to have the grasp. When you finally find a girl, you must know how it's done!” 

"Your point is, Dad?"

Dad beckoned me to follow him up the stairs. "Come with me. Your sister is due a good spanking and I'm going to show you how to give one."

I gulped. I didn't expect this, but it sounded incredible. "Okay, Dad!"

Dad held me back outside Mays’ room. "Don't say anything. Just watch. Don't make it worse for her, you hear me?"

I nodded.

Dad knocked. "May? It's me. It's time for your spanking, girl. Open the door, please."

The door opened. May was already dressed in her simple, brown work clothes, and it looked like she had been crying. 

The clothes were no longer scattered all over the room, but there were still a couple small heaps of them.

Dad shook his head. "May? I told you to clean this room, didn't I?"

May glanced desperately at the piles of clothes. "Please, Dad! I just couldn't do it in time! But I tried!"

Dad sighed. “You never should have let it get into such an awful state. And I promised you that you would get a taste of the wooden spoon, if you didn’t obey. What do you think, Zack? Do I have to give May an extra spanking with the wooden spoon?”

I tensed. Sure, May could be a brat sometimes, but she was still my best friend. “Well, I know that’s for you to decide, but…I hope not.”

“Good answer. If May had disobeyed, I was planning to give her three spankings, and use the spoon right off the bat.” 

May’s eyes went wide. “Three spankings?”

Dad held up his fingers to count. “One for disobeying your mother, a second for being cruel to Zack, and a third if you didn’t tidy your room. But, May, I can tell you tried your best to clean up. So, you will only get two spankings. A good warmup, with my hand–and ten spanks with the wooden spoon!"

May threw back her head and howled. "Daddy! Noooo!"

"Or should I make it fifteen spanks?"

May stood straight, like a soldier. "No! Definitely not! Ten is fine!"

Dad handed me the spoon. "Hold onto this for me. I’ll need it later."

May finally noticed me, and her face paled. "Dad? Why is he here?"

"Because I heard you call him a creep, and I saw you slap him. Besides, one day Zack will have his own family. He should know how to deal with naughty girls."

At the mention of the word “naughty,” May’s face burned red. "But, Daddy, I don't want him to be here!"

Slowly, Dad fetched a chair, and set it in the center of the room. "That's none of your concern, May. As I see it, you still don't have anything to be ashamed of. Sometimes…" 

Dad sat down, and reached out to pat May’s bottom. “...You just have to grit your teeth and bare it."

May’s eyes popped open as she felt the gentle love taps, then she snorted, resisting the urge to laugh. "...Dad!"

He chuckled. "Sorry, I couldn't resist. Now, May, you were a very naughty girl, you know that?"

May sighed. "Yes, sir."

Dad’s face was calm. "And you deserve a good spanking, don't you?"

May hung her head. "Yes...Daddy."

"So come here, and get over my knee."

It was quite fascinating. The mere prospect of a spanking turned bratty May into a sweet little girl, much more courteous than usual.

May took a tremulous step toward Dad, then bent over his right leg, lying on her tummy across both his knees. With a single practiced motion, he flipped up her skirt and pulled down her underpants. "Zack?"

I swallowed a lump in my throat. There was a knot in my stomach, exactly like when I got my last spanking. "Yes, Daddy?" 

I bit my lip as I heard my own slip of the tongue. I hadn’t called my father “Daddy” since I was a boy, still young enough to be spanked.

But if Dad noticed, he gave no hint of it. He only waved a finger. "Come here, son."

I stood behind my father and looked over his shoulder. May's bare bottom was on full display. I must have overheard thousands of spankings, but I’d never witnessed one before. 

May kicked her legs slightly, but she seemed to have fully resigned herself to her fate.

Dad smiled. "See? I was angry with her this morning, but I'm not anymore. And she's not angry with me. Civility, that's the key. She realized what she did wrong and she accepted her punishment. She's already becoming a better girl. However, May…" 

He raised his hand high, "...I’m afraid, this is still necessary, young lady."

Dad brought his hand down, producing a crisp smack!

May yelped. "Ouch!"

I was almost hypnotised by the sounds of palm against buttock.

PLESK! SPANK! SLAP!

After another three firm spanks, Dad fell into a steady rhythm. "Your goal here, Zack, is to cause her as much discomfort as possible, without doing any lasting harm." 

His voice was strangely calm, and he spoke without missing a beat. "She should feel the effects for some time. Note the pink color of her bottom. As you spank her, it steadily gets redder and redder. After it's bright red, that’s usually a good time to stop."

Already, May was sobbing and hiccuping, throwing herself around on Dad's lap.

"Never. Spank. In anger." Dad punctuated each word with a loud slap. 

"After you’re done spanking, you should comfort her, but right now–you need to be as strict as possible."

May was crying freely now, her long blonde hair in disarray. "Please, Daddy, stop already! Stop!"

Dad added a few more spanks with full swings of his arm, then stopped and carefully examined his work.

"Seems good. All right, Zack, hand me the spoon."

Immediately, May started to squirm. "No! Not the spoon!"

"Ten spanks, was it?" asked Dad, calmly. "Or was it fifteen? Or..."

May tensed, her feet freezing in mid-air, mid-kick. "No! Just ten, sir!"

Dad patted the spoon against her bottom. When May didn’t kick in response, Dad seemed satisfied that the rebellion had been quelled, and turned his attention back to me. "Your hand is usually more than enough. But you should be prepared to use something worse if the need arises..."

He raised the wooden spoon high and brought it down across her right buttock, with a resounding slap, louder and heavier than before.

May squealed. "Aaaah! Daddy, no!"

"A wooden spoon is plenty painful by itself. But getting it across an already-spanked bottom… has a certain impact!"

Another clap, and another of May's cries.

"Find something you want to use–it could be a belt, a hairbrush, even a slipper in a pinch–"

Silently I counted the third slap. May wailed. "Aaaaaaaaa!"

"...But only use it as a last resort..."

As May clenched her glutes, the fourth stroke bounced off her tended left buttock. "Nooo! Please, no!"

"...It won't work if you use it every time."

The fifth stroke flicked sharply against her right buttock. "Aaaaiii'll be good!!!"

"Don't hurry, she should get plenty of time..."

Just as May untensed her butt cheeks, the fourth stroke landed, sending ripples through her left buttock. "Eeeeeee!"

"...to feel each stroke."

The seventh stroke sank deep into her right buttock. "Pleeease!"

"...But you shouldn't hit too hard..."

I knew that Dad was holding back his full strength, but the eighth swat sounded plenty hard. May melted into uncontrolled bawling. "Baaaaah!"

"...since you could really hurt her."

Dad delivered the final two spanks one after the other in quick succession. In the midst of her woes, May seemed to snap awake. "Aiiiiiiiieee!"

Dad gave me back the spoon. "Just a few tips, Zack." 

He stood May up and her skirt fell down over her bare butt. She immediately clutched it.

Dad stroked May’s head. "Now, May, will you be a good girl?"

May bounced on her heels, holding tight to the seat of her skirt. "Yes! Yes!"

"Did you learn your lesson?"

Finally May looked up at Dad, her eyelashes sparkling with teardrops. "Yes, Daddy!"

"I won't have to repeat this anytime soon, right?"

May shook her head so hard, she sent tears flying. "No, Dad! Definitely not!"

"Good. That's how it should be." 

He hugged her. "I'm sorry I had to do this, but you really deserved a spanking."

Releasing her hold on her backside, May returned Dad’s hug. "I know.... Thank you, Daddy."

After May had calmed down, Dad and I left.

I thought about what I had just seen as I helped load the cart. Our old work horse, Sandy, pulled impatiently at her reins. "She will be mad at me. If I hadn’t woken her up so quickly–it’s my fault she got spanked.”

“No, it was her fault. And it’s over now. She’ll have time to cool down before we get back. And talk to her mother about what happened. Girls her age need to talk to their mothers a lot."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "No idea, Zack."

Sandy neighed, as if to laugh at me.

…

Ceris was only an hour’s travel by cart. Thanks to our early start, we arrived mid-morning, and our hay was in high demand. After unloading the last of our hay at the city stables, we made our way to the city square, where the farmer’s market was held for the upper-classes.

We found our usual spot before the afternoon rush, and set up a separate table for Mom’s garden produce.

I groaned as I watched people going in and out of the latrines that adjoined the public bathhouse. “I don’t know why you insist on setting up so close to the privies.”

Dad looked at me with mischief in his eye. “It’s the perfect location. Sooner or later, everyone has to use the toilettes.”

“...the toy what now?”

“You haven’t seen them? Ah, that’s right, you were sick last time. They’re a new sort of privy. All the rage among the nobility.”

“What, are they solid gold?”

“Better than that. They use copper pipes for plumbing. After you answer the call of nature, you pull a chain and the water…flushes the waste away.”

“To where? The street? They can’t have a lagoon big enough for everyone in Ceris.”

“It all goes to the new sewer system, to outside the city walls. The Mayor of Ceris commissioned it himself. I think it’s genius. It’s eliminated the need for soil men to haul shit.”

“Must be rough times for men who haul shit for a living.”

I froze as I overheard the sounds of a spanking in progress, muffled, but unmistakable, coming from within the public bathhouse. Of course, how could I have forgotten? There was one more thing that everyone used the public bathhouse for: spanking a misbehaving child, or for that matter, spanking any grown woman foolish enough to act like a misbehaving child.

Dad snapped his fingers. “Zack? Pay attention. I need you to watch out for thieves while I’m out drumming up business.”

I blinked. “Thieves? What are thieves doing in Ceris?”

Dad harrumphed. “Stealing, of course. What else would they be doing?”

But before I could answer or ask any more stupid questions, Dad scooped up a basket and marched off, ringing a bell to attract more customers.

Blushing furiously, I stood at attention at the stall. With every passing moment, another city-dweller passed me by, in a steady trickle, like a slow stream. A well-dressed young couple glanced at my stall, and I smiled, before they leered at me and brushed past, muttering something about rural peddlers. Dad had once told me I needed to develop my knack for salesmanship, but I wasn’t sure how to begin.

Then the bells tolled the hour for noon, and more of the residents of Ceris emerged from the inns and workshops that clustered around the city center. The stream of people gradually swelled to the size of a river. I caught the eye of a brown-haired girl, about my own age, and called out. “Hey! Want some food?”

The girl stiffened, and quickly backed away, shaking her head, before she disappeared in the teeming crowd. I took a deep breath, that turned into a groan. Not talking to people didn’t work. Talking to people didn’t work. How did my Dad make this look so easy? “Oh well. At least I can still help. I just need to keep a wary out for–”

“Stop! Thief! Bring back my apple!”

I snapped my head around to find the source of the cry. An old woman standing behind an apple stall was shaking a bony fist at a young girl, probably about twelve-years-old. The girl jumped, then tried to hide something behind her back. “No! I was only looking! I wasn’t going to–”

With surprising speed, the old woman snatched the girl by the arm and pulled up her hand, revealing the damning evidence. The girl was clutching tight to a bright red apple. “Thief! Call the watchman! I’ll see you flogged!”

Some of the crowd paused to watch the unfolding scene. The girl looked around desperately, only to find herself surrounded by unfriendly faces. “No, no, no! I was just going to show it to my Daddy! He’ll buy it for me!”

The old woman rapped her finger against a painted wooden sign, lifting the girl’s arm, forcing her to twist around and dance on her feet. “You nasty little liar! Can’t you read? It says right here, plain as day, hands off the merchandise! Where’s the watchman? I want to see this brat get what’s coming to her!”

Then the old woman delivered a firm slap across the seat of the girl’s skirt. Instantly, the girl dropped the apple, and started to wail. The old woman hooked one arm across the girl’s back, and roughly bent the young thief over, pinning her tight against her side. Raising her gnarled hand high, the old woman started delivering slaps across the girl’s rear end. 

Before I knew what I was doing, I had stepped forward into the center of the circle of people. “Hold on! Where’s this girl’s father? He’s the one responsible for her.” 

The old woman’s hand froze in mid air as she leered at me. “Mind your own beeswax, boy!”

I stood my ground. “You’re making a scene in front of my stall. That makes it my beeswax–em, makes it my business.”

The old woman patted the girl across her bottom, then raised her hand. “This girl needs a good spanking, and I’ll see that she gets one, before I have her clapped in irons.”

I caught the old woman by the wrist before she could slap the girl again. “No. That’s her father’s decision. Not yours.”

“Daddy? Help! Save me, Daddy!” screamed the girl.

A well-dressed man emerged from the crowd. “What’s wrong?”

The old woman scowled, and pointed at the apple at her feet. “This girl’s what’s wrong! She’s a thief!”

The girl shook her head furiously. “No, Daddy! I wasn’t going to steal it! I was just looking at it, until–”

The man knelt to look his daughter in the eye. “Elizabeth, I already told you I wasn’t buying you anything else today. I explicitly told you not to touch anything at the market.”

“But I only–”

The man stood and faced the old woman. “If you’re willing to overlook this, I’m ready to pay for twice the cost of the apple. I promise you, my daughter will be punished…soundly.”

The old woman scratched the stubble on her chin, and released her hold on the girl. “Hmm, fair ‘nuff.”

The man handed her a few coins, stooped to pick up the apple, and handed it to his daughter. “There you go, Elizabeth. Take a good look. When I’m through with you, your bottom’s going to match the color of that apple.”

Blinking, Elizabeth stared at the apple, as if only now realizing for the first time just how red an apple could be. Then, as her father scooped her up under the armpits, Elizabeth shook her head. “No, please, Daddy! Not that! Anything but that!”

But her father only draped her over his shoulder and carried her toward the public bathhouse. A few of the onlookers started to giggle. Still clutching tight to the apple, Elizabeth howled. “But I’m too old for a spanking!”

At that, some of the women in the group guffawed even more loudly. After all, no girl was ever too old for a spanking. Poor Elizabeth was about to get a painful reminder of that reality. I sighed. Maybe Elizabeth had been planning to steal the apple, in which case, she was getting off easy with just a spanking. But even if she had been telling the truth, she had still disobeyed her father. Either way, a spanking seemed like a just penalty to me.

Just as Elizabeth’s father carried her into the public bathhouse, a mother led her crying daughter out the door. The girl was bawling, clutching at her bottom. Then her mother pulled out a handkerchief and started dabbing at the girls’ eyes.

Of course, in a city as large as Ceris, there was always demand for a place to spank a misbehaving child, especially girls.

I recalled that the middle door of the public bathhouse led to a shared hallway, that served as a dedicated spanking room. There were just too many children who needed an attitude adjustment, and too many parents who couldn’t wait to mete it out. 

Any moment now, Elizabeth’s spanking would begin, and there would likely be more pairs of stern parents and terrified children waiting in line before it was over. I’d already overhead so many spankings today, the sounds had become like a sort of background noise. 

As the memory of May’s spanking clouded my mind, I struggled to find where I’d left our stall. If only we weren’t so close to the toilettes!

The girl finished drying her tears, and allowed herself to be led away by her mother. Who was that girl? What had she done to earn a spanking? I had no idea. But I knew that whatever it was, she surely deserved it.

I wondered if I would ever have to spank a daughter of my own. Who was I kidding? I hadn’t even met a girl who was interested in me, apart from Greta, who was only interested in the idea of having any man she could get her claws on for a husband. And even if I ever did find the right girl…

I thought out loud. “I might have spank my girlfriend like that, one day…After I get one, I mean.”

At that moment, I glanced down at the cucumbers, just in time to see a dainty hand trying to sneak away with the largest one. 

I lunged to grab the cucumber back. "Hey!"

The culprit jumped.

It was a girl!

She had short brown hair and big brown eyes, and wore the ragged remains of a brown dress. I guessed she was only a bit younger than me, based on her face. And I couldn't help noticing that she was very pretty, just like a lady from a picture in a fairy tale book.

The beautiful thief turned and ran, still clutching the cucumber. She was shorter than me, but she had a head-start, and easily dodged my grasp. “Stop, thief!”

I was mesmerized by the sight of her legs as she sprinted away from me like a doe, her tattered skirt fluttering behind her. Then she crashed into the arms of a burly watchman.

The girl squealed as the watchman held her tight in a bear hug. He was tall, and despite his fat girth, was clearly well muscled. His scraggly black beard parted to reveal his yellow teeth as she sneered. “Another thief? Naughty, naughty! Didn't your mother teach you that stealing is bad, little missy?"

She gasped as he pinned her tight, and dropped the stolen cucumber. "I'm...I'm sorry...please, let me go!" 

Her voice was strained, and I realized that the watchman had knocked the wind out of her. She looked like she was on the verge of tears. 

As I came running to a halt in front of them, struggling to catch my breath, I suddenly felt strangely sorry for the thief.

The watchman made an ugly barking sound. With a chill, I realized it was supposed to be laughter. He released the girl, only to snatch her roughly by the wrist and wrench her arm into the air. "Well, we have laws against thievery in Ceris. Do you know what we do with naughty girls who steal?"

The watchman patted something at his side. I thought it was a sword at first, but it was something I’d never seen before. It had a long handle, just like a wooden sword hilt, but with nine, thin strips of leather attached to the end of it. The watchman pulled it from his belt and dangled it in front of the girl’s face. I recognized it as a flail. I’d seen pictures of knights fighting with metal weapons like it, tipped with deadly metal weights. Though the whips of the watchman’s flail were only leather, it still looked nasty. Horrifying.

The watchman smirked, relishing the look on the thief’s face. "Leaves nine cuts with every lash. Very unpleasant sight, I'm afraid. But it gets the message across to any other thief."

As I saw the terror in the girl’s eyes, I tried to say something, but choked. The man was bigger than me, and he was armed. Somehow, the fear in the girl’s eyes made me feel the same fear. Then, I heard a calm, clear voice from behind me.

“What are you talking about? Since when has that been the law in Ceris?”

I turned, and saw my dad behind me. He looked right past me, his eyes fixed on the watchman. 

The watchman scratched his black beard, then thrust his arm out to dangle the trembling girl in front of him, as if showing off a haunch of meat for sale at the market. “Haven’t you heard? The Mayor of Ceris has finally got tired of putting every penny-pinching pick-pocket on trial. We’re tired of having wares stolen. Now, the Watchmen have all the authority to deal with thieves. So when we catch a thief, red-handed, we simply punish them properly and have done with it. You should be grateful.”

“What do you mean by a proper punishment? A spanking?”

The watchman snorted, and jabbed a thumb behind his back. "A spanking? You might say that. We haul ‘em straight to the scaffold at the center of the marketplace, and deal with them there. The men are flogged. But girls get to feel this across their naughty bottoms…" 

With terrifying speed, the Watchman snapped the flail, producing whip cracks all at once. I flinched. The crowd hushed at the sound, and turned to look.

The girl was cowering, and I saw her legs trembling. The watchman held her arm high, forcing her to stand on her tip toes. He looked rather pleased with himself. "I believe one hundred strokes should suffice for…stealing a cucumber, was it? Sorry about the trouble she caused, my good man. Would you like to watch? It tends to be...amusing."

My father spoke slowly, his eyes focused on the watchman. "The last time I saw a girl her age caught stealing, she was only put over a watchman's knee and got a good bare-bottomed spanking, before her father came to claim her. I appreciated that. That was proper. But one hundred strokes with a flail? That's torture!"

The watchmen shrugged. “It’s the law in Ceris. If a woman has no man in authority over her, someone who can be held accountable for her crimes, then she gets treated like any other criminal.”

Father ignored the watchman, and looked at the girl. “Young lady, where is your father? I’m sure he’ll take responsibility for–” 

The watchman grunted, and twisted the girl’s arm to force her to spin around in a tight circle, revealing her ragged clothing. “Her father? That’s a good one! Just look at her. It’s clear she’s some homeless urchin.”

The girl yelped, holding onto the man’s thick arm in a desperate attempt to steady herself. “No, please! I don’t anyone to know I’m–”

Passing me by, Dad took a slow, ponderous step forward. The entire gathered crowd watched nervously, even a few of the black-bearded man’s fellow watchmen. Suddenly, it struck me that my Dad was the only person here who was even close to the same size as the huge watchmen. Dad spoke to the girl, using a stern, fatherly voice. “Listen girl, I know you’re scared, but you have to think carefully. Do you have a father? Grandparents? An older brother? Anyone who can claim you?”

The girl only shivered, her eyes strangely vacant. It was as if she couldn’t hear a word my dad had said.

The watchman scowled at my dad, then forced a laugh. A few of the other watchmen in the crowd joined in, but only the watchmen laughed, and not even all of them. “All right, you’ve had your joke. She’s fatherless. So now she’s ours to deal with. We have to set an example.”

The girl started to cry.

"And after you beat her, what will happen to her?"

The watchmen shrugged. “Then she’ll be free to go. If she can still walk, of course.” 

“Flogged without a trial? That’s barbaric.”

“We’ve always had the right to spank any naughty girl we catch stealing, and I caught her red handed. She knew the risks when she tried to steal that cucumber."

"What cucumber?"

The watchman blinked his beady eyes, twice. “What are you on about?”

Dad held up a basket of cucumbers, and spoke loudly, projecting his voice so that the entire crowd could hear him. “These are my wife’s cucumbers, and I haven’t had any stolen. I think this has all been a simple misunderstanding. Right, son?”

The girl squealed, and I realized that the watchman was tightening his grip on her wrist. He grit his teeth in fury. “Nonsense! I heard your son cry, ‘Thief!’ You, boy, you saw her stealing from your cart, didn’t you? Answer me!”

Feeling my throat tighten, I looked to Dad, and he nodded. “Tell the truth, son.”

And somehow, I understood exactly what he meant for me to do. I told the truth. “To be honest, sir, I wasn’t really paying proper attention. I think the girl just took me by surprise is all.”

The watchman bared his fangs. “You little liar! I saw the girl steal the cucumber myself. She dropped it when I caught her. It’s right over–”

He trailed off as he pointed at the spot on the ground where the cucumber had been only moments before. There was nothing but a patch of muddly cobble stones.

The gathered crowd started to murmur. Dad held up his basket with a flourish. “Well, that settles it. I’m not missing any of my cucumbers. Since there’s no proof she did anything wrong, I suggest you let her go. Now. Otherwise, I’m taking this to the Mayor.”

For a moment, the watchman looked murderous. Then, glancing at the onlookers, he forced a fake smile, and released his grip on the girl’s wrist. “So be it. If you hicks want to let orphans steal all your wares, it’s no skin off my nose. Get going, you nasty girl. And if I catch you causing any more trouble…”

He flicked his arm, snapping the leather tongs of his flail across her skirt-clad bottom. She screamed, and hopped high into the air.

“...you won’t get off so easy.” The watchman hooked his flail into his belt, and stomped away. Nervously, a few more of the watchmen followed him, forming a tight formation. The crowd parted to let them pass. 

Instantly, the girl ran and hid behind my dad, clutching to the back of his shirt.

Dad, ever the salesman, took the opportunity to sell an entire basket of cucumbers. “Of course, if you’ve tried my wife’s incredible cucumbers, you’d want to steal one too! Why, I’d wager even the most respectable noble in Ceris would happily become a thief, after taking just one bite! Don’t delay! Buy a bushel, today! Only while supplies last!”

I waited until I was sure the watchman was gone, then whispered. "Dad? What happened to the cucumber?"

Dad shrugged. "Somebody stole it. A real thief, mind you. Not like this girl." Dad gestured to the brown-haired girl, who was still clinging to the back of his shirt.

"A real thief? You mean you didn’t take it?"

“Of course not. Why would I steal my own cucumber? Use your head, son. Whoever took it knew what he, or she, was doing. On the other hand, you, young lady, are not cut out for thievery. I saw you standing around watching my stall from the moment we set up. Always looking around, shuffling, like you were worried someone was going to grab you at any moment.”

I suddenly remembered the girl was with us. “Wait, you knew a thief was watching us? Why didn’t you warn me?”

“I did not know she was a thief. I noticed she was acting suspicious. And I did warn you to keep a look out for thieves. I think she only tried it because she saw you weren’t watching the goods.”

The girl mumbled under her breath. “...Sorry.”

Dad twisted to look down at the girl. “Yes, miss?”

Finally, the girl released her hold on Dad’s shirt, and stepped back, eyes downcast, folding her hands in front of her. “I... I'm really sorry, sir. About your cucumber and all."

“What about it? Someone else stole it.”

The girl hunched her shoulders, then held up her head high. There was something strange about her posture. She stood straight and erect, more like a noble lady, not at all like the orphans I’d seen wandering the streets of Ceris before. “Yes, sir, but I tried to steal your cucumber first.”

Dad huffed dramatically. “And a damned fine cucumber it was, if I say it myself. You should never steal, young lady, especially if you don't know how."

"But, I…” the girl’s stomach gurgled loudly, and she blushed. “...I was just so hungry."

Dad waved a finger at the girl. "Well, you should have said so! I'm never one to refuse food to a pretty young lady!” he thundered. 

Immediately, I recognized the same booming “Dad Voice” he used at home when May or I was in big trouble. 

The girl tensed. Then, as Dad put a hand on her shoulder, I saw her blush. Dat patted her shoulder gently. “You are welcome to join us for lunch. But first, we have to get one thing clear."

The girl still held her prim posture, but she was clearly struggling to contain her excitement. "Yes, sir?"

"You remember what I told that watchman about the last time a girl tried to steal from me? What happened to her?”

The girl looked suddenly nervous. "Yes, sir. She was...spanked on her bare bottom?"

"Exactly. Now, such a punishment would do no good to a real thief. Professional, I mean. Bare-bottomed spanking is a childish punishment, and it should only be done to a girl who behaves as a child. Wouldn't you agree?"

She nodded, then steeled herself. "I did a rather stupid thing, didn't I?"

"Yes, young lady, you did. What's your name, by the way?"

She seemed to struggle to say her name, blushing even more furiously than before. "My name is…Merta, sir."

"Well, Merta, we can't have girls–not even very pretty, very hungry girls–stealing our food. See that bath house? Right through that door is the spanking room. If you’re really sorry for what you’ve done, I think you should march your silly little bottom straight over there, sit your silly little bottom down in the spanking room, and wait for Zack here to come deal with you, and your silly little bottom.”

Dad clapped me across the back of my shoulder. “I’ll send him along in a few minutes. While you wait, I want you to think hard about what you did wrong, and about what’s coming to you. Zack’s will be spanking your bare bottom, good and hard, to punish you for trying to steal. It won't feel nice, but it will be much better than what the watchman had in store for you. What do you think?"

Tears appeared in Merta's eyes. "I was... silly, sir. I deserve it."

Dad stroked Merta under her chin, lifting her eyes up. "Good. And after you’re finished, we are all going to sit down and have a hearty lunch together. And everything will be forgiven."

Merta’s eyes sparkled. "Thank you, sir."

Dad pointed to the bathhouse. “Then you know what to do. Go in, and wait for your spanking. Zack will be along shortly."

Merta slowly shuffled toward the bathhouse. She had the look of someone who does not look forward to getting to her destination. Not at all.

In a trance, I watched her threadbare skirt clinging to her bottom, until she finally disappeared behind the door. The moment she disappeared, I grabbed Dad, stammering. "M-me? Why me? You’re the one who saved her."

“And you’re the one who made this mess by not paying attention. You led her into temptation with your absent-mindedness, so you should be the one to take responsibility, and spank her for it.”

I felt my head swimming. “But, Daddy, I’ve never spanked anyone before!”

Dad shrugged. "You got the theoretical lesson this morning, didn't you? Now it's time for you to get some practice. Be firm, but not harsh. I have a feeling there's more to her than meets the eye."

I pulled at my collar. "But…don’t you want to spank her?"

Dad peered at me, with a mysterious expression. “Of course not. I have to mind the stall. Also, I hate having to spank a young woman. Even when a woman needs it, it’s still an unpleasant business…generally speaking.”

A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead. I wondered if Dad knew my secret. "Well, she’s probably long gone by now. Why did you send her first?"

Dad craned his neck, glancing at the bathhouse. "Think, Zack. It's a test of character. If she didn’t wait for you to come for her, she has no honor. A spanking wouldn't do her any good anyways."

"And if she is still there? What’s that supposed to mean?"

Dad smiled. "Do you remember that girl I told you about? The one who tried to steal from me, and got spanked for it?"

"Yeah?"

Dad stroked his chin. "You know, I don’t think I ever told you this, but that's how I met your mother."

"...What?"

"Fate, my son, may take curious patterns. When I saw that girl, steeling herself up  to steal a stupid cucumber, I thought, perhaps history is repeating itself?"

"You can’t be serious. You’re still playing matchmaker? I don’t know anything about this girl."

He nudged me. "Then go get to know her. I’m not asking you to marry her. I’m asking you to spank her. Hopefully, she’ll thank you for it. We gave her enough time to run away, if she wanted to. She must feel like she’s sitting on pins and needles. Don't keep the poor girl waiting any longer."

A wave of nausea came over me as I entered the spanking room. However excited I was by the distant sounds of spanking, standing inside the room was a different matter altogether. I had been brought here once before, when I was about six years old and threw a tantrum at the stall. It wasn't a pleasant memory.

Merta hadn't run away. She was sitting on a short wooden stool, looking a little tense, but still politely resigned to her fate. A mother and daughter were seated on two other stools, directly across from Marta.

My eyes were drawn to the sturdy, high-backed chair in the back of the room. Unlike the little stools, it had been built especially for parents to use to spank their children. Kids used to call it, “The Seat of Judgment.”

A man was sitting there, spanking a girl–probably his daughter. As I looked more closely, I recognized Elizabeth and her father from earlier. 

The red apple was resting in front of Elizabeth’s face. She was bawling at the top of her lungs, but her father’s hand was relentless. He was spanking slowly, but I was sure he already spent the last few minutes making sure Elizabeth’s bottom matched the color of the apple, just like he’d promised her. 

Shakily, I took a seat on the empty stool beside Merta. Across from us, the strange girl stared at us, and waved. She looked about eight years old, and bore a striking resemblance to her mother.

"Hi!" she said brightly. "You came to spank her, right?" She pointed at Merta.

I didn't know what to say, but Merta nodded, folding her hands demurely on her lap. "Yes, he came to spank me."

The girl nodded. "I will get spanked with Momma's hairbrush," she said, to no one in particular.

I tried to keep my face neutral. "That must hurt.”

"Yeah," the girl sighed. "But Momma says I must get a good spanking because I was naughty."

"And you will be getting a good spanking, young lady," said her Mom sternly, before turning to us. “I’m afraid my daughter threw a temper tantrum, and overturned an entire apple cart. Didn’t you, Emma?”

Emma kicked her feet. “Yeah…Were you naughty too, lady?"

Merta smiled. "Yes. I’m ashamed to admit it, but…I tried to steal a cucumber."

Emma’s mother raised an eyebrow. “Be careful what you say. You never know when a watchman might be listening in. I take it you’re the offended party, young man?”

I swallowed a lump in my throat, and started talking without thinking. “Um…my Dad says I gotta spank her bare bottom.”

The mother smiled, and nodded curtly. “Finally. Some common sense.”

Emma rocked in her seat, staring curiously at Merta. "So, you will get a hairbrush spanking too?"

Merta stiffened. "I... I hope not..."

"No, she won't," I answered. "I don't even own a hairbrush."

Emma’s mom pulled a hairbrush out of her purse. "You can borrow mine. Ah–I think, Emma, it's our turn."

Finally, Elizabeth’s father stopped spanking her. Carefully, he stood her up and let her cry for a while. After Elizabeth got control of her tears, he pulled her panties back up, and led her out.

After they disappeared, Emma whistled with undisguised admiration. “Finally. That was a tremendously long spanking. I wonder what she did to deserve it?”

I answered without thinking. “She tried to steal an apple. At least, maybe she did. I don’t know if it was on purpose.”

Emma’s mom scoffed. "I saw the whole thing. Her father was too mild with her. Nothing beats a good hairbrush, right, Emma?"

She stood up and went to the chair, hairbrush in her hand. Emma looked at her with sudden worry. "Momma, please..."

Emma’s mother patted the hairbrush firmly against her lap. "Oh, come on, trying to act all brave, and now this? You were a naughty, naughty little girl, Emma, and naughty little girls get the hairbrush. Skirt up, panties down and bend over my lap!"

I sat next to Merta and we watched in shared fascination as Emma silently obeyed and assumed the position. For a moment, Emma’s bare bottom seemed to shine, poking in the air, right before her mother started to apply the hairbrush.

Emma reminded me of May and the wooden spoon. She started crying almost instantly, and she was kicking fiercely.

Her mother shook her head. "I don't like to do this to you, Emma, but your behaviour was unforgivable today!" The hairbrush kept rising and falling. Emma’s cries built to howls.

Finally, Emma bucked her feet so hard her panties flew off. 

Delicately, Merta picked them and set them on the stool. 

"Thanks, my dear," said Emma's mom.

As Emma's spanking continued, Merta looked increasingly more uneasy. Suddenly, she clutched my arm, and I felt a thrill travel up my spine. Why was Merta holding me, if she was scared of a spanking? After all, I was the one who was going to spank her.

Finally it was over. Emma hollered and jumped while her mother calmly put the hairbrush back in her bag. Then she hugged her daughter. "I hope this will be enough motivation for you to be good from now on!" 

Emma just nodded, fighting to catch her breath past hiccups. Emma’s mom held up the hairbrush for me to examine. “Sure you wouldn’t like to borrow mine? I guarantee it will make a profound impression on your friend, the repentant thief.”

I felt Merta’s fear as she examined the hairbrush, and shook my head. “Thank you, ma’am, but since I’ve never spanked someone before…I figure I’d better stick with the basics this time. But don’t worry, I plan to be very fair with her.”

The mother cooed. “Aw, how sweet. Stick close to this one, miss. He seems like a keeper.”

Emma rubbed her eyes, her breath hitching. “Hic! Goo–good luck, lady!”

Emma’s mother scooped her up, and carried her out the door. Emma winced once as she felt her bottom press against her mother’s arm, then set her head down, nuzzling close to her mother.

Finally, we were alone in the room.

I took a deep breath, and looked at Merta. I tried to make my voice sound steady, like Dad’s was. "Well, Merta, it's time.”

Merta looked at me with eyes like a frightened deer’s. "It will hurt a lot, right?"

"That's a stupid question, Merta. Of course it will hurt." I sighed. "Look, I want you to know that I'm not angry with you. It's just that Dad asked me to..."

I wanted to say, “spank you,” but my throat caught at the thought of spanking.

Merta spoke before I could struggle to say the dreaded word. "It's the right thing to do. He lied to the watchman because of me. And he lost a cucumber. It's just that...when I saw those poor girls, getting spanked, I realised that I'm going to be spanked next. I know I deserve the spanking, I still...just don't want to be spanked."

"Well, uh–how are you normally spanked?"

Merta looked down. "I’ve never never spanked, Zack."

I stared at her. That was impossible! Everyone got spanked as a kid, even boys! "Come on, you can't expect me to believe that."

She was silent.

I stood up from my stool, trying to make myself look calm and collected. "Okay. In that case, I will spank you the same way my younger sister is usually spanked. She’s about your age. Does that sound fair?”

Merta nodded.

I sat in the high-backed chair, and patted my right thigh. “Come here, Merta, and bend over."

Merta did, but she was trembling the whole time. I decided to go easy on her.

I flipped up the patched rags that represented her skirt, and tugged at her white panties to find…nothing! Her panties clung tight to her bottom, as if refusing to budge.

"Er–maybe you could–you know…lift your bottom a little?"

Silently, gracefully, Merta raised her hips. The gesture caused her bottom to slightly press against panties, a little more fully. 

On my second attempt, the panties slid down neatly. Merta had a smooth, round little bottom. And to my shame, I felt a thrill of excitement. 

This bottom was all mine to spank, and the longer I looked at it, the more I wanted to spank it, and spank it hard.

But then I thought about Merta’s fear, and felt sorry for her. This wasn’t just about her bottom. Merta wasn’t just a butt, a thing that existed for me to spank for my amusement.

Merta needed this spanking, and she had asked for it. And even though we had only just met, I knew that what Merta needed right now was a friend she could trust to spank her, and I was determined to help her. But even as I resolved to do my best for her, at the same time, I couldn’t help but think how strangely “spankable” Merta seemed. 

I raised my hand high.

"Ready, Merta?"

Merta’s bottom quivered. Then she folded her hands, as if in prayer, and held her bottom high, willingly offering it up for her spanking. "Ready..."

 

SMACK!

I was surprised how intense the feeling was. Her skin was smooth against my palm, and I felt the impact reverberate through her bottom like waves. Immediately, she yelped, and I felt heat slowly rising where’d I’d landed the first spank.

I started to deliver only light spanks, resisting the urge to use the full force of my shoulder and arm. Still, Merta was yelping after each and every one. I wondered if she was play-acting to gain sympathy. My head told me that Merta had to be lying about never being spanked, though my heart wasn’t so sure. Based on her reactions, she sure seemed like a frightened toddler, getting her first spanking ever.

Finally, I told myself it didn’t matter. If she was lying, she could always confess to me later, and I’d give her a second spanking. But she had willingly accepted this punishment, so I would give her the benefit of the doubt. Nevertheless, I held my wrist firm, and added a little more follow through to my spanks, slowly building the intensity. This was not the time to be tender.

As I continued spanking, I suddenly discovered a rhythm. In the past, I’d always noticed how spankings had an almost musical quality to them. Now it came naturally to me. 

By now, Merta’s bottom developed a pink tint, and she started to kick her feet up against her bottom. “Feet down, Merta. You asked for this spanking. Now hold still.” 

With an effort, Merta pulled her feet away from her bottom, and I lifted my right knee slightly to hoist her hips a few inches into the air. Somehow, I knew instinctively that this would make it harder for her to kick up her feet again. 

I started spanking all over again, a little harder, and a little faster. Merta strained her legs, and writhed her hips atop my thigh, but resisted the urge to shield her bottom with her feet. After another minute or two of spanking, Merta started to sob softly, though I could tell she was still resisting the urge to break down completely.

I was impressed. The pink cherry blossom color slowly deepened to a red shade, more closely resembling a cherry fruit than the flower. As I spanked, I thought of the red apple from before, and strawberries, and raspberries, and all the red flowers and fruits I’d ever seen. Whatever the names for all the different shades of red, any of them might apply. I thought of Dad’s advice on how, once the bottom was bright red, it was usually time to stop. But as I thought of the stolen cucumber, I decided that, for the crime of stealing, Merta deserved no less than the brightest, reddest bottom I could possibly give her.

I spanked faster, determined to make each and every one count. Merta’s sobs grew more desperate, and at long last, she started to cry freely. The sound of her cries struck me. Compared to her earlier yelps and wails, they sounded distinctly “wetter.” There was no other word for it.

I recalled how May was usually tearful right at the beginning of a spanking, only to gradually become more desperate. 

Merta was almost the opposite of May. Despite all the shouts and yelps from before, only now was she shedding real tears. 

I landed a particularly hard clap, relishing the sense of rising heat across Merta’s bottom and the tingling sensation across my aching, stinging palm. Merta howled, her voice lowering to an angry snarl. “Agh! Just–just stop already! Stop it!”

I felt Merta slam her full weight down across my thigh. She was surprisingly heavy. 

Merta writhed across my lap, and I was forced to press her tight across her waist with my left hand, pinning her against my left leg to keep her from squirming off my lap. “That is enough! You…you have no right to spank me! You don’t even know who I am!” She clutched at my pant leg and shirt. Her voice was strangely, deep, and despite her anger, there was a cold force behind her words.

Hesitating, I held my hand in mid air. Had I gone too far? I looked closely at Merta’s bottom. I wasn’t sure, but “Crimson” seemed to be the right word to describe it. A tad darker than a good, old-fashioned “rose red,” but not quite the angry scarlet marks that I had seen the wooden spoon achieve for May’s bottom this morning.

I felt my stinging palm, and realized that I had never asked Dad exactly how many spanks I should give a girl for stealing. Even if I knew the number, I’d lost count long ago. Merta was no longer holding her bottom up willingly. Would she be angry at me? Finally, I decided to just do what I’d heard Mom or Dad do, when May or I was on the receiving end. “Why are you getting this spanking, Merta?”

She took slow, deep breaths, her voice still cold. “I stole food…”

I spanked her hard, ignoring the screaming sensation in my palm. With a squeak, Merta kicked up her legs, and shielded her bottom with her dirty, bare feet. I brushed her feet aside, pinning Merta’s feet down at my right side. I was painfully aware that, if Merta didn’t choose to hold still, I had no idea how to spank her. “Why else are you getting this spanking?

Then, Merta’s voice calmed, and returned to its usual, delicate tone. “Because…because I asked you to spank me.”

As Merta exhaled, I felt her tension melt away, and knew she wouldn’t fight me if I released my hold on her. I adjusted my grip on her waist to support her weight, letting her hips rest on my left thigh this time. “Then let’s finish what we started.”

Merta sniffled, then released her hold on me. She allowed me to position her across my leg, then slowly arched her back, lifting her bottom high to present me her bottom as a defenseless, open target. It was staggering. So beautiful. “Yes. Please, spank me well, Zack.”

In disbelief, I renewed the spanking, though without the same force I’d mustered earlier. I realized I’d been close to losing my temper before. Now I felt winded. It never occurred to me before that spanking would be such hard work. I settled on spanking gently, but firmly, like I had right at the start. I was worried that Merta would be insulted by my weak effort, but after only ten spanks, she started weeping softly again. Clearly, the long ordeal had worn down her resolve. I carried on spanking gently until she was reduced to racking sobs, but I sensed it was more from emotional remorse than from any physical agony.

That was surely enough, I thought.

I pulled her panties up and stood her on her feet. I felt an urge to hug her, but held back, not sure if it would be disrespectful. But she hugged me instead, solving this little dilemma. "I'm...I am so sorry you had to spank me, Zack! Thank you"

As she buried her face in my shoulder, I examined my hand. It was flaming red and sore, but strangely enough, I found I quite liked the feeling. It seemed strangely fitting. My hand matched Merta’s bottom. 

I wasn't the least bit sorry that I had spanked her. In fact, I had thoroughly enjoyed it.

“Hold that thought,” I said to myself. “You shouldn't enjoy this–or you might end like that watchman.”

…

Merta cried for a few minutes before she felt ready to leave. 

"Well?" asked Father after we came back. "Did you learn your lesson about stealing, young lady?"

Ruefully, Merta rubbed her bottom. "Yes, sir. I most certainly did."

He nodded. "Good. In that case, we should eat. I know a quiet spot away from the bustle. My wife made us sandwiches."

Dad held up the sandwiches. As Merta examined them, I could almost hear her counting. Three of us. Two of them.

Merta looked up sadly at my Dad as she accepted a sandwich. "But…what are you going to eat, sir?"

He smiled, and held up the last of Mom’s vegetables. "There are always cucumbers."

…

Traffic was slow, and we were crowded by farmers and locals on all sides. All the visiting farmers were trying to get out of Ceris before the gates closed for the night. Dad sat at the front of the cart, holding the reins.

A shadow fell over us, and I glanced up at an imposing keep that rose above the brownstone city walls. Merta shivered, and crouched low against the cart, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. Wooden supports made it clear that construction was still ongoing. 

As the cart jostled, I caught myself, and pointed up toward the tower. “What’s that for? I thought the border war was over long ago.”

Dad scowled at the sight. “It’s not for war…it’s a new prison.”

I struggled to take in the sight. It was bigger than any building I’d ever seen, even in Ceris. “Looks big enough to hold every criminal in Ceris and Cant, with room to spare.”

“Exactly. Apparently the Watchmen of Ceris have been offering to house every petty thief and highwayman who’s caught in the freelands. Until they can face the King’s Justice, at least.”

“Well, good riddance, I say. Do we even still have a King these days? I thought he died of old age.”

Dad shrugged. “Ceris and Cant have taken to calling themselves ‘The Free Cities’ now. The Lord of Cant is all right, I suppose, when he’s not trying to tax every last radish and turnip before I can dig them up. But Ceris has…changed. If you see the Watchmen on patrol, try to keep your head down. Especially after our run in with that brute.”

I stared at Dad. “Why should I be worried? We’re not thieves, or poachers, or anything.”

Merta sighed. “It’s because of me, isn’t it?”

Dad held a finger up to his lips. Before I could ask why, I heard a shrill cry, and the sound of a roaring crowd. Looking ahead, I saw a crowd of onlookers gathered around a scaffold. I spotted an empty noose that marked it as the local gallows. Beneath this, a group of men sat, locked in stockades. Signs around their necks declared them to be pick-pockets, cut-purses, and such. In a city the size of Ceris, that wasn’t too strange a sight, but then I heard something that sounded wrong.

It was a woman’s voice, crying weakly, followed by the crack of a whip. And then, I saw her. She was standing shakily, her head and hands trapped in a pillory. Her dress had been hiked up above her shoulders, and she was naked below the waist. “That criminal is…a woman?”

Then, a hooded man swung a strange whip across the woman’s lower back. I caught a glimpse of her dirty blond hair flying as she strained against her restraints, shaking. I expected a blood-curdling screech, but there was none. Only a broken, faltering wail.

Dad glanced at the mob, who cheered and jeered at the sight. “Women can’t commit crimes?”

The hooded man delivered another stroke. I realized his tool had multiple leather tongs, at least nine of them, all connected to a single handle, like a flail. “But…where is her husband? If she committed a crime, then he’s the one who should answer for it, not her.”

“Suppose she has no husband?”

“Well, then her father. Or whoever is responsible for her. Every woman is subject to–”

Another lash of the whip cut across the woman’s buttocks. Dad flinched, and pulled at Sandy’s reins to angle the cart away from the scaffold. “She could have been disowned by her father. Or maybe she’s an orphan. Plenty of young women ended up homeless after the border war.”

“But, if she isn’t under the protection of a man…what will happen to her?”

Dad sighed, and glanced furtively back at Merta. “If an orphaned girl is lucky, she can find work as a maid, or train to be an abbey nurse. But if a woman is convicted of a crime, and no man claims headship over her, she is usually sentenced to face the same penalty as any man convicted of the same crime.”

Another crack of the flail, followed by howls, not of pain, but of laughter. There was no blood-curdling scream, like I expected. And then, I finally understood something. The woman was too exhausted to scream.

As we pulled away from the site of the flogging, Merta didn’t react. Her eyes were vacant, her breath still. Finally, she spoke to no one in particular. “What’s happening to that woman…that’s what should have happened to me.”

The crowd cheered, as another victim was led toward the scaffold. I risked taking a glimpse over  my shoulder, and saw the woman being dragged toward the tower by her hair. Her legs gave out beneath her, and she went limp.

Dad turned the cart around a corner. “No. That shouldn’t happen to you. That shouldn’t happen to anyone.”

Merta blinked, then seemed to come out of a trance. “But…I’m fatherless. Sooner or later, I’ll have to steal food again, even though I know it’s wrong. And then…”

“Any male family member can take responsibility for you, as long as he’s the head of a household and you willingly submit to his authority. Do you have any family in Ceris? Uncles? Cousins?”

Merta shook her head. “No. I only came to Ceris because I heard there was plenty of food here.”

“And where were you raised, before you came to Ceris?”

Merta gripped the edge of the cart, and tried to stand. “That woman…she’s in danger! We need to help her.”

Instinctively, I sensed Merta was about to jump, and grabbed her. She squirmed weakly against my grasp, then seemed to settle down, as if she thought better of it. She sat her bottom down against my leg, and I distinctly felt the warm after-glow left by the earlier spanking, even through her skirt.

The line of traffic came to a halt. A crowd of farmers were gathered around the gates, waiting to be cleared for exit by the watchmen. Dad reached back and grabbed Merta’s wrist. “If that woman is being locked in the tower, it means she’s been accused of a high crime. We can’t do anything to help her. Right now, we’re helping you, Merta. Is there anyone we can take you to where you’ll be safe? Any place that you call home?”

Merta shook her head. Dad sighed, then released his hold on Merta’s wrist. “You can’t stay in Ceris with that sadistic watchman stalking you. You’ll just have to stay with us.”

Merta clutched the back of Dad’s seat. “For the night?”

“For as long as you need a place to stay.”

Merta glanced at me, then stroked her cheek. “But, I couldn’t possibly. I’m a stranger to you.”

“Merta’s your friend, isn’t she, Zack?”

I was so excited, I struggled to find the words. “Of course!”

“Then that settles it. You’re a friend of the family, Merta. That means you’re welcome in my home.”

Tears welled up in Merta’s eyes. “Even though I’m a thief?”

Dad waved a finger, jokingly. “Correction. You were a thief. Zack’s already spanked you for what happened today, so that’s over and done. Of course, if I ever catch you stealing while you live under my roof, you can expect to get the same treatment I’d give my girl May. Care to guess what that treatment is?”

Merta wiped her eyes, and beamed. “Yes, sir. If I ever steal again, you’ll give me a long, hard spanking, right on my bare bottom!”

Dad nodded, and flipped open his satchel. “You’re a remarkably quick learner…Here, Zack. Those penny-pinching tax collectors will want us to have our toll payment ready. Be a dear and count it out for me.”

  

“Dad! You didn’t count it out earlier?”

“I can never figure out these new Cerisan coins. Used to be so simple. One silver shilling for entry.”

“It’s easy, Dad. Ten cents makes one dubbel, and ten dubblels make one gulden. The toll’s just one percent of total profits now.”

Dad tapped the wooden sign we used to mark prices for our wares. “Yeah, sure. But the inn keeper paid us in good, old Cantian silver. So what’s the toll come to in the new coins?”

“Just one percent of…wait, why did you take Cantian silver?”

“Because the inn-keep wanted to buy four whole bales of hay, and he didn’t try to haggle. It’s good silver.”

“But the tax is based on the new Cerisan coins, not Cantian coins.”

“More’s the pity.”

I groaned, and fished a piece of chalk out of the satchel. “Hang on. I can figure this out.”

Dad winked at me, his voice lightly teasing. “You’d better. I paid that school teacher good money to drill arithmetic into your head. Time to earn your keep.”

As the line slowly progressed toward the city exit, I quickly counted the two styles of coinage. The Cantian coins were stamped with the city crest on one side, and the face of the current Lord Mayor’s late father. In contrast, the new Cerisian coins bore an image of a bundle of birch rods, woven with a thorned vine. I paused as I noticed Merta peeking over my shoulder to watch me work. “Hold on, why are you counting those coins together? The pictures are different.”

I rolled my eyes. “Because they’re both Cerisian guldens.”

Merta picked one up and balanced it on her finger. “But this one’s heavier.”

I froze, and took a closer look at the silver coin. “Dang. This one’s from before the border war. It’s pure silver. Ceris taxes these based on their smelting value.”

Dad made a derisive snort. “So, how does that one work into your math?”

I shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t have a scale.”

“See, this is what I keep telling you. The old coins actually made sense. Now everything’s got to be put into tens, just to make life easier for tax collectors.”

Merta tugged my sleeve. “I have an idea. Do you have any other silver coins? One you do know the value for?”

Dad hummed to himself, then fished out a silver coin, holding it up proudly. “Right here. One, good, old, Cantian silver shilling. And it will always buys you two dozen eggs.”

I rubbed my eyes. “But I don’t know the old conversion rates.”

Merta held up the two silver coins, feeling their different hefts and weights. “But they’re both pure silver. Will an approximate weight be enough?” 

“Yeah, if I had a scale. Then I’d just compare its weight to the silver shilling to get–”

Merta snatched the chalk out of my hand, and started drawing circles around both coins. “Then we can use geometry to find the answer. I just need a measuring stick. Do you have one, Zack?”

We always carried one, in case we needed to make any carpentry repairs to the cart. Confused, I retrieved our measuring stick from the satchel and handed it to Merta.

Dad turned, and raised an eyebrow as he watched Merta work. After measuring the two circles, she jotted down a short mathematical equation, which I recognized. “Pi, r squared? The area of a circle?”

Merta nodded, sticking her tongue out as she measured the side of each coin. “Multiplied by the width to get the total volume. I don’t know how to measure the little carvings exactly but…the coin from Cant is about two-thirds the size of the coin from the old coin from Ceris. If they’re both pure silver, then that means three Cantian silvers would just about equal two of the old Cerisian silvers. Does that sound about right?”

Dad slapped his forehead. “Of course! How could I forget? Those used to be the prices for a good spade.”

I read carefully over Merta’s calculation. “How do you know geometry?”

Merta froze. “Oh…I suppose I must have learned it as a child. I’ve always liked drawing shapes.”

I handed Dad the final tally for the city toll we owed. “That’s quite a skill to have. The whole village had to pitch in to bring in a school teacher from the Academy of Cant, just to teach geometry. You should ask her to give you a few pointers, Zack.”

Merta blushed. “Oh, no. I’m sure I’m the one who needs to learn from Zack…he already taught me one lesson today, and I’ll never forget it.”

As Merta looked at me, I felt a strange lurching in my stomach. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to kiss her, pinch her arm, or throw up, but it was some combination of the three.

Then, Sandy whinnied, and stomped her hooves. A young watchman, barely older than me, was blocking the cart. “Halt, in the name of the Free People of Ceris! Captain Feltar, she’s here! I found her!”

I heard a slick, booming voice coming from behind us. “Well, well, if it isn’t our little cucumber thief.”

Merta and I both spun around, and recognized Captain Feltar at once. He was the same black-bearded watchman from before. Another two watchmen followed him at a distance, though they looked less eager than their captain. 

Dad tightened his grip on the reins. “What are you doing here? We’ve done nothing wrong, and neither has she. This girl is no thief."

Feltar smirked, then pulled out a roll of parchment from inside his uniform. “And you were right. She’s not some common thief. She’s Wanted for something much more interesting…” 

He unrolled the scroll to reveal a wanted poster, depicting an amateurish drawing of a teenage girl with brown hair and brown eyes. I instantly recognized it as Merta. The reward promised a hundred gold sovereigns for the capture of the girl alive. “...I am placing this girl under arrest for the crime of witchcraft.”

Merta clutched the wooden sign, holding it up like a shield between herself and Feltar. “No! I won't go back there! I won't!"

Dad glanced suspiciously at Merta. “That’s ridiculous. There’s no such thing as witchcraft, and you know it.”

“Tell that to whoever posted the reward. Don’t worry, girl, they want you taken alive. You’ve got a thrashing coming…but I promise I won’t kill you.”

Dad dropped the reins, and stood to his full height, towering above the crowd. “This girl is under my protection. If you lay a hand on her, I promise I will kill you.

 

As I tried to put myself between Merta and Captain Feltar, something caught my eye. As she cowered behind the wooden sign, Merta was surreptitiously free-hand drawing something with chalk. Her hand was shaking as she drew the last straight line, slowly, precisely.

I recognized it as an equilateral triangle, divided into three smaller triangle connected at the center. Dimly, I recalled the name for the shape from the geometry classes I hadn’t slept through: it was the symbol for a tetrahedron.

The moment that Merta finished the drawing, she flipped the board. “Zack, get back!”

Feltar’s hand flew to his side, and he started to draw a sword from its scabbard. “What’s this?”

Then, Feltar second guessed himself. With a quick motion, he thrust out his elbow, ramming it into my gut. I gasped as the air was knocked out of me, before the force of the blow knocked me aside and over the edge of the cart. The last thing I saw before I tumbled out of sight was Merta holding up her chalk drawing. The lines were glowing, with an impossible, intense inner light. Then I slammed down hard on the cobblestone below, scraping my elbows as I barely managed to break my fall. 

I almost tripped as I rose to my feet, and several things happened all at once. The younger watchman panicked as he tried to draw his sword, fumbling it. Dad threw his purse of silver coins at the lad with such force, it sent coins bouncing in every direction. The boy screamed and fled, his sword clattering to the ground behind him. 

As I spun to look for Merta, I saw Feltar grasping her by the arm, easily pulling her towards him. Then, Merta’s drawing moved. The central point thrust forward, creating a glowing pyramid that floated in mid air, pointed right at Feltar’s breastplate. 

Both Feltar and I looked right at the floating pyramid. Frightened, he shrinked away, releasing his grip on Merta’s arm, before the pyramid started to slowly rotate in mid air, so that the flat triangular base faced him instead. Feltar lowered his arms, scowled at the pyramid with a look of disgust, then reached for Merta with a snarl.

At that precise moment, the glowing pyramid exploded forward in a pillar of fire, slamming flat into his chest. Feltar roared in pain as the pyramid carried him into the air, before it sent him crashing through a wooden sign that advertised exchange rates for a money changer. Finally, the glowing pyramid exploded like a firework, bursting several canvas bags of coins which piled on Feltar in an endless heap.

As Sandy reared, whinnying in sheer terror, Dad leapt lightly down from our cart and scooped up the young watchman’s dropped sword.

Feltar rose from the broken remains of the money changer stand, and jabbed a finger at us. “Kill the men! Just get the girl! I want her alive!”

The other two watchmen shook, looking back and forth from their captain, to my father, who glared at them. Slowly, deliberately, Dad sheathed the boy’s dropped sword, then held it up in a defensive guard. “Don’t do it, boys. You’re not ready to use live blades yet.”

Feltar’s slipped as he tried to steady himself against the pile of coins. “Do it! Kill him, or I’ll kill you myself!”

But before they could make up their minds, Dad snatched the wooden sign back from Merta and threw it at Feltar like a rectangular discus. It slammed across Feltar’s face with enough force to snap his head back against the bags of coins, knocking him out cold. Feltar looked like he was sleeping on the most expensive bed that money could buy, and the least comfortable one.

That was enough to convince the other two timid watchmen diving for cover.

Dad drew the abandoned sword from its sheath, cut the reins that held Sandy to the cart, and rounded on me. “Zack, Move! Get Merta out of here!”

My legs started to move on their own. I hopped up and over the edge of the cart, and scooped up Merta. She was dainty enough that even I could manage it, with an effort. She squeaked with surprise. “No! Don’t get involved. You don't know what they’re capable of. They’ll–”

I jumped off the other side of the cart, trying to find a path through the terrified faces of the onlookers, anything to put distance between us and Feltar. The crowd parted like a wave to allow us past them, and I spotted an alleyway between two half-timbered cottages, and ran into it. I could hear the crowd murmuring excitedly behind us, but the alley itself was empty.

Merta buried her face in her hands, shaking her head. "I'm sorry it ended like this! I didn't want to hurt anyone. I really didn't! But…I’m not going back there!"

I screamed to be heard above the din of the panicking crowd. “Back to where? How did you make that drawing explode?”

Merta started to cry. "I don't know! It just...works that way! Every time I draw that picture, it blows up in my face!"

As I set Merta down in front of me, I suddenly felt exhausted all at once. “Who are you?”

Merta’s chest heaved as she gasped for air, between sobs. “I don’t…I don’t–”

I heard Dad’s voice behind me. “She’s a Geomancer.”

I turned. Dad was blocking the entrance to the alley way, holding Sandy by her reins. He gripped the guard’s sword in his right hand. “Merta, how did you learn to do that?”

Merta was taking short, quick breaths. “I don’t know, sir.”

“I knew there was something you weren’t telling us. I thought you were just a runaway. But that shape you drew…the ancient symbol for fire. I know it from an old story. How do you know it?”

Merta caught her breath, and looked at Dad with a serious, almost hurt look. “Sir, I don’t know how I know it. I just…know that’s what happens, when I draw that shape.”

“You said you didn’t want to go back. What happened to you before you came to Ceris? What’s the first thing you can remember?”

“It was…a dungeon. They said I had to draw for them. The same drawings. Over and over. Please, sir, what’s a Geomancer?”

Dad shook his head. "Pray that you never find out. Now go!"

And so we ran.

[End of Chapter 1]

[Original illustration by Crosschan.]