Neris

  Piers Anthony

  Contents

  Copyright

  1. Doris

  2. Nerine

  3. Neris

  4. Hedva

  5. Siphon

  6. Solution

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  More From Excessica!

  eXcessica publishing

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  Neris © 2016 by Piers Anthony

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

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  This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

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  Doris

  Doris knew that look: her son had something on his mind, and he would not relent until it was settled. He was four years old, handsome and imperious, with a certain literal magic. Worse, she was constitutionally unable to resist him. “What is it, son?”

  “The other kids in nursery school have moms and dads. Who is my dad, and why isn't he around?”

  Doris glanced at Nerine, who stood behind the boy. The nude nanny spread her hands apologetically. She must have tried to deflect the question, but Neris would not be denied. He had a remarkable vocabulary and knew the verbal tricks others tried to use for evasion. There was no choice except to tackle it directly. “I will tell, you, son, but you must not tell anyone else.”

  “Why not?” he demanded, only slightly shy of belligerence.

  “Because they will laugh at you and call you a liar.”

  “I'm not a liar!” he said angrily.

  “I know, son, but they will not believe it if you tell them. It is better to avoid that hassle.”

  “What, is he a king or something?”

  It had to come out. “Not exactly, Neris. He is a god.”

  “What's a god?”

  Just so. “A god is a supernatural being, a person with powers beyond the normal ones. You might call them magic. Your father is a god of the deep sea. He has to stay there.”

  The boy digested that. It was evidently more of an answer than he had anticipated. He looked at Nerine. “You know about this?”

  “Yes, Neris. He is my father too. I am your half sister.”

  That hardly fazed him. “You're magic too?”

  “Of course. That's why regular folk can't see me. Only you and your mother.”

  Neris nodded, not completely surprised. “That's why you have such good luck. It's magic.”

  “Yes. Father sent me to take care of you so you wouldn't get in trouble.”

  He scowled. “You always know what I'm planning.”

  “Of course. I can read your mean little mind.”

  Neris knew from experience that he couldn't get around her. He returned his attention to Doris, who was easier to get around. “What's his name?”

  “Nerius.”

  “If he can't leave the sea, and you can't leave the land, how did you meet?”

  Nerine's pretty mouth made a silent O of appreciation. That was a sharp question.

  “That is a special story,” Doris said carefully. “There are adult elements. You may not be ready for it yet.”

  The boy's jaw set firmly. “I am ready. Tell me.”

  Doris exchanged a look with Nerine. She was stuck for it. “I suspect it is time. I will tell you, while Nerine gets you ready for dinner and bed.”

  It was a scene from the Tennessee Waltz. Doris and her sweetheart were at the dance, and she ran into an old girlfriend. She introduced the two, and they danced together, beautifully, and suddenly Doris knew that all was lost. Sure enough, her friend stole her sweetheart from her. It wasn't intentional, and both of them were apologetic, which didn't make it any easier: it was instant love and Doris was the ex. All she could do was wish them well and go home to morn alone.

  Her life was like that: she was always the bridesmaid, never the bride. The key breaks always went against her. She gazed in the mirror and saw a distressingly average woman in her early twenties, with dull brown hair worn short, gray eyes, and an expression of vague regret. The kind who generally escaped serious notice. She had taken a temporary job at a minimum-wage fast food outlet because it was within walking distance, and then never found a permanent job to move up to. She had dated a reasonably handsome man because he asked, but before things got sufficiently serious had lost him to her more glamorous friend. Ever thus: that was her motto. Now all she could do was carry on and hope faintly for better luck in the future. Not that luck had ever been much of a friend.

  In one sense it seemed like eternity, and in another a minute; actually it was about a year. She heard a distant kind of music, an unfamiliar yet wholly compelling melody. It called her with its eerie seduction, beckoning her to some distant rapture, the kind she seldom if ever aspired to. “Do you hear that?” she asked a neighbor, who looked at her blankly. Apparently it was for her alone. Doris—come to me. Come to me.

  This was crazy. She had never been subject to hallucinations or eerie voices. She was a dull practical woman with no interest at all in the supernatural. So was this the onset of a mental disease? But she felt entirely rational in every other respect.

  Doris—come to meee. The thing was preternaturally beautiful, in its annoying fashion. And how did it know her name? This made no sense at all.

  She checked her ears, thinking there could be a receiving device in there somehow, but there was none. Meanwhile the summons was growing more pressing. It was directional; she knew exactly which way to go. Come to mee-eee!

  “Come to whom?” she inquired grammatically. There was no answer, just the intensifying repetition. As with an itch that had to be scratched or a cough that had to be coughed, she had to oblige it or figuratively drag her feet as it hauled on her spirit with increasing vigor. Worse, it wasn't limited to her ears; there was an increasing urgency in her groin, as though she had to urinate, or something.

  Or something? That was a sexual feeling, as if she were a bitch in heat, needing fulfillment by any male who happened by. Outrageous; she was a virgin with no particular hankering for that sort of thing. Yet it persisted, increasing.

  Was she being summoned to a mating, like an animal? That infuriated her, yet the need for that kind of release was growing. Disgusting! She was no horny male to be foolishly lured to her death by the sexual promise of a siren.

  She tried to resist its summons, but the urge overpowered her will and she had to follow it, for good or ill. She hastily packed some food and a change of socks and panties, locked the house, and set off afoot, guided by that imperative song. It would have been much faster by car, but she couldn't afford even a rattletrap. Fortunately the ocean shore was not far distant, and by nightfall she was crossing the beach and contemplating the sea. The summons came from there. Was she to dive in, heedless of her clothing? The song still called, and her groin still hungered. She cursed the need, but hardly hesitated. She doffed her outfit and hid it under a deck chair together with her purse and bag. That was hardly safe, even at night, but her urgency prevented any more careful preparation. She contemplated the dark water, took a deep breath, then waded into the chill water nude. There was a certain illicit thrill to her naughtiness, together with nervousness about the deeps; she wasn't that good a swimmer. What about sharks? Deadly jellyfish? But none of it held her back long; the song overpowered hesitation. She swam past the moored boats and into the bay. What now? Was she to be an unexplained suicide?

  A wind stirred, then a current. In moments she was swept into a developing whirlpool where none should be. It sucked her down, down, into the depths of the sea.

  She realized bemusedly that she should have been terrified, but she wasn't; the song sustained her equilibrium. She should have been drowning in the horrible swirl, but she wasn't. She was merely riding it down, faster and faster, into the dark depth. She knew she was finally getting where she was going, and that her awful need would soon be somehow sated.

  The tornado rush of it carried her spinning to the bottom, and abruptly dissipated, leaving her in a well of air in the water, with the sides rising vertically into the darkness above. The whirlpool had been frozen in place. This was not credible, but she realized belatedly that this must be a dream; credibility did not count.

  She stood before a glassy portal. She might have paused to consider whether to pass through it, but the song in
her mind and groin was too potent to resist. She stepped into it, and lo! there was pleasantly sweet air.

  She appeared to be in a private lady's suite, replete with bed, dressing table, chairs, clothes closet, and bathroom. There were feminine curtains on the windows. What was this doing down here under the sea?

  “Salutation, Doris.”

  Doris jumped. She hadn't noticed the lovely woman in one of the chairs. “Uh, hello, I'm sure. If I may ask--?”

  “Certainly. I am Doris.”

  “But that's my name!”

  The woman shook out her sea-green tresses. “And thereby hangs a relevant story. You have much to learn before you proceed to your tryst with my husband.”

  “Tryst!” Doris exclaimed. “Husband? I have no intention of doing any such thing with anyone's husband!” Yet here she stood, naked, with burning groin.

  “Not as long as you remain here in my boudoir, where the summoning song is largely nullified.”

  Doris realized that her desperate urgency had abated significantly when she entered the suite. She was able at last to relax. That was a phenomenal relief. “If that is your doing, you have my appreciation. You can't imagine what I have been experiencing.”

  “Oh, indeed I can,” the woman said. “Every time Nereus sings, I am compelled to go generate another daughter. I am fed up with it, but can't resist his magic. Unless I remain here, which I have spelled to block out that particular sound.” She took a deep breath, which stretched her laced bodice. She was quite well endowed.

  “Nereus?” Doris asked blankly. She realized in the background of her attention that though she remained bare, she wasn't cold; the boudoir was comfortable.

  “My lascivious spouse. That is part of his magic: the male siren song. His lust cannot be denied, as you may have noticed.”

  Doris worked it out. “Your husband sings, and it makes women desperate to—to oblige his lewdness? That's what I felt? What brought me here into the sea?”

  “You have it, my dear. The women who can hear him, at any rate. Now may we talk?”

  “I think we had better. I want you to know that I have no intention of—of indulging your husband. In fact I wouldn't have come here, had I had any choice. But that infernal song--”

  “Exactly. You had no choice. Please, dear, sit down so we can converse relaxed. There is so much to cover.”

  Clearly that was the case. “You said your name was Doris. The same as mine. Is that coincidence?”

  “Not at all. Let me explain.”

  “By all means.” Doris was now more than ready to listen.

  “I am Doris, a minor sea goddess, daughter of the titans Oceanus and Tethys, who are siblings.”

  “Brother and sister? But--”

  “Exactly,” Doris repeated. “Also husband and wife. They are two of the children of Uranus, god of heaven, and Gaea, goddess of the earth. My grandparents by both lines. Such intermarriage is common among the gods, as they dislike diluting their godliness by indulging with mortals. Unless a mortal is a particularly attractive girl, or there is some other reason. You of the mortal persuasion may find this awkward, but we do not.”

  Doris was stunned. “You—you really are gods? Supernatural creatures? I find it hard to believe that gods even exist, let alone that they openly practice incest.”

  “It becomes worse. Uranus was not only Gaea's husband, but her son. She hated him, and finally plotted with their youngest son Cronus, my uncle, to attack him, castrate him, and dethrone him. So we practice patricide too. Not that I approve; I have not spoken to Cronus in centuries.”

  “Centuries? But you look my age.”

  “Gods don't age the way mortals do, dear. We appear the way we choose to appear.”

  “I--see,” Doris said, amazed.

  “Not that we don't have our problems. That is where you come in.”

  “I would much prefer to stay out,” Doris said. “You gods evidently play your games with a hard ball.” Or balls, she thought, remembering the bit about castration.

  The goddess smiled as if picking up the gruesome pun. “We do. But you have little choice, now that you have been summoned; Nereus will not let you escape unplumbed. We must merely minimize the damage.”

  Doris felt a cold chill despite the warmth of the boudoir. “Damage?”

  “His lust is not gentle. I as a goddess can handle it, but you are mortal. You are in for quite a stretching.”

  Doris shuddered, not wanting even to imagine it. “He's your husband. Surely you don't want me in his bed. Can't you sneak me out of here so we can avoid this whole awful scene?”

  “I could, dear, but he would only sing you back to him. You will have to go through with it.”

  Doris knew she was grasping at straws. “His family—they can't approve of his being unfaithful to you. Maybe if we plead with them.”

  The goddess shook her head. “I gave you my lineage. Now let me mention his, so you can appreciate why that is not feasible. Nereus' parents are Pontus, a god of the sea, and Gaea, goddess of earth.”

  “Gaea! But isn't she in your own lineage?”

  “Yes, she is my grandmother. But also Nereus' mother and grandmother, by the god of the sky Aether, who is the son of Chaos, the origin of everything.” The goddess smiled. “She gets around.”

  “Doesn't that make you Nereus' cousin?”

  “Or closer, yes. So you see, I can't try to deny Nereus without annoying Gaea, which would not be wise. She is a senior goddess, capable of seducing any male she chooses, god or mortal, and we lesser goddesses find it expedient to step quietly around her.”

  Doris found the godly genealogy dizzying, but saw the point: she was stuck for it. So she changed the subject. “You said that our names—that's not a coincidence.”

  “True, and I think that now you will be able to appreciate the relevance. When I was young and virginal, my uncle Cronos, the same one who usurped the throne of his father, made a play for me. He was not subtle about it.”

  “He hit on his niece?”

  “Gods lust after any skirt they discover, especially young sightly ones. Naturally I rejected him, and threatened to bite off his member if it came within range of me. That annoyed him, and he cursed me to bear only girls. I think it was in his mind that this might provide him more virginal females to seduce, in due course. I could not nullify the curse, and indeed, I have born Nereus fifty girls. He is beginning to catch on. Fearing that he would leave me, I went to my aunt Rhea.”

  “Rhea?”

  “She is another titan, eldest of them all, the sister and wife of Cronos, mother of Zeus and a spate of other gods. She may not be as powerful as Gaea, but she is nevertheless formidable.” The goddess smiled briefly. “She was not entirely pleased to learn of her husband's attempted infidelity with me.”

  Doris grimly echoed her smile. “I believe I understand her view.”

  “Rhea could not undo the curse on me, or confront Cronus directly, but she helped me in another manner: she laid a geis on Nereus.”

  “A what?”

  “A geis.” She pronounced it gaysh. “In mortal terms it is an obligation of honor, such as a knight refusing to flee before a threat no matter how dire. In immortal terms it becomes magical. The geis prevents Nereus from taking the virginity of anyone but Doris, and of course he would never touch a woman used by someone else. Even male gods do have certain standards. He can no more break that than you can withstand his song.”

  A light brightened. “And my name is Doris. I'm a virgin.”

  “There was a loophole,” the goddess agreed. “It never occurred to us that there would ever be any Doris but me. But we weren't thinking of the mortal realm. Now the same song that compels me also compels you; it is audible only to virgins named Doris.”

  “Virgins? But you said you have borne fifty children.”

  The other Doris smiled. “My virginity is automatically restored after each birth. It's a goddess thing.”

  Just so. Gods evidently did have different standards. “I'm sorry. If I had known, I would have taken care of that detail and eliminated my eligibility.” Though she had no idea with whom, given her history.