Happy New Year, everyone. Here's chapter 9. Please email me your comments!! They really let me know whether or not this work is worth the effort. You can also view my webpage at http://spiffy_psycho.tripod.com. There's naughty words and some sex scenes, so if you're under 18.. well, you know the rules. It's your butt, not mine. ;) Thanks for reading!
The Dark One
by David M. Roduner
The Head Shomb'ach screamed his command for silence. As leader of the Aires, he was tired. He did not want to hear the young hothead's impassioned speech. He'd head too many in his long 60,000 year life.
"But my Lord Coptus," plead the young Aire, "he still lives! I can sense it!"
"Silence, ruffian," shouted the Head Shomb'ach in return. "He was jettisonned a milenia ago! The chances of survival are so remote that you waste my time."
"His essence remains! You see the fire still burns." Other lesser members of the Shomb'ach house murmured quietly in agreement. Lichquoit, the wicked Aire, had attempted to overthrow the Shomb'ach government, claiming it to be outdated and in need of stronger tentacles. But Coptus, Head of the house of Shomb'ach had outwitted the young ruffian - imagine a 3584 year old sapling trying to control the Blackeye Galaxy! - and jettisoned him and his mutinous crew. All lifeflames had been extinguished except for Lichquoit's.
And now this 5,000 year old illex thought he could control the Great Coptus! He certainly had some lifeskills to learn yet, the aged Aire thought to himself.
The young illex sighed to himself. It was beyond hope. When one lives 60,000 years, his olfactory senses tended to shut off - whether by nature or by choice. Perhaps I should solve this problem on my own, the young one silently contemplated.
John closed his eyes and drew in his Magepower. He felt the hidden energies from the forest fueling him. He focused, closer and closer. He moved his hand over Roger and pulled out his pain. Not really understanding what he was saying, he said, "Boy, he has been hit deeply by the Dark One's brutes. I do not have enough to clean his wound." Then John looked over and gasped. Cor had been wounded too. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, half yelling, half concerned. He ordered his boy to sit down as he squeezed his hands over Cor's damaged parts. John pulled the pain out, grimacing broadly. "Yours was a light cut, thank goodness," John said, panting, patting Cor on his rump. Cor's eyes sparkled for a moment, but deadened when he saw John's melancholy disposition. There were moments of endless silence. "I don't think I can save him, boy," Cor finally said. "I just don't have the strength."
"Yes you will, Sir," Cor responded, smiling happily. "We can match our magic and become twice as strong. By outputting power equally, our strength is doubled." John smiled at the boy kindly and ran his fingers through the lad's golden hair. "Let me show you how," Cor said, after a brief silence.
Mahou gently patted the trunk of the Tree of Seasons. "Not as strong as before, but strong enough. That will just have to do." Mahou sighed blissfully, and ran his stretched hands over the tree. "So wise, so old. A true tree of the Wild Magic." Mahou then stiffened and stood up. He patted the trunk one last time, and then turned to Roland. "Well, enough of that. One can't spend all day here, or the Wild Magic will overtake you!" Mahou walked away, whistling happily as Roland followed, confused as ever.
"Thank you for your assistance, good sir, but you and I must part ways now," Roland said as he followed the foreign mage. "I have a task to perform for my great king." Roland then sighed sadly and added, "but perhaps I shall follow you for another day, just to regain strength in these old bones."
"My dear Roland," Mahou chuckled in the night, "our adventures have just begun. I was sent here to heal the plants, which I have, and to find you. We are to travel to the north. We are to find the Wizard of Adhmad Aduaidh; yes, I know our quest very well."
"It seems you do, my friend. But I know not how to travel to the cold regions of Crìotha Tuaisceartacha without a boat."
"How do you think I travelled to your land, my friend? I have not yet mastered walking on water," Mahou laughed in response. "Behold!"
In the clear green waters of the Insi Ocean stood Mahou's mighty vessel, The Mistweaver.
John gasped as he felt Cor's soft, pale hand on top of his. He closed his eyes, and inhaled a deep breath. He mustn't think of how he wanted to tenderly feel every inch of that hand, or how he wanted to hold it securely and never release it. Get ahold of yourself, John. Don't let yourself weaken, or someone else will die, and it will be your fault. Oh Steve, why did you have to die? Why did he have to take you? I loved you, even though I couldn't admit it to myself. John squeezed his eyes shut, wincing in pain. He must focus- must help Roger...
Cor leaned forward, ever closer to John's pained face. "Sir," Cor whispered, "if you-" He paused. His lips were mere inches from John's. How he wanted to press forward, to join them, to partake in the sweet exchange that man had simply named the kiss. Cor looked deeply into John's deep blue eyes, staring at the flecks of color reflecting in the moonlight. And the eyelashes, occasionally meeting, as John blinked subconsciously, trying to squeeze out his suffering. Cor inhaled slowly and contined his thought. "If you let go, and feel my energy mixing with yours, you can heal him. We must match our output. When it is combined evenly, you will have a heightened sense, and should be able to.." Cor was again staring at Jonathan's lips. "You will be able to heal him."
"Let's do it, then," John finally muttered after an uncomfortable silence. John was about to let go, but then said, "Wait! Pick up Lifeshield and I will take Demonsdeath. They will also help us."
The Cardinal knelt down in the forest and growled to himself. "You fools think you can outwit me, but you are sadly mistaken. The Dark One will accept me as his equal even if I have to kill Mørkt himself!" He then grabbed raced to his office, where he hastily grabbed some parchment and wrote a commandment for his best boatmen to prepare to sail at his command. He poured sand on his writing, drying the ink, and folded the note, preparing to felt wax on it and affix his seal. The Cardinal's soon grew large and round with fright. There was already writing on this piece of parchment.
I KNOW YOUR PLANS. WE CAN WORK TOGETHER TO STOP THEM. I WILL MEET YOU AT EIGHT IN THE MORNING AND WE SHALL BE VICTORIOUS TOGETHER, OR I WILL TELL MØRKT OF YOUR SECRET. THE CHOICE IS YOURS.
The Cardinal snarled as he crumpled up the parchment, tossing it into the fireplace. He would deal with this blackmailer in the morning.
John closed his eyes and focused. He felt Cor's power join with his. I must heal him! Demonsdeath and Lifeshield touched and John felt a surge of unimaginable power flow through him as he yanked out the wicked strike upon Roger. He felt the strength of ten thousand men as the evil was eradicated from John's battered body. As suddenly as the power had filled him, it was gone again.
John the Healer collapsed on the ground gasping and coughing. Cor knelt down and ran his hand over John's unshaven face. "You did very well, sir." John simply nodded and closed his eyes. Cor felt his insides bubbling. He knew that it was now or never. He would try.. and if John didn't like it, he'd be too weak to say so. Cor stood up and sat on John's lap. He lovingly ran his hand's up this milis súile man's chest and over his neck. Cor began to close his eyes and move his face forward. His lips longed for contact. Slowly, he pressed his lips to John's. The exchange was unlike anything he could have imagined. It was just moistened skin against skin. But the effect made Cor's insides itch, like they needed something in them.. down there. He was filled with thoughts he had never imagined possible. How he wanted to be taken, treated, and even punished. Cor's eyes went wide with shock from the extent of his desire and fantasy.
Cor's reverie was shortlived, hover, as John's eyes fluttered open. John smiled wickedly up at the naturally smooth blonde lad. With a sudden burst of energy, John flipped Cor onto his back, the boy's legs in the air, followed with John jumping on top of him. "Be careful what you do when a person is regaining his strength," John whispered as Cor wrapped his legs around John's back, enjoying this compromising position very much, "for he might remember your actions and make you pay for it later!" John pressed forward, allowing Cor to feel his hardness and fullness. Cor was more than ready to pay for his actions then and there. As Cor's tunic was flipped over, John noticed that the boy had no undergarments. Perhaps that was the style. John then noticed that Cor was indeed a natural blonde, and quite happy to see him. John ran his hands up the boy's legs and underneath, grabbing his beautiful round posterior, and parting it, running a finger up inside. Cor's mouth dropped open in a quiet moan as his eyes snapped shut, his head thrusting back in ecstasy. John sighed in joy at the feel of something so beautiful. Cor ran his hand over the bulge in John's pants and squeezed it. Cor's eyes met John and silently pleaded: take me.
They were interrupted by a very rude throat being cleared. "I believe, my friends," said Roger the White, "that your behavior would be more suitable in a room. Anyway," he said, managing to stand up, "we have to give Frivesland a visit." Cor emitted an exasperated sigh as his legs released John. He stood up and fixed his tunic. He had a rather uncomfortable journey, however, with the bottom of his garments sticking out in front of him. Roger smiled, glancing over at John and Cor. "You truly are anam cathram." While John returned a puzzled look, Cor emitted the largest grin known in the history of Frivesland.