Date: Wed, 14 May 2003 08:51:31 -0700 (PDT) From: Ganymede Subject: The Ring Around the Rose Part 18 The Ring Around the Rose. By Ganymede WARNING: This story contains descriptions of sexual acts involving a man and MINOR boys. Such descriptions are an integral part of the story. While the story may appeal to prurient interests, it is intended to have seri- ous literary value. If you are under the age of 18, if this material is illegal in your place of residence, or if man-boy relationships aren't your thing, then exit now and save yourself from a life of sin! As a friend recently said: "Everyone has the right to fantasy. No one has the right to censor an imagination, or dreams." With that in mind, know that this story is not true! Further, it is not intended to promote ille- gal acts against minors, but to demonstrate that men and boys can love each other despite the prevalent attitudes of western society. It is my goal to help readers appreciate that love. The sexual acts described in the story are the result of my imagination. I have not performed these acts, and I do not encourage others to perform them with minors. If the subject of man/boy love offends you, if this material is illegal in your place of residence, or if you are under the legal age for such material, do not read further! By downloading this story: "... you implicitly declare and affirm under penalties of perjury that you are not a minor or in the company of a minor and are entitled to have access to material intended for mature, responsible members of society capable of making decisions about the content of documents they wish to read...." The story is copyrighted under my pseudonym, Ganymede. A copy has been placed in the Nifty archives for your enjoyment. The story cannot be used to derive monetary gain. The story cannot be placed in archives that require payment for access, or printed and distributed in any form that requires payment either directly or indirectly. Any similarity to indi- viduals, living or dead, is entirely accidental. My sincere thanks to two friends whose comments have been very helpful. THE NIFTY ARCHIVE: The Nifty Archive needs your support. If you enjoy reading this story, please remember that it is available only because of the Nifty Archive. Instructions are provided on the Nifty home page for how to provide sup- port. Chapter 18. The Bruja of Beglamour A score of bridges came and went as we hastened to the east. Some were small, with little more than a pair of hewn logs to keep the horse and cart from plunging into water. Other bridges were made of stone, chamfered and carefully formed into rounded arches by builders from ear- lier times. And the roads we followed, in Riall's almost haphazard guid- ance to the east, ranged from muddy path to smooth-rubbed cobblestones, although even then, we chanced upon random holes that were large enough to splinter an axle or break a wheel. The horse plodded on, relentlessly encouraged by my flicking whip. As we passed through foreign landscapes of grim-faced peasants toiling in muddy fields, passed gloomy ramshackle hamlets with barking dogs and shrieking fowl, the boys were quiet. Drawn in and cheerless and while mourning nothing, were like the bleak morning, dispiriting to me. I could not fathom their problem other than persistent hunger. They had not eaten since the night before and already their stomachs had emptied. A boy, especially an energetic Sanctuary boy, needed sustenance beyond ice-cold water taken in quick gulps from the few streams we crossed that were not frozen over. I shared the last few chunks of cheese and divided the moldy bread among the boys, much to Riall's annoyance. I silently wished that I had availed myself of the opportunity to break our fast before we left the inn, for even my belly ached for want of food. For a time, I consoled myself with the consideration that I had made the right decision. Indeed, the sound of hooves upon the bridge had been rea- son enough to make a hasty departure. However, as we travelled further without interference, I could not help but ponder whether I had acted far too quickly. Still, it's said by any warrior who's survived the field of battle, that even the haze of hindsight is always clearer than one's vision of the future. And so, with famished bellies and unpleasant thoughts about what the future held for us, we ventured onwards to a destination still unknown. Ahead, the glint of snow upon the distant mountains, invoked my memories of Etienne. Etienne, who was so similar to Michel, for they shared much in common, as brothers tend to do. Yet, they were very different too. Michel was gentler by nature, most certainly Favonius to Etienne's Vul- turnus, yet he was stronger in other ways. His spirit was intense, a quality that emanated from his mind with everything he said. He was a lively and quick witted, yet I glimpsed within him, a very somber boy, reflecting a deeper sadness than his brother. I did not understand his melancholy, although at times it seemed that he would break and bare his soul to me. Always, he would keep his innermost thoughts in check, a pre- carious balance that doomed me to despair. Despair! For I realized not one Michel, but two contained within the boy I loved. That duality of character was captured by his name. Michel! Miel, the sweet boy of honey-colored skin, and the other, whose name Michel described a boy of strong independence, innately creative, cun- ning and ambitious. He was a boy of very special powers as well, powers whose inner strength was growing every day. He was a boy who was never to be daunted by any challenge, a boy who loved to please my every desire, yet rebellion came easily when he did not get his way. A different Michel, but no less loved by me, for that was the nature of what we shared. So much had changed that in a single morning, I had seen his tendency to impulsive action and brooding thoughts emerge. He was headstrong, and I loved him for his imperfection, not mourning that his divine purity had been tainted by the hand of man. Had not the bard of Villeneau spoken of the same when a boy's virginity was gone: "White roses set in ivory urns, White violets wreathed in silver shone; White marble fonts whose water turns, White veiled boy of innocence gone. White dews, white crescent moons, white dawns, White flickering feet, white-gleaming hands, White limbs that dream on twilight lawns, White limbs that dance on shimmering sands. "Since I have found you and your different ways, Things that are tight are my delight. A greyness glimmers on my days, A greyness hovers o'er every night. For all red things shall take away, Red sword of love and red rose, began, And we shall voyage night and day, Upon the white sea of the seed of Man." For that very reason, I paid little heed to Michel and even less to Cae- lan, who seemed bent upon telling secrets at every instance that I chanced to look upon him. Then, upon crossing a bridge that creaked and shuddered beneath the cart, I chanced to look behind me. Unaware of my attention. their heads came close and muted whispers were exchanged. I heard nothing, yet I sensed the purpose of their communication was mostly to exclude the rest of us. Poor Kadri and Sandor, were being denied the companionship of the boy who'd become their closest friend. Not surpris- ingly, they sought solace by following behind the cart and telling sto- ries of distant lands and other times. I listened with passing interest to Sandor's tale of the Voyages of the Shameful Secret, then paid close attention to Kadri's recitation of an all-but-forgotten village fable of a witch and talking trees, the tale of the Bruja of Beglamour. We travelled east, towards the rising sun, to the place where dragons bred among high-up cold crags and pointed peaks. Ever onwards, the cart jerking abruptly whenever it bumped and jumped and jerked across stones and logs. With baneful joy, it made me think of what it was like to mount an eager boy. Some boys were passive and lay like sacks of flour, while others bucked and bounced upon the bed. Certainly, there was pleasure to be had from the act of loving any boy, but as my recollections gathered in the silence of my mind, I concluded that I much preferred those boys who wanted to be ridden like a steed. Again, Etienne! Enough! I slapped the whip upon the horse's rump to coax its pace, then grimaced at myself. Etienne! Michel! I had no choice to chose between them. My mind wandered on that thread, unravelling the days and nights we'd spent together. First Michel, and then Etienne, until they merged to one. One time, only a few days after he'd departed from the Mount, Etienne had leaped upon my sword, not flinching when it passed between his cheeks. It was like a bolt released from a crossbow, shot deep within his bowels. He was impaled, yet he laughed and tormented me with his inner muscle. Then, grinning in satyric delight, he used his thighs to hike his buttocks up and down upon my lance. Long, powerful thrusts that made me gasp. It was over quickly and he vaulted from my body, laughing with audacious ecstasy while my torrent dripped from underneath him. If anything, as I reflected, Michel's desire was even more acute. Etienne loved with pas- sion, but Michel gave himself completely to me. Was that the reason why I loved him to despair? Indeed, my pleasure was always made more delightful by the energy Michel consumed in making love. With that in mind, I dis- patched my distant memories, until like the jagged ranges far ahead shrouded in clouds, I had trouble remembering Etienne's face. It was clouded by Michel sweet image. Meanwhile, as I dwelled in fond reflections, Michel and Caelan lurked beneath the straw. At times, I heard their playful sudden giggles, their voices muffled by blankets, and wondered what was going on. Could Michel be so insincere to claim that he loved me and take vows of fidelity, only to become flirtatious with another boy? No less than a boy whose very existence raised questions in my mind? Even then, though surely I was given reason for suspicion, I did not think of Caelan as being deceitful or mendacious, merely that there was more to him than met the eye. Jealousy, I finally decided, when combined with sullen silence, was the worst enemy of all. I envied Caelan that he was honored by Michel's com- pany. I resented that the sweet sound of his voice was intended for ears other than my own. And worse, for as the hours passed and the boys remained beneath the straw, I presumed their hands strayed to private places. Their giggles and whispers told a tale that my eyes could not observe. Once or twice, I called upon Michel to heal the fracture that suddenly yawed before us, only to be be met by silence and a sudden intake of breath. Surely, I was given reason enough to interrupt their game. Instead, I faltered, vacillating between trust and skepticism. My own training as a Sanctuary boy offered little console. I knew all too well that when young boys were left to their own devices, they quickly found pleasant ways to occupy their time. Unleashed jealousy soon runs amuck. It takes control of sanity, and then there is no reason, nothing that is beyond the limits of the mind to engage in self-recrimination. What I'd learned upon the battlefield was useless for the situation. It was as much a problem of the heart as any thing I'd ever known, yet I found no answers in the past. I longed to hold Michel, to press my lips to his and taste his tongue. I loved him more than I could contain. Bountiful love, love that under any other cir- cumstance overflowed the heart and enlivened the soul, that was what I felt for Michel. But fed by fear and uncertainty, such overpowering love also consumed the mind. I held my tongue and listened closely, fighting against the certainty that it would not be long before Michel was no longer mine. A blizzard came upon us in the middle of the day. The snow was preceded by a bitterly cold wind from the mountains to the east. First, a grey cloud appeared from north to south across the far horizon, then as it raced across the hills and plains, turning darker. The sun was gone from sight, no shadows, but a gloom like night. I watched two white-furred rabbits scurry away to hide. They would have made an ample meal, but they were gone before I had a chance to lift my knife from the scabbard on my thigh. Even the horse sensed what was ahead, for it wheezed and jerked at the brittle leather harness, trying to get away. I called to Kadri and Sandor and bade them climb aboard the cart. Then, I warned the boys to wrap themselves in blankets and get beneath the straw. I worried that Michel and Caelan were already lying close together. They were silent, not moving, perhaps even engaging in an intercourse that did not need a flame to burn. They would need each other's warmth before much longer, but it was not a closeness that I supported. I sensed the uncanny power that Caelan possessed. Caelan was unlike the other boys, even Michel with his unusual skills. Even the dwarf, I sent to cower behind the driver's seat. I drew my cloak closely around me, sealing every opening with a double fold, leaving only a bare slit to see the road ahead. Then, I waited and gathered my strength. The horse clumped forward, increasingly skittish as the clouds drew ever nearer. What I would have given for a full belly of rabbit stew and mit- tens made of rabbit fur, a soft bed by a fireplace, and Michel? I tight- ened my grip upon the straps, expecting that the horse would surely bolt when the wind arrived. The first frigid blast came unexpectedly when the cart was most exposed, rounding a hillock where even the stunted trees offered no protection. A blast of air, chilled to ice from mountain heights struck the cart and horse. The cart swayed and rocked and threat- ened to turn over. The horse whinnied, jerked savagely at the harness, then stopped. It bucked, then started back, then jerked forward once again. And the wind howled. Then, as if my pain was not enough, icy crystals, like shards of pointed glass came flying out of the white wall before me. I bowed my head and prayed to Jupiter that it would not last long, and then added a word or two to Ganymede to protect the boys behind me. The horse bolted suddenly, just as surely as I had expected. A shrill sound bellowed from its nos- trils, barely louder than the wind when it snorted and screamed its pain aloud. A moment later the white wall enveloped us and all I could see was the reins clutched between my frozen fingers. The cart careened along the rocky track, lurching from side to side, bouncing when the wheels came down. I dragged against the reins and shouted in anger for the horse to stop, though my words were thrown back at me. I sensed from the erratic pulling that the horse was weaving, frantic in its effort to find shelter. It galloped onwards, a frightened beast that was neglectful of the cart it pulled. There was little that I could do to get control, beyond clutching the wooden seat beneath me and dragging back against the reins hard enough to tear the horse's mouth. Twice, perhaps more, I was nearly thrown off. The world had become a blur of screaming wind and biting snow. Those few times that I dared to lower the blanket from my face, my eyes were met with stinging pain. Little could be seen or heard amid the snow. I was aware of great plumes of snow rising from the horse's back, the spinning wheels of the cart squealing, the clatter of rocks and stones beneath the snow when the horse departed from the track. In time, even that sound was dulled for the snow quickly grew deeper and the horse began to slow. One time, in a momentary interlude, a mile post passed. It was barely visible in the drift of snow, yet the number was chiseled deeply that it had not been filled. Had we really travelled forty furlongs since the storm began? Five miles even at that frenzied pace seemed much too far. And somewhere up ahead was the place called Beglamour. It struck me only then, that we had lost our way. Somewhere, along the road had been a crossroads and the horse had turned without me knowing. I groaned, then hurriedly shielded my face again as the relentless wind struck with full force. I pondered a course of action, worrying that the cart and horse would founder in knee-high snow before we reached a place to shelter. With that in mind, and heedless of my health, I brought the blanket down and scanned the white fury for any sign of safety. It seemed that gnarled and shrivelled trees had closed about the road, not protect- ing, but in threatening stance with branches extending like fingers with razor nails, reaching out to tear my clothes. And the sound of the wind, wailing, screaming out his name, like the agony of an abandoned lover left upon a scorched battlefield. Etienne! Etienne! Nothing, but his charmed remains, a body left in ashes by a dragon's breath. Nothing, but the awful stench of wasted, painful death. I pulled the blanket down about my ears to stem the violent noise. Eti- enne! Etienne! Again and again, one horrible endless cry. Etienneetien- neetienneetieneetiene.... From the trees, or from the wind? All around me! Etienne! His name! The boy I loved! Etienne! No one left to love. Now, not even my Michel! Insane. Afraid. The wind shrieked. The trees bowed down, their branches became icy shards of death that whipped about and tore like razors in a fight. Etienne! Etienne! Etienne! Etienne! Nothing left but white. No fences, no signs of human life, nothing until I glimpsed a ramshackle hut set amongst the gaunt cowed trees that cried his name. Not a glimmer of light was to be seen. It was surely providence that the snow had eased just long enough for me to see. Indeed, we could have passed within a dozen paces of that abandoned hovel and it would have gone unnoticed in the storm. The horse stopped suddenly, stamping its feet through the swirling snow with frightened, snorting tremors. Despite the bitter cold, clouds of steam rose from its shuddering back. There was little choice. We could seek shelter, or risk our lives and continue onwards. I scrambled down from the cart, hurrying to take advantage of the lull. It was a brief respite of calm, the silence of falling snow. Barely had my feet touched ground than Caelan jumped down, his landing softened by the snow. He paid no heed to my order to stay behind and help with the horse and cart. He staggered through the snow, then disappeared behind the wood-plank door. With a pervading sense of trepidation that evil was afoot, I ordered the other boys and Riall from the shelter of the cart and sent them scurrying towards the hut, running like the rab- bits I had spied upon the road. Getting the horse and cart under cover was the next priority. I discov- ered quickly that there was nowhere under roof besides the hut, not even a lean-to pig-pen or root cellar. I led the horse to the lee side where some protection was afforded from the constant blast of cold. There, I unharnessed the poor beast before securing it in the stable formed between the cart and the rough stone wall. I used a blanket that had been left behind by the boys to cover the horse and for good measure rather than nutrition gave it an armful of the straw from inside the cart. Again, with trepidation, I approached the hut. An inner sense alerted me, yet I went on, trudging through thick drifts of snow. No lock, but a fin- ger latch to be pressed hard, and then the door swung open. After shaking off the worst of the snow, I entered. The boys had gathered before the fireplace and were trying to strike a light with flint and steel. Kadri squatted and blew gently on a spark until the scrapings of bark began to smolder. Another cautious puff and a flame appeared. Carefully, he added a twig, some leaves, some dried moss. The flame grew steadily brightly. Then, more twigs and bark, and branches enough to make a blaze. Amid the smell of staleness, the smoke assuaged my angry mood. "Good work, lads," I commented gratefully for the warmth was direly needed for my face and hands. I glanced around. My first impression was that the cottage had been aban- doned was immediately dismissed. Surely no one would leave their belong- ings behind, even if they were in a hurry. There were rugs strewn upon a rough-hewn floor, a blackened cauldron, other pots and pans. A broom made of long blackberry vines, a bloodied butcher's knife. Above the mantle, indeed in every available corner were jars of herbs, dried nasturtiums and geraniums, and more. My stomach disquieted in a queasy surge, for two green eyeballs stared at me through yellow liquid. "I don't like this at all," I muttered under my breath. Sandor shivered, reached down and pulled his lover closer. Kadri's face was bleached white with cold. Sandor pointed hesitantly, directing his finger behind me. I spun around. Still more jars were lined on shelves arranged from large to small like a pharmacia. Yet, my fear instantly grew stronger. My eyes moved down the row. Not potions, balms and salves, but parts of animals preserved in brine. Some parts I recognized from not-forgotten battles, a heart, a liver, kidney, and not least, stones taken from a male. Not one or two, but at least a dozen wrinkled pebbles, though what species I could not be sure, beyond a size I knew all too well from fondling that exquisite treasure that made Michel a boy. "What is this place?" Sandor asked in a wavering tone. "Nothing nice," I answered quietly. I stepped back, surveying all around, touching my fingers to my sword. The smell was stale, and stronger than before. Strange that I had not noticed the change until then. I sniffed again. The foul smell of death was unforgettable to a warrior who had fought upon the Southern Plains. My hackles rose at the sourness I detected. My eyes narrowed for that odor was familiar in other ways. I had smelled it once before. Michel's face turned pale. Like me, his senses warned of evil lurking in the hovel. Not of dragons, but of hags, of beldams and of crones whose prac- tice of the arts of sorcery could instill fear into the bravest heart of all. "Beware boys," I whispered. "Of what?" Sandor asked uneasily. His stance was taken, sturdy legs apart and muscles tensed for action. Kadri rose upon his knee, his small pale hand gripping the handle of his dagger should he need to draw it. I nodded to Michel, barely moving my head to show my meaning. For once, his mind was clear of Caelan and he welcomed my thoughts for the first since the night before. "A witch is here?" he mouthed. I nodded once. "Quite near I fear." "I can't see that there's anything to be afraid of," Riall announced boldly. "There is no one here except for us. Let's stoke the fire and fix a meal." "Then, little man, perhaps you'd explain where Caelan has gone? He entered first," I asked humorlessly. "He isn't here," Kadri squeaked. Sandor nodded nervously. "I saw him enter. He opened the door and came inside while we were climbing down from the cart, Master Aidan. Perhaps he's gone outside to pee?" I shook my head, disputing his logic for there was only one way in and out, yet finding no other explanation for Caelan's disappearance, I smelled the air. "Master,..." Kadri murmured. He pointed nervously to the bed against the wall. Kadri saw what the rest of us had missed. The bed was large enough for all the boys and me to sleep in comfort, if not do other things with some encumbrance. It was a strangely shaped thing with turned wooden spindles on all four sides. The foot was expertly carved from dark-brown oak and heavily waxed, with obscure designs wrought amid a geometry of interlocking pentagrams. That in itself should have provided ample warning of enchantment. The witch's sign was five-sided and drawn without lifting up the stylus. The head of the bed was similarly figured, but took its cue from stylized flowers that formed a border about an ugly face. Its mouth was gaping open as if uttering a cry for help. No teeth, but lips that formed an open circle. There, upon the rim of sculpted wood, if one looked hard enough, could be seen a dozen shades of red. However, it was not the bed that Kadri pointed at, but what could be barely seen protruding from beneath the furs. A thin white leg with attenuated ankle, and a foot no larger than Michel's. A boy asleep was a beauty to behold, "So Slumber claimed him, and he fell asleep; But love my fateful senses still possessed; As when his cheek against my own was pressed; Night-long I listened to his breathing deep, While he, whose nearness made my pulses leap, Oblivious lay with languid limbs at rest." At first glance, the slender milky leg could be mistaken for a boy. There were dark hairs along the calf, so unlike the seldom-seen silvery hairs to be found on Sanctuary boys. Yet upon the Mount, even that downy hair was quickly scraped away by any boy who wished to please a man. My first impressions were promptly revised upon observing that the sole was far more delicate than any I had ever seen. Had it ever walked upon the earth, or kicked a rock and scabbed a toe? I was not the only one who noticed the tenderness of that small foot. "I think the foot is strange. It's not Caelan's, that's certain. And it's not like yours or mine. It's so thin, it almost as if it's a girl," San- dor said with unrestrained revulsion. His nose wrinkled to show his loathing. He glanced at me anxiously, seek- ing reassurance to counter the unknown and to avert his eyes from repul- sion. Then, he backed away, keeping his hand upon the handle of his short- bladed sword. Like all the boys who lived upon the Mount, he was trained to fight and kill, and to make love to men, not women. To a Sanctuary boy, a thing with breasts was an abomination to be detested. "Of course, it's a girl," Kadri sneered with surprising scorn for the boy who he called his lover. Beneath that brazen Favonius boy was a lad who had experience not only beyond his years, but in a way that made him different to the others of his kind. Of all the boys who I had known on the Mount, only Kadri could claim to have laid down with a girl. "How can you tell?" Michel asked, skittishly shifting feet. He had yet to learn the reason for abhorrence of the female part, at least beyond the natural inclinations of boys who lived upon the Mount. Indeed, his nervous energy suggested growing curiosity, which was to be expected for Michel. He was curious by nature. Kadri smirked. "Lift up the furs and see, Miel. I think you'll find it hasn't got a prick like you and me." "Not me!" Michel said quickly. He backed away a pace or two. "Nor me either," Sandor growled menacingly. "Prick or not, I'll not look upon a filthy bitch." Kadri shook his head in disgust at his companions' disdain. He took a single step closer, his eyes watchful on the somnolent shape beneath the furs. Another step, already reaching out to touch. He paused. Not fright- ened, but being cautious like any boy before a thing unknown. Had it been so long ago that I had lifted off the blankets from Michel and gazed upon his bareness. Then, in awe, I had called his name and whispered the words I'd often heard from other men who wake their boys: "He slumbers well and has a right to slumber. Dear child, thou has indeed decanted wine, For me, thy teacher: without strain and cumber The thought that takes him in love divine. Now sleep is pouring out for thee, health-bringer That keeps thy limbs in full and glorious plight: Still quaffing, to my lip I place his swollen finger, Lest waking he should freshen my delight." Carefully, with one hand upon his dagger and the other barely touching, Kadri lifted the furs away from the leg. It was far enough to reveal a tender milky thigh. Undoubtedly, there were some sickly boys to be found whose legs lacked muscles, but surely none like this blanched limb. "See there," he whispered to his friends. "See what?" Michel demanded. He stood well back but raised up on tiptoes, craning his neck to look over Kadri's shoulder. "Her twat, of course," Kadri instructed with superciliousness hauteur. It was a tone unbecoming of a Sanctuary boy, and certainly not a boy whose rose was barely dry. "I don't see anything," Michel muttered. His eyes were wide, staring at the vacant place, the place that boys were proud to show, the place where bulges formed beneath their robes, or pro- truded forth like Cupid's arrows pointed to the hearts of men. "There's nothing there to see," he complained. "Ha! Exactly!" Kadri exclaimed. "It doesn't have a prick like us," he said expertly. "See! Nothing!" "Perhaps it's just a tiny one," Michel suggested hopefully. "It might hide between his legs, or pull back inside like some boys I've seen." Yet even as the words came forth, he flinched, for his eyes could not deceive him at that distance. Even little Antoni of Capricorn, who was reputed to possess the smallest prick upon the Mount, was of a size that could be seen without resorting to close inspection. "There isn't one, I tell Michel. You see a mound of pasty flab, but noth- ing underneath or sticking out, don't you?" Kadri observed with a knowing smirk that defied his youth. Michel came forward hesitantly. His face had taken on a ghastly ashen hue, his eyes glued to the place where all boys play. He saw the cleavage in the mound of pale flesh and nothing else. "Tis true, Michel," I agreed. "A bitch has no prick like you or me, but bears a slit instead." "But why a slit?" "It's her twat. It's where your prick goes when you fuck her," Kadri announced. His expression was sardonic, almost contemptuous of the other boys whose experience of women was entirely limited to the long-forgotten breasts they had suckled on as babes. "Why not put it in her bum like I do to you?" Sandor asked innocently. I laughed and reached out to place my hand on Michel's shoulder. It was hardly the appropriate time to educate Michel and Sandor in the union of man and woman and the making of a baby, even if I was qualified to do so. What I knew of joining male and female parts was more of rumor and tale than anything I'd seen or done. "That's not the way it's done, though I dare say even if it's possible for a man or boy to take her from behind, it's certain not to be enjoy- able for either of them," I proclaimed with an authority that hoped not to be challenged. "Why not?" Sandor asked awkwardly. My explanation would be trivial, but it would effectively quench their thirst for knowledge of female parts. I resorted to the analogy that was closest to my mind. "Because, my dear boys, both women and girls lack the pleasure inherent in your fundament. The pleasure for your lover comes from your much stronger muscles. That and a tube that's tighter than any twat. But more than that, what makes a boy desirous of having a man's prick lodged within his bowels is a gland that is hidden deep inside his body. In time you'll understand what's missing from her rectum. So, instead, of parting her cheeks to welcome you, she takes your prick inside her belly." "Does she really take a prick inside her belly?" Michel asked awkwardly. "Indeed, she does, Michel, but suffice it to say, she only needs your seed inside her slit to propagate the species. She'll pretend to give you pleasure, but that seed is all she really wants." The silence lingered while the boys contemplated what I had said. In time, they would understand that the other sex offered nothing that they needed, not then, or ever. They were Sanctuary boys after all. They were carefully chosen for their life. I paced from side to side, and glanced about the tiny cabin that seemed more like a cage if only because there were no windows in the four fore- boding sides. My fears were growing once again, yet the cause of my fore- boding was still far from being certain. In the rush to assuage the boys' endless curiosity, the threat of evil doings had dissipated for a while. Further, with disconcerting boldness, Kadri had revealed the withered crone of ancient lore to be nothing other than a girl who was neither older or larger than a boy of Sanctuary age. Nonetheless, I adopted a stance of preparation for decisive action, formulating silent words of warning inside my head. Sandor nodded that he understood, but not Michel whose glum expression filled me with concern. Michel's eyes were wide, suggesting that he disputed every one of my unspoken words. I repeated my warning for his ears alone. At least, he listened. "Is she really a witch?" he suddenly asked aloud. His tone revealed his growing doubt. However, some reluctance was not unexpected because the shrew of gorgon was reputed to be an evil, hideous woman of withered skin and ancient years, not a pale-fleshed girl no older than himself. Still, we had not cast our gaze upon her face. "A witch, boy? Take another look. You must be joking," Riall remarked with an insolent tone that did no justice to his sarcasm. It was a sentiment that quickly turned my head. So saying, the dwarf walked closer, rudely pushing Kadri to the side. Without hesitating longer than a heartbeat, he lifted back the blanket. The child was naked, with thin bony hands drawn to its stomach, a protec- tive pose not unlike a virgin village boy whose bottom had been ravaged against his will. Her hair was long, dark and shining where a brush had stroked for hours. Not the tangled, burr-filled hair of a witch that was intended to ensnare her spiders. The girl's breasts were tiny, just slightly rounded teats with pointed nipples. Still, they were very dif- ferent to the tiny buds of a Sanctuary boy, whose pectoral muscle flat- tened to the rib only to be marked with a nippled dot no larger than a farthing. "A girl both below and above, you see, Master Aidan," he announced with a shameless stare at me. "She's not a witch." His eyes were amber-green, a color that was seldom seen. Not innocently blue like Michel's eyes or hazel-brown like Kadri's doe-eyes, but green- tinted like a viper. Yet, as I glared in return, unwilling to dispute the obvious fact of femininity and still undecided as to her ability to ensorcell, I began to realize that my earlier misgivings were likely to be unfounded. Then, as if the girl had heard me, she suddenly stirred and woke. Her eyes sprang wide open, her mouth agape with shock at seeing a man, a dwarf and three young boys around her bed. Sandor, no longer the bold Vulturnus boy, quickly turned his head away. Michel's eyes lingered in curiosity, yet with every passing moment the color of his face changed from that of honey to summer's beets. And Kadri, his face reflected rec- ognition. His thoughts were even more disturbing. Of fondness and con- tentment, no doubt remembering the `pretty little tart' that he had mounted before he departed for the Mount? Suddenly, the girl smiled, not shyly but with such sensuous intent that I thought I was looking at a Favonius boy who wanted to be bedded instead. Kadri quivered in her sight. A rush that made him tremble and grow swiftly hot. It saddened me to see him rise to her temptation. Yet, even as his short dagger stiffened underneath, rising up to disturb the folds of his robe, I sensed that the girl's role was more than it appeared to be. She was gazing at Kadri while her lips moved very slightly. A spell perhaps? And in that thaumaturgic mystery, the smoke-scented air hummed with the sound of silent singing. Surely, it was the call of sirens that filled poor Kadri's ears. `Cover your ears', I beseeched Michel and Sandor, and Kadri too, but by then he was too far gone to listen. I would have had even less success had I opened my mouth and screamed aloud. Still, it fell upon me as the Master to warn as best I could. "Don't listen to her! Keep thy body covered from the witch, Kadri. She's nothing but a siren who would twist thy mind for shameful purpose," I ordered loudly. Yet, my warning fell upon deaf ears for Kadri's anxious hands were wres- tling with the knotted cord that closed his robe. It parted at the front, revealing the smooth whiteness of his slender chest. Then, as she beck- oned to him, his shoulders shrugged back. The robe slipped away. It slithered halfway down his arms, opening still further to expose his blunt spike of boyish pleasure. "No, Kadri! Turn from her this instant. Do not listen to the sound she makes! Don't let her feast her eyes upon your flesh. That part of you that's hard is merely nurture for her power." Again, my words were lost in the siren's wail of frenzied lust. At that cry, Kadri stepped forward, his short dagger pulsing, angry red instead of fleshy pink, the skin drawn back along the shaft. It was swollen as large as I had ever seen it. Indeed, the color was so scarlet that I could not see the tattooed bulb that had been made upon the stalk. "Do not touch her flesh, Kadri," I commanded loudly. I steeled my arm, grasped the pommel of my sword to draw it out, but before I started forward, I heard an angry voice. It was so loud within my head that I stopped, not least because the words were of a foreign language, but the vehemence with which they'd been uttered. "Não mais adicional seus pés são congelados." When I tried to move, I couldn't. Certainly, my arms were free, but my feet were surely frozen to the floor. And so I stood, struggling both without and within to break the spell, all the while knowing that unless I could speak the same words again, but in the opposite order, I would never move again. One word, and then another returned to me, but no more than that, not enough to break the bonds that held my feet. Whoever had made the spell to imprison my feet had selected a dialect of ancient power. The result was to cause my mind to garble each syllable in incom- prehensible babble. I had no hope of doing more than stare. Yet, I still tried, struggling against that invisible immutable force, hoping that some combination of sound and action might reverse the spell. My effort to escape made the girl smirk. Her voice took me completely by surprise, for I had heard the silken tone before. "Why Master Aidan, tis simply said that your legs are dead. What force between thy ears bewitches your feet? Surely, you would like to sink your prick within a pretty bitch once your darling Michel has had his fill of my cunt?" She rubbed her slender thighs together, then her knees moved wide. Her flesh parted like lips around a mouth to reveal a narrow chasm. I saw a flap of crimson, like a little tongue. And just below, an ugly wrinkled hole that glistened wetly. "I'd never do that!" Michel shouted angrily. She ignored Michel and beckoned once to Kadri. His robe dropped away com- pletely. He was naked and, for her purpose, prepared to rut. His member quivered, swelling further to become a stake that would have made an older boy quite proud. "Kadri," I implored. "Step back and block your ears. She's not what she appears. Her evil magic controls your mind." The girl laughed. Her voice was strangely loud, and older too. This time, it reminded me of the bold laughter of a man, of a man who I had spoken to in anger. "This pretty boy can have his fill of female pleasures, and then his lover can take his turn. And when my cunt is loose and sloppy, your dar- ling Michel will take his turn," she sneered. Did I recognize that face, that cruel crinkle of her eye, the furrow of her brow, the way the corner of her mouth turned down? Familiar yes, but not in a way that I could say. "They're Sanctuary boys. They want nothing of your filthy twat," I answered. She smirked. Her hand lowered to cover the foul sight that made my bile rise. Slowly, her fingers moved apart, spreading the lips apart. Then, one finger with a pointed nail scraped between the creamy folds. When it lifted away, a trail of silver slime could be seen. "Unlike a boy, I come prepared to bathe a prick." "They are Sanctuary boys. They'll not enter that foul place," I said angrily. "Ha! We'll see." Her voice hummed within my head, until I closed my eyes and blotted out the song. "No!" "You'll lose your pretty lover boy once his prick is tainted with this slime. And more, his powers over mind and matter will reduce to feeble thoughts," she proclaimed. "NO!" I shouted. Again, her lips muttered words, this time so that only I could hear them. I tried to reach my sword when I recognized her intent. Already it was too late. Instead, I gesticulated wildly before her spell stopped any movement. I paused to breath and regain my strength. It was useless to struggle when escape was impossible. Think strategy first, I counselled silently, then offer my wisdom to those two lads whose minds were open to my words. If nothing else, save two boys from certain fate. Finally, choosing my words carefully, I spoke to Sandor and Michel. "Tis said a bitch derives her strength from boys," I said obliquely. "It's true," the girl sniggered. "But you'll all be stronger for it, my dears. Instead of bending over for a man like him to plow his furrows in your arses, you'll put your little tools to better use with me." "She lies," I countered swiftly. "A woman is never to be trusted and a girl is no different, only younger. Remember, my Sanctuary boys, what she wants is nothing that you have to give her for a few more years." "It's true you lack the seed a man carries in his balls, but it's of no consequence to me. I do not what a child from thee." She smirked at me. Suddenly, I remembered the jars that lined the walls and my heart quaked for there was no longer any doubt of what lay in store for my seedless Sanctuary boys. "She's a witch!" I shouted. "Her voracious and lusty appetite demands that she devours what's left after she steals your maleness for her spells, Kadri. Surely, she's taken Caelan already into her spell. She'll take you as well and nothing will be left." "A witch?" the girl snorted. For a moment it seemed that I had one. The silence lingered. Kadri stepped back, quivering with sudden fear. His head moved slightly in denial. She smiled and beckoned with a single finger. "Come closer. I will not hurt you. Such a pretty little thing. That twig between your legs." She gazed earnestly at Kadri until his resolve reduced to tremors. From fear, or lack of interest, or something else, his hot hardness finally melted. "I'm just a little girl who cannot harm a Sanctuary boy. Those of the Mount hold no interest for me, however, mount me like a man, Kadri, and I'll give you pleasures of a very different kind to roses. You know what you've been missing." He hesitated, torn between her Siren's song and his duty to the Mount. I shook my head violently for nothing else could move. In that momentary pause of fate, I recollected the tales of childhood, ancient tales that were greatly embellished in the telling by the bards who sang for cop- pers. "You have taken all the laddies, And made them crazed with love. Eyes wide, their hearts a flutter. No longer modest virgins, at her breast, Do blush and tremble, part their robes, Their pricks depart, find grim death waiting." I had said all, and done everything within my power, but it was not enough. Kadri started to get upon the bed. Smiling, the girl eased back. She spread her legs wide upon the bed, offering herself to the naked boy. "Come to me, sweet boy of lust," she sang. "Oh, how wildly he mocks me! His body blossoms so like springtime, a young, young, young boy. I cannot live without him, I cannot." Her hand reached out, two fingers cradling Kadri's little pouch, drawing him closer, stroking with her thumb, quickly returning the hardness that had been there earlier. Her breath sighed across Kadri's cheek. Behind him, Sandor shouted impotently. "Kadri! Please remember our vows of love? Does what we said to each other mean nothing to you?" "He's enchanted by her song. There's nought that you or anyone else can do to save him," Michel interjected. "Miel?" Sandor sobbed. "Please help me. We have to save him." Michel turned to me, his eyes asking a question that only he knew the answer to. Kadri was already straddling her parted legs, his hands reach- ing down to position his rigid prick where it needed to be. "If he loves you enough to exchange an eternal vow with you, Sandor, then love will sustain him through this trial," Michel said quietly. "No," Sandor said. His head shook so much that he appeared to become wild. "It must be enough," Michel repeated earnestly. "Call to him, Sandor. Only you can save him." "Kadri. Kadri. Please Kadri! Don't do this Kadri! I love you. Kadri! Kadri!" The girl laughed. Her head bent back to spill her ebony tresses upon the pillows. She groaned, still filling the wretched hovel with her siren's song of lust. Poor Kadri. He knelt above her, poised to enter her parted slit with a single thrust of his slender loins. Sandor cried out his lover's name again and again, imploring him not to penetrate the girl. Kadri faltered even as the tip brushed against her flesh. He stiffened, inside, where love existed. The spell tormented reason, love, all that he became when he entered the Sanctuary. The air hummed even as the storm howled through the trees, shrieking in pain. Suddenly, he groaned in a pain of a different sort. He backed away, shaking wildly. His prick with- ered and retracted, as it had once before.He jerked away, red-faced and angry. He stumbled into Sandor's arms. "Enough!" I said angrily. "You've tried and failed, bitch." The girl laughed and shook her head, then smiling, pointed to Michel. Her lips moved, chanting in a whisper. A few words, garbled phrases I did not understand. She stopped. "You're next, Master Aidan," she said teasingly. Her tone took me by surprise. Had I heard Caelan's voice inside my head? Michel began shaking, his frenzied motion disturbing. It was as if he had been hexed by a force far stronger than he could withstand alone. His eyes became wide, then burning bright as if a vision had formed within his head. He picked up a piece of virgin parchment from I knew not where, held it up to me. His hand trembled, his knuckles white. "What is it, Miel?" I asked urgently. He breathed in gasps, his lips quivering as if a myriad words were rush- ing past, yet still silent. A fit perhaps, or some far greater enchant- ment that cursed his tongue. "Michel," I repeated loudly. There was no answer, although the room became more chilled. It was as if the hand of death had touched us all. Transfixed, I did the only thing that I could do to gain his attention. "Michel, blessed and beloved of Aidan of Aquarius, Master of Favonius boys; Michel, who has exchanged vows of love with me, I command you lis- ten to me." He wavered, turning from side to side as if a demon clutched his mind and shaking hands. When he spoke, his words were barely audible. Were there tears welling in his eyes? I saw the pain of a tormented soul, a rended heart, a face drained of its humanity, and my fear grew. "Michel," I tried again as my brow sweated and furrowed with the possi- bility of losing him. "Cast out that foul serpent from your mind for it menaces our love. Let your spirit soar free and rise above your fears for you are a Sanctuary boy. Think only strong and noble thoughts." His eyes seared mine, no longer eyes of romance and worship for his mas- ter. Instead, the words he spoke in a low voice sent a poison barb into my heart. "Great Master of All Rebellious Spirits, I beseech thee to be favorable to me, Michel of Scorpio, my father's second son. I stand before thee, desiring to make a pact with thee." I shook my head in disbelief. This was a place of necromancy and my Michel had been bewitched without a word being spoken by anyone, yet the girl, a mere child at that, had managed to steal his will. The spirits of evil deeds were being called upon by that sweet voice of innocence. Yet, even as Michel uttered that awful incantation to a power far greater than any strength of mine, I cast my eyes about for another explanation. Other than the smiling girl, there was no one to be seen except the boys who traveled with me, and Riall who had moved all the way to the door and stood there, ready to escape. Michel backed away, coming closer to the blazing fire that I feared his robe might catch on ablaze. A myriad sparks arose from behind him, swirl- ing as if the wind had blown down the rough stone chimney. They settled to the floor, still burning brightly. "Look!" Sandor called out. He drew my attention to the bed. Where once there had been a girl, there was Caelan instead. I stared at him, disturbed less by the transformation from girl to boy than by what I saw between his naked outstretched legs. His prick was engorged and reddened, and it was as large as any man's. Indeed, what I saw was large enough to satisfy any boy upon the Mount. Before I had a chance to consider the change in situation, a soft voice came from behind me. "Yes Michel,... I will obey,..." "Kadri?" Kadri had moved away from the bed. Now, he held his dagger, lifted up to strike, strangely like the red stalk of flesh that stuck out between his legs. However, it was pointed not me, but at Sandor. "Sandor! Get back!" I shouted, and just in time. Kadri swung wide, the razored edge barely touching Sandor's robe. He stopped then, eyes wide at what he had very nearly done, for without my warning, he would surely have sliced poor Sandor's throat. Before I could move, Michel stepped forward. His hand raised up to grasp the blade of Kadri's knife. It left its mark upon his fingers, bloodied like a war- rior. For a moment, I thought Michel had done so to save Sandor, until I realized he had only been in the way. Kadri shuddered once and weakly slumped down, dropping the dagger with a clatter to the flagstone floor. Then Michel, his voice raised in torment from another realm, of a past not quite forgotten, dripping bright red blood from the gash upon his hand, splashing vividly upon the stone-slab floor. "Oh Master, be propitious to my request to take my brother's place. You have caused your servant, Caelan, to appear to me in man's form. I beseech thee, that should your servant give his seed to me, by means of this pact shall I deliver my manhood to him." I shook my head, still disbelieving. Not understanding more than a glim- mer of what was transpiring. Yet, my inner sense was unerring. More than thaumaturgy was at work. All my senses were saying that Michel was pure of heart and soul, despite the words that sprang forth from his slender honey-toned throat. The purity of that single roll of parchment was equally evident. It had been taken from the first calf a cow had borne, and it was not a piece written on before. Yet, unless I acted, ancient words of evil would be formed upon that page before the night was over. Michel's rose louder, almost to a scream. His eyes were blank, his spirit stolen by another whose presence I could not fathom. "I beseech thee Caelan, to join with me and spurt your seed within my bowels; if not, I shall thereto compel thee by the power of the Master, to accept my pact unwillingly." He paused, but only for a moment. Silence. And then the chant began, of words that had no meaning except to beckon evil deed. "AGLON, TETRAGRAMMATON, VAYCHEON, STIMULAMATHON, EROHARES, RETRASAMA- THON, CLYORAN, ICION, ESITION, EXISTIEN, ERYONA,..." "NOOOOOOOMMMMMMICHEL!" I bellowed. And Caelan smirked with shameless devilry, his eyes alluring, Circean temptation. He sang like the Siren bitch who had only moments earlier, reclined upon the bed. There was no difference between them, creatures whose sweet voices charmed sailors and caused the wreck of ships. Already, he was ready to pierce Michel in a place where only one man had been before. Naked, jutting hard, his spike of flesh surely as large as mine. Not a boy, but a full-grown man? It could not be possible, yet that weapon was undeniable. For the first time, Michel glanced nervously at me, then at Caelan. His words came silently to fill my mind, expressing fear that was not tinged, but full of lust. I shook my head and replied the words my heart required. `I love you, Michel,' I pleaded in my mind. "You love Etienne. You always will." He spoke aloud and trembled with the effort, his face contorted, oblivious to the blood that trickled from his fingers. "This way you will have him back again." "No Michel," I said quietly. "I love you." "You killed Etienne." "A dragon killed Etienne." "You killed Etienne," he repeated. "As you will kill me too when I fail to satisfy your lust." "That's not true." What was the point of debating with him? Surely he could read my mind. If there was love between us, only he could find it. I gazed upon him. Wait- ing. Again, his eyes shifted back to Caelan taking in his monstrous sex, so out of place on the slender boyish form. The head was barbed, crimson like a bloodied spear. Michel smiled coyly, his will abandoned, his being possessed by utter evil. "ONERA, ERASYN, MOYN, MEFFIAS,..." "No Michel! Don't say it!" "SOTER, EMMANUEL, SABAOTH,...." "Please don't do it. Michel,... not that. You're a Sanctuary boy. Yes, it's true that I loved your brother, but I love you no less than any man has ever loved a boy," I begged, prostrating myself upon the floor. My ankles cracked from feet that could not move. "ADONAI...." "Michel,... Don't say it! I love you!" A single effort was left to end the pact. My voice was hoarse. I shook my head urgently. He could not say the words. Not all of those horrible words that sealed a pact. I had not forgotten. They were the same words that Etienne had uttered at a time that seemed so long ago. "I call upon you, Caelan, servant of the Master, to mount my rear. I want your seed within me so that I may become my brother, Etienne, and serve my master for eternal youth." The pact was made and Michel turned abruptly. His eyes met mine and looked deep within, searching, gazing upon my soul. Again, I shook my head. Past pleading now. Nothing was left but his empty eyes. Where was the look of endearing love in that silent momentary exchange? His eyes flickered in seeming recognition. He smiled sardonically. I felt the chill upon my flesh. I shivered in the agony of futile love for I loved a boy who would soon become imprisoned to another man, a man no less than Master Devon of Vulturnus, for in that instant, I recognized the cock. "AMEN," Michel whispered to the air.