WINDHEALER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  He tensed, his body going as rigid as his shaft. When Pearl tugged on his shoulder, he took a deep breath, turned and lay flat on the floor. He heard the rustle of Pearl's clothing being discarded, became aware of the other man's body moving up his, one leg insinuating itself between his own, could feel the hard stab of Pearl's erection against his buttocks. As Pearl loomed over him, slid between his thighs, pushed his legs further, he panicked.

  "I can't! I can't do this, Pearl!"

  He pushed Pearl none too gently away and came to his feet in one lithe bound, shaking from head to toe. He backed against the wall, his breathing coming in gasps of revulsion. He was trembling so hard his teeth chattered as he covered his nakedness with his hands.

  Pearl sat up and folded his hands in his lap, covering his hardness. "I knew you couldn't," he said, his gravelly voice filled with compassion. A gentle smile touched his lips. "And now you know for a certainty you haven't developed a taste for forbidden wines."

  "Then what the hell is wrong with me?" Conar shouted, on the verge of a screaming fit.

  Pearl came to his feet, pulled on his breeches, then handed Conar his own clothing. "Prison, my friend. Six years of hell without a woman. Without the right woman, I would imagine."

  Conar jammed his legs into his breeches. He looked up with hope. "Can that be it? Will it take the right woman to chase away the demons? What if even she can't end the dreams?"

  "I would venture to say she might not be able to, dearling."

  Conar's heart skipped a beat. "Then what do I do?"

  "The dreams are in your mind, my Prince; not in your body. These dreams…do they deal with what happened to you in the Labyrinth? Men that tormented you?"

  Conar's face turned hard with remembrance. "Aye."

  "Are there other men in these nightmares from another time? Men who have hurt you? Men who have the same qualities, or lack thereof, in common? Men like me?"

  "They are nothing like you, Pearl Allegria. You are honorable; these men were not."

  Pearl blushed. "They are men who hurt you. Men who have tried to degrade you." At Conar's grunt of agreement, Pearl understood. "And in those dreams, do they emasculate you? Do they take away that part of you that has always been a symbol of what you are, of how you see yourself; a man with natural cravings? In your dreams, have they twisted those cravings?

  "Aye. Cravings I have not been able to satisfy," Conar whispered.

  "True." Pearl took Conar's hand. "The ability to satisfy those cravings is localized in that part of you that your nightmares tell you is no longer there. Do you understand?"

  "I guess so."

  "In your dreams, your manhood has been taken away. Correct? No doubt it was taken away in such a manner that you felt great terror and pain. Am I right?"

  "Aye."

  "Without the mental security of knowing your manhood is still intact, you cannot perform as you should, as you are used to performing." Pearl's voice took on the excitement of the instructor he was. "It is much like a man who has spent his life as a great artist. His paintings have always fulfilled him, for they are a natural extension of his own self. But if that man were to lose his hand, he could no longer paint. He then has two choices. Never paint again, or learn to paint with his other hand. Your problem is in your mind, not in your body. Your subconscious tells you that you no longer have a hand with which to paint. Do you spend the rest of your life without the great joy of painting, or do you try to regain a semblance of that great joy by using your other hand?"

  "By turning away from the ale and embracing the wine?" Conar smiled.

  Pearl smiled, too. "I think we have just successfully demonstrated that wine is not your pleasure. But think. Do your dreams come from your inner fears, or have they been placed there by some outside force to put doubt in your mind?"

  Conar frowned. "You think some evil is at work?"

  "It could well be."

  Conar's mind working furiously with the possibility. But who would gain by doing such a thing? As far as he knew, Tohre still thought him safely chained in the Labyrinth. Some spy of the Domination's here in Chrystallus? Some man among those who had fled the prison colony? He knew that could not be. At least he hoped it was not true. "Would Occultus do something like that?"

  Pearl shrugged. It was on his tongue to deny such a possibility, but his logical, precise mind stayed his tongue. He thought a moment. "If he thought it would benefit you in some way. He knew you had been raped; he told me as much. He knew how it had affected you."

  "So, if he put the dreams in my mind, he put them there to teach me a lesson." His face filled with seething contempt. "What kind of lesson?"

  "I don't know. Did these dreams start before or after you arrived in Chrystallus?"

  Conar took a deep breath. "They began on the way here, but Occultus knew I was coming. He knew where I was all along but never told anyone."

  "Maybe his motive was to rid you of your fear of the things done to you."

  "If that was his aim, it backfired!"

  "But it might not have been Occultus," Pearl reminded. "Who would benefit?"

  Conar looked at Pearl. "It seems like something a woman would do, doesn't it?"

  Pearl's lips pursed. "Raja?"

  "I don't think so, unless it was her intention on being my cure!" Conar's sneer said what he thought of the woman.

  Could she have known where you were?"

  "No, I don't believe she could have."

  Pearl threw up his hands. "We may not ever know if someone was responsible or if the problem is entirely in your own mind." He sighed. "I wish I had the answer for you, dearling."

  "I think Occultus sent me to you to teach me a lesson. A lesson I have learned. Not all homosexual men are like the ones who abused me."

  Pearl ducked his head. "There are more like me than like those who tortured you."

  "I have known some of the priests at Boreas who were of the same bent; one who was my guide on my Joining day seemed different. Not all the priests prefer men; I have seen those who were as randy as any teenage boy and chased everything in skirts."

  Pearl nodded. "I think it unnatural for a man not to be allowed to take a mate. It matters not if the mate is of his own sex or not. Nature does things in pairs. Why should the priesthood be any different?" He fluttered his eyelashes. "Of course, nature does things in female-male pairings."

  "Which way do you see yourself, Pearl? Male or female?"

  Pearl giggled. "I always wind up on the bottom, so to speak. Does that answer your question?"

  Conar blushed, a smile of discomfort on his face. "I guess it does."

  Pearl touched his knee. "Let me tell you about men like me. What is different and unique is often looked upon with fear and suspicion. Until you know firsthand the qualities of that strangeness, you tend to shun it; you tend to distance yourself for fear some of the strangeness will rub off. You fear it might harm you. It is an inbred reflex for any animal to mistrust those who are unlike themselves. It is easier to ridicule those who do not conform or to ignore them than it is to try to see similarities that might well exist.

  "In the animal world, when a new and strange beast comes lurking about, the other animals sniff and stare. They watch with wary eyes until he either proves he is as strong, or stronger, as cunning, or more so, than they, or that he is weak and vulnerable to attack. If he turns and fights, most of the time the other animals will scatter if they think he might come out the winner. But if he turns a gentle, what they consider weak, side to them, they go straight for his throat. Not unlike the human race that also preys upon those unable to protect themselves, who want only to be left alone to live their lives as they see fit.

  "What crime is it when love is what generates the difference in us? You see no harm in it when it is between a man and woman, for that is the way you have been taught and that is the way of your normal inclinations. But is there such a terrible evil when two men, or two women, love one another, and the natural expressi
on of that love is sexual intercourse? Who does it hurt? You? Anyone? Are you forced to take part? Forced to watch? Love is a wonderful emotion. It should never be tainted by what people think of the lovers.

  "Look at your son and Shalu's daughter. There are those who would say their keeping company is wrong. Are they hurting anyone? Are they trying to make others do the same? Those two are falling in love. What harm are they doing to you and me? As long as they do no harm to their fellow man, why should harm befall them because the gods have let them fall in love? Why torment them for loving, or punish them for your failings and inadequacies? Why make them the butt of your viciousness simply because they dare to be different? Will it not be hard enough for them to have their lives held up to the scrutiny of people who do not know them, nor want to know them, just because they are not of the same race?" Pearl's eyes softened. "Or the same sex? Love is precious. It should be treated so."

  "But there are those who use their strangeness to hurt others," Conar said quietly.

  "You have only the knowledge that the Domination showed you. True, they hurt others, and they hurt themselves. But that is part and parcel of their sect, not a true indication of their nature. They are not rational. They are not sane. They aren't even normal. They don't use their sex drives with one another as a love outlet; they use is as a weapon, a device for punishment, for control, for torture. They manipulate with it, they degrade and humiliate with it. They use it to take away self-esteem, courage, peace of mind. They twist the act of love into something vile and vicious and evil. Their brand of sexual pleasure is sadomasochistic, for they as much enjoy the pain as they do inflicting it. That isn't love, the special bond between two people who have found one another."

  Pearl walked to the doorway, looked out at the softly falling rain. "Sure, there are those among my kind who do not want a commitment to love. They don't want attachments. Just like those among your kind who are promiscuous, looking for pleasure, a night's release. But isn't that often true of relationships between men and women? You don't necessarily have to love someone to be attracted to them, desire them, want them. As long as you do no harm to another, what harm is there in wanting that moment of pleasure?"

  Conar smiled. "When I was younger, that was the way I rationalized all my affairs."

  "Conar's Law…if it itched, scratch it! And if it ached, soothe it!" Pearl laughed. "I've heard all about your exploits, my Princeling!"

  "From who?"

  Pearl batted his lashes. "I'll never tell!"

  "Coron, no doubt," Conar grumbled. "I've seen you talking."

  Pearl giggled. "He's almost as cute as you."

  "His wife is a jealous little viper."

  "He thinks so, too! There was a time when my joking about one of your kin in such a way would have enraged you."

  "I know your tricks, Pearl Allegria."

  "We're not so different, you and I, are we?"

  "Probably not."

  "You have no idea how good it is for me to be able to touch you and not have you cringe. How wonderful it is that I can take you in my arms and comfort you and know you are not feeling anything but the great affection I have. That I am able to show you the friendship and admiration any of your men can show you and not have you stiffen. I am secure in who I am and who I will be tomorrow, in who you are and who you will be tomorrow. And I know when you leave here this afternoon you will understand that you are the same man who was sent to the Labyrinth and that in no way have you been changed."

  "If Occultus does nothing else for me save having given me the honor of knowing you, I will still count myself a lucky man."

  "No, sweet Prince, it is I who am the lucky one. I have the honor of knowing that you understand and accept me for who and what I am. Such things are few and far between for a man such as I."

  "You are one of my men," Conar said. "You won't be treated any differently."

  Chapter 12

  * * *

  Conar had already completed his training with the others, but this last teacher was proving to be more strict and uncompromising that all the rest—Shalu included—put together. From the first day of training with this man, Conar had gone from being curious to resolved, to annoyed to obstinate to furious. His emotions regarding his instructor were on a seesaw of rage alternating between the desire to kill the man or to kill himself and be done with it.

  On the first day, Conar had arrived at a lonely span of beach to find the same little Chrystallusian man who had first welcomed him to these shores. The man was sitting cross-legged on the warm sand, facing one of several cliffs. He didn't speak, but pointed a bony finger at the rock formation.

  When Conar looked at the cliff, standing about twenty feet tall, he saw a rope dangling from the top. He was just minimally curious at why it was necessary for this man to see if he could climb the cliff. But calmly, and perhaps too confidently, he began to ascend.

  Climbing the rope was harder than he had first thought. Only one third of the way up, his hands were on fire, despite his heavy calluses. He could feel the sting of the hemp cutting into his flesh and his shoulders felt like they were being pulled from their sockets. But with the resolve of his pride, he ground his teeth and made it to the top, panting and grunting once he achieved his goal.

  He peered over the edge.

  A face like one of Holm's monkeys stared back at him from the sand. The Chrystallusian still sat where Conar had left him. There were a few streaks of white amid the black in the man's hair, but Conar couldn't determine his age. The eyes seemed older than the wrinkled face and they were blatant with disgust.

  "So, what now?" Conar called, miffed that the man appeared out of sorts. He frowned with annoyance when the monkey man, as Conar had nicknamed him, raised a thumb, turned it downward, indicating that his pupil was to descend the cliff.

  The going down wasn't nearly as bad as the going up, but Conar's hands burned from the coarse rope and his shoulders aching from the pull. He brought his cupped palms to his mouth and blew into them as he drew near the small man. He thought he would explode when the monkey man jerked his thumb upward.

  Conar's mouth dropped open. "You've got to be kidding!" A look of obstinacy settled on Conar's face as the thumb jerked viciously upward once more.

  From experience with his teachers, Conar knew better than to argue. Muttering obscenities, he stomped to the rope and began to lever himself up once more. He clenched his jaw to the pain in his hands, but managed to gain the top, taking longer than the first time to get there. He didn't bother to ask what he was to do, but climbed back down again, wincing as new blisters burst and bled, making the rope slick with blood. Not bothering to walk to the man, he stood, rope in hand, anger on his face and turned around to stare at the monkey man. He wasn't surprised when the thumb jerked upward and the monkey man's black eyes regarded him with placid indifference.

  "Shit!" He grasped the rope and dug one booted foot into a crack in the cliff. He would be damned it he would let the bastard get the best of him. He'd been tortured by the best, had known pain far greater. Although his face was set in surly lines of contempt, his brain screamed with pain. He strained up the rope and stood, hands on his hips, blood staining the fabric of his breeches, staring out toward the mountain range, his back to the beach. He took deep, calming breaths, his mouth set and hard. Once he was able to regain composure, he looked down at the beach.

  The monkey man was gone.

  Livid with outrage and furious with the fates that were playing him for a fool, Conar cursed the monkey man, all his ancestors, all his animals, and anything else that might even be remotely connected to him.

  The next morning, his hands hurt him so much he could barely shave. He had wound strips of ointment-coated linen around his palms and there was a light pinkish, yellowish fluid already coming through the fabric as he crimped his fingers as tightly as he could in order to hold his razor.

  "You're to go to the beach again today," Brelan told him, sticking his head in Conar'
s room.

  "For what?"

  "Same beach, same instructor." He closed the door with a snap.

  Conar gawked at the closed door. "Damned if I will!"

  But here he was. Same beach, same monkey man, higher cliff.

  He held out his bandaged hands. "See this?"

  The thumb jerked upward.

  "I can barely move them!"

  The thumb jerked upward twice more.

  Three times up, three times down. Conar's hands looked like raw meat. He had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out that night when Se Huan bathed and re-bandaged them with a foul-smelling, stinging concoction that made Conar leak in his breeches when it was applied.

  "That hurts worse than the rope burns!" he screeched, but she only looked blandly at him.

  In the days that followed, six in all, he climbed progressively higher and higher cliffs until he could scale an eighty-foot rock face with ease. His hands had callused over, although they still hurt so badly it brought tears to his eyes when he gripped the rope each morning.

  On the seventh morning, the man was sitting at the foot of the first cliff. Puzzled, Conar nevertheless shrugged his broad shoulders and walked there.

  There was no rope.

  Dropping his head to his chest, he sighed. "I suppose I'm to climb all these cliffs now without the rope?" When there was no answer—the man had yet to speak even one word to Conar in all the time he had been instructing him—he dug his hands into whatever purchasing point he could find and laboriously scaled the cliff. Going up was a hell of a lot easier than coming down. He nearly fell twice, losing his footing more times than he could count. He scraped his shins, tore a hole in his breeches, and gouged hands that began bleeding again. When he finally put his booted feet on the beach, he didn't bother to ask for instructions, he just started to climb the same cliff again. Up three times, down three times as he had every day prior to that.