by Pearl Love
“Alen, please!” The harsh whisper tore at her throat. She stumbled forward, bracing herself on one hand as she flung out the other toward him in mute supplication, the entirety of her being begging him not to go.
Run, she longed to shout. Save yourself! In an instant, he could escape through the back window and flee into the concealing blackness of the forest that abutted the rear of the cottage. There was no reason that he need submit himself to the madness that awaited him. But she had raised her son too well, it seemed. Always do the right thing, she had told him. Never had she imagined that the right thing might be so unspeakably wrong.
As Alen opened the door, she heaved herself off of the floor, rushing after him even as rough hands seized him and hauled him brusquely out into the yard. Dashing outside, she stumbled to a halt as she looked about wildly for him in the darkness. The sun had long fled, and the field that fronted the cottage was lit only by the torches the guardsmen held aloft and the sickly paleness of the waning moon. The sound of her son’s voice raised in a startled cry drew her attention and she turned quickly toward where he stood between a burly pair of men holding him fast. They seemed to take much untoward delight in their comely prize, grabbing at him as though he was trying to escape, reaching boldly beneath his tunic with pinching fingers while uncouth hands administered gropes and slaps to his shapely rear. Three other guards stood nearby to keep a watchful eye on the prisoner, and if they felt any unease at the brutality their comrades were inflicting on the slender youth, she could see no evidence of it in their stony countenances.
“Leave him be!” she demanded, her apprehension turning to fury when her entreaty was met with unkind, supercilious laughter. Hands clenching into impotent fists at the grating sound, her dark glare flew toward the priest’s hated visage.
He was a small, ugly man, his face lined by decadence and age. The flickering torches cast ghastly, writhing shadows upon his ruined features. Shrewd, clouded eyes underscored by heavy bags peered out from beneath his hirsute brows, missing nothing and finding everything wanting. Everything but her boy, it seemed. She quavered with rage as the priest’s gaze trailed greedily over Alen’s body, leaving behind an almost visible smear of slime. A feeling of helplessness filled her when her son blanched as the old man moved to stand before him. Alen lowered his gaze to the ground in an effort to avoid the priest’s lecherous attention, and his futile self-effacement riled her protective instincts to the breaking point.
“Release him,” she shouted, trying to divert the priest’s focus away from Alen. “Release him, I said!” She glared into the cleric’s weasel-like eyes when he turned toward her with a disgruntled expression, as though resentful of being interrupted from his favorite pastime of ogling her son. “You have no cause to come here and accost my child in this way. He has done nothing wrong!”
“On the contrary, madam.” The priest’s nasal voice dripped with pompous arrogance. “Your precious son is a base killer. He attacked a defenseless young man without cause and left his body to rot in an alley like so much refuse.”
“Liar!” she screamed. “Alen is innocent. You know that he could never hurt a soul!”
The priest’s mouth twisted into the parody of a smile. “I am afraid, my dear lady, that you are sadly mistaken in your son’s character. I have spoken with several witnesses who will attest that your son killed that poor boy and fled the scene with the blood still fresh on his hands. A mob has formed in the square, and it was only by swearing that I would personally ensure he came to justice that I was able to keep them at bay.” He glanced over at Alen, taking in the dark red stains splattered over his face and clothes. His smile became a condescending smirk. “Now,” he said, turning back toward the distraught woman, “tell me again just how innocent he is.”
She glanced frantically toward Alen, her chest tightening at the defeat in his posture. His perceived guilt weighed heavily upon his heart, and it was clear that he would say nothing in his own defense. The blackness of the night added to the oppressive atmosphere, emphasizing just how alone she was as she faced the powerful cleric and his henchmen. In the distance, beyond the village’s eastern border, the looming shadow of the mountain seemed to darken against the sky even as the gleam of light from its fiery heart brightened obscenely with a hellish glow.
Suddenly, a vision of her son wreathed in flame burst across her vision, stilling the very breath in her throat. The image was so vivid she imagined she could smell the smoke rising from his clothes, that she could hear the crackle of his charring skin. Shaken to the core, she told herself that the frightening vision was caused by the lingering fear of how she had found him so close to the hearth fire, apparently on the verge of throwing himself into the blaze.
But she could not so easily ignore the unbidden memory that surfaced in the back of her mind of how the holy authorities had once dealt with criminals in the olden days when more barbaric superstitions had ruled the land. The mountain abruptly took on an ominous importance in her disturbed thoughts, taunting her with its menacing portent. No! Her heart shouted the denial that she could not force past her constricted throat. That would not be Alen’s fate! Anger returned her voice to her, and she rounded upon the aged cleric, her scowl darker than the night that pressed in around them.
“For years, my Alen has been at the mercy of those who would misuse him for their own depraved desires, and yet you did nothing. It is your duty to keep the people of this village safe, but where were you when my son was attacked? For surely you know the truth of the matter!” She flung a hand in her son’s direction, calling attention to his bedraggled state. “Look at how his tunic is torn, at the bruises upon his face. Yet you dare say that it is he who is to be punished? Why? Because he is comely? That does not give you the right to mistreat him so. You do not own him!”
She instantly regretted her sharp tongue when the priest snarled and wrenched her son away from the guards who held him. Alen cried out at the ferocity of the older man’s grip, the sound warping into frightened moan when the cleric clasped his face with punishing fingers. The note of pain resonated painfully in her chest, but she could only watch as Alen tried to turn his head in a futile effort to avoid the rubbery lips that scraped over his cheek, his mouth tightly closed, denying the hot, stale breath panting against his lips.
“But I should have,” the old man growled, dropping all civilized pretense, his rheumy gaze ablaze with frustrated hatred. “He should have been mine.”
The cleric forcibly pressed his lips against Alen’s, and the boy’s eyes opened in surprise as he was assaulted. His mother gasped and rushed forward to aid her son, but her attempt was forestalled when a dagger appeared at her son’s throat.
“Hold your peace, Madam, or I will end his worthless life here and now!”
THE priest pressed the blade against the boy’s throat, illicit delight filling him at the sight of the thin line of red that appeared against the lad’s smooth, pale skin. Overcome by the urge to taste the depraved offering, he took a fistful of the already gaping tunic to one side of Alen’s throat and yanked at the fabric, trying to bare more of the boy’s skin for his perusal. The homespun material was well constructed, and the violence with which the priest tugged pulled Alen off balance. A startled cry spilled from his lips as he fell to the ground.
As Alen looked up, a silent plea for mercy in his soft eyes, the heretical cleric allowed his dark gaze to wander over the boy lying at his feet. The youth’s ruined tunic had shifted as he landed, bearing the smooth curves of his discolored shoulder. Dried tears and blood stained the boy’s pallid face, but the depredations of his ordeal had done nothing to detract from those exquisite features. The slightest glimpse was enough to fill the priest with an unholy desire. His manhood had long ago been felled by age and dissolute living, but as he looked down at the youth sprawled upon the ground before him in wanton disarray, the cleric felt his withered flesh pulse with renewed life.
The boy’s crime had surely been an acciden
t, as his mother insisted: a regrettable attempt to defend himself from the unwanted advances of uncouth assailants. Alas, the victim’s friends, as well as others, had seen Alen flee from the grisly scene, and his crime could not be concealed. In truth, several of his accusers had seen nothing incriminating at all, but their desire to exact revenge for their thwarted lust made them disgustingly eager to attest to the boy’s guilt. Though he knew the youth’s current predicament was due to nothing more than the vagaries of bad luck, the priest was callously pleased that Alen had come to this impasse.
Now, at last, the prospect was before him, the chance to claim the elusive youth as he had dared entertain only in his darkest fantasies. The boy could not refuse, not if he wanted to live. The law was clear: murder was punishable by a swift and painful death. He had no other recourse, and if he proved stubborn, surely his aggrieved mother could be made to see that this was the only possible way to save her son’s life. Taking a deep breath to calm his wayward flesh, the priest smiled down at his quarry, imagining that he could pacify the frightened youth with the friendly gesture.
“Come now, lad,” he crooned, attempting to impart a kindly air to his tone. He lifted his hand, his fingers spread wide in a reassuring manner. “I mean you no harm.”
The boy scuttled backward in the dirt, clearly suspicious of the unexpected show of bonhomie. As Alen shrunk away, the priest wondered how the younger man saw him. Perhaps his cruel smile invoked the image of a terrifying beast hunting for prey, for he felt much like the hawk might as it cornered a pitiful, frightened rabbit. Hissing as he executed the clumsy maneuver, Alen reached for his arm, sore from the guards’ mishandling. As he watched the boy massage his bruised limb with cautious fingers, the priest felt a frisson of dark pleasure as he pictured how Alen’s soft, pale skin would appear further despoiled by more of the dark disfigurements. Those marks, he fancied, bespoke his rightful ownership of this bewitching imp.
“I cannot fault your lack of faith. I am an old man, and, as you see, I am not immune to sin. But, may the gods show mercy, I beg you to forgive me my harsh words. You must see that I only wish to help you.” Blue eyes continued to peer up at him warily, and the priest struggled to dampen his rising temper in the face of the boy’s stubborn mistrust. “Perchance it is as your mother says,” he continued, his tone dripping with sympathetic largess. “Perhaps this is all nothing more than an egregious misunderstanding.”
The cleric forced his features into a semblance of gentleness, and for a moment, the boy’s naïveté seemed to overcome his doubt. Alen blinked up at him, his long lashes fluttering in mute appeal as his suspicion warred with guarded hope. It was obvious that the lad wanted to trust him, despite his recent cruelty. Such delightful gullibility. It almost begged to be disabused.
“You believe me?” Alen whispered.
Even his voice is exquisite, the priest mused, likening the lyrical sound to a babbling brook freshly melted by spring. The priest felt himself harden even more, wondering at the boy’s innocent power as he contemplated the many libidinous delights to which he could introduce this pretty fawn. The boy was the picture of perfect submission, his slender limbs inviting the bite of a binding rope, the brutal punishment of a lash. The priest was nearly overcome as he fought to contain his rising lust. There would be plenty of time to train the boy properly. For the moment, however, he had to exercise caution. The lure was cast. Now to reel in his catch.
“Of course, my boy.” The priest lowered his hand to appear less threatening. “I know you have not had an easy time of it.” He sighed with false regret. “I am ashamed to say that even I have not been immune to your allure, but I wish nothing more than to repent for my failings. I want only to help you.” He peered deeply into Alen’s wide-eyed gaze. “Would you allow me to do so?”
“Alen,” a voice rang out in warning. “Do not listen to his lies!”
The priest glared over at the boy’s mother, irate at the intrusion when he was so near to his goal. Even across the distance of the yard, he could feel the heat of her glare, her disbelief in his sincerity written plain upon her face. Her expression was the very picture of revulsion, and he knew that his unfettered desire for the boy was, to her, quite apparent. Despite himself, the old man marveled at the omniscience of maternal instinct, ever attuned to any danger to that might face her offspring. But the foolish woman’s anxiousness to save her boy was futile, for she was as powerless before him as was her enchanting son. Alen, having perceived his mother’s cautioning tone, began to turn his gaze toward her, but the priest forestalled him before he could, surrounding the youth with more words of persuasive assurance.
“This incident is truly regrettable, and were it not for the witnesses, I would be most willing to consider it forgotten. Unfortunately, your crime is not unknown, so I cannot simply overlook what has occurred. I fear the penalty for murder is death.” As the hope swiftly faded from Alen’s eyes, replaced with fatalistic acceptance, the priest sensed his impending triumph and played his final card. “But I would be terribly distressed to see such a miscarriage of justice. Not when I can prevent it.”
The boy glanced up, the nervous longing in his eyes causing a powerful excitement to swell in the priest’s shriveled heart even as it nearly engorged his wasted loins full to bursting. He had not felt this alive in years too long to count. Acrid sweat dewed upon his sallow flesh at the delicious prospect of having his proposal accepted by this enticing creature. Only the patience borne of his advanced years prevented his eagerness from coloring his tone and exposing his true purpose.
“Come with me, lad, and I will make certain that no harm befalls you. Your mother will be well provided for, and this little incident will fade into an unpleasant memory. I shall make you my apprentice, someone to take over as the next high priest when my time has ended.” Yes, he thought, it is all very innocent. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. “What do you say, my boy? Do you accept my proposition?”
“Degenerate scum! And you call yourself a servant of the gods?!” The woman’s growl rang out across the night-shrouded field, the strident curse bespeaking the despair and fury that beset her in equal measure. “You may couch your depraved intentions in pretty words and polite manners, but I know full well that your vile intentions have not altered in the slightest. You would make a plaything of my son, a pet with no will save to fulfill your perverted desires.” Frustrated tears spilled down her cheeks. “How can you be so cruel when you know he has done nothing to deserve such treatment?”
Teeth gritted in annoyance, the priest watched the understanding that dawned upon the boy’s face as his mother’s distress pierced through his guileless innocence. He knew to the moment when Alen fully appreciated his own credulity and realized that he had been unforgivably foolish to believe that the priest’s offer might have been sincere.
The old man stared fixedly at the boy as the fair head moved back and forth in silent denial, gaze lowered to the ground to hide his bitter self-reproach. Disbelief was replaced slowly by rage as he came to understand that, once again, he had been rebuffed. To think that, even now, this whelp had the gall to refuse him! Did he not realize the agony that awaited him should his sentence be carried out? The priest tore his gaze away from the willful youth and instead aimed his appeal to a quarter where he thought it might find better purchase.
“My lady,” he entreated the boy’s mother, ignoring the fury that blazed from her mistrustful gaze. Although she clearly understood the true nature of his offer, it made no difference. He did not doubt that she would do anything to prevent her boy from perishing. “I beg you to make your son see reason.” A sickening grin spread across his face as her slight frame shook with impotent frustration. “I can tell that you are a sensible woman. Surely you understand that there is no other decision to be made.” He smiled as her hands clenched at her heaving sides, her distress echoed in the whiteness of her knuckles. “Give the boy to me and all will be well. Refuse, and he will die.”
What did he wish of her? What should she do? What could she do? She knew that the cleric spoke the truth. Alen would be executed for his blameless crime unless she convinced him to submit to the priest’s indecent proposition. Curse the rotted scum for putting this horrid choice before her! Abandon her son to this madman’s tender mercies? It was unconscionable! Yet how could she stand by and let the one joy in her life be destroyed?
As she gazed at Alen through a haze of misery, her earlier, frightening vision returned with unbidden swiftness, bringing a gasp of dismay to her lips. Brilliant flames danced about him, surrounding and engulfing him, the blaze growing ever brighter and fiercer as the blinding heat consumed him. She was so afraid of losing him—so afraid that the mere thought of it robbed her lungs of breath.
The guard standing watch over her shifted, the movement causing the leather of his protective jerkin to creak. The sound caught her attention, and as she fixed a desperate gaze upon him, she perceived the unexpected disgust in his expression. His clear discomfort with the situation filled her with wild hope that perhaps she had, at last, found salvation.
“Please,” she begged. “Help me! How can you let this travesty stand?!” Anguished tears shone upon her flushed cheeks as she admonished the man. He looked away, uncomfortable at her distraught stare, but she refused to allow him such an easy escape. “I have seen you in town with your family. What if it were your own daughter? What would you do if it were your child that deranged bastard was after?”