The Crystal Crux: Blue Grotto

by Allen Werner

Shamed, feeling nauseous, wanting to vomit, Pieter cried miserably, his terrified mind rambling on about repentance. “Forgive me. Oh, God, forgive me. Spare me. I don’t want to burn in hell.”

  “Silence!”

  Pieter was silent. He stood motionless, lips quivering, his beady eyes hardly able to blink, no longer able to speak the things he wanted to express.

  ‘I’m not a forgiving god, Pieter, and you are a very sadistic fellow. You have much to atone for.’ Sinibaldus thought firstly to poke at the crystal’s heart once again, perhaps do it repeatedly and inflict a great deal of distress and pain to his heart. And then a darker thought emerged and he smirked.

  “Place your left hand on the display case.” Sinibaldus forgot he could think his way into Pieter’s mind and spoke the words aloud.

  Pieter couldn’t tell the difference anyway. Sinibaldus’ voice was becoming a part of his consciousness and there was nothing he could do about it. It was almost as real to him as his own voice. A whisper of his former self was still alive in there and wished to disobey the giant’s command. The rest of his body, however, was not listening. He placed his left hand on the display case.

  It was then that the sins Pieter had completely forgotten committing started rising from the blackest recesses of his mind. Punitively, guilt clawed at him with her poisonous talons, the infection spreading and setting fire to his soul. He was being consumed from the inside and was no longer sure of who or what he was, man or beast, alive or dead. He no longer had the strength to resist any commands entering his mind, for his mind had many voices, many gods, many devils, giants and men. It was utter madness. ‘Just make it stop.’

  “Now lift your sword, Pieter.”

  Pieter breathed heavy through his nose as he raised the gladius.

  “Now strike it!”

  Terrified, Pieter’s eyes nearly leapt from his head. The command was not specific enough, so in a moment of hesitation, Pieter deflected and resisted. Deep in his heart, he knew damn well what the giant wanted. He knew what was coming next.

  Leaning closer, Sinibaldus whispered the thought. ‘Lop off your left hand.’

  And down the sword came.

  The appendage dropped to the floor taking with it a splay of blood. Pieter screamed as loud as any man had ever screamed.

  Sinibaldus laughed at first but eventually had no wish to hear this racket. He commanded Pieter to shut up.

  An inchoative sensation inched up Pieter’s throat like disembodied fingers. They seized hold of his tongue and jaw. Pieter wanted to scream but could not. He could not produce any sounds, nothing but an unnatural series of distressful grunts and dour sobs that were not oral but spasmodic emanations resulting from his injured body submitting to the pain.

  ‘I have a rat to experiment on,’ Sinibaldus thought morosely, Pieter hearing this as well. ‘To what lengths, I wonder, can I lead this man? How far will he follow me?’

  Pieter was getting woozy. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor behind the counter.

  ‘Stand up!’ Sinibaldus commanded.

  Hardly able to open his eyes, Pieter managed to climb back to his feet, blood still draining out of the wound to his wrist.

  Sinibaldus used his free hand to hold his chin and think. The other hand still held the crystal, light still pouring out of it, engulfing the room in a host of brilliant colors.

  ‘Put your left arm back on the counter.’

  Pieter’s mind was not fully coherent anymore due to all the pain he was battling through. He was so confused by all the sins that still streamed through his conscience that it took a few seconds for him to seize upon the command and obey. Shaking his head disapprovingly, Pieter threw the nub of his arm down on the counter, the flesh and blood making an awful squishing sound when it landed.

  ‘Strike it again. Cut it off at the elbow.’

  Pieter had lost so much blood; he was nearly as pallid as Sinibaldus now. He was dizzy and desperate to avoid any more self-mutilation. There were spontaneous breaks occurring in his mind due to the wooziness and it was during one of those brief moments that Pieter seized upon. He placed the blade quickly to his own throat and without hesitation slashed. A geyser of blood sprayed out of his neck and onto the counter. The gladius clanged to the floor, as Pieter fell over backwards, no longer able to stand.

  Sinibaldus could hear the proprietor’s last gasping thoughts drifting away from him, fading into the ethereal recesses of time. ‘Forgive me. Forgive me…’

  Indifferent, distracted, the murderer didn’t even bother to peak over the counter for a final look at his victim. He heard the end and knew Pieter was gone. There was no more connection between them. The light splaying out of the Bellerophon Crystal diminished and ended.

  Wasting no more time, Sinibaldus rummaged through the supplies in the outpost, removing and taking possession of everything and anything that would aid him on his journey. He was going back up into the mountains with a newfound sense of hope – and supplies.

  From that day forward, abusing the divine powers of the Bellerophon Crystal, Sinibaldus wreaked havoc throughout the Alps. He experimented on wild animals, controlled the minds of birds, emasculated men and deflowered women. His understanding of the Bellerophon Crystal grew exponentially, matured prodigiously. The yoke between him and the Crystal was secure, until death do us part.

  Chapter 30 – A Woman Scorned

  Viridian didn’t knock. She busted though the door to the baths at Villa Jovis like a rampaging bull. She learned this harsh tactic and extreme mannerism from her lover and cousin, Rugerius Fabbro. The bastard had done the same to her countless times before.

  Viridian was mad, livid, steaming hot.

  Sinibaldus had brought before her an accusation against the Castellan, news of a treacherous infidelity. Rugerius Fabbro was an unfaithful philanderer, a libertine and fucker of all things breathing. She knew this already. She was no better than him in this regard. But those things were agreed upon.

  The magician, however, had been blunt and forthright with his latest revelation, casting aspersions on their relationship, on the future. The albino bastard even grabbed her by the arm with his cold, dead hands. He made unwanted advances, expressing an unfilled longing to lay with her and crown her his queen. The very thought of being fucked by him, having his ice-cold cock rammed up inside her warm freshness gave her shivers.

  “He has another princesse,” she heard Sinibaldus say again, the accusation ringing in her ears. “Rugerius intends to wed another. It has already been decided.”

  Viridian didn’t want to believe the giant spoke truth. ‘He must be lying. It can’t be true.’ Viridian had placed a great deal of faith in her ability to please Rugerius Fabbro. She never imagined he’d take another to the altar. In the long run, he would eventually wed her and brand her respectable. All those snobby, condescending bitches that slandered her name daily at Court would be made to bow before her, acquiesce.

  Viridian wasn’t wearing much, she never did. Before fleeing her apartment and the giant, she had the good sense to throw on a tight-fitting negligee, the hem barely covering her tan thighs, her fulsome breasts surging through the sheer white fabric, a soft belt tied around her waist. For her taste, there were still too many puritan minds occupying the palace on this isle of decadence. She had to maintain a certain decorum despite not having any.

  Viridian had gone first to Rugerius’ apartment but the little strumpets who served him there told her the Castellan had gone to the bathhouse for a wash up. The bathhouse at Villa Jovis kept regular hours and there was a time for men only and a time for women only. Right now, it was the time for men and Viridian didn’t care.

  She stood just inside the door with her arms on her hips. This was the familiar spacious courtyard, the palaestra. Her big brown eyes scanned the still pools and drifting mists above them for any sign of Rugerius.

  The large room was all but empty, just two old men, both fat and laughing, playing catch in nothing but sandals. T
hey turned and scowled, cursing Viridian for her intrusion, neither of them reaching for their towels.

  Viridian scoffed at the sight of their sunless white bottoms and dried up vits. She was more than sure she had been with them both at some point in time but orgies were crazy affairs and she was always drunk and high. There was no telling what fool was feeling her up and sticking his cock in her. She didn’t care. It was all about the pleasure, not the people. There was no way to know for sure, but she liked to brag and reassure herself that she had been with everyone, even if she hadn’t. That made them all seem flawed in her eyes.

  Viridian made for the dressing room. She found Rugerius Fabbro standing naked and statuesque in the center of the room with two healthy young male attendants, both naked as well, massaging and oiling the muscular Castellan from stem to stern.

  The ancient hypocaust beneath the old building was still operational, and although it was sweltering hot outside all the time on Capri, people still felt the need to bathe and steam in even hotter environs. It was hot as hell in this room.

  “Out!”

  Terrified by Viridian’s urgent tone and rabid countenance, the attendants didn’t even look to Master Rugerius for direction. They dropped their lotions and towels and scurried away.

  Rugerius could have countermand her issuance but decided not to. He scratched at his freshened beard and broken jaw before stooping down to recover a small towel from the floor. He scrubbed his genitals with it. “So you intend to finish what they started?”

  “Fuck you, Rugerius,” she whispered, sneering menacingly at him and the towel. She wanted to get directly to the point but was unsure whether that was the best course of action. Now that she was here, she wished she had planned what to say. She was young and wanted to be mature about this but petulance was so much easier.

  “Suit yourself.” Rugerius turned his back to her and completed his drying regimen. Viridian stomped and stalked about the clean, white marbled floors, deep in thought.

  There were a few stone benches built into each wall for seating purposes, several alcoves for storing clothes and possessions. Sunlight poured in through slanted windows some twenty feet above them. It was extremely bright in the dressing room.

  “Who is this princess you hide from me?” The words just spilled out of her mouth. She had to be direct.

  Rugerius considered that for a moment and for a moment he was curious on how she may have chanced upon this information. But he had other plans, urgent plans, and she was not a part of them. The Castellan’s mind was squarely focused on riding out to the Eagles Forest, locating the sanctuary where his uncle and aunt lived and separating Pero de Alava’s head from his body.

  “None of your business,” he answered.

  Viridian felt the tie of the belt holding her wrap together loosening but she ignored it. It felt binding anyway. She wanted to take it off. Even the lightest silks tended to weigh heavy on her skin.

  “Do you intend to wed the bitch?”

  This statement Rugerius could not ignore. He turned slowly around to face his cousin. He wasn’t as concerned about the revelation as he was about ascertaining the method by which she came by this information. ‘Two oarsmen and a giant. That is all that was in the grotto with me and surely the oarsmen did not speak out of turn for fear for their lives.’ He threw the towel down on the floor and kept a straight face. ‘I must have a serious talk with that magician upon my return. He takes too many liberties and needs to be reminded of his place.’

  “Let it alone, Viridian,” Rugerius warned. He sat down and pulled on some tight black trousers.

  “If you intend to wed anyone, it should be me.”

  Rugerius put his muscular arms through the sleeves of a soft, blue silken shirt with fringes of lace on the cuffs and neck. His words came out as a snicker. “Are you jealous?”

  Viridian snarled at that, refusing to admit such an emotion was even possible. ‘I can out-fuck any woman here,’ she thought. ‘None are better than me. There is no reason for me to be jealous.’

  “You are. You are jealous. What a petty trait, Viridian. I didn’t know you had it in you.” Rugerius eyed her shapely figure pushing through the sheer negligee, especially the more pronounced parts that were somewhat exposed. “Don’t worry, girl. There will always be a place for you in my bed.” He winked at her. “You’re still my favorite fuck. That won’t change.” At that very moment he felt his bulge grow and chastised himself for having outfitted so hastily. ‘Opportunity missed.’

  Rugerius turned back around and recovered his seax in a black cowhide, securing it to his left thigh.

  Viridian came up on him and started groping the leather seat of his pants, trying to reach under and up his crotch.

  He slapped her frisky hands away and she giggled playfully.

  “Enough, Viridian. I haven’t time for games right now.” He reminded himself yet again of Pero de Alava, the thought of stuffing the Spaniards bloody head in a bag crucial and pressing. “Go back to your room and have at it with your girls.”

  He turned about and faced her and she hugged him tight, wanton. “I need you, Rugerius. I can’t wait. I need you to satisfy me right here, right now. Take off these tight pants and give me your cock.”

  The way she clung to him made him uncomfortable. She was too desperate. It was not the free-spirited wench he had come to know and enjoy all these years. Her demanding insistence was abnormal, even for her.

  Viridian started fiddling with the laces on his pants, trying to untie the knots he had just made.

  Rugerius shoved her back.

  She laughed some more. She loved to roughhouse. The more physical the better. She was convinced she was getting in his head and soon he would forget all about this other girl and come back to her.

  Rugerius could feel his rage building. His mind wasn’t on a girl or on sex. It was on murder and vengeance.

  “You’re getting too fucking serious, Viridian. Let it alone.”

  “No,” Viridian purred, stepping back slowly, untying the silken belt, the negligee slipping noiselessly to the floor. She shimmied her hips and turned a smidge to show him a little backside. “You’re not leaving Capri until I have reminded you why I’m the only bitch for you.” She bared her teeth and made some biting gestures, swinging her long black mane wildly about her head, trying to invite some hedonistic spirits to join them. “Let’s call those old buggers playing ball outside to come in here and watch us fuck.”

  Viridian took one bounding step towards Rugerius and he caught her completely unawares with a vicious fist to the face. Viridian’s neck snapped and her legs buckled. She landed hard on the pristine white floor, face first, a trail of blood flowing from her nose, a laceration beneath the left eye.

  Rugerius placed his hand on the bone white grip of the seax and considered employing it. He thought of Sir Bergus stabbing the fat girl on the couch right through the heart with his dagger. He remembered his personal pledge, his private constitution regarding any and all who dared to love him. ‘People are sheep, subject to the whims of the ruthless. Work them, fuck them, sheer them and eat them but never love them. And any damned fool thinking they deserve my kindness and affection, my mercy, will get the seax, eternal separation, the final reward, the end.’ Rugerius considered ending it, right here, right now. His grip on the seax continued to loosen and tighten, much like his will. He stared down at his cousin as she lay motionless, her black mane covering her head and shoulders, her tan ass glistening from the moisture in the air, looking as tempting as ever.

  After a minute or so of breathing hard, Rugerius realized Viridian hadn’t moved. Only the slightest of whimpers was audible.

  “Stay in your place, girl. You will continue to serve my wishes for as long as I have need of you.” His mind was made up and he relented, removing his fingers away from the seax. “I will make myself clear just this once. Unless I decide to give you to another, you will never wed.” He sat on a stone bench and fitted his tall b
lack riding boots to his feet. Still, Viridian did not move. He didn’t know if she heard him or not.

  “I will clarify so there are no more misunderstandings ever again. You belong to me. There will be no one else unless I decide it shall be so.” He gathered up the rest of his belonging and came to stand over her. “And if you have a problem with this arrangement, Viridian, you best end your life.” He walked from the room making one last declaration before leaving. “If you attempt to speak to me of this again, I will kill you.”

  That was all Viridian heard before passing out.

  Chapter 31 – He Came

  Pero stumbled. The Spaniard had been doing a lot of that lately. He was frustrated and angry, hot and annoyed; downright exhausted. He pulled on the collar of the sleeveless black jerkin, shrugging uncomfortably, sweating profusely. There was no breeze, hadn’t been one all day. The air was stifling, suffocating. Once again he found himself entombed in a forest of vegetation, thick dark branches, creepers and roots, thorns, needles and spikes poking and stabbing at him. He had fresh cuts and scrapes all over his body. His long black hair and dark trousers were covered with burrs and clingy, obstinate spider webs. His calves and thighs were swollen, his feet bloodied. The cozy and comfortable shoes Druda Fabbo had gifted him earlier that day were worn clean through to the soles, as was he.

  ‘Proceed,’ he thought for the thousandth time. ‘Proceed. That’s what the voice said. Proceed. Proceed where?’

  After his brief encounter with a mysterious tempest that ran off four wolves, a whispery disembodied voice had manifested itself in the wind and commanded him. First the whisper said ‘wait’ and then the whisper said ‘proceed’.

  ‘Why the hell am I listening to whispers anyway?’

  Pero knew he could have deflected the voice long ago but his spiritual uniting with one of the wolves, their hearts bound together and beating in rhythm, had weakened his resolve to oppose the unexplainable. That eerie incident gave the impossibility of the impossible a tint of possibility.