A Poisoned Land (Book 1: Faith, Lies and Blue Eyes)

by Craig P Roberts

  Afterwards, the two young bodies lay entwined together in a sweaty embrace for a few moments. Then King Romarus lifted his head and pressed his lips to the slut’s nose. Sitting up, he gave her tits one last squeeze together and stood. Grey’Gon looked between the woman’s legs and saw the boy king’s seed ooze out.

  I would give anything to be in his place, he thought. King Romarus’s blue eyes, his white seed and of course his kingly status meant he could have any woman he desired, mainly because they all desired him. But this little arrangement showed that even a young king, as desirable as King Romarus, couldn’t easily have all he wanted. Otherwise, why would he and this cheating woman from the Wetlands have to pay a lowborn guard to use his tent to rub together while said guard watches? And the fact they ignored that I may have pleasured myself once or twice during the act meant they must be quite desperate for me to keep silent, he amused himself.

  The boy king pulled his clothes back on, while the naked girl still lay on the ground, her smooth curvy legs wide apart. That tantalizing sight makes a man think things he never should, things that he knows are not right or possible. I could just knock the boy king out cold and have my way with her here and now, then run away to the Green Islands and live my life in the jungle, fucking the wild brown women every day. They’d probably worship me like a god there, he continued to amuse himself until…

  King Romarus’s laugh snapped him out of his wandering thoughts. “You want some of that too? You’ve been a friend to me with all this,” the boy king said, “and I’ll repay you one day, I promise.”

  “You are too kind, sir,” Grey’Gon bantered back with the young king but wanted to know more of what his reward might be. The little bastard better not be winding me up!

  “Take my lady back to her tent,” commanded the king.

  Still staring at the nakedness on the floor, Grey’Gon answered, “Yes, Your Grace.” He gave a Gon’Gon Salute to his leash, clashing his fists together in front of his chest.

  Once the temptress was clothed, he led her from the tent, checking for spying eyes. King Romarus remained in Grey’Gon’s tent as he always did, so they could relive and discuss what just happened. He reveled in listening to how the act felt. It was just a shame they didn’t have any of the Arlandish wine. The boy king was more detailed when his mind was influenced by the drink and it made for more interesting and flowing conversation about such matters.

  As they drew more than ten footfalls away from the tent, Grey’Gon’s heart rested slightly. If we were spied here, nobody would suspect we had come secretly from my tent, he would reassure himself every night at this stage of the return sneak. The slut was simply out for a walk in the evening and a noble guard would, of course, escort her after dark.

  The royal dwelling of the Wetlands was not more than twenty footfalls away when shouting could be heard from inside. “The whole thing is pointless!” The drunken ramblings were muffled by the thick skins of the tent. “You pray every night for my strength to return. I live my life properly but still, I’m like a fucking fat fish flopping at the side of a river.”

  Grey’Gon lifted the tent flap to the large bedchamber within and saw the wailing mound of King Stewart lying on his low travel-bed. “Perfect timing…Look at this,” he shouted to Queen Tanya, pointing at the dirty cheater who Grey’Gon escorted into the royal tent. “My beautiful wife, Pauline, has returned from her walk. Another fucking irony sent by the gods. One so beautiful and fertile forced to lay with the broken jelly-like king, who has only ever managed to create one fucking child. And where is he now? Gone!” Grey’Gon could never quite tell if King Stewart was drunk or if this was how he normally spoke. His words rolled out of his mouth, flopping around much like his failing body. It was hard to imagine the slut with him after seeing the mastery of King Romarus at work on her.

  The cheater spoke to him, with her arms outstretched. “Be calm, Your Grace. I am honored to have a king to lie with.”

  I’m sure you are, but not this king, Grey’Gon thought. The temptress, Pauline, was beautiful and the things he wished to do to her would make King Romarus’s performance look tame but at the same time, he despised her dishonesty to this poor wretched creature who lay complaining on the bed. From what he saw of King Stewart, in more public settings, the man was a great leader: sensible and knowledgeable. He seemed to care for the common folk and did what was right. This self-pitying, however, showed him in a different light.

  King Stewart looked as if he was forcing a polite smile, saying, “Your loyalty is your strength, my love,” his smile shrank, “but I am useless, and even my faith has faded.”

  Loyalty? Check between her legs! There’s her loyalty!

  The fat king hadn’t noticed his wife’s escort standing at the entrance to their tent as he continued to ramble. “Do you want to know why I approved this ridiculous trek across the land?”

  Sounds like you’re going to tell us all anyway…

  King Stewart continued, “Because I hoped the magisters would have something to tell us that made sense!” The queen and his slut-wife looked at each other with wide eyes and wrinkled their noses with a shrug. “They said we had to see this to believe it. I hope it proves that what is happening to me isn’t some kind of test, it’s just shit.” He punched the bed. “It’s just fucking shit that happened! Why would fucking gods who are all knowing need to test me?! Look inside my mind!” Stewart slapped the side of his head, hard.

  Queen Tanya and his slut-wife shuffled their feet awkwardly. Normally the mouthy queen would jump in at this point, Grey’Gon thought.

  “Do not make my muscles wither away! Do not make me conceive a child who then rejects me and my teachings! And do not give me a wife I can no longer be inside because you’ve given me a cock that no longer works!” King Stewart’s eyes strayed to where Grey’Gon was standing. His fat body took a deep breath. “Apologies for my outburst and thank you for escorting my Pauline on her walk tonight. You may go now.”

  Grey’Gon bowed and ducked out of the tent. You poor creature. He just thanked me for taking his wife off to be fucked by a young king.

  When Grey’Gon returned to his tent, the king was still there. He was sitting on Grey’Gon’s bedroll eating some dried meat from their travel store. “You want some?” the boy king offered, holding a strip of dried dark meat.

  Grey’Gon sat in his viewing chair. “I would, but I have had my ration for the day.”

  “Fuck off! You’ve helped me. It’s a bit of dried meat. Just eat it if you’re hungry.” The boy king threw a strip of the meat onto Grey’Gon’s lap.

  Well I guess I can’t refuse, he thought, as he accepted the boy king’s offer, biting on the chewy, salty meat. Why is he still waiting in my tent? “Are you retiring to bed soon, Your Grace?” he asked, in the correct etiquette. It was always easier for informal conversation to flow when the two of them were drunk.

  “Why are you talking so weird…like everybody else?” King Romarus said, shaking his head, laughing; he always did whenever Grey’Gon tried to maintain the correct conversation that should be held between a king and his guard. “So do you think she enjoyed it more tonight? You saw how she was biting her bottom lip? I think that means they really like it.”

  Grey’Gon tried to relax. “I am almost certain she was enjoying it!” I was enjoying looking at her tits, he wanted to say, but wasn’t sure if that was appropriate in this setting.

  “What do you think of her? I see you watching her and I’ve seen you do stuff while you’re watching. She’s pretty fuckable!”

  The thought that the king definitely knew he was intently watching and didn’t seem to mind, was a relief. Grey’Gon could feel his tongue loosening and confessed, “If I had a chance with her, there are a lot of things I would like to do.”

  The boy king laughed and leaned forward to slap his hand with Grey’Gon’s. “There you go! I thought I’d lost you.” King Romarus’s smile faded as he sat back down. “Do you think it’s right, wh
at I’m doing?”

  You clearly know it’s not or you wouldn’t be asking me to hide you. “I think you know the answer to that,” he said cautiously. When there was no answer, he continued, “But as I understand it, it is against no laws in the Ten Kingdoms. Although sometimes the customs of kings confuse me.”

  “It confuses the fuck out of me too. All I know is that what happened in here feels good and I want more of it.”

  Grey’Gon smiled. “And I am glad to assist.”

  To the Mister, I will speak. And through the Mister, you will be bathed in my light.

  Scroll 4:6 of the Mother

  Owin

  For the Right Reasons

  Laughter filled the communal area of the pod as the waning sun’s red beams slanted through the four circular windows.

  Why do they always have to shout? Owin listened, from his cross-legged position on the floor, to the brothers reenacting parts of the trials from earlier that day. He only had the chance to fight once and was knocked out of the competition when Calar grappled with him on the ground, locking his knee, forcing him to submit.

  Ro sat quietly at the end of the long soft seat, nursing his sore ribs. Mior sat leaning forward on one of the chairs opposite the long seat, with his hands flapping around, trying to defend his shitty performance to Cally, Mattespin, Riler and Yogin. “No, look, if he didn’t use his fucking lantar-bug shit on me, it would’ve been fine. It’s not even fighting. If some big-fuck comes up to you with a staff, are you really going to balance on one leg and act like a fucking arsehole? He can fuck off to the abyss!” Spit flew from his mouth as he shouted—his face screwed up like a spoiled little brother.

  Docháran had avoided this pod ever since his victory that afternoon. Owin was glad. The tension between winners and losers was never easy after the trials.

  The cunt who beat Owin was sitting a few paces away. “It’s true,” Calar said, speaking to the group but glancing at Owin with a smile. “I managed to kick the shit out of Owin with just a few punches and then…what was it, Owin? What made you tap out?” Calar probed in his strangely squeaky voice.

  You already fucking know, you squeaky bastard, Owin thought to himself. He put on a—hopefully convincing—fake smile and laughed, playing along. “Not sure, think it was a knee lock, but I’m pretty certain you did it just so you could get your face closer to my arse.”

  Calar was a funny one when he made fun of others but when it was thrown back at him, things changed. He stared back at Owin with his screwed up eyes. “You wish! Maybe you should fight Frazer if you want that kind of shit!”

  Owin couldn’t be bothered with the arguments, so he rose from the floor and began to walk through to his bedchamber. Before he went around the corner to the hallway he heard Calar shout with a clenched jaw, “Fucking Mother, I hate those things.” The squeaky brother jumped up from his seat, eyes fixed on a scuttler running along the wooden floorboards. The black insect did a fantastic job of parting the group of well-trained warriors with its spindly orange legs. Those brave enough, took a swing at the harmless tiny creature with hand and foot.

  “Don’t kill it, you fucks! The Mother does not teach us to kill,” Owin shouted, fetching a cup from the table in the middle of the room and trapping the insect under it.

  “Yeah, we don’t kill scuttlers but it’s fine to kill each other…” the squeaky voice mumbled, bringing silence to the room. Owin felt numb.

  “Too far, Calar. Too fucking far,” Mior said, coming to Owin’s defense.

  Owin, trying to remain calm, slid a piece of parchment under the cup and lifted the scuttler away. He hurried to his bedchamber, feeling a lump in his throat, making it hard to swallow. He kicked the door to his bedchamber closed. As it slammed, he sniffed at the same time so the others wouldn’t hear. “Fucking cunt,” he whispered to himself with a shaking voice.

  He placed the cup and parchment on the drawers next to his bed, with the rescued scuttler still inside. He eased the window open and climbed through to the small plot of grass surrounded by thick bushes, just high enough to block the view. This was his private place where he and Ro looked after four laying glumps. Each brother had a duty like this. Some cared for gogors, others tended vegetables, but Owin had four birds that laid.

  They ran up to him manically with scaly legs and stubby wings flailing, knowing he always brought them food to peck at. He reached back inside the window, picked up the cup and flicked the scuttler to the four pecking beaks. They moved so fast that Owin couldn’t see which one managed to snap up the creepy little black-and-orange prize.

  He slumped into the grass, sitting cross-legged as four white fluffy feathered faces looked at him expecting more, each making their own unique and pointless little squawks.

  Why am I letting that little cunt bother me so much?! Everybody knows he’s an arsehole, Owin thought as he pictured Calar’s squashy screwed up eyes. And he’s just a little child. He’s not even had a vision yet. “Probably doesn’t even have any pubes,” Owin said to Bertha, the biggest glump, as she took a suspicious side-on look at him with a quiet squawk.

  Ever since he came of age and experienced his visions with the goddesses, Owin felt slightly above the younger brothers on the island. They had no idea the sort of pleasure the goddesses could bring by following the Mister’s teachings.

  The glumps became bored waiting for more pickings. They wandered around the small grass area, scratching with their feet and pecking at the ground. If only I just had to peck and scratch all day, Owin thought, envying the glumps going about their simple business as they did every day. He needed to clear his mind after Calar’s words brought Leon’s death plummeting back into his life. Everything swirled around in his head as he sat in the growing dark. The green of the grass turned to gray and the glumps clucked off into their little shed that butted up against the wall of the pod. He locked them up to keep them safe overnight, then went to find Saul.

  The common room was empty as he made his way to the main door of the pod. Warm embers were all that was left in the hearth. He pulled at the thick, round door. The fresh outside-air mingled with the sweaty clamminess left by the rowdy brothers earlier. Owin followed the raised wooden path to the other pod. Off in the distance to his left, the sea crashed. Insects chirped all around him. He approached the other pod, which was identical to his but because it was in a different location it felt totally different.

  He opened the heavy round door. Smoke, accompanied by a strange smell, hit him. It smelled as if somebody had farted and then burnt a lump of soil. Either that, or somebody was charring some mixed herbs and had found a rather pungent combination. The place was quiet. Most brothers had gone to their bedchambers, except for Saul and Docháran. They sat slumped next to each other on the large soft seat. They each had a small piece of wood coming out of their mouths, a straight twig with a tiny cup on the end. Smoke billowed from their mouths as they puffed.

  “Ohhh shiiiiiit,” Saul said, as if somebody had made time go slower. His eyes looked like he was squinting in sunlight, even though it was late evening. The room was only lit by the fire and two small burning torches. Saul took the stick out of his mouth and puffed smoke. “Brother Owin,” he drawled, holding back a cough. Saul threw his arms up in the air, then floated them in front of his own face as if it was the first time he had ever seen them. “Brrrrooootheeerrrr Owwwwwwwinnnn.” He rolled the words around his mouth—his tongue playing with every sound. “Come sit with us. Have you ever stopped and really felt how fucking comfortable these seats are?” His hands rubbed circles on the long soft seat he was slouching on.

  Has he been dropped on his head or something? Owin went to sit down where Saul started patting with a flopping hand. The three sat in a row; Docháran slouched next to sprawled-out Saul, next to upright-and-confused Owin. “So, what are you doing?”

  “We’re talking about the world,” said Saul, half to the roof and half to the hand he still held in front of his face. “Do you know where Doch
áran’s from?”

  “You mean: where he was saved from by the Mister,” Owin corrected.

  “Whatever, yyyyes. But have you heard about the place? He only had five years there when he was saved but the place sounds…placccey.” Saul chuckled.

  Placey? He’s definitely been dropped on his head, Owin thought. Both his brothers put the smoking sticks in their mouths again and took a puff.

  “He was from the Peak Kingdom. They lived high up on mountains…Mount Capperhorn or some shit…But it was so high in some places that it snowed all the time and even the air was hard to breathe.” Saul’s arms flailed around as he spoke while Docháran just bobbed his head up and down to everything his brother said. “When you have twelve years there, you get to catch a baby Talon. They’re these big red birds with beaks the size of your fist.” He presented a limp fist to Owin. “And claws the size of your face. Then you train it and it hunts for you. Can you imagine that shit?”

  Owin pushed the example beak away. “But did he also tell you that kings have hordes of false goddesses? They lay with them and they get sicknesses and they worship false gods!” His heartbeat quickened.

  Docháran snapped out of his trance, nodding. “Capehorn…Mount Capehorn,” he corrected Saul from before, then turned to Owin and said, “I don’t remember much from when I was there because I was still wetting the bed and shitting my pants. But I know our king was never sick. I remember him being strong and practising forms on mountain peaks and teaching me how to fight.” His voice seemed more with-it than Saul’s. He came across as more relaxed than his usual brash self.

  Saul’s eyes opened wide, looking to Owin. “How do you know they were false gods though?” Saul asked, only now catching up with his brother’s previous question.

  “Because the Mother is the only deity. You know that. You’ve seen Her visions and the Mister has taught us all about Her.”