by Jade Astor
Chapter 2
The morning after his twentieth Natal Day, Lyrion came downstairs to find his parents waiting for him at the breakfast table. That was somewhat unusual, as both men were usually out milking the azhis or collecting waku eggs from the small coop they kept in back of their cottage. Even stranger, Da and Fa seemed to be watching him as he tried to enjoy his bowl of porridge. Their scrutiny made him uneasy.
Finally, Da spoke up, stroking his thick beard in thought. “We spent much of last night discussing your future, Lyrion.”
Relief swept through Lyrion as he washed his breakfast down with a mouthful of sweetwater. So this was a continuation of the typical Natal Day conversation they had started before.
“I have given that some thought as well.” If he chose his words carefully, he decided, he could stretch out his time frame for choosing an apprenticeship for many moons—perhaps even a year. “I must confess, I am torn. Signing on with the bookbinder has a certain appeal, but learning to bake might be a more practical pursuit. I could certainly raise the quality of our meals here.” Da looked intrigued by the mention of food, but when Lyrion saw Fa’s defensive expression, he added, “Not that we have anything to complain about as it is. Yet who can deny that bread fresh from the oven is a toothsome treat?”
“Not I,” Da said. “In any case, we are pleased to hear that you were paying attention yesterday. Your friends Gregar and Sehru have chosen their paths, according to their fathers, and Gregar has already started his work at the tavern. You are a bright and capable young man, Lyrion, if a trifle too imaginative. Your Fa and I believe you could be successful at any vocation you put your mind to.”
“It’s the ‘putting your mind to it’ part we are concerned about,” Fa said. “Daydreaming is all well and good when one is a schoolboy, but now that you have completed your primary education, you are ready to assume your rightful place in this community as a man.”
“And not just any man,” Da added, nodding. “Never forget that you wear the Mark of the Bearer. Your ultimate purpose is the most serious and honored one of all. ’Tis you, and the others like you, who will ensure the survival of our community.”
“I know.” Lyrion nodded. He had heard this speech many times before—ever since he had reached his thirteenth Natal Day, in fact. That was when the strange circular mark had appeared in the middle of his abdomen. It had frightened him at first—until Fa had lifted his own tunic and revealed that he, too, bore the same reddish symbol in the very same place. That was when Fa had explained to Lyrion exactly where he had come from, and how other young elven boys would one day come from Lyrion’s body. In truth, he hadn’t given it much thought since then. He was more interested in playing games with his friends, Gregar and Sehru especially, or taking long foot journeys through the deep woods surrounding their village. There, he could play different games—those that required only one player, and might well horrify Da and Fa if they knew.
Da cleared his throat. He looked nervous, almost as though he had been reading Lyrion’s thoughts. Surely that wasn’t possible…was it? “Actually, that brings me to my next point,” he said in a somewhat strained voice. “Alderman Igby was here this morning…early.”
“Quite early,” Fa said, curling his lip in distaste.
“Oh?” Lyrion wondered why his parents thought a visit from that particular gentleman would interest him. The Alderman was a pale, overly thin man with a wispy strand of straw-colored beard that trailed to the middle of his narrow chest. When he visited a cottage, it was for the purposes of collecting taxes or enforcing some obscure rule that had inadvertently been broken by a citizen. Nervous heat bloomed in Lyrion’s cheeks. Were Da and Fa in trouble? Or was he? “What did he want?”
“As you know, the Alderman has lived a solitary life thus far.” Fa glanced at Da and then down at the table. “He has never had a mate—at least, none that any of us can remember. All of us just assumed he preferred things that way. Today we discovered we were mistaken.”
“The Alderman feels it’s time he had a son of his own,” Da explained when he noticed Lyrion’s puzzled look.
“What has that to do with us?” Lyrion asked, blushing. “Surely the Alderman doesn’t wish to…adopt me?” It was the only alternative he could think of—his initial thought was too bizarre, and too awful, to contemplate.
Da shook his head with an annoyed expression. “You haven’t really been listening, have you? You are a man now, Lyrion. Alderman Igby does not wish you to become his son. He wishes you to bear his son.”
“Please don’t think we would force you into such an arrangement,” Fa put in, though Da’s sidelong glance seemed to contradict the statement. “However, we ask only that you consider it. The Alderman has offered a most generous compensation for arranging the match.”
“We would pay no taxes for as long as you remained with him,” Da continued, “and in addition, the Alderman will give us one of his own fields to increase our azhi herd. In a year’s time, we could supply milk to the entire village, including the tavern.”
Lyrion gaped at them, speechless. The porridge he had consumed began to turn into a cold, hard lump in his stomach.
“And never forget, there is no greater joy in life than bringing forth a son of your own,” Fa said. “Admittedly, the Alderman may not be much to look at, but many citizens said the same of your Da in our day.”
Da raised his bushy eyebrows in mock offense. “I beg your pardon!”
Fa laughed and reached over to squeeze Da’s work-roughened hand. “At first, I was inclined to think the same way—but I looked beyond what they saw and found more than I ever dreamed possible. I wouldn’t trade a single day of my life with your Da, especially those we shared after you came along. I could not have imagined how much closer together you would bring us.”
“Perhaps if you got to know Alderman Igby a bit better…” Da suggested. “He may have qualities you haven’t noticed, or even considered. After all, he is a right-thinking man who lives a respectable life and takes his duties seriously. Any helpmeet of his would be well cared for without a doubt.”
“All we ask is that you consider it,” Fa echoed.
For a long time, Lyrion remained silent. Slowly he pushed away his empty bowl and stood on legs that shook under him. He struggled not to show his disorientation. “I…promise I shall think about everything you have said,” he promised. “Might…might I be excused now?”
“Of course,” his fathers said, nearly at the same time. The two men nodded at each other, smiling. No doubt they thought they had presented a thorough and irresistible case in favor of the match. Lyrion longed to bolt from the cottage. Instead, he staggered as though he’d been struck in the head—though the blow he had suffered felt in some ways far worse.
Dejected, he wandered down the path that led from the azhi pen to the open field beyond. Was this the land Igby planned to give his family? If so, he could understand Da and Fa’s enthusiasm for the deal. Such fertile land would benefit their household immensely. They would go from being humble farmers to prominent, perhaps even wealthy, citizens of their village.
Yet as happy as he felt about their improved social prospects, the price of their advancement made his blood run cold with dread. The only thing worse was imagining their disappointment when he dashed their hopes with his refusal.
At the edge of the forest, he looked around for his former school friends Gregar and Sehru. Normally, the three of them would meet after breakfast and pass the time together until the sun reached the midpoint of the sky. This morning, he saw no sign of either one of them. Were they already off working at their new apprentice positions? Lyrion’s heart squeezed to think their leisurely strolls and long conversations under the open sky might be over forever. Blinking away a sudden rush of tears, Lyrion plunged into the forest and started walking. He didn’t take their usual path, or any of the familiar spots he and his friends frequented. Instead, he headed for the less visible trail he used when he was i
n pursuit of more private entertainments.
On and on he trudged, until his muscles ached and his pulse pounded. Yet the farther he walked, the easier his mind felt and the drier his eyes became. By the time he passed the ancient zufo tree, its gnarly branches and stooped trunk seeming to gesture in warning, his cock began to throb with anticipation. Just beyond the tree lay that part of the forest unprotected by the Ancient Enchantment. No one from his village ever went there—in fact, all of them, down to the oldest citizen, had been repeatedly warned since childhood against crossing that particular barrier.
Lyrion had long ago lost any fears that the old legends were even remotely true, or that anything bad would happen. The way he saw it, the ancient taboo simply meant no one was likely to disturb him. Such a prospect suited him just fine.
A bit more walking and he reached the spot he had grown to love best after trying out several others. Another zufo tree, this one younger and far less ominous than the first, opened its knobby but welcoming arms toward him. As he had done many times before, Lyrion left his clothes and boots at the base of the tree, tucking the bundle between some exposed roots. Then he began an exhilarating—and utterly naked—climb.
As he hoisted himself from branch to branch, moving steadily higher, Lyrion felt his worries melt from his body like the sweat from his bare back. The warm summer air caressed his skin, and the bright light shining down through the tangled limbs offered the pleasant illusion that he was climbing toward the sun. With every branch he scaled, and every verdant leaf he brushed past, his cock became harder. The occasional, wispy touches of stray twigs and coarse bark against his jutting erection got his bollocks throbbing, too.
Luckily, he knew relief was only a few expert handstrokes away once he reached the special nesting spot he had discovered during an earlier expedition. Soon he could see it, the smooth crevice tucked between the upper branches into which his outstretched body fit perfectly. A few last maneuvers and he had settled into it, his legs spread and his fingers ready to please his neglected but insistent cock.
Despite the difficult situation at home—or maybe even because of it—he felt freer today than he had during his previous visits. This time, he went about pleasing himself much more slowly, and in a more systematic way. A long sigh escaped his open lips as Lyrion began to rub, tug, and massage the straining flesh between his thighs. He also tried something he had never done before—closing his eyes, he allowed himself to envision a lover up in the tree with him.
Though he couldn’t make out a face and had only the vaguest idea what sort of position they might assume together, he was able to conjure the image of another man’s body entwined with his. Each stroke of his hand became the slide of a warm, wet mouth around his cockhead. Each push of his thumb against the plump, throbbing vein on the underside of his shaft became the pressure of the stranger’s teeth and tongue. He even imagined soft murmurs vibrating against his cock as his mystery lover voiced his satisfaction.
To his surprise, the simple addition to his normal routine proved both life changing and soul charging. Never had Lyrion enjoyed so many ripples of excitement blazing through his body like dozens of tiny fires igniting in his veins. When his bollocks finally convulsed, they thrust such a copious spurt of seed upward that it overflowed Lyrion’s fist and spattered his chest.
For many heartbeats afterward, he lay back against the tree, nearly motionless except for his deep, shuddering breaths. For a short time, his life seemed perfect, with the threat of Alderman Igby and the prospect of a dull apprenticeship very far away and easily forgotten. Then, at last, he was forced to open his eyes again.
More reluctantly than usual, Lyrion pulled himself into a crouch and prepared to shimmy back down the tree. At least his cock was now back to its normal size, which would make the process a bit easier. He was about to swing over the first branch and begin his descent when he froze in place.
Once again, he heard the odd whisper of a voice—the same sound he had incorporated into his fantasy. This time, though, he knew it didn’t come from inside his head. It was drifting up to him from the ground. And now he heard more than one voice.
The sweat coating his bare body turned icy as he retreated and concealed himself among the branches again. His frantic eyes scanned the base of the tree. So someone had finally come looking for him. Considering his current state, he only hoped it wasn’t Da and Fa—or much worse, Alderman Igby.
Finally, he spotted movement. With a mixture of horror and relief, he saw that it wasn’t his parents, the Alderman, or anyone else he knew. It was a pair of armored soldiers. One of them was poking at his bundle of clothes with the point of a sword. Another was looking up at the tree—toward his hiding place. Moments later, the inevitable happened. Lyrion’s heart turned to stone and lodged in the center of his throat when a gloved hand lifted and pointed directly at him. The other soldier dropped the clothes and looked up as well.
“We mustn’t cut the tree down,” the second man told the one with the sword. Lyrion could understand the words, though their accent sounded most peculiar. Clearly they had come from far away. “Remember what Lord Rogin said about the spirits inside them. They will take revenge on us.”
“All right, then. We’ll have to try something else.” His companion threw his sword to the ground and began removing his armor as well. Desperately Lyrion sought some path of escape. Perhaps he could manage to leap from this tree to another, then another, and so on until he could finally drop to the ground and run away unseen. He knew not how far he could get without either shoes or clothing, but what alternative did he have?
Shaking with terror, Lyrion eased his way along the nearest limb thick enough to support his weight. He forced himself not to look down at the warrior climbing up after him and extended his right hand toward the next closest tree. Too late, he realized that the distance was far greater than he had estimated, and the intervening branches too weak to swing himself on. Meanwhile, every droplet of sweat oozing from his fingers made it more difficult to hold on to the one he currently straddled.
“Hidden One! Come down on your own,” the warrior who was still on the ground called up to him. “Do not risk injuring yourself! We promise not to harm you!”
“Mulciber is right. Give yourself up and we will treat you gently! You cannot escape,” another voice assured him, the words punctuated with grunts of physical exertion. “Do you understand my speech? What language do you speak here, Hidden One?”
Lyrion turned to see the soldier who had shed his armor, climbing toward him in his bare hands and shirtsleeves. One of those hands reached for his ankle, which Lyrion flexed in a kick. The movement threw him off balance, and he felt his fingers slipping on a wad of leaves. Grumbling what could only have been a curse in his native dialect, the soldier braced himself and grabbed for him again. Lyrion gasped and tried to shimmy forward.
Suddenly, the fear in his stomach gave way to an entirely different sensation. He sailed through the air, his path broken only by a few stray branches that snapped against his naked skin. For the briefest moment, Lyrion believed a miracle had occurred, and he had actually taken flight. His captors dropped far behind him, shouting.
Then the ground loomed up in front of him, and he landed in a painful heap.
Chapter 3
The next thing Lyrion heard was the gruff voice of someone kneeling over him. He feigned unconsciousness, desperate to figure out who these brutes were and what they wanted with him.
“Don’t tell me the fool’s gone and killed himself,” the voice said. “It could take us another twelve moons to get a new one—assuming there even are any more.”
“Of course there are more,” another man answered. Lyrion assumed these were the same two men he had seen at the base of the tree. “He’s young, and look how clean his hair and fingernails are. He’s lived indoors for most of his life, with someone taking care of him.”
“Then you’d better hope he has some toothsome brothers,” the first man
retorted. “Prince Talek will have our heads if he finds out we accidentally let this one die.”
“He won’t die. The branches broke his fall. He’s merely stunned—or pretending. Here, give me some water.”
Lyrion sputtered and writhed as a quantity of cool liquid cascaded over his face. His eyes snapped open, and he found himself looking up at the two warriors. Up close, they seemed even stranger, with their weathered skin, beard-stubbled faces, and scruffy, sweat-stained clothing. Both of them were encased in their armor again, giving them an extra air of menace. Lyrion struggled to maintain his ruse and not panic.
“There, you see, Arowan? I told you he was fine. We’ll have our reward from the prince after all.”
Arowan—an unusual name he had never heard before. In the tree, his pursuer had referred to the other as Mulciber. Surely these two were from some faraway land.
Then, to his horror, the pair rolled him onto his stomach and began to fasten his wrists behind him with a length of rope that bit into his tender skin. Tears started to his eyes as the pain flashed up his arms, but he forgot about that a moment later as one of the men pulled his thighs open. His entire body blushed as an intrusive hand moved between his legs and squeezed his cock and bollocks as if testing fruit for ripeness.
“Looks as though he’s got all the necessary parts. I can’t imagine how—well, you know.”
Next, Lyrion felt the cheeks of his arse being spread apart. His blush deepened when a rough, gloved finger poked at the tender bud inside.