by Joey W. Hill
He groaned, the guttural cry of a wild male animal, and he bucked hard, stretching that dainty mouth, plunging into her, wanting her to take all of him deep within her, knowing it was beyond her capacity and not caring. He would bruise her if he needed to, mark her with his power.
He felt the back of her throat and was surprised she did not gag, only lifted her small hands and dug her fingers into his arse, pressing him in further. The mewling noise she made vibrated along his throbbing head.
She took every drop of him. As he emptied, her touch eased and soothed his shuddering skin. As his seed drained, so did his passion, and he stared down at her, filled with shame and fury at himself. She looked up at him, innocent as a doe, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, not like a fishwife, but a deliberate movement, as if she was handling a sacrament.
“Leave us, Celeste.”
The young woman rose, readjusting her gown and rebelting it. She curtsied to Thomas and her lady, and left them as ordered.
His knees were weak, and it further humiliated him that he could not stand in courtesy to the priestess as he should at this moment. Helene slid a hip onto the arm of the chair, and put a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“You did well that time,” Helene said in a neutral voice. “Three hours and the mouths of four of my priestesses to bring forth your seed. Your physical discipline is commendable, Sir Thomas.”
He laid his head back and closed his eyes. “Now, who is the liar?” Her fingers stroked his hair, the color of burnished copper, away from his sweaty neck. “I continue to fail.”
“No, not in the sense you think. Your physical discipline is perfect, Sir Thomas.”
“And yet my body betrays me. Why?”
“My lord,” she admonished, “this is not sword fighting, or breaking a lance. Has it ever occurred to you that the secret is not clenching your fist, but opening your fingers and marveling at the shape of your hand, made so by no will of your own?”
“Damn it all, woman, do you always talk in riddles?”
Her low chuckle warmed him, despite his weariness.
“This is a spiritual test for you, my lord, not a physical one.” Her violet-gray eyes were serious. “It has been a long life for you,” she said. “Has it not? Longer than the years of your face reveal.”
He closed his eyes, not denying the truth that burned in his throat to hear it spoken.
Her voice was a mist in his mind. “You are a long way from the time of Arthur, and yet you have served his ideals well. You have forgotten what magic is, because you are tired.” She hesitated. “And so lonely.”
“I wanted the way to free her to be a way without magic.”
“Ah, my lord, you must realize that the power of the body’s response, it is a magic all of its own. When the heart becomes involved, it is potent. It is in fact the most real thing on this earth, and the joining of bodies can render all other magics insignificant.”
“I saw Lilith once, when she was a young girl in her uncle’s court,” he admitted. “I did not feel this way about her then. Now she invades my dreams as the grown woman I have never seen, and it is as if I will be unable to breathe if I try to contemplate a life without her in it. I would call it sorcery, but it is not. I have seen enough to know the difference. It is something my heart hungers for as much as my mind.”
The priestess’s hand traced his damp forehead. “The gods who know our destinies are sometimes kind, sometimes cruel,” she clicked a nail over one of the scratches she had made on his back. “Soul mates may pass each other, strangers in this life. It is not time for them to join. In another life, one will recognize the connection and the other will not, leading to heartache. The gods know why, but there are painful lessons we all must learn to achieve our destiny.
“Then,” she continued, “there is the blessed life, when they are aware of each other. Suddenly what each feels so deeply in his or her heart is enhanced beyond their imaginings by feeling it together.”
“Will she, do you think - “
“I cannot say, Thomas.” She tugged on his hair. “I tested your body not only to reacquaint you with sensual pleasures, but to help you understand what it is to hover in that moment where control and the bliss of oblivion are equally beyond your reach. Suspended pleasure is excruciating in its intensity. To decide to stay there of your own volition requires perfect love and perfect trust of the one asking it of you. It is a pleasure of its own.
“However,” her expression darkened, “to be forced to stay there is a cruelty beyond measure, because you are completely vulnerable, your spirit as well as your body. Can you imagine feeling like that for five years, Sir Thomas? Everything laid bare, like an animal skinned alive, exposing the complex wonder created by God and Goddess, but unable to bear even the touch of the air? That has been Lilith’s life.”
He swallowed, the muscles tensing in his shoulders as if he could draw a weapon and spare his lady that suffering. Helene’s hand touched him.
“In her dreams, she knows you, and that, I will venture to say, is a good sign. The ritual I will show you will let her reach through the horror of her current existence, pull the curtain back and see you clearly. From there, the choice is hers. If she turns away, out of fear or denial, then you will have lost her in this life. I know Zorac’s power, and there is none to equal him, save the Lord and Lady Themselves, or the Christian God, whichever face you prefer to give Divinity. Love is the closest kin to Divinity, so only the pull of a soul mate can wrest her from Zorac’s grasp.”
“A soul mate she has never met,” he murmured.
“But a soul mate nevertheless,” she reminded him. “Whether or not you have ever met in this life does not matter, not if the connection is a true one.” She molded her hand over his slick shoulder, leaned forward so her breasts pressed against his bare arm, and laid her cool cheek against his. It was a touch of comfort, and power, and he sat still beneath it. “You are a strong man, Thomas. Lilith will respond to the hand of the man who has her heart. You are her Master.”
“Will she acknowledge it from the beginning, you think?”
“No. She will be more like the nightmare part of your dream. The wizard has corrupted that within her which is sacred. Her ability to express her love with her body, enjoy her body, and choose to submit to a Master, the man she loves.”
He grimaced and turned his face away, but she caught his jaw, made him look into her stern violet eyes.
“You must accept the duality of your nature. You can love Lilith, protect her, and still want to push her to her back, spread her thighs and conquer her. Lust and love together is not a sin, because one balances the other. You are a strong, virile man, a forceful one, and by all appearances,” she smiled, “a very determined one. You may love a woman, but you will also want to dominate her physically, have her acknowledge that dominance, submit to you. That is part of your nature. It does not lessen your regard for her. The difference between you and the wizard is you want to win your lady’s favor, her desire for you to be her Master, not take that choice from her.”
“I was not fair to you, when I came here,” he said at last.
“I have grown more attached to you as well, Sir Thomas,” her eyes crinkled. “So.” She settled back. “I am not what you thought I was. Experience can change the scope of your morality. It can make that scope greater, and, at the same time, focus you on what the most important moral principles are. There are actually only a very few, but they are so important, the fate of every soul rests upon them.”
Lilith’s fate. It lay unsaid between them.
“Arthur once said,…” Thomas hesitated. The priestess looked at him with that opaque gaze she had mastered. “…To love someone with all your heart, you must believe in her strength and be there at that moment she needs you most, no matter your own fears or weaknesses. Magic, he said, lies in this unconditional gift. At least,” he added, shifting, “it is believed he said that.”
“You do remember some t
hings,” she said softly, a smile crossing her face.
“In my dreams, I remember everything,” he said. Exhaustion closed his eyes again, giving him the temporary peace of darkness. “The nightmare as well as the beauty. Like him, all I want now is to hold the woman I love in my arms and know peace.”
She smiled. “You have discovered the greatest miracle, in a world of many miracles.”
He nodded, and found the strength to raise her hand to his lips. “It is the only one I seek now.”
Chapter Two
When the moon rose full in the sky, he took his leave of the women of Ashteroth. He hoped he had the weapons he needed to succeed in his task. He was certain he would give all his strength, his life if necessary. He could tarry no longer with the priestesses, no matter the value of their counsel. He was driven by the call of a dream, the woman of his dreams, who had captured his soul in a way more powerful than sorcery, and who needed him.
A week later, Thomas reined in his horse on the rise just below Zorac’s castle. His palms beneath his gauntlets were sweating, and his heart pounded hard against his chest, like a sword relentlessly striking the breast plate of his armor during a battle.
It was not Zorac making him feel thus. Surprisingly, and perhaps foolishly, he felt no anxiety about the wizard. His reaction was all about Lilith. What would she think of him? Would he measure up to her expectations, would he be equal to the task of rescuing her? He prayed it was so. A knight’s faith was what saw him through every fight, and he would not shirk it here.
He spurred his mount forward, and the powerful stallion responded, cantering up the approach.
He had spoken to the tenants of the wizard’s lands as he traveled across them, and found people who were well fed and protected from harm, content with their overlord. As a soldier, he assessed the castle before him. It was a sturdy structure with walls eight feet high, a gatehouse and round towers. However, its lord apparently relied on magic wardings to protect his holdings. The drawbridge was lowered to allow crossings over a purely decorative sparkling brook, versus a stagnant moat or steep ditch, and the portcullis was open.
There were only shadows to indicate the movement of a few retainers along the curtain walls. The horse snorted at the unusual quiet, his hooves clopping across the boards of the drawbridge. Thomas raised his gaze and brought his mount to a halt several strides back from the portcullis. A man stood on the wall above it.
Thomas twitched the reins on the horse’s neck. The horse bent a leg forward and Thomas matched the motion by dipping his own head.
“Greetings, Lord Zorac,” Sir Thomas said.
He had no doubt this was the wizard overlord of this place, though it surprised Thomas to see him there, meeting him alone.
The knight had no preconceptions about wizards. He had seen them in many forms. However, Zorac had the bearing of a king. Tall and broad-shouldered like a knight, with golden hair past his shoulders. He was clean-shaven, like Thomas, and his eyes were a transparent pale blue, like water. Despite a handsome mien, he did not appear to be a vain man. His hair was combed and held back with two braided outer strands. He eschewed colors and wore a dark tunic of fine wool with silver trim at the hem, matching dark hose and a fine woven cloak. The right shoulder of the cloak bore an embroidered representation of the crescent moon and a cluster of stars.
Thomas studied the man’s face. That Zorac had great power, he knew. He looked for evidence of danger, the tell tale sign of friend or foe, and found it in the wizard’s lips. They were thin, sensual, and had a tension to them that suggested his ability to be cruel.
“Greetings to you, noble knight,” the wizard replied in a tone that was no more than courteous. “What brings you to my domain?”
Thomas straightened from the bow. “I bring you greetings and regards from the High Priestess Helene, and a challenge from myself.”
“The one gains you entrance, and the other piques my interest,” the wizard replied, his attention moving carefully over every aspect of Thomas’s appearance. “You wear mail. Have the roads to my home become so dangerous?”
“Nay, my lord.” Thomas looked down at his hauberk. “A knight is always prepared to defend the honor of the innocent.”
“Or the not-so-innocent.” Zorac cocked his head at Thomas’s sudden still expression. “The wind carries many tales to me, Sir Thomas. I have some knowledge of why you are here. It will amuse me to hear why you waste your time. Come in and share my table, and your challenge.”
Thomas inclined his head. “My lord.”
He passed under the grate into the gatehouse and a stable lad was there in the open courtyard to take his horse. The boy put his hand on the horse’s neck. “I shall take good care of him, my lord. Does he have any special needs?”
Thomas dismounted. “He’s ridden far. Just see he’s groomed and well fed and given a dry stall. I’m sure he’d appreciate any further coddling you’re willing to give to him.”
The boy smiled. One eye was closed, the other gone, the mark of the weapon that had taken it making a diagonal scar from his forehead to his cheek. “Aye, my lord,” he said.
“What happened to your face, boy?”
“Raids on the border, my lord. My family was killed and Lord Zorac took me in. He said losing my sight was a small matter, because at times it is best if you do not see too much of this world.”
“My lord?”
His heart leaped into his throat, but even as it did, he knew the voice did not belong to Lilith. Thomas turned, and a lovely girl in a blue surcoat with a white cotte beneath stood before him.
“I am Asneth,” she curtsied. “Please follow me.”
She brought him to a well-appointed bedchamber where a manservant waited with towels and a basin of warm water to help him wash the dirt of the road from his body.
“Are you Lord Zorac’s kin, my lady?” Thomas asked courteously, as a male servant began to help him remove his heavy hauberk and chausses.
“No, my lord. My father sold me to a man who peddles flesh to men who wish to defile virgins. My lord Zorac bought me, untouched, and brought me here to educate me, teach me to run his household and care for his guests until I choose a husband of whom he approves. He says he may be someone I love,” she considered him with a frank interest that was young and appealing, and Thomas could not help smiling.
“And are you supposed to allow his guests to take liberties with you?” he asked, shrugging out of the russet gambeson.
“Oh no, my lord.” She raised her mischievous gaze to him. “My lord Zorac has warded my body. The man who attempts to handle me in an unchivalrous manner receives burned fingers.” She placed her hand in the palm of his, as if to demonstrate, but he thought it might just be to test the fit of his palm and fingers around hers.
“Suitably biblical,” Thomas murmured.
“Lilith services the guests in the manner in which you refer. She is my lord Zorac’s Great Whore.”
She flinched at his grip. He withdrew his touch.
“My pardon, lady. You startled me. Why is she made to do this?”
“She is being punished. My lord Zorac said her fate is divine justice to women who refuse to be satisfied by any man.”
“Asneth,” the manservant said. “Lord Zorac awaits his guest. We must prepare him.”
“Of course,” she curtsied to Thomas. “I leave you with John to help you bathe and change. I hope to see you again, Sir Thomas.” She smiled at him, her innocence and hope for a suitor as fresh on her as dew on a leaf.
* * * * *
Thomas had a well-made hunter green tunic which he chose to wear over a natural linen shirt. He belted the tunic over tan hose that clung to his muscular thighs. Asneth returned, once he was attired, to brush out his hair and scrub the lingering grime of the road from beneath his nails and the crevices of his knuckles.
He was not a vain man, and normally he would have waved away such additional measures to make him more than adequately presentable. Ho
wever, he wanted to look his best for his lady, no matter her state, and so he sat and allowed Asneth to comb out his hair. It lay just past his shoulders and she claimed it picked up the same color and shine of the copper threads embroidered along the edge of his tunic. She compared his eyes to the amber in a lion’s gaze and made him smile with her earnest flirting. After the harsh training of the past few weeks, her youth was like the touch of sunshine, balancing the dark intensity of what lay ahead of him. The manservant laced up his thigh high velvet boots, and then Thomas followed Asneth to Zorac’s great hall.
It was a small gathering that awaited him there. Zorac sat alone at the head of a polished long table that was embellished in an unusual manner. As he drew closer, Thomas saw a trained trellis of interwoven rose branches bordered the table’s edge. It was approaching summer, so there were buds of a soft pink color preparing to burst forth among the thorns.
“It is an enchanting spell, sir,” Thomas touched one of the unopened flowers.
“Nothing but the magic of the Goddess and the sweat of my gardener,” Zorac said. “The man sanded the edge of the table, to give the runners a rough edge for their roots.” Asneth stood close to the wizard’s shoulder and he reached up and took her hand, making her smile when he pressed it to his lips. Thomas watched, intrigued, as the girl stroked his hair with adoration and the wizard accepted her touch with affection.
“The idea was Asneth’s,” Zorac explained. “She easily sees ways to turn the world around her as beautiful as her soul. And,” the wizard added dryly, “it is a pretty way to inspire good manners. If you do not respect their beauty enough to keep from slumping on the table, the thorns you respect. It is an interesting exercise, to see which lesson my guests require to maintain their posture at dinner. But I have spoiled the test for you.”
“I suspect there are other, more serious, tests you have in store for me,” Thomas said.