He knocked it out of her hands and grabbed her hair. A thick handful of it. His wet lips curled into a smile. “I don’t bite, Iva,” he said. “I devour.” And with that, he pulled her onto his lap.
She could not escape him. His held her fast. Too hard, but he loved the sound of her whimpers of pain. “You knew this night would come, didn’t you, sweet Iva?” His breath quickened as he pulled the top of her frock from her shoulders. “I’ve waited for this and will wait no more.” He bent his head and rubbed his face upon her pale breasts.
Iva could move naught but her legs. She kicked at air. Her efforts caused her dress to bunch up around her thighs.
“Ah, you’re ready too, sweet Iva?” He slid his hand between her legs and found no undergarments to impede his search. Chuckling to himself, he knew she had no money for such luxuries.
When his fingers found her womanly softness, he could control his lust no longer. Effortlessly, he stood, but kept her in his arms. The stark fear on her beautiful face excited him to the point of panting, and he relished the fact that he would take from her that which she was so completely unwilling to give to him.
In but a moment, his robe slid to the floor.
Iva averted her gaze from the horror of him. She wanted to run but knew escape was impossible. She didn’t move, could not speak. And soon she was as naked as he’d always made her feel.
The Grandiose felt slobber at the corners of his mouth. With his knee, he pushed her thighs apart and covered her body with his own. “Iva,” he whispered raggedly. “Sweet—”
He gasped, and his eyes widened.
Through the window he saw two circles of blue. And he heard a sound so gruesome that it made him, The Grandiose, scream.
Chapter Four
His sudden shriek and subsequent crash to the floor stunned Iva. Confused, but realizing she could flee, she grabbed her dress, raced toward the door, and flung it open. Once outside, she fled through the village as if carried by a powerful wind. Her torn dress slipped from her grasp and fell into the mud, but she continued her flight, too afraid to care about her nakedness.
And too afraid to clearly see where she was going, what was ahead of her.
She slammed into a wall.
The wall moved, as if alive.
Basque gathered her into his arms and felt her begin to convulse. He gently moved her wet hair away from her face while continuing to hold her close to him. “Iva,” he said so quietly he almost didn’t hear himself speak. “You’re safe, Iva.”
Her terror only deepened. Wildly, she sought to see him, part of her sure The Grandiose had somehow run ahead of her and captured her.
And there it was again. That sound she’d heard earlier in the night when she’d been on her way to the big house of The Grandiose.
It was a growl, she realized, still stricken with fear. A beast.
To her frenzied mind, both the man and the animal were feral.
She had escaped The Grandiose, only to be apprehended by another man who was bent on violating her. But who could this man be? She knew all the men in the village, and this man was not one of them. Counting on her fear to give her the strength she desperately needed to fight her way out of his arms, she tried to hurl herself to the ground.
“Iva.”
Who was this man? she tried to understand again. How did he know her name? And was that a sword hanging from the sash of his breeches? With all the energy she had left, she twisted to see his face.
Two bits of blue sparkled down at her.
They were eyes. Eyes. The circles of blue she’d seen in the dark only a while ago were eyes. Their sparkle somehow calmed her. The longer she stared into them the more still she became.
“There now,” Basque said as she stopped fighting him.
“Who are you?” She’d never seen eyes such as his. Nor had she noticed any man in the village as strong as this man was. His muscles caressed her bare breasts.
Her bare breasts. She was naked. Her head fell over his arms. Naked or not, she was too exhausted to battle him any longer.
Carefully, Basque set her on her feet but remained ready to catch her if she fell or tried to run. He removed his cloak and swaddled her within its black layers.
Its thickness and scent warmed her immediately.
Why was she trying to run away from this man? she asked herself as she looked into his wonderful eyes again. He’d caught her not to hurt her, but to save her.
His hair was blacker than the night. It brushed his shoulders, a striking contrast next to his very white shirt. “Who—”
“I’m Basque. I’ve been watching you from within the trees that circle this little place where you live. I’ve heard your name spoken by your people, Iva.”
His explanation made no sense to her. No one lived out of the village. There was nowhere else to live. Only nothingness existed beyond the woods.
So where had he come from, and what was he doing here? “Who are you?”
He smiled down at her. “I told you. My name is Basque. Rewot and I heard you and the other people here crying for help. We’d been asleep for— Well, I don’t know how long. Years. Maybe centuries. I don’t remember. I believe it was the magic of your calling that awakened us.”
“Magic? Asleep? Where?” Iva had never known such bewilderment. “And who is Rewot?”
He grinned again, and she knew a second of calm contentment that would certainly enrage The Grandiose. “I cannot be happy,” she informed him. “I don’t know who you or Rewot are, but The Grandiose—”
“He will never hurt you again, Iva. Nor any of your people here. I promise.” Ever so slowly, he caressed her damp cheek, relieved when she didn’t flinch at his touch. “And Rewot is my dog. At least I call him a dog. He’s more wolf than dog.”
Iva tried not to like the feel of his fingers on her face. The Grandiose would know and punish her, no matter what this Basque man said to the contrary. “I must go back to my cottage. I have to hurry. The Grandiose will find me!”
“Wait!” Basque caught her again. “I told you he—”
“What do you know of him?” she demanded. “You don’t live here, and there isn’t anything or anyone beyond the forest. You cannot be real. You’re—”
“A thing of your imagination? I assure you I am real, Iva. And so is Rewot.” He snapped his fingers.
Iva paled and felt faint as a huge animal appeared out of the dark. She could see his sharp teeth, and his fur seemed to be silver. Or was it the moonlight that made him silver? Black-haired Basque and his silver beast. She clutched the cloak more tightly around herself, her turmoil beating steadily through her.
“I’ll take you home, Iva,” Basque said. “And that man whose ego has imprisoned you and the other people will never have control of this village again. Do you believe me?”
She remembered his strength and the sparkle of his very blue eyes. His soothing smile. Perplexed as she was, how could she not believe this man called Basque? She allowed him to tuck her hand in the crook of his elbow and begin to lead her through the dark street.
But her knees buckled.
Basque caught her again and carried her the rest of the way.
Chapter Five
Iva awakened upon her straw mat in her little cottage with no memory of how she got there. Hadn’t she been caught by The Grandiose? But if that were true, why had he returned her to her home?
He wouldn’t have.
She slid her fingers through her matted, muddy hair before realizing how warm she was. No fire crackled in the hearth, but she felt so very warm and comfortable. And a pleasing fragrance surrounded her. The masculine scent came from the cloak she was wearing. A black cloak, and she suddenly remembered the man who had wrapped it around her.
Basque, he’d said his name was. She still didn’t know who he was or where he’d come from. But he was real. She knew that now. And so was his silver beast, Rewot. What a peculiar name.
Determined to find Basque and his wolf-dog,
she unfolded her body from its curled position on her mat and stood. After dressing in the last frock she owned, she looked through her window. But she saw only her neighbors and the other villagers.
She slipped her shoes on and searched for her shawl before recalling she’d left it in the big house of The Grandiose, the very evil man Basque promised would never hurt her or anyone else again. Snuggled in his cloak, she walked outside and searched everywhere for him. She asked her neighbors if they’d seen a strange man in the village. One of the women patted her hand, a gesture that meant the woman thought her insane.
“There was a man here last night,” she tried to explain. “His name is Basque, and he has a wolf-dog called Rewot. He saved me from The Grandiose.”
At the mention of The Grandiose, the villagers backed away from her and scurried to tend to their duties. Iva understood their fright. She’d lived with it for as long as she could remember.
But it was gone now, and all she could dwell upon was the promise Basque had made to her.
*
The Grandiose was in a rage. He knocked his servant girl to the floor and then kicked her. She whimpered, so he kicked her again.
He looked at the window. Fear seized him again. Had it been the wine? Had he been so drunk that he’d imagined whatever had been outside?
But he’d only had one glass, the bits of it still gleaming by the wall where he’d thrown it. He knew he’d seen something that was outside last night, and he knew he’d heard a ghastly sound as well. Sweat, colder than ice, covered his large frame. He’d never felt fear before now and didn’t know what to do with it.
In a daze, he ordered the servant girl to dress him in clean clothes. Then he put on the cloak Iva had sewn for him and buttoned the pearls she’d attached down the front of the garment.
Where had the girl gone? Home? He marched out of his big house. The townspeople disappeared from the street, loathe to be seen. Once he’d arrived at Iva’s hut, he pushed at the flimsy door until it splintered open.
Iva wasn’t there. Fury and fluster made him grit his teeth and clench his hands into fists. When he found the girl, he would punish her severely.
No.
He would kill her. No one, not even the woman he lusted after, could be allowed to play him for a fool.
“Find Iva!” he screamed at the villagers he knew were hiding from him. “If she’s not found by tonight, one of you will die. One of you will face the heinous death I’d planned for her!” His commands given, he stormed to his very big house and swatted the servant girl again.
*
From the shadows of the forest, Basque watched the arrogant and hateful man strutting through the town. The fur on Rewot’s neck and back bristled, and the massive wolf-dog snarled. “He’s going to kill her,” Basque told his silver animal. “Or at least he thinks he is.”
But Basque was aware of where Iva was. He’d seen her slip away into the very woods The Grandiose had forbidden the townspeople to enter. She sat behind the shrubbery at the edge of the dense thicket of the trees. Iva had not known where else to go, he comprehended. She was looking for him. She’d remembered the promise he’d made to her last night.
Her cries for help and the townspeople’s overwhelming grief over the loss of their pets and their suffering at the hands of the man they called The Grandiose had, indeed, roused him and Rewot from their very long sleep. He knew not why or how they’d slept on the far side of the forest for so many years. He could only believe it really was a sleeping magic, as he’d suggested to Iva.
Today he would honor the oath he’d sworn to her.
*
The Grandiose paced through the lavish room in his very big house. He was treacherous, yes, but not stupid. The forest. It was the only place Iva could have found sanctuary. And none of the villagers would see her there. Not that a one of them would have ever brought her to him, anyway.
He opened a drawer in the immense cabinet beside the window and couldn’t stop a quick look through the glass panes. Whatever he thought he’d seen outside last night was gone. If he saw it again, he’d kill it, just as he would Iva.
He had no doubt of his abilities. He was the most powerful man who had ever lived, and failed at nothing he decided to do. A confident smile on his mouth, he studied the velvet-lined drawer. An array of knives glistened up at him. He chose the longest, sharpest blade and left his very big house.
“Iva,” he called when he’d reached the woods. “I know you’re in here, sweet Iva.” With his knife, he cut through the brush, his eyes and ears ready for the any sight and sound.
Before long, he spied a swirl of gold. Her hair. No one had hair like hers. “Ha!” he shouted, feeling extremely proud of his unequaled prowess. “There you are!”
On her hands and knees, Iva scrambled deeper into the forest, but The Grandiose caught her immediately. He yanked her off the ground and moved his hand over her breasts. He’d waited so long to possess her. To hear her cries of terror and pain. To feel her fight his intimate invasion.
Well, why couldn’t he? he thought. Why not take her before he ended her life? She had to die, yes. It was simple as that. No one in the village who attempted to thwart him could live another day. Not even the exquisite woman who squirmed within his rough embrace.
“He’ll kill you!” Iva bit his arm. “He promised!”
The Grandiose scowled, and a sliver of nervousness caught him unaware. “Who?”
Iva spat at him. “Basque! He swore you would never again hurt me or any of the people you’ve tortured for so long!”
“Who is this Basque?” The Grandiose closed his big hands around her slender neck. “Tell me now, and I might give you a quick and easy death.”
“I think not,” a strong and steady voice came from behind him.
The Grandiose spun around and saw a man who held a sword.
“Who are you?” he yelled.
“Iva just told you. I’m Basque. And this wolf-dog beside me is Rewot.” Basque slid his finger down his sword. “But I have a dilemma. You see, I don’t know whether to kill you myself or allow Rewot to do it for me.”
The Grandiose laughed, his merriment clanging through the woods. He looked at the sword and the beast, and knew what he would do. What he was immensely talented at doing. In much less than a second, he threw his knife, knowing full well the blade would pierce Basque’s heart.
But Basque dodged the spinning knife easily. He smiled at the man who had forced such misery on the village. “Rewot,” he whispered.
The wolf-dog leapt and fell upon The Grandiose, its heavy body forcing the man to let go of Iva. He struck at the beast with all his might, still sure his knack for perfection would serve him well.
But his great skill was no match for the giant animal. Before The Grandiose could even comprehend what was happening to him, he screamed with the agony of monstrous teeth sinking into his own neck. He saw great surges of his blood drench the beast’s head and ears.
And he felt his throat torn from the top of his chest before he died.
Iva staggered into Basque’s open arms, weeping tears of deep joy. She saw the villagers crowd around her and the man who had rescued them all.
And she heard the pummel of many paws upon the leaf-strewn forest floor.
“Pillie!” she shouted when she caught sight of her very much loved and missed cat. “Oh, Pillie!” She broke from Basque’s hug, picked up her pet, and nuzzled the softness of his little white head.
The other villagers saw their own pets as well. The noise of great happiness, a sound absent for so long, rang like bells.
“They were never alone, Iva,” Basque told her. “I cared for them all, and Rewot kept them safe.”
Pille still snuggled against her, Iva honored Basque with the first kiss she’d ever given to anyone. The townspeople clapped and sang and danced and led their precious pets back into the village, where they all belonged.
Iva watched the people for a bit, then smiled at Rewot. The
beast was saturated with the blood of The Grandiose.
Basque had kept his promise.
“Rewot,” she said as she continued to smile at him. “Thank you, Re—”
Her voice trailed away as she stared at the great wolf-dog. The mighty animal had fallen upon The Grandiose and swiftly killed the haughty man. She’d once wished a tower would fall on The Grandiose and smash him dead.
And Rewot was TOWER spelled backwards.
18
the star
patrick freivald
Upright: Loss, theft, privation, abandonment
Reversed: Arrogance, haughtiness, impotence
Dominic flinched as lukewarm beer spattered on his pants, the plastic cup tumbling away to fall behind the amplifier. “You suck!” rang out over the feedback and the drums, followed by a chorus of boos and jeers. His band finished the song under a growing din of hateful discontent, and he stared at his own feet and spoke into the microphone.
“Thank you! We’re Deathsmack, and—”
“And you suck balls!” The massive biker-looking dude in the front row leaned on a sun-leathered barfly, his gray-black beard wet with cheap beer and spittle, her saggy tits barely contained by the straining fabric of a lime-green tube top. She flipped off the band and grabbed her crotch. He followed suit, rough hand sliding over hers to give a comical goose. The crowd laughed.
“Damn,” Phil muttered, pretending to tune his guitar. “Even the fucking townies get more pussy than we do.”
Jason hammered the bass drum, the unrelenting beat an introduction to a song they’d just added to their lineup, one of four original tunes in the set. The bass walked, almost bluesy, a contrast to the punk-metal tempo and the Pink Floyd-style rhythm guitar riff, exactly as they’d practiced until Phil botched his intro and came in a measure too late. Dominic sang the first notes, stopped, tried to pick it up on the second line, but Phil didn’t adjust. The melody withered in his throat.
Never Fear - The Tarot: Do You Really Want To Know? Page 36