The elf shrugged. “I think the real question is why not how,” he said, reluctant to tell about the whirlwind of dead bodies and various limbs. “I’m Da’Nel, Druid of the Western Deserts.”
Petram gasped. “Well fuck me,” he said under his breath. “You’re why we’re here,” his voice was equal parts excitement and fear. Most of it was fear though if he was honest.
“You keep saying we, who else is here?”
“My wife, ex-wife, well, she would be my ex-wife if we’d gotten married, that is..”
Da’Nel cut him off to keep from hearing more of his babbling, and lurid details he cared nothing about. “Where is she?”
Petram shrugged, “Can’t say, she disappeared into this,” he gestured around them with one hand, “and was looking for her when I tripped over you.”
Da’Nel muttered something in a language Petram had never heard, and made him feel a bit uncomfortable, like eavesdropping on something he shouldn’t be hearing, or walking in on your parents as they’re having intercourse. Da’Nel continued and as he did so, the light began to change and become thinner. Petram’s line of sight increased and could see farther away now, though still not as much as he could on the upper floor.
He turned back to Da’Nel and watched as he continued his incantation, beads of sweat forming on his upper lip and waxy smooth brow. He raised his arms, fingers splayed, his knobby knuckles looking like flesh-covered acorns. Petram could see the words as they left his mouth and followed them as they spread outwards and upwards, diffusing the light. The Druid slowly began to turn his body, his feet rising off the ground ever so slightly, causing Petram’s skin to prickle and his own sweat, cold and clammy to break out on his hair choked skin. Da’Nel did this for several moments and when he came to a stop, he looked down at Petram and lowered his arms.
“Now, let us see what we shall see,” he said, motioning for the dwarf to lead the way. Petram nodded and did as instructed, though there was not much to see. The room was far larger than he had thought and was certain it covered more ground than the area he and Kiandra had descended from. Their footsteps were absorbed by the earthen floor, and after a few paces, he saw what seemed to be an altar, empty but for a large slab in the middle.
“Kiandra!”
There was no response, though Da’Nel could have sworn he heard a muted chuckle.
“Are ya up there? Stop playing games you great cow!” When he was greeted with silence once again, he looked back at the Druid. “Something’s wrong, she’d never let me get away with calling her a cow.” Da’Nel nodded at this, as Petram turned to the altar and picked up his pace. There was a scared franticness to his step, the way you might run for a loved one.
Da’Nel had no doubt the dwarf still had feelings but hoped they weren’t too strong, as he had an idea things were about to take a turn. He hurried behind, surprised by the dwarf’s swiftness, and as they both reached the smoothed stone stairs, they saw a figure lying on the slab. Da’Nel reached down and squeezed the dwarf’s shoulder. “Steady,” he whispered.
Petram took each step with measured precision. His mouth felt as dry as the ground they trod upon, while his pulse quickened with each raised foot. When he reached the final step, there was no doubt, the figure on the altar was indeed Kiandra, looking every bit as beautiful as he imagined her on the day he left her at the altar, alone, humiliated and confused. He closed his eyes and shook his head as if that would dislodge the memory. Petram moved closer and took her limp hand in his. Her flesh was still warm, and when he pressed his ear to her chest, he could hear the faint beat of her heart. He pulled one eyelid up, but her gaze was that of the dead. Petram turned to Da’Nel and beckoned him up the stairs. “You, can you help her?”
The Druid nodded and gave a small bow. “At your disposal.”
Petram dropped to his knees and for perhaps the third time in his life, he began weeping. “It was you we came in search of here.”
Da’Nel crouched down next to him, his ancient features softening like wood that was filled with dampness from a good soaking. “This is a long way from the desert.”
“We came here looking for a book that told of you, and how to find you, I honestly thought you were nothing but a legend, but now... now I owe you an apology.”
Da’Nel smiled, something he hadn’t done in hundreds of years. “Why were you seeking met?”
“Our King, my King I guess, he’s dying, his body is being taken over by a twin he had absorbed in the womb, this twin is unspeakable.”
Da’Nel fell back on his hindquarters, face going slack, his own eyes as devoid of life as Kiandra’s. He thought of his experience in his hut, with the fire and piss-mud. It began to make sense to him now, at least a little part of it made sense.
Da’Nel stood, “We need to get her back before we do anything,” he said, feeling her forehead with the back of his hand. He pressed a finger against the side of her neck, then felt the pulse in her wrist. The Druid then opened her mouth and took a long sniff, his eyes watering as he did so. Before he could say anything to Petram, a brutally cold wind bellowed through the chamber, creating frost in the dwarf’s beard. Thin shadows appeared around the altar, and they began closing in, their malevolence as palpable as the smell of poison on the slumbering Kiandra’s fetid breath.
Petram drew his ax and stood in front of Da’Nel, shielding him from the specters, while the Druid began reciting yet another prayer. The closer the shadows came the darker the chamber got until they could no longer see anything. The icy wind picked up, freezing Petram in place. Though unable to move, he was able to hear, and what he heard terrified him more than anything else in his life. There was a low, guttural growl coming from behind him, and an extended moan and wailing that not only surrounded them but seemed to envelop them in a cocoon of aural misery. Petram began to pray to the gods that he knew and some that he didn’t. He tried to scream but his mouth had frozen shut, and his vocal cords seemed to have disappeared. He was left to the mercy of darkness for not being able to see what was happening.
What he heard was the snarl of a wolf, and its cry when it was hurt. Petram felt the reverberation of unnatural laughter as the shades came even closer, he could feel them without needing to see them. His teeth chattered with such violence they threatened to shatter in his mouth, leaving his tongue and gums torn and bloody.
Soon, other sounds were heard. There were the tearing and rending of... something. It wasn’t quite a fleshy sound, as you’d expect when a throat was torn out, or arm ripped from its socket. Petram felt something brush against him and fall at his feet. More spirit than being, but dead all the same. The room gained a very subdued glow, enough to see the outline of shadows against an even darker, fouler background. While still frozen, he began to feel movement in his joints however small they were. Another cry from the wolf and something warm and wet splashed across his face, seeping into the corner of his mouth and stinging his eyes.
The faintest sound of another body falling to the ground, and there was a bit more light. Though still dark by anyone’s standards, it was the kind of dark, that you saw when your eyes adjusted to it during a nighttime visit to the chamber pot. Petram could see the wolf, bigger than any he’d ever seen before thrashing its head back and forth, with one of the shadows impaled on its impossibly sharp fangs. Other shadows tried attacking And he simply reared up and slashed at them with his front claws. The more wounds they sustained, the lighter it became, and the easier it was to see. More importantly, the temperature was rising and while still frozen in place, Petram had regained some movement, though not so much that he could assist Da’Nel.
His anger at being helpless burned within, molten and hot and ugly. Petram could feel his body heating up the angrier he got. A guttural cry began to form deep within, roiling away like a night’s worth of drink. He could feel it rise and as it did so, burned through his body to break him free. The Warrior’s cry that came was deafening, unexpected, and what Da’Nel needed. Petram rea
ched behind and grabbed the handle of his ax and began swinging it almost immediately. The shades had been stunned by the cry, and they both took the opportunity to make quick work of the others. Their feeble resistance was a disappointment to Petram, but dead is dead, he thought and that was all that mattered.
When the last of them had been defeated, and the light returned to normal, Petram slung the ax back over his shoulder. In the millisecond it took for him to do that, Da’Nel had returned to his regular body. “Quite handy with that,” he said with a mixture of relief of gratitude.
Petram’s cheeks reddened slightly, and when he looked to the altar, he let out a string of crude poetry. Kiandra was gone.
“What are you going on about?” a familiar voice called from the other side of the altar. Petram was stunned and said nothing as Kiandra slowly stood up from the floor where she’d fallen during the fight. He called out her name, tears in his eyes, and a joy in his heart he hadn’t known in a very, very long time.
That was when she pulled her right arm back and swung it forward with unearthly sped, connecting squarely with Petram’s jaw. He was not only knocked back but became airborne as he flew down the steps, not even making contact with the ground for another dozen feet or so. “Next time you call me a cow will be the last, I’m not telling ya again,” she said, her voice ricocheting around the room like a drunken arrow seeking its target. Kiandra then turned her attention to Da’Nel. “And who might you be?” she asked, her deep voice low and wary.
“I am Da’Nel, a Druid, and one you’ve been looking for,” he answered, noticing how tight her grip on the handle of her sword was. When he said that, her features relaxed, as did her grip, but she didn’t pull her hand away quite yet. Petram, having shaken the abrupt and rather hard landing off, marched up the stairs and stood next to Da’Nel.
“I’ll allow ye that one,” he told Kiandra, his smile revealed a bloody gap where a tooth had been. He turned to Da’Nel rubbing his cheek as he talked with the druid. “How’d ye get here? Did ye know we were looking for you?
Da’Nel let out a weary sigh, his body worn from the transformation. He motioned for Kiandra to come closer and they all sat on the top step, while Petram kicked away the flickering remains of the shadow. He reached into a small bag tied to his waist and pulled out a skin filled with wine and handed it to Kiandra. “It’s wine,” he said, and then told them about the events that led to their meeting. Both dwarves listened with care. The Druid’s voice was soft but confident. He wasn’t a storyteller, preferring to stick to a recitation of events as he knew them. Once he’d finished, he took the skin from Petram who now had it and drank deeply.
No one said anything for a while until Kiandra broke the silence, “Any idea on how to get out of here?”
“Same as we came,” Petram said.
“But where is that?” she asked, pointing all around. The walls and ceiling had seemingly disappeared, and the trio was stuck in a void with no escape.
“What about the circle thing? We can get back to the castle.”
“I’ve got to draw a map, and can’t if I don’t know where we are.”
Da’Nel stood, spread his arms out and transformed into a bird, fluttering in mid-air before taking off. The dwarves sat with their mouths agape and hoped upon hope he’d come back. Soon.
13: Resurrections and Exchanges
Kharisi opened his swollen, darkened eyes, then waited for his vision to focus. As it did, he began to take in familiar shapes and objects, then realized he was in Saerus’ bed-chamber. He began to swing his legs over the side of the bed, then fell back as his head seemed to explode with pain. His temples throbbed mercilessly and as he tried to rub them, he pulled his hands away due to even more pain from the touch.
“You’re awake,” Saerus said. Kharisi turned his head and saw him sitting at the table near the window, dressed in his formal wear, as if he were ready to receive guests.
“I could say the same,” he replied, confused and disoriented.
“What do you mean?”
Kharisi opened his mouth to speak but had no idea what to say. He tried to remember why he would say that, and nothing came. “Why am I here?”
Saerus took a plain silver cup and poured a small amount of powder into it, then filled it with wine, He swirled it around gently so the powder would dissolve. He then stood and brought the cup to Kharisi, who had at least managed to sit up.
“Drink this, it will help your hangover.”
Kharisi raised a hand in a feeble attempt to push it away.
Saerus moved in closer until Kharisi could feel Saerus’ breath on his ear. He squirmed as Saerus’ tongue flicked at the point. He began to kiss Kharisi’s neck, as his free hand reached between the elf’s legs. “Tis, not poison, only something to ease your pain so you can concentrate on other things,” Saerus said, massaging Kharisi’s stiffness even more.
Unable to resist drink or his erection, Kharisi grabbed the goblet and drank the contents until every drop was gone. He dropped the goblet to the floor, belched and ran a hand over his mouth. Saerus straddled him, rubbing his two cocks against Kharisi while his tongue danced in circles around Kharisi’s mouth. Kharisi rolled over until he was straddling Saerus, and when he looked into his eyes, let out a scream. There was another pair of eyes within Saerus’ staring back. He scrambled back almost falling off the bed, as flashes of what had happened began forming.
Eyes within eyes, voices in his head, Todrick’s face of shock and pain when he slid the blade between his ribs. The blood jetting out when he stepped on the wound. He shook his head trying to shake those images off like a dog shakes off water, and looked at Saerus.
His expression was blank, save for the slight uptick on the left side of his mouth. Kharisi swallowed hard, licked his lips and eased himself off the bed. “Who are you?” he asked.
Saerus laughed and began pleasuring himself. Kharisi tried looking away but his eyes refused to take themselves from the engorged twins. Saerus moved closer licking his lips lasciviously. Kharisi fumbled with his pants in rushed desperation to get them off. All the while his gaze was focused between Saerus’ legs. The rhythmic slow motion of back and forth, back and forth seemed to hypnotize, and he couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever felt this aroused.
Saerus stopped at the foot of the bed, kneeled down and lifted Kharisi’s foot up and removed his boot. He licked at the elves toes which were surprisingly clean and smooth. He did the same for the right and then shuffled back to give his paramour room. “Come, kneel in front of me,” he said, and Kharisi did so without question. Saerus reached out and cupped his balls, which were heavy and swollen. He squeezed and Kharisi winced, causing Saerus to broaden his smile.
“Do you want to fuck me?”
Kharisi could only nod. Saerus removed his nightshirt and ran a hand down his chest to a spot just below his breast bone. A perfect, pink sphincter resided where his finger stopped. He ran his middle digit around the edge as Kharisi stared and began to drool. Saerus leaned back, using his arms for support and offered himself up. Kharisi lunged and buried his tongue in the untouched opening. Saerus groaned, then moaned as it was penetrated by the elf’s long finger. He fumbled as he pulled down his garments, then spit in his hand, rubbing it on his stiffness.
Kharisi entered slowly as Saerus closed his eyes in ecstasy. The elf was in the moment, luxuriating in every thrust, every drop of fevered sweat that dripped from his face.
Saerus arched his back and reached down to push one of his glistening pricks into Kharisi. Though he’d not done it before, it went in easily, and he found the rhythm that Kharisi had and flowed into it until they were one. Saerus reached up and touched Kharisi’s smooth cheek, dragging his fingers down ever so lightly, creating a trail of goosebumps.
Saerus felt the thrusting quicken, noticed how veins began to stand out on Kharisi’s neck, He recognized the closed eye grimace on Kharisi’s face, he’d seen that countless times in the past. Saerus kept the pace an
d could feel his balls tighten. Saerus held Kharisi dragging his nails down his muscular back.
Kharisi grunted as he emptied himself inside Saerus. The new King did the same, though his grunt was more of a moan. As Kharisi lifted himself up and flung himself on the bed, Saerus stood on shaky legs, and joined him, leaving a trail of stickiness in his wake. He laid down and snuggled beneath Kharisi’s armpit, not caring about the slickness or scent.
Kharisi smiled, turned on his side to spoon Saerus when his eyes shot wide open. He’d placed a hand where the sphincter should have been, only to find it gone, as if it had never been there. He tried to pull away but found he was too tired to move. The warmth of Saerus’ body next to his, the smooth silk of the sheet over them, the softness of the pillows-all of it was too much to resist and Kharisi’s eyes began to close. He fought to stay awake as memories began bubbling to the surface. He saw his hand reach for the dagger in his boot to pierce the decrepit wizard’s body. He remembered his hardness as he twisted the blade and watched the body slump to the floor. He saw a quill pen floating in front of him, forging documents. All this he knew to be true, but could not remember why. The harder he tried, the drowsier he got until he drifted off, with a gentle snore filling the room.
Saerus slowly dislodged himself from beneath Kharisi’s arm and turned to face the slumbering elf. He touched Kharisi’s cheek and turned the stunning and beautiful face so he could move his own head closer until the tips of their noses touched. With the delicacy of a healer opening a man’s body, Saerus parted Kharisi’s lips and kissed him. As he did so, a tendril of white mist pushed itself from Saerus’ throat to Kharisi’s mouth and it journeyed down his system and expanded.
The pain woke him and try as he might he was unable to break the kiss. As he struggled, he saw his skin stretch while Saerus’ lips were still attached to his. Kharisi began choking as if the mist was solidifying in his throat cutting off his air supply. He saw a look of fear in Saerus’ eyes followed by the intense gaze of the disturbed from the other pair behind the King’s own. And then they began to roll back in his head until there was nothing but white. Saerus’ body became limp almost doll-like. With one final burst of energy, he tried to pull himself away, found they were no longer bound together and catapulted himself off the other side of the bed. The back of his head hit the stone wall, and the last thing he heard was the sound of bone cracking.
Errors of the Flesh Page 9