“We’ll have to walk now, and who knows how long that will take,”
“Less time than you think,” Da’Nel answered. Petram and Kiandra both looked at him when he changed into a horse. He lowered himself so they could get on his back, and when Kiandra jumped on he gave a sigh as he felt a stabbing pain where she sat. Kiandra grabbed a handful of his lustrous light brown mane, and they started to leave the graveyard behind them at a quick-paced trot. Petram looked around the stallion, realized his coloring was the same as the clothing Da’Nel wore and smiled at the idea, There was a leather pouch that slung across the horse’s hindquarters, just above the tail, that didn’t get bumped around like Petram and Kiandra were; Petram assumed it was more magic keeping it in place.
The swirling red and white ribbons that they saw when first arriving were long gone now to be replaced by a sky of cobalt blue, with little dollops of clouds. The air was warm, but the breeze from the increased speed from trot to gallop was refreshing, as it carried the smell of flowers with it as well. Petram loosened his grip around Kiandra’s waist a bit to give him a little more freedom of movement. He turned this way and that, awed by the scenery that had never looked so inviting in his life. He’d crossed the lands countless times and never remembered it looking as lush and colorful as it did at that moment.
As they continued in silence, Da’Nel began to slow down and then sauntered off the road for a bit into a thicket, that surrounded a small pond. He lowered himself, signaling the two to get off. As Da’Nel shifted into his human form, Kiandra wandered a bit to the base of a tall tree swollen with thick branches and an overabundance of leaves. She plopped down at the base, laid back against the trunk and dozed off. Da’Nel kept an eye on her as he began pulling things out of his bag to start a small fire for cooking.
“Bit early to be stopping, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know about you, but I am ravenous. You think carrying you two on my back is easy?”
Petram chuckled, “No, s’pose not, and now that ye mention it, I can feel my stomach tremble.”
“Good, then you should have no problem hunting for something to eat.”
“Me?”
“I’m carrying you two, she’s lost her hand, that leaves you to do something useful., Now scat,” Da’Nel make sweeping motions with his hands to urge him off. Petram turned his back to the elf and uttered some impolite thoughts on his parentage, before slipping away.
When Da’Nel was sure Petram was well away, and Kiandra asleep (he didn’t even have to look, he could hear her snoring), he pulled out the book and began flipping through pages again.
“How wonderful, it’s you again. Come to smudge my pristine pages with your greasy fingers?”
“Simply because you can speak, doesn’t mean you should,” Da’Nel scolded. “Especially when you never seem to have anything nice or useful to say.”
“How dare you!” the book said with indignation. “I’m the most useful thing you’ve ever encountered.”
“Prove it then,” Da’Nel taunted, “Show me your worth, let me judge your usefulness.” The pages of the book flipped on their own until they landed on one towards the very back. Da’Nel set the book on the ground, pricked his finger with the tip of his dagger and let the blood flow freely on the page. As it happened before the blood was sucked into the page, then spat back out in a vortex that splashed all four corners until there was nothing but a sea of red. As the crimson began to recede, it left fragments of a picture. There were no pictographs on this page, only the drawing, as crude as all the others seen so far.
As the depiction became clearer, Da’Nel saw the opening of a cave, the kind you would miss if you weren’t looking for that specific cutout. There were weeds and dead leaves, fallen branches and animal droppings strewn on the path into the opening. At the bottom of the page were three partial shadows, two much smaller than the third. Peering out from within the darkness of the cave were a set of eyes, aged and wizened beyond the threshold of their years. They appeared to be looking straight at Da’Nel, in spite of how crude they were drawn. There was something else there as well, something stirring the shadows around the hovering eyes, that didn’t wish to be seen. Da’Nel held the book closer to his face, feeling as if he could fall into it at any moment. The shadows from the bottom of the page moved and caught his stare. He watched as the three shadows grew longer, though one grew fainter as if disappearing until the tops of the phantoms were close to the mouth of the cave.
Da’Nel set the book down, stood and paced around it, then sat back on the hard ground, picked the book back up and studied it some more. This wasn’t some arcane recipe for a potion or spell, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Once the shadows had stopped moving, so had everything else in the picture. It was as two dimensional as a drawing could be.
“Think, you know what this is, must I tell you everything?” the book said admonishing the Druid. Da’Nel didn’t reply though he longed to, instead, he held his tongue and closed his eyes, allowing the thoughts to cross his vision. No sooner had his eyelids shut than he heard Petram yell, breaking his concentration. He heard the sound of his feet clomping through the woods, back to the makeshift camp, dragging something behind him.
“Look what I got!” he said, tossing the carcass of a wild pig onto the ground. Da’Nel forced a smile, still annoyed his concentration had been broken.
“Wonderful, now come look at something.”
Petram grumbled at the lack of Da’Nel’s appreciation and stomped over. Da’Nel did not have to say anything before the dwarf’s eyes were drawn to the page. He got on his knees and looked at it, almost picked it up before thinking better of it, and moved his face closer.
“I know that place,” he said.
Da’Nel raised his eyebrows in surprise. He shouldn’t have been caught off guard, yet he was. He wondered if there was even more to the book than he thought, and somehow that idea frightened him. “Speak of it,” he said, urging Petram on.
“Not much to say, just a cave on the way to Bernholdt, ‘Twas the entrance to a mine one time before it collapsed. No idea what’s there now.”
Da’Nel nodded slowly as Kiandra came back from her resting place. He held the up book up to her and spoke. “Does this look familiar to you by any chance?”
Kiandra squinted, refusing to get any closer to it than she had to. “Looks like the entrance to that old mine Bereg the Addled used to own. Well, his family did, he’s the one who destroyed it.” Kiandra opened her bag and pulled out her tobacco pouch and pipe. “Fill that for me, please,” she asked Petram, who seemed shocked by her use of, please.
“What do you mean he destroyed it?”
“Just like it sounds, he destroyed his own mine. See, he was one of those dwarves who had no business drinking. Couldn’t handle it. Made him soft up here, and even softer down there,” she said with a lewd grin. “Mining for Mythril they were, and Bereg placed some explosives far too close to each other, never mind it was twice as much as needed. When it went off, it killed him and every other dwarf in there.”
Petram lit the pipe for her and she took it, sucking on the tip like a well-seasoned whore. Da’Nel cleared his throat, his cheeks turning red, while Petram simply stared.
“Grim, indeed.”
“Stupid is what it was. Needless too.”
“That’s where we head next. It’s on the way to the castle, we can stop there first.”
“Why would ye wanna go there?” Kiandra said as tendrils of smoke flitted from her mouth and nostrils.
“Da’Nel answered by tapping a finger on the page of the book, before putting the book down.
Kiandra and Petram gave one another a look and lowered their heads, shaking them as if they had palsy.
“Well, ye can count me out,” Kiandra said, in a huff.
Da’Nel shrugged. “Makes no difference to me,” he said.
Petram looked between Da’Nel and Kiandra, down at the ground and then between the two of them once more.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered.
“Run back to Bernholdt like a good girl then, let us handle the real work.” As Da’Nel said this hoping to provoke her, Petram’s face lost color, and he backed away from the Druid, so he didn’t get caught in the crossfire of the absolute shitstorm that was heading his way.
She didn’t take the bait, however, and without a word, gathered up her possessions and walked off, not giving either of them a second glance.
“We need to go after her!”
“No we don’t, she’ll be back. Trust me.”
Petram began to dress the boar he’d caught, as they waited for her to return.
20: Confrontation
Offa stood before the looking glass after stepping out of the tub and was horrified by what he saw. He’d expected some changes but nothing that rose to the level he saw. As averse as he was to the lower two appendages which never seemed to soften, they were nothing compared to the rest of his body. The rectum in the middle of his abdomen, just above the navel, was fully formed, and even as he looked, expelled gas in as loud a manner as possible, with dried bits of fecal matter stuck to the tiny hairs surrounding the orifice. There was a partial hand that protruded from the left side, visible up to the midsection of the smooth, lineless palm. The fingers were fragile and had no fingernails. On his chest below his right nipple, was the lower half of a jaw, with teeth still waiting to break through the gum. A little bud of a tongue appeared above it and wriggled like an overtired and cranky babe.
He turned his back to the mirror and using the handheld looking glass, peered into it to see the horrors on his back, the worst being two lidless eyes above his shoulder blades, one brown, and the other blue, and covered with what looked to be a thin veil of a man’s seed. It ran over the orb like a waterfall but didn’t go any further almost as if it was a sac over the eye rotating in perpetuity. An imprint of a foot appeared on his right buttock as if someone was about to kick through the skin and flesh. Offa reached around to touch it and could feel it, but there was no sensation at all.
As he looked closer into the handheld mirror, he began searching his face for any signs of change, and there was none that he saw. Offa squinted, looking at his eyes, and even through the distortion of the handmade mirror, he saw another pair staring back. Not those of his sniveling, sodomite brother, he’d been dispelled, and thankfully so. No, these seemed to be someone or something new. Offa wondered if they also belonged to those on his back as well, then thought only time would tell.
Slipping on his sleeping gown, he wondered how long it would be before these things became noticeable, and people started talking. Already he knew of plans to have him murdered. He assumed that much, as these are the things that happen when one is King.
“How the Queen avoided it, is beyond me,” he said to himself.
Offa opened the door and walked out into the corridor which was lined with guards, each one staring ahead, not daring to make eye contact. As he came closer to his private quarters, he heard giggling coming from an alcove. A place Saerus and Kharisi would sometimes have a quick daytime rendezvous’. Offa crept closer on tippy-toe and peered around the corner to find a guard and one of the footmen stroking one another. He moved back before being seen and motioned for two guards to come over. “Bring them to the throne. Restrain them first. I will root out every sodomite, catamite, boy-fucker, and arse-licker if it’s the last thing I do, and I care not who they are.” The guards looked at one another as their skin turned an ashy color. They barged in on the two, subdued them and dragged them to the throne room.
Offa’s face reddened, his hands, clenched into tight little fists, shook with the anger of a violent ocean. His eyes refused to blink, even as he returned from the way he had come not a moment before, all he saw was the punishment they deserved oh so much. When he reached the far end of the hall once more, he turned to face the guards, and with a voice so calm, it was more disturbing than his yelling, Offa gave orders to them. “Find every last one of those cock worshippers and throw them in the dungeon. Post notices that anyone caught indulging in these perversions will be fed their own balls and then beheaded on the spot.”
“But your Highness,” one guard started to say, though Offa interrupted him.
“Kill that man for treason and place his head where all can see. Let them know I will not play favorites.” He dismissed the guards, and they marched passed him down the stairs and out of sight.
“Mother was too weak and allowing that deviant to become King intolerable. We’ll have law and order now. They will fear me, or they will die,” he said to the ghosts of the castle. “I need to find that wench so she can squeeze the seed from me again.”
The ghosts had no response to that.
Off walked down the stairs quickly, and saw his throne room empty, spotless and smelling of strong, unpleasant odors, from the cleaners used on the floor. He sat down on the throne, picked up a small bell sitting on the arm, and rang it for all the castle to hear. Within seconds the room filled with servants from all over the castle. Everyone from the kitchen to the maids, to the guards, and the stable hands were summoned by the chime.
Offa was pleased with the speed but wondered if it would remain so once they heard what he had to say. He stood and paced slowly back and forth in front of them, gesticulating wildly as he spoke. “I have found two male members of the Castle’s employ engaging in unnatural acts, thinking they wouldn’t get caught.” There was a murmur that rippled through the crowd, as well as some suppressed titters. “They will be killed tomorrow, along with all the other purveyors of perversion we round up tonight. Citizen or worker here matters not. That behavior will not be tolerated.”
The soldiers cast sidelong glances at one another, worry etched on many of their faces.
“If anyone knows of such abominations, and does not report them, their silence guarantees their death as well.” Offa studied their faces well, watched their tics and movements, scrutinizing them all for the slightest sign of guilt.
In the very back, stood a small, balding groomsman, ripe with the stench of horseshit. He put a hesitant hand up in the air to get the King’s attention. Offa saw it at once and bade him speak.
“Begging your pardon Your Highness, but ‘tis well known you and the elf guard engaged in this bed play.” There was a collective gasp, and those around the man moved away from him as if he had the rotter’s disease. Offa’s eyes widened in surprise, the shock and anger quite visible as his nostrils flared, and his body trembled as rage coursed throughout his limbs.
“Would you like to repeat that?” he asked walking closer, almost stalking his accuser. The man didn’t budge, show fear, or look away. On the contrary, the King’s wrath seemed to have emboldened him.
“It’s no secret you and the elf carried on, I even saw him mount you once in the alcove by the stairs to the Western Tower. Your two pricks were hard as could be from the pounding you were getting.” There was such a smugness to his attitude, others wondered what sort of death wish he had. Off stood in front of him, their noses a hairsbreadth from one another’s. He reached out, and grabbed the man’s throat with one bare hand and squeezed, lifting him off the ground several inches. He turned and walked back to his throne with the man still gasping for air even as his windpipe was being crushed. He refused to struggle however, not wanting to give his tormentor the satisfaction.
Offa threw him to the ground with such force the sound of his skull cracking filled the room. “Take him down to the chamber, I will see to his discipline myself.” The two closest guards took the man under each arm and dragged him out of the room. He turned his attention back to the gathering as if there had been no interruption at all. “You will tell the Lieutenant of anyone you know, and the guards will go forth this night into town and round up all known abominations.”
He waved them off with one hand and all left as quick as they’d entered. None dared to dawdle or do anything to capture the King’s attention. He ignored them however, his
mind preoccupied with the man who dared accuse the King of such disgusting, unholy behavior. It was an affront to the crown and the gods and would be met with the cruelest forms of torture he could devise. Offa left the throne room and began making his way to the dungeons and torture chamber, his mind already filled with devious machinations.
Still, he couldn’t help but be curious why someone would so brazenly accuse him of something so heinous. The thought occupied him as he meandered down the ceaseless corridors and stairwells until he finally made it to the locked door of the torture chamber. There were two guards standing at either side of the door, the same ones who had brought the old man down moments earlier. They bowed to Offa and unlocked the door and began following him in. Offa stood in his tracks and turned.
“Did I ask for help?”
“No, sir, but for your protection...”
“He’s chained up you fool, now go back and stand outside and await my orders.”
The guards gave quick short nods that seemed more like jabs and did as their King ordered.
“Hard to get good help isn’t it?” a voice called out. Offa turned to the lone figure hanging on the wall, arms and legs stretched out and shackled. The windowless room smelled of all foul excretions, mostly shit, and blood. The walls were forever stained with the lingering sanguine liquid of countless others who never left the room alive. Offa moved closer to the figure to get a better look, even as the torch nearby played with shadows across his face.
“You,” Offa began, “must be one of the stupidest people the creator puked onto the earth.”
“On the contrary, I’m one of the smartest, if not the smartest.” His tone and demeanor were one of overwhelming confidence, with a healthy streak of cockiness. Offa half admired that and felt it almost a shame he would have to kill him, eventually.
“Who are you?”
The man laughed. “No one you know, no one you would ever remember, but you can call me Isaiah if it pleases you.”
Errors of the Flesh Page 13