The Still

by David Feintuch

  “I won’t wait behind with the children and an old woman. Besides, if not for my plan, you’d have no coin to spend.”

  He caught my arm, swung me round. “You’ll remain.” His eyes glinted with the first sparks of temper.

  “No.”

  “By Lord of Nature, Llewelyn would beat me within an inch of my life for insolence such as yours!”

  I grappled with my vow, but the provocation was too great. “You’re not my father!”

  “Father, elder brother, what does it matter? Did you put yourself under my care?”

  I shouted, “Yes, and I beg you as once you begged me: Release me from my oath!”

  He said instantly, “Done.” I gaped, but he swung into the stirrups. “You and Fostrow do as you wish. I’m bound for Stryx. Fare thee well.”

  “Rustin!”

  “Good-bye, my prince.” His eyes glistened. “I tried, truly I did.”

  “Wait!”

  “Why?”

  “I just—I don’t know. Wait a bit.” I turned away, hugging myself, battling rage and fear. I didn’t need him. If ever I were to be a man, I must throw aside his influence, stand on my own. I knew I could do it.

  But not yet.

  “Please, Rust.” I struggled to meet his eyes. “Go with Fostrow. I’ll wait here.”

  “And your oath?”

  “I’ll keep it. I didn’t mean for you to release me.”

  He leaned over the pommel, stern. “I won’t have your distrust, Roddy. Or your sullenness.”

  I nodded.

  “I’m not your father, but you had none when needed. So for the moment, I’ll do a father’s task. Understand?”

  “Yes, Rust.”

  He climbed down. “Put your hands at your sides.” I complied. He slapped me hard. “At your sides!” Again. My head rocked. Once more he struck me, his palm echoing on my cheek like a clap of thunder. Mortified, I sagged against a tree, seeking to control my sobs.

  He gave me time, spoke to my back. “From now on you’ll behave decently. Yes?”

  It was all I could do to nod. Without further word he rode off. After a moment I heard Fostrow’s mare, in pursuit.

  When they returned, it was with a pack mule loaded with treasures. For me, a fine new cloak lined with silk, and breeches that might have been used, but had the look of quality. For Hester, a wondrous robe that made her eyes widen. After she donned it, even her knobbed walking stick didn’t look so rustic as before. She bussed Rustin on the cheek, which caused him to flush crimson.

  We unpacked dried meats and vegetables, wine and fruit, and a jeweled dagger with which to gift Lord Cumber. And fresh bread, which we demolished with our dinner.

  At least we’d go into Cumber fed, rested, and dressed. Contemplating the visit, I felt much more hopeful.

  Yet, for what had passed between us that morning, I was shy as a maiden with Rustin. I blushed at his glance, felt myself flustered by his conversation. Was he my friend, or mentor? Was I boy to his man? Could we have changed so?

  That night, lying abed, my lust arose. After struggling to ignore it, I let my mind drift to Chela and her wiles, and let my body have its way. Afterward, the pleasure of my repose was soured; by his utter stillness I realized Rust had been awake and aware of my doings.

  I writhed in an agony of embarrassment. When desire came upon him, Rustin had Chela to share his bed; how could he fathom my needs? If at the morn he spoke of the matter I’d pretend he was mistaken, and if not, what was one more humiliation to those I’d already suffered? I lay drowsing, wishing with all my heart the Still of Caledon required not such a burden of me, hoping against hope he’d somehow been truly asleep.

  Morning came, and my mood was such that it was all I could do not to get myself slapped anew. As soon as I could, I took myself aside, pondered how to wrest myself from the clutches of my vow to Rust. It was intolerable to endure, from my erstwhile companion, the rebukes and torments I’d fled Stryx to avoid from Uncle Mar.

  “Let’s go, Roddy. Get Ebon bridled.”

  I stuck my tongue at Rust’s retreating back, but picked up the tack. At least I was a slave by my own choice, rather than Mar’s imperious will. Should that make me feel better? It didn’t, really.

  For two days we followed the stream, heading upward into the hills. There were no more inns on the way to Cumber.

  At the second night’s camp, Genard, Elryc, and I blundered about searching for downed limbs for the fire, while Rustin set our beds. The wind blew cool. I glanced skyward, hoping it wouldn’t rain; I didn’t relish crawling under the wagon to escape a downpour. As usual, Hester and Elryc were to share a canopy tent, in the cart.

  Rust tossed me his soap. “You’d best wash, before you get too comfortable by the fire. You haven’t bathed in two days.”

  “There wasn’t time; we—”

  “I made time. You chose to wait. Go on, now.”

  My lip curled. “If I say no?”

  “Would you say no, Roddy?” He gazed at me curiously.

  Furious at the constraint he lay upon me, I grabbed a drying cloth, dipped a torch in the fire for light. At the edge of the circle I paused. “Rust ... do you hate me?”

  “Why, I—of course not!” His look held something odd.

  I snarled, “Don’t ask me the same.”

  The pitch might have been damp; for whatever reason, the torch sputtered and hissed all the way to the gurgling stream, and while I was looking for a way to prop it, promptly went out. I cursed it roundly while my eyes became accustomed to the moonlight.

  I sat on the bank over a deep pool swirling with eddies, pulling off my boots. The stream was far too cold to stand in. I’d have to lean over the bank, splash myself with the icy water, scrub myself, and rinse. Why couldn’t he use common sense? This could easily wait until morning, when I’d have no need for a torch that wouldn’t stay lit.

  Perhaps Rust’s fetish with washing wasn’t all bad—even Chela had made a vile remark about my cleanliness, the night I’d gotten carried away and touched her. But I could attend to such matters without his bullying interference. It was time I faced up to the error I’d made. Rust was little more than a boy himself, and certainly unable to teach me anything I didn’t already know about manliness.

  In the cold breeze I peeled off my stockings, hurled them into the dirt. “Two days you’ve lorded it over me, Rust. It’s enough!”

  “You gave your oath.” He’d speak without passion.

  “I was wrong!”

  “Does that excuse you?” I could picture the reproach in his tone.

  “Oh, be silent!” I grabbed a stone, slung it against the rock that jutted from the pool. My missile flew apart with a satisfying smash. “Take that! And that!” The rock became Rust’s face, and I gathered an armful of stones.

  I leaned closer. “Bully me now, you—”

  My foot slipped on the mossy bank. Flailing, I toppled into the frigid pool. I sank to the bottom, turning head over heels.

  The cold struck like a blow. My stomach and groin knotted in pain. Disoriented, I kicked and twisted, not sure in the dark which way was up. At last, gravity made itself felt. I clawed my way upward, broke the surface with a bound, sucked for air.

  “Help!” My voice was little more than a croak. I spat water, tried again. “Someone!” My feet were almost numb. Water bubbled and frothed in wavelets around my ears. I couldn’t touch bottom.

  Nor could I see the rock on which I’d left my boots; it took me a moment to realize the current had carried me some paces downstream. Here, the embankments were rocky and steep. Even at the edge, the water was over my head.

  Teeth chattering, I lunged onto the rock, my sodden clothes dragging me back. Moss or algae had left the bank as slippery as glass.

  “Help! Rust!” Desperate, I heaved myself out of the eddy, clung to the bank with aching fingers. Again, the water sucked me back.

  The cold was agony that coursed through my torso. Bubbling water splashed in
my nose. I choked, gasping and wheezing, pulled myself as high as I could. With all my strength, I couldn’t climb as high as before.

  “No! You can’t have me!” I managed to get head and shoulders over the bank, clawed at the slippery slope. Inch by inch, I slid back. “Lord of Nature, I beg you.” A sudden sharp pain in my fingernail, and I lurched backward. “Oh, no. Not like this ...” I wondered whose voice babbled so. My teeth chattered.

  “Stop dawdling, Roddy!”

  Sorry, Mother. I was just learning to be a man.

  “Roddy? Where are you!”

  Here. Drowning.

  “Genard! Elryc, come here! Roddy, what’s happened to you!”

  Feet appeared, over my head.

  “Lord of Nature!” Hands, gripping mine. “Hang on!” The voice was Rustin’s.

  I roused myself. “I’m sorry ... about the clothes.”

  “Arghh!” His face, red with effort, glinted in the moonlight. “Help me get you out!”

  I kicked manfully, doing no good. Inch by inch, he drew me out of the water, scraped me across the slimy rock.

  All at once I was lying facedown on the stone. Most of my body was numb.

  “Get up! We have to go to the fire!”

  “I c-c-can’t.” My teeth chattered too hard to speak.

  With an oath he hauled me to a sitting position, stooped, managed to get me over his shoulder. He lurched to his feet.

  “Boots.” My arms twitched when I tried to move them.

  “Later.” He staggered through the trees, back to camp.

  He dumped me by the campfire, raced to the wagon, snatched my blankets, ran back. I sat jerking and twitching. Frightened by my dissolution, I made a whimpering sound. Every pore of my body smarted as if seared.

  Hester said, “Lord, what’s he done?” Slowly, she climbed down from the wagon.

  “We’ve got to get those clothes off you!” Rustin.

  “I’m too cold.” I hugged myself, against the convulsions of my muscles.

  He ignored me, worked with Fostrow at peeling off my shirt.

  “The wind!” My teeth rattled. “Please, Rust!”

  “Get everything wet off him,” said Hester. “Be quick.”

  “I know.” Rust rolled me over, worked to pull off my soaking breeks. “You’ll die of cold with these on.”

  Even after they unclothed me and bundled me into my blanket on the edge of the fire, I shivered uncontrollably, my limbs twitching. “I’m freezing, Rust.” I took another sip of the hot tea Hester had concocted.

  “I know.” He brought over his own bedroll, threw it atop of me.

  Even that wasn’t enough. The night wind seemed to pierce my blankets, rekindle the fiery frost in my veins. I ought to don fresh clothes, but nothing short of the demons of the lake would thrust me from my covers. I put my icy hands between my legs to thaw them. “See what trouble your damned bathing makes?”

  “It wasn’t the ...” A sigh. “You’ll soon feel better.”

  The excitement past, the others drifted off to bed, while I lay freezing and miserable under our two bedrolls. Rust donned his cloak, sat close by the fire.

  I regarded his back, with mixed emotions. He’d caused my accident, sending me off on a ridiculous errand in the dark. But then, he’d saved me. It canceled out. Well, perhaps if I hadn’t bent to throw that last stone ...

  I couldn’t leave him to sit all night. “Crawl under the blanket, Rust; maybe you’ll warm me.”

  Silent, he crept behind me, under the outer cover, behind the inner. I shivered. His arms came around, hugged me. “The stream comes down from the top of Fort, where the ice never melts.”

  “I wonder why not.” My voice was sleepy.

  “The Ritemaster says that in the worst heat of summer’s memory, no man saw Fort without snow.”

  “Definitely a Power.” I cuddled his warm arm as a pillow, listened to the throb of his pulse. “I’m glad it was you who saved me.”

  Another hour, and I began to feel myself warm. Deliciously drowsy, I dozed to sleep.

  Strange dreams, in the night. Mother wagged her finger. You won’t listen, Roddy. You don’t try hard enough.

  Is that why you didn’t show me love?

  That time is past. Her face rippled, dissolved into Chela’s. “This is now, Roddy. You’re clean and manly and brave. Come to me.”

  Elryc and Genard snickered behind my back at my chastity. Mother spoke sharply to gain my attention; Chela prevailed. “Come to me, Lord Prince. Come ...”

  Not with Elryc watching. I sought a private place. I dreamed I became aroused, and worried who might notice. With maddening insistence, Chela beckoned. I threw aside my unknown Power, went to her, entered her with savage thrusts. “Yes,” she hissed. “Be mine, Prince.”

  Coupling, groping, the swift spurts of satiation. She gasped with pleasure, squeezed me tight. “Stay inside me, Roddy. Hold me.” I stroked her breasts, ecstatic that I’d become a man at last. In bliss, I drowsed in her arms, until she faded, and there was nothing but the crackle of the blaze, the stars overhead.

  Sticky and content, I wriggled in the aftermath of pleasure, and felt Rustin’s hands resting where they had no right to be.

  Taut with alarm, I barely breathed. What had I done? Bad enough he knew of my habits; had I relieved myself in his very embrace? Yet I lay on my side, my hands high, cuddling my pillow; if my flesh had felt caresses, they weren’t my own.

  Cautiously, I stirred, dislodged his fingers, inched to the far side of the bedroll, wedged a blanket firmly between us.

  In the morning, I wore the blanket as a cloak while I fished through Rustin’s clothes and mine for garments. After, I spread my wet clothing on the cart’s many boxes; perhaps by the morrow they’d be dry. When my eyes caught Rust’s I blushed scarlet, quickly turned away.

  We mounted, resumed our interminable journey. I felt the prickle of perspiration each time Rust came near. It wouldn’t do; better to flee back to Fort than continue so. When we paused for food and rest I drew deep breaths, steeled myself, took him to sit aside from the others.

  “Last night.” My voice was an accusation.

  “It took you a long while to warm. Sorry I didn’t tend to your clothes.”

  “That’s not what I speak of.” I waited.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Roddy?”

  I couldn’t help blushing anew. “I’m not Chela.”

  “Certainly not.” He sat against a tree.

  “Don’t play games! You know what you did!”

  “Yes, my prince.” His sudden smile that heartened one as the sun after a cloudburst.

  “How dare you touch me so!”

  “You’re angry.” He pondered, brushing his lips with a twig. “Roddy, you burn. Oh, don’t roll your eyes; it’s plain to see. You’re desperate for relief and the comfort of sharing, and you can’t have it with women.”

  I snarled, “What business is it of yours?”

  “Would you rather be alone? Until your Power is spent?”

  “Yes!” That said, I took breaths, to consider. A pang of remembered bliss washed across my senses. When I’d awakened in his arms I’d felt no shame, until I realized what had passed. Then, I’d gone rigid with fear and dismay. I said, lamely, “It’s my body, not yours!”

  “Would you rather I never touch you again?”

  “Never like that.” I stood, having endured as much of such conversation as I could.

  “Once, long ago, we spoke of such matters. I asked if you couldn’t take a lover into your bed. ‘A cook’s boy?’ you jeered. ‘A sniggering stablehand?’ Roddy, am I no better than those?” It was almost a plea.

  “You make me your plaything! You wash me, rebuke me, kiss my forehead. Say you that your advances are for my sake alone?”

  He looked away.

  Afraid of his response, I couldn’t leave it. “Answer!”

  “No, my prince.” His eyes met mine. “Not alone for your sake.” My lips fell agape, and
I stood like a village dimwit. He said resolutely, “I take joy in giving you pleasure. You are precious to me.”

  “Speak plainly!” I felt every inch the Prince of Caledon. “I command it!”

  In one smooth motion he arose, came close. “I enjoy your touch, and touching you. It’s my nature.” His eyes were riveted to mine. “I’ve felt your attraction ever since I was aware of such things.”

  “What of Chela? Is she nothing?”

  “Chela too. Cannot a man feel for women and prize your beauty?”

  I should have been aghast, but his very soul sat in my hands, to dash or preserve. Gently, I said, “Rust ... it isn’t meet. What would Uncle Cumber think if he saw us hand in hand?”

  He snorted. “The Earl has eyes only for his valet!”

  “He what?” My voice rose to a squeak.

  Rust regarded me curiously. “You didn’t know? How could you not?”

  “How was I to—”

  “It’s hardly a secret. Once, when he was young, Earl Cumber took a wife, and had sons. Then he cast her away. All of Stryx knows.”

  “All except me.” My tone was bitter. “And it’s beside the point.”

  “Aye. Did you take pleasure, last night?”

  “No!” I hated it when he forced me to lie; it built a wall between us, and risked the True. I sighed. “Some.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Don’t.” Not knowing what to do, I slumped back upon the grass. “It feels good to be held. I can’t help that.”

  “Nor should you.”

  How could this be happening? “You would openly share my bed?”

  “Is there shame in it?”

  Not really; folk coupled with whom they pleased; all except Virgin Prince Rodrigo. Many of the guardsmen on our walls had companions. One heard snickers, as when a man took a notably ugly wife for her dowry, but no more. Still ...

  I glanced once more at Rustin son of Llewelyn. Reason enough had I to hate him: He’d struck me viciously, ignored me for his slut Chela, treated me like a very dog. Yet something there was, in his gaze, that I couldn’t shatter. And, he’d saved me from the stream, guided me through castle politics, brought me safely out of Stryx.