Nine of Wands-Tarot- The Staircase

by D. J. Manly

  * * * *

  When light invaded his semi-wakefulness, Tristan blinked into the face of warriors. “Your presence is required,” one of them barked.

  Tristan was hauled up and dragged out of the dank hole they had put him in. He couldn’t see anything. He had been in the dark so long, the unforgiving light blinded him. When his eyes adjusted somewhat, he realised that he was surrounded by people, sad, sick citizens of Celestial Ridge who gasped and whispered when they saw him. There was military music playing and a few warriors standing guard around a tomb.

  He was released, the soldiers backing off of him. On his knees in front of the tomb, he narrowed his eyes as footsteps approached him. He could almost see his reflection in a pair of tall, black shiny boots. Roman Monahan.

  Monahan clicked his heels. Two guards stepped forward and twirled a rope around his shackled wrists. Tristan began to struggle as the rope hoisted him off the ground in front of the tomb. Below him he could see the stunned, empty faces of the crowd. The music stopped.

  “Citizens,” Monahan called out. “We are here on the sad occasion of my dear brother’s death. In the place of my dear nephew, Trinity, who is off leading the brave fight against the Epemo demons, I am honoured to officiate. Here,” he said, with a sweep of his hand, indicating Tristan who was swinging just above the Emperor’s tomb, “we have Tristan Coal, the son of our late hated enemy.”

  The small crowd stood paralysed. No one moved.

  “It is only fitting that he should be here to witness the ceremony of this great leader. And with each blast of ceremonial gunfire, we shall strip the flesh from his back.”

  This earned some rumblings in the crowd. There were some cheers, and applause, but in all, the crowd remained quiet.

  “The Celest people will rise again,” Monahan continued, trying to rouse the apathetic audience. “The Epemo will be defeated by our fierce and brave warriors. Trinity will return triumphant, and in his absence, I will do all I can to ensure that this society returns to normal.”

  There was some jeering now, cries of disbelief, which quickly disappeared as the warriors eyed the crowd with guns raised. Tristan felt the first lash with the first blast of the huge gun. Several warriors lifted the tomb and began carrying it down the steps. Another blast earned him another heavy lash. He gritted his teeth. He couldn’t see the one who held the weapon, but his hatred for whoever it was grew with each strike. The gunfire quieted. The military music played, and Tristan hung there, his eyes half closed, trails of blood running down his back, suddenly aware that his death was not intended to be a swift one as he’d hoped.

  He lost consciousness at one point, only to be poked to awareness by the butt of a warrior’s gun, and then carried, hand and foot, back to the place he was before. They threw him inside that hole again, still shackled. The pain was excruciating. They had thrown him onto his back and he lacked the strength to wiggle onto his stomach. He passed out from the pain, and then somewhere during the next hours, managed to wake up on his stomach. It alleviated the pain only slightly. At least his back wasn’t touching anything. He was given no food, no water, and he began to hallucinate, probably from the high temperature he was running. He fell in and out of consciousness, then, there was light again. He opened his eyes, and there he was. He was standing right in front of him. “Trinity.”

  A cool hand touched his forehead. “My poor love. What have they done to you?” he said, lifting Tristan’s head into his lap.

  “Trinity? Is it you? You’re so beautiful. I’ve missed you so much. Where have you been? Are you alright? Are you safe? Kiss me, Trinity…Trinity….”

  He was gone. Trinity’s dead. There was only darkness around him. He began to beg for death.

  Chapter Five

  "Mr Coal. Mr. Coal.” Someone was speaking. It was a woman’s voice, soft and persistent. “Open your eyes, Mr. Coal.”

  Tristan’s eyelids fluttered open. He looked around him. White everywhere. Was this heaven?

  The woman standing over him shone something into his eyes. “How are you feeling, Mr. Coal?”

  “I’m alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where am I?” He tried to lift his head, but he couldn’t. He looked down at his hands to notice that they were secured with straps to the bed.

  “The hospital. You are under military guard. I’m sorry for the restraints but…”

  “Who…I mean?”

  “I can’t say anymore, Mr. Coal. We have healed your back, and it’s been grafted to conceal most of the scaring. You were suffering from dehydration and had a high fever. You were hallucinating when you were brought in here.”

  “But who brought me here? Am I in Temple Green?”

  “No. You are at Celestial Ridge General health facility.”

  “Celest warriors brought me here?” It didn’t make sense.

  She nodded. “Get some rest, Mr. Coal.”

  * * * *

  Tristan fell into an uneasy sleep. A few hours later, the restraints were removed. He was encouraged to sit up and to eat. Armed guards walked up and down in front of his room, making sure he felt their presence.

  When Monahan strode into his room that evening, Tristan stiffened. He waited for him to speak.

  “If I had my way, you’d be dead, Coal,” he said, moving closer to his bed and running his hand menacingly over the side rail.

  Tristan set his jaw, his gaze following that hand. “Then why am I still alive?”

  “Trinity.”

  Tristan’s heart beat sped up.

  “You must have sucked his cock well when you were younger, because you left an impression.”

  Tristan clenched his fist.

  “Even if my brother seemed oblivious to what was going on between the two of you, I was fully aware. It was in every look you exchanged.”

  What was the point of trying to deny it now? He said nothing.

  “Anyhow my nephew gave orders that we were to take care of your injuries, but as soon as I have word that you are well, you will be imprisoned at the palace until...” He removed his hand from the rail.

  “Until what?”

  Monahan sighed. “Unfortunately, my nephew is the leader of the Celest people now, and even from the war zone, his word is law as long as he lives. We must abide by his rules.”

  Tristan waited. There was obviously more.

  “Trinity is still young. He’s a born fighter, but not very politically inclined. The Celest fighters are greatly outnumbered. It’s only a matter of time until they are wiped out and then…”

  Tristan laid back against the pillow now. “You sound as if you’d like it if the Epemo were victorious, Commander. Are you hoping that Trinity won’t come back alive?”

  “Of course not,” he said. “He’s my blood. And that would be treason.” He met Tristan’s gaze.

  Tristan gave him a knowing smile. “Good answer. You are a born politician. Diplomatic, knowing all the right answers. But just remember your own words, Monahan, Trinity is a born warrior. It may not be that easy to defeat him.”

  “Um,” he nodded. “Sounds like we’re are on the same side, Mr. Coal.”

  “Yes, it does sound that way, but its not clear which side that is, is it?”

  He paused for a moment, then laughed. “Sounds like you did learn something from your father. Now, there was a politician.” He turned and walked to the door, then he stopped, glanced at him over his shoulder. “Oh, during this engrossing conversation, I almost forgot to tell you the real reason I stopped by.”

  “Because you are concerned for my well being?” Tristan raised an eyebrow.

  He replied with a faint smile before he said, “I wanted you to know that you’re safe for now, but the minute the command passes to me, the first order I give will be your execution.”

  Tristan nodded. “I see. Then I guess I’ll have to pray that Trinity comes home.”

  “You do that, Coal, pray for your former lover,” he told him, and walked out of t
he room.

  * * * *

  Once Monahan was gone, Tristan finally allowed himself to digest what he’d learned. Trinity had saved his life. The question was why? The only obvious thing was that Trinity didn’t trust his uncle, and with good reason. Trinity must have spies who informed him of what was happening here, people loyal to him. Monahan’s mistake was putting him on display like that during his brother’s funeral. He should have just killed him quietly, let him die in that hole. Trinity would have never known.

  * * * *

  It was only three days later when several warriors came and took him from the hospital. He was deposited in a prison below the palace. It wasn’t idea but at least it wasn’t a dark hole, and he wasn’t shackled. Three times a day they pushed some slop that was barely edible into his cell, with water. He was allowed out once a day for a half hour to wash, and walk around the yard. That was it. He was the only one imprisoned there. He saw no one, heard nothing. He spent his time sleeping and pacing.

  Just after he had scratched a line through the number ten, reminding him that he had spent almost two weeks in that cell, the door rattled open and a guard stood there. He had already been taken out to wash and exercise. The sun had gone down He was pulled out, and shackled. As the guard pushed him along the corridor, Tristan asked him where he was taking him, but he got no response. His first thought was that Tristan was dead, and his uncle was in charge. Perhaps Monahan was going to hang him outside by the light of the moon.

  When the guard turned the corner and told him to mount the stairs, which was no small feat with his ankles chained together, Tristan was more than just a little intrigued. When he got to the top after stumbling several times, the guard pushed him through the door into the ball room. He fell on the shiny black and gold floor, a floor he had once danced on.

  The guard barked for him to get up.

  Tristan got to his knees, then, paused as he heard a voice, a voice he hadn’t heard in a very long time, strong, clear, demanding. “Leave us!”

  Every nerve in Tristan’s body was alert. He began to tremble all over. He couldn’t speak and he couldn’t lift his eyelids. He wanted to sob, but he knew he wouldn’t. How was he going to stop from crying? He stiffened his body, set his jaw and reminded himself that Trinity left him.

  His footsteps sounded across the marble floor, footsteps which he once listened to with baited breath. He bit his lip, drawing blood, then, forced his chin up in the air. When his gaze absorbed the man closing the distance between them, he swallowed. He never would have believed that any man could have been more beautiful than Trinity was, but here he was, now fully a man, and he took his breath away.

  The guard had left them, but Tristan didn’t actually remember when he had. The footsteps had stopped now. Trinity stopped, leaving a fair amount of distance between them. Something worked in his jaw, but other than that, his expression was unreadable. He was wearing his uniform, royal blue with tailored pants and a snug waist coat. His blond hair was streaked with the sunlight, and hung to his broad shoulders. There was a very faint scar which ran down the back of his left hand. His blue eyes were more serious than Tristan had remembered. He had seen too much. The war had changed those eyes. “Tristan,” he said.

  Tristan was still on his knees. He didn’t think he had the strength to get to his feet, even though he was in better shape physically than he’d been in three years. When he spoke, his voice sounded foreign. “How are you, Trinity?”

  He shrugged.

  The silence lingered.

  Tristan looked down at his hands. “I guess I should thank you for sparing my life,” he said to the floor.

  “Fuck you, Tristan,” Trinity muttered.

  Tristan looked up sharply. “Fuck me? Fuck yourself,” he hissed, struggling to his feet. Trinity turned away for a moment. “Never turn your back on the enemy Trinity. Didn’t they teach you that somewhere along the way during all that military training you had?”

  There was no answer, and Tristan wrongfully assumed that he wasn’t going to answer until he said, “Is that what you are, Tristan? My enemy?”

  Tristan narrowed his eyes.

  Trinity turned back around, his lean handsome face, a controlled, unreadable mask.

  “Have you been asleep all these years?” Tristan murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

  He closed his eyes.

  “You declared me your enemy the night you left my room nine years ago.”

  “Your father told me to leave if you remember, and I don’t recall you putting up any objection.” His blue eyes looked like ice suddenly.

  “You deserted me. You left without even…I never heard from you again. I…” His voice sounded desperate. He stopped, then; ripping his gaze away from Trinity’s, he said coldly, “I want to go back to my cell now, please.”

  “You want? You have no right to want,” Trinity threw back at him. “I’m the Emperor now, and you are my prisoner. I say where you will go, and what you will do.”

  Tristan shrugged as if his words had no effect on him.

  “If we are enemies, then so be it. Guard,” he called out, his boots now whacking across the floor. The sound flooded Tristan’s ears so that was all he could hear. The guard appeared. “Take this prisoner away, back to his cell. Now!”

  Tristan caught a glimpse of his blue uniform as he whipped around the corner, and was gone from sight.

  * * * *

  In his cell, he sunk to the hard bunk and put his face in his hands. Nine years. It had been nine years since he had stood in front of the palace and called out his name, nine years since guards had dragged him kicking and screaming from the palace grounds. He’d stood on the top of Celestial Ridge and contemplated ending his life. Nineteen years old and so desperately in love, he couldn’t fathom living without his touch, his kiss, his smile. Trinity. He loved him still.

  * * * *

  Two hours later, the guard was there again. He was shackled, and pulled from the cell. This time the guard practically dragged him across the palace floor, and down the corridor. He barely recognized his surroundings. The carpets had been changed. Even the wall hangings were different. Outside the door to what Tristan remembered being the Emperor’s private drawing rooms, the guard yanked him to a standstill and pounded on the door.

  The door opened and Trinity stood there. He had discarded his uniform for a loose fitting linen shirt which laced at the neck. It hung over, revealing his chest and some healed over scars which looked like they might have come from a peppering of bullets. He wore tight black pants, and he was in his socked feet. He waved the guard away.

  Tristan shuffled in, the chains clanking loudly as he moved. Trinity closed the door behind them and then walked over to a red velvet sofa in the corner of the room. There was a huge four poster bed in the corner near the window which was shrouded by sheer peach coloured curtains. His father never had a bed in his drawing room.

  Trinity had a drink in his hand. He walked over with it and threw himself down on the sofa. He didn’t say a word. The moon shone outside the window and the night seemed unusually silent.

  Tristan hovered near the door, looking everywhere but at him. “May I ask the benevolent master what I’ve been summoned for?”

  Trinity glanced over at him. “You haven’t changed, still caustic and smart mouthed.”

  “Well, given my current ah…predicament, you can’t expect me to be jovial.”

  “But yet, you walked right into this, didn’t you?” Tristan raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “I believed there to be Herits up here, and I wanted to…”

  “You’re lying.” Trinity drained his glass and stood up.

  Tristan noticed that he was unsteady on his feet. He was drunk, and he never did handle his liquor well.

  “You’re lying,” Trinity repeated. “I could always tell when you were lying.” He came closer.

  Tristan backed up against the wall, h
is chains rattling loudly. Trinity was so close to him now, he could feel his breath on his cheek. “You do realise that your very life is in my hands.”

  “Apparently.”

  “What would you do to save your own life, Tristan?” A hand reached out and touched his face.

  Tristan turned his face to the wall. “Don’t,” he said.

  “What?” Don’t what? Touch you? There was a time when you couldn’t wait for me to touch you, my beautiful Tristan.”

  Tristan kept his face to the wall. When he felt Trinity’s hand on his chest, slowly unbuttoning the buttons on his shirt, he closed his eyes. No, God, please. Trinity’s lips went to his throat as he spread his shirt open with his hand. The palm of his hand brushed across his left nipple then moved down to sit at his waist as his tongue swiped across his collarbone. Tristan could smell the liquor from his breath. “You know in the old days, a prisoner was the sexual property of the Emperor,” Trinity muttered against his throat.

  Tristan pulled in some air that sounded almost like a sob as Trinity’s lips moved down across his chest to where his hand was sitting at the waistband of his pants. Fingers flirted with his right nipple, while the other hand tugged at his trousers. “Friend or foe?” Trinity breathed.

  Tristan opened his eyes. He looked down at Trinity who had now sunk to his knees in front of him. His pants were on the floor, his naked sex inches from Trinity’s lips. Their gazes locked. “What do you want from me?” Tristan demanded hoarsely.

  “You know what I want.” Both hands moved around him now and clutched at his ass, dragging him closer.

  “Then shouldn’t I be there on my knees instead of you?”

  “Oh, you will be,” he slurred, his eyes shiny.

  The moan which escaped Tristan’s lips when Trinity drew his cock inside his mouth was involuntary. His shackled wrists came together as he rested his hands in his hair. He felt himself slam back against the wall. He banged his head into the wall a few times, the sensation of his hard aching cock enveloped in Trinity’s mouth overwhelming. His chest heaved, the tears poured down his face, and he came, sobbing like a small boy, his face turned into the wall.