“Are you sure you want me?”
“Please, I want you. Now,” Selen whispered, lifting his hips.
As Louis sank into Selen, he felt Selen’s nails scratch his back and Selen’s arms squeeze his chest. His face tensed under the pain. “Stop, Selen,” Louis whispered in his ear, “you’re hurting me.” Louis brushed his fingers through Selen’s hair and kissed the side of his head. “Please.” The vise on his ribs eased. He kissed Selen again. Maybe for Selen’s sake, he should not try to make it last this time. Louis knew it was not Selen’s body that suffered, but his shattered soul. Louis was torn between his lust and the wish to comfort Selen. At this moment, the second feeling only stirred the first one up, and as he could feel, Selen’s lust was obvious. With one hand, he reached down for Selen and caressed him in teasing moves. As Selen’s delicious little moans in his ear fired him, his hand’s moves turned into ravishing strokes. He let his hips grind into Selen’s, conscious it may be the last time. At that moment, unspoken words rushed to his head, where they faded like mist. Their mouths rubbed against each other as they screamed their pleasure. While the pressure in his loins decreased with each long throb, warm wet spilled on his chest. Louis stood still. Selen’s hot, pulsing breath coated his mouth. Louis’s lips slipped onto Selen’s cheek and turned moist. He looked at his friend. Selen cried.
“No, Selen. What is wrong?” He kissed his tears. Louis knew what was wrong. He was not stupid. Selen only waited for one thing, and he refused to give it to him. A few times already, he had choked on the words in his throat and cursed himself for the pain in Selen’s eyes. Though Louis abhorred his own coldness, he was resolute not to promise words he may not hold. Yet, days went by, and his past stayed sealed. The dreamless nights were his nightmare. Besides, at this point, should he confide in his friend and die, it would only make it worse. He did not want Selen to mourn. The despair in Selen’s pleading eyes made his heart bleed. He pressed Selen’s head against his. Forgive me, Louis thought. Selen had still not answered but sobbed and clenched him.
“I am here,” Louis whispered. “You have to stay strong. Use this night. It is yours. You will carry these moments inside you through the following weeks.” Louis had created memories from perfumes and tastes. Should he sleep in his tent or lay injured on the field, he would still remember these sensations, from the honeysuckle of his hair to the smoothness of his fair fuzz between his legs. Louis felt that he already missed him and was on the verge of crying when Selen spoke.
“I’m scared,” Selen peeped. He sniffled and dried his tears with one hand. “I’m sorry, I’m weak.”
“Don’t be. I’m terrified.” It was true, but Louis would barely recognize it, even to himself. Selen chuckled and sniffled again.
“Hold me,” Selen whispered. Louis hugged Selen with his limbs entwined around his friend’s body. He would do it all night long, even if his muscles got sore.
In the moonlight, they embraced, gazing at each other, sharing long kisses. Yet, as he would not say what Selen wanted to hear, he would not say any more words for the night, not to lose hope, not to lose courage. Louis refused to think that it could be their last days, though the feeling dwelt on them. Louis’s emptiness had never been so profound. He did feel like dust.
CHAPTER 42
Lissandro’s wrists hurt. The soldiers had tied him and Kilda to a rope and dragged them behind their horses. He and his companion had not resisted and, therefore, were unharmed. The road had been terribly long. Lissandro had counted four days. The party had slept in the open, the two prisoners fastened to a tree a few yards from the dogs. Lissandro had been so scared to be eaten during his sleep that he had barely closed his eyes. He felt exhausted. At the end of the fifth day, they reached a stronghold. It stood alone at the top of a hill, circled by a ditch. The last rays of the sun shone on its black stones. Moss clung in the shade of the ancient walls. The keep was high and sinister. Three tall towers rose around it. Their windows stood dark and gaping. Cages hung in the air on heavy iron chains. They approached the thick battlements. Two guards stood on each side of the drawbridge.
“Bringing fresh meat?” they bawled.
Lissandro felt a shiver run down his spine. “Where are we?” he asked Kilda discreetly.
The woman’s face was white. Lissandro read terror in her eyes. “Mighthorn Keep,” she whispered.
The inside yard was as welcoming as the façade. The ground was muddy with pools of water and shit-stained straw. Remnants of broken casks and rusted shields leaning against the walls of decrepit shacks littered the sides of the yard. A group of nasty-looking soldiers were dismantling what could have been gibbets. There were crusts of blood on the cobbles under it. In front of Lissandro, a wide, stone staircase led up to a black, wooden door. Lissandro wondered if he would come out of the keep alive, should their captors make them pass the door. The gates opened. They were pushed inside, and the heavy doors closed behind them with a fatidic thud.
The group went through a poorly lit hall. Paintings of riders and ancestors’ portraits hung on the walls. With ancient halberds and shields, it was the only decoration. They climbed stairs probably leading to the great hall. Guards in mails opened the doors. The hall was cold and silent. The end of the room faded into darkness. A long board stood in the middle of the room circled by threatening statues of warriors. Near the hearth, a man sat on a high, carved, wooden chair. He had a long, emaciated face, with seductive black eyes set deep in their sockets. The flames of the fire made his black hair shine. As they approached, he rose and moved forward, his dark purple robes swirling around his legs.
“Do you know who I am?” he inquired, sucking on his thin, dry lips.
“You are Count Elye, my lord,” Kilda muttered. Lissandro noticed that she was trembling.
“Precisely,” the count affirmed. “And I know who you are, Lady Hewald. But you,” the count said, turning to Lissandro, “I have never seen your face before.” He grabbed Lissandro’s cheeks with one hand and looked into his eyes. His grip hurt like the claws of an eagle. The soldiers holding Lissandro’s arms pushed him forward. “You have a noble face, maybe a knight?”
“He is a knight,” Kilda said. Lissandro wondered if she was denouncing him or trying to protect him. “He is a knight of the Rebellion. A friend of Bertrant,” she added.
“Hmm, interesting.” Elye released his grip. Lissandro twisted his jaw. He could still feel the marks of the man’s fingers on it. Elye turned to Kilda again. “But I know someone who isn’t. What did I tell you the last time we met, Lady Hewald? Mourn your husband, join the Sisters. Yes, something like that.”
“You took my lands!” she shouted. She was crying.
“Women should not rule on their own. As they shouldn’t take to arms. Maybe I should show you what happens to a woman who wants to be on the battlefield?” The count turned to his men. “Take off her armour.”
The soldiers complied. Kilda struggled and screamed.
“Leave her alone!” Lissandro shouted. “Disgusting bastards!”
“You better shut up and watch, because you could be next,” Elye threatened. He moved towards Kilda and violently tore off her linen. She tried to hide herself with her hands, but Elye pushed her arms away. As he grabbed and squeezed one of her small breasts, she uttered a sharp squeak of pain.
“You can be lucky you look like a cow,” he scoffed to her face. The count took a step back and punched her.
“No!” Lissandro yelled.
“Your turn,” Elye said to his soldiers. The men sniggered and circled Kilda.
Powerless and outraged, Lissandro was forced to watch. Lying on the floor, Kilda neither screamed nor cried. She protected her naked body as best as she could and endured each blow. The blood in Lissandro’s veins boiled with fury. Too often had he seen such abject scenes in his own home. He swore in his heart to avenge her honour, by himself or by unleashing the wrath of the Rebellion upon the count. The man would pay for his crime.
&nbs
p; They had been thrown into large cages in a windowless cell in the prison tower. It was littered with straw, and there were pots in a corner. An iron grate separated them. Kilda lay curled in on herself in the corner of her cage. They had taken away her armour and dressed her up with rags of an old gown. Lissandro heard her sob. “Kilda,” he whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. They will pay for this, I swear.” He paused. “You are still a warrior to me. You were very brave.”
“I wish I were dead,” she muttered.
“I wish I were dead too. But here we stand. You have sworn an oath to your husband. You can’t give up now.”
“I miss him. Maybe death is sweeter than this life. We could be together,” she sobbed.
Lissandro thought about his own beloved and sneered. Death did not bring people back together. Nothing could. “I too have lost the one I love,” he told her with sadness in his voice, “and I have no one in this world to blame for that.”
“Did she die during the war?” Kilda asked. She turned to Lissandro.
He smiled. Tears ran down his face. He could not even remember how he had died, or if his love had died with him. “It was in another world. In another life.” He tried hard to remember him. He only had scraps of memories; a smile, a word. He closed his eyes. “We are children of the night, bound by blood, bound by love. Please come back to me,” he whispered and repeated the phrase like a mantra until he fell asleep.
First, there was nothing but darkness. Then, a light shone. The wind ripped against his face. Lissandro had climbed to the top of the skyscraper and stood on its roof. In the horizon, the purple sky was streaked with gold. Dawn was rising on the City that Never Sleeps. His round, blue eyes looked at the light with amazement. “I haven’t seen such beauty since…”
“Two hundred years,” a low, husky voice said behind him. Strong arms curled gently around his waist. Lissandro leaned backwards, his head resting against the broad chest of his companion. His long, blond hair floated against Lissandro’s face. “Are you ready?” Grimmr asked him.
“Are you sure we won’t burn?” Lissandro asked with a hint of worry.
“We made the journey and passed the test. We won’t. We could even survive it if we wanted to.”
“Then I’m ready.” Lissandro smiled, resolute. “I have seen so much. I have travelled around the earth. I have contemplated the most beautiful wonders and the worst creations of mankind. I have been through wars, including against myself. And most of all, I have been happy, with you.” Lissandro turned around. He looked at the heavy-lidded, blue eyes of his companion. “You saved me that night. You gave me a chance to love and be loved. We’ve been through a lot. I have felt delightful joy and insufferable pain. I have lived. Now, I want to share eternity in the sky with you.”
“Then we will be one among the stars,” Grimmr whispered to him. He kissed him lovingly.
Lissandro turned around and faced the light again. The first sunbeams appeared on the horizon. His mind was at peace, his body light as a feather. Dust rose from around him and from his own self. It did not burn. It did not hurt. Soon, they would float to heaven.
Lissandro opened his eyes.
“Lissandro?” he heard Kilda whisper. “Are you all right?”
“As one among the stars…” he muttered as he rose and sat on the floor of his cell. “As one…” He felt the spark of hope set his heart ablaze. “I came back as two,” he whispered, realizing. “This is why I have intense visions. It’s unbalanced!” he exclaimed, full of joy. His entire face was radiant. “It means he is alive somewhere!”
“Lissandro! What is it?” Kilda shouted.
“My love, Grimmr. He is here somewhere. I will fight this war and we will win. Then, I will search the whole world if needed, but I will find him.” Lissandro rose and grabbed the metal bars of his cage. “He saved me. He has never given up on me. I will never stop fighting for him!” Lissandro turned to Kilda. “Don’t give up, Kilda. You have suffered a lot, but there is hope. For you and for me. There is always hope in life. And we will get out of this cell. Together!”
Kilda looked at him with a mix of hope and surprise. “He?”
CHAPTER 43
From the top of the stairs leading to the castle entrance, imperial as a goddess, the countess had given her blessing to the Rebellion. Louis and the other captains turned their horses down the main street and followed Bertrant out of the city.
The army leaving Millhaven was impressive. Louis knew they could have had more soldiers had Bertrant listened to him, but Louis had sworn to collaborate and he had not insisted. The other captains had nearly cried with joy at the sight of the considerable mass of men, clad in shiny mail and plate. Faremanne had told him that this was as many soldiers as the Rebellion had known in its glory days, at the beginning of the war, before Agroln unleashed his dragon. The two men knew that they would be wiped out as easily as before if they could not control the beast, but at least there was a glimpse of a chance. Josselin had agreed to give the whole command of his troops to Bertrant, satisfying himself with the title of Captain. As Selen had foreseen, the man was there for revenge, not for glory.
The population of Millhaven gathered in the streets cheered them with acclamations and flowers as if they were already victorious. The cavalry opened the way down the main street to the drawbridge. The horses’ manes and colorful caparisons floated majestically in the wind. Their barding glittered in the sun.
They left the city by the south road, which meandered through golden fields and shallow rivers. Louis rode alongside Faremanne, leading the second battalion. It should have been a glorious day. Yet, his chest was heavy.
“I have never seen such a big army. And we are the captains. Isn’t it marvelous?” Faremanne exclaimed, his chest swollen with pride and joy.
“Yes, of course,” Louis answered, trying to sound as cheerful as possible to avoid embarrassing questions. He yawned. “How long do you think it will take before we reach the meeting place?”
“It depends on the weather, but I would say a week.”
A week of chitchat and a sore bottom. In other words, an eternity.
Over the following days, the Rebellion crossed golden wheat fields and passed in front of abandoned windmills. They let their horses graze on green meadows covered with dandelions. Louis listened politely to Faremanne’s monologues on the Windy Isles and the beauty of the sea, nodding here and there and pleasing his friend with a few questions. They had sunny days and days where it rained so hard that men needed to dismount to push the chariots out of the mud. The nights were warmer as summer was coming. During the evenings, Louis sat with the men around campfires, listening to tales about the past and songs about wenches. Later, lying on his blanket in the headquarters, he spent many hours watching the artifact that always glowed brighter in his hand. Though he wanted to show it to Selen, he did not dare to worry his friend about the dragon. Not now. Selen was progressively finding his place in the camp. Louis saw Selen help where he could, to fix wounds or to carry materiel. He would always be an outsider, but it seemed the soldiers did not see him as a freak anymore. After a week, they reached the swamps.
“Don’t tell me we have to cross that,” Louis said.
“I fear we do,” Faremanne answered.
The wetlands stretched for miles on both sides in a multitude of brambles, reeds, and smoking ponds. An unpleasant wind hissed through the heather.
“Send scouts to search for solid ground. We can’t lose too much time here,” Louis said.
Faremanne turned his horse back to the army. Louis followed him. Bertrant trotted the other way to meet them.
“Are we blocked?” the commander asked.
“We need to find a path, but we shouldn’t camp here. This is a foul place to stay. Men will be sick,” Louis said. “I suggest we tell the men to share the weight from the wagons and carry all they can.”
Around noon, the first scouts were back. One of them approached him. He was exhausted and
half covered with mud.
“We have found a way to the other side, Captain,” the man panted.
“Can we make it before the night?” Louis asked.
“I can’t say, Captain. We did not test with wagons.”
This was what Louis feared, but he would chance it nonetheless. “Show us the way.”
The army regrouped and followed the scouts on the firm land. They were obliged to move in a line between bogs and pools of clay. The noxious air smelled of decaying vegetation and other kinds of gas with odors similar to that of boiled cabbage. The wagons’ wheels spun in the mud. Louis stood on the side of the column and evaluated their progression. In the distance, one of the wagons leaned. When he heard men scream, Louis kicked his horse and rode to them.
The oxen mooed and pulled with all their strength. On the side of the wagon, soldiers pushed to bring it back in balance, their shoes sliding in the mud. Louis looked south and saw the column progress without them. He dismounted, tied his horse to the wagon, and stepped next to the men. His boots squelched. This side had left the firm ground. He grabbed the wooden edge.
Rising from Dust (Light from Aphelion Book 1) Page 27