by J P Sayle
“That, that abomination was sneaking around the castle. I know he was.”
Arngrim stabbed the air as if he was fighting with it, pointing to the floor behind Maximillian.
“I have been watching him. I know there is something not right with that boy. I caught him sneaking around the passageway near your chamber, Óláfr. I could smell a strange scent coming from him. I questioned him, but he refused to speak, so I took it upon myself to encourage him to answer.”
Malicious intent gleamed in Arngrim’s cold eyes. Maximillian shivered at the evilness that seemed to develop when Arngrim looked at Magnus’s prone body, gaining satisfaction from seeing the marks on his neck and face spread before their eyes, deepening as the bruising morphed into a colourful macabre rainbow.
Maximillian sensed what was coming and had the insane urge to jump up and cover Arngrim’s mouth with his paw to stop him from carrying on.
“I can see what he has been up to. The telltale wet patch on his behind gives him away. I would have dealt with it if your stupid cat had not interfered. We should not have to tolerate his kind, Óláfr. The bishop has been preaching about the sins of men. Look at him. He is clearly a sinner and needs to be put to death before he infects others.”
As if realising he’d touched him, Arngrim sneered down at the heap on the floor that was Magnus. His lips peeled back in disgust as he wiped his large hands down his legs.
Maximillian bristled at the accusations against Magnus. The blind bigotry was too much to bear. Before he could retaliate, pictures flooded his mind, distracting him as Óláfr relived the beauty of what he and Magnus had done earlier. He felt Óláfr’s conflicted emotions as he listened to Arngrim rant on about the new Christianity. The more he spoke, the higher the walls Óláfr built between his actions and his feelings.
Maximillian’s mind screamed at Óláfr to stop, even though he knew it was too late. Óláfr’s heart cracked and broke open, convincing Maximillian he could see the blood seeping out of his soul and spread across the floor towards Magnus’s unconscious body.
He braced when Óláfr spoke, seeing his new conviction.
“Take him to the dungeon. We will wait for him to regain consciousness, and I will question him then. Until that time, Arngrim, you are to stay away from him. I will deal with this.” His harsh command got a slight nod from Arngrim, but his eyes blazed in fury before he stalked off down the dark corridor. The sound of angry steps slapping against the stone floor faded as he left a stony silence behind.
Maximillian blinked up at Óláfr who ignored his pleading look. Instead, he directed his attention towards the growing number of guards gathering at his back.
“Take him down to the dungeons. But I warn you all, unless you want to feel my wrath, do not harm another hair on his head. Understood?”
The only response was silent nods before Magnus’s body was dragged unceremoniously across the hard ground, making Maximillian wince in sympathy as they pulled him over the rough stone.
Uncertain whether he should follow or go after the now retreating form of Óláfr, Maximillian felt the warning was enough to protect Magnus for now, so he gave chase after Óláfr.
The anger grew inside him when not once did Óláfr look back or acknowledge what was happening behind him. Inside the chamber, Maximillian hardly noticed the warmth when the lingering scent of lust lay heavily in the air. It rubbed salt into the already stinging wounds Óláfr’s actions in the corridor had created.
Huffing in disgust, Maximillian faced off with Óláfr. Raising his little brow in a questioning look, he threw his most haughty stare at Óláfr. Using his silence as a weapon against Óláfr, knowing he hated it when Maximillian stopped communicating with him, he ignored the urge to push at the ensuing silence. He grinded his sharp teeth as he tapped his front paw, drawing Óláfr’s attention before he settled down next to the blazing fire. He needed the heat to try and remove the freezing fear that was filling his veins when the silence lengthened.
Óláfr’s thoughts were a tumbled mess of guilt and suffering. About to take pity on Óláfr, Maximilian halted when his prevailing thought was to deny everything. Maximillian shuddered as if from an impact to his solar plexus. His body trembled from the shock that Óláfr could or would deny the connection to Magnus.
The truth sliced at Maximillian. Struggling to get up under the weight of failure, he blinked back the moisture gathering in his eyes. He was unable to comprehend that this strong man was a coward, that he would deny the most treasured bond bestowed upon him by the universe. The bond of love pulsed inside him, it was the true essence of his being.
His ire was too much to contain, and Maximillian spoke before he could stop himself, “Why, why would you deny what is truly a beautiful gift? A gift blessed by the God Njord himself. I can feel the connection you have created. It lives inside me, binding me to you and to him. I can also feel Magnus’s pain and his lack of understanding as to why you would not protect him. He left here to protect you, to ensure that no one would look at you differently. Yet you hide like a coward. I cannot bear to look at you. You disappoint me.”
Leaving the last part dangling between them, he hoped it would get a reaction; anything other than the shuttered look he was currently getting. The barrier inside Óláfr seemed to increase by the second. The only sign of outward distress was his heaving chest and clenching fists. Maximillian’s panic rose when nothing he said seemed to penetrate past the blank expression Óláfr wore like a coat of armour.
“Do you not feel his distress? Even now he cries for you. He needs you, Óláfr, in the worst way. You must go and help him now and stop this nonsense.” Maximillian caught sight of the shame-filled expression in Óláfr’s dark, fathomless eyes before he looked away. The urge to knock Óláfr’s head against the stone wall was too much when his loud plea received a continuous wall of silence and Óláfr’s rigid spine as he turned away.
Maximillian ground his teeth, hissing at the sound of sobbing in his mind. Guilt swamped him and made the situation feel ten times worse. Wincing at the utter distress coming through the link, Maximillian stalked towards the door for fear of doing something stupid, like attacking Óláfr.
“Open the door. I must go to Magnus, even if you cannot. I know you feel his pain as I do. I hope you can live with the decisions you make.” The resignation in his own voice was far telling when it combined with the sense of foreboding that wouldn’t shift from inside his heart. It spread through him further when he knew Óláfr wouldn’t change his mind and go to help his soulmate.
He worried his paws. Can I live with the consequences if he doesn’t come to his senses and soon? The voices in his head were ominously silent, letting him know he was in serious trouble.
The slight creaking as the door opened was the only acknowledgement that Óláfr had heard him. Resigned, Maximillian darted past the still form of Óláfr. Puffing out his chest in disgust, he held his head high as he ran along the corridor and down the stone steps leading to the lower part of the castle.
His fur bristled as the icy cold expanded the closer he got to the dungeons. The energy felt heavy with the stench of death. It smeared the air, defiling everything it touched. Death was a frequent visitor to this part of the castle, and for that reason, Maximillian avoided it at all costs. His sensitive nature ensured he experienced every one of those last moments of death that occurred in those dank icy rooms in the bowels of the fortress.
Seeking Magnus’s scent in the inky darkness, he headed into the lowest part of the castle. He followed the sounds of the waves crashing against the rocks, scenting the air with its salty spray as it seeped through the cracks in the stone. Maximillian shuddered as a blast of cold, wet air lifted his fur. As he shook off the wetness settling on his hair, he picked up his pace, hurrying.
The heart-wrenching sobbing directed Maximillian to Magnus’s cell at the end of the dark, winding passageway. Maximillian ignored the other occupied cells, taking a moment to snuffle his fur and
giving himself the courage to enter the tiny space that reeked of evil and death.
The dark, damp, and tiny space resembled a child-size coffin, barely allowing Magnus the courtesy to sit upright. He was curled into a ball, hugging his legs. His face was buried in his knees while he sobbed. The ripped clothing hardly kept the icy chill away from his thin frame as trembles wracked him, rattling his bones. The combined sounds were enough to have Maximillian’s guilt return full force.
He scented fresh blood. The metallic smell was too new to be hidden under the other noxious vapours wafting from the other occupants of the dungeon. The urge to go back into the castle and seek vengeance on the guards who had not obeyed Óláfr’s orders to cause no further harm to Magnus had Maximillian growling.
The overwhelming need to take care of Magnus and ease his suffering had Maximillian staying put, eying the tightly clustered, rust-coated metal bars. Snorting in disgust, he squeezed his bulk through, albeit with a little difficulty. Maximillian moved carefully so as not to frighten Magnus.
He sat down on the filthy dirt floor, trying hard not to overthink what had made the dirt sticky as it plastered itself to his big behind. The hard icy floor offered little comfort or warmth. The sounds of the sea were deafening. Its continuous movement against the rocks didn’t allow for a moment’s peace. He wondered if this was part of the torture, not being able to see in the utter darkness and then being driven mad by the constant noise?
He pushed aside his thoughts, letting his presence reach out to Magnus. Hoping his body warmth would offer some heat, he pushed his body closer. Startled for a second, Maximillian winced when work-roughened, cold hands crept over his body.
He watched Magnus raise his swollen and battered face. His red-rimmed eyes peered down at Maximillian in the darkness. Ignoring the cold he felt, Maximillian crawled up on to Magnus’s lap, allowing their mind link to open further, hoping it would infiltrate past Magnus’s misery.
Startled watery blue eyes froze as they met Maximillian’s gaze in the darkness. Unblinking, he let his presence continue to filter into Magnus’s mind, making sure he didn’t overwhelm him. He’d learnt the hard way he couldn’t flood the human brain, not unless he wanted to break the fragile connection to reality.
“Magnus, please don’t be scared….”
Maximillian yowled as he was thrown in the air and landed on something wet and squishy. He watched in horror as Magnus leapt up and bashed his already battered head on the stone ceiling of his cell. His legs crumbled under him as he landed in a heap back on the dirty floor next to Maximillian. Magnus’s loud hissing breaths filled the small space while panic and fear permeated the air. Maximillian shook his head in despair, sorry to have caused Magnus further harm.
Sighing, Maximillian took his time dislodging whatever had stuck to him when Magnus had moved. He willed his patience to last when his mind became flooded with all of Magnus’s crazy thoughts.
He spoke firmly, hoping it would help. “Magnus, please hear me out. You’re not crazy, I promise. And you can stop thinking it’s because you banged your head or that big stupid lug Arngrim had tried to choke you to death, or that you had sex with Óláfr.”
He could scarcely keep up with Magnus’s random thoughts, getting tired of answering each question as they popped into his head. He rested his body against Magnus, pushing his calming presence into his mind. Not that he felt very calm himself right then. Faking it, he tried again. “Please, stop and listen.” He paused when icy hands gripped him a little harder than he liked, but he waited patiently, happier when slowly one by one Magnus released his cramping fingers from his thick fur.
He carefully explained who and what he was, not leaving anything out. Well, except him pushing ideas and thoughts into Magnus’s mind to get him fired up to confront Óláfr. No, there is no need for him to know that, was there?
He was pleased that Magnus let him finish before he spoke.
“Are you telling me that Óláfr and I are destined for each other?”
The giddy happiness that came with those words had him sending a scowl to Óláfr, which he blatantly ignored. He could sense Óláfr trying to read his thoughts and see what he was doing, but the block Christina had shown him under duress was holding Óláfr at bay for the time being. Serves him right. He should be here sorting this mess, not hiding like a coward in his chamber.
Cuddling into Magnus, feeling disgruntled all over again, he purposefully avoided his negative thoughts so he could concentrate on Magnus. He didn’t want him to think his anger was in any way directed at him, not now that Magnus was opening up to the possibilities of their connection. He continued to talk, letting the hope he felt rise inside Magnus as he soothed his ruffled fur. Maximillian tried to give him hope that things would work out and that they’d get out of the dingy, freezing cell and soon.
Óláfr shifted from foot to foot, huffing as the silence encased him in his chamber. He knew he was hiding, but the feelings inside him were not giving him a moment’s rest. He felt at a complete loss as to what to do next. He’d already watched the sun rise and set three times. He was no closer to deciding on Magnus’s fate when the presence of their connection sat like a brightening star in the inky black of what appeared to be constant night in the never-ending darkness of his mind.
Striding to the wooden platform that housed his fur pelts, he plonked himself down, his hand automatically going for the hide on which Magnus had slept. Raising it to his nose, he inhaled deeply, not acknowledging the sliver of disappointment sliding into his heart when he couldn’t find the lemongrass scent that had teased him previously. He threw the pelt to the floor, sighing in frustration at his actions. He gave another internal shout for Maximillian. Anger bubbled inside his chest when all he got was the continued quiet.
He did not want to admit how much he missed Maximillian’s presence, so used to it he could not remember a time it had not been there, that reassuring buzz at the back of his mind. His secret, his gift from Manannán, though it didn’t feel like it at the moment when he was blatantly snubbing him.
Rolling his head, he tried to release the tension forming at the base of his neck. He felt he was drifting in a longboat with no oars to guide him in the direction of home. The nagging voice that was usually Maximillian’s now sounded like his own, reminding him of the direction his feet needed to take him in. Down into the dungeon. To Magnus.
Magnus. Have I had a thought that did not include the small red-headed man in aeons?
He couldn’t recall when he’d first noticed his presence, but by the God Njord, his body seemed to. And now it was all he could do to stop himself from reacting when he was in the same room. It didn’t help that the growing heat in his chest seemed to spread like wildfires in the firepit.
His jaw locked at the thought of trying to explain, his what?
My emotions?
My body’s reactions?
“Arghhhh.”
His hands twitched at his sides with the need for action. When he jumped up, the wood under him creaked ominously, but he was unaware as he stormed across the room and out the door. He headed down the dim passageway and his feet slapped against the hard cold stone, kicking up dirt as he moved. He only realised where he had headed when he stopped at the exact spot where he’d found his beloved in a heap on the floor. Memories he didn’t want to have pushed to remind him of how broken and vulnerable Magnus had been lying on the ground. His sodden clothing and their combined scents damning his beloved as nothing else could.
Why had he left the safety of my chamber while I slept?
He knew the answer, and it shamed him, giving cold satisfaction and no comfort. His heart still clattered in his chest at the sudden images that Maximillian had thrust into his sleeping brain, not allowing him more than a chance to cover his loins and go to his beloved.
There was that word again.
Why does it have to continue to plague me?
Why?
His lower lip plumped up between his
teeth. Chewing it unmercifully, he considered why his heart wanted to use such a word. Beloved. It seemed to suit the swirling emotions Magnus evoked in him, but that was not to say he liked them very much. He thrust his head back so his dark, inky hair cascaded down his back. He cursed Manannán for giving him the gift of a beloved.
“How am I supposed to rule, be King when my betrothed is a man?”
He ignored the clenching inside his chest when no answer came. It had been the same every time of asking. He hesitated, realising too late he was standing in the middle of the dim passageway talking to himself. He shook his head in despair and stormed towards the stairwell. His gaze travelled down, knowing it led to Magnus. He paused for a moment, fists balling, his neck heated with guilt as he made his feet move in the other direction.
Needing air, he pushed the roughened wood door open. He gulped in the soft, salty air as he inhaled, hoping it would ease the ache that seemed to grow with each step he took away from where his heart wanted to go. He panted, feeling sweat bead on his forehead. Pushing back his dark hair, he willed the sudden compelling urge to turn around and go back away. Gripping the cold stone wall, he forced himself to breathe through the need, letting the sounds of the gulls and rushing waves distract him.
There was no sun to brighten the greying sky that blended with the murky sea as it swirled and rolled over the rocks. The horizon spread before him. The clouds did not allow him to see the Scottish mountains that would hopefully soon be his.
He understood why his father had picked this spot to build, to protect his land from invasion. They had fought many battles here, and there would be many more to come before he could rightfully claim what was his. His anger seethed, boiling through his veins, wanting justice for what his brother had stolen from him.