warning not for young readers: all disclaimers apply Story Code M/b
Castle In The Fog Story I
by dirge
dirge@operamail.com
Close your eyes. Imagine. In the distance between squinted lashes and sun and trees and rain. Beyond the hills and waters. And beyond that line on the horizon that is just a spit of silver in the evening and morning. There it is, at first a shadow in the hazy dawn, the fog creeping around, causing the firmament to shift and move out of phase, out of understanding.
It becomes more distinct now, the gray pillars rising silent like smoke, but something more sturdy, a tree, no a rock, stone. It is a mammoth structure. I'm telling you this now because I have walked its halls and perused its rooms and libraries. At first I did not understand to what extent the castle reached, but as I spend more time charting and mapping the endless maze of corridors, antechambers, courtyards, theaters, bathrooms and ballrooms I think a pattern may be emerging. Not yet, not today. Perhaps tomorrow, or a year or ten years. Hopeless, maybe, I remain confidant that I will find that doorway to the outside.
...
Let me remember what I was before I came into the fog. Its hard to think back, I've read countless books and at times it seems that my life blends with those of the characters. Before this place, I was stockbroker in Chicago, there on Windy Avenue on the eighth floor. I thought for a time I was a sailor, a great Viking warrior, it turns out I was only a stockbroker. I had a family, I don't remember my wife or the gender of my children, I had four I think. I lived in a big house in the suburbs and carpooled to work everyday. I had friends, they were shallow and drank too much. My wife, her name started with an A, drank with them. She was lovers with my friends and I didn't fuck her much. I had a dog, "My real pal." I would joke. His name was Butch and he was a great hound who accompanied me on hunts into the wood. Or am I fading again?
When I walked into the mist I was lost, I was on the phone selling ten thousand shares of Xerox. Then it was quiet and I was standing on a shore, the ocean lapping around my ankles. The fog was thick, I could touch it, feel its wetness on my palms and cheeks. I remember holding out my hand trying to grip the inconsistency of this elusive matter. "Walk inward." I heard a voice say, It came from my head, a silent thought. I hadn't heard a silent thought since I was a boy.
I walked forward for a ways- losing the sea to its creatures, the waves softened and composed like music behind me, and I knew I was traveling at the speed of light. I was standing in a field of green, the fog still dense so it was more like standing on a round patch of grass with no bearing in either direction. I walked more, hours or days I could not tell. The sun, I assumed, was to my left, because it was a brighter splotch in the haze. But I did not walk toward the light, that was not the way I wanted to go.
When I came to the wall I stopped and looked up, it vanished like a vertical plane into the cloud. I sat and rested, then walked along the base, then rested, and walked again. About the time one starts singing to themselves because they are walking too much I heard the trample, clop, rhythmic patter of horses on soft ground. I tried to blend into my solid barrier hoping they would pass me by, they did not. They slowed staying far enough back so that they were dancing figures in whiteness. The horses breath rose in the air, but it was not cold. I heard talking among the shadow riders, a language that was not familiar to me in any fashion.
"Who walks by the wall?" I heard a voice project toward me.
"What, who-."
"Who are you, what do you want?" The rider shouted.
"I don't know, I was lost in the fog, I was by the sea."
"No man is ever lost when he is in the fog. The fog always leads to the wall." I was puzzled, but replied,
"How do I get over?"
My question was followed by a fit of laughter and they rode upon me striking me with unseen weapons, and looking into my eyes and I theirs- before I passed out.
Maybe this is why I thought I was a Viking warrior. After a great battle, bruised and cut. Feeling the pain with every breath. Was it a battle at sea or on land, were we victorious. My men, how many of my men were lost? More darkness.
I awoke in a bed that was not my own. Deep soft down that I sank into like rocks in water. It was warm and I felt drugged. There was a fire burning heating the air in a vicinity, but the room itself was chilly. My eyes creaked open and light flashed from a frosted window of colored glass. The ceiling was covered in tapestries, they were old, depicting a woman, naked, lying on a field of grass running her hands over the back of a strong man, also naked. He was at her feet, and at his feet was his hound.
"Oh, you be woken."
The face of plump old woman suddenly appeared.
"Yes," I whispered. My voice was parched.
"Don't move, you took a bad one to the head."
I moved and suddenly regretted disobeying her order. I felt my body naked under the covers.
"Also ya be as naked a babe."
My hands roamed over what felt like well defined muscles, though I had never been a muscular man I was obviously shaped.
"I'll send a servant into bathe you, and I suppose I can find something to make you modest. What was your name sir?"
My mind was reeling with all the new surroundings I was taking in. I uttered "I don't know." At this she laughed hysterically.
"Yes you are a male alright, not even knowing his own name."
I rolled over so I did not have to look at her. She rang a bell and said there would be a servant up in a moment, then left.
Is there a point in existence where one life or dimension molds with another? How can someone open his eyes and realize that the world he knew is not the world that is. I was lost, flowing with the current of events.
There was a knock at the door and I turned to see a lad enter carrying a bucket of steaming water and a bundle of garments.
"I've come to bathe and dress you Sir." I looked at him blankly as if his words were spoken in a foreign tongue.
"Sir." He pulled the covers away from my body and the cool air shocked me. "Don't worry Sir, the water is hot."
He was an elegant child, not more than twelve, beautiful really. I could not keep my eyes from his face. More beautiful than any woman I had ever seen. His hair was dark brown bordering on black but the light hit it and I could detect the chestnut highlights. His skin was light and his full lips a deep pink as were his cheeks. His eyes like his hair were dark almost no whites. He had soft features. The molded features of a child, like blown glass, subtle.
He bent down and dipped a sponge in the steaming water, at this point I fully realized my nakedness and moved to cover my self with my hand. He smiled showing white even teeth and a tad of pink tongue, moving my hand back he began washing my legs. I relaxed and watched his movements as he caressed my lower body with the warm scented water. He was wearing a light tunic and knitted leggings, perhaps doe skin. No I thought, fawn skin. So soft. He smiled at me, reading my mind--I will never know. He dipped to refresh his sponge and started on my chest. I smiled. I felt my penis beginning to thicken from his pure beauty and ministrations. With out thought, or concern my hand reached up and touched the boys chest, flat hand covering his front upon his breast. I felt his heat, his heart, his life force beat like a drum through my arm and into my temples. My eyes closed and my hand fell. I was weak. He stopped leaned forward I felt his face close to mine. He breathed onto my mouth and I could taste him. His scent, sweet like honeyed wine, warm and wet. I opened my eyes and he was gone. The room was empty, I was dressed. The fire was dying. Light from the window was dimmer and I heard music from somewhere.
...
I opened the door made of strong oak, it was solid and heavy and swung on brass hinges that squeaked as I peered into the stone hall. I had been dressed in a short robe and light leggings of that same fawn skin the boy had worn, they were soft and fine, they moved across my limbs like silk.
The music persisted, as I ventured down the corridor toward a light. It seemed like the plucking of strings with the shallow tune of a flute, I could here slight laughter and chatting as I proceeded, the kind of whisper and private conversation one hears at a dinner party. The great rock walls began to merge with marble, deep and green, cracked with gold and ruby. Tapestries and paintings were etched into the surface, I could make out a hunt, the hounds were drawn like birds flocking around the legs of the horses, as their riders pointed to a game animal in the distance.
About this time a couple passed me, They were drunk I think, and the woman was naked. A man groped her on every part as they went by, not even noticing I was stunned by their intimacy. She was lovely, her hair long and gold, she wore a chain about her waist that tauntingly disappeared between her legs. More people emerged from up ahead, a man, short and old with a white beard and glossy. He was portly and looked of some class. Smiling as he passed, said, "The wine is chilled tonight and plenty of it."
At the end of the corridor a sight beheld me that to this day takes away my breath with its sheer immensity. Before me was a giant hall, huge in its construction, pillars of marble about each entrance supported a domed ceiling like a gothic church. Upon this sky of masonry was painted in the likes of Michelangelo a red sunset with crows flying from a dead and black tree as if scared by a rustling in the bush. This for some unknown reason chilled me to the bone. But there was too much for me to contemplate.
The chamber was filled with people of all colors ages and gender, sitting on cushions and couches and by tables. Some where dancing, some where smoking what looked like pipes, others slept passed out from partaking too generously of the contents of huge wooden vats, in which wine was being poured by servants. If you can imagine the flowing of fabric of all colors and the sight of skin and the smell of rich smoke and grapes, mixed exotically with the music. That is what I saw.
I walked slowly around the outer ledge by the great pillars gawking at everything. I didn't even notice when I bumped into a chubby woman.
"My lord," she exclaimed "You're awake at last." she was the camber maid who had attended me in my room. "Welcome to the wing of Duke Astar."
"Who?" I mumbled.
"Ah, ya still be confused. My good lad, tonight is the Festival of Nights."
"What? I'm confused." I said, "I need to get back home, I have a family. I might be lost." She took a gulp of wine from a goblet.
"My lord you are not lost, you are in the care of the good duke."
"How did I get here?"
"You came through the wall."
"There was a sea, and a pasture and riders." I was confused and scared.
"Yes." she exclaimed. "There is always that. Riders? You were lucky. Sometimes the riders will take them and then there is no hope. The riders get them by the sea and they just can't run fast enough."
"No, the riders were by the wall." I said, " I tried to hide against the it." The old woman's rosy cheeks turned pale.
"You don't know what you say." she spat. "The riders cannot come this close to the wall."
"I swear to you madam, they were by the wall, I could not run, the wall was in my way!"
She dropped her goblet, the red contents spilling on the smooth floor. "This is grave, you must speak with the duke and tell him everything!"
I was lost in her mumbling as she led me into the midst of the gathering. Where was I? The past was slipping into the fog that lay on the outer most walls of this structure. We passed the most erotic sights of merry making. Men and women were writhing on the floor in drunken and breathless passion. I saw a group of strong young men enjoying the pleasures of their bodies. They would kiss and suck and probe on every orifice imaginable. I saw women doing like wise, old men with young ladies and old ladies with men in their prime. Amazing to my eyes I was becoming slightly aroused.
One man, huge, with the muscles of an ox and a slim waste was naked. Upon his lap and impaled by his member was a blond boy no older then fourteen years of age, His face was contorted in pleasure, I would have said pain but it was pleasure. The warrior occupied him with gentle thrusts. This was awesome as we hurried by. The sight of a young, slight in every aspect, sensual in every move, joining with the hardened chiseled muscles of a man this size was spellbinding. I wanted to stay and see this through to their climax. Would the great man spill his seed deep into his young lover? Would he lift the boy like a sip of wine to his mouth and drink deep of his body? Would they leave this hall together and find a room for the night. Or were they just mutual companions for this short period of drunken inhibition? Would the youngster wonder off and find another partner, perhaps a young female, or go play swords in the great passageways with friends, or go home to sleep off his intoxication? This I would never know because I was pulled by the woman into the sea of people and song.
The chamber maid new her way, there was a pattern to the chaos in that a maze of walkways was left open so that travel from one social area to another was possible, at least to those who were familiar with the workings of this celebration. Inside the festival there seemed to be different levels of noise. As we traveled for a good fifteen minutes the gay atmosphere softened. We came out of the fabulous colors of clothing and naked flesh into a space of benches occupied by men in robes of deep green and many folds, they leaned close to one another and spoke to the ear. My guide slowed as we arrived to them, almost showing a sign of respect by bowing her head as we passed.
I see could ahead now as these goers were seated and calm, they were sober and watched as we went. In the center of the hall was a raised area in the floor, steps covered in fabric and furs. Candles burned in this portion of the hall, not the flaming torches. Their wax was scented, there flame deep orange that cast a light upon the faces and deep shadows where luminance could not reach. Upon the top of the steps among blankets and pillows was a man, by his side were women in fine dresses.
"The duke." Whispered the woman. She let go my hand and bowed at the base. "Lord," He did not seem to notice her when she spoke. One of his girls walked down to her, they exchanged short words. She came back to where I was standing. "I have requested his attention. Sit we will wait until he speaks to us." It looked as if the duke was not concerned when he would get to us. We sat and the drone about us continued.
"What is the Festival of Night?" I asked, wanting to know more about the strange world I had entered. This seemed like a good time to gather some information.
"It is a wonderful event." The woman said. "You do not know where you are, I know this. None of the outsiders know where they are. This will pass in time.
"Pass in time?" I hissed. She hushed me with a finger to my lips. Some of the green robes looked our way. "Pass in time?" I repeated.
"Yes, listen to me now, I am doing you this favor because you have information about the riders." She leaned closer. "You have forgotten your last life, all that is left is a vague feeling of something important. I urge you strongly to forget it all. It is over."
"How can I forget, I need to go back?"
"No, many come and waste away trying to find an exit, There is none. Important is this, this is your life now, you will have a new name and in time you will find a new purpose. Most must learn this lesson on their own."
I was quite for a bit, my name. I tried to think, to sift through the muddled numbness that was my memory. What was my name? I could not recall.
"Your name is no longer there so don't look." she stated. "That's what you were doing, was it not? Trying to find your name?"
"Yes." I said. "I don't remember." She chuckled.
"Give your self a name, do it now."
"How do I do that?" I asked.
"Some go to a Namer. I don't recommend it. They will charge you for looking in a book and picking one. Think for a second and a name will come to you, say it to me as soon as it does."
I asked, "Is it that easy?"
"Many things in life are easy, most just do not do them." She placed her hand on my shoulder. I closed my eyes and looked into my mind. I felt her fingers squeeze.
"Sebastian." I said.
"Good name young man, Is that it? She questioned.
I shut my eyes tighter and delved deeper into an empty spot that was at one time filled with my past. One image came to my head, one of the coast and a grand ship in sparkling water. From somewhere I heard the voice of my youth, the voice that had told me throughout my life to go forward, yet I did not. It was the same voice that told me to walk into the fog.
There was a story I once heard, about the Vikings.
'And when they die, it is a sad and happy time. Sad that they are gone from the group, their days of making love and singing and drinking mead are over, their skills will no longer save lives or fashion weapons or ships. It is sad that the spirit is gone. But it is happy because the Viking is an honorable warrior and he will return to the sea which gave all the earth life. He will sail at sunset upon his pyre of fire and horse and maid, into the bleeding sky. Valhalla awaits him in the morning. This is his new life and he lets go of the past as his ashes become the surf.'
"Sebastian of the Sea." I looked at her, she smiled.
"That is fine young man. Sebastian of the Sea." She tried it on her lips.
"How old am I?" I asked. I felt old, I thought I was an older man when I came through the fog.
"I cannot be sure." she rubbed her hands over my back and neck. "You cannot be older than your Seventeenth year."
"That's impossible."
"Nothing is impossible, physically you are a youth, but passing through the wall has many affects. I'm sure you are much older in your head. Don't let it bother you, time passes in odd ways here, I do not understand how it all works."
"The wall affects those who pass through, why?" I was still without answers.
"Don't question what nobody knows. I'll tell you this. Before the Festival of Night of the last quarter a girl had passed through. I did not see her with my own eyes, for she was in another wing. But a close friend of mine whom I trust with my life said that upon her back were the wings of a raven. That is how the wall changes some."
I leaned against a pillow after that and did not look at her anymore. I let the all consuming atmosphere surround me. I was not dreaming, or perhaps I was dreaming before and had just awaken. For good or worse reality was sinking in, I was realizing that this was where I was and nothing was going to change. My eyes were heavy; the smoke and the chatter hypnotized me.
I woke to the sound of steel against stone and the old woman shakings. All about the pedestal of the duke were soldiers in arms.
"What's happening?" I asked.
"The war counsel. They have returned, tonight we will find out how the talks go in the halls of Cor Asleff."
"The talks?" I questioned.
"Shhh, and listen." She put a hand over my mouth, I pushed it down.
The green robes were all standing as a soldier in fine sliver metal climbed the steps about half way toward the duke. He stopped and turned, looking out over the audience. Upon his chest was that same dead tree with a crow flying off, similar to the mosaic ceiling. This I surmised must be the crest of the duke.
The soldier was old, not weak, but ageing. Beneath his helm could be seen locks of gray hair and upon is face were the gray hairs of a few days beard.
"That is Captain Luc of the Ravens Harp, He is commander of the duke's forces."
The captain spoke in a deep voice when he addressed the duke, I could tell that he was also speaking to the green robes. "My lord duke, I have returned from the halls of Cor Asleff. I will not beg my efforts lord, the talks adjourned four days ago and no compromise was reached in the trade economics with that particular piece of rock. I lack to articulate the foreboding I feel, and to inform that within a fortnight we will be at war in Cor Asleff." He was quite after this, all eyes on the duke.
"Damn them Luc, I will give them war." Shouted the duke.
"Lord I pray to you, no more fighting."
The duke shot the soldier a cold glance. Said. "War." He pointed at the green robes. "You know what to do." I heard a bustling as the greens exited leaving a gaping entry. "Luc, arm your men and march. I want representation in the Halls of Peace."
"Yes lord." And the soldier was gone his guard behind him. The duke paced back and forth upon his perch. At that time I wanted to leave, get back to that feather filled bed.
"What is it woman." He shouted
"Lord," bowed the service woman. "I have brought a newcomer, he claims he was assaulted by the riders upon our very gate."
"What say you?" asked the duke. He was looking at me, my mouth was dry.
"Yes, lo-lord." I got the word stuck on my tongue. "The riders beat me, I was at the wall and could find no way in." The duke was silent for a time, he paced among his women.
"Have him see a wizard, I have no time for these matters." With that the duke sat and I heard him shout for some music.
"That is all?" I asked the maid.
"Yes, I will arrange for a wizard to stop by your room."
She turned to leave, "Find your way back, until then enjoy the festival." She was gone in a rush of passersby. I was alone again in a strange place.
I sat at the foot of the duke, thinking about the emptiness in my head, the singers were grand and I watched three girls in silk sing in a tumbling language, when they were done I thought I might try to find my way back, I was beginning to leave when I heard the flute. The most beautiful dance of sound I'd ever heard, I could not see who was playing so I stayed on, and like the woman said time was passing with the flow of the music, I felt drunk. I looked through the crowd of those leaving glimpsed the minstrel. He was my bath boy. Sitting in the same fawn tunic, legs crossed on a bench he played, his full lips dancing over the wooden instrument like soft kisses. His hair was highlighted in the flames of torches, his skin golden and orange like the fire. Then he stopped, I wanted him to continue. And he sang.
try not to look at the sunrise and the creatures that are no longer free because they all came from the ocean and they've lost their way to the sea
I asked the sailor for his stories and he lifted my up to his knee son you don't want to know about the sailors you can take it from me
Some say they've talked to the mermaids well their lien' to you this day because I've talked to the sea folk and they ain't got nothing to say
Then he began to play his flute again, and I slept the sleep of the drunk, when my eyes rolled open the great hall was quiet and dark, everyone was gone.
"Its ok, I stayed until you woke." It was the boy, he was sitting the same way on the bench as I had last seen him.
"You put me to sleep."
"I'm sorry,"
"How long?"
"I don't know, awhile."
"Where is everyone?" I asked.
"Left, to their rooms. Do you know where your room is?"
"No.." I rubbed my head. He was by my side helping me up.
"I'll take you it." He whispered.
We walked across the empty chamber, each step echoing against the distance walls. It was dark and the boy's arm was around my waist. I felt my dizzy and my head hurt. I let my hand drop to his shoulder. We walked through familiar territory, through the long hall I had already passed, to the large oak door with its steel brace. A fire was burning in my room, he shut the door behind us.
"You should sleep." he said.
"I can't." I replied. "Where do you stay?" He was silent walking around looking at the paintings.
"I have a cot in the servant quarters."
I was very attracted to this youth, I remembered what I'd seen before, the man in boy mating as lovers.
"Would you stay with me awhile?" I asked. He turned, his soft features so beautiful in the fire, his eyes were wild. "Yes, I'll stay for a time." He sat next to me on the bed, I put my hand on his neck.
"May I touch you?" His small tongue licked his lips,
"Yes." He sighed.
My penis was hard now and poking up from my tunic, I didn't care. My hand glided over his cheek, my finger brushed his lower lip and his nose and his eyes. They fluttered shut, he laid back in the deep feathers. I leaned over and inhaled the scent of his abdomen, like the forest and berries. I pushed inside his tunic and felt his bare navel, soft and muscular. I pushed open his shirt revealing a pale white torso. I watched the long intake of breath and as he parted his lips, his young chest and small erect nipples. I massaged his skin, both hands running down his rib cage to his slight hips; there I stopped, and kissed that place right above his pants. He made the next move, with small fingers he rubbed his crotch through the light fabric, he undid the string that cinched them around his waist. Again My hands roamed over his shoulders, under his arms across his chest contouring his frame that morphed to sinewy legs, but I did not stop. My hands moved lower along with his soft clothing, across his pubic mound, down to the side of each buttock, to his knees which I kissed, to his feet which I kissed. He rolled over on the bed and I saw his perfect ass, firm from climbing and running and whatever this lad did, pale like the rest of him, but soft because he was a boy.
I looked at him in the dancing shadow of the fire, the erotic creature that consumed the philosophers and artists through the ages. The soft body that is neither man nor woman, unexplainable, because he his a man but more erotic than a woman. His lust is that of a man, his kiss and smell like a woman, his cries like an angle.
I rubbed his back, each muscle I found lined a hollow bone, like the birds. I kissed him a thousand times and he whimpered with pleasure.
"uhn...mhhmm...huu..."
Breath in breath out.
I turned him over, he was hard like me, with out hair, and with another sort of lust, eroticism. He was sizable I assumed, for a boy his age and the way his prick throbbed, bobbing with each beat of his heart, I could tell he was ready for anything I would do to him. I kissed his forehead, his nose his lips which parted and I felt his tongue against mine for an instant, then I moved to his chin and chest and bellybutton, and his cock, which found its way into my mouth. And I sucked once and he screamed, he bucked, his hands were in my hair and I was sucking hard and fast. His legs wrapped around my shoulders and I lifted him into the air, one hand on his butt and one on his back. He puffed his chest with air and let it go in little gasps. Joints and muscles tightened hard like steel as he shook, as if freezing. He moaned once, loud and long, and made a noise in the back of his throat. And then he was soft, and his head fell back and I was still holding him with my strong arms, and his childish legs fell down from around my back and I was still sucking on his dick. He was still in the air when his arms went limp and I suckled him like a vampire on an apple of blood.
What a time an artist would have painting this portrait of man and boy engaged in this most sacred dance. What the poet would say with words that rhymed. I laid him down and brought the covers up over us and he slept. I watched him and touched him for hours before eventually giving in to the blackness. In this world with out limits, or laws where man takes boy and time passes with music.
...
I'm lost now with my story telling, the world I found my way into is strange indeed. It is a blur of the next few weeks, months, years? I don't know. The boy and I made love on other occasions. I found his name to be Kiel, he was a servant or a slave, he was a free spirit when not performing his duties and finding himself in my room. As much as I would love to describe more of Kiel I must move on in my narration; there are other things that will come of the most sexual nature.
To Be Continued...