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Saturday, July 31, 2004
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DARKSIDE: The United States of Anarchy; "The Mystic Woods."
[Version Control: Original.]
[Disclaimer: This text is intended for adult audiences, if you
aren't of age to view it, be somewhere else. This series of
stories explores the darker aspects of the human experience, if
that might offend you, then you were warned, and it isn't my
problem. -- KTM]
Anything can happen in the Multiverse. Even a world that
is much like ours, but which somehow... isn't. A world that is a
magnet for the blackness in the dreams and souls of humankind. A
world known as: The Darkside.
The World's economic system depends on a delicate
interlocking system of mutual trust and financial debt. When
those bonds shattered, the governments and monetary institutions
crumbled. Even the most idealistic civil servants left their
jobs when their families were gripped with hunger. The Survivors
of the Chaos would come to call their nation the United States of
Anarchy.
Chapter 18. "The Mystic Woods." -- by KTM.
Gary Miller drummed his hands on the steering wheel of
the big truck. The Captain of the Knights of the Open Road
Society (USAN #12) stayed at a Keep as seldom as possible these
days. There were several hundred full members of the Society
now, and thousands of aspiring members. There was paperwork that
had to be done, but he could do it anywhere. His rig was fully
wired to the net.
Motown's greatest hits boomed in his speakers, and the tunes
made the early springtime miles speed by. The old man dozing in
the seat beside him snored softly. He had a decently trimmed
beard, and his graying hair was pulled back in a strict ponytail
under a battered Yankee's cap. Gary had been going his way; to
the south end of the Great Smoky Mountains, so he'd brought him
along. The guy was company on a lonely stretch of road, and he
was quiet. Not like some hitchers he'd had. There was sort of a
creepy air to him, though.
The K.O.R.S. had assimilated the Keep/Lord structure over
the Winter. Those who caused trouble for members or their
missions were forcibly reorganized by the Empire. It hadn't
taken many incidents like that before the rest of the Keeps
negotiated to prevent the Emperor from doing the same to them.
The terms were simple; their monopoly was over. They had to
abide to a code of conduct, and welcome any traveler with full
service, providing their money was good. Nowadays, any Keep
without a K.O.R.S. endorsement didn't get many visitors, and they
were dying out.
Gary heard a noise from his passenger. Looking over, the
older man was in the grip of a dream. Closed eyes rolled under
his lids, and his fingers twitched and clenched. He muttered too
softly to be understood. When he snapped his green eyes open and
lurched forward with a start, Gary jumped, too.
"Let me out here," the old man said. "This is my stop."
Gary began to slow the big truck. "We're in the middle of
nowhere," he said reasonably. "The last town was two miles back,
and I could have spit across it."
The Yankees fan shook his head. "I know someone who lives
out here, and I have to visit them." He gave a half-grimace when
he said it.
The truck pulled over, and Gary stuck his hand out. "Well,
good luck, old timer. Hope you enjoy your visit."
A bitter humor showed in the bright green eyes. "I probably
will." He clasped Gary's hand, and reached for the door. With
one foot on the running board, he hesitated, and turned back.
There was a look of pity in his verdant gaze. "Good luck to you,
Mr. Miller. I have a feeling you're going to need it." With
that he jumped to the ground.
In the rearview, Gary watched the man named Rodger walk
away. Head down, and hands thrust in the pockets of his long
bulky coat. He strode back along the road, and then suddenly
turned directly between the low trees growing along the verge,
and was gone. Gary shook off the dread feeling that had come
with the man's premonition. He pulled away, putting it out of
his mind.
Thirty miles down the road, dusk was starting to swab the
sky in bold colors when Gary's radar pinged. There was an
obstacle in the road ahead of him. Slowing, he remembered the
warning, and switched on his weapon systems. Over the space of
perhaps fifty yards, the paved highway aged visibly. It turned
to cracked asphalt, graded gravel, rutted dirt and then to rock
strewn grass.
The G.P.S. said it was a four-lane interstate that ran clear
to the Atlantic shore. His maps agreed, but the ancient trees
outside his windows silently refuted those facts. What he could
see was the road petering off to a stand of old growth hardwoods
covered in Spanish moss.
To one side was a space between two standing stones at the
edge of the trees. They seemed wide enough to pull the truck
through, and the clearance above them seemed sufficient. He
didn't want to leave the truck out in the open like this, so he
eased her through the gloom, and concealed his rig in a small
grassy clearing, well to the side of where his instruments
insisted was a perfectly good road.
That night, he slept in the cab. He left his windows
cracked open and his vents wide to let in the sweet scents and
sounds of the woods. Early the next morning he went to check his
back trail. The opening in the trees was gone, the stones
vanished. When he pushed his way through where he'd remembered
pulling in, there was no road to be found.
While always keeping his rig in sight, Gary worked his way
around the edge of the clearing, thinking that maybe he'd gotten
turned around. Still no road. He scratched his head, and
climbed into the cab to get breakfast. The dash caught his
attention. The clock blinked at 11:59p.m. His watch was frozen
at the same time. None of his electrical equipment seemed to be
working, including his micro-zapper.
He had no cargo that was pending to be delivered. With his
stash of personal stuff he kept for trade, he had some camping
supplies. It was a good opportunity for a camp out, he supposed.
The weather was nicer than he'd seen in ages, and the clearing
was fresh and unspoiled.
Across the clearing was a large rock, and from a dark crack
poured a rivulet of clear water. The liquid danced over the
stone and trickled into a particularly lush clump of furry moss
and cattails. He filled a couple of gallon jugs, and carried
them over to the truck. His water test kit was chemical based,
and it showed the water to be exceptionally pure. Now, for a
fire.
Gary opened the storage compartment. He hesitated briefly,
and bypassed the large Kerosene stove, and the smaller Sterno
heater. Instead he grabbed a sturdy pointed shovel. There was
plenty of deadfall, and he wanted to cook with wood smoke.
Several yards from the truck was a spot where the grass grew
sparsely. As he put the blade at the center of the barish spot,
the whole clearing hushed. All the background noise he'd been
tuning out; wind, birds, and insects, just went silent. He
looked from side to side, puzzled, but started digging a pit for
a fire.
He made it three feet wide and two deep. The larger stones
he'd levered out of the ground were set in a ring around the pit.
For five feet around the hole he dragged the shovel, denuding the
rocky soil of any stray weeds. He put a mound of the scraped
dirt up against the rock ring, as picked free of grass as he
could manage. The sounds of the clearing gradually returned as
he worked. Putting the shovel away, and bringing out a medium
sized axe prompted another abrupt hushing, one that was slower to
recover.
He was starting to feel... watched. Wherever he turned in
the clearing, it seemed eyes bored into his back, but there was
never anything to see when he checked. He leaned the axe against
the dirt mound, and started gathering fallen branches, and a
section of rotten tree truck lying on the clearing's edge. Once
he'd gathered a supply of deadwood, he used the axe to break it
up into manageable pieces. The wood was mostly dry, so it was
easy work.
Gary built up a small fire with the results of his work,
lighting it with matches. A cast-iron tripod grill provided a
platform to brew some coffee, and to boil water to cook oatmeal
in. Maple syrup and margarine flavored the oats, and the
exercise made his appetite sharp.
As he cleared the dishes with moist grass and water, he
turned to the indistinct sound of laughter. Still nothing.
Moistening the dirt around the rocks, Gary made sure his truck
was buttoned up, and left the fire to burn to coals. Using all
the woodcraft his father had taught him, he searched the forest
around the clearing.
Gary gained nothing for his troubles but a bruise and some
scratches. The laughter grew louder. When he made it back to
the fire pit, his dry wood pile seemed larger, and a small pile
of fresh fruit and nuts had been left on the mound, balanced in a
hunk of tree bark. The cleared dirt appeared to be swept, but
just as the grass began, Gary spied a single distinct print, of a
cloven hoof.
He'd gotten the bruise when he'd slipped near the bole of a
hoary old oak. He made his way back to it, and climbed up the
mossy trunk. The bole forked, and forked again. At twice his
height from the ground, the branches were still thicker than his
thigh. At three times his height, he saw a glittering patch
among the trees. Peering closer, he made out a pool with women
around it.
Climbing down, he kept his directions as straight as he
could as he made for the pool. He could hear the muted roar of a
small waterfall as he approached, and that helped guide his way.
Feminine voices and laughter became clearer, but turned to
silence as he reached the edge of the grove. Below was a short,
feathery waterfall, and a deep clear pool.
Near the water, by the large mossy rocks and grassy banks,
were people. Very strange people, who stared at him as much as
he stared at them. The women were all beautiful, with long wild
hair of blue or green with flowers intertwined. The males were
something else. A few were like the women, handsome as a rule,
with braided beards that matched their odd colored hair. The
majority of the males possessed animal qualities. One or two
long maned fellows had the bodies of slender horses merged at
their hips. The rest were horned and goat legged. Everyone had
pointed ears.
Gary sat down heavily. Naiads and Dryads. Centaurs and
Satyrs. He must be feverish. "Somebody, pinch me," he muttered.
The 'hallucinations' looked at each other, confused.
He jumped when something tweaked his side from behind. A
half-grown girl with yellow streaked green hair ran giggling
away. She was tackled in the moss by two young fauns, who
proceeded to show her how much they liked her joke. Gary looked
away, blushing. They looked too young to be doing... Well, maybe
not. Who was he to judge?
Hesitantly, a tawny flanked faun with a thin orange beard
and ginger hair approached him. Muscles quivering on the verge
of instant flight, he placed a crude jug on the bank near Gary.
Then he scampered away. Over by his fellows, they clapped his
shoulders as if he had bearded a lion.
"Drink," said a large male with dark green hair. His beard
was so dark it was almost black. He had a long reddish mark on
his bare chest, and other marks on his arms. "Drink and be
welcome, for our Mother has brought you to her special place."
Absently, the speaker rubbed the fading mark on his hairless
chest.
He had to be dreaming, Gary thought. He lifted the jug to
his nose, and caught the scent of fruit and alcohol. Shrugging,
he tasted it. It was a strong wine, made of blackberries,
definitely fortified; sweet and fiery. He drank deeply, then had
to stop to gasp at its burn. He asked the fellow, "Where is this
place? The road is gone."
"We are cradled to the Mother's bosom," the green haired
elder answered. "It's a secret place of life and magic held dear
to Her. She curls around Her children to protect them from harm,
and guards us well."
The sadness of the eyes on Gary left him no doubt as to who
represented the harm. Their gentle condemnation reminded him of
the reaction in the clearing to his axe. "Where did you get
those marks?" he asked.
"They came from your boots, as you climbed my tree's bole,"
the elder said sadly. "Can't you see the moss and grass you are
crushing beneath them? I must insist that you shed your man's
clothes and bathe here. Try to walk lightly on our Mother."
Gary shook his head. "I don't think so."
"Take them off yourself, young friend," the elder said,
stroking his beard, "or they will 'help' you do so." He gestured
to one side. Gary saw several pretty nymphs with flowers in
their hair, which was the extent of their garb.
They giggled, "As you say, Lord Druan."
Gary took a step back, and tripped over a dark shaggy leg.
He landed on his back, and was suddenly mobbed to the sound of
laughter. Buttons popped and seams ripped as playful hands tore
at his clothing. "All right!" he shouted. Just as suddenly,
they withdrew.
His shirt was a rag, and his zipper was open. His bootlaces
were mostly loose, but also hopelessly knotted. As he stood, his
waist snap gave way. Gracelessly his pants fell to his ankles,
revealing his Cannabis leaf printed boxers. Several of the
younglings snickered.
He glared at the elder, who suppressed a smile. Cursing,
Gary kicked off his pants and undressed down to his underwear and
socks. "Good enough?" he said tersely. The Druan elder shook
his head. Gary remembered other dreams like this... it was a
dream, right? "Fine!" he snapped, and finished the job. "Now
what?"
"Enter the pool, brother, and walk through the waterfall,"
the Druan said.
Gary waded into the pool, turning to see his erstwhile
clothing-nappers carry his stuff into the trees. "Hey!" he said.
"They are placing your garb near your metal beast," the
Druan said. "Now you must go."
Shivering, Gary waded naked through the cool water, feeling
his skin prickle. An odd feeling seeped into him as he
approached the feathery spray. He felt energized, and very
alive. This moment was possessed by a profound feeling of
rightness.
Reaching up through the mist, he felt the rocky ledge above
him that the water poured over. Ducking, he pushed through the
water curtain, into a small stone chamber. It was humid but dry,
with the walls and floor lushly covered with moss. Central
before the entrance was a natural caldera, raised up from the
rocks. In the bowl was a green-glowing liquid, frothy with
bubbles.
From the rocks around him and in his very bones he heard a
soft woman's voice. "Drink, my son." The stuff smelled
intensely good to him, so he cupped his hands into it and took
several long drinks. He could feel it race through him, setting
his nerves on fire. "Good," the voice said, "you will have the
stamina now for your night's endeavors."
Abruptly, the green liquid drained away through the stone.
It was dark in here, now, so he pushed back through the waterfall
to the pool. Feeling dizzy, he slogged to the bank, noticing
that evening was well under way. Wasn't it noon, just now?
All the strange people were gone, except one roan centaur.
The horseman chuckled as Gary staggered. "Talking to HER will do
that to you." The red-haired Beast stepped closer, his fore-
hooves just in the lapping water. A strong hand with a thick
wrist reached out to Gary, and tossed him easily up on the warm
equine back. "Hold on," the roan said, and he started a trot to
the trees.
Gary grabbed for his muscular waist, looking with wonder at
the mane of auburn hair flowing down the center of the upright
human back. The two quickly glided through the trees in the
dimness, and approached a blazing bonfire. Beyond it, the truck,
his steel steed, gleamed in the fire's glow. His clothes made a
more or less neat pile on the hood.
All Gary noticed right now was the smell of the food and
drink. His belly grumbled audibly. He half fell from the
centaur's back. It wasn't really cold, but he felt... vulnerable
without his clothes. The oak crowned Druan smiled a welcome, and
handed him a long cloth like the one he wore. The trucker looked
at it helplessly, and gave a longing glance at his blue jeans. A
dryad nearby took the fabric from him, and wrapped it around him
in a way he didn't follow to make a toga. Gary wondered what
drunken frat party he was passed out in. It had to be a dream.
"Have something to eat, Gary," the elder said. "You'll need
your strength."
"How do you know my name?" Gary said. Friendly laughter
answered him.
"No one comes to this place without HER knowledge," Oak
crowned said. "SHE brought you to visit us, and told us about
you. So, enjoy! The night has just begun."
Gary felt starved. He drank bowls of an excellent vegetable
soup without a spoon. Then he devoured the tender flesh of
broiled rabbits and small birds from the bone washed down with
red wine. The hot juices dripped down his chin but he didn't
care. Next was a bowl of small boiled eggs, diced with cheese,
olives, tiny tubers and baked nuts. It tasted starchy but
delicious, and the dark ale they offered him with it set it off
perfectly.
Dessert was unleavened cakes of nut bread drizzled with
honey and sprinkled with sugared flower petals. The drink
accompanying the cakes was tiny cups of a very strong blackberry
brandy. At long last he sighed, content. That hit the spot.
Stuffed, he leaned back against a tree and gazed at the fire.
The tongues of flame danced hypnotically. Fixedly, he stared
through them.
A shadow passed before the fire, and he blinked, looking up.
There was music around him. Several of the older fauns, satyrs
really, blew their syrinx pipes to a sprightly tune. It ran
counterpoint with the deeper tones of the ram's horns the
centaurs were playing. Dryads played chimes, or the sticks,
while their male kin played drums. The water maidens played
small harps, and the nymphs, they danced.
Naked limbs flashed, as the nymphs twirled and leaped around
the fire to the pounding of the music. His heart began to pound
in time, and his groin throbbed suddenly. Over the wild song, he
heard moans. At the edge of a mossy rock, a dryad lay with her
legs spread wide, accepting a young centaur's cock between them.
The chestnut's member was as long as Gary's forearm, and he
plunged it in and out of her with a stallion's zeal.
Tree brothers grappled close with their sister dryads.
Young fauns and older satyrs coupled with whatever would stand
still for it, including each other. Gary found himself standing,
his penis rigid under the white cloth. The nymphs stopped
orbiting the fire, and began to dance around him. Their smiling
eyes held on him, as their fingers trailed over his half bare
chest. The toga was teasingly pulled from him, and he was bare.
Nakedness didn't bother him, now. He reached out for the
nymphs, and one came into his arms, sweet and willing. Before he
realized how, he was lying atop her, fucking her like another
dawn would never come. Groaning, he soon came in her, and looked
up into another nymph's pleading eyes. "Please," she said. "Me,
too!"
The one beneath him giggled and pushed him off with
surprising strength. She ran off, as was promptly pinned by a
canny old satyr with long gnarled horns. Gary was still so hard
it ached; his urge to come just as strong. A soft hand wrapped
around his meat, and he was urged onto his back. He was engulfed
before his head even touched the ground.
Thrusting, touching, squeezing. A sweet kiss, and he'd
explode! This was repeated many times for an endless while, as
the fey girls changed places over him, chatting among each other.
Only the color of the hair and eyes of the nymph above him seemed
to change.
When he had a chance, he rolled over and finished with the
raven haired nymph atop him. Scrambling to his feet, he moved to
the other side of the fire. He'd had his fill of nymph
conversations. They were as empty headed as California blondes.
The Naiad and Dryad musicians were still trying to play for
the sake of the mood, until he arrived. They were as receptive
to him... in every sense of the word... as the nymphs. He
fancied he could feel himself growing horns and shaggy haunches.
Gary felt as inexhaustible as a faun.
The tree women and water maidens welcomed his embrace.
Sometimes it was just after they had accepted another swain, or
sometimes they found another after he was done. In the dimness
behind his truck, the fire was blocked by the massive wheels.
Gary was playing the sweet game one more time. He saw the green
glow from his eyes reflected back up at him from the gaze of an
Oread with crystal earrings, just before he orgasmed.
Startled, he finished with her, and climbed up on the
truck's cold fender to look at himself in the mirror. His brown
eyes glowed with the same green light as the liquid that he'd
drunk. The same color green as the old hitchhiker, and they
glowed in the dark.
At that mundane memory, most of his urges left him, but his
cock didn't soften much. Gary wandered back to the fire,
absently fending off the clutching of female hands. He had to
threaten an indiscriminately randy faun with a punch in the nose.
He sat down and scrounged some left overs that didn't look too
nasty. He added wood to the fire, and looked around.
The sounds and sighs of the sexual madness were fading.
Those with less stamina were curled up out of the way to sleep.
Even those who continued did so at a leisurely pace. The party
was winding down, it seemed. Even the birds sounded sleepy, but
Gary wasn't. He felt on edge, like he was waiting for something.
When the birds went abruptly silent, the Druan elder called
out to those still awake. "Quickly now, Gaea comes!" Sweet
rushes and soft moss were brought and built into a nest-like bed
in the middle of the clearing, to one side of the fire. A
covering of flowers completed it.
The tense anticipation gripped more than just Gary, by the
expressions of those around him. Then SHE appeared.
The woman stepped from between the trees, or rather, the
trees bent out of her way. She looked wholly human, unlike
anyone else except Gary. Her hair was hazel nut brown, and her
eyes were as blue as the sea. Her skin was like polished ivory,
and her dress was a zephyr's dream.
She wasn't young, but neither was she old. Middle aged, the
ravages of time showed plainly on her. Her gray streaked hair
seemed brittle and raggedly cut. There were flecks of cloudy mud
in her azure eyes, and fissures of wrinkles in her once fine
skin. The whispering clarity of her diaphanous dress showed
hints of stain.
Even so, Gary was glad of the flaws, indeed, he was grateful
for them. She was so beautiful, so exquisite even still, that
were it not for the imperfections he would not be able to bear to
look at her. He felt that on the day he saw her young and whole
he would surely die.
Trembling, he stared at her. Stately, she glided to the
flower-strewn nest. The bobbing flowers turned to rub against
her legs like friendly cats. Her toes (those toes!) were hidden
in the carpet of blossoms when she turned to face him. Poised,
elegant as a Grecian statue, she held her hand out to Gary.
Without thought he crossed the distance between them and
laid his hand in hers. That invitation was beyond denial. In
his bones he knew other men, in other ages, had thought her to be
the Great Goddess, Aphrodite, Venus, or the Holy Virgin, but his
heart knew Her as 'Nature', Mother to all.
Her hand (that hand!) was warm and soft, and little tingles
flowed from the warmth to his hand. Her scent was birth and
decay, beginnings and endings, and of womanhood. His male member
came to throbbing life again, and he shuddered violently.
"Softly, My son," she murmured, and her voice was the same
he had heard in the waterfall cave. "Be not afraid. You are
safe with Me, I swear it." Her hand rose to caress his stubbled
cheek. His trembling eased as his fear melted, but his awe
remained. He could not speak. He could only stare at her in
wonder. "That's better," she said, and smiled. Gary grinned
back at Her, foolishly.
"I have a boon to ask of you," she continued. His eyes made
it back up to her face. "Will you grace Me with your seed, as
you have with the youngest of My daughters?" Her delicate hand
swept out to gesture around them, at the quiet watchers of their
tableau.
"Me, Lady?" Gary stammered. "I'm... I'm just a trucker.
I'm no one special. Surely you could do better than me."
"Ah, but you think too harshly of yourself," she said.
"Does not your great steed proclaim you a Knight Captain,
commander of thousands?" His mouth worked silently, it wasn't
like that... She spoke again. "You have gallantly quested to
succor the hungry, and shed blood to rescue one of my favorite
mortal daughters, the healer. You are brave, generous, and kind
to the poor. Do not doubt your worth to Me. Your humility is
but another sign of it. This must be your choice. Will you lay
with Me?"
She gave him a look that was All Woman, with no Great Mother
in it. He panted with his need. Emboldened, he stepped closer
to her, and leaned down to kiss her. Her lips were sweetest
honey, with just a hint of corruption. He understood, without
being told, that her flaws were the fault of mankind harming the
planet, and every harm was reflected in her. Her arms rose to
circle his neck, and still locked in a kiss, they sank into the
flowers.
Where before he performed the night's couplings with an
animalistic, faun-like intensity, with the Lady he was gentle and
chivalric. Perhaps at this moment he believed himself to be what
she named him. He entered her body with the utmost care, and
only her raking nails inspired him to speed his thrusts. He felt
she was as fragile as an invalid, but she wanted to fuck like a
wanton. He worked to find a balance; striving to please her, but
carefully.
Her need blazed in her eyes, and he answered it. Not for
his pleasure, but for hers, he began to pound her mercilessly.
He drove his cock as far into her as he could, holding back his
orgasm until he heard her scream, and felt her spasm around him.
Crying out himself he let go, firing his seed deep within
her, before he fell sobbing to her bosom. Her fingers caressed
him softly now, soothing away the welts they had given him. She
bent to kiss his head in a benison, and he looked up at her with
an expression as guileless as a child.
"Did I please you?" he asked, anxious.
"You pleased me very well," she said, and her smile melted
his heart. "Lay beside me now, and listen. I have words to say
to you. Some are for you, fortunate son, and some are meant for
others." Chagrined, he lifted himself off her, slipping his
softening penis reluctantly from her warm depths. Laying by her
side, his hand familiarly tracing circles on her generous hip, he
listened.
She told him he could deliver his first message if he would
travel a certain road, at a certain time, tomorrow. He would be
given a pendant that was for the man he would find there. He
would also say these words... Gary nodded, storing them away,
not even thinking to ask how he would leave this enchanted place.
"Next, you will tell your Emperor that I am pleased with
some of what he has done. He wants to restore the land, but his
works so far have scarcely touched the surface of My wounds.
Tell him for his dreams to come true, he needs Me, and needs Me
healthy. You will give him a sign of My power and essence, a
crystal spire set in a wooden bowl. Let him contemplate that,
and plan what more he can do to restore Me.
"I care not whether it is the Dark or the Light that heals
Me. I encompass both, and I always have. A tyrant's yoke would
please Me as much as a king's blessing, so long as I am healed.
He rules the land, but I am the land, and we can aid each
other."
She leaned forward to nuzzle him, again. "As for you, sweet
knight, know that life stirs in many wombs tonight, because of
you." Her hand moved to cover her belly. "Including mine."
"Yours?" He gaped at her. Gaea was bearing his child?
"In part," she said. "You provided some of his makeup, and
the living spark. His soul, if you will. He will be my agent in
the mortal world, a bridge between this place and your world."
"A son," Gary whispered, smiling. He yawned suddenly.
"Hush now," she said softly, "you are weary and need to
rest. I will sing to you, and lull you to your dreams." He
didn't know the language she sang in, but the tune was sweet, and
soon he slept.
The calls of birds woke him. The dawn shone through the
trees, and the sky had a glow to it. He still lay in the nest,
but he was alone. Gary was covered by the length of cloth that
made his toga, as a blanket. The fire was cold and dead, but he
was warm enough without it. Besides the pit were several bowls
and mugs.
A clay bowl held small boiled eggs. A thin stone bowl held
cold honeyed porridge. A bowl that looked like hollowed jade
held flakes of smoked fish. A small wicker plate held two wheat
rolls and a nut cake. One of the flasks was full of frothy,
pungent milk. Another contained more of the dark beer. Five
sealed clay jugs looked to hold more of that blackberry brandy.
He was hungry, so he ate all the food offered, only leaving
the brandy jugs untouched. Those he packed inside his truck. He
hesitated between leaving the dishes and taking them, but they
were all marked with an oak leaf. The goods he'd gotten from
Eagle, Colorado were marked the same way, he mused. They were
for him to take, he decided. Gary gave a bow to the trees, and
stowed them as well.
The mirror showed his eyes were brown again, but now they
had green flecks. On the hood of his silver truck, lay his
clothes. The ripped shirt was gone, and in its place was a new
shirt of green, heavily embroidered with vines and leaves. He
dressed, and looked at what else was there.
He touched a pair of golden spurs shaped like climbing
roses, designed to fit his boots. A stocky statuette of a
silvery wood was carved to suggest a muscular draft horse. He
smiled, feeling that it represented a tribute to his truck/mount.
A sheathed crystal sword was formed into a long leaf shape, and
when he pulled it partway out, it was carved with roses. Lastly
was a set of polished syrinx pipes. Gary wondered if he could
learn to play 'Skye Boat Song' on them.
On the other side of the hood, were the other gifts that
were mentioned. The polished wooded bowl was simply formed, and
set with a crystal spire it its center. The other was a jeweled
pendant on a golden chain depicting a woman's eye. The iris was
worked out in amethyst, and the arched brow was ruby and jasper.
The skin around the eyed showed with smoky topaz chips, and
flakes of tiger eye for shadow. He thought it was beautiful.
Steadily, he packed it all away, then poured water on the
dead fire, and used his shovel to fill in the pit and erase as
much of his marks as he could. He was unsurprised to see the
standing stones behind his rig, again. Ignoring his fluctuating
instruments, he backed out between them. Then he watched as the
menhir faded, and with them the trees that cut off the road.
Like a mist burning off under the sun, the glamour faded, leaving
only the open highway.
He drove to the next Keep, and gazed curiously at a posse of
men forming. "What's up?" he said.
"Hey, Captain Miller," the Constable said. "We're after
some old pervert who raped three generations of women of this one
family living in the backwoods. You got time to help us?"
"No, sorry," Gary said. He had to hurry.
On the road She had mentioned, and at the time She'd said,
Gary spotted a figure walking along the highway. Same big old
baggy coat, and battered blue ball cap. The figure walked with
his hands thrust deep into pockets, and his shoulders slumped
with weariness. It was Rodger.
The old man's hand came out, thumb extended as he kept
walking. Gary pulled over for him. The Wanderer climbed heavily
inside without looking at him, but froze in the act of swinging
the door shut. He looked at Gary with an expression of fear.
Gary leaned past Rodger to shut the passenger door. "It's
cool, man," he said, and gave him a warm smile. They drove for a
while in silence. Gary could feel Rodger's tension. Well, no
time like the present. "SHE gave me a message for you," Gary
said. The old man cringed against his door as if from a leper.
He scrabbled for the door handle, willing to risk a jump.
"Here," the trucker said, quickly. He grabbed the pendant off
his dash and dangled it between them.
Trembling, Rodger reached out and took it. He looked into
the dusky skin, the violet eye under the red brow. The woman who
matched it was as distinctive in appearance as he himself was.
"She says your time is nearly done," Gary said. The old man
gasped, his face turning pale. "No, not like... I mean, she said
that you have served her well. She's nearly ready to forgive
your sin against her, and to release you. When you find the girl
that matches that, she will deliver you: save you. The
compulsion will fade because you will have found your perfect
match. You'll be free."
"I haven't been free since your grandfather was a pup,
probably," Rodger growled. "How can I believe HER? Or you?"
"Because she promised me it was true," Gary said. "She used
me too, I guess, but only for one night."
"Lucky you," the old man said dryly. "I've been held in her
grasp for decades."
"She said the end of your bondage was in sight," Gary said.
"Duck." Rodger hunkered down, and Gary waved idly to the patrol
car streaking past the truck. "You keep that, and when you find
her, you'll be home." Gary politely ignored the choked sobs that
came from beside him, as Rodger's shaking hands settle the chain
around his neck.
"So, old timer," Gary said when Rodger calmed. "Where are
you bound today?"
Rodger closed his eyes, and was silent for a long time.
"West," he said.
"West it is," Gary said, and he turned left at the first
turn off.
To be Continued...
Mar, 2000- Darkside: United States of Anarchy, Part 18 of 20.
Series Continues in Darkside: Imperial States of America.
Archive: "://./pub/Authors/WorldoftheDarkside",
Or "/~WorldoftheDarkside & "greyarchive".
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[Version Control: Original.]
[Disclaimer: This text is intended for adult audiences, if you
aren't of age to view it, be somewhere else. This series of
stories explores the darker aspects of the human experience, if
that might offend you, then you were warned, and it isn't my
problem. -- KTM]
Anything can happen in the Multiverse. Even a world that
is much like ours, but which somehow... isn't. A world that is a
magnet for the blackness in the dreams and souls of humankind. A
world known as: The Darkside.
The World's economic system depends on a delicate
interlocking system of mutual trust and financial debt. When
those bonds shattered, the governments and monetary institutions
crumbled. Even the most idealistic civil servants left their
jobs when their families were gripped with hunger. The Survivors
of the Chaos would come to call their nation the United States of
Anarchy.
Chapter 18. "The Mystic Woods." -- by KTM.
Gary Miller drummed his hands on the steering wheel of
the big truck. The Captain of the Knights of the Open Road
Society (USAN #12) stayed at a Keep as seldom as possible these
days. There were several hundred full members of the Society
now, and thousands of aspiring members. There was paperwork that
had to be done, but he could do it anywhere. His rig was fully
wired to the net.
Motown's greatest hits boomed in his speakers, and the tunes
made the early springtime miles speed by. The old man dozing in
the seat beside him snored softly. He had a decently trimmed
beard, and his graying hair was pulled back in a strict ponytail
under a battered Yankee's cap. Gary had been going his way; to
the south end of the Great Smoky Mountains, so he'd brought him
along. The guy was company on a lonely stretch of road, and he
was quiet. Not like some hitchers he'd had. There was sort of a
creepy air to him, though.
The K.O.R.S. had assimilated the Keep/Lord structure over
the Winter. Those who caused trouble for members or their
missions were forcibly reorganized by the Empire. It hadn't
taken many incidents like that before the rest of the Keeps
negotiated to prevent the Emperor from doing the same to them.
The terms were simple; their monopoly was over. They had to
abide to a code of conduct, and welcome any traveler with full
service, providing their money was good. Nowadays, any Keep
without a K.O.R.S. endorsement didn't get many visitors, and they
were dying out.
Gary heard a noise from his passenger. Looking over, the
older man was in the grip of a dream. Closed eyes rolled under
his lids, and his fingers twitched and clenched. He muttered too
softly to be understood. When he snapped his green eyes open and
lurched forward with a start, Gary jumped, too.
"Let me out here," the old man said. "This is my stop."
Gary began to slow the big truck. "We're in the middle of
nowhere," he said reasonably. "The last town was two miles back,
and I could have spit across it."
The Yankees fan shook his head. "I know someone who lives
out here, and I have to visit them." He gave a half-grimace when
he said it.
The truck pulled over, and Gary stuck his hand out. "Well,
good luck, old timer. Hope you enjoy your visit."
A bitter humor showed in the bright green eyes. "I probably
will." He clasped Gary's hand, and reached for the door. With
one foot on the running board, he hesitated, and turned back.
There was a look of pity in his verdant gaze. "Good luck to you,
Mr. Miller. I have a feeling you're going to need it." With
that he jumped to the ground.
In the rearview, Gary watched the man named Rodger walk
away. Head down, and hands thrust in the pockets of his long
bulky coat. He strode back along the road, and then suddenly
turned directly between the low trees growing along the verge,
and was gone. Gary shook off the dread feeling that had come
with the man's premonition. He pulled away, putting it out of
his mind.
Thirty miles down the road, dusk was starting to swab the
sky in bold colors when Gary's radar pinged. There was an
obstacle in the road ahead of him. Slowing, he remembered the
warning, and switched on his weapon systems. Over the space of
perhaps fifty yards, the paved highway aged visibly. It turned
to cracked asphalt, graded gravel, rutted dirt and then to rock
strewn grass.
The G.P.S. said it was a four-lane interstate that ran clear
to the Atlantic shore. His maps agreed, but the ancient trees
outside his windows silently refuted those facts. What he could
see was the road petering off to a stand of old growth hardwoods
covered in Spanish moss.
To one side was a space between two standing stones at the
edge of the trees. They seemed wide enough to pull the truck
through, and the clearance above them seemed sufficient. He
didn't want to leave the truck out in the open like this, so he
eased her through the gloom, and concealed his rig in a small
grassy clearing, well to the side of where his instruments
insisted was a perfectly good road.
That night, he slept in the cab. He left his windows
cracked open and his vents wide to let in the sweet scents and
sounds of the woods. Early the next morning he went to check his
back trail. The opening in the trees was gone, the stones
vanished. When he pushed his way through where he'd remembered
pulling in, there was no road to be found.
While always keeping his rig in sight, Gary worked his way
around the edge of the clearing, thinking that maybe he'd gotten
turned around. Still no road. He scratched his head, and
climbed into the cab to get breakfast. The dash caught his
attention. The clock blinked at 11:59p.m. His watch was frozen
at the same time. None of his electrical equipment seemed to be
working, including his micro-zapper.
He had no cargo that was pending to be delivered. With his
stash of personal stuff he kept for trade, he had some camping
supplies. It was a good opportunity for a camp out, he supposed.
The weather was nicer than he'd seen in ages, and the clearing
was fresh and unspoiled.
Across the clearing was a large rock, and from a dark crack
poured a rivulet of clear water. The liquid danced over the
stone and trickled into a particularly lush clump of furry moss
and cattails. He filled a couple of gallon jugs, and carried
them over to the truck. His water test kit was chemical based,
and it showed the water to be exceptionally pure. Now, for a
fire.
Gary opened the storage compartment. He hesitated briefly,
and bypassed the large Kerosene stove, and the smaller Sterno
heater. Instead he grabbed a sturdy pointed shovel. There was
plenty of deadfall, and he wanted to cook with wood smoke.
Several yards from the truck was a spot where the grass grew
sparsely. As he put the blade at the center of the barish spot,
the whole clearing hushed. All the background noise he'd been
tuning out; wind, birds, and insects, just went silent. He
looked from side to side, puzzled, but started digging a pit for
a fire.
He made it three feet wide and two deep. The larger stones
he'd levered out of the ground were set in a ring around the pit.
For five feet around the hole he dragged the shovel, denuding the
rocky soil of any stray weeds. He put a mound of the scraped
dirt up against the rock ring, as picked free of grass as he
could manage. The sounds of the clearing gradually returned as
he worked. Putting the shovel away, and bringing out a medium
sized axe prompted another abrupt hushing, one that was slower to
recover.
He was starting to feel... watched. Wherever he turned in
the clearing, it seemed eyes bored into his back, but there was
never anything to see when he checked. He leaned the axe against
the dirt mound, and started gathering fallen branches, and a
section of rotten tree truck lying on the clearing's edge. Once
he'd gathered a supply of deadwood, he used the axe to break it
up into manageable pieces. The wood was mostly dry, so it was
easy work.
Gary built up a small fire with the results of his work,
lighting it with matches. A cast-iron tripod grill provided a
platform to brew some coffee, and to boil water to cook oatmeal
in. Maple syrup and margarine flavored the oats, and the
exercise made his appetite sharp.
As he cleared the dishes with moist grass and water, he
turned to the indistinct sound of laughter. Still nothing.
Moistening the dirt around the rocks, Gary made sure his truck
was buttoned up, and left the fire to burn to coals. Using all
the woodcraft his father had taught him, he searched the forest
around the clearing.
Gary gained nothing for his troubles but a bruise and some
scratches. The laughter grew louder. When he made it back to
the fire pit, his dry wood pile seemed larger, and a small pile
of fresh fruit and nuts had been left on the mound, balanced in a
hunk of tree bark. The cleared dirt appeared to be swept, but
just as the grass began, Gary spied a single distinct print, of a
cloven hoof.
He'd gotten the bruise when he'd slipped near the bole of a
hoary old oak. He made his way back to it, and climbed up the
mossy trunk. The bole forked, and forked again. At twice his
height from the ground, the branches were still thicker than his
thigh. At three times his height, he saw a glittering patch
among the trees. Peering closer, he made out a pool with women
around it.
Climbing down, he kept his directions as straight as he
could as he made for the pool. He could hear the muted roar of a
small waterfall as he approached, and that helped guide his way.
Feminine voices and laughter became clearer, but turned to
silence as he reached the edge of the grove. Below was a short,
feathery waterfall, and a deep clear pool.
Near the water, by the large mossy rocks and grassy banks,
were people. Very strange people, who stared at him as much as
he stared at them. The women were all beautiful, with long wild
hair of blue or green with flowers intertwined. The males were
something else. A few were like the women, handsome as a rule,
with braided beards that matched their odd colored hair. The
majority of the males possessed animal qualities. One or two
long maned fellows had the bodies of slender horses merged at
their hips. The rest were horned and goat legged. Everyone had
pointed ears.
Gary sat down heavily. Naiads and Dryads. Centaurs and
Satyrs. He must be feverish. "Somebody, pinch me," he muttered.
The 'hallucinations' looked at each other, confused.
He jumped when something tweaked his side from behind. A
half-grown girl with yellow streaked green hair ran giggling
away. She was tackled in the moss by two young fauns, who
proceeded to show her how much they liked her joke. Gary looked
away, blushing. They looked too young to be doing... Well, maybe
not. Who was he to judge?
Hesitantly, a tawny flanked faun with a thin orange beard
and ginger hair approached him. Muscles quivering on the verge
of instant flight, he placed a crude jug on the bank near Gary.
Then he scampered away. Over by his fellows, they clapped his
shoulders as if he had bearded a lion.
"Drink," said a large male with dark green hair. His beard
was so dark it was almost black. He had a long reddish mark on
his bare chest, and other marks on his arms. "Drink and be
welcome, for our Mother has brought you to her special place."
Absently, the speaker rubbed the fading mark on his hairless
chest.
He had to be dreaming, Gary thought. He lifted the jug to
his nose, and caught the scent of fruit and alcohol. Shrugging,
he tasted it. It was a strong wine, made of blackberries,
definitely fortified; sweet and fiery. He drank deeply, then had
to stop to gasp at its burn. He asked the fellow, "Where is this
place? The road is gone."
"We are cradled to the Mother's bosom," the green haired
elder answered. "It's a secret place of life and magic held dear
to Her. She curls around Her children to protect them from harm,
and guards us well."
The sadness of the eyes on Gary left him no doubt as to who
represented the harm. Their gentle condemnation reminded him of
the reaction in the clearing to his axe. "Where did you get
those marks?" he asked.
"They came from your boots, as you climbed my tree's bole,"
the elder said sadly. "Can't you see the moss and grass you are
crushing beneath them? I must insist that you shed your man's
clothes and bathe here. Try to walk lightly on our Mother."
Gary shook his head. "I don't think so."
"Take them off yourself, young friend," the elder said,
stroking his beard, "or they will 'help' you do so." He gestured
to one side. Gary saw several pretty nymphs with flowers in
their hair, which was the extent of their garb.
They giggled, "As you say, Lord Druan."
Gary took a step back, and tripped over a dark shaggy leg.
He landed on his back, and was suddenly mobbed to the sound of
laughter. Buttons popped and seams ripped as playful hands tore
at his clothing. "All right!" he shouted. Just as suddenly,
they withdrew.
His shirt was a rag, and his zipper was open. His bootlaces
were mostly loose, but also hopelessly knotted. As he stood, his
waist snap gave way. Gracelessly his pants fell to his ankles,
revealing his Cannabis leaf printed boxers. Several of the
younglings snickered.
He glared at the elder, who suppressed a smile. Cursing,
Gary kicked off his pants and undressed down to his underwear and
socks. "Good enough?" he said tersely. The Druan elder shook
his head. Gary remembered other dreams like this... it was a
dream, right? "Fine!" he snapped, and finished the job. "Now
what?"
"Enter the pool, brother, and walk through the waterfall,"
the Druan said.
Gary waded into the pool, turning to see his erstwhile
clothing-nappers carry his stuff into the trees. "Hey!" he said.
"They are placing your garb near your metal beast," the
Druan said. "Now you must go."
Shivering, Gary waded naked through the cool water, feeling
his skin prickle. An odd feeling seeped into him as he
approached the feathery spray. He felt energized, and very
alive. This moment was possessed by a profound feeling of
rightness.
Reaching up through the mist, he felt the rocky ledge above
him that the water poured over. Ducking, he pushed through the
water curtain, into a small stone chamber. It was humid but dry,
with the walls and floor lushly covered with moss. Central
before the entrance was a natural caldera, raised up from the
rocks. In the bowl was a green-glowing liquid, frothy with
bubbles.
From the rocks around him and in his very bones he heard a
soft woman's voice. "Drink, my son." The stuff smelled
intensely good to him, so he cupped his hands into it and took
several long drinks. He could feel it race through him, setting
his nerves on fire. "Good," the voice said, "you will have the
stamina now for your night's endeavors."
Abruptly, the green liquid drained away through the stone.
It was dark in here, now, so he pushed back through the waterfall
to the pool. Feeling dizzy, he slogged to the bank, noticing
that evening was well under way. Wasn't it noon, just now?
All the strange people were gone, except one roan centaur.
The horseman chuckled as Gary staggered. "Talking to HER will do
that to you." The red-haired Beast stepped closer, his fore-
hooves just in the lapping water. A strong hand with a thick
wrist reached out to Gary, and tossed him easily up on the warm
equine back. "Hold on," the roan said, and he started a trot to
the trees.
Gary grabbed for his muscular waist, looking with wonder at
the mane of auburn hair flowing down the center of the upright
human back. The two quickly glided through the trees in the
dimness, and approached a blazing bonfire. Beyond it, the truck,
his steel steed, gleamed in the fire's glow. His clothes made a
more or less neat pile on the hood.
All Gary noticed right now was the smell of the food and
drink. His belly grumbled audibly. He half fell from the
centaur's back. It wasn't really cold, but he felt... vulnerable
without his clothes. The oak crowned Druan smiled a welcome, and
handed him a long cloth like the one he wore. The trucker looked
at it helplessly, and gave a longing glance at his blue jeans. A
dryad nearby took the fabric from him, and wrapped it around him
in a way he didn't follow to make a toga. Gary wondered what
drunken frat party he was passed out in. It had to be a dream.
"Have something to eat, Gary," the elder said. "You'll need
your strength."
"How do you know my name?" Gary said. Friendly laughter
answered him.
"No one comes to this place without HER knowledge," Oak
crowned said. "SHE brought you to visit us, and told us about
you. So, enjoy! The night has just begun."
Gary felt starved. He drank bowls of an excellent vegetable
soup without a spoon. Then he devoured the tender flesh of
broiled rabbits and small birds from the bone washed down with
red wine. The hot juices dripped down his chin but he didn't
care. Next was a bowl of small boiled eggs, diced with cheese,
olives, tiny tubers and baked nuts. It tasted starchy but
delicious, and the dark ale they offered him with it set it off
perfectly.
Dessert was unleavened cakes of nut bread drizzled with
honey and sprinkled with sugared flower petals. The drink
accompanying the cakes was tiny cups of a very strong blackberry
brandy. At long last he sighed, content. That hit the spot.
Stuffed, he leaned back against a tree and gazed at the fire.
The tongues of flame danced hypnotically. Fixedly, he stared
through them.
A shadow passed before the fire, and he blinked, looking up.
There was music around him. Several of the older fauns, satyrs
really, blew their syrinx pipes to a sprightly tune. It ran
counterpoint with the deeper tones of the ram's horns the
centaurs were playing. Dryads played chimes, or the sticks,
while their male kin played drums. The water maidens played
small harps, and the nymphs, they danced.
Naked limbs flashed, as the nymphs twirled and leaped around
the fire to the pounding of the music. His heart began to pound
in time, and his groin throbbed suddenly. Over the wild song, he
heard moans. At the edge of a mossy rock, a dryad lay with her
legs spread wide, accepting a young centaur's cock between them.
The chestnut's member was as long as Gary's forearm, and he
plunged it in and out of her with a stallion's zeal.
Tree brothers grappled close with their sister dryads.
Young fauns and older satyrs coupled with whatever would stand
still for it, including each other. Gary found himself standing,
his penis rigid under the white cloth. The nymphs stopped
orbiting the fire, and began to dance around him. Their smiling
eyes held on him, as their fingers trailed over his half bare
chest. The toga was teasingly pulled from him, and he was bare.
Nakedness didn't bother him, now. He reached out for the
nymphs, and one came into his arms, sweet and willing. Before he
realized how, he was lying atop her, fucking her like another
dawn would never come. Groaning, he soon came in her, and looked
up into another nymph's pleading eyes. "Please," she said. "Me,
too!"
The one beneath him giggled and pushed him off with
surprising strength. She ran off, as was promptly pinned by a
canny old satyr with long gnarled horns. Gary was still so hard
it ached; his urge to come just as strong. A soft hand wrapped
around his meat, and he was urged onto his back. He was engulfed
before his head even touched the ground.
Thrusting, touching, squeezing. A sweet kiss, and he'd
explode! This was repeated many times for an endless while, as
the fey girls changed places over him, chatting among each other.
Only the color of the hair and eyes of the nymph above him seemed
to change.
When he had a chance, he rolled over and finished with the
raven haired nymph atop him. Scrambling to his feet, he moved to
the other side of the fire. He'd had his fill of nymph
conversations. They were as empty headed as California blondes.
The Naiad and Dryad musicians were still trying to play for
the sake of the mood, until he arrived. They were as receptive
to him... in every sense of the word... as the nymphs. He
fancied he could feel himself growing horns and shaggy haunches.
Gary felt as inexhaustible as a faun.
The tree women and water maidens welcomed his embrace.
Sometimes it was just after they had accepted another swain, or
sometimes they found another after he was done. In the dimness
behind his truck, the fire was blocked by the massive wheels.
Gary was playing the sweet game one more time. He saw the green
glow from his eyes reflected back up at him from the gaze of an
Oread with crystal earrings, just before he orgasmed.
Startled, he finished with her, and climbed up on the
truck's cold fender to look at himself in the mirror. His brown
eyes glowed with the same green light as the liquid that he'd
drunk. The same color green as the old hitchhiker, and they
glowed in the dark.
At that mundane memory, most of his urges left him, but his
cock didn't soften much. Gary wandered back to the fire,
absently fending off the clutching of female hands. He had to
threaten an indiscriminately randy faun with a punch in the nose.
He sat down and scrounged some left overs that didn't look too
nasty. He added wood to the fire, and looked around.
The sounds and sighs of the sexual madness were fading.
Those with less stamina were curled up out of the way to sleep.
Even those who continued did so at a leisurely pace. The party
was winding down, it seemed. Even the birds sounded sleepy, but
Gary wasn't. He felt on edge, like he was waiting for something.
When the birds went abruptly silent, the Druan elder called
out to those still awake. "Quickly now, Gaea comes!" Sweet
rushes and soft moss were brought and built into a nest-like bed
in the middle of the clearing, to one side of the fire. A
covering of flowers completed it.
The tense anticipation gripped more than just Gary, by the
expressions of those around him. Then SHE appeared.
The woman stepped from between the trees, or rather, the
trees bent out of her way. She looked wholly human, unlike
anyone else except Gary. Her hair was hazel nut brown, and her
eyes were as blue as the sea. Her skin was like polished ivory,
and her dress was a zephyr's dream.
She wasn't young, but neither was she old. Middle aged, the
ravages of time showed plainly on her. Her gray streaked hair
seemed brittle and raggedly cut. There were flecks of cloudy mud
in her azure eyes, and fissures of wrinkles in her once fine
skin. The whispering clarity of her diaphanous dress showed
hints of stain.
Even so, Gary was glad of the flaws, indeed, he was grateful
for them. She was so beautiful, so exquisite even still, that
were it not for the imperfections he would not be able to bear to
look at her. He felt that on the day he saw her young and whole
he would surely die.
Trembling, he stared at her. Stately, she glided to the
flower-strewn nest. The bobbing flowers turned to rub against
her legs like friendly cats. Her toes (those toes!) were hidden
in the carpet of blossoms when she turned to face him. Poised,
elegant as a Grecian statue, she held her hand out to Gary.
Without thought he crossed the distance between them and
laid his hand in hers. That invitation was beyond denial. In
his bones he knew other men, in other ages, had thought her to be
the Great Goddess, Aphrodite, Venus, or the Holy Virgin, but his
heart knew Her as 'Nature', Mother to all.
Her hand (that hand!) was warm and soft, and little tingles
flowed from the warmth to his hand. Her scent was birth and
decay, beginnings and endings, and of womanhood. His male member
came to throbbing life again, and he shuddered violently.
"Softly, My son," she murmured, and her voice was the same
he had heard in the waterfall cave. "Be not afraid. You are
safe with Me, I swear it." Her hand rose to caress his stubbled
cheek. His trembling eased as his fear melted, but his awe
remained. He could not speak. He could only stare at her in
wonder. "That's better," she said, and smiled. Gary grinned
back at Her, foolishly.
"I have a boon to ask of you," she continued. His eyes made
it back up to her face. "Will you grace Me with your seed, as
you have with the youngest of My daughters?" Her delicate hand
swept out to gesture around them, at the quiet watchers of their
tableau.
"Me, Lady?" Gary stammered. "I'm... I'm just a trucker.
I'm no one special. Surely you could do better than me."
"Ah, but you think too harshly of yourself," she said.
"Does not your great steed proclaim you a Knight Captain,
commander of thousands?" His mouth worked silently, it wasn't
like that... She spoke again. "You have gallantly quested to
succor the hungry, and shed blood to rescue one of my favorite
mortal daughters, the healer. You are brave, generous, and kind
to the poor. Do not doubt your worth to Me. Your humility is
but another sign of it. This must be your choice. Will you lay
with Me?"
She gave him a look that was All Woman, with no Great Mother
in it. He panted with his need. Emboldened, he stepped closer
to her, and leaned down to kiss her. Her lips were sweetest
honey, with just a hint of corruption. He understood, without
being told, that her flaws were the fault of mankind harming the
planet, and every harm was reflected in her. Her arms rose to
circle his neck, and still locked in a kiss, they sank into the
flowers.
Where before he performed the night's couplings with an
animalistic, faun-like intensity, with the Lady he was gentle and
chivalric. Perhaps at this moment he believed himself to be what
she named him. He entered her body with the utmost care, and
only her raking nails inspired him to speed his thrusts. He felt
she was as fragile as an invalid, but she wanted to fuck like a
wanton. He worked to find a balance; striving to please her, but
carefully.
Her need blazed in her eyes, and he answered it. Not for
his pleasure, but for hers, he began to pound her mercilessly.
He drove his cock as far into her as he could, holding back his
orgasm until he heard her scream, and felt her spasm around him.
Crying out himself he let go, firing his seed deep within
her, before he fell sobbing to her bosom. Her fingers caressed
him softly now, soothing away the welts they had given him. She
bent to kiss his head in a benison, and he looked up at her with
an expression as guileless as a child.
"Did I please you?" he asked, anxious.
"You pleased me very well," she said, and her smile melted
his heart. "Lay beside me now, and listen. I have words to say
to you. Some are for you, fortunate son, and some are meant for
others." Chagrined, he lifted himself off her, slipping his
softening penis reluctantly from her warm depths. Laying by her
side, his hand familiarly tracing circles on her generous hip, he
listened.
She told him he could deliver his first message if he would
travel a certain road, at a certain time, tomorrow. He would be
given a pendant that was for the man he would find there. He
would also say these words... Gary nodded, storing them away,
not even thinking to ask how he would leave this enchanted place.
"Next, you will tell your Emperor that I am pleased with
some of what he has done. He wants to restore the land, but his
works so far have scarcely touched the surface of My wounds.
Tell him for his dreams to come true, he needs Me, and needs Me
healthy. You will give him a sign of My power and essence, a
crystal spire set in a wooden bowl. Let him contemplate that,
and plan what more he can do to restore Me.
"I care not whether it is the Dark or the Light that heals
Me. I encompass both, and I always have. A tyrant's yoke would
please Me as much as a king's blessing, so long as I am healed.
He rules the land, but I am the land, and we can aid each
other."
She leaned forward to nuzzle him, again. "As for you, sweet
knight, know that life stirs in many wombs tonight, because of
you." Her hand moved to cover her belly. "Including mine."
"Yours?" He gaped at her. Gaea was bearing his child?
"In part," she said. "You provided some of his makeup, and
the living spark. His soul, if you will. He will be my agent in
the mortal world, a bridge between this place and your world."
"A son," Gary whispered, smiling. He yawned suddenly.
"Hush now," she said softly, "you are weary and need to
rest. I will sing to you, and lull you to your dreams." He
didn't know the language she sang in, but the tune was sweet, and
soon he slept.
The calls of birds woke him. The dawn shone through the
trees, and the sky had a glow to it. He still lay in the nest,
but he was alone. Gary was covered by the length of cloth that
made his toga, as a blanket. The fire was cold and dead, but he
was warm enough without it. Besides the pit were several bowls
and mugs.
A clay bowl held small boiled eggs. A thin stone bowl held
cold honeyed porridge. A bowl that looked like hollowed jade
held flakes of smoked fish. A small wicker plate held two wheat
rolls and a nut cake. One of the flasks was full of frothy,
pungent milk. Another contained more of the dark beer. Five
sealed clay jugs looked to hold more of that blackberry brandy.
He was hungry, so he ate all the food offered, only leaving
the brandy jugs untouched. Those he packed inside his truck. He
hesitated between leaving the dishes and taking them, but they
were all marked with an oak leaf. The goods he'd gotten from
Eagle, Colorado were marked the same way, he mused. They were
for him to take, he decided. Gary gave a bow to the trees, and
stowed them as well.
The mirror showed his eyes were brown again, but now they
had green flecks. On the hood of his silver truck, lay his
clothes. The ripped shirt was gone, and in its place was a new
shirt of green, heavily embroidered with vines and leaves. He
dressed, and looked at what else was there.
He touched a pair of golden spurs shaped like climbing
roses, designed to fit his boots. A stocky statuette of a
silvery wood was carved to suggest a muscular draft horse. He
smiled, feeling that it represented a tribute to his truck/mount.
A sheathed crystal sword was formed into a long leaf shape, and
when he pulled it partway out, it was carved with roses. Lastly
was a set of polished syrinx pipes. Gary wondered if he could
learn to play 'Skye Boat Song' on them.
On the other side of the hood, were the other gifts that
were mentioned. The polished wooded bowl was simply formed, and
set with a crystal spire it its center. The other was a jeweled
pendant on a golden chain depicting a woman's eye. The iris was
worked out in amethyst, and the arched brow was ruby and jasper.
The skin around the eyed showed with smoky topaz chips, and
flakes of tiger eye for shadow. He thought it was beautiful.
Steadily, he packed it all away, then poured water on the
dead fire, and used his shovel to fill in the pit and erase as
much of his marks as he could. He was unsurprised to see the
standing stones behind his rig, again. Ignoring his fluctuating
instruments, he backed out between them. Then he watched as the
menhir faded, and with them the trees that cut off the road.
Like a mist burning off under the sun, the glamour faded, leaving
only the open highway.
He drove to the next Keep, and gazed curiously at a posse of
men forming. "What's up?" he said.
"Hey, Captain Miller," the Constable said. "We're after
some old pervert who raped three generations of women of this one
family living in the backwoods. You got time to help us?"
"No, sorry," Gary said. He had to hurry.
On the road She had mentioned, and at the time She'd said,
Gary spotted a figure walking along the highway. Same big old
baggy coat, and battered blue ball cap. The figure walked with
his hands thrust deep into pockets, and his shoulders slumped
with weariness. It was Rodger.
The old man's hand came out, thumb extended as he kept
walking. Gary pulled over for him. The Wanderer climbed heavily
inside without looking at him, but froze in the act of swinging
the door shut. He looked at Gary with an expression of fear.
Gary leaned past Rodger to shut the passenger door. "It's
cool, man," he said, and gave him a warm smile. They drove for a
while in silence. Gary could feel Rodger's tension. Well, no
time like the present. "SHE gave me a message for you," Gary
said. The old man cringed against his door as if from a leper.
He scrabbled for the door handle, willing to risk a jump.
"Here," the trucker said, quickly. He grabbed the pendant off
his dash and dangled it between them.
Trembling, Rodger reached out and took it. He looked into
the dusky skin, the violet eye under the red brow. The woman who
matched it was as distinctive in appearance as he himself was.
"She says your time is nearly done," Gary said. The old man
gasped, his face turning pale. "No, not like... I mean, she said
that you have served her well. She's nearly ready to forgive
your sin against her, and to release you. When you find the girl
that matches that, she will deliver you: save you. The
compulsion will fade because you will have found your perfect
match. You'll be free."
"I haven't been free since your grandfather was a pup,
probably," Rodger growled. "How can I believe HER? Or you?"
"Because she promised me it was true," Gary said. "She used
me too, I guess, but only for one night."
"Lucky you," the old man said dryly. "I've been held in her
grasp for decades."
"She said the end of your bondage was in sight," Gary said.
"Duck." Rodger hunkered down, and Gary waved idly to the patrol
car streaking past the truck. "You keep that, and when you find
her, you'll be home." Gary politely ignored the choked sobs that
came from beside him, as Rodger's shaking hands settle the chain
around his neck.
"So, old timer," Gary said when Rodger calmed. "Where are
you bound today?"
Rodger closed his eyes, and was silent for a long time.
"West," he said.
"West it is," Gary said, and he turned left at the first
turn off.
To be Continued...
Mar, 2000- Darkside: United States of Anarchy, Part 18 of 20.
Series Continues in Darkside: Imperial States of America.
Archive: "://./pub/Authors/WorldoftheDarkside",
Or "/~WorldoftheDarkside & "greyarchive".
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Fogbound Encounter 6
By Katzmarek
Author's note No doubt those acquainted with this part of history will
be puzzled by the inconsistencies with recorded events. My explanation is
simple, I goofed the timeline. Relying on my memory is not an exact method
of writing historical fiction. The last airship raid happened on the 19th
of September 1917. Armistice occurred on the 11th of November 1918. A
year seemed a long time to expect Eliza to wait for her Kimi, especially at
18, which is a lifetime at that age. Particularly in a city filled with
eager young doughboys. Therefore I have taken extraordinary liberties with
the true events to make them fit the story I wanted to write. `Mills and
Boon' meets `Boys Own Adventure' some wag wrote. Technical details are
mostly true, however, at least as I remember them. I've not tried to
depict other accents. It's just too easy to make a mess of it. Assume
Scots are speaking in a Scottish brogue and so forth. Think Billy
Connolly.
K
Eliza thought Mrs. Smyth must spend her every waking hour baking. She
seemed to pour forth an endless stream of cakes, tarts, flans and pies, in
between batches of biscuits and Scottish muffins. The pantry was stacked
with preserves of every kind as well as chow chows and chutneys and
homemade sauces.
Indeed, it seemed that this corner of Scotland remained untouched by
war, if you ignore the shortage of young men.
The backbone of the regular British army came from areas such as
Strathclyde. Regulars that were almost all now lying somewhere in Belgium
and France. Villages, such as Galston were now devoid of their ablebodied
menfolk and in every second cottage lived a widow.
The abundant agricultural resources of the area were almost entirely
worked by women. Now, however, slowly being supplemented by German
prisoners of war.
Someone at the Ministry of Farm Production, alarmed at the shortage of
agricultural labour came to the conclusion that there was thousands of idle
POW's sitting around with time on their hands. Able-bodied men at that.
For the most part, prisoners were only too happy to get out of their
camps for a bit of healthy work. Any thing to change the daily view of
barbed wire and guards.
The Naval POW camp at Galston was for enlisted men. The Officers were
held elsewhere. The men at Galston believed it was so the Officers could
be better treated and it was rumoured that they enjoyed Cognac and a daily
ration of Cigars.
Enlisted men were expected to do manual work, while the Officers weren't
expected to get their hands dirty. An Officer was an Officer despite what
side they were on.
The men at Galston were mostly U-boat crews, with a smattering of the
Hochseeflotte. (Germany's main battle fleet.)
Kimi was disappointed that none of the SMS Wiesbaden's crew was lodged
there. He still held out hope that his Father may have survived. Alas,
there were none. There were plenty of men from the light forces, though,
Destroyers and Light Cruisers and a few from the SMS Blucher, the Armoured
Cruiser demolished at Dogger Bank.
Indeed the tattered cap legends read like a memorial to the famous ships
that fought, and were defeated by the Royal Navy. SMS Scharnhorst, SMS
Elbing, SMS Emden the famous raider finally hunted down and destroyed off
the Cocos/ Keeling islands in the Indian ocean. SMS Koln, SMS Karlsruhe
caught up the Rufiji River in East Africa. SMS Dresden, SMS Berlin
scuttled off Tierra del Fuego after the Falklands and the armed
Hamburg-Amerika liner SMS Cap Trafalgar sunk in the South Atlantic by the
more heavily armed Cunard liner HMS Carpathia, which was set on fire.
They all had heard of the Spartakist revolt in Berlin, the mutiny of the
fleet and the raising of the red flag over some of its best units. News
came of food riots, arrests and demonstrations. It all disturbed and
demoralised them. The war was coming to a close but few had any idea what
they would be going back to.
Kimi knew his shipmates were gone, indeed most of the Nordenham flotilla
was destroyed. L70's sister ship, the L71 still existed and some that
didn't take part in the ill-fated attack were left, but many of their more
experienced crewmen had been drafted into the assaulting ships. The
Airship Service never recovered from the loss of these personnel.
In France, the Marne battle had petered out and the `Schturmstaffeln'
(Storm Units) with their `Bergmann' submachine guns had been driven back to
their previous positions, and beyond. The big American infantry brigades
had put victory beyond Germany's reach.
Warrant Officer Jock Smyth approached Kimi as he paraded one morning for
assignment.
"Kasemann," he bellowed, "step out!"
The two U-boat men on either side of him seem to shrink away a little as
Kimi jumped forward in a brisk step.
"You're assigned to me! Fall in! I have work in the village for you."
This was not unexpected, as he was nearly always required to work,
either in the bicycle shop or the motor garage.
"There's a couple of tractors for you today, Kimi lad, and a motor lorry
that's broken an axle," the WO said as they passed the disinterested
guards, "I think it'll need a bit of welding up. That should take you all
day. I'll send your lunch over to you."
"Will Mrs. Smyth be making it?" Kimi asked.
"Aye, venison pie, she made. From the Laird's estate I don't doubt.
Generous to a fault, the Laird."
"Do you mean a deer broke its leg near the highway again?"
"Now lad, I won't hear that kind of talk," said the WO, grinning.
They arrived at the garage and Kimi looked over the work he had to do.
The two tractors both had engine problems and then there was that blasted
lorry. He decided to work on the tractors first.
The Fordson appeared to have dropped a valve, the McCormack a simple
ignition problem. He started work on the latter.
Although he was supposed to have a guard, the WO disappeared. Probably
to have `a dram or 3' at the local tavern, he supposed. Kimi liked to work
alone and he liked the little garage. The arrangement suited him fine.
Later, in the office of Colonel Monroe, camp commandant, Jock Smyth was
giving the Colonel a brown parcel.
"You'll get caught one of these days, Jock. You're too damn clever for
your own good," the Colonel told him.
"Oh leave off Andy, you'd be no stranger to a moonlit hunt, yourself."
"Ah well, I was a bit younger in those days, Jock. This is no game for
an old buzzard like you! Y'know the old boy wouldn't be above filling your
arse with birdshot."
"Aye, but I can still skip like a young buck when I have to, and the old
Laird's aim is not what it was. I can give the venison to the cook for the
Huns if your conscience is troubling you."
"No, no. That's all right. I won't trouble you to walk all that way
back to camp."
"Now, there's just one favour I want to ask, a little one."
"Jock!"
"A very little one, COLONEL Monroe... sir," the WO leaned closer.
"What would you be after?"
"Well you know the village has been without a mechanic for quite some
time. Ever since Jimmy Lauchlan joined up. Y'know he went down in the
Invincible?"
"Yes, of course I know. What is your point, Jock?"
"Well I know this young lad..."
Back at the garage, Kimi had completed the work on the tractors by
lunchtime. He was eagerly waiting for Mrs. Smyth to deliver his lunch.
Mrs. Smyth's lunches were one of the better perks of the job.
Right on schedule, around noon there was a knock on the door. Kimi was
in the back, washing up and called for Mrs. Smyth to come on in.
Instead of the WO's wife's Scottish accent he was answered by a
different voice with all too familiar home-counties vowels.
"Kimi, is that you?"
Kimi rushed out of the little washroom, his hands dripping with
soapsuds, to find the shocked face of his Eliza before him.
Soundless he moved to her and wrapped his arms around her. Still too
surprised to speak, Eliza buried her face in Kimi's shoulder and held him.
"I didn't think... oh god... I... " She tripped over her words.
"Eliza... when did... I mean... I didn't know..." Kimi replied.
Kimi lifted up Eliza's face and kissed her, at first uncertainly but
then with increasing confidence and passion.
"Now you wouldn't be fraternising with an enemy, would you Eliza?" came
the voice of Mrs. Smyth.
The two lovers flew apart as if electrocuted. Mrs. Smyth bellowed with
laughter.
"You two..." she shook her head, "don't forget your pie, Kimi. Eat it
before it gets cold."
"You knew he..." Eliza started to tell the older woman.
"Of course I did. Now you won't breathe a word now, will you? And
don't take Kimi away from his work."
"Of course not."
"Good, well I'll be running along now. I've got some calls to make.
I'll be back in an hour," she told Eliza.
After Mrs. Smyth left, Kimi and Eliza resumed kissing. In the office
at the back of the garage there was a desk and chair and Kimi sat down and
pulled Eliza into his lap.
Eliza's eyes became moist with tears as she told Kimi she'd thought he'd
been lost with the L68. She told him about the reports in the newspaper
claiming the whole flotilla had been destroyed.
Kimi told her about his adventures after the Chief had thrown him out
when the stern of L68 had hit the ground. He said he couldn't remember
much of the fall but told her of the farmers, the bull and the old Police
Sergeant. Kimi giggled when he told her of the pursuit of the bull across
the paddock, and his falling into the cowpats.
She, in turn, described her life at the hospital, the various patients
and her room at the top of the stairs.
"That Rosy," she said, "She has so many boyfriends, I don't know how she
keeps track of them."
Kimi brushed away and errant lock that fell across her face.
"So how many boyfriends have you had?" he asked.
"None, silly... I mean... just one... all this time. And I'm sitting on
his knee."
They kissed some more. Kimi flicked her teeth with the tip of his
tongue and she answered him by parting them a fraction. Kimi pushed his
tongue past to seek out hers.
"Mmm... Mmm," she parted, "where did you learn to kiss like that?
That's what Rosy does."
"They call it French kissing," he explained, " you don't have much to
talk about in the barracks except girls... and what you do."
"Did you talk about me?"
"I told my Chief. He said I should have stayed in England with you," he
blushed.
"A clever man, your Chief," she told him, "was he in..." she left the
question unasked as she saw Kimi slowly nod his head. "Oh, I'm sorry."
They were silent for a minute. Kimi broke it by asking,
"So, what were you doing spying on this Rosy and her boyfriend?"
"I wasn't spying!" she batted him, "they were doing it everywhere. You
couldn't help but see them."
"Doing it?" Kimi asked suggestively.
"No, Not that! I mean... kissing and stuff... they would go up to her
room for... Y'know?"
"No I don't" Kimi teased.
"Yes you do," she said batting him again, "Y'know... what men and women
do... when they're married."
"Or, by the sounds of your Rosy, when they want to be," replied Kimi.
"The thing is," she said, "I don't really think she wanted any of them.
She just liked having a good time with them, Having them spend their money
on her, buy her things, and she'd, like, pay them back by... by...
Y'know... letting them... have her."
"Have her what?" Kimi asked, still teasing.
"Oh ha ha. You know what I mean. She'd let them sleep with her."
"Oh sleep, you mean, Like what we did on the schooner."
"We didn't do that! You're making me blush!"
"It makes you look more beautiful, if that's possible."
Kimi brought her face down for another kiss. This time she opened her
mouth willingly, accepting his tongue, and the kissing grew in intensity.
Eliza squirmed a little in his lap and he could feel the cheeks of her
bottom on his, now, stiff member. He wanted to explore every inch of her
body. Parting, he looked into her dewy eyes and told her he loved her.
Stroking his face she said,
"I love you too. I wish we didn't have to wait... I wish you didn't
have to go away. I want to be yours."
"You are, and I am yours too. I want to be together with you, always.
I... I want to wake up every morning with my arms around you. I... I want
to share... every piece of you..."
"Yes... I want... Oh Kimi... I've made you... oh, I'm sorry," she told
him.
"Made me what?" he asked.
Shifting her weight on him she said,
"Your... thing... down there," she pointed at his trousers and giggled.
"You excite me, that's all," he said.
"Oh Kimi!" she replied, caressing his chest, "you do too... me, of
course."
Eliza allowed Kimi to place his hand over her small breast.
"You don't mind, that... they're small. Not like Rosy's... the soldiers
seem to like hers... I mean, they stare at them... even when I'm there."
"Sounds an interesting woman, this Rosy," Kimi teased.
"She's too easy," she blurted out, "I mean, she lets men go too far...
that's what I think, anyhow."
"So how far would you go?" Kimi asked her.
"That depends, doesn't it?"
"On what?"
"On the man... If he's nice... I might... let him do things," she
answered coyly.
"What things?"
"I might let him kiss me..." she kissed him again. "And touch me in...
places."
"What places?" Kimi asked her, thickly.
"You have to find out," she teased.
Kimi pushed his hand under her Arran sweater. He whispered,
"Here?"
"Maybe."
Kimi cupped her breast once more. This time, a lot more intimately
because, he realised, she did not wear a bra. They fiercely kissed, once
more.
Kimi caressed her with his fingertips, kneading and stroking and rubbing
her little button nipples with his thumb. Kimi felt them swelling,
becoming harder to his touch. Eliza adjusted herself in his lap which,
didn't make his own swelling die down.
Moving his hand, he felt the buttons of her shirt and tried undoing one.
"I don't... think... you should...oh Kimi!" She panted.
Kimi worked about three buttons undone and inched his hand inside. At
the skin contact, Eliza gave a little start. Kimi slipped his hand over
her warm, sweaty breast and felt the rigid nipple drag across his palm. He
squeezed it between his fingers to be answered by a shudder from Eliza.
Kimi's mouth was dry and his body felt flushed. His cock throbbed
uncomfortably in the confines of his trousers. Each slight shift of
Eliza's bottom communicated itself directly to the lust centre in his
brain. After another bout of kissing, he looked at her and whispered,
"Where else?"
"We can't," she panted, "not here... Mrs. Smyth..."
"Let me feel you... down there... quickly... please," he said, urgently,
tugging at her full skirt.
"No! I cant... wait... oh... be quick, please! Just one touch." Kimi
pulled her skirt up to her knees and pushed his hand under the material.
Reacting to her request for urgency, he pushed quickly past the leg of her
bloomers to the valley between her thighs. Eliza parted her legs slightly
as Kimi began to rub and explore her crotch. Kimi took her hand and wedged
it under her, on the front of his trousers. As if stung, she shot to her
feet.
"Kimi! What kind of girl do you think I am?" she demanded angrily,
pulling down her sweater. "Is that all you want? Just for me to lie with
you?"
"Eliza I..."
"I trusted you... how could..." she said, tearfully running out of the
garage.
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By Katzmarek
Author's note No doubt those acquainted with this part of history will
be puzzled by the inconsistencies with recorded events. My explanation is
simple, I goofed the timeline. Relying on my memory is not an exact method
of writing historical fiction. The last airship raid happened on the 19th
of September 1917. Armistice occurred on the 11th of November 1918. A
year seemed a long time to expect Eliza to wait for her Kimi, especially at
18, which is a lifetime at that age. Particularly in a city filled with
eager young doughboys. Therefore I have taken extraordinary liberties with
the true events to make them fit the story I wanted to write. `Mills and
Boon' meets `Boys Own Adventure' some wag wrote. Technical details are
mostly true, however, at least as I remember them. I've not tried to
depict other accents. It's just too easy to make a mess of it. Assume
Scots are speaking in a Scottish brogue and so forth. Think Billy
Connolly.
K
Eliza thought Mrs. Smyth must spend her every waking hour baking. She
seemed to pour forth an endless stream of cakes, tarts, flans and pies, in
between batches of biscuits and Scottish muffins. The pantry was stacked
with preserves of every kind as well as chow chows and chutneys and
homemade sauces.
Indeed, it seemed that this corner of Scotland remained untouched by
war, if you ignore the shortage of young men.
The backbone of the regular British army came from areas such as
Strathclyde. Regulars that were almost all now lying somewhere in Belgium
and France. Villages, such as Galston were now devoid of their ablebodied
menfolk and in every second cottage lived a widow.
The abundant agricultural resources of the area were almost entirely
worked by women. Now, however, slowly being supplemented by German
prisoners of war.
Someone at the Ministry of Farm Production, alarmed at the shortage of
agricultural labour came to the conclusion that there was thousands of idle
POW's sitting around with time on their hands. Able-bodied men at that.
For the most part, prisoners were only too happy to get out of their
camps for a bit of healthy work. Any thing to change the daily view of
barbed wire and guards.
The Naval POW camp at Galston was for enlisted men. The Officers were
held elsewhere. The men at Galston believed it was so the Officers could
be better treated and it was rumoured that they enjoyed Cognac and a daily
ration of Cigars.
Enlisted men were expected to do manual work, while the Officers weren't
expected to get their hands dirty. An Officer was an Officer despite what
side they were on.
The men at Galston were mostly U-boat crews, with a smattering of the
Hochseeflotte. (Germany's main battle fleet.)
Kimi was disappointed that none of the SMS Wiesbaden's crew was lodged
there. He still held out hope that his Father may have survived. Alas,
there were none. There were plenty of men from the light forces, though,
Destroyers and Light Cruisers and a few from the SMS Blucher, the Armoured
Cruiser demolished at Dogger Bank.
Indeed the tattered cap legends read like a memorial to the famous ships
that fought, and were defeated by the Royal Navy. SMS Scharnhorst, SMS
Elbing, SMS Emden the famous raider finally hunted down and destroyed off
the Cocos/ Keeling islands in the Indian ocean. SMS Koln, SMS Karlsruhe
caught up the Rufiji River in East Africa. SMS Dresden, SMS Berlin
scuttled off Tierra del Fuego after the Falklands and the armed
Hamburg-Amerika liner SMS Cap Trafalgar sunk in the South Atlantic by the
more heavily armed Cunard liner HMS Carpathia, which was set on fire.
They all had heard of the Spartakist revolt in Berlin, the mutiny of the
fleet and the raising of the red flag over some of its best units. News
came of food riots, arrests and demonstrations. It all disturbed and
demoralised them. The war was coming to a close but few had any idea what
they would be going back to.
Kimi knew his shipmates were gone, indeed most of the Nordenham flotilla
was destroyed. L70's sister ship, the L71 still existed and some that
didn't take part in the ill-fated attack were left, but many of their more
experienced crewmen had been drafted into the assaulting ships. The
Airship Service never recovered from the loss of these personnel.
In France, the Marne battle had petered out and the `Schturmstaffeln'
(Storm Units) with their `Bergmann' submachine guns had been driven back to
their previous positions, and beyond. The big American infantry brigades
had put victory beyond Germany's reach.
Warrant Officer Jock Smyth approached Kimi as he paraded one morning for
assignment.
"Kasemann," he bellowed, "step out!"
The two U-boat men on either side of him seem to shrink away a little as
Kimi jumped forward in a brisk step.
"You're assigned to me! Fall in! I have work in the village for you."
This was not unexpected, as he was nearly always required to work,
either in the bicycle shop or the motor garage.
"There's a couple of tractors for you today, Kimi lad, and a motor lorry
that's broken an axle," the WO said as they passed the disinterested
guards, "I think it'll need a bit of welding up. That should take you all
day. I'll send your lunch over to you."
"Will Mrs. Smyth be making it?" Kimi asked.
"Aye, venison pie, she made. From the Laird's estate I don't doubt.
Generous to a fault, the Laird."
"Do you mean a deer broke its leg near the highway again?"
"Now lad, I won't hear that kind of talk," said the WO, grinning.
They arrived at the garage and Kimi looked over the work he had to do.
The two tractors both had engine problems and then there was that blasted
lorry. He decided to work on the tractors first.
The Fordson appeared to have dropped a valve, the McCormack a simple
ignition problem. He started work on the latter.
Although he was supposed to have a guard, the WO disappeared. Probably
to have `a dram or 3' at the local tavern, he supposed. Kimi liked to work
alone and he liked the little garage. The arrangement suited him fine.
Later, in the office of Colonel Monroe, camp commandant, Jock Smyth was
giving the Colonel a brown parcel.
"You'll get caught one of these days, Jock. You're too damn clever for
your own good," the Colonel told him.
"Oh leave off Andy, you'd be no stranger to a moonlit hunt, yourself."
"Ah well, I was a bit younger in those days, Jock. This is no game for
an old buzzard like you! Y'know the old boy wouldn't be above filling your
arse with birdshot."
"Aye, but I can still skip like a young buck when I have to, and the old
Laird's aim is not what it was. I can give the venison to the cook for the
Huns if your conscience is troubling you."
"No, no. That's all right. I won't trouble you to walk all that way
back to camp."
"Now, there's just one favour I want to ask, a little one."
"Jock!"
"A very little one, COLONEL Monroe... sir," the WO leaned closer.
"What would you be after?"
"Well you know the village has been without a mechanic for quite some
time. Ever since Jimmy Lauchlan joined up. Y'know he went down in the
Invincible?"
"Yes, of course I know. What is your point, Jock?"
"Well I know this young lad..."
Back at the garage, Kimi had completed the work on the tractors by
lunchtime. He was eagerly waiting for Mrs. Smyth to deliver his lunch.
Mrs. Smyth's lunches were one of the better perks of the job.
Right on schedule, around noon there was a knock on the door. Kimi was
in the back, washing up and called for Mrs. Smyth to come on in.
Instead of the WO's wife's Scottish accent he was answered by a
different voice with all too familiar home-counties vowels.
"Kimi, is that you?"
Kimi rushed out of the little washroom, his hands dripping with
soapsuds, to find the shocked face of his Eliza before him.
Soundless he moved to her and wrapped his arms around her. Still too
surprised to speak, Eliza buried her face in Kimi's shoulder and held him.
"I didn't think... oh god... I... " She tripped over her words.
"Eliza... when did... I mean... I didn't know..." Kimi replied.
Kimi lifted up Eliza's face and kissed her, at first uncertainly but
then with increasing confidence and passion.
"Now you wouldn't be fraternising with an enemy, would you Eliza?" came
the voice of Mrs. Smyth.
The two lovers flew apart as if electrocuted. Mrs. Smyth bellowed with
laughter.
"You two..." she shook her head, "don't forget your pie, Kimi. Eat it
before it gets cold."
"You knew he..." Eliza started to tell the older woman.
"Of course I did. Now you won't breathe a word now, will you? And
don't take Kimi away from his work."
"Of course not."
"Good, well I'll be running along now. I've got some calls to make.
I'll be back in an hour," she told Eliza.
After Mrs. Smyth left, Kimi and Eliza resumed kissing. In the office
at the back of the garage there was a desk and chair and Kimi sat down and
pulled Eliza into his lap.
Eliza's eyes became moist with tears as she told Kimi she'd thought he'd
been lost with the L68. She told him about the reports in the newspaper
claiming the whole flotilla had been destroyed.
Kimi told her about his adventures after the Chief had thrown him out
when the stern of L68 had hit the ground. He said he couldn't remember
much of the fall but told her of the farmers, the bull and the old Police
Sergeant. Kimi giggled when he told her of the pursuit of the bull across
the paddock, and his falling into the cowpats.
She, in turn, described her life at the hospital, the various patients
and her room at the top of the stairs.
"That Rosy," she said, "She has so many boyfriends, I don't know how she
keeps track of them."
Kimi brushed away and errant lock that fell across her face.
"So how many boyfriends have you had?" he asked.
"None, silly... I mean... just one... all this time. And I'm sitting on
his knee."
They kissed some more. Kimi flicked her teeth with the tip of his
tongue and she answered him by parting them a fraction. Kimi pushed his
tongue past to seek out hers.
"Mmm... Mmm," she parted, "where did you learn to kiss like that?
That's what Rosy does."
"They call it French kissing," he explained, " you don't have much to
talk about in the barracks except girls... and what you do."
"Did you talk about me?"
"I told my Chief. He said I should have stayed in England with you," he
blushed.
"A clever man, your Chief," she told him, "was he in..." she left the
question unasked as she saw Kimi slowly nod his head. "Oh, I'm sorry."
They were silent for a minute. Kimi broke it by asking,
"So, what were you doing spying on this Rosy and her boyfriend?"
"I wasn't spying!" she batted him, "they were doing it everywhere. You
couldn't help but see them."
"Doing it?" Kimi asked suggestively.
"No, Not that! I mean... kissing and stuff... they would go up to her
room for... Y'know?"
"No I don't" Kimi teased.
"Yes you do," she said batting him again, "Y'know... what men and women
do... when they're married."
"Or, by the sounds of your Rosy, when they want to be," replied Kimi.
"The thing is," she said, "I don't really think she wanted any of them.
She just liked having a good time with them, Having them spend their money
on her, buy her things, and she'd, like, pay them back by... by...
Y'know... letting them... have her."
"Have her what?" Kimi asked, still teasing.
"Oh ha ha. You know what I mean. She'd let them sleep with her."
"Oh sleep, you mean, Like what we did on the schooner."
"We didn't do that! You're making me blush!"
"It makes you look more beautiful, if that's possible."
Kimi brought her face down for another kiss. This time she opened her
mouth willingly, accepting his tongue, and the kissing grew in intensity.
Eliza squirmed a little in his lap and he could feel the cheeks of her
bottom on his, now, stiff member. He wanted to explore every inch of her
body. Parting, he looked into her dewy eyes and told her he loved her.
Stroking his face she said,
"I love you too. I wish we didn't have to wait... I wish you didn't
have to go away. I want to be yours."
"You are, and I am yours too. I want to be together with you, always.
I... I want to wake up every morning with my arms around you. I... I want
to share... every piece of you..."
"Yes... I want... Oh Kimi... I've made you... oh, I'm sorry," she told
him.
"Made me what?" he asked.
Shifting her weight on him she said,
"Your... thing... down there," she pointed at his trousers and giggled.
"You excite me, that's all," he said.
"Oh Kimi!" she replied, caressing his chest, "you do too... me, of
course."
Eliza allowed Kimi to place his hand over her small breast.
"You don't mind, that... they're small. Not like Rosy's... the soldiers
seem to like hers... I mean, they stare at them... even when I'm there."
"Sounds an interesting woman, this Rosy," Kimi teased.
"She's too easy," she blurted out, "I mean, she lets men go too far...
that's what I think, anyhow."
"So how far would you go?" Kimi asked her.
"That depends, doesn't it?"
"On what?"
"On the man... If he's nice... I might... let him do things," she
answered coyly.
"What things?"
"I might let him kiss me..." she kissed him again. "And touch me in...
places."
"What places?" Kimi asked her, thickly.
"You have to find out," she teased.
Kimi pushed his hand under her Arran sweater. He whispered,
"Here?"
"Maybe."
Kimi cupped her breast once more. This time, a lot more intimately
because, he realised, she did not wear a bra. They fiercely kissed, once
more.
Kimi caressed her with his fingertips, kneading and stroking and rubbing
her little button nipples with his thumb. Kimi felt them swelling,
becoming harder to his touch. Eliza adjusted herself in his lap which,
didn't make his own swelling die down.
Moving his hand, he felt the buttons of her shirt and tried undoing one.
"I don't... think... you should...oh Kimi!" She panted.
Kimi worked about three buttons undone and inched his hand inside. At
the skin contact, Eliza gave a little start. Kimi slipped his hand over
her warm, sweaty breast and felt the rigid nipple drag across his palm. He
squeezed it between his fingers to be answered by a shudder from Eliza.
Kimi's mouth was dry and his body felt flushed. His cock throbbed
uncomfortably in the confines of his trousers. Each slight shift of
Eliza's bottom communicated itself directly to the lust centre in his
brain. After another bout of kissing, he looked at her and whispered,
"Where else?"
"We can't," she panted, "not here... Mrs. Smyth..."
"Let me feel you... down there... quickly... please," he said, urgently,
tugging at her full skirt.
"No! I cant... wait... oh... be quick, please! Just one touch." Kimi
pulled her skirt up to her knees and pushed his hand under the material.
Reacting to her request for urgency, he pushed quickly past the leg of her
bloomers to the valley between her thighs. Eliza parted her legs slightly
as Kimi began to rub and explore her crotch. Kimi took her hand and wedged
it under her, on the front of his trousers. As if stung, she shot to her
feet.
"Kimi! What kind of girl do you think I am?" she demanded angrily,
pulling down her sweater. "Is that all you want? Just for me to lie with
you?"
"Eliza I..."
"I trusted you... how could..." she said, tearfully running out of the
garage.
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