Lords of the Wyld: Celestine Bound

Mid-autumn is a time of year when the days are still warm enough to warrant summer clothing and the nights cool enough to justify winter apparel. It was early morning, and Elysande was bundled in cloak, shawl, and dense leggings and skirt as she trekked to the abbey. The sun provided some warmth, pouring its light into the village, but it had frozen during the night, and crystallized ice still clung to windows and frozen dew dusted the grass where the sun had not yet lain its gaze. The blazing leaves that had fallen from their arboreal homes had begun to turn a muddy brown, tattered detritus that filled the frozen puddles in the road ruts and the fields.

Her breath was a billowing cloud, floating slowly toward the heavens in the still air, fading plumes of white that dissipated behind her. Her need of counsel had surpassed her fear of the Dwellers, and she plodded down the track that lead to the abbey, fearful of what would become of her. She knew the monks had no rituals of their own to aid her, but they did have the ear of the Celestines. She feared them, as well, powerful spirits, perhaps even demigods, and she prayed they would be able to help. She knew not what the cost might be, and prayed it was not unbearable.

The lane that broke from the main road and plunged into a thick orchard of apple trees was the only indication of the abbey's existence if one didn't know it was there. The trees had been planted when the abbey was finished, several centuries earlier, and they provided reserves for the village during the long months of winter. The apples also provided ward against the Dwellers that named the surrounding forest theirs, a tithe of safety against disappearance and becoming ghosts, caught forever in the limbo of their emptied homes and streets.

She stopped at the orchard's edge, surveying the abbey. The granite faces were a dull, weathered white, cleansed now of the bird shit that had accumulated during the summer months, passing reminder of the messenger pigeons the Abbot maintained. The morning light glinted in sharp contrast against the shadows, a mosaic of bright spots on the upper reaches of the building where it pierced through the skyward clutching branches of the trees. The plain oak door set atop the three humble steps was not yet illuminated. The sun wouldn't grace it for hours yet. She moved forward, leaving the apple trees behind and climbed the stair to the abbey entrance, banged the knocker three times and waited. She clutched her cloak and shawl tighter to keep the cold away, shivering as the tree-cast gloom stole the warmth the sun had granted on her trek.

The door opened after some minutes and she was beckoned inside by friar Albrecht.

"A welcome visit, Elysande," he said, leading her down the brief aisle of the nave to one of the hearths on either side of the altar. Their footsteps echoed faintly in the otherwise empty room, the hollow-eyed cross of Tammuz watching from above the altar. "What brings you?"

She extended her hands to the fire, opening her shawl to recapture the warmth lost on the stoop and watching the flames as she considered how to phrase her concerns.

"There are troubles with the Dwellers of the wood," she said at length. The hot spark and crawl of the embers made it easier to speak, and she kept her eyes on them. "They... steal into my room. I... They do not hurt me, but I worry on the things they do."

"Has your family been making sufficient offering?" Albrecht asked, extending his own hands toward the fire. This was a worrisome revelation, perhaps even one the Abbot would need to be informed of. The Dwellers were never known to enter the homes of the villagers.

"We have been, aye, milk and apple." She glanced briefly at him. Of course they had been. Everyone did. "I placed salt and rosemary across the window when they first began coming, but it does not seem to stop them. I don't wish to cause worry, so I've not spoken with others yet. I came here to seek advice in the hope that you have writings that can provide relief."

Albrecht was quiet as he thought. Salt or rosemary alone should have stopped the Dwellers. They were simple spirits, easily stopped and easily appeased. Salt and rosemary together would stop most spirits, but what could be drawn to the village that could ignore salt and rosemary? There were no artifacts of any significance, even in the abbey, and even the burial grounds were quiet places. If there were places of the Wyld in the forests, it made no sense for those that would use them to bother anyone in the village unless some connection had been made with them.

"What do they do during their visitations?" he asked at length.

She pursed her lips and turned away from the fire to warm her back. She didn't want to say she enjoyed the visits, for she did. She'd never experienced such pleasures before, but admitting she looked forward to each night because of what it brought would almost certainly get her flayed and executed as a witch. Her main concern, though, was where such pleasures might draw her, especially since she feared she had instigated them, and the teachings of Tammuz were strict on such matters.

"They are intimate things, and they weigh on me," she demurred. "I would rather not speak of them in detail."

Albrecht nodded and changed tact with, "Have the Dwellers been given invitation to enter, perhaps?"

"I don't believe so." She wasn't sure. Would her actions have been invitation? "The salt and rosemary would have kept them out even if they had been invited, wouldn't it? I don't know what course to take. I'm worried of what may happen if things continue on as they have."

Albrecht made a quiet sound of agreement. This was beyond his knowledge, having never heard of the Dwellers doing anything like Elysande was telling him. He sighed.

"I will speak with Abbot Lucian. I don't know enough of the Dwellers to offer advice beyond what's already been tried, I'm sorry to admit. He's more learned than I, and perhaps he'll know what to do."

"Thank you, Albrecht." She leaned over and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. "I'm glad for the help."

"You're always welcome here, Elysande," he huffed, but smiled at her. "Our ears are open to anyone who cares to talk. Return tomorrow and I'll take you to see the Abbot. Should Tammuz smile upon us, he'll know what needs to be done, though he may have questions."

"I expect questions. They may help me understand what's happening, too." She pulled her shawl closed again, capturing the fire heat to keep herself warm on the trek back through the orchard. "I'll return mid-morn tomorrow."

#

The Dwellers arrived at midnight precisely every night, bringing othertime with them, sequestering themselves and her from the mundane and ensuring nothing they did during their visits ever woke any of the others in the manse. Such activity almost always involved sexual pleasures to the point of delirium, pleasures she'd grown increasingly fond of. She was certain such pleasures in-the-flesh were far too exhausting to engage in as frequently as she did each night, but she'd had no inclination to discover if that were true beyond using her own fingers, a habit she'd taken to each night, slowly bringing herself to the brink of orgasm as she dozed, waiting for midnight.

A whisper over her skin brought her eyes open, a dark shadow moving above her, the features barely seen in the night gloom, long ears and wide eyes, thin lipped mouth with pointed teeth, and a narrow, defined body that belied the strength it possessed. Thick tufts of hair like manes ran from its head down its shoulders and back, and two more tufts sprouted from its elbows. She pulled her fingers away from the juncture of her legs and spread her arms to either side, arching her back and clutching her bedding as her orgasmic tension pulled higher. She needed release, was ready to climax already at the slightest touch, but knew her torture had just started in earnest.

Black skinned hands with long nails, thick and almost claw-like, brushed over her, her night wear dissipating at the touch and leaving her naked, replaced with the smells of green earths after the spring rain. Her skin erupted in goosebumps as the cold night air washed over her, amplifying the radiant heat from her sex and making her nub harden to a painful, throbbing point between her legs. The black hands ran over her body, smoothing away the goosebumps like warm air from an oven, an ethereal caress that strayed downward, pausing at her breasts to squeeze her nipples. She arched upward, humming as her nipples were pulled, the pressure increasing as her breasts were drawn to a point, and then they were released, the warm hands continuing their twin paths over her stomach to her hips, her thighs, and then grabbing her ankles.

Her legs were pulled up, pressing against her shoulders and raising her ass off the bed as the dark figure leaned over her. A hardness pressed against her sex, settling against her slit and rocking slowly, pulling her nub from under its hood as it moved. She moaned as her desire built again, straining to press harder as her orgasm approached even though she knew it was futile, that she'd be brought right to the edge and it would stop, waiting until her desire had ebbed momentarily before finding a new way to again bring her to the edge of ecstasy.

Tonight was different, though. Tonight her lust was prolonged, an extended dance right on the edge of climax, seconds, minutes, and then the figure took her wrists, pulling them up beside her head as it brought its mouth to hers, her legs over its shoulders. She opened her mouth eagerly, grabbing the tongue with her own as it darted in and using the kiss to release her building, tortured desire. She was pressed deeper into her pillow, the kiss becoming a hard, deep thing of warring tongues and pointed teeth as the hardness working itself against her sex was briefly pulled away and then plunged into her in a single, swift thrust.

She cried out into her lover's mouth as his cock buried itself in her, filling her and swelling even more as it was pulled almost completely out before slamming back in. She tried to break out of the kiss to give voice to her impending climax, but was unable. She clenched her hands into fists as another thrust drove her even closer, and then she was being fucked fast and deep, pushing her over the edge into orgasm. She screamed, muffled by the mouth on hers, as she shuddered and twitched, her orgasm ripping through her in hard, wrenching waves that pulsed through her body, exploding outward from her sex and fading only slowly as the cock pounded her in time with her spasms.

She gasped in a deep breath as her lover broke the kiss, breathing hard as she shivered in orgasmic aftermath and giving soft moans as he continued to slowly fuck her.

"Your worries drove you to the abbey this morning," he said, his voice a rumbling, almost wild deepness, like the thunder of a heavy spring rain against leaves and rock and water. "Why?"

"This frightens me," she whispered, pulling her hands free of his and running them up his arms, "after it's all done. I shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't have started it."

"Yet you're willing, and that continues it."

"I know." Almost inaudible, and she brought his hands to her breasts, her desire building again from the slow fucking. "I don't know how to stop, and I need to stop, before they learn about this and burn me."

"And you think the abbey and the Abbot will not."

She arched and clutched at her thighs, spreading herself wider as he sped his thrusts and squeezed her breasts. Her moaning increased as her second orgasm approached, and she cried out as he stopped, left her teetering right on the edge as he pinched her nipples hard and pulled.

"They think I'm unwilling," she breathed when she'd caught her breath again, squirming as he resumed thrusting.

"Their Celestines will know, and if that is the council you seek, you must know what they will do."

He grabbed her wrists again and leaned back down, moving faster in her until she'd again reached the edge of climax, stopping and pressing deep into her before she could go over. She quivered and squirmed, moaning as he flexed in her as her insides twitched and spasmed in frustrated denial. He watched her face as she rode her blissful torture, waiting.

"Will you listen to what I have to say about the Celestines?"

"Will you leave me needing if I don't?" She squeezed hard on his cock, rocking slowly against him.

"No, but you will be unprepared for what they will do. They do not trust."

"Why is that important?"

"Because you must."

"Trust you?"

"You must trust yourself. When you are able to do that is when you will be able to read the honesty of them and those of the Wyld."

She was quiet while she thought, gasping as he began moving in her again, long, slow thrusts that pulled her toward the edge once more and held her there, wanting and needing. He pulled her hands up into the air, holding them in front of him while he teased her, slowing or speeding his fucking as he needed to keep her tantalizingly close to climax.

"Will you listen and memorize what I have to say?" he asked, reaching down as he pulled almost completely out of her, taking her nub between his fingers and pinching slow and hard.

"Yes," she panted, arching her sex into his fingers, shaking and whimpering as he increased the pressure on her nub. "Tell me, please."

"I will let you orgasm again when you have memorized everything."

He began fucking her again, not releasing her nub until she was back at her edge, and then kept her there for the next hour.

#

Her shawl had proven unnecessary on her return trip to the abbey, and it was stuffed unceremoniously into the small basket of food stuffs she had brought to serve as her mid-day meal. The Abbot and friars would have gladly provided for her, but her parents clung steadfastly to the christic belief that accepting charity was a pernicious sin if one could provide for oneself, as if the kindness of others was somehow a moral affront.

She was in no rush, however, thinking heavily on what she had learned during the night. Did she really wish to turn her back on the Dwellers when it was they who maintained the earth they lived on? Could she really ignore the Wyld and the things she could learn from it? Wouldn't that be disrespectful of that which provided her, and her villa, life? She stopped and stared across a fallow field at the forest, a charm of finches flittering and bursting among the stubby weeds that had taken up residence until next year.

Was her desire to understand the land around her responsible for her visitations? The childhood tales of monstrous forest spirits and water terrors seemed so much ignorance to her now, with unexpected discoveries answering her curiosity over the past months. She had never thought a trimming of her hair left in the milk bowl would have opened such vistas to her. What else did she not understand? Was it worth the possible torture and execution if her nightly activities were found out?

A hawk dropped like a hammer from the sky before pounding into the air again from the middle of the field with a dangling, writhing snake in its talons. It landed in a tree not far from her, tearing at the snake as it squirmed. It stopped briefly as she began walking again, watching her as she passed. Maybe she was like the snake, already caught. She only had one course if she wished to discover if her flirtations with the Wyld would be her death, and so she continued on.

The sun had just begun to touch the abbey's entry when she arrived, the door patched with wet where the night's frost had melted in the warming morning air. The knocker still retained the night's chill, and she rubbed her hands together after banging it. Her wait this time was less than the day before, Albrecht greeting her once again and beckoning her to follow. A candle had been lit in the eye of the altar's cross, marking the day as mid-week, and she wondered passingly what tradition had begun that practice.

"The Abbot has little to see to this week, so your timing is fortunate," Albrecht said as he led her into the north hall that branched away from the nave behind the altar. "He spent much of yesterday exploring our meager library. I'm afraid he didn't find much that could be of help while I was aiding him. He may have found something after I left, however."

She'd expected as much. They didn't even have moon charts, yet had maps aplenty of places she would never see nor likely hear tale of, material the Florentines had deemed unnecessary to take with them when they had abandoned their outposts, leaving even the abbey behind them. That had been long before her birth, though, not long after the abbey had been finished. All that remained were stories of their military display, synchronized to lock step after years of arduous training, and the seemingly endless phalanxes as they marched northward to battle the Norse, and then retreated south again, in victory or defeat or for other reasons was unknown.

"Did the Florentines build the abbey?" she asked, interrupting Albrecht in his apologetic monologue.

He stopped and looked at her, blinking stupidly. She was studying the architecture of the hall, tracing with her eyes the lay of the floor stones and the masonry of the walls and ceiling. This and the south hall encircled the hinter rooms of the abbey from the nave back to the quarters of Abbot Lucian and the friars, Albrecht and Senach. Between them were the library, store rooms, kitchen, prayer rooms, and various others whose purposes varied depending upon need.

"I believe so, yes."

"And they brought Tammuz with them?"

"Their preachers taught us of Him, yes. I do not believe they brought Tammuz himself, only his teachings and his story."

"Would they have known of the Dwellers before they arrived here?" She looked at him.

"I don't know. I'm unaware of all they knew before they came."

She nodded and studied the windows, thick glass held in metal frames set firmly in stone.

"It seems strange, that we never knew of Tammuz before the Florentines."

"Perhaps it is strange, but all news takes time to travel. Tammuz is from a land very far from here and very different." He lightly grasped her arm and began walking again. "Come, though. Abbot Lucian is waiting in the library."

She followed obediently and they entered the library in silence. It was a spartan room, filled more with empty shelves than books or papers, and there were inks and writing implements of various sorts stashed where books and papers weren't. The Abbot was in a chair, bent over a portable writing stand and carefully flipping pages in a slim book that had long ago passed the stage of well cared for. She clasped her hands before her, holding her food basket, as Albrecht called for the Abbot's attention. Lucian beckoned her to the chair next to him with a wave and dismissed Albrecht with an absent, "Thank you, Albrecht." Once Albrecht had left, he gingerly turned the pages back and closed the cover on them before lifting his attention to her.

"Albrecht informs me you have been encountering difficult visitations from the Dwellers. Your family has been laying out the appropriate nightly offerings and you have placed lines of salt and rosemary to ward against them, yet they continue. When did these visitations begin?"

"Mid-spring, I believe." She set her basket down between her feet and unclasped her cloak. "Perhaps earlier. I don't remember exactly."

"How did the visitations begin?" He straightened and arched his back, spine crackling, then settled back, folding his hands over his stomach and watching her.

"I don't remember very well." Was he asking what caused them or what happened during the first visits? She remained silent a moment before opting for the latter interpretation. The first was still too dangerous to openly acknowledge until she knew better how things were going to go. "They didn't do anything the first week, maybe two. They just watched, I think, and they've grown much more... forward as the visits continued."