by Allen Werner
To get a better understanding of the varied mythologies, Viridian began an intense campaign of study, zealous and eager, something she had never done in her life. She, of course, did it her way. Viridian wasn’t about to occupy a chair for hours while some dotard recited verbose literature at her. Instead, she invited the most learned men from the university and the chief priestesses of the temples to lie with her in exchange for their vast stores of knowledge. Without hardly opening a book or reading a text, Viridian learned a great deal about the prose, poetry and compositions of Horace, Virgil, Epicurus and Homer. She memorized rituals. She attended shrines, praying whatever words were deemed appropriate, sacrificing whatever offerings were expected. Latin, Greek, Sumerian and Egyptian, Christian, mystery cults and mos mairorum, ‘the way of the ancestors.’ She wasn’t at all selective about her pursuit of gods and goddesses. She tried them all. It was as arbitrary as her sexual dexterity – anybody and anything.
Viridian’s motivation was purely selfish and she never intended to be moved profoundly by the knowledge and holiness she was acquiring; and she wasn’t. She was neither a kinder or more benevolent human being. She was as petulant and as promiscuous as ever, the same sexualized whore, lusting, drinking and frolicking with maddening resolve. The diffident devotions and repetitive rites she performed and accomplished in the various sanctuaries were merely demonstrations, an egotistic performance to attract and lure a wanton deity. Sooner or later, one of these lofty immortals, if they existed, would fall out of heaven or climb out of hell to have her.
All this dreaminess concerning the gods and lovemaking, the rocky erections of the Faraglioni, comingled with the sun’s intense heat, had Viridian perspiring. Wet beads of sweat were dripping down her neck and arms, her chest and stomach, even down her thighs and legs. She was ready to masturbate again, seek out climax number nine. There was nothing else to do anyway.
With a wicked grin, she turned away from the sea to seek out a dry cloth with which to wipe away the all too familiar dampness. She was startled to find that an enormous man wearing a thick black robe was standing on the terrace with her, only an uncomfortable arms-reach away. Behind the colossus stood the ever-imposing Mont Tiberio in stark silhouette. They looked to be twins and it took Viridian a moment to differentiate between man and mountain. The electric blue-eye stitched into the black fabric near the place his heart ought to be, gave the man away.
“What the fuck do you want?’ Viridian’s response was gruff and explosive. The bastard had his dark hood pulled completely over his head and she could hardly see his pale face beneath the shadow.
Sinibaldus was none too shy. He glimpsed assuredly at her thin black arrow and watched a dribble run down her leg. He smiled, his teeth all white. “As always, I am here to serve, my Lady.”
‘My Lady,’ she thought incredulously. Of all the people at Court Viridian wished to garner respect from, this giant bastard was not one of them.
“Get out! I don’t need you or your services, not now, not ever.”
When it came to sex, Viridian was not a choosy woman. Any man, especially a giant, despite his age, would peak her curiosity.
The magician was somehow different. He was a monster alright, a behemoth indeed but not the type she sought after. Viridian had erotic dreams concerning fire-breathing dragons and enormous stone-skinned-sea-gods fucking her. Sinibaldus, however, was clouded beneath an aura of wickedness that turned her stomach in a manner she could not define. She sensed it seething from his sweaty pores. The pale magician wanted a great deal more from her than a casual investigative fuck.
Viridian often reminded herself that no one had ever seen the magician naked. ‘Sinibaldus never attends the bacchanalias and orgies. There is something profoundly troubling about the way he wants me.’ Even now, standing bare and exposed before him, she felt an uneasy discomfort. His beady blue eyes were hardly perceptible beneath the hood and they groped her nonetheless, she could feel them on her. It was as if she were someone else, someone illicit and anathema. ‘I’m not Viridian, in his mind.’
“I’m a bearer of good tidings,” Sinibaldus assured Viridian. A large white hand emerged from one of the long black sleeves and pulled the hood further over his face, making the cloth cover more.
Everyone knew Sinibaldus had a condition and could not bear direct sunlight. Years of abuse while living in the wilds, his white skin exposed to the harshest elements, as well as the countless potions and toxins, ointments and creams he had applied, had diminished the melanin. Any prolonged exposure to sunlight, especially that on Capri, would cause him excruciating pain.
“Then stop your gawking. Speak your peace and leave.”
Sinibaldus wasn’t intimated by Viridian’s boldness or lack of modesty. He hardly heard a word she commanded.
“If you were busy praying to the sea or to the gods,” he petitioned thoughtfully, “or meditating on some extemporaneous matters of great importance, I assure you, I can wait. You can turn right back around and bend over the railing. Finish your deep devotions. I don’t mind observing and waiting. The view from this deck is quite astonishing.”
Beneath his robes, Sinibaldus was simmering. His black cloak was withholding tremendous amounts of heat. Wisdom said run to the shade, get inside but Sinibaldus was prepared to hazard the torturous balminess for a glorious opportunity unlike any he had ever experienced.
“I have no time for you or your news. If you won’t leave, then I shall.”
Viridian expected to walk right by the obstinate magician but the giant was far bolder today than he had ever been with her. His cold white hand shot out quickly from the dark sleeve again, but this time it grabbed her roughly by the arm near the elbow.
“Take care, my child, I may be your last and only friend.”
Her warm brown eyes were intense, dark, nearly red. “How dare you touch me!” She tried to wrest herself away from the devil but he wouldn’t let go. “Rugerius shall hear of this. He’ll chop off that hand and serve it to his dogs!”
Sinibaldus was not persuaded by the threat. A swath of sunlight was striking his hand and part of his face. Both were growing redder quickly. It matched his temper. “Rugerius Fabbro will do nothing to me. He no longer desires you, Viridian. He has found himself another plaything, another princesse.”
Viridian’s temper flared. The claim made no sense, and yet the giant spoke it confidently. His continuing control over her arm and person gave her further pause.
“Rugerius intends to wed another. It has already been decided.”
Viridian strained against the giant’s hold yet again and still he resisted. Sinibaldus was far too strong for her to battle physically, more than she could ever hope to be. She glared at him, dead in the eye. The seconds passed in silence, nothing but the thundering surf from Tiberius’ Drop filling the air. Finally, her countenance changed. This was no stalemate anymore.
‘The bastard is telling the truth.’
“Yes,” Sinibaldus whispered enthusiastically, sensing the change in her mien. “Vérité. You know I speak truth. None would be so bold to oppose Rugerius without it. This is no bluff, Viridian. He doesn’t want you and without the Castellan, you know your place at Court is questionable at best. You are nothing, a lonely whore.”
Viridian was horrified. She was only nineteen but her life was over if this be true. Impulsive and impetuous, unable to think more than one step ahead, she wasn’t sure what to do next. Sinibaldus was correct. Without Rugerius Fabbro, there was no place for her at Court. Her reputation was sullied. No reputable man would ever wed her. She had been the disreputable courtesan for far too long.
There would always be callers, but never a suitor.
“Come now, Viridian. I am the solution. Give yourself to me.” His white hand had turned dark pink and was beginning to blister, a mist or smoke drifting up off it. “Let us retire immediately to your bedchamber. Lay beneath the sheets. Grant me access to your intimacy, Viridian, and I will show you a world yo
u have never known.”
Viridian was still unwilling to entertain the devil but Lady Karah and her words came to mind. “When your chance to taste heaven comes, go for it. Hold nothing back. Embrace it. Make love to it, whatever it is, and let it love you.” Reluctant, Viridian looked up inside the cowl of Sinibaldus’ black cloak. It was a cave and the creature living inside was turning gradually redder, the light and heat now causing his face to smoke a bit.
“I will secret you off to Clairedon tonight and share with you all the secrets of my Circus. I will commission a magnificent throne, a throne of black marble. You shall sit beside me for all eternity.” He raised her arm, admiring the paint on her fingernails. “You like gold? You shall have golden crowns and golden dresses; crates of jewels and diamonds. Everything your heart could wish for. And everyone shall bow and bless you and call you the Queen of Sin Circus.” His lips curled up. “In my world, beneath my black tents, you shall experience hedonistic pleasures the likes of which saints and devils only dream.” He sneered and leered. “I’ve watched you for so long, Viridian. I know your heart. You seek such things. I assure you, they are mine to give.”
Viridian wanted to yield but there was something so sinister in his spirit, she could not get it out of her stomach. She felt physically ill in his presence, as if to vomit. Despite all his excessive promises, there was simply no way she could ever lie with him.
Viridian knew a thing or two about seduction and temptation. She calmed herself and felt his grip on her elbow weakening. She could tell the bastard believed he was winning this contest, winning her heart. She wanted him to believe this fully so she tossed him a smile, a lustful smile she knew he wanted to receive.
Sinibaldus devoured the smile and the deal was sealed. He undid his fingers and she slipped gently away from him.
Playful, Viridian retreated a few steps before returning to form.
“You are wretched, mostro disgustoso. You stink of your toxic cocktails, your old man creams and putrid concoctions, evil and filthy. You disgust me.”
Sinibaldus’ face hardened and the smoke rising from beneath his cape was now as much a result of his bad temper as the heat.
“I may do many things in life,” Viridian continued, “but necrophilia is not one of them. Crawl back to the crypts and have your way with the corpses. They at least won’t resist you and your cold cock.”
Sinibaldus recovered the step she had taken from him but did not attempt to manhandle her again. He rose over her as the dragon had done in her dream, the giant only lacking the wings to shade the sun.
“You do not understand how powerful I am, Viridian. I could take you this very moment, take you right now and no one could stop me.” With his smoking hand, he tugged at the collar of his robe. He pulled it far enough apart to reveal the glimmering talisman hanging about his neck. “I need only stun you once with the dazzling magnificence of the Bellerophon Crystal and you would bow before me and serve me.”
Viridian understood the game now.
Sultry and seductively she got in close to the giant and his black robe. She raised her warm, soft hand and placed it on his cold neck. He was so much taller than her, she nearly had to go to her toes to do this. Slowly, temptingly, she walked her fingers down his hairless white chest until they came to rest on the magnificent Stone. It was a beautiful gem, an enormous crystal but Viridian wasn’t as enamored by it as most. The pursuit of gaudy baubles never interested her. It was just a pretty crystal.
“Yes,” she purred, “you could stun me with this strange magic you possess and have me anytime you wanted. But you would have me against my will.” She paused and laughed and stepped away again. “And I don’t think that is what you really want, is it? You are after something more.”
Sinibaldus had been waiting years for this opportunity to present itself and now it was slipping away. And although it was slipping away, Sinibaldus knew he must endure. When he first started living alone in the wild, hunting game with crude weapons fashioned from sticks and rocks, he learned the art of stealth, the virtue of persistence. Sometimes, the prey he stalked eluded him, temporarily. But all was not lost. There was still time to adapt his plan, better prepare and perhaps take a different, unpredictable approach.
Sinibaldus closed the collar and retracted his smoldering hand back inside the black sleeve. “Viridian, I’m a patient man. When your affair with Rugerius has been snuffed out and you find yourself sinking between the ruts of truth and fear, you will discover I am already in there. No one thrives between the cracks of society as well as I do. We are meant to be together.”
Viridian had heard enough. She huffed, turned her back and stormed into the villa.
Content, grey fumes drifting up and out of every opening in his robe, Sinibaldus stood a minute longer beneath the sun, his powder blue eyes focused on the hypnotizing cadence of Viridian’s perfectly formed backside storming away. He tried hard to divine some poetic words to commemorate this stunning image and set it to memory but none came to mind. There was only one word to describe such loveliness. ‘Claire.’
Chapter 22 – The Living Pool
“La Piscine Vivant.” The Living Pool. Sinibaldus whispered the words to himself as he finally lost sight of Viridian and her sweetly swaying ass. Escaping the torturous sun, the giant glided silently into Viridian’s apartment clutching his burnt hand. The skin was fiery red in several places and it was a furnace beneath his black robe.
A haunting ghostly specter, the magician noiselessly slipped through the well-lit marbled halls of Villa Jovis, descending several long stairwells, sinking deeper and deeper into the darker recesses of the palace. The unfortunate few who unexpectedly encountered him on his journey, altered course immediately. He had no friends here and no one wanted to cross his path. His dark reputation had them living in complete and utter fear of him. Ignorant rumors swirled. Some warned that even his shadow had power. If it fell on them, it would bring on convulsions, parts of your body could turn to stone or grow fur. And Lord save the fool who dared to make eye contact. They would be transformed immediately into a hideous freak for his god-forsaken Circus. The superstitions abounded and continued to manifest over the years and Sinibaldus was glad to have it so. He despised humans and the greater the misunderstandings between them, the better.
The magician bolted himself inside a vault, his laboratory, an ancient, abandoned wine cellar nestled inside the limestone belly of Capri. He had a similar vault beneath the Castel dell Ovo in Parthenope but hardly ever went there. Most of his time was generally spent in the tent city of Sin Circus. He felt more secure beneath the canvas labyrinth, surrounded by his misfits, than he did behind mortared walls and locked doors. There was a spiritual shield operating around him at Herculaneum. No one could get near him there, not even the Catholic Church or Talento Fabbro’s shadowy spies.
Exhausted, Sinibaldus fell into a large sturdy chair. It took him a moment to regain his composure and his strength before pulling back the hood, unbuttoning the v-necked collar and sliding the black robe down off his shoulders. Sore and aching, he removed his arms from the sleeves and sat shirtless, the talisman still dangling about his neck and over his chest. His body glistened with perspiration in the dark cool room. His pores steamed, his body misting as the temperature gradually righted itself.
On the table beside the chair sat a large black chest.
Pained, Sinibaldus closed his eyes and placed his hand near the bronze latch without touching it. He whispered some strange words and a glittery amber cloud materialized. It floated off the latch before dissipating in the air. Sinibaldus then opened his eyes and flipped up the bronze latch. He tossed open the lid and began thumbing through several colored phials filled with various liquids, finally deciding on a murky green one. He popped off the cork and drank the contents in haste, a sense of relief rushing over him instantaneously. Stronger now, he dug deeper in the chest, recovering a black container filled with white cream. He dapped the paste thick on his burnt h
and and on portions of his face that were red and tender.
“La Piscine Vivant,” he whispered yet again.
Every time Sinibaldus stood in Viridian’s effervescent presence, fond memories of The Living Pool rushed back on him. Sinibaldus was not one to daydream or reminisce. He saw firsthand how influential memories were in the minds of his victims, how it weakened then, making them far more easy to manipulate. Invoking memory caused melancholy and longing, a chink in the armor as far as the magician was concerned.
‘But Claire,’ he thought nearly melting, the memory weakening him. ‘Sweet, sweet, Claire.’
In his mind’s eyes, he saw both now, both women, Claire and Viridian. They were nearly twins. And in his irrational judgments, they were both naked, warm and full of life, glistening with timeless youth, pitch black manes gracefully flowing down their backsides, over their shoulders, across their breasts, touching their asses.
‘Such perfection.’
Sinibaldus stood up and allowed the black cape to fall to the floor. He was tall but oddly lean, wearing only a worn wool loin cloth beneath the robe. The way his cloaks clung to his broad shoulders and draped down around his entire body, none would have guessed the giant to be so thin. He was not very intimidating without his cloak – and he knew it.
‘Viridian was painted in gold today,’ his bothersome memory kicked out. ‘Her nails and eyelids, everything painted in gold. It was a sign.’
Sinibaldus was superstitious and always looking for signs, advice from beyond. Nothing in the real world had gone untouched by them or so he believed. There was evidence of otherworldly messengers constantly in play, operating in the theater of here and now. People needed only to learn how to look for them, address them and use them.
