_Anthology - Myths

by _Anthology

  He sighed with delight; only from that little taste his mouth had been filled with a lovely sweetness. He sighed again and stopped on the track, his horse eager as well to reach the bushes and the berries. Peter decided he would let the animal choose for them both. If the horse decided it was safe to eat, Peter would eat as well.

  To Peter's satisfaction the grey mare did not hesitate but bent her head and filled her big mouth with leaves and berries. A trickle of pale purple juice ran down her side and Peter could smell how the air was enriched by another, stronger wave of that tempting scent. He envied the horse who shuddered beneath him and gave in with yet another happy sigh. He put the berry in his mouth and it did not disappoint him. As his teeth sank through the cherry-like surface and into the fruity meat beneath, a sensational feeling spread through his body as the flavor was better than any chocolate, any pudding or desert he had ever tasted. Vanilla lost its glamour and wine its spicy edge compared to this wonder of the flavors spreading in the cave of his mouth. Like plums, cherries, strawberries and fresh milk... he could not properly compare or describe it. It was beauty and everything sparkling and shining wrapped in this astonishing berry. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever tasted and before he jumped off the horse and reached for the next, he already knew he could never voluntarily let go of this amazing taste.

  He filled his hands with glistening black and ate the purple meat, savored the juice and let his tongue play with the little black seeds that were scattered in all the sweet flesh. The mare was also busying herself licking at the bushes, tasting its fruits. They were both obsessed, standing there, filling their bellies with these strange fruits, this heavenly flavor.

  "I see you like my jewels," a dark voice cut through the air and ripped Peter from his dreamlike state of berry indulging. Startled, he turned his head toward the voice. A man stood there, tall and dark. His hair was as shiny black as the berries' surface, his face pale although he looked healthy. His cheekbones were high and his eyes a pale green like the first leaves in spring. His clothes were dark red and green as the bushes surrounding them. His long crimson cloak was held together by a golden pin shaped like a five-fingered leaf by his throat. The mare came to nuzzle the stranger's cheek while he spoke to Peter. "I am the lord of this forest. And these are my berries. The villagers call them wishberries".

  "Are you the forest lord?" Peter cried out in disbelief. "But you are pretty!" he said, surprised. "I thought you were supposed to be ugly and mean!"

  The lord laughed, it was a deep, rich sound. "It depends upon the eye, don't you think?" He smiled, parted his red, red lips to show strong, sharp teeth. "You are welcome to visit my castle, Traveler. If you like..." The beautiful lord gestured behind him and as Peter turned he saw that a black iron gate was set between the trees and that a broad riding path led up to it. He could not believe he had not seen it before! He must had been too occupied with the berries.

  "I make some very nice wine from these." The lord spoke again, caught Peter's attention as he picked one of the black berries and put it in his mouth where it burst between the white teeth. "But...you are mean!" Peter was still confused, but also slightly dizzy somehow, as if his thoughts went astray when he tried to catch them. "The priest in the grey village said you had taken all beauty from them." The lord laughed again, the same enchanting sound. "Oh no! It is with great sadness I have seen them paint their houses grey with tar and ashes, and rip all beauty from their buildings. I assure you, Stranger, I am not the one who has made them do so. But come inside my home," he interrupted himself, "and we shall discuss this further."

  Peter saw no harm in this, and besides he was tempted by both the promise of wine and the company of such a beautiful and noble man. He accepted the invitation with a low bow to the lord. Hands came to open the gate as they approached it, but Peter could see no faces in the thick ivy surrounding the iron. The path was stone-lined and more wishberries grew on each side of it, as well as tall pines that kept most of the daylight out. Peter's mare followed them on the way to the castle of her own accord.

  "The berries cannot grow if there's too much sun." The lord seemed to read his mind. "And they are my jewels... I give them what they need to blossom."

  "They bloom?" Peter asked with awe.

  "Oh yes." The lord smiled. "They have beautiful purple flowers in spring. You should come back here then and look at them," he offered cheerfully. "Oh, I'd love to..." Peter was already mesmerized and with every step he took on the rough stone tiles he felt more and more sure that the priest was wrong and that the lord was innocent in this. It was enough to look at his clothes, wasn't it? The fine linen and beautiful colors... this was not someone who would hide the beautiful, but increase it.

  "I cannot believe," he burst out, "that the priest would blame you for anything. You seem to appreciate beauty so much. Just like I do," he added. "Surely, he was mistaken!" "Yes, my friend," the lord said in a disappointed voice. "In this I believe the good priest was wrong. It is a sad story, the story of the village. A story of fear and superstition," he began. "But look! Here we are!" They had rounded a corner and suddenly the path ended in front of a huge castle made of solid rocks and covered in five-fingered ivy. It was truly a beautiful building, the way it melded with the landscape, fit perfectly in its surroundings. The tall windows glimmered black in the dim light between the pines and dark green moss created natural shadings on the grey rocks.

  Peter sighed deeply at the sight. "So beautiful!" he said. "Such a wonderful thing! No wonder the villagers don't know where it is -- it is perfect the way it blends with the forest."

  "Yes, don't you think so?" the forest lord said with pride. "I like my solitude," he added. "Besides, the grey village isn't the only village I rule. Many are those who indeed know where it is, and how to find it."

  Peter just nodded to this. It made sense. His eyes were wide and his heart filled with amazement when he passed through the heavy doors made of red wishberry wood and entered the castle with the lord by his side. It was amazing inside as well. Natural wells poured crystal clear water from the walls down into shallow trays, quartz crystals covered the ceiling in the hall and braided branches of wishberry hung as ornaments on the dark, stone walls.

  The lord motioned for Peter to follow and together they climbed the narrow stairs to the next floor where the rooms were bigger and more spacious. The stone walls were lighter and the air more dry. A fire burned merrily in a large fireplace and illuminated the richly carved wood in the ceiling. Peter had a look out the window, but alas there was no view. A fog seemed to have come seeping in without him noticing and covered the landscape in milky white veils.

  "Ah, the fog... yes." The lord had come to stand behind him. "It is a problem around here. Sometimes people cannot see through it."

  Peter caught himself smiling. There was no apparent reason for it. It was just a smile of contentment and of joy. And for the lord's presence, too. It made him feel warm and comfortable. "Come sit with me," the lord offered and motioned to a long, wooden table, red as well, made of wishberry wood. A wooden bowl of berries was there and thick, beeswax candles, giving off a sweet scent that enriched that of the wishberry wood and berries that filled the whole castle and its surroundings with its glamour.

  Peter still smiled as he seated himself by the table and the smile widened when the lord appeared with two goblets made of white stone and a small mug made of the same material. Without asking, the lord poured the wine for him and Peter noticed his own fingers shook a little as he lifted the tempting fluid to his mouth.

  The stone felt cold and hard against his lips, but the wine seemed to have a soul of its own, a liquid fire in the deep purple droplets that danced across his tongue and warmed in his stomach like no other drink ever had. It tasted like the berries in the forest, only stronger. More intoxicating. Distilled and purified so it became pure pleasure, a liquid beauty. Peter let the sensation wrap around his senses and roll his mind. It was magic, he thought. Heavenly bli
ss in a stone goblet.

  "Thank you!" he managed and beamed up at the lord who still stood by his chair, awaiting his judgment. "I knew you would like my nectar." The lord smiled. "As it likes you. The wishberries only call for those they are drawn to." He winked playfully. "Usually those who possess a natural beauty and purity of heart, like yourself."

  "Thank you," Peter said again. Shy now and blushing at the compliment.

  The lord seated himself on the other side of the table and Peter realized he missed the lord's nearness. Deprived of it he settled for looking at the man, trailing the fine form with his gaze. The lord poured more wine for both of them and they drank in a laden silence, their gazes playing with each other across the table. The dizziness in Peter's mind and body increased as the wine worked its will on his senses and when the lord finally spoke and bid him to tell about himself, he did so without reservations. He told about the city where he came from, about his rich father and kind mother, the market and the linen. His own taste for beauty that outdid his sisters', the travels he had made and stories about the fishermen's wives and farmers' daughters he had saved from poverty. Not to promote himself as a kind and merciful being, but because those stories weighed heavily in his heart, as the beauty he'd seen in the midst of poverty had branded an impression upon his soul.

  "That is why I was so sad in the grey village," he finished. "Because they had no beauty there. Only this one altar cloth. The woman!" he suddenly cried, startled from his wine hazed state. "I was to rescue the woman!" He panicked. "But she is not here, is she? The woman who made that beautiful cloth?"

  Inwardly he begged that she was not, that the priest had been wrong! He simply could not believe that it was so... that the beautiful forest lord should keep such an artist captive!

  "She is." The lord replied. "But why?" Peter began, but the lord interrupted him. "She is not my prisoner, Peter, that I promise." The lord smiled calmly. "She is here by her own will." The lord rose and walked over to the window, still with his goblet in hand he looked outside. "Come," he called. "You can see for yourself."

  Peter scrambled to his feet and realized he needed the table to steady himself before walking. The wine did indeed affect both his body and mind!

  Confused, he looked outside and saw only the white fog draped across the landscape. "Just wait," The lord urged him, and as Peter watched the veils of white parted and in front of him appeared a sunlit field of linen plants where a woman was bent, harvesting them. She wore a blue dress and had her long, blond hair tied behind her neck. Her features looked peaceful and calm. "That is she," the lord spoke. "These are her fields where she grows linen and plants for dyeing. She lives in this castle and creates her things of beauty. It was her wish! She wanted to escape her husband and her children. She wanted a place and space, alone... to create. She felt that the weaving was her calling in life and that everything else she did was useless and a waste. She had her wish granted," he said. "I gave her that..."

  The fog closed again and hid her from view. Peter let out a shivering breath. He could feel the warmth radiating from the lord's body behind him and again the sensation made him feel calm and content.

  "Is she happy?" Peter asked.

  "Very happy!" the lord assured him.

  "Good." Peter said and a silence fell between them.

  "The villagers think that I brought her here by force. It is not so!" The lord said vehemently. "I understand," Peter said, thinking of the woman's serene expression.

  "What about you, Peter?" A drift of fingers slid down his spine, almost not a touch at all, yet it made his skin tingle and his heart skip a beat. "What do you wish for?" The lord's voice was low and intimate.

  "Beauty," Peter said quickly. "I wish for all to experience and recognize beauty."

  "No." The lord's voice was still calm. "That is not what you wish," he whispered. "Look closer, Peter. Deeper within your soul. What is it that this hunger for beauty is hiding within you?"

  "Nothing!" Peter shifted a bit uncomfortably on the floor. "Beauty," he repeated. "That is all."

  "Really?" The lord's fingers were resting on his hip now. "Is there nothing else you wish for, Peter? I can feel it, in your heart. That is not your truest, deepest wish..."

  "What do you mean?" Peter's voice was quivering, it was almost a whisper. Cold sweat broke out on his skin.

  "You know what you want!" The lord spoke into Peter's ear from behind. "And you know that you want it, deep down," he insisted. "You can have it, Peter," he tempted. "I can grant your wish, if you want..." It was as if something thin and sharp snapped inside his chest at that moment and with a loud gasp of pain, fear and relief, he let himself fall back into the Forest Lord's arms. The warmth of his body engulfed his own shivering one and the dark man's arms wound about him as a promise. The lips that pressed soft and moist to his neck were seals of knowledge and Peter turned his head toward the lord, to meet his searching mouth.

  Their first kiss was anything but sweet. It was passionate and strong like the wine they'd shared. It set Peter's blood on fire, made his heart race, his breath quicken and catch in his throat. Willingly he parted his lips to let the lord's warm, slick tongue inside to entwine with his own. His limbs felt eager and slow at once. The fever from the kiss and the dizziness from the wine made it easy for him to give in and answer the call of the lord's body. As he turned in the lord's embrace, he lifted his own arms to drape them across the lord's shoulders.

  The next kiss was sweeter and longer than the first. It still held hunger but this time they took a moment to explore each other's mouths and get used to the taste and the feel of one another. A solid, strong body was what Peter felt against his own. Muscles and hard planes. Silken hair against his skin. Hands that touched him, roamed his back and held him tightly. He broke the kiss, threw his head back and moaned.

  "This is what you want, isn't it? Deep down in your soul," the lord whispered against his neck. "The love of another man, that is what you wish for." "Yes." The cry came hoarsely, but muted. "Yes, " he repeated. "That is what I want..." The secret deeply buried, beneath layers of beautiful fabrics and colors. pearl pins and brooches and rings that sparkled and shone so bright, he had been blinded and could not see behind it. Did not want to see behind.

  Now he raised his arms and let the lord strip him of his tunic. His cloak was already on the floor. The pearl pin shimmered slightly, but it could not keep his attention, not now. The lord's hands on his naked skin were all he could think of. Fingers touching him, lips kissing him, sliding up and down his neck, while his own fingers closed around handfuls of dark hair. The linen of the lord's clothing rubbed roughly against his own pale skin, made it tingle and burn. His nipples shrank into hard little knobs of pleasure.

  He tugged at the fabric, willing it gone. The lord let go of his neck and looked at him, smiling, eyes shining. Without a word he obeyed Peter's silent plea and loosened the five-fingered brooch from his cloak, the woven belt left his narrow waist and he too shed his tunic. Exposed his upper body to Peter's eyes and hands.

  Peter closed his eyes and let his fingers follow every line he could find, his lips and tongue taste every flavor on the lord's skin. The lord tasted and smelled of wishberry wood, but he felt smooth and hard and warm. Peter kissed the lord's lips again, his breath shivering and his body eager. Eager to be touched by hands that were not his own and kissed by hungry lips that wanted to claim him. Just what the lord had already given him was enough to make him ecstatic with joy, lightheaded with happiness and eager with want. Every touch made him wish for one more and fed the rising hunger inside. He lapped at the beautiful lord's lips and felt the lord's tongue slide against his own, their chests touched as well. smooth friction and hard nipples, like dark berries, caressing each other, exchanging their flavor and crushing each other. A battle of desire, not wills.

  Pleasurable shivers ran through Peter's body from the feeling of the Forest Lord's arms around his naked waist. The warmth of his skin was both scaldi
ng and soothing. The lord pulled him closer and suddenly their groins connected, still clad but not enough to hide what rested there. Peter gave a secret sigh of relief when he felt his own hard organ touch the lord's. It was erect as well, it was not just him. And it was awfully large, he thought to himself and felt a slight worry.

  "You are so beautiful like this." The lord interrupted his thoughts. "Flushed and eager, your eyes are shining like precious stones..." Peter smiled and blushed even more. Then his eyes fell shut and deep moans poured from his throat again as the lord began rubbing their arousals together through the layers of fabric. For the first time in years, Peter wished he was naked and not dressed, despite the quality and the color of his clothes. No velvet or silk or satin could compare right now, to this man's soft skin and naked beauty.

  As if reading his mind again, the lord began tugging at Peter's leggings. He pushed the fabric far enough so the smooth, wet hardness of Peter's arousal peeked from the fabric, to be engulfed by the lord's hand. Peter had to steady himself with his palms on the lord's shoulders so as not to stagger at the touch. He bit his lower lip and squeezed his eyes shut, a part of him feared he would break, scream and come at once when the lord began stroking his pounding erection with sure, rhythmic movements.

  Peter could feel the taller man's chest move heavily against him, his breath came fast as well. Heavy and ragged with desire, it did nothing to help Peter control his own.

  To keep his mind somewhat together, he let his hands slide across the lord's chest and down to his groin where Peter fumbled with the tight material of his leggings and felt the shape and heat of his arousal through the red colored fabric. It twitched against his palm when he touched it, and made Peter's own organ surge, as if in answer to the call. A mutual desire.

  He managed to slide one of his hands under the waistband and his hand touched the heated flesh for real. It leaked sticky fluid from the slit, same as his own. With a hoarse moaning sound Peter began pumping it with his hand, touching and stroking it as much as he could manage from his awkward position. The lord gave his hands a little more room when he let go to push Peter's leggings further down his thighs and free his buttocks, which he instantly cupped and squeezed in his palms. Peter giggled with sudden delight and made the lord smile as well, but his gaze burned dark with desire when it met Peter's. The lust he saw there made Peter shiver and he once again surrendered to the other's strength as he did not quite trust his own.