MEMBER LOGIN

DON'T HAVE AN ACCOUNT?

Register & Login HERE

Here at AUTHORSdB we've formed the only database of authors, including social media, book listings and much more, for today's mine-field of thousands of aspiring and established writers.

We are a dedicated website that helps authors for free.

The Mountain, Part 2 of 3 Parts


dontravis.com blog post #328


Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Ready for the second installment of this medieval story? First, let me point out something obvious to the historians among you. Given the setting and the time, it is doubtful that Hargis and his two friends could read or write. But allow me some poetic license, okay? You will recall from last week that our hero met and rebuffed a beautiful young woman on his travel over a mysterious mountain. 


Here we go, trekking with Hargis over this strange mountain trail again..


*****

                                                                THE MOUNTAIN                         


The pathway ahead became far more difficult. Rocks torn from the slope blocked the way at times. Late afternoon found me panting and sweating at the edge of another beautiful park and mentally kicking my bum for refusing to sample the beautiful girl on the back trail. Mindful of the refreshing bath earlier that day, I knelt at the side of that same mountain stream and washed away the day’s grime before partaking of the cool water. As I started to rise, I froze. Standing on the opposite shore where the stream was at its narrowest, was a slender youth.

I issued a challenge from sheer surprise. “Who is there?”

“A friend,” came a clear, light voice. My words had galvanized the figure to action. Gracefully, the stranger leapt the stream and strode to meet me. “My name is Gwinnyth,” said a gamin mouth set in a gamin’s face. It was another girl…or woman, if you prefer. Younger than the other but looking strangely the same except for being slimmer and wearing her dark hair cropped close to the head in a strangely pleasing manner.

Introducing myself as a traveler on the way to the far coast. Offering me sustenance, she walked up the stream in a strong, boyish gait to a fire merrily burning in a carefully constructed rock pit. A hare simmered in a spit over the flames.

As she carefully offered a meal of charred flesh on a broad green leaf, she set about questioning me. I responded good-naturedly.

“I am Hargis of Rodenbury, a cobbler on my way to the eastern shore to visit two boon companions from my past.”

“You go to seek your beloved?” she asked. Her small head sat dainty upon its slender neck.

“Nay,” I protested quickly and then paused at the thought. “Mayhap you have struck upon a truth. There is a fair lady awaiting on that shore.”

“One? You spoke of two?” she said, nibbling at a hare’s leg on her own leaf.

“The other is a youth. Nay, he’s a man by now. I keep remembering him as I saw him last these three summers past.”

She looked up with interest. “He is fair, as well?”

“When last I saw him, he was as beautiful as his sister.”

“Then likely still he is,” she said nonchalantly. Suddenly, she eyed me frankly. “You have traveled far. You will spend the night with me?”

There was no doubt of her meaning. Her dark eyes examined me from pate to boot with the same disconcerting frankness as had Gwyndolyn. Fresh from that sweet temptation, I reacted with excitement.

“And where do you bed down for the night?” I asked through a tight voice.

“Why here, of course,” she replied.

“Have you no home?”

She glanced at me with puzzlement. “The mountain is my home.”

“Have you never been off it?”

Again, she looked perplexed. “There is no other place, at least in thisworld,” the small mouth proclaimed firmly.

“Then from whence do I come?” I asked with a smile.

“The other world,” she responded promptly.

Delighted at the provinciality of this woman-child, I rose with a laugh and proceeded to wash myself at the stream. As she had no blankets of her own, I allowed her to snuggle against me as we settled by the campfire. She made no objection when I lay close behind her.

Strange that I should be so excited by this slight woman when I spurned the voluptuous Gwyndolyn. Nevertheless, I responded to her. I reached around and fastened upon a rounded breast with a rigid nipple. Aye, I’d take this one for all her boyish, coltish ways.

Suddenly, a loud noise at the edge of the glen drew me to my feet ready to meet any danger. A lilting laugh eased my concern.

“Tis only a stag drawn to the fire and bolting when he caught our scent,” she said. Thudding hooves in the far brush confirmed her opinion. “Come back to our bed,” the girl pled.

And I did, but my ardor was deflated, the desire gone. I turned my back to her, and resting my head on my arms, I wondered at the fragility of my need. My heart raced, but it was from the interruption, not the wanting.

Her words startled me. “Are you sure?” To my muttered affirmative, she added, “Are you certain?” I made no further reply but fell asleep.

When I woke the following morning, Gwinnyth was gone. It was as if she had never been there except for the ashes in the fire ring.

Easing my hunger from the dried stores in my bag, I washed up and was soon on my way through this strange place. Once again, strewn boulders blocked my way in the steep part of the trail, forcing me to do some climbing. At mid morn, I reached the crest and looked eagerly to the east. There was nothing to see except for the broad seaward slope of the mountain and a haze in the distance. It was as if what the pixie Gwinnyth had said was God’s Truth. This mountain was its own world.

Resolutely, I set upon my trek again, finding the going faster on the downhill trail. The sun had long passed overhead before I paused to take sustenance again in a broad highland meadow like others I had left behind. There was no rushing stream to my left, but doubtless there was one somewhere nearby.

As I munched on tasteless dried goods, the hair on the nape of my neck bristled. Carefully, I leaned casually against the bole of a tree. In the periphery of my vision I caught sight of the gamin. She had followed me.

“I see you,” I said gruffly.

“And I see you,” came the reply, surprising me by the timbre of the voice. It was lower, masculine.

The figure stepped forward, and I saw that it was not Gwinnyth, but it could have been from the closeness of the resemblance. The pixie face was slightly larger, and the chin was male, the upper lip showing a faint line of down. This was a boy.

Confused, I stammered. “H-have we not met before?”

“Nay, I’ve not set eyes upon you before, although I wish I had. You are long on the trail?” the adolescent voice asked.

“Some days,” I responded.

“Come with me, and I will show you a welcome surprise.”

“I’ve a way yet to go. I’d best—”

“Tis but a short distance. And you will be pleased.”

Intrigued, I followed the youth into the forest. My eyes fastened upon his lean figure, discerning muscles playing beneath his rude clothing. I was brought to think of Gwinnyth walking before me in her feminine, boyish gait. This youth walked in a manly way tainted by a girlish grace. Confounded by my interest, I was glad when he came to a halt and gestured.

“See! There it is!”

He pointed to a dark, green pool from which steam arose. It was one of those natural baths heated by the earth. A thing much coveted for reasons of health.

Confident that I was intrigued, the youth abruptly shed his clothing and stepped into the water. I could not help but notice his dark nipples, lean belly, and ample manhood. He grinned as he took note of my observance and then sat in the pool with a curiously feminine flourish.

Suddenly tired, I stripped naked and entered the pool, taking a seat facing him. His eyes had examined me closely throughout the entire process.

“You are a lot of man,” he said as we faced one another in the hot, soothing water. Having no reply to that, I asked his name. “I am Donneth,” he responded.

“Some time back on the trail, I met someone who favors you strongly,” I said.

“Ah, that must be Gwinnyth.”

Comprehension dawned. “She is your sister?”

“Aye. I have sisters. And a brother. And you are Hargis, are you not?”

“How did you know? Oh, I see. You have spoken to your sister.” I colored abruptly. Had she told of my lack of interest.

A hand on my thigh interrupted my thoughts. I flinched.

“Have I offended you?” the youth, who I now judged three or so years my junior, inquired. “I simply sought to offer… friendship.”

“Where I come from men do not touch men in such manner,” I said gruffly. Yet in truth, I was not offended.

“That world must be a horrible place,” he said simply and leaned forward to gaze into my eyes.

“That world is your world,” I snapped.

“Nay, not mine! This is my world. Where I can offer my friendship as I see fit.” The hand came to rest on my thigh again. I made no protest. To my surprise, I responded to the touch.

“Stand so I can see you. Please!” he purred.

Whether out of perversity or a need arising from casting aside two attractive women, I complied and stood with tendrils of hot water cascading off my body, my suddenly exposed parts cooling in the mountain air.

You are beautiful!” Donneth murmured. Still shocked by my reactions, I agreed to remain with him for the night.

I slept with Donneth beside the comfort of a fire, and before sleep came, he reached for me. Pausing only to ask, “Are you sure?”

“Aye,” I responded. And after he drew me to orgasm, I asked if he would accompany me on the morrow, but he could not comprehend departing this world of his. At my dawn awakening, he was gone. As with Gwinnyth, there was no sign he had ever been here.


*****

Wow! Hargis of Rodenbury is learning things about himself. A beautiful young woman throws herself at him, and he rejects her. A tomboy excites his interest, but he allows noises in the forest to cool his ardor. But he goes all the way with a young man. What else is there to learn? See Installment 3.


Abaddon’s Locusts, the fifth in the BJ Vinson mystery series, received several positive reviews. I hope you’ll consider buying a copy. If you do, please post a review of the book on Amazon. Each one helps… as do letters to the publisher.


Now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say… so say it.


My personal links:


Email: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3


Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:



See you next week.


Don


New Posts are published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.



0
Don Travis: Don Travis: The Mountain, Part 1 of 3 ...
How long does it take to write a novel?