Bound & Bound – the Curse and the Captives – - 25. Chapter 25: Climbing the Rook

Chapter 25: Climbing the Rook

STANDING DEAD AHEAD OF US is the tower of my vision.

It's drizzling, and the mid-morning light is leaden all around us as Sil and I walk with hands thrust deep in our jacket pockets. We have no proper rain gear, so the hoods of our sweatshirts have to cowl our brows from the light and annoying precipitation.

There is not a soul in sight as we saunter over the paths of Targoviste castle, or actually, the ruins of this former last-defence of Christendom against the medieval Turks.

To our right, we stroll past the chapel of the castle, which still stands proud. Nearly a cube of a brick building with narrow arches on the front, three barrel-drum cupolas are capped with green witches' hats roofs. Next to it are a collection of ruined walls, some up to the height of two or three stories.

As I said, the tower is straight ahead, and it appears just as much the perfectly full-size chess piece as I imagined. The rain soaks the red bricks of the upper part of the keep until it looks as saturated as mud. The white stones of the base glisten as pure and indestructible as the pyramids of Giza were once finished.

My eyes drift up the height, and note that the angular base of the tower is at least a third of the overall height. A Gothic doorway stands open near the ground, while halfway up the round section of the tower is another tall Gothic opening with a balcony and iron handrails. This observation platform appears barely large enough to hold a pair of people. High above it is a smaller window, and then nothing until the top, which is set fully around with the turreted 'teeth' of embattlements.

I glance over. Silviu is introspective; hell, I am too. The 'event' with the big black dog had been frightening, and seemed to come out of the blue, however, there had been nothing random about it. It's much worse than that, because I had actually been able to summon our enemy to us, and that enemy was almost able to get us. It's a funny thing about these spectral black beasts not being able to cross moving water – funny, but it turns out to be lifesaving for us.

We get to the base of the rook where tourist steps and a ramp have been built.

Sil looks at me; I look at him.

"What now?" he asks.

I shrug. "Just because I saw it in a vision, doesn't mean I know why I'm here."

"I read we can climb to the top. Wanna do that?"

"Okay," I offer, figuring it's our best shot.

We walk up the ramp, ignoring the metal information placards, and head for the tower door. Past its oaken stronghold with multiple iron straps, the staircase is to the right. We begin to mount it, circling round and round the entire circumference of the building, but have to watch our steps because the treads are narrow and extremely heel worn. Climbing them gives me a slightly seasick feeling of being off balance.

Around and around we go, up about nine stories, until we emerge at the top. I follow Sil's fancy jeans and openly admire the flowing embroidery in front of me with a sexy touch or two.

The doorway at the top is low, so I have to duck my head on the way out to the roof terrace. I glance around; a low line of embattlements circles us in, and mist and haze obscures much of the view. I can perceive the town below on our one side, and rolling countryside, woods, and undulating hills on the other.

I lay my hands flat on top of one of the turrets, and bend slightly at the waist to look down.

Silviu comes next to me and gently applies pressure on my thigh with the full contact of his own.

My gaze rotates to him.

The hands he has thrust in the pockets of his leather jacket do a nervous adjustment, and he asks, "Well? Do you feel anything?"

I try to restrain my answer from too rapid fire a release, for actually I had thought about it – I had tried to let something, anything, connect with me here. I slowly shake my head, indulgently marvelling at just how blue and wonderful my man's eyes really are. "No baby, I don’t feel anything."

"Come on!" He slaps my ass, his lips smeared with a seraphim grin. "Let's go check out the balcony. You can pretend you're Avita."

I watch him take two steps away, but do not move.

He turns back around. "What..?"

"Eh-vita, dear."

"Pardon me; you will always be able to out 'movie' me, Em."

I kick myself off the turret wall, feeling pulled to his smile like iron to a magnet. I kiss him briefly, slipping my hand around his waist for a moment. "Got that right. But, I love you for trying."

His response is to kiss me back, and to gently guide me so I go down the stairs first this time. Maybe some jean-touching turnabout is fair play – at least I hope so!

We wind our way back down with Silviu's hands on my shoulders. His 'support' makes it a bit difficult to walk, but it sure feels nice.

When we get the balcony doorway, I step onto the stone platform, and almost immediately need to hold onto the railing.

The view is high above the path we had travelled to get here. The ruins of walls are spread to my left, and at the end stands the castle's chapel.

Down below and to the right are trees along the path. And as I hear the rain lightly tap on the fabric of my hood, whose front edge provides a bit of tunnel vision, those trees begin to morph.

The light foliage and spindly branches at top dissolve in the haze of a sharpening perception until only the trunks remain.

Then, right before my eyes, the structures, walls and ramparts of the castle laying at my feet begin to reassemble themselves. A phantom tornado of bricks rise and fly into position, timbers span lengths of open voids so that floorboards can spread themselves flat. Other towers shoot up from the ground as if spring saplings and mark out the defensive corridors of the fortification. Great roof rafters link together like hands in old-fashioned prayer, and masses of red-clay roof tiles interlock themselves to pave acres of the citadel's landscape of roofs. And here, at the bulwark corner of this stronghold, stands the tower from which I can see it all.

The modern town dissolves. In its stead, a ramshackle collection of thatched huts and hovels arise, all with gently smoking chimneys or gaps in the eaves. This workaday assembly of workshops and residences provide the support staff of the keep's retinue room to live and work. These structures are peppered here and there amongst mature trees with verdant tops. The cheeriness of the place is almost palpable.

But, as I watch, these clusters of trees gathered around the tower become stripped of animation and good cheer. The leaves and upper branches vanish, the sturdy limbs lower down fall away as well, and what remains – the living trunks – get sharpened at top into massive pikes.

My vision expands out to the surrounding countryside. Here too, every tree of substantial size has been converted into a stake of tortuously living sapwood. The nearly throbbing green fresh of the still-rooted forest of pikes seems to almost pant and fight to stay alive.

The purpose for this carnage of flora soon shows itself to me, for slowly, upon every pike appears an impaled man. The ruthless care by which these people become planted there is horrifying, for the stakes get driven through backsides, then along spines and ribs – to avoid rupturing vital organs – and then guided to reappear out of the condemned's upper chest near the collarbone. They're not intended to die, at least not too soon. No, they are meant to scream, and then exhaust themselves through long days of slowly dehydrating and shivering moans.

But not men alone; smaller trees are gored by the blood of women as well. Sometimes, husband and wife got impaled facing one another, in either maniacal tribute, or cruel hate, so that the loved-one will spend days helplessly watching the other expire in slow motion.

Being that evil knows no limits, even shrubs and saplings were employed. Their purpose? To impale children; to impale toddler and infants too.

As the broad swath of my mental picture gradually draws back towards the castle, the formerly cheery countryside begins to reek of burnt earth. Amongst the stands of writhing humanity, these people's houses and barns were torched; their livestock slaughtered and thrown on smouldering bonfires; their wells were laced with poison and feces; and their formerly lush fields were plowed with great chunks of mineral salt from the bowels of Romanian earth. There was to be no looting by or the feeding of an advancing army from this land.

Drawing my attention back to the rook, the natural pikes of living trees are augmented with cut logs. The closer my sight withdraws to the fortification walls, the denser the stakes become.

Thousands – no, tens of thousands – of living corpses weave an impenetrable palisade to buffer this citadel for kilometres in every direction. And in my head, possessed as it is by the mentality of the one who actually saw this event, I am 'pleased' with this butchery. And the feeling that I was proud of this makes me profoundly sick.

Watching from the tower balcony as I am, the muffled cries of this brutal carnage from the past blends and dissolves with the soft pitter pat of the rain as it strikes the fabric of the drawn cowl of my sweatshirt.

Silviu's soft chuckling from over my shoulder startles me. "Well, Em-vita, are you lost in a performance of 'Don't Cry for me Targoviste,' or what?"

I grab Sil's arm and pull both of us back inside the tower. "I've just had a vision, but you don’t want to know…" That's all I can manage to get out.

He stops me on the staircase with a perturbed hand on my arm. "But you are going to tell me, right?"

"God Sil, I'm frightened. Please let's go to a café or something, and of course I'll tell you. After all, we're in this together."

It looks to my eyes like I have stunned him. In another moment, he nearly topples me over the step when his big arms lock his leather jacket sleeves around me in a bear hug. His breathing caresses the side of my neck. He says softly, "It's going to be all right. We are in this together. Baby, please trust me, ok..?"

He almost brings tears to my eyes. I whisper, "Don’t have doubts about it, Silviu. I do trust you; I trust you with my life."

˚˚˚˚˚

It's late.

Our hotel room this time is plain. Two single beds in one area, which we have pushed together, and a sitting space with a small window, television and sofa.

We've had our showers, and now some laundry in the form of dripping drawers and socks hang on the towel rods to dry. We sit side by side on the couch in our going-to-bed boxers and tee-shirts.

Silviu radiates concern, which I feel as heat from where our thighs touch. "Today was a bad day, Emeric," he tells me softly. "We'll go back tomorrow."

I watch him lace fingers behind his head. The intriguing hairs peeking through the arm cutouts of his tank top are fresh and enticing. Somehow I want to be wrapped in those arms, and I could be too, if I only slide my head over to rest it on his chest.

My reticence to speak spurs Silviu on.

"I'm worried that you are overly stressed. It makes me afraid."

And sure enough, my Romani protector's baby blues look upon me with deeply furrowed anxiety.

My lips part and I murmur, "Damn…"

He half laughs: "Damn, what?"

"Damn, I'm lucky. You are one beautiful man, Silviu – and I mean inside and out."

His left arm comes and latches a hand on the nape of my neck. That same hand gently brings me into him, and rests my head over his heart.

Pa-thump; Pa-thump; Pa-thump; his heartbeat slows as my left hand caresses the white ribs of his tank top and plays with his pecs.

"Emeric, I feel the increasing intensity of your experiences means we are getting closer and closer." His warm palm opens and lovingly strokes my hair. "Just – don’t be afraid. I'm here, all right..?"

Again, my slowness to respond to him brings Sil's reach towards my face. This time his left index finger finds the underside of my chin. He raises my gaze up to his.

He scrunches down and kisses me; a quick peck on the lips, but my hand instantly leaves his chest and pulls on the side of his head by the ear. There can be no teasing: he will kiss me properly.

My lips part and I feel his mouth partially open to press against mine. We apply pressure and go deeper; a flick of my tongue against his lips makes him moan deeply towards my back molars.

Satisfied, I let my hand release him. He raises his head, but simultaneously scoots his butt forward on the sofa cushion. This reclining angle of his is an invitation, so I turn my back and lay my head in his lap. His hand plays with my hair, and mine strokes his thighs, chest and waist from time to time.

Sil yanks lightly on my forelocks. "Did I ever tell you, boyfriend, how much I love your head?"

"My, haircut?"

"No, I mean your brains. Your hairstyle can change – but you'll always be smart, and wicked with wit."

"You think I'm smart?" I feel my smirk rise, and my eyebrows flash up. "And you think I'm funny..?"

His big strong palm strokes my brow as gently as a mother with her newborn; my smirk gets washed away by that touch.

"I love you, Emeric. Period. I love everything about you."

"That's sweet, but how much do you really know about me?"

"I know enough. I know you're going to be a big time producer and director – "

I interrupt. "I also write screenplays too..." My smile's back in full force.

Sil's lashes out to tickle my sides. I instantly deflect his advances with upraised knees and elbows.

Silviu's lips press flat in determination. He purses them, trying to tickle me harder. He says, "Holding out, eh? Mr. Writer-Producer-Director!"

"Sil! Stop – you win."

After he relaxes, I turn my face so I can lift his shirt. I kiss his navel, telling him, "Okay, no more holding out."

His body is clean and I relish the natural notes of citrus and spices his body sends out at all times.

His fingers go back to combing my hair, so I settle back to gaze up into his face.

"Tell me about your writings," he says looking down at me.

"Well, I've posted my screenplays on this LGBT literary site, but they haven’t had much impact."

"Why? What are they about?"

"The sea novels of Herman Melville."

My boyfriend stops stroking my hair; I lock onto his scowl as he says, "I mean, and you wonder why no one is reading them?"

"Silviu! They are chock-a-block with hot, raunchy, man-on-man sex! People would love them, if they ever gave them a fair chance."

My Romani protector licks his lips in sputtering disbelief. "If you say so…"

"Don't tell me," I ask in a tone I think is a match to his grimace. "You don’t like Melville either!"

"Nah, but I like Moby-Dick, your Moby Dick."

"I'm sure you do, but if you want this harpoon, you better say you'll read my screenplays…"

Again, that gentle long stroke at his command caresses my forehead; his eyes are as wide as those that have only ever seen innocence. "Baby – I want to support you in every way I am allowed."

I inhale in disbelief, loving disbelief. "Okay. I will let you." My fingers flutter up to his ears. I drag him back down into a kiss.

He rises up again with a totally contented and glossy smile on his lips.

I grip his arm, thinking out loud: "Why did I fall for you so quickly?"

He takes my hand, splays my palm open and lays his lips on it. Cocking his head, he tells me through his grin, "Come on, now. Look at me! Who wouldn't fall head over heels?" My hand is cascaded in his laughter. "Besides," he adds. "It sure didn’t seem 'quick' to me. You were pretty poker-face with me right up until the very last moment; that moment when you said you loved me." He had grown wistful by the end of his sentence.

"Yeah." I extract my hand, lie fully flat on my back with my head in his lap, and fold it with the other one on my belly. I gaze towards the room door and get lost in a thought. "I feel I have been too passive in my own fate for too long. If I had stood up to my overbearing father sooner, I might still be with Erich. I'm just saying this about me being hopeless, not that I'd choose him over you – you are my man, and he ran away from me like a scared little child. But still, I blame myself. I punish myself daily when I look in the mirror and see my father's haircut and face staring back at me."

I know I have turned into a major bummer, so I add with a laugh, "My actions are like those of an ascetic, but an unholy one!"

Peering up into Sil's sullen silence, don't know if I have just hurt him…

I roll back to lift his shirt, but his hands wash his shirttails down and away from my lips.

"Why are you telling me this?" Silviu whispers. He won't look at me.

"Because, I feel cursed when it comes to men. That's why." I use my grip on his neck to lift myself up. I straddle him, forcing his azure eyes to hold mine. "Silviu Vasile, with this curse, I have felt that I've already been too late once, and that emotion makes me want to go all out to deal with it. Before I met you, stud, I didn’t really care if I lived or died, but with my love for you now in place – Silviu, my man – it proves that death-wish notion was just another of my ascetic conceits." I lean in and kiss him. "I want to go all out with you, my Romani, cuz I love you."

Sil lets a tear fall, and his hands fly around my waist to embrace me. "I want to marry you, Emeric Corvin." His voice is choked with emotion.

I kiss his tears away.

He jostles me a bit by the waistband of my boxers to make sure I listen to him. "I want to make it official, babe."

"Sil, we're already officially in love, isn't that enough, for now?"

"Yes, but I want to stand up with you one day and tell all the other guys to 'back off,' he's all mine, and he only wants me. I want us to do that."

Before I can stop it, "Curse first," escapes my lips.

It looks like I have stabbed him.

I latch onto his hair from near his temples. "Listen to me, my love. I'm damaged goods, and I'm cursed. Let's see what happens. You may need to go on without me."

"Don’t say that, Emeric."

His forceful and tearful reply makes me sad in the profoundest way possible. "Okay, baby. I won't say it; I won't think it. Please don’t be upset." I hug, and wind up rising again crying.

I decide I must engage Sil's intellect to distract him, so I ask him, "Did I ever tell you that my dad took my coming out almost like a relief?"

"Your dad was 'relieved' to learn that you love guys?"

"Sure seemed like it."

"Well…" He puzzled it out. "Now that you know about this hereditary curse, maybe you can see how he felt." He wipes my tears with his thumbs.

"What do you mean?"

Silviu continues like he had to explain a complex thing to a simple child, and do it with love and patience. "Look, out of context – at least based on the cultural bullshit we are fed that only men and women are stable candidates for parenthood – his feelings might seem uncharacteristically liberal, but plug in the equation of the curse, and maybe he felt that you wouldn't have to worry about your son the way he had to worry about you. He probably just assumed – because he was an old fart – that you wouldn't want to have kids, and he was relieved that you wouldn't have the guilt of dying and knowing you are passing the curse on to a loved one – like he had to do with you."

"And you praised my brain..? See, you are the smart one here." I just realize something. "But wait – if that's true – why get rid of Erich?!"

"Maybe your dad found out he was no good for you."

"No good, how?"

"I mean, now that you know you're being monitored by whoever or whatever is making sure the curse is alive and well probably wants spies nearby. Perhaps your father had to 'deal' with Erich because he was a fake, because he was on the enemy's payroll. Did you ever think of that possibility..?"

I'm stunned; I swallow down a lump. "No. Do you think – "

He cuts me off by shaking my waist again. "Come on, now. Look at you, Emeric. Do you imagine for even one moment that a guy truly in love with you would run off and leave just because of a little carrot and stick/money and threats diplomacy? I know I sure as hell wouldn't."

I feel like I'm about cry again. "So, maybe he never loved me at all..?"

"Baby, don’t be sad. I don’t know for sure, but it's a possibility, and perhaps it's also highly plausible."

"I…"

"Em, in my opinion it's time to stop beating yourself up over Erich and your dad. So tell me, is it time for a haircut?"

"I'm tired, Silviu." I start to climb off of him feeling a bit confused.

He tugs on my hand. "Don’t be mad, Emeric."

"Mad..? The only mad I feel towards you, Silviu…" I make him stand up. "…Is madly in love."

We kiss, and his bare hands slip longingly between my skin and back waistband of my boxers.

My fingers slide down his front and latch onto his erect 'little Sil.'

"Come on," I say, forcing him to plop backwards onto our conjoined bed. "It's time you show me how much you really love me – you know, from on top."