Ben - 5. Chapter 5

Percy and Karn stood in the visitor’s chamber where Gregor had invited the dwarfs to join him on the rescue mission. In one corner, huddled in a jumble of pillows and cushions a mere shadow of Gregor trembled within a strange green, ethereal light. There was a slight quavering, low hum in the air. The image of the sorcerer was so airily transparent it almost seemed he was fading away.

“What do you make of it?” Percy asked as he moved closer.

“The magic’s leaving him,” Karn said, “and, unfortunately, taking him with it. He needs another sorcerer or something that knows the cure for this. I thought you might know being you was a dragon and all.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Percy said reaching his hand as if to touch his friend. “But, I think I know who can help.”

“May I ask who?” Karn asked, perplexed.

“Arvald, the Mountain Ranger, or so he says,” Percy said turning back to the dwarf. “I’m fairly certain he’s not what he appears.”

“What is he, good or evil?” Karn asked. “I had no indication when I met him.”

“He hides it well,” Percy said. “He is much more powerful than he appears. The Ranger is a disguise to permit him to traverse the Hinterland unopposed. We need him here, now!”

“I was wondering when someone was going to figure it out,” Arvald said, suddenly appearing between the dwarf and former dragon. “I figured it would’ve been the pixies, for the great oak definitely knew. Then I thought you, Karn, or one of the other dwarfs who were about might pick up on my true self, but my protection must be better than even I thought. Unfortunately, Gregor is still a novice, even though he is an incredibly powerful novice. Luckily, Psimilia knew whom to pass the magic. Percy, Karn, I am not a sorcerer, in the true sense of the word. Yet, I carry in the center of my being a magic more practical than Gregor’s. I am a warlock. Wait, hold your weapon, Karn, there are white warlocks and there are black warlocks, just as there are sorcerers of the white and those of the black.”

“And, you are?” Percy asked.

“You don’t know?” Arvald asked with a slight smile. “I remember a time when you were scared of the dark and now look at you, a man and a dragon. That was a bit of doing, I want you to know. Pity Gregor didn’t know what he was doing. He reads too many scrolls.”

“But, what do we do with him now?” Karn asked. “He’s getting weaker and weaker.”

“Leave us, I know just what this man needs,” Arvald said, practically pushing Percy and Karn to the door. “We are not to be disturbed, no matter what you hear. Post a guard if you have to. If anyone, including you two, so much as tries to take a peek at what is to happen in this chamber, there will be a lawn ornament out there in the drift.”

“What are you going to do?” Percy asked. Suddenly, surprise spread across his face. “You’re not Arvald! You’re Theodotus of Byssentia!”

“Please, know me by Arvald, my formal name is too powerful for mere mortals or immortals, even if they are dragons and dwarfs,” Arvald said. “Now, go find some dwarf ale and leave me with the boy. There is much I need to do and there is a good chance I may be too late to save what is left. Now, be off!”

* * * * * * * * *

Arvald sat cross-legged in front of the quavering image of Gregor. This was going to take some strong magic to break the boy’s will to destroy himself, but Arvald knew his bag of tricks was big enough to handle the challenge. The first thing to do, of course, was to recall the spirit of Psimilia from across the misty plain. That, also, was the most dangerous part of this whole exercise. There was a reason sorcerers gave up their power and passed it along to another; immortality had its drawback, for sorcerers and warlocks. Psimilia may not wish to come back and help.

“Psimilia, old friend, looks as if you’ve done it, again,” Arvald said. “Come on, Psimilia, I know you’re around, you don’t leave your followers unattended. Come on out, Psimilia, I don’t want to have to use the incantation.”

“He is kind of cute, isn’t he?” an old man asked, materializing out of a cloud of mist. “Was he a good fuck?”

“As was his wife, both forms of her,” Arvald said. “Though, I think I prefer the female to the male. That’s quite a trick Gregor’s done there.”

“Thinks it’s the magic doing it, doesn’t give himself enough credit for the strength of the magic in his veins.”

“He needs to know the secret, I hope you realize,” Arvald said.

“You can teach him, you have the power for that.”

“I am not a sorcerer,” Arvald said firmly.

“Bah! The secret is universal and you know that. I’ll restore him, but you’re going to have to give him the secret.”

“On one condition old man,” Arvald said. He turned to the apparition and placed his left hand on the Psimilias shoulder and then grasped his right hand. “By Mother Earth and all her dominions, white and black, this novice must be given instruction as a sorcerer by a sorcerer. Only the sorcerer’s school can pass on the knowledge he needs to control and focus his power.”

A red aura grew around them until it enveloped Gregor’s weakening image. Brightness flashed in the chamber and Gregor the Sorcerer was whole, though he seemed enfeebled from the experience. Only Arvald remained in the room.

Arvald went and knelt beside the younger man and began to disrobe him. Once Gregor was naked, Arvald removed his own clothes. He kissed Gregor lightly on the lips bringing light to the boy’s eyes, again.

“What are you doing?” Gregor asked in a whisper. “This is a dwarf mine; they will kill us if we are found unclothed, together.”

“We are no longer in their midst,” Arvald whispered. “We have moved to the far beyond. You’ve been a very naughty sorcerer. You have an ailing child and you think your power is insufficient to heal. You don’t know how wrong you are.”

“And, what can you do about it?” Gregor said, suddenly becoming aware that it was Arvald, the Mountain Ranger who was holding him in his arms.

“Though I prefer being called Arvald, I am more than he. I am, in many ways, as strong as or stronger than you, but that is not important at this moment. I have been given the task of giving you the great secret of magic.”

“Which is?” Gregor asked unbelieving.

“It is not a word. It is an action. And, once you have the secret, you will be taught how to be a proper sorcerer.”

“By you?” Gregor asked, still unbelieving.

“No, by Psimilia, or someone of his choosing.”

“Psimilia the First?”

“Yes. Now, enough of words, let’s get to the secret.”

With that Arvald rolled on top of Gregor and pressed his lips onto the younger man’s mouth. Gregor was willing and welcomed the stronger man’s tongue in to play and excite. They rolled and Gregor found he was suddenly on top, but was not in control. It felt almost as if Arvald was trying to possess him. He felt his magic waver slightly to a more powerful substance. It was almost as if his heart of hearts was being pulled out of his chest.

Gregor tried to stop what was happening to him, but Arvald guided him, now. They rolled, again, and the stronger, older man was on top. Arvald pushed his arms straight, rising up over the novice sorcerer as fiery eyes bore into Gregor’s mind. He felt as if they were floating above a featureless plain, seared by the heat of their passion.

Arvald pushed his engorged member into Gregor’s face.

“Open and take it!” Arvald demanded.

Gregor resisted as much as he could. This wasn’t right, something was very wrong about this. He had to stop what was happening. He had to call on Psimilia. He was the Eighteenth Psimilias Sorcerer of Hymballia. Where was the magic? Why wasn’t it responding to his call? What was happening to him?

“Open, take it!” Arvald demanded. “You wanted it earlier. Take it now!”

Gregor felt his mouth opening of its own accord. The massive thing moved into his mouth until stopping at the top of his throat. Then it withdrew as quickly as it entered.

“See! Not so easy is it?” Arvald sneered. He pulled himself up and squatted over the prone sorcerer.

“Kiss it! Kiss it! Kiss it, damn you! Kiss it!”

Gregor watched in horror as the man lowered his ass onto his face. He was repulsed by the mere thought of kissing that place. Yes, it was one thing to enter there with his member, but to kiss it, to love it, seemed beyond all propriety and morality.

“Kiss it! Damn you! Kiss it! If you ever want to be a true sorcerer, you’ll kiss it!”

Gregor opened his lips and pressed his mouth against the opening. His tongue acted on its own and thrust out to lick and probe the distasteful place. His tongue continued to perform a role Gregor was certain was not of his being; and, then, the sphincter released and he was bodily drawn into a vast void.

* * * * * * * * *

He was standing, naked, in a large chamber dimly lit by tall candelabras with eight candles standing at the four corners and halfway down the length of the hall. Hooded figures in robes of different colors occupied benches along both walls. Glancing behind, he saw a raised dais where another hooded figure in a red robe sat in a simple throne. Before him on another dais, two hooded figures in blue robes stood on either side of another hooded figure in a white robe sitting in on a jewel encrusted throne.

“Who presents the initiate?” a voice rang through the hall.

“Theodotus of Byssentia!”

“You are not of this congress.”

“I present Gregor the Eighteenth Psimilias Sorcerer.”

“You have confirmed his power?”

“I have.”

“Is he worthy?”

“He is.”

“Has he performed a great act?”

“He has sent a demon of the fiery lake back to its place of doom. He has changed a dragon to a man. He has rescued his own offspring from the gnomes of the netherworld.”

“So many acts for an initiate, why is he here?”

“He knows not the power of his will. He has not been given the gift of magic.”

“As it is so it shall be.”

“Initiate, kneel in the presence of your peers.”

Gregor, not completely aware of what was happening or his part in it, knelt.

“As Mother Earth gave us the power, so shall we give the power which is ours to give.”

“Initiate, lower your head.”

Gregor, still unsure, complied.

“Sergeant, bare your weapon.”

“With this sword, a gift of the most high, I bless this assembly.”

“We are so blessed,” all in the room chanted.

“Sergeant, take your place at the initiate.”

“Bless the initiate.”

“We so bless,” all in the room chanted.

“Sergeant, the blade.”

“We so bless,” all in the room chanted.

“Sergeant, your duty!”

“We so bless,” all in the room chanted.

Gregor felt queasy, nauseous, as the blade traversed his neck and his head fell to the stone floor. With unbelieving eyes, he looked back up at his body as blood spurted out of the wound where his head used to rest.

Then he died.

“We so bless,” all in the room chanted.

* * * * * * * * *

Gregor opened his eyes and he was lying naked beside Arvald. They were still floating above the featureless plain, but, now, there was a golden eagle flying over them.

“I died,” Gregor said.

“You have to die, to live,” Arvald said. “You are now a proper novice sorcerer.”

“Will I live forever?” Gregor asked, although, strangely, he knew the answer. “I guess I should ask how long will I live?”

“Depends, forever is a long, long time,” Arvald said. “Some get bored early and pass on to the misty plain before their time. Others, such as myself, find things to interest them, things to keep busy, things to give them purpose outside of their vocation. I am a Mountain Ranger of the Hinterland. I have been doing this for quite a few centuries.”

“But, doesn’t anyone notice you don’t die?” Gregor asked, again knowing the answer. “Rather, how do you get away with no one noticing you don’t die?”

“You will learn that mortals see what they want to see,” Arvald said as he turned and kissed Gregor. “Plus, being a Mountain Ranger, I never get back to the same place soon enough for anyone to remember my last visit and as far as I know I’m the only ranger who is immortal. Luckily, for me, the Hinterland is a big place. For you, being a sorcerer, it will be different.”

“Theodotus of Byssentia, you’re a warlock, why are you here with me, now?” Gregor asked. It was a horrible habit that he was certain to outlive, but for now it served its purpose. His mind was still reeling from feeling himself being beheaded.

“Psimilia promised to come to you when you need him,” Arvald said. “And, I will be around now and then. I know I shouldn’t say this, as you have your own man, when he is a man that is, but Gregor, I’d walk a hundred leagues to fuck your ass.”

“Thanks, I guess, it just feels so different, now,” Gregor said. “They’ll all die and I’ll live on. No, wait, that doesn’t have to happen, does it? Edwina and Timothy may stay with me as long as they wish. My children, well, children go off on their own adventures and seldom come back. They’ll die as they live their lives, as it should be. Though, I fear Ben may stay longer than his sisters. Is he well?”

“As well as can be expected,” Arvald said. “He was only a little boy when poisoned by the gnomes, too little some might say. I cannot see him far in the future. Can you?”

“I see him becoming an adult and then something happens, good or bad, I don’t know. Can we go back? No, wait, let’s go back. I’m going to have to remember I can do a lot of this stuff on my own, now.”