The Words Will Set Us Free - 1. Chapter 1

The ageless, crumbling, cut stone castle stood on a high, rocky crag overlooking a forest filled broad valley once filled eons ago with a massive glacier. There were no people down there and very few creatures one might expect in such a forest. There were no people within a hundred leagues of the castle. Yet those who lived nearest feared what was inside the castle more than anything in their tiny corner of the world.

“There’s a monster in that castle,” any one of them would say to a traveler contemplating journeying up the valley, as that route was the shortest distance to richer lands beyond the mountains. “You go up there and he’ll gut you like a wild animal in the forest and eat you for his supper.”

Most travelers heeded the warning and took the long way around. Though, for some, that route was just as dangerous. The monster wasn’t averse to flying over to the “safe” route and nabbing an unwary traveler, especially a young one travelling alone. For reasons unexplained and not understood, it was the youngest male travelers who seemed to disappear along that route.

The monster knew all the locals feared him. They told stories about him to their children to make them mind, keep them in line. “You better watch out, you better not stay out after dark, or you know who’ll fly down, grab you with his nasty claws, and take you up into his castle where he’ll eat you. You’ll scream for your mama and papa, but no one will hear you die.”

The monster took it all in stride. He knew where to find fresh meat and usually no one was the wiser when his victim disappeared. Maybe he fell off the cliff on the narrowest part of the path. That wasn’t unknown. Maybe he drowned in the river. That happened too. Maybe, just maybe, God sent an angel and snatched him up to Heaven before his time. There were a lot of things that could happen to a traveler alone on the trail, especially the young and inexperienced, but most of the locals knew what really happened.

- - - - - - - -

Gregor was a tall, lanky young man whose parents were sending him to the coast where he’d be apprenticed to an uncle who was a butcher. Though it was much more than they could afford, they outfitted him with the required traveling gear: a broad brimmed hat to keep the sun and rain off his face; a hooded cape to bundle around him in the cold snowy mountain passes; heavy boots that should have enough tread to last a journey many, many hundreds of leagues, it was so far no one in their village or any of the villages in their valley could fathom why anyone would want to travel that far; a large leather knapsack to carry his extra clothes, though they were few; and, a bow with arrows to shoot at small animals and fish to supplement whatever he might find to eat in villages along his way. Plus, though they had meager funds to spare, they gave their oldest son half of what they had, an amount not quite two Marks, and sewed them into the linings of the knapsack for safekeeping.

He didn’t really want to be a butcher for the rest of his life, but there wasn’t much to do in his village since it was more than obvious he didn’t have the brawn to be a lumberjack, millworker, or teamster delivering lumber to surrounding villages. He’d tried all of those and failed miserably. He was simply too skinny and nothing he did added any muscle to his tall frame. His father had apprenticed all his younger brothers as smiths, but Gregor didn’t have the muscles to heft a heavy hammer all day long. He tried all of those things and every time it was the same result, “Gregor, you’re just not cut out to do anything requiring muscles.”

And, so, he stood in a village at the mouth of the broad valley looking at the signpost that had the words “Other side of mountains” and two arrows. One pointed straight ahead and said, “Sixty-six Leagues, there about, or less if the monster gets you before reaching the pass.” The other said, “Over Two Hundred Leagues, or so, more or less, if you live. Warning: No villages beyond this point, so stock up now or suffer the consequences.”

“Can’t decide, can you?” A voice asked behind him.

Gregor turned around and saw four gray hairs in shabby robes. They were smiling, but it didn’t look like they were trying to be friendly.

“Which one is the best route?” Gregor asked.

“Straight up the valley is the easiest path,” one gray hair said. “The pass is low and it is said the forest is filled with small game you can easily kill for your supper. It’s also said there are fish in the river, too. Plus, as an added benefit, there are no bears, lions, or dragons that we know of that will eat you.”

“The other way is hard and difficult with many narrow paths cut out of cliff faces,” another gray hair said. “It’s been known some travelers slip and fall to their deaths at the narrowest places. The pass is high and snow covered all year long. There are few places to hunt or fish and, as the sign clearly states, no place to find shelter or sustenance, but by far it is the safest route.”

“What do you mean safest?” Gregor asked.

“It is said a monster lives in a castle up that valley near the pass over the mountains,” the first gray hair said. “You’d make a tasty snack for him on a warm spring day.”

“It’s said he skins his victims alive and hangs their hides to dry in the wind,” one gray hair said. “Of course, no one has actually seen the monster recently, but one never knows. That bow you’re carrying might shoot a rabbit, but will it kill a monster that’s bent on making a cauldron of stew?”

“I guess I’ll go the long way,” Gregor said.

“Fine choice my dear boy,” the first gray hair said. “Come with us and we’ll see that you have enough provisions to carry you through to the other side of the mountains. You like sausages and dried meats, rights?”

“Yes, I’ve had them, though I don’t have a pot to cook dried food.”

“No problem, I’m sure someone has one of those to sell too,” another of the gray hairs said. “You’d be surprised what you’ll find in this village.”

- - - - - - - -

The next day, after spending nearly all his money—he had to feign poverty at the end—Gregor walked down the path out of town and turned right at the sign. At the bottom of the lane he crossed the bridge over the river that came out of the broad valley. Looking down, he saw two large trout idling in the current. His stomach growled angrily.

He’d spent so much money and there, right there in plain sight of the village were trout large enough to last him maybe four days. That was practically the time it would take to go up the valley and cross the low pass.

He kept turning his head watching for any villager who might be following or might be around the area. More importantly, he measured his distance from the village. He needed to get far enough away, but not so far as to have to climb up a mountain to get back into the valley.

Finally, after about half a league he turned left into the forest and looked for a game trail to lead him down to the river. Unfortunately, there weren’t any. On the other hand, it was a very mature conifer forest and the branches of the trees stood high above the ground leaving a vast open area of little light. Few plants flourished in the gloom making Gregor’s journey fairly easy.

Soon, toward noon, or so as he thought, because he couldn’t actually see the sky to tell time, he came within hearing of the river. He turned right and headed for the pass. Keeping the sound of the river on his left, Gregor walked through the dark conifer forest. It was quiet, too quiet actually. The quiet began to get on his nerves. The quieting rush of the river meant only one thing. Its course was now more of a meander than a series of steep rapids and low falls. He strayed closer to the river, which gave him more light.

He decided to walk until an hour before sunset. That meant this day’s journey wasn’t going to lessen a significant amount of distance from his goal.

The quiet of the forest was definitely getting on his nerves. A man could imagine almost anything if he spent too much time in this place. Looking around, there were no birds and no small animals in sight. Yet he continued his trek up the valley.

Once he noticed the light from the river begin to lessen, he angled down to the river and found a nice sandy spot among some large rocks. He thought of walking right into the water to freshen himself, but decided since no one came up this way he might as well take of his clothes first. He’d always been conscious of his skinniness and height. He had been taller than anyone else in the village. The general lack of body hair was troubling, too. Other than a bit under his arms, a tuft around his genitals, and a soft swirl of dark, curly locks atop his head, he felt practically naked for a man some twenty years old.

The water was cool, but not so much to be uncomfortable. He splashed around a bit until he became unnerved by a strange feeling he was being watched. Gregor looked around him and saw no one. Then he looked up on a large boulder across the river.

Words simply weren’t in his feeble vocabulary to describe what he was looking at. It was obviously a man because of the huge, exposed genitalia that hung down to the creature’s knees. Its entire body from head to toes was covered with dark, coarse hair. The only bit of clothing was a short vest of some green fabric that definitely did not fit. The feet were tipped with claws that looked capable of tearing his body to shreds. The large hands also had similar claws. The head was covered with longer hair nearly covering the eyes that appeared to be white hot as if freshly pulled from a smith’s forge. The nose was small, but the wide grin was filled with sharp teeth and four fangs.

And it was thick as an oak, tall as a house.

Gregor felt his bowels give way and heard an uncomfortable plop of turds splashing into water.

“Har! Har! Har!” The monster laughed as it jumped from boulder to boulder until it stood on the shore very close to Gregor, who noticed that the monster seemed to have shrunk on the trip down to the beach.“That’s my river you just shat in.”

“I’m sorry m’lord, you startled me,” Gregor said as he quickly knelt into the water not knowing if those were the last he would speak.

“Stand up boy!” the monster exclaimed. “Come on, I’m not going to eat you. You’re too skinny. You wouldn’t make a good snack. Come on, stand up. Let me get a look at you.”

Gregor stood, but kept his eye focused on the water. He knew his place in the world and, besides, he didn’t want to anger such a hideous thing standing so close.

“What are you doing in my valley?” the monster asked.

“I’m going beyond the mountains to apprentice with my uncle to be a butcher,” Gregor said.

“Har! Har! Har! Here I am out looking for victuals and you’re going to be a butcher. I tell you what. I think you should be my, my, what should we call you? Not a butler, we have one of those, no, but something. Going to be a butcher, huh? How about if you became my pantry boy? Yes, that’s what I’ll call you, my pantry boy. You do know what a pantry is, right?”

“No, m’lord,” Gregor said, wondering what was to become of him. To say he was scared was far less than what he was feeling at that moment. All he could see were those claws tearing into his young flesh, meager that it was.

“Doesn’t matter, Roger will sort that out. What do they call you?”

“Gregor, m’lord.”

“Gregor, hmm, I think I ate a Gregor or two in my time. Nice healthy boys, lots of thick muscles, most lasted nearly a week. Got a last name? Or are you from one of those rural places where last names haven’t shown up yet?”

“Smithson, my father was the village’s smith, m’lord. All my family has been smiths.”

“Except you, too skinny I suspect.”

“Yes, m’lord.”

“Virgin?”

“M’lord?”

“Virgin, you know, have you ever lain with a woman or man? Your father did tell you about fucking, right?”

“Oh, yes, m’lord, well, actually it was friends in the village, but I’m too skinny and haven’t a trade, to have a wife.”

“Well, we’ll fix that, too,” the monster said. “Come on up out of that cold water. I want to get a close look at you.” The monster placed a hairy hand on the boy’s bare flesh.

It felt searing hot, but Gregor knew not to pull away. He kept his eyes downcast as the hand wandered over his body, touching him in ways he never imagined and in places only he had touched, but dreamt of having someone who loved him touching him there, too. He looked at the hand grasping his member and began to feel aroused by the heat. Then the other hand went behind him and felt his bottom in a way he wasn’t certain was quite proper, but definitely didn’t feel bad. He could feel the monster’s hot breath on his neck.

“Yes, I think you’ll work out quite nicely,” the monster said moving away. “Haven’t had a proper virgin in ages. Come along now, we’ll go back to the castle.”

“My clothes, m’lord,” Gregor said.

“Don’t worry about those. We’ll get you a proper kit at the castle. I’m sure Roger has something around. You’ll like Roger. He’s like you, only much older. He was a virgin, too, once, a very long, long time ago. Then we decided to keep him and he became Roger. Har! Har! Har! Roger!”

The air around them crackled and hummed and suddenly a huge, four-horse carriage appeared next to them. The carriage and the horses were so black they seemed to fade into the dim light of the evening. There seemed to be no doors or other means of entry. Only the driver’s seat seemed an available place for him.

“Come along, climb on up there ahead of me,” the monster said. “Come on, don’t have all night. Have to find suitable victuals. It’s been a bit too long since I’ve eaten. Shame you don’t appear tasty. I would’ve loved to see you hanging on my spit. Har! Har! Har! Spit!”

Gregor shrunk away from the monster as many questions ran through his mind. He couldn’t figure out where to concentrate first. Who was this Roger and why was he like him? Why hadn’t the monster eaten him? The villagers seemed rather certain he’d be eaten if the monster caught him, but here he was sitting on a carriage next to the hideous beast.

And why was it important for him to be a virgin?

“Ready to go?” the monster asked.

“Er, uh, yes, m’lord,” Gregor answered.

“Sorry about not putting you inside, but that’s where I put my suppers and it’s a bit dank down there. Har! Har! Har! Dank!”

Gregor didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t even know what the monster was saying. Suddenly, the monster whistled and cracked the whip.

“Achilles! Troilus! Nestor! Hector! Away!” The monster bellowed and the carriage rose up into the air, pulled by the black horses galloping on unseen earth.

- - - - - - - -

As the carriage swooped into the castle’s keep, Gregor noticed a gray hair, wearing a long, black robe, standing beside tall wooden doors on the wall of the castle’s great house.

“Down you go,” the monster said. “Roger! I’ll be back. Take care of Gregor. He’s a virgin. Yes, a virgin and a cute one at that. Come on, Gregor, down you go. I’m hungry and there’s young tender meat afoot in the night.”

Gregor climbed over the monster, jerking slightly when monster’s fingers grabbed his testicles and poked at that nether spot. After an unsettling light pat on his bare buttocks, he climbed down off the carriage. Just as his two feet stood on the finished stone a crackle and a hum filled the air and the carriage blinked out of existence, leaving Gregor standing naked in the courtyard. He looked over at the gray hair.

He wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. The castle walls seemed to totally enclose the space around him and there were no steps leading up to three towers that stood behind the walls. The main house, beyond those doors where the gray hair stood, appeared larger than the manor house where his Duke lived. He shivered slightly when realizing that a fine mist was falling around him.

“Boy! Come here, boy,” the gray hair called out.

Gregor hurried over to the door, hoping to be allowed inside to some warmth. The gray hair, though, seemed to have other ideas.

“He called you Gregor,” the gray hair said as he reached out and held Gregor’s chin. “I can see why he kept you. You are a pretty one. That you are. Anyone tell you, you were pretty? No, no, handsome, but you’re not that, not pretty. Pretty is for girls. No girls here. But you are pretty. And, a virgin too! A virgin! I was a virgin when the Master took me. Pretty too. Yes he likes his pretty boys. And look at you. Skinny as a bone. Not an ounce of fat on you. Hardly a muscle either. Nice tool, though. Nice tool, Master likes nice tools. Don’t compare to Master, though. Master gentle. That’s right! Gentle and nice. You’ll like it, that you will.

“Come let’s get you some clothes and victuals. You like stew? We have lots of stew. The Master likes his stew. Come along. I won’t hurt you. No, I’m Roger. Master does the hurting around here. You like screaming? You’ll learn to tolerate it at least. They scream. Oh, yes, they all scream. He likes them to scream. You can barely hear it, but tonight you will. Way down in the dungeon one of them will scream. It’ll wake you up, though.

“Afterwards he may come to you. Don’t show fear. No! Don’t do that. He’s nice, the Master. Gentle, too. He’ll make you feel nice and comfortable. You’ll like it. Trust me, you’ll like it. I used to. Before. When I was pretty, too. Long time ago, that. Long time ago when the Master came to me in the night. He brought me some of the ones before they left. Just so I could remember having someone in my bed he said. Then they went down to the dungeon and were no more. I can’t have you. Too old now. Days are numbered. I’ll go down soon, too. We all go down. Some sooner than others. Come along, come along, you’re Master’s pretty new virgin now.

“What does he want with you? Did he say? What did he say? Come on, you can tell me. Tell me. What are you to be?”

All through this unending blather, Roger led him up into the castle’s great room where a huge fireplace crackled and popped with whole logs. Across the room they began to climb one of the towers. The stone steps were laid into the walls, but ended only a few feet out leaving a space a couple of yards wide where a person could easily plummet to their death. A few candles on sconces set in the walls barely lit their way. At the top a wooden floor with a trap door opened out into a small room with a bed, chair, and china pitcher and basin sitting on a small table. There was one open window covered with a flimsy cloth that barely held back the weather. Opposite there was a screen covering another opening, one that dropped straight down to the rocks below the castle. The small seat above the opening told Gregor its purpose.

“He said I was to be his pantry boy,” Gregor said.

“Oh, dear, we aren’t allowed in the pantry,” Roger said. “We’re not like Master. Not like him at all. He’s ageless, he is. Ageless. Cursed he was. Put here in this castle by his father ages ago. Ages. He’s older than time itself. A spirit he is. A spirit. No, we’re not allowed in his pantry. That’s where he eats them. We don’t eat that. No he gives us other meat for our stew. And, his too. He eats stew. He does. When he doesn’t have one of them. Down there. Screaming. They scream. Oh, they scream, but it doesn’t do them any good.”

“He said you’d give me some clothes,” Gregor said. He wondered how long Roger had been here alone with the monster. Obviously, by the way he went on and on, it had been a long time.

“Oh, yes, clothes,” Roger said. “How does that go? Clothes? Remember? What was it? What was it? What was it Master said? Bene cor, bene dor, bene zee der vee der cor. Was that it? Was it?”

Gregor looked down at his legs now covered with silken leggings that stretched from his waist to his toes. A tunic of fine wool slipped itself around him, followed by a belt of hammered silver, and finally soft leather slippers lifted him off the cold stone floor.

“Why look at you!” Roger exclaimed. “Look at those skinny legs. The Master will like those. Yes he will. He’ll want you. Yes he will. Want you in his bed. He’s gentle. He is. Gentle. He’s not like the one in the dungeon. No, not like that. He’s almost like us. Cursed he was. Liked skinny boys. Too much he liked them. Too much. Too, too, much. Catamites they were. All catamites. You’re too old for that. Yes, too old. But close. Close enough to trick his mind. Make him believe. Make him believe you’re younger. Skinny legs. Yes, skinny legs. Skinny legs!”

And away he ran down the stairs leaving Gregor wondering what that was all about. It was more than obvious Roger hadn’t been around regular people in a long time. Was that his future in this castle? Would he be kept until he went crazy and talked like a village idiot. He’d met enough of those to know that wasn’t the kind of life he wanted.

And what was all of this about the Master being gentle and him being a virgin? Was the Master to lie with him as a man lay with a woman? That was a sin. He knew that. The priest, when he came to their village, often spoke of men lying with other men and being condemned to the fiery lake for eternity. Was that to be his future here?

Now, he realized, being a butcher might not have been such a bad future. At least being a butcher might lead him to having a wife and children, too. He knew he was never to have a wife, now. But to be used as a woman, was that his future? How long until he became as loony as Roger.

Was he to be down there? The Master, or rather the monster, whichever one said he was to be his pantry boy. Roger said he wasn’t allowed in the pantry because that was where the victims were killed and eaten. Was he going to have to watch the monster eat people? Was he going to be expected to help gut them, skin them, and cut them up into meal sized pieces?

What was this place?

Then his stomach growled reminding him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast in the village where the signpost stood. Food, where was he going to find food? Wasn’t Roger supposed to give him stew? A freshly grilled trout might taste better. Yes, that would be nice, with boiled potatoes like his mother made on Sundays, with lots of fresh butter.

“I wish I had a trout and potatoes for supper and ale, too,” Gregor said, half believing this place was magical enough to bring him food. After all, weren’t his clothes the result of the magic spell Roger said? And, what about the carriage that popped in and out of reality. And, the monster, what about him?

He smelled it then. The trout and then potatoes slathered with butter. He turned and looked at his table and saw them waiting for him on a tin plate. Also, there was a tankard that he hoped was full of good ale. Considering how things had gone so far, mediocre ale would do just as well.

“Well, I guess magic does work here,” Gregor said as he sat down to eat.

- - - - - - - -

Later, much later, as he lay in the dark waiting for sleep to overtake him, Gregor tried to stop his mind from replaying all that had happened. It was simply too incredible to believe. It was something out of a story a gray hair might tell to children playing around the great oak in the village square. He remembered quite a few of those tales about princes, dragons, heroes, battles, sorcerers, witches, and, yes, monsters, but nothing about magical castles, or hideous monsters that could be nice and laugh, too.

Then he heard a faraway wailing. He rose out of bed and went to the window, but the sound didn’t seem to be coming from that direction. He went to the latrine, but the sound wasn’t coming from there either. He walked to the top of the stairs and heard a muffled scream that pierced his mind knowing what caused it. The Master or was it the monster, or were they one in the same, had found his supper.

Gregor lay back down on his bed trying not to listen to the horrible noise filling the castle. He tried to keep his mind away from images of deer—poached from the Duke’s forest—being gutted, skinned, and portioned out to the village, but he couldn’t think of anything that could take the picture of a young man such as himself hanging from a limb of the great oak with its guts pouring out onto the grass below. Guts that would be washed and cleaned then filled with chopped meats and vegetables. Sausages, was he to become a rack of sausages drying in the sun?

Yet, sleep must have come, but he slept fitfully troubled with horrendous dreams of splattered blood, slimy guts, still beating hearts being devoured before his eyes. Then out of the dark something else came into his room. It wasn’t enough to wake him, but upon waking the next morning, he was almost positive someone lay on the bed next to him. Was it the Master as Roger had said? He couldn’t remember anything except the sound of the screams; though they were so muffled by the stones of the castle they were barely audible.

A warm hand on his body softly touching his bare skin seemed to have a place in the back of his mind. A vague moistness, from what he knew not, but it too moved about his body until finally stopping. Had it stopped there at that place where carnal pleasure was sought in moments of quiet solitude? Had it stopped there? There was a dream. He remembered that, now. A dream of someone touching him down there—where only he had touched before—was filled with warm moistness and unbelievable pleasure, more pleasure than he imagined could come from that place. Was it all a dream?