The Words Will Set Us Free - 5. Chapter 5

A few days later, the hut, which was looking more like a small cottage, was slowly putting itself together with rocks from the rubble of the castle, while Gregor went down in the valley looking for a tree to supply lumber for the house. Since he hadn’t actually built a hut or cottage before, he was leaving the details up to the magic, which he figured knew a lot more about building things than he did.

There were lots of trees in the forest, but none of them seemed willing to give their lives so that Gregor could sleep under a roof, hopefully in a bed. He knew he could let the magic select a tree, but that would anger the forest and quite possibly the great oak up on the mountain. He walked among the trees listening to their soft voices talk about him and his wish for lumber. It wasn’t a troubling conversation, but the debate was definitely not going his way.

Finally, out of exasperation, he sat down on a large rock in a grove of tall firs and said, “Look trees, back in my village I tried to be a lumberjack, but I wasn’t strong enough to do the heavy work all day long. Then I tried to work in the mill, but that didn’t work out either. Now, I freed this valley from the demon who built the castle on the crag and I need to build a home so I can live here. I’ve found out I’m a sorcerer, so you see if I wanted I could release some magic to select one of you to be my door, furniture, ceiling joists, rafters, and whatever else is needed, but I don’t want to do that. I want one of you to volunteer to come up the mountain with me and join me in my home.”

He knew it was a long shot, but he hoped they heard the sincerity in his voice. There was a rustling in the branches above his head as the trees began to furiously discuss his offer, which surprisingly most of them found exceedingly attractive. He’d thought all would want to stay down here, but the argument now seemed to be based on the weather, not so much the cold snow and ice of winter, rather it was on the spring winds that roared up the valley and toppled many of their number, especially those on the edges of the groves where they couldn’t hold on to enough of their brothers and sisters to keep from falling. There wasn’t any talk of death, for a tree is so long lived that death is seen as a relief to a extensive life of standing in one location and not being able to see anything but its surrounding neighbors.

Suddenly, there was a loud crunch followed by a deep long creak, immediately followed by a resounding crash and thud. Gregor looked to his left and saw a fir lying on its side. He called on his magic and the tree lifted up into the sky then floated up toward the mountain.

“Thank you, citizens of this great forest,” Gregor said. “I shall honor your compatriot for all time.

Gregor was almost positive he could hear a resounding clamor of applause as he, too, rose up above the forest and followed his tree up the mountain.

The magic did a wonderful job of dismantling the tree and turning its wood into various and sundry pieces of lumber needed to construct the house. All Gregor had to do was stay out of the way as stones, lumber, scrap, and finally pieces of slate from an old quarry around the other side of the mountain came scuttling in to assume their proper places on the roof. During the day he sat under the great oak listening to Exetor or one of the other pixies, usually the old one, expound on all things pixie and the nature of oak trees. At night, after a hot supper cooked over a fire, Gregor rose up into the oak where he found a nice thick limb to lay his head.

In only a few days, his house was complete and Gregor moved in. The pixies came and had a house warming party, mostly for themselves as most of the pixies were still nervous around a biggy, fully expecting him to step on them, even if it was inadvertent or accidental. Gregor tried out all the pieces of furniture and found the rocking chair beside the fireplace to be his favorite. He could see himself aging quite well in that chair, even if it was to be all alone in this house his magic built for him.

He was, plainly, very lonely for human companionship. He knew he could let the magic go out into the world and find someone, but that would be just as he happened to come to this place and he didn’t want to be like his former jailers. Yet, he knew he had to find someone, even if it was some old widow he only kept around to cook for him.

He wanted something more, though. He wanted someone to lay next to him on cold winter nights when snow swirled around the house and who might want to do it with him. At his age, he was very much interested in doing it with whoever might be willing to do it with him.

But who?

- - - - - - - -

After being in his house for nearly a month with no one except Exetor and a few of the other pixies for company, Gregor decided it was time to go out into the world and find a companion. The only problem was, he didn’t know exactly where he was, or where the nearest village was. He remembered Harold telling him about a hermit tending a chapel on the next mountain over and decided to go take a look. He wasn’t too interested in having a hermit as a companion, even if he could convince the man to leave the chapel, but thought the effort would be good practice if he had to go into the closest village to find a warm and willing person interested in being the companion to a sorcerer.

Of course, with a follower of the Book, they didn’t really like sorcerers and other wielders of magic. Gregor was going to have to tread very carefully around this man. On the other hand, maybe the hermit was a gray hair patiently waiting for his bishop to send a replacement. At least in that case there would be someone to talk to. That is until the hermit figured out Gregor was a sorcerer.

He wished he had Harold to send over there and scope out the situation. He missed Harold, but the pixies would have a fit with Harold around, even if he was the ghost of a raven. To them he was still a raven and might still like a pixie to nibble on.

He started concentrating on the raven, trying to remember everything about Harold, but just as he was about to get within a hair’s breadth of conjuring up Harold, the magic turned on him and gave him a sharp pain in his head. Obviously that wasn’t the way to call a ghost back from wherever it was raven ghosts went. Then, again, maybe he wasn’t doing it the right way or, possibly, he should ask the old pixie if he knew how to call up ghosts. He didn’t have to say it was a raven he wanted. Did he?

“Damn it Harold, why did you leave me just when I needed you the most,” Gregor said to no one in particular. “Come on, Harold, the pixie’s aren’t that bad and I’m certain they’d apologize if I asked them.”

“Damn it Harold!”

“Harold come here you damned old raven!”

Gregor sat back in the rocking chair and closed his eyes. One decision, one foolish decision and his life was ruined beyond repair. Why had he chosen to follow the river full of trout? Were they simply an enticement placed there by the monster? Yes! That was it! The monster lured travelers up into the valley so he could capture them and if they were fit, enticing, and young enough, he’d give them to the Master to perpetuate the curse.

But what did Harold have to do with all of this? And, Michael, what had happened to Michael? Had he fallen in with those in the castle, too? Gregor missed having Michael come to him in his dreams, but maybe that was all part of the curse, too. That was a possibility, but he didn’t want it. What he wanted was Harold.

He got up, went to his bed and lay down. His head still hurt from trying to conjure Harold and he felt very much alone. Sleep is what he needed. Restful, peaceful sleep and tomorrow he would fly over to the next mountain to check out the hermit. Yes, sleep first and then see the hermit.

His dreams that afternoon, evening, and into a night of unrest were of fantastic things out of memories he didn’t know he had. Mighty castles rose up out of the ground at his command, fair maidens flocked to his side, animals far too numerous and equally strange came to him for comfort, and kings, princes, dukes, earls, landlords, and all the rest bowed down to him in obeisance. Yet, he remained humble and aloof from all the recognition for he was Gregor the Sorcerer, wielder of magic from the great oak that gave him peace.

And, minutes moved into hours and still Gregor slept. Until just before dawn when night is the strongest, when goblins, ghouls, and other evil creatures sought their final sustenance before returning to their lairs while the sun gave life to the land, was when Gregor was positive someone joined him in bed. He did not worry about the presence this time, but allowed sensations of full relaxation and sexual energy pass through his body as hands rubbed and soothed and lips kissed life back into him.

He gave in and embraced the spirit and felt the strength in its ethereal body. He returned touches, kisses, and finally in the depth of orgasmic bliss took the other onto his tongue in mutual pleasure. Unimaginable sensations flowed through him as he felt Michael issue forth into his mouth and he savored the never before tasted flavors of masculine pleasure.

And, then, as dawn crept under the doorsill and wakefulness came to Gregor, Michael slipped from his arms with a final kiss and drifted away. Gregor wept.

- - - - - - - -

“Cccrrrooak!”

Gregor opened his eyes and looked at the noise. He wasn’t too surprised a raven stood on the bedpost by his feet. He smiled.

“Harold?”

“Cccrrroooak!”

“Come on Harold, you can do better than that. You sound like a crow when you do that.”

“Crow? Not crow!”

“Now, that’s the Harold I remember.”

“Pixies! Where pixies?”

“Around and about.”

“Harold don’t like pixies.”

“And, I think they don’t like you either, but we’ll have to figure out how we’re all to get along.”

“Maybe go back. Don’t like pixies.”

“Back where?”

“Dead place. Nothing. Nothingness.”

“Now, what’s better? Being with me or nothing?”

“You, but don’t like pixies!”

“Yes, well, we’re going to have to figure out how to get through that. How about some breakfast?”

“Pixies, I like fresh pixie.”

“No you don’t! From right now, from this moment forward you do not like to eat pixies. You do not attack pixies. Do you understand? You do not attack pixies.”

“What is that? What is that!!!?”

“What is what?”

“That on me? What is that!!!?”

“I don’t see anything.”

“Tingles! Scare Harold. What is that!!!?”

“Ah, must be the magic. Are you thinking of eating pixies, delicious little juicy pixies, scrumptiously soft pixies?”

“Yes! Ow! What is that!!!? Ow! Stop it! Ow! Don’t squeeze Harold! Ow!”

“Harold! Stop thinking of eating pixies this instant!”

“What was that?”

“Seems the magic is protecting the pixies. If you think of catching, killing, or eating pixies, the magic will get you. It will do worse than send you back to that nothing place. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Don’t like that.”

“Good! Now, how about a nice, fresh egg and a thick slice of bacon?”

“Don’t cook egg?”

“Not for you, my dear friend. Not for you.”

Now, all he had to do was convince the pixies that Harold couldn’t harm them. He figured that was going to be the harder task. On the other hand, they’d already killed Harold, so the chance of them doing that, again, was fairly remote.

- - - - - - - -

Once breakfast was over and the magic cleaned up, the pixies made their peace with Harold (who mostly stayed in the upper reaches of the house away from temptation and pain). Gregor thought of going over to see the hermit. He’d thought of sending Harold, but figured the bird might have spoken to the hermit when he was last alive, which could have been many, many years earlier. There was only one thing to do. If he wanted to see the hermit, he’d have to do it on his own.

And, it was that easy. One moment he was sitting in his rocking chair and the next moment he was sitting inside the Chapel of Saint Some-thing-or-other; or as it turned out later, Thaint Antha-something of the Rock as the hermit had a lisp and all the “ess’s” turned into “th’s.” There were three pilgrims in there at the time Gregor suddenly materialized out of thin air. Well, the chapel was at the top of a mountain and the air is much thinner up there, so they should have expected that. Unfortunately, his unexpected appearance startled them and they fled for their lives, screaming all sorts of invectives, while at the same time calling on the saint to save them.

The hermit came in to see what all the ruckus as about and Gregor saw that he was quite young for a hermit. He had the traditional brown robes of a brother of the cloth and the winning smile of youth. Gregor stood and smiled as a means of showing his friendliness.

“Who are you?” The hermit asked in a soft adolescent voice. He held out his staff with one hand and a cross with the other. “You don’t look like a demon or some such.”

“Just a neighbor, you might say,” Gregor said, trying not to sound evasive. “My name is Gregor and yours’, if I might ask?”

“Brother Timothy, but don’t expect that to do you any good, demon.”

“Whoa! Wait just a minute, I’m not a demon. I’ve already taken care of one of those and, believe me, I know what a demon looks like and they don’t look like me.

“Then what are you if not a demon? You appeared in here suddenly. Are you a ghost of some long dead pilgrim and lost on your way to purgatory?”

“Uh, no, I’m, well, okay, I’ll admit it. I’m a sorcerer.”

“A servant of the Devil himself!” Brother Timothy exclaimed aggressively brandishing his weapons.

“No! Look, I’m a good sorcerer because, and you’re just going to have to trust me on this, I’ve sent a demon back to the fiery lake, which means I’m not one of them. You know, a young man like you must get pretty lonely up here all by yourself.”

“Well there are the pilgrims, but, yes, sometimes after the snow comes and the pilgrims stay away. A few make it up as a show of their faith, but most don’t bother. You don’t appear to be of the cloth. How did you get in here without my seeing?”

“Well, I said I was a sorcerer, so I used magic and just appeared here. My magic works like that. No magic words, no flames, no smoke, things just happen as the magic wishes.”

“Are you sure you’re not of the Devil?” Brother Timothy asked still holding out his staff and cross, though not so threateningly. “How can I be certain?”

“Look, I live with some pixies, which live with a great oak. Yes, yes, I know, I know, that’s not supposed to be, but they’re really there and they helped me get rid of the demon. He was very bad for a long, long time. He killed many young men and would’ve continued killing if I hadn’t come along. I found out I have a knack for magic, or it has a knack for me. I haven’t quite figured that out. There’s also a raven ghost named Harold who shares my table and keeps me entertained, but at night there is no one to share the warmth of my fire.”

“Come, please,” Brother Timothy beckoned.

Gregor followed Brother Timothy out of the chapel and up a rocky path to a small cave hidden behind a woolen curtain. There was a simple pallet and a pile of flat stones on which stood a simple gilded cross. Brother Timothy sat down on the pallet and beckoned Gregor to join him.

“It isn’t much, but as much as any hermit can expect, I guess,” Brother Timothy said. “The pilgrims bring food they share with me, but sometimes I have to go down into the valley and gather fruit and roots to fill my plate. In winter, it’s very hard to keep the vigil, to maintain my vows.”

Gregor felt a hand on his shoulder and thought for a moment of brushing it away, but didn’t. He listened to Brother Timothy go on and on about the troubles with being a hermit in charge of a small chapel to an unknown saint, while at the same time being fully aware of Timothy’s hands seemingly seeking access to his bare skin.

“Has it been a long time since you were with a man?” Gregor asked when Timothy’s hand found his now growing member.

“Well, never, if you must know,” Timothy said.

Gregor felt the magic tingling around him as his garments slowly dissolved into nothing fully exposing his young body to Timothy’s lustful eyes. He allowed himself to be lowered onto the pallet and shut his eyes when soft lips met his. He could care less, now, that Brother Timothy was another man as this was so much different. Yet, it was almost the same as those nights with the ghost of Michael.

He opened his eyes when the lips left him. Timothy’s robe rose up over his head as if also by magic. The small, light linen shift left little doubt what was under its scanty cover.

“You’re a girl!” Gregor exclaimed.

“I said I wasn’t a very good hermit,” Timothy said with a wry smile.

“But, you said your name is Timothy.”

“It is. Father wanted a boy and Mother, well, couldn’t have any more children. You can’t after a number of years and all the others were girls. So, Mother named me Timothy and raised me as a boy. It worked okay until I was old enough to start training to be a knight. Father was absolutely beside himself and almost had me beheaded. Mother saved me by suggesting I be sent off to an abbey and she told Father he could adopt one of his bastards because she wasn’t going to have any more children. Oh, look, your thing has gone soft.”

“It does that when it’s ignored,” Gregor said with pleading eyes.

“Well, I guess we’d better take care of that, shouldn’t we?”

- - - - - - - -

It took them some time to get used to each other’s foibles and eccentricities, but after a few months Gregor and Timothy grew into a love that was boundless and stronger than either expected. The magic seemed to be satisfied, too, and sometimes allowed Timothy to call on it for simple tasks. The great oak seemed to grow more resplendent as the years passed giving the pixies many children that even Harold grew to love and enjoy. Harold was given, quite unexpectedly to Gregor, the task of babysitting young pixies while their parents were out doing whatever it was pixies did, something Gregor was never, ever allowed to know.

Strangely, Timothy remained as Brother Timothy for reasons neither could explain. Her hair remained closely cropped as Gregor’s. Her body didn’t expand as might be expected as an adolescent growing into womanhood. And, well, neither seemed to care what happened in their bed once the candles were blown out. In fact, sometimes the magic acted quite strangely and turned Timothy into a man and both men were able to reach new levels of carnal fervor.

There were more adventures ahead for Gregor the Sorcerer as his name spread throughout the surrounding mountains and valleys. Most people, fearful of his magic stayed away, but on occasion a passing prince or knight on a quest might stop by and request Gregor’s assistance, especially if the quest concerned fair maidens locked in a far away tower by an evil curse, a mighty dragon threatening a village, or a legendary chalice hidden away in some dark, dank cavern protected by a man-eating member of the Leporidae family. All of these adventures were set down in a book that Timothy wrote so the tales could be told in years to come.

End