Read Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves Online
Authors: W. A. Hoffman
Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves (12 page)
He sighed with relief and slumped down the wall before driving the knife into the deck as a final release of angry tension. “I ampleased yousee this,”he whispered.
I thought to ask,
How could I not?
but the words stuck in my throat as I realized he had not trusted me to be… And I floundered. He had not trusted me to be mad—with him. Stricken, I hissed, “I willnot forsake you!”
He recoiled with surprise and then his arms were about me. “Will, Will, I did not mean…”
“I am not reasonable!” I hissed. “I am beaten and bloodied, and to the Devilwiththemall!”
He held me tighter. It hurt, but I did not struggle: I found
his voice.
“
We
are not well,”he said.
“They are the mad ones,” I said. I ached with exhaustion
that burned downto mybones.
“Oui,” he agreed, and kissed the top of my head. “We
must wait, though. Florida is Spanish, as is Cuba. We will also
pass the Bahamas, but I do not know them. We must wait until
we are near the Haiti. The Bard willlikely sailnear enough to the
shore for us to swimas he approaches Île de la Tortue. We will
need our weapons though, and a means to bring them—perhaps
a raft ofsorts…”He trailed offinthought.
“Then we must rest so that I might be strong enough to
swim, and you must write your father, and perhaps Agnes,” I
said.
I felt him nod. “Sleep now. You have much healing to do. Wrestlingme cannot be pleasant.”
I smiled. “Non, wrestlingyouis always pleasant.”
He kissed me sweetly. Our tongues tangled, but did not dance or spar. As often occurred when I was overwrought, I felt no passion, only reassurance. And then the dark thing lurking in the cave peered out at me, and I remembered I was broken. I shuddered withfear and pulled away.
Gastonwas stricken.
“Non, non, it is not you,”I said. “Never you.”
His gaze did not leave mine.
I sighed and struggled with how best to explain. “I have been to Hell, to Hades, and as in the myths, I have been forced to leave somethingbehind to returnto the land ofthe living.”
He came to me, and his hand caressed my belly before lighting upon my crotch to fondle me gently. “We healed me,” he whispered.
“I cannot… speak ofit, yet,”I said.
He nodded and kissed me on the cheek. He pulled his hand away. “We need not…”
“Non,” I said firmly. I remembered the words he once told me whenour situationwas reversed. “One ofus should have some joy,” I said with the best smile I could manage. “And I want you,”I said seriously.
“I will deny you nothing,” he said warmly, “but… perhaps youshould healthere, too.”
“Did I bleed… last night?”I asked.
He nodded. “Verylittle, though.”
For some reason, the idea of being wounded there did
For some reason, the idea of being wounded there did not send me flailing about or cringing from the cave. It was a wound like anyother. “Perhaps youshould examine me.”
I pushed my breeches down about my thighs and lay on my belly. He fetched the hogs’ fat, but then paused, hovering above me.
He sighed. “You must… Please tell me if I remind you…”
“
You
cannot,” I said quickly. Things swirled out of the cave, though:images, sounds, and sensations untilI gasped.
He came to laybeside me, his nose before mine. “Will?”
I sighed. “I feel I will no longer be able to engage in our… Horseplay.”
His eyes widened with understanding and he nodded before frowning with resolve. “If my Horse wishes such a thing again, I shallbeat Him.”
I shook my head. I found the allegory was well outside the cave—in the light. “Non, I have beat mine and I feel… I will be paying for that for some time to come. My Horse and I are not wellwithone another now.”
He grimaced. “Why? Canyou…”
“He had horrible thoughts,” I said. “I could not let Him act onthem.”
He nodded, and waited.
I found it was too dangerous to say more along that path, yet… I shook my head. “I did not betray you.” That, too, was dangerous.
He recoiled as if I had jabbed him. “Will, I would never think that you would.” But now there was the shadow of doubt think that you would.” But now there was the shadow of doubt inhis eyes.
I cursed, and closed myeyes and lit a torchto storminto the cave in my heart. I felt my gut twisting about, and my Horse regarded me with the reared head of an animal betrayed and cautious. I stayed with Him, not thinking of the events that caused our dissonance, but ofwhyHe had acted as He had.
I spoke softly, as if to reassure Him and my matelot. “My Horse does not, did not wish to be ridden by another, but He wished to run:to flee:into the safety, the… peace, the lack of pain the running brings. And then… I could not let themsee that, and I told Him to stop. And… there was much to confuse my cock too, and I told it to stop.”
The cave was too dark, too deep—even if I understood with a Man’s thoughts all that had occurred. I ran from it, opening my eyes and feeling the calm fly away in sudden winds. “I was so angry with them. They were traitorous. I could not forsake you. I could not betrayyou. I could not…”
The doubt burned away in his eyes, only to be replaced by guilt. He pulled me to him and smothered my words and tears. “You are a better man than I,” he murmured. “I do not deserve you.”
“Non,” I said. “You have never betrayed me.” But a new fear curdled my gut. Was there a thing I did not know of: some act ofmadness inthese last weeks?
“I did with Christine,” he whispered. “My Horse ran her downand rode her. I did not stop Him.”
I was both relieved he was only talking of Christine, and horribly vexed at the implications. Was it the same thing—just horribly vexed at the implications. Was it the same thing—just our Horses getting the bit in Their teeth—but I had won with mine?
I was lost. I stood inthe blizzard and reached for him.
“I fought myHorse for the love ofyou,”I said. “Whydid younot fight yours withher?”
He gasped. “She wanted to hurt you.”
My breath left my body in a prolonged gasp ofreliefand understanding, and I was holding him in the snow and he was warm. I chuckled weakly. “Then… I forgive you, only there is nothingto forgive.”
I opened my eyes, not knowing when I had closed them again, and disentangled fromhimenough to see his face. He was thoughtful, and met mygaze readily.
“That is trulyhow yousee it?”he asked.
“Oui.”
He nodded. “Then I will stop beating my Horse for it.” He frowned. “And youmust not beat yours.”
I nodded. I thought it would be a while before I earned myanimal’s trust again, but I would try.
The cave was stillthere, though:dark, horrid, and cold.
He kissed me before pulling away with a smile to kneel above me. I chuckled as I felt his probing fingers: I had told him to always kiss me first. I recalled that day on the beach; right after he had returned to me; right before I had learned his Horse had dark thoughts. I flinched when he touched the gland inside; and that brought to mind my first reaction to that, and then his rattlingsticks around inbottles. I grinned.
“We have come so very far,” I said. “I love you very much.”
“Oui, and I you.” He ceased his probing and dropped downto lie beside me again. “Youare not badlywounded.”
“They used grease,” I said quickly before I could think more onit. “For… bothtimes, and the phallus, and the turnip.”
Had it only been twice? I recalled the darkness of the blindfold, and Thorp thrusting in me. And then I was lost to the
arms, cryingwhile he whispered his love for me againand again. “I cannot remember it,” I said sadly. “I cannot allow
myselfto…”
“Oui,”he assured me. “Youknow I understand.” And I did:he above allothers, understood.
“Youdid not vomit,”he said withpraise.
I laughed. “Thank the Gods I no longer do that. But the
dayis youngyet.”
“As your physician,”he said withstrained calm, “I would
know more ofthis turnip.”
I found I could see the object in my memory without
recallinganythingelse associated withit. I described it to him. “You are sure it was very smooth with no chance of
splinters?”he asked withironhands onhis Horse’s reins. “I did not touch it, but I did not feel pain of that nature
fromit,”I said withsurety.
He nodded, and asked nothing more. He held me, and I
knew he was fightinghis Horse’s rage veryhard.
“Make it all go away,” I whispered, knowing that would
distract us both.
“Do youwant laudanum?”he asked.
“Do you?”
He sighed. “After, perhaps.”
He kissed me deeply, and I accepted it with great love.
And he lanced my wound again, and I cried out in relief that was
nearlyas profound as the pleasure I could not rise to accept. In the aftermath, I lay curled in our blanket to sop away
the sweat, and he fingered the bottle oflaudanum.
“I have not allowed myself it,” he said. “I have not
wished to be complacent about others’ plans for me. They
drugged me twice, but I told them no more once we were
aboard this ship. I have Pete and Striker to thank for not forcing
it upon me. Savant would have kept me drugged to Cayonne.
And now I fear complacencybecause I fear them.”He shook his
head sadly.
“What ofAgnes in all that?” I asked with the stirrings of
anger; letting it sweep aside the guilt that we should mistrust our
friends; letting it burn brighter fueled by the knowledge we must
distrust them.
“She tried to be helpful,” Gaston said tiredly, “but she
felt her duty was to protect me when you could not—not to help
me rescue you. MyHorse was veryangrywithher.” “Did youhurt her?”I asked withconcern.
He shook his head sadly. “I cannot remember clearly.
She did not run:I know that. But I recallPete pulling her away. I
know not what she thought. That was the last I saw her.” He offered me the bottle, and I knew I did not wish to be dulled such that I was complacent—and trusting—either; even with him to watch over me. I shook my head. He put the
bottle awaywithout uncorkingit and came to curlbeside me. The lassitude ofresignationsettled over me like a blanket
and I let myself succumb to the exhaustion and pain: led by a
bright light of hope into the land of dreams. Diving into dark
waters to follow himinto the wilderness appealed to me far more
than braving the monster I had created in the cave in my soul.
Yet I knew one would lead to the other, and that was for the
best.
We lost track of the days. We lived by lantern light.
Sometimes sunlight streamed through the hatch, other times it
was darker above than below. Sometimes the ship was listing
under full sail, and other times she bobbed at anchor. There was
a storm, and we were told by the few people we saw that it
worked to our favor in reaching Tortuga. However, the Bard
and Cudro had chosen to sail close to the wide-spread chain of
islands and cays known as the Bahamas rather than brave the
deeper waters near the Cuban coast in the middle of summer.
Thus, the Bard was unfamiliar with the waters we sailed, and
often chose to anchor for the night rather than risk running
aground on a sand bar in the moonlight. Thankfully, nothing had
been seen of my father’s chartered sloop. It was assumed she
had been overladen with men and supplies from the sinking
frigate, and chosento sailto a safe port rather thanpursue us. Our friends left us alone: whether frompity, guilt, a wish
to avoid us lest we press our suit for the Haiti, or a sincere
respect for my request that we not be bothered, I did not know. I occasionally fretted over the matter, but mostly, I slept. Unfortunately, though the slumber did much to ease my aches, it did little for my soul: I woke from nightmares more often than not. My only true succor was my matelot. As always, he was at his best when I was at my worst. He was not free of his madness, either, though. His Horse was ever lurking, his Child lived in terror, and when he was the Man I had first loved his moods were mercurial. He, too, often woke screaming hoarsely. Lovemaking was a balm we applied liberally and with zeal, but even in its sweet embrace we were haunted: most overtly by my
brokenness.
Beyond sleeping and trysting, there was only the writing.
At first, the letter to his father passed fromGaston’s heart to his
fingers and the quill with relative ease. He had much to say and
he was sure of how he wished to say it. With calm purpose, he
told ofthe betrayals ofthe Maracaibo raid, our discoveries upon
returning to Port Royal, my capture and torture, and his madness
and confinement. He was only forced to pause when anger or
sorrow overwhelmed himas he felt anew the various events. For
all that, his prose was direct and devoid of euphemism or
embellishment. He wrote without care for his father’s reaction.
And then he reached the end of the missive and the necessary
discussions of the future that should occur in those final pages;
and here my matelot began to falter; as doubt about our course
crept into gnaw at the foundationofhis resolve.
We became suspended between conundrum and irony.
How could Gaston convey our hopes and plans for the future
when we could not consider them without floundering in
madness? How could he speak of wives and babies and where we wished to live when it filled us with so much dread we could not speak ofit without tears? Were we not determined to escape to the Haitito avoid these verydiscussions?
“I will not lie! I want none of it!” Gaston railed as I rescued the finished pages from his destructive rage once again. “I cannot say I wish for Agnes as a wife if I am willing to abandon her these next months! And what is she to do, Will? What is everyone to do? You are correct: we have ruined their lives! I hate themall!”
I smoothed the crumpled pages and tucked them into a crevice behind me; knowing I would hand them back to him once he slept and calmed:as I had three times alreadyinthe past
I was gripped with the urge to strike him. The answer was obvious to me: we should tell his father the truth: we were escaping to the Haiti to consider the future and would write him when we returned. For some reason he could not convey to me, Gaston found writing those words unacceptable. He did not feel he could walk away without making some decision, and it was driving him madder and madder: and he was towing me along
