Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves (14 page)

close. “Willyouever… come back?”Striker asked quietly.

“When Will feels he is able,” Gaston said sadly. “When I… am able to do battle with the priests, and the court, and my father, and…”He sighed heavily.

“WeBeFuckin’Idiots,” Pete said with a heavy sigh of his

 

own. I wished to argue with him, but I could not find the

 

words. Theywere lost to the winds howlinginmyheart.

They did not bring the canoe through the cabin. Gaston deigned to trust them; and laden with our weapons and some boucan and water, we clambered down the ropes to the canoe as the sun broke the horizon. I huddled in the middle of the little craft and did not look back as Gaston paddled toward a forest filled withbird song.

We were free, but I felt lost. I prayed I would not have to anger and abandonthe Gods inorder to live as I wished.
Eighty-Eight Wherein We Are Horses In Eden

By the time Gaston had rowed us to shore, the
Virgin Queen
had raised sail and set out for Tortuga. We pulled the canoe ashore and squatted in the underbrush until she disappeared from sight. My matelot appeared thoughtful as we watched our friends sailaway. Myheart raced, myhands shook, and I panted as if I were swimming or running. I was afraid they would change their minds and come after us. I did not wish to shoot anyone. I knew without doubt that I would. I despised myselffor it; yet, I was far angrier with them; and that, in its turn, threatened to overwhelmme withguilt.

Gaston rummaged about in his bag and presented me with a familiar tin cup. I drank the drug without question. His mien was calm and loving as he smoothed a tear from beneath

myeye.“Are we staying here?” I asked. I wondered how much

 

he had givenme.

He shook his head. “Non, I wish to be farther east— across from Île de la Tortue. But I did not wish to paddle alongside them as they sailed there. So all you need do is sleep for a time.”
for a time.”

Stupid, foolish, useless questions threatened to burble from my lips: Had I done the correct thing? Would we be well? Where were we going? Did he love me? I kept my jaw clamped

shut. The drug was tugging at me as I helped him return the

canoe to the gentle waves lapping along the shore. It took hold mere moments after I settled into the canoe and placed my head onour bags. Thenthere was onlythe rushofwater under the hull and the dip ofthe paddle.

I drifted awake with an aching head and dry mouth and wondered where I was. The sun was still low on the horizon. The canoe was ashore, and we were nestled in the underbrush beside a smallsmokyfire. Insects buzzed allabout.

Gastonhanded me a water skin. “We willsleep here and climb to the highland in the morning. Let me know when you feel youcantake watch. We are not alone onthis coast.”

I looked seaward and could see nothing in the haze. The dense forest obscured all I could see of the land. I could hear other men, though:distant barks oflaughter and the thinstrains of a pipe and fiddle.

“We should avoid men,” he said. “There are more here now thanbefore, and theyare not our brethren.”
I recalled Cudro’s words of warning—before I hit the poor man with a belaying pin… “Do you feel the Coast is now inhabited bymenmuchlike those seekingbountyfromMorgan?”
Gaston nodded glumly and stirred the embers in the fire. “When I would first come here, I would avoid men because I was in the grips of madness; but when I did choose to mingle was in the grips of madness; but when I did choose to mingle with them, they were friendly and helpful. We were a brotherhood and our only enemies were the Spanish and the wilderness. That had changed by the last time I came here; thus my spending more of the year roving. Many of the old Brethren have become planters and merchants. And the new men are like those Morgan gathers: cutthroats and planter’s sons. I doubt their honor. Theyhave no loyaltyto the Coast. Theyare ruled by their love of gold and not freedom. I have heard tales of lone men being captured and sold into slavery, or murdered for their

coin.” I mourned the passing of a peaceful idyllic existence.

 

This land was now inhabited by self-serving English swine like me. “How far willwe have to go to escape them?”

He shrugged. “I do not know. All along the coast there are villages at every anchorage. Everywhere it is flat and moist, there will be plantations. Beyond these mountains, there is a great dry valley the cattle enjoy. The mountains themselves should be empty.”

“No moneyinthem,”I said.

“Gold once, but the Spanish ran out of Indian slaves to mine it, and Negroes are more usefulonthe plantations.”
“This is a sad Edenyouhave brought us to,”I said.
He chuckled. “For others. But not for us.”
I supposed that could be possible if we escaped all others, but what of me? “So we are beneath mountains?” I looked up into the gatheringdark and stillsaw onlyleaves.
“Oui, across the strait fromÎle de la Tortue.”
I did not recallseeing high ground this morning. “Did you row allday?”I asked sadly.
He nodded. “It felt good: to be free: to be moving toward something. I am very happy we are here, my love.” His smile was fullofcontentment.
I was pleased to see him so happy, and I did not doubt his sincerity, yet… “Is it truly good that we are here? They will surelyhate us ifwe return.”
He shrugged. “It is done. They will be well enough without us. We need to be here.” He grinned and poked me. “Frolic.”
I shook my head. “I know not how. I suppose, in time, I willbe able to indulge whimsy, but…”
He placed the point of his finger between my eyebrows. “Youare your Horse.”
But I did not wish to be my Horse: not now. I shook my head hopelessly.
Gaston sighed. He placed his fingers on my lips and his brow knotted with thought. “Let us make a pact,” he said seriously. “We will live every day as if it is forever, and as if it is our last. And we will not speak of that other place until we decide to returnthere.”
“How will we know we have decided…” I mumbled around his fingers.
He kissed me to silence. “We will know after the rains have washed us clean,” he murmured on my lips. “This is a place of Horses, Will. I used to think it a place of madness where I found sanity.”
I focused on the firelight twinkling in his eyes. He was correct. I could not contemplate living here for however long we chose to if I was dwelling in the past. I would crush my self with melancholy. We were here to escape that. Horse or not, I must let myself heal. I could not constantly grind salt into my wounds. And, whyshould I?
“Nothing else matters, does it?” I asked. I had felt that this morning. There was onlymymatelot.
“Non, nothing,” he assured me. “This is real. All else is fantasy.”
“Every day as if it is forever; and as if it is our last,” I repeated as the words took on meaning. I did not think I could live them, but I could try.
“Just so,”he said and kissed me again.
“I willtry,”I murmured. “But I think…”
His lips crushed the words. “Stop thinking,” he whispered when he released me. “Do. Feel. Do not think. Do not speak.”
I started to tell him I could not, but his hand clamped over my mouth. The sudden pressure of it and the glint in his gaze took my breath away. My Horse snorted triumphantly and watched me with shrewd eyes. This was Gaston. This was safe. This was what my Horse wanted. No, I would not let the animal have His head everydamntime someone… But this was Gaston. No, I could not do this yet. I needed time. I tried to pullaway.
Gaston bore me down to press me beneath him. His eyes were hard and bright.
My hands were free. They found his shoulders, but not to push him away. I clawed at him. I did not know what precisely I wanted from him: release, perhaps: release from the nightmare of the past month: peace and respite from the war waginginmysoul.
I quieted and he removed his hand.
“Make it allgo away,”I whispered.
His face hardened into a mask of resolve. “Not if you will keep thinking about it when we are done. I will not fuck you if you speak of that other place. I will not fuck you if I feel you are thinkingabout that other place.”
I gasped withsurprise and protest. “How canI not…”
He clamped his hand over mymouthagain.
“Do youlove me?”he asked.
I nodded.
“Do youtrust me?”
I nodded.
I truly wished to do as he said, but I could not envision it. I was always thinking about… things: especially those things that troubled me.
“You must be an animal,” he said seriously. “Animals are innocent and free. They are not troubled by the thoughts of men. They live by their wits and strength, not politics and promises. You have often seen me curse my Horse; well, He is what allowed me to survive all those terrible years of my childhood. He did not care what my father thought. He did not care if we were loved. He made sure I ate. He made sure I fought if someone sought to hurt me. He did not doubt. He did not fear. He made me strong. That was not always good when I had to deal with other men. But it was very good here. It was very good when other men wore me down. It is very good when I forget who I am.”
He frowned with thought. “Yet I understand what it is to be at odds with your Horse. And I know you are angry with your Horse because youfeelHe makes youweak.”
I nodded.
“He makes you
you
, my love,” he said with warmth. “We are our Horses. And youare not weak.”
I sighed throughmynose and let himsee the doubt in my eyes.
He shook his head. “Thendo not be your Horse, yet. Be a horse. Be a dog. Be a hawk. Be a cat. Be whatever you wish. I did not always envision that part of myself as a horse.” He sighed thoughtfully. “You just cannot be a man for now. This is not a place ofmen. That Willthat youthink youare:the one who was hurt:the one youare unhappywith:let himrest for a time.
“You love me however I am. I will love you however youneed to be,”he finished.
His words set fire to the kindling of my head and heart. Thoughts raced like flames across a fallow field: burning everything in sight: preparing it for some new crop. I could see how his Horse was his protector. He was correct in that I perceived my Horse as my weakness. I had always protected my Horse. I had always had to protect horses because other people saw them as dumb beasts: things to be used and cast aside. Was that a proper metaphor then for the truth of my soul? Did I see my Horse as the truth ofmy soul? Or was He merely a part ofme that must be cared for so that He did not runoffa cliff or break a leg? Was I somethingother thana horse:myHorse?
I closed my eyes and all I saw was a white stallion standing in a verdant field. I could not envision another animal. What else was I? I looked back—from where the horse stood —and beheld a man:the man I saw in a mirror. He stood before a heavily laden cart. It overflowed with people and baggage. He expected the Horse to help himhaulit all; but that was not fair:it was the Man’s baggage.
There was a black stallion standing at the edge of the forest. He was beautiful. He beckoned for me to follow. I wanted to; but how did one do that?
I wanted to ask Gaston
How
? But then I knew: horses don’t ask how.
I pushed Gaston’s hand away and pulled his mouth to mine. His kiss was tentative at first: speculative; and then he felt myhunger and he sated it withzest.
He made love to me and derived great pleasure from it; though, to my continued disappointment, I did not rise. I pushed that thought away and ran far fromit: as if it were a wolf chasing me through the woods. I need not fight it today. We would fight it together when we found some fine clearing suitable for a battle ofthat nature. Now, there was onlythe trailthroughthe forest.
When he finished, I pushed him off, and bade him lie down and rest. His eyes held questions, but he did not voice them. He at last slept with a smile upon his face, while I sat by the fire and fanned smoke to keep the insects away while watching for wolves: especially those born of the shadows of thoughts. I found I could outrun them all; though it did take

constant diligence.

 

constant diligence.

In the morning, we did not speak. We donned our high, soft boots and coated ourselves in fat to stave off the bugs and sun. We pulled the canoe far ashore and tucked it away in the underbrush; concealing it with branches and fronds in the forlorn hope it would be there if we should have need of it. Then we made our way up a steep path into the hills that were surprisingly close to the shore. As we ascended, we could see the hazy shadow of Tortuga to the north and west, and the channel between. The hard and unexpected exercise of walking uphill— at first torturous—became a balm to my dormant muscles. I knew I would ache yet again on the morrow, but for the moment I felt pleasantlywarmand wearyinbodyand calminspirit.

That night Gaston chose a place to camp in a copse of trees and brush. We did not light a fire until after the smoke would be disguised by the evening haze. He only spoke to instruct me on the choosing of camp sites and bedding fronds. I onlyspoke to ask questions about the same.

The next morning we climbed higher. And so it went. The days passed unnumbered. There was no past or future, only the day at hand. We worked our way farther up the mountains, foraging as we went. Gaston taught me how to trap and hunt, find water, what plants were safe to eat, and which ones poisonous. And every night we made love in the smoke of a low fire. I healed, and there were days at a time when I forgot what I was healing from. It was Heaven—save for that part about my cock refusingto rise.

After some wandering, we happened upon a streamwith

 

a waterfalland pool. It was beautiful, with no sign any other man

a waterfalland pool. It was beautiful, with no sign any other man had ever seen it—or lingered if they had. We made our home under an overhang of rock, and wove a mattress of fronds. The rains had started, and every afternoon the clouds rolled in and drenched the forest. We made love, cuddled, and slept in those hours; sat about and talked of untroubled things in the dark of the night; hunted at dawn; and frolicked inthe morningsun.

I sometimes found myself musing that the rushing water of the falls was the sound of time passing us by; but whenever I thought such a thing, I quickly kissed my matelot or swamin the pooluntilthe uglynotiondeparted.

One morning, while swimming—and not because of an ugly notion—I emerged from the pool to find my matelot watching me in resplendent and tumescent glory with a grin that told me allI needed to know about my fate as soon as he got his hands uponme. The sight drove the breathfrommylungs; and to my amazement, it drove life into my member. I looked down at mygrowingorganwithwonder and surprise.