“Take the gift,” she murmured again, fondling his thick shaft, fingering the distended veins standing out in bold relief as hot blood rushed to the mushroom tip.
Ahhh
.
Her delicate touch—as light as the kiss of a butterfly’s wing—was like a lightning strike. It was too late now for anything but being inside this mysterious creature’s willing flesh, peeling back the petals of that exquisite orchidlike flower between her hot, silken thighs and pounding into her in a frenzy of carnal oblivion. Midsummer madness! Nothing short of coming until he’d emptied himself in her would slake the lust she’d ignited in him. He wrapped her legs around his waist, rushed her against the sturdy back of an ivy-covered whitethorn, and plunged into her to the root of his sex, grinding it against the flushed bud of her female erection, as hard as steel boring into him.
Huzzah for the solstice!
One by one, her thick folds seized his shaft as he entered her inner chambers until the hard ridged head of his penis nudged her womb. Crying out, she laced her fingers together behind his neck, arched her body, and took him deeper. Her head swayed until her long honeyed hair grazed his thighs.
“Mica’s beard!” he cried. “Who are you—
what
are you to make my cock sing so?”
“I am spirit,” she murmured.
Marius loosed a gravelly chuckle. “No spirit ever gripped my cock like this!” he scoffed.
“I am spirit of the antelope, the
Bovidae.
We are…what we are, Prince of the Green.”
Marius had no idea what she meant. Spirit—flesh—whatever incarnation, she was about to make him come. Just gazing toward her upturned breasts, his hooded eyes feasting upon the tawny buds so hard and tall, sent shockwaves of liquid fire racing through his groin. And when his thumbs grazed her nipples, she seemed to melt in his arms.
Marius moaned. Had passion taken over? His need was unstoppable, his appetite insatiable when the change began—the white-hot spiral of excruciating agony that swept him in a blinding streak of mercurial energy from man to beast. He could feel his body shifting, stretching—straining to become the centaur. He pulled out of her without climaxing, a string of curses on his lips, and spun away just in time. He was the centaur. Fully aroused. Hooves pawing the ground.
Prancing in a circle, Marius reared, searching the darkness in all directions with frantic eyes, but there was no sign of the mysterious creature who had loved him so well. She had vanished before his eyes without telling him her name. He didn’t know if she was even real or Midsummer magic his split self had dreamed up to drive him mad. He was clearly on the verge of that as he galloped off, still aroused, voicing his discomfort like a wounded beast as he crashed through the undergrowth and disappeared into the copse that surrounded the pool.
M
arius heard the Sage Tree calling. He was just too distraught to answer. Revelers would be arriving now, but he’d calculated correctly that there would be no moon. He would have to face a horde of rampaging females hungry for sex, which he could not give them in his present incarnation, despite being aroused to the point of pain. Dark of the moon could not have been more uncertain or ill timed.
The tree’s gruff voice came again. What was it saying? Something about the sky…Marius pricked up his ears and listened. The hidden pool with its grotto and copse of saplings was at the center of the Forest Isle. It was the entrance and first link in the chain of subterranean ways out that joined it to Lord Vane’s Isle of Fire by an underwater passage.
Gifted with extraordinary hearing, Marius could hear a feather fall anywhere on his isle, for he was neither human nor fay, though he resembled both in many ways and treated them as brethren. He was an immortal elemental of the land, of nature and the forest, cursed by the gods to live out his lonely existence for all eternity, sharing the body of a creature he had once killed. He was endowed with many supernatural gifts, but not one among them could overcome the curse, for he had disturbed his bond with Nature—shattered it—when he killed the beast he had been duty-bound to protect, a most grievous crime. Oddly, it wasn’t the crime itself that cursed him. He could have repented with a word. It was his lack of remorse for the beast’s death to this very day, though the offense had occurred eons ago, back during the great cataclysm when the archipelago was formed. He never spoke of it, but what was happening to him now harkened back to the day of the curse, brought it all rushing to the fore of his mind. It was unbearable.
The willow tree’s hoarse voice assailed his ears again, and he streaked through the little copse and confronted it, rearing back on his hind legs, forefeet flying. “What?
What
?” he trumpeted. “Spit it out, you lazy good-for-nothing voyeur!”
“Impetuous fool!” Philonous cried. “Look! Look to the sky. What do you see?”
Marius squinted toward the indigo heavens. Even though the pool was cloaked, the same sky stretched above. The moon
had
risen. Granted, it wasn’t much of one, but the slim sliver shining down should have been enough to keep the centaur at bay. Why hadn’t it?
“Did I miscalculate? I don’t understand,” Marius said, scowling toward the heavens. “If that moon hanging there is real, how am I thus?”
“These things are the gods’ doing,” the tree said. “You were not so very wrong, but it appears that the phases are not yet complete. It is not quite moon-dark. With all your worrying about what might be, you’ve lost sight of what is. You will be able to make your run tonight after all, possibly even on the morrow as well. By the looks of that moon, I wouldn’t think you’ll be fortunate enough to manage the whole three-day celebration, but it shan’t be a total loss. Now, calm yourself, then go and make ready. It is nearly time.”
Marius pounded his flanks with white-knuckled fists. “How can I, like this? And you haven’t answered me—why am I in this body if the moon hasn’t quite gone dark yet?”
“
She
brought the centaur out, young fool. The passion you felt for that exquisite creature’s embrace is what’s done it.”
Marius had to admit that Philonous was right.
“If what occurred here before has made me thus, what is to keep it from happening again if I do make my Midsummer run?”
The tree sketched another shrug, lifting a long, feathery branch. “Nothing,” it said, “except perhaps your willpower, now that you are aware. You are being tested, Marius, Lord of the Forest, by the look of it. These things occur for a purpose. We are never enlightened without one. Do not fly in the face of destiny. You are shown this now to prepare yourself, because you will have need of the knowledge at some point. Now, calm down and let Marius, the man, emerge.”
“Who was she, Philonous?” Marius asked. “Will I ever see her again? No one has ever made me feel like that!”
“She told you who she was.”
“What, that business about her being spirit? Midsummer nonsense. They all have their tall tales to tell. You don’t expect me to believe that?”
Philonous sighed. “In all the eons that you’ve roamed the realm of Arcus, one would think you’d have found the time to read its lore, young Marius.”
“You are saying she told me the truth? If that is so, tell me how is it that ‘in all the eons’ I have never seen her before?”
“Linnea shows herself to whom she will when she will. Evidently, you have finally gained her favor. At the very least, you have definitely caught her notice.”
Marius’s jaw dropped. “L-Linnea?
The Huntress
?”
The sage tree nodded its foliage. “They say she is the daughter of the Great White Stag that protects the forests of this isle and all the forests of Arcus.”
Marius’s mind reeled back to his latest encounter with the legendary stag, when it drove the demon lord Ravelle back into Outer Darkness, saving the forest and liberating Marius, Lord of the Dark. Gooseflesh crawled the length of his spine just thinking about it.
The blood-chilling recollection triggered deeper thoughts, and the legend of the huntress ghosted across his memory. Linnea was one of the most well-guarded secrets in Nature. She was reputed to be the offspring of the Great Stag himself, and Ria, a Nature elemental of mixed human blood who possessed the spirit of the antelope. Linnea was an enigma of myth so far removed from worldly and otherworldly lore that she had become lost in the mists of time. It was said she did not give her favors lightly or often…and she had favored
him.
He could not wrap his mind around how incredible that was.
All at once, a shock to his middle doubled him over. The change back was occurring, and he groaned, for it was always painful when bones stretched and muscles expanded and contracted. Falling to his knees, he let the transformation take him, and in a blinding, pulsating streak of silver-white light, he returned to his human form, naked, his body running with sweat from the ordeal. Staggering erect, he dove into the pool to let the mineral salts soothe his sore skin and penetrate his aching muscles. It was a quick purge, for it was nearly midnight, and the rituals were about to begin. He would wear no costume. The race was run naked. He would, however, be masked, just as Linnea had been. He blinked and saw his headdress in Philonous’s branches. The tree offered it with reverence.
“Stag of the chase,” the tree said. “You are safe from the centaur for this night at least, but you must steel yourself against passion, or you will call him back again, which is why you had this little test.”
“I will try,” Marius said dourly. It did not bode well.
“You will succeed,” the tree corrected him. “Do not trouble yourself overmuch with things beyond your comprehension. Enlightenment comes in its own time—not yours.”
Marius didn’t need the lecture. He was hardly a novice. He’d done this since time out of mind.
“Indeed,” Philonous said, answering Marius’s thoughts, “but you’ve never had a visit from the goddess of the hunt on Solstice Eve before. Now go! The celebration has begun!”
Marius made no reply. He took the elaborate headdress and slipped it on. It completely covered his head, but the eye and nostril holes were well placed, giving him ample air and a wide field of vision. He glanced behind him. The willow sighed and settled back into sleep mode. A quick glance toward the star-studded vault overhead reassured him that the tiny slice of moon still hung there. All was well. Why, then, were the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing on end? Why was cold sweat running over his brow beneath the stag mask? And why was his heart racing like a runaway stallion?
Marius heaved a sigh, and another, deep and cleansing, as if to purge whatever unease his extraordinary powers of perception had set loose in him. Then moving his head from side to side, he flexed every muscle in a ritualistic limbering exercise and stepped back through the invisible portal into the forest.
The hidden pool was situated deep in the wood. Few ventured this far, for it was a dismal place, where beings who had aged to a point of nearly perpetual slumber awaited their final journey to the afterlife. While they were immortal just as he was, they celebrated their lives at different plateaus of existence. Only fools disturbed their slumber.
Moving stealthily, Marius padded from tree to tree, following the brook fed by the mineral spring until he came to the clearing that separated that desolate quarter from the rest of the forest. There was no way to breach the distance and reach the dense forest except by sprinting across.
The bonfires had been lit in the clearing, the only place they were allowed since a past holocaust had cost many Ancient Ones their lives, for they were vulnerable to fire. Already, female revelers were dancing naked to the music of flute and lyre around the Midsummer tree, their lithe bodies tinted golden in the firelight. The trick would be passing them unnoticed if he was to gain a head start in the chase. This would not be easy. He’d seen his image in the brook, and it was a breathtaking one, his lean, muscular body burnished to a bronze patina, his erection standing out in bold relief against the night. Every muscle, every corded sinew of his powerful frame was at the ready for the ritual to come. Crowned with the traditional stag’s head, his magnificence would be hard to miss, but the disadvantage was all part of the game.
Best to have the whole thing over with. He took a bold step into the open and began the run.
All around, the forest was alive with milling bodies, some in pursuit, some engaged in orgiastic rituals that would go on through the night. The days were reserved for sleeping, when not sampling the endless array of food and drink set out in colorful tents. Here, mead and May wine overflowed from fountains, and solstice cakes bursting with unborn grains and slathered with honey were heaped on trenchers, alongside platters of summer fruits. No meat was eaten. No animal was sacrificed.
What he gave, he would get.
Pursuit was instantaneous, but Marius was a skilled runner. He would prolong the chase as long as possible before he let himself be caught by some comely maiden anxious to forfeit her virginity to the stag of the feast. But it wasn’t for the sake of the ritual that he prolonged the sport. Truth be told, he was hoping for a glimpse of Linnea again—hoping to have her catch him and finish what she’d started with him earlier, the centaur be damned!
With the help of the Ancient Ones’ lush foliage, it was easy to evade the pursuers from time to time, just long enough to confuse and scatter them throughout the wood to be further misled by the tree spirits. It was all part of the chase. Then, after a time, he would emerge from the woods again, and the chase would recommence. Sometimes the reprieves were brief, and sometimes a clever young maiden would best him and claim her conjugal right as queen of the solstice feast. At that point, they would pair off and the rest would seek their pleasures among the other revelers until the dawn.
Marius was in the midst of the second such reprieve, when he saw an image through the trees that stopped him in his tracks. Moving stealthily among the Ancient Ones was another naked runner wearing a stag mask identical to his own. He could have been gazing in a looking glass. Gooseflesh puckered his scalp beneath the headdress. What was this? There was supposed to be only one Lord of the Feast.
Ravelle!
It was the first thought that came to mind was the demon. The appearance of the great satyr boded ill. Ravelle, the Lord of Outer Darkness, had nearly decimated the Forest Isle with his projected image in an attempt to destroy Marius, Lord of the Dark, Marius’s friend and fellow Arcan prince. While that plot had failed, the demon had old and bitter scores to settle with Marius, and it would stand to reason that the lord of the Arcan netherworld would next turn his wrath upon the Prince of the Green. What better time than the Solstice for the demon to exact his current revenge? No other entity—human or fay—would dare to make so bold an intrusion upon the Midsummer rituals.
That the demon had taken on human form was not unusual. Ravelle was a skilled shapeshifter, able to move about in any body, whether it be in the flesh or merely his projected image. Which was Marius seeing now? It was nearly impossible to tell from this distance. Even at close range it would be difficult. That was what made Ravelle such a formidable adversary.
Concentrating upon where the mystery stag was going, Marius didn’t see the net until he’d been caught in it. Thrown off balance, he crashed to the ground and landed hard in a heap of mulch, the net cinched in so close around him, the antlers on his headgear became hopelessly tangled in it. It looked as if spiders had spun the delicate mesh, and yet it was as strong as steel.
He’d been caught fairly, and he made no protest as his captor came into view, her image thus far having been restricted by the awkward angle Marius found himself trapped in—his own fault for losing focus.
How fair she was, seen by fire glow, flushed from the chase. How long and slender her legs were. No wonder she’d taken him down so easily. She moved with an ethereal grace that defied description, and took his breath away as she set about the business of freeing him from the net.
Her movements were lithe as she glided around him, freeing his antlers. She did not speak as she worked, nor did she meet his gaze, though Marius never took his eyes from her beautiful face. She smiled, and dawn broke over his soul like thunder, or was that his runaway heart? It was racing, thudding against his ribs—but not from the chase. He had never seen anything so exquisite as this golden maiden bending over him, her firm breasts, with their rose-tawny nipples so close to his hungry eyes. It was all he could do to restrain himself from capturing one between his lips.