TCOTNK Season 3.14
The Castle Of The Naked Knights. The origins of the picture book that will change so many lives....
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back to chapter3.13 (last weeks episode)
Warning: these chapters contain explicit scenes.
VIII
Back in the clearing. The laugh still surfaces despite my desperate attempts at containing the near violent eruptions. Someone taps me on the shoulder. I wipe the tears from my cheeks. My abs hurt. I have a runny nose. The little man is hunchbacked. A big head, even bigger serious eyes. He looks at me like I'm an alien. I'm still hiccuping.
I am tapped on my shoulder again. I swing around. Uncomfortable now. There's no one there. I turn back and now there are two men. The second looks at his fingernails with exaggerated innocence. The first scratches his stubble. They are brothers. I look around to find that all attention is on me. I sob. Crying and laughing are so close together. In the corner of my eye the second male makes a quick movement.
Now he sits backwards on the shoulders of his brother, who can no longer see with a stomach in his face. They run into me blindly. Pretty forcefully. I fall on my ass. Rather ungracefully. The rider starts screaming and they walk around me in a panicked circle. His excessively long mowing arms narrowly missing bystanders. Then the torque abruptly turns in my direction. They come full circle towards me, still half upright on my elbows. I'm too stunned to respond.
Like a refusing horse, the bearer digs his heels into the sand an inch in front of my bare legs. The unstable man-tower threatens to fall backwards and crush me. In stead a long-armed man flies over me. I fall back, flat on my back, to avoid him, my eyes squeezed shut. And then, only a second later, I get a kiss on both cheeks at the same time from the two dwarfs who are now cuddling against me left and right like hamsters in love. My laughing spree hasn't worn off yet and I'm screaming. Really ready for the asylum screeching.
They hold my hands, pulling me back to a sitting position. I can't go anywhere. I chew my lower lip, and blink ferociously to loose the blurry wateriness.
Someone from among the bystanders steps closer. The tall thin man with the glittering eyes stands in front of me and makes a deep graceful bow. So deep that he lands on his forehead. He seems stuck. I snort like a pig. Two burly guys come to his aid. Pulling at him like he's a sword in a block of wood. There is no movement to be made. I see it through a haze of tears and snot. They let him go and then he stands without hands on his head. Air cycling with his legs, he turns towards me, pulls a pink handkerchief from his jacket and offers it to me with an upside down smile. My dwarves puppeteer my arms forward so I can take it. Pulling me to my knees. They also direct the movements of my hands and clean my face with the acquired cloth. I have no choice but to join in. They polish like they want to polish me. Then one hand wants to wander to my breasts and the other gets angry.
I sit looking at my own cleavage and the arguing hands and finally start to realize that I have ended up in a performance. Again. The shortness of breath from the last bout of laughter makes my chest rise and fall considerably. And then I do something I didn't think possible. I push my right boob towards the arguing hands. They fall silent in surprise. The naughty hand and the dwarf attached, begin to tremble with excitement and float very slowly towards my chest. The rise and fall of my accelerated breath makes the audience very quiet. I slowly sneak out of my skull. Until the good hand grabs the left tit no longer mine just before the brutal one arrives. The dwarf is beaming from ear to ear and I don't actually know whether it was him or whether it was my own hand that did that.
A whhoooooo rushes through the crowd. The right hand goes to my head, rubbing my temple. And now I just play along. The good one looks to see if he has won the game and continues to hold on tight. But the naughty one doesn't give up yet and decides to go for the other peak. Eagerly cupping the whole thing. My eyes widen and I look angry. There is cheerful clapping. The dwarves look at each other. Furious. My eyes bounce back and forth between them. The worst rivals. The tips of their crooked noses come closer and closer together in a staring battle. Electric poles about to spark lightning. Intense pleasure rises to my cheeks. The bystanders do not miss my inner response. They hold their breath. I giggle foolishly from the unbearable uncertainty.
Then a third hand comes up behind the right man. A really big hand that looks triumphant. The fingers wiggle with desire. Another hand comes up next to it and they jointly turn their palm towards my face. I look anxiously tense. What are they planning?
They attack my hands. My hands withdraw in a rapid movement. I stand with my arms wide, still forced, and the new hands now triumphantly hold my breasts. The cheering breaks out and while the dwarves bow carefully, my own hands continue their journey, still led by the males. They land on my butt to great cheers and laughter. Then the three of us bow as if we have never done anything else and I receive another kiss from each on either hand. I am pushed forward to receive my share of the applause. It makes me shy. They tear down the garden. Noise is made with everything that is loose and attached. I walk back and then the dwarves go forward for another bow. I can't resist and squeeze both of their asses as they stand forward.
I am shy of being praised so ubiquitously. A couple starts playing music and most immediately turn to dancing. The sun is high in the sky and makes the clearing between the bare trees warm and colourful. I can't dance, but no one here seems to be able to. They act strange and cheerful. Switch partners unhindered or just go their own way. I can't help but join in.
Carlos arrives at the watermill. The big man. I hadn't seen him in all that time. He laughs generously at the chaos. Stands with his hands on his hips like a king. I get an admiring look as I pass by, spinning in circles with the glistening tall thin man.
When that song is over he raises his hands. It's getting quiet. People sit or lie down. On my car. In the apple tree. On the roof. In the wheelbarrow. On Uglee. I remain standing. A little to the side. To Carlos' right. In the shade of the holly. I'm hot.
“Freebooters?” he echoes. "We're staying here tonight?"
There is a murmur of approval.
'Chatta has a sick child? Janusch's reverse doesn't work and guess who's at the back of the queue?'
"We'll just leave that shack on wheels in the woods," someone shouts from the rear.
“Yes, and you with it,” that's the acrobat again.
Carlos looks at me and wrinkles his nose, smiling.
“People,” Carlos booms, his chest resonates as an upright bass, “we're all tired? Winter storage is calling and this summer's setback wants to bring us down? Do we allow that?'
It's very quiet now.
As if they are waiting for something.
I can hear my neighbours breathing. The contrast is so high compared to five minutes ago. The thought of them being reprimanded passes through my mind, but that's not it. People are still coming. They walk up the cart track chatting and fall silent when they arrive at the clearing. I hear birds, forest sounds and the high voice of Samanthe singing in her kitchen.
Someone steps into the open middle. And then someone else. Then my last dance partner joins. And so they continue one by one. They stand facing each other. A small circle is formed. It grows. Each is allowed in. Shoulder to shoulder. I think it's a beautiful sight. All those very different people. There don't seem to be many averages here. They all deviate considerably from the ideal. Normal is absent.
They all stand. Except for Carlos. And it's quiet. The birds even seem to be silent for a moment. Again they are waiting for something. I'm leaning against a tree. This seems like it will take a while. I think back to the dwarves with a smile. To those four warm hands.
It's been going for at least fifteen minutes. Two more men have arrived and joined the gathering. Carlos appears to be meditating. I tiptoe towards the path. I want to get away for a while. The closed circle feels a bit private. Maybe they're waiting for me to leave.
Carlos coughs. I look back. His teeth are white. And he has a lot of them. His smiling head makes a small jerk towards the circle.
'Who? I?' I gesture in silent surprise.
He nods minimally. Holds out his hand and waits for me to come to him.
It's ten steps to his hand. And then five more to the circle that opens up and links me in. And with every step I become more moved. I am among them. Just like that. Allowed to be part of it.
Carlos comes in last. Next to me. His arms reach over my shoulders to the person next to me. Everyone looks at the others. There is a calmness in those crossing glances that makes my eyes water. My breath is deep and relaxed. I feel strong.
“The line,” says Carlos, “of this circle,” I feel the low vibrations of his voice through the skin contact, “always continues.”
I see people nodding, closing their eyes and then that eye contact again. I can't help but smile broadly. One of the quadruplet girls yawns a lot. Samanthe comes out of her house humming. From her direction I see a cloud of vapour rising above the circle.
“Mushrooms floating in the soup,” she sings high and out of tune, the circle breaks open for her carrying a huge pan, “will set you up, for a gentle poop.”
That makes everyone laugh.
Meanwhile, Samanthe puts down the steaming soup and starts counting the attendees in an inimitable way. Two bony fingers of her left hand write intricate formulas while her eyes move randomly over the fifty or so guests. Then she looks very puzzled.
"I have eleven plates," she says with a shrug, "should be just right."
I want to draw what I experience. Write down what I hear. See where my thoughts will lead. I'm onto something very vital. The line of this circle always continues. I don't know what the words mean other than a nice image, but it's not an empty statement. I was too close to the big man for that. I can still feel the cloud of scorching light that accompanied the established connection. And I was part of that swirling energy. It cracked the locks on a door I had sealed long ago. I am no longer afraid of what awaits on the other side.
IX
And the day is not over yet.
When I am sketching and writing on the stand of my cart during the soup --bowls have been brought from the circus-- a young woman slides next to me. I had already noticed her. She has strange eyes. A bit like Uglee's moon eyes.
"It's a full moon...," she whispers in my ear. Then she pushes her nose into my armpit. There are no ordinary people here. I continue to draw the bony hand of the dwarf. Fingers like tree roots.
Her mouth goes to my ear again. Her breath is hot.
"...and you're on your period," she says lazily.
I'm starting yet another draft. Brynn, my sword. I can still almost touch the decorations on the sharp steel.
The woman has a kind of curtain of light spiky hair hanging over her eyes. When I look to the side I notice that she is studying me. She points to my book. '...the time you have the best ideas,'
Then she places her hands over my pages. I don't like her doing that.
She lowers her voice and comes very close to my face.
'...and most of the resistance comes from outside the circle.'
Her breath smells bad.
“Especially,” she says conspiratorially, “for someone who has received the arrow of time.”
She walks away. Her clothing consists of many colored layers. Light pink and grass green. It almost hurts my eyes. What to think of that?
I'm very tired. It's only early evening, but I can sleep. I trudge on for a while, fighting my heavy eyelids, and then retreat to my cart. It suddenly feels a bit strange. The straw mattress is now much harder than before. But I just need to close my eyes for a moment.
When I wake up it is very quiet. And very dark. In the middle of the night. I can hear the river rushing. Nothing else. No crickets or night birds.
I stretch. Smell my armpits but don't think there is anything to smell. Not much. I poke my head out the back door and immediately get a bright wink from Uglee. The moonlight shines on the grass. Makes it black and white. I quietly crawl out of my cart and stretch on the trestle. The shadows are sharp. Everyone is gone. Everything has been cleared up. Of course they couldn't sleep here. Even though it is not freezing yet, it is quite chilly for this early in the year.
I slept well. Wide awake. I would prefer to continue drawing. But the light is not bright enough for that. My feet get wet in the dewy grass. Nice and fresh.
The door of the house is locked. Maybe she's afraid of all those travelling people, I think, but I don't believe it myself. I continue walking towards the waterfront.
Carlos is standing on a boulder next to the river. He's stark naked. My bare feet make almost no sound. The noise of the water also helps. He doesn't hear me coming closer. He's wet. His bear body shines. He has spread his massive arms. Like he's taking a shower in the light of night. Receiving the rays from that cool light source.
As I get closer I see that he has a huge erection. Really a tree branch. Pointing diagonally upwards. I can see his heartbeat in that moon dial. Slow rhythmic pulses. His belly swells and shrinks quietly. I can't help but look at it with fascination. He’s a living statue. It is beautiful. It is impressive and vulnerable at the same time.
I think of the sword. I have no idea why, but I can see myself removing that side branch with one cut. I can't stop the image. Hear the splash of his member and see the fountain of blood. I also know very clearly that I don't want that. With the sword comes the challenge of not doing. But giving in to the compelling desire is precisely what robs the sword of its power.
Carlos opens one eye and looks at me mischievously. His pointer drops to eight o'clock.
"I can't concentrate like this," he grumbles, "throw me my pants will you?”
The pile of clothes is next to me. I pick it up and look at him. His expression is unreadable. The eye sockets are shadows. His whole body is half light, half dark. My eyes wander over his body. He seems completely relaxed, except for his member erecting again. My stomach reacts. Prepares. I put his clothes back on the ground and climb over the round boulders to the flat stone where he stands. My inner self is in turmoil. What are you planning girl? You're on your period. And you stink. My body and the deeper silence continue as normal. My feet find the next stone. My arms keep balance. My skin knows what it wants.
The last step to the small plateau is a big one. In fact, the thick boulder is an island. He grabs my hand and high voltage flows as I bridge the water. I turn and he leads. My skirts brush his calves. My sleeve caresses his buttocks. I come to a stop at his belly. Let go of his hand and let my fingertips slide down through the hair on his chest. The air from his lungs is pushed out by it. He exhales like a large animal. My palm lands flat on his shine. The top is smooth. A tone seems to travel through the heel of my hand and into my arm. He pushes against the little circles I turn. I embrace his small tree and very slowly slide the skin back. All the way to the trunk. The hole on top is open. For the first time I am aware of the tube that goes deep into his lower body. When I slide back up, a drop comes up from the source. A bright little lens. Reflecting the silver light. When I reach out the finger of my other hand to taste that bit of jelly, Carlos grabs my wrist. With a deep groan he withdraws his swollen sword.
He turns my body towards the moon and stands behind me. Even untying the lace on my back is now charged. He kneels behind me. Feel his hands go under my skirts. His fingers grip my ankles, forcing my feet slightly apart and then sliding up the outside. His thumbs run over my calf muscle and through the back of my knee. I want him to stay there and I want him to move on. In one movement he lifts the dress over my hips. My nipples are hard and sensitive. Every inch of my skin is alert, waking up. Even the sound of the river excites me. The water flows for me. The island floats on the thick liquid. He rips off my ugly panties. I refuse to worry about the bloody bandage. The night air can't reach the heat beneath my skin. He pushes my arms up. I spread them to the moon. I breathe deeply. The hand on my stomach seems to sink through the surface. I can no longer feel where he is touching me. Whether it's the wind, or just the heat or his fingers. Every muscle has its own life. And as if by itself, a first wave of warmth rolls through my lower body. The next one comes up underneath it. Deeper than the first. I breathe quickly and shallowly through my mouth. I'm shaking all over. The moon's disk divides into two. Disappears in a red glow of dispersing spheres. The stars unravel into golden threads. A hand slides up on the inside of my thighs, but I see a snake climbing its head up my inner thigh. The tongue tickles my open bleeding rose, then slides unhindered into the gate. He twists and turns. Examine the entrance and then the depth again. Then something changes. As if the snake's mouth opens. His thumb is the upper jaw that enters my cave and the fingers are the lower jaw. There are no teeth just softness. It's so slow. The roughness of a cat's tongue, nothing more. I disappear. Can't help but ride that open mouth. I don't know anymore where I start or end. I melt with that hand, with the slowly flowing water. My wide arms embrace the solidity of the night. I fall. Tumble. I'm beside myself. Out of time.
I have a vision.
X
Children are playing outside the walls of an old castle. It is sunny spring weather. It's the girl's birthday. I don't know her age but I think she's turning thirteen. They are looking between the bushes.
I know what they're going to find. Behind a dense wall of brambles, a whole mountain of rusted parts lies half-buried under years of changing seasons. They're armor. Thrown away. Abandoned.
When the girl finds them, she looks up along the weathered wall. She also sees through reality. Like me. She sees the moment when the knights on top of the wall undress and throw the still shiny parts over the battlements. When they fall, the night on top of the wall changes into the spring of her reality. The metal still shines in the moonlight and is rusted and weathered when it hits the ground in the sun. The girl is crying. As the mountain grows she ages. Each piece of metal that falls adds another year. Each helmet ages her.. Every shield takes away a summer. She's getting old. Is gray, and brittle and crooked, and almost a hundred years old when the last polished shoulder piece from the night above bores into the ground at her feet. Dull with age.
Carlos is standing next to me. I am back again. He looks to the side. My body is still rumbling. I try to smile at him but I burst into tears. He nods. Doesn't comfort me, lets me be. I'm cold. Wrap my arms around myself. I put my dress on over my head. I remain crouched and look up at the large man next to me. His cock is still erect. Carlos has his eyes closed. His penis drops a little and suddenly a short fountain sprays into the river. The beam catches the moonlight. Then another silky bolt erupts. Even further than the first. After that the gentle pump makes a line on the stone. Leaking down his shaft now the way my Arabic glue wells up when I squeeze the plastic container. His member bobs up and down with each thrust. I am witnessing something I didn't think possible. I long to reach out, palm up and catch some of his essence. Then weigh his balls with my other hand. But I don't do it. Stay where I am until it's over. He steps into the water. Washes himself, spluttering. Like birds do. And when he wades to the side towards his clothes, his sex has shrunk to nothing.
We shared something but I realize we didn't have sex. I admire this man. I feel very grateful. I feel round. Whole. A full moon. Without any missing parts. I have goosebumps from the cold night air.
'Come on,' says Carlos, 'we're going to find some warmth. Water people need fire to stay warm.'
