Once a Ing

Once a King

Part 25: From King-Stallion to Pawel the Kidnapped

Skryba...My magic was influencing the Season of Fertility more than I thought possible. Amongst the Bagnisko, the Season of Fertility was a long tradition, filled with tribal lore and mysticism. What was NOT a long-standing tradition, was the Kingship.

The attitudes of the People of Bagnisko, the Sisters of Bagnisko, and the NEW King changed the way this 'Holy Season' played out.

The King was the stud, the Stallion of Bagnisko; therefore, the Women logically were the Mares of the King, to be bred, mated, 'covered', whatever equine breeding phrase you might wish--by the Stallion, the King.

The Women, upon seeing the King/Stallion, behaved like Mares...assuming the position of a mare to a stallion...on scenting the female 'in heat', the stallion would become aroused and mount the mare.

It had become so equine-like, that neither party disrobed; the Bonded partner would simply uncover the rump and seed gate of her beloved, and raise the tunic of the King. Sometimes with a new Mare, the experienced partner would guide the Stallion and assist entry.

This analogy completely took hold after the season was more than half gone. My analogy of the fiery arrow was all too accurate. The King would disappear within minutes of entering the house...his duty completed.

Although King, I was still a human male and the brutality--the inhumanity of the mating--was very unsatisfying.

My dreams were filled with happier times, of women I KNEW. Maybe not loved, but women I knew as people, even if only for a short time.

The King as Stallion, the Women as Mare...the magic had gone horribly wrong. The challenges to the King had stopped...indeed, there was no need to be admitted...The matings were no longer in the homes of the Bonded pairs, but in the fields in the moonlight.

After consummation, the Stallion would vanish...the Mare was magically transported to her bed in her home...The insemination was confirmed by Lena. The whole process accelerated. The woman was known to be impregnated and celebrations ordered!

The Magic took its toll on me. I was unable to eat. I bred the women and slept...I grew gaunt. No one noticed because of the glamour that surrounded me. The Magic ensured only that the Women remembered the potent stallion--the vigorous but brief mating.

One night after 'covering' several Mares, I was set upon on the Way.

I was weak and tired...but near the tower by the sea. Rough men accosted me. They saw only a dazed, naked man...my magic did not save me for these were not men of Bagnisko.

They were 'Others'! Bagnisko knew little of the outside world. Travellers were unknown, only the lost from the stypia, and then, only very rarely--'Others'.

But I knew nothing of 'Others'. Either their appearance was so rare that the Sisters had not thought to warn me, or I was being ambushed to remove a King that was becoming a liability...But these were thoughts for another time.

At the moment, I was overpowered...that is somewhat of an overstatement...it would have taken little effort to capture me in the state I was in. I was love-drunk, or mating- spent. If I were a pugilist, one would say punch-drunk...I cannot formulate the analogy better for my state of being.

I was, at best, semi-conscious. A foul-smelling sack was placed over my head and with my arms and legs trussed, I was sewn into a hammock which was then tied to a pole. I swung there naked, and in need of a piss, between two of them, who carried me down the cliffs to a tiny sheltered beach, barely fit for their watercraft. There were at least two others judging from the banter. I was slipped off the pole and onto the bottom of the craft which was leaky and inches deep in sea water, mixed with beach sand, seaweed, and fish bones.

Later, I realized the pole my hammock was slung on was one of the oars. The Others need a pair of oars to free the craft from the beach and the surf. Once away from the immediacy of the coast, a small mast was raised and a sail was set. I deduced this by sunrise, when a broiling sun pierced the hammock and woke me from my daze.

The Others were fueled by samahon and little else. They were disinterested in their cargo--that is, me--and so the indifferent sewing of the hammock gave way and I was revealed to the sun. A warm day with a brisk sea breeze.

My companions were in various stages of drunkenness and apparently dismissed me of little importance. They had been tasked with abducting me, me but having achieved that goal, paid me as much mind or less than a day's harvest of halibut.

I lolled in the bottom of that craft until midday. The sun was high in the sky, and the breeze had abated. I was parched, and my skin was turning pink from exposure. I pleaded for water, but my 'captors' paid me no heed.

Becalmed...they lowered the sail and returned to the oars. I seemed invisible to them.

I covered myself as best I could in the hammock. Passing clouds provided some relief from the burning sun. In my exhaustion, I slept.

I awoke near sunset...the breeze had come up again. I surveyed my 'captors' in the failing light.

To a man, they were dressed in tatters, cast-offs, clothes meant for ragmen. All their outfits were uniformly too large. They were small men, even by stypia standards. Gaunt to the point of starvation, beardless, long hair in total disarray, one blond, one redhead, the others I could not tell...through the rags, I could see their chests, no hair there...but vestigial breasts--small pointy, slack female breasts with erect nipples!

Having sustained themselves on nothing but samahon all day, they were groggy, performing their tasks as sleepwalkers.

As the moon rose...the truth was revealed...they had been sent by the goddess to retrieve me from a Mission gone wrong. Pawel was not meant to be King of Bagnisko. His magic was wrong for that place, and for that task. These were the ghosts of the women I had known, loved, cared for--women who had summoned me even from beyond their ends, after being massacred--they had come to save Pawel.

Women I had seen in the sky...but now back on Earth, they were diminished, shrunken, starved, and dispirited. Ionica, Genowefa, Alla, and Jadzia. Jadzia, I had not seen in the sky, there was not even any moon-love for her. She was the Senior Woman, part of the Council of the People, the Wise Woman of the People.

Not a word was spoken 'til dawn. Then Jadzia spoke and pointed, "There."

Genowefa steered the craft in the direction shown by Jadzia. Ionica and Alla put their backs into the oars...but they were on their last reserves...still yards from shore they fell onto their oars. The craft maintained its momentum through the calm waters of the small bay, and ran itself aground.

Jadzia celebrated, "Our task is done! We may return to the sky."

At that, the others vanished...their rags left in the bottom of the craft, with the stinking bilge water.

Jadzia turned to me with the sad look of one who had been disappointed innumerable times in life, only to be disappointed in the afterlife.

"Pawel...one will come for you. All will be well. But you must atone for the sacrilege you committed in--she could not bear to utter the name--that place.

One will come to care for you and lead you to your new path. But it is always up to you to choose. I know your sojourn in that place was forced on you, and that your magic was out of place with the magic--again, she could not say their name--those Women."

With that, she also disappeared.

All that was left in the craft were their cast-off garments, a hammock, and a naked Pawel.

Naked, sunburned, starved, and thirsty. I pulled myself along the beach, until I was above the tide line. It was there, I collapsed.

In the midst of a weird dream, I awoke. It was dark. The moon was high above. I was aware of a presence. A soft, male voice called my name, "Pawel? Be not afraid, I am here to help you. My name is Aynur."

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