“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 10

I started this novel in 2006.  I had almost finished my first novel (this being the second) but didn’t.  It was too involved and besides, what did I know about writing novels?  Nothing, but pushing on in this endeavor brought results.  It’s loaded with sexual scenes but I found the characters, at least some of them, to be full of vigor.  You have to love your characters or what  is the reason to create them?  I must tell a secret here:  the characters took control of the book and I was just a scribe to them.  They went wild and wide and no amount of slamming the book closed or whips applied would bring them back in line.  Perhaps that is the way it is with some books.  It certainly was with this one.

Lady Nyo

–

Chapter 10

“Tell me, Demon. Tell me more about your ‘world.’ You certainly have pushed your way into mine.”

“I wouldn’t say pushed, Madame Author,” he retorted. “I would say, ‘pulled’ into your world, by the push of your ink.”

Perhaps. I was trying to make sense of what happened to me since he first stepped from the page.

“Can’t you write “leaped” from the page? Sounds manlier.”

I laughed. This demon l of mine “Capitals, Please…as in “Demon Lover” he whispers to me…

…THIS Demon Lover…you got another? … is always concerned about his masculine…’virtues’. Can you use the word ‘virtue’ with a devil? Well, he is very concerned about how he appears. This little vanity makes him more ‘human’ to me.

“Don’t bet on it. You’ll lose your coin.”

“Then tell me, Garrett. By what other names have you been known?”

The Demon grinned across the table. “Pick a letter from the alphabet.”

“Stop being coy. Tell me about your world. What do you do with yourself when you are not here? That will do for starters.”

“Well, ‘for starters’ as you put it, I could say I bedevil other old maids or I could tell you I danced in the street to the tune of my fiddle, or I was a gigolo, or it as ‘none of your business’ as you say to me. Pick.”

“Ah! So…I’m an old maid to you? I guess this is the end of the honeymoon.”

“Could be. We almost started a litter last time.” He grinned broadly.

“You can start with that little event. What happened there? All I remember is being very heated.”

“You could say that. I seem to have those effects on old maids.”

He is an insufferable boor. But I vaguely remember being….passionately aroused, out of my mind with lust. Then I remembered falling asleep.

He reached over the table and passed his hand down my face. I floated in darkness. There were stars above me, and little hills beneath, hills that looked like mole hills far down there.

“That’s a nursery.” He smiled, and then laughed at my expression.

“Mole hills? What are you talking about?”

“Some dimension’s nursery, where the little monsters are cradled until they are let out upon some world.”

Lately I have discovered the Demon has knowledge about worlds and creatures I don’t have language for. Asked directly, he will hem and haw. But every so often, he slips up and tells me something actually interesting.

“You hurt my feelings, Bess. Everything I have to say is interesting.” The Devil is reading my mind. He does so when he damn well pleases.

“And besides, you are a virgin where the cosmos is concerned. I only tell you what you need to know.” He leaned towards me across the table, scowling for effect. “Besides, it can be a very scary place. Good thing you have me around.”

He puffed on his long white clay pipe and I would have to say that his last statement could easily be qualified.

“Tell me, Garrett, if I was ‘breeding’ as you say, what would the baby look like at birth?” I was curious as any woman would be.

“If they were female, they would have your breasts. If male….my cock.” He grinned nastily.

“No, I mean, would they be human looking? Would I be able to love this child?

“Every other woman who has had my children loved them. Don’t know why you would be any different, Bess.”

I didn’t expect this! Other children by him. Somewhere in the novel, I remembered writing he had two bastard children by a woman in Martinique, but then I had forgotten to follow up with more information about these children and the mother.

“You are slipping on a lot of things, sweet lady.”

“I guess because now I am an old maid?”

“You can be revived.”

He had a droll wit at times. Grinning and snapping his fingers, produced out of the ether two tankards of ale.

“Do you aim to get me drunk?”

I couldn’t drink more than a glass of wine. A tankard would put me to sleep. He snorted, again reading my mind.

“Tell me…you must know more than you let on. How did I become fertile?”

Certainly this was a worry, because I was beyond the age where a woman needs to carry around a pregnancy. I never thought of ‘demon-control’ before.

He looked thoughtful, and puffed on his pipe.

“There are many ways and many carriers of mischief. This could be what you call a succubus or it could be of another species altogether.”

“So, you have no control over what happened to me?” This was not welcome news.

“Oh no, I could make it happen myself, but it’s so early in the affair, sweetheart, and I wanted to have more fun before I loosed my seed up your womb.”

He laughed. “Much more fun. Besides, I would be turned away from your harms when you got heavy with whatever was brewing in there.”

He took a swig of his ale and his eyes glittered across the rim of his tankard.

“So it ever is with mortal woman.”

I took a sip of my ale.

“These mole hills you said were nurseries. What happens to the birthlings when they are born?”

“Think of spawns or swarms of fish. Most are eaten by other species, some by their own. Others end up ‘road-kill’.”

“Oh! That is too horrible!”

“Not so much if you saw them. It would take a particular mother to nurture one,…like a blind one.” He laughed as he swallowed his ale, and managed to choke. He ended up trying to wipe the ale from his shirt.

“Would our child appear like a monster?”

He put his tankard down and looked at me. “Not if you loved it from birth.”

That was not exactly encouraging.

“Garrett…do you have shape shifters in your world?”

“Doesn’t every world have that? I think you call them transvestites in yours.”

I had to laugh. Not exactly what I was asking, but I’ll take that answer. Witty Devil.

He knew much more than he would say.   He held some of the secrets of the ages and this I was sure. But he was a damn tricky Devil, and he made me work for it. It was like peeling an onion. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get to his center. He was full of mystery, but then, most demons are. If anyone tells you they are benign, or banal, don’t believe a word of it. They are charmers and tricksters and will keep you unbalanced. This Demon was a handful, but ‘life’ as I was becoming to know, would be a lot duller without him. I had learned it was not just the human heart that was layered with complexities. If I was learning anything, it was that the Universe held infinite mysteries, some of them anxious to be known.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2006-2018

“Devil’s Revenge”…Chapter 43

(Obviously M. Gormosy…..usually Madame)

I wrote “Devil’s Revenge” back in 2006, but only finished it a year ago.  I had to do a lot of cutting and discarding chapters that took me off the main track of the novel.  I am sure this is not unusual.  It was my second novel and perhaps now with all the clipping and deleting I will publish it next year.  It has a certain flair, but certainly not to everyone’s taste.  The characters flew down on the page and sometimes I felt (most times actually) just a scribe.  They created the book and all the havoc that follows.  But I loved the characters because they were strong, wily and out of control.  Nothing I could have ever produced from my own attempts.  They pushed  me around and wrote the novel themselves.

Lady Nyo

—

The bedroom door flew open and Garrett stood in the doorway.

“It’s been decided. There’s to be a duel.”

I looked at him, my mouth open in surprise, and twisted around to Madame Gormosy. She was arranging my hair and had a mouthful of pins. She shrugged, her eyebrows raised high and spit the pins into her hand.

“Bon. So tell us about this duel.”

Garrett leaned against the mantel. He grimaced, passed his hand over his face, and pulled at his lips, distracted by his thoughts.

“Better you both know we will be entertaining some devils tonight. M. Abigor will be one of them.”

His face dropped in a scowl and I felt Madame’s hands hard on my shoulders. I could sense there was something else. Perhaps she knew more than she showed.

Abigor again! Well, he was an Arch Duke of Hell and a military advisor. He was also a healer but what that had to do with this situation I hadn’t a clue. Perhaps he replaced the lopped off limbs and bound up the wounds after battle.

But Garrett said ‘devils’. Obviously meaning more than one. M. Abigor struck enough terror in my heart, but the presence of more?

“Who is rounding out the company?” I tried to sound nonchalant but my voice shook.

Garrett looked a bit spooked. His eyes went straight to Madame Gormosy.

“M. Bucon will be dining with us.”

Bucon! The father of Obadiah! My stomach hit the bottom of my gut.

Again Madame Gormosy’s hands tightened on my shoulders.

“Do not fear, ma petite. M. Abigor is his equal and more. Nothing will happen to you tonight.”

Soothing words, but the look that passed between them was not reassuring.

Bucon was not a devil to dismiss easily. Another official from Hell, commanding a lot of legions of lesser devils, and the Demon of Hatred to boot. The Demon of Hatred between sexes. A real troublemaker let loose in the world.

Not to mention Obadiah’s father.

When I was writing the original novel, the one where all these queer and dangerous characters came from, little did I know what lay ahead. Now my life was at the mercy of more devils and I didn’t have any angels appearing in the fray. Any expectations of life were turned on the head.

“I have a particular problem, Louis.” Garrett’s words were spoken softly, his eyes riveted to Madame.

That was strange for Madame appeared as a woman, certainly Louise, not Louis.

“Ah, life is always a problem amongst us devils. How can I be of service, Garrett?”

“I will need a second.”

I stiffened. Of course! But why not Abigor?

Garrett looked at me, reading my mind.

“For the simple reason that Abigor is an Arch Duke, and for him to be a second in this matter would not be a level playing field. Although we demons are tricky, we do have our morals.”

I started to laugh but saw his expression. This was not a time for frivolity.

Startled, I heard a voice not of Madame’s behind me, but of Monsieur Gormosy.

“But of course, mon ami. I am at your service. It should be no other devil than Louis. We have done well through the years. We have a bit of a blood bond, n’est ce pas?”

Garrett was not one to express gratitude easily, more likely to deflect an open show of gratitude with sarcasm, witty remarks. An expression of gratitude would come hard to this demon. But something had changed, perhaps his pride, whatever accounted for this, his face showed relief.

He bowed stiffly to “Madame” still behind me, and that bow expressed his deepest feelings.

***

That evening we went down to the large sitting room to meet our guests before dinner. The house was ablaze with candles, and every fireplace was stoked with a good fire. I supposed this was all done with magic, the particular devilish magic that Garrett and Madame had shown before, but I was to be surprised at their invention.

Garrett said little as he poured sherry into two glasses, handing me one with a little bow. I had been tucked and pinned into a brocade gown, more the style of a few decades earlier, but this was not my choice. Madame Gormosy appeared with this gown and dressed me. It was not the loose and flowing gowns of the present 1820’s but a gown of more structure: a gown needing the benefit of a tight full corset and petticoats. I could barely breathe. My hair was pinned high on my head with one sausage curl falling across my shoulder. At least Madame did not powder my hair. A pair of pearl drop earrings and one gold bracelet was extracted from her jewelry box and I was presentable. Of course she insisted I wear rouge and a patch on one side of my face.

Garrett seemed pleased with my appearance when he escorted me into the sitting room, but since I had worn a dressing gown with uncombed hair for days, this change in appearance would please anyone.

“You do look fetching, Bess, perhaps a bit too fetching for the company. Abigor is known for his charm with mortal women and I don’t want him distracted by such a choice morsel.”

“Are you worried about M. Abigor at this stage of the game? I would think both of your minds would be well occupied with the issue at hand.”

Garrett grunted, his mind quickly elsewhere besides my ‘fetching’ appearance. I could tell he was worried because he paced the room. It surprised me to see him so agitated, but then again, considering the company for dinner, what could one expect?

Suddenly there was soft strains of music, seemingly floating upon the air. It was chamber music, sounding like Handel or Haydn, though I could not exactly identify the composer.   It was not perfectly played, for every so often I would hear a badly bowed passage, either lagging in tempo or gratingly out of tune. Then some cursing. A muffled screech and the music would begin again.

Garrett gave a short laugh, more like a snort.

“We have servants galore tonight, my dear. Of course, they are all minor devils, but useful under the circumstances.”

I must have looked confused, but my confusion competed with fear.

“The devils are courtesy of M. Abigor, Bess. They are just a soupçon of his power, his devoted legions. He has many surprises up his dark sleeves tonight. He is the host of this little dinner party.”

“Where is Madame tonight, Garrett? Shouldn’t she be appearing soon?”

“Ah. I am depending upon Gormosy to show. This dinner would be lacking a certain element if that one didn’t.”

Speak of the Devil, and “Madame” Gormosy appeared in the doorway. But it was no more Madame than a cat. It was Monsieur Gormosy in a white powdered wig, black velvet coat with a red and gold embroidered waistcoat. His white silk stockings sagged a bit around his thin calves, but I would imagine his physique, as Monsieur was the same as Madame, would be similar, baring a few differences for the change in sex.

I stared at him, forgetting my manners. He was a smart looking little peacock, with the makeup that men of the French aristocracy affected in the previous century, perhaps before they went to meet Madame La Guillotine. There was something striking about Louis Gormosy, even dangerous, tonight, something I didn’t feel when he was Madame Gormosy. Perhaps it was the slim sword he wore at his side. But perhaps it was that I knew him to be quite the devil. I would have to have faith in him and his trickery, but my confidence would have meant nothing here. It was all of Garrett’s choosing. The evening and the outcome rested in both the hands of Garrett and M. Abigor.

“Bonsoir, Madame Bess, you are looking ravishing tonight.” He bowed an elegant little bow and I inclined my head with a broad smile. I couldn’t help it. Such a change in appearance from female to male, but still the same ‘man’.

“And you, M. Garrett? Are you feeling up to the evening?” He delivered this with another little bow.

Garrett gave a thin smile and poured Louis Gormosy a glass of sherry and presented it to him.

“D’accord Louis. Tonight is only the beginning. I am grateful for your presence, my old friend.”

Again the music was heard, this time the small chamber orchestra seemed

to be doing a bit better, with only a few sour notes and no cursing. I   listened to the playing, and started to relax a little. Perhaps it was more the sherry that was soothing than the music. Garrett and Louis Gormosy had moved to the far end of the room, by the large windows fronting the house, perhaps talking about the coming evening. I could see a little argument forming between them as one would shake his head, and the other would stomp his foot.   I had to laugh a little. “Monsieur” Gormosy, in his stamping his elegant little foot, still claimed the behaviors of Madame.

Nerves were to be expected tonight because their future….our very lives, rode upon the alliances and the strength of them.

We both heard the clip clop of horses, and a carriage with gleaming lanterns came across the front windows. I looked at Garrett, expecting him to greet his guests at the door, but he just winked.

I heard soft footsteps and saw a man with a white wig, dressed in red cross my vision as he went to the door. I raised my eyes to Garrett, and he smiled.

“More of M. Abigor’s magic?”

“A bit more. The evening will be entertaining. I promise you won’t be bored.”

I heard voices and within moments M. Abigor was in the room, bowing first to Garrett and then to M. Gormosy. I rose from my chair and looked at M. Abigor, unsure of what to say or do besides a general greeting.

“Ah! Madame! You look lovely this evening. You grow more beautiful each time I see you.”

He was his most elegant as he bowed over my hand and when he raised his head, I saw nothing disturbing in his dark eyes. I believe he knew what had happened to me when we met that first time. Perhaps Madame Gormosy informed him of my suffering, but then perhaps such a powerful demon knows what he does. He counts on it. It’s part of his power and control of beings around him. Usually there are no accidents with devils.

Suddenly the room was colder. A short figure stood in the doorway looking hard at me and I shivered in spite of the heat of the fire.

It was M. Bucon, the father of Obadiah. The father of the man who had raped me those months ago. He was followed by a woman, but in no way did she appear quite human. There was something about her appearance that just wasn’t ‘right’.

Garrett face hardened as M. Abigor made introductions, and he gave a stiff, short bow to M. Bucon. M. Gormosy gave him a wide grin, but there was nothing friendly about it.. I was introduced by M. Abigor but M. Bucon only nodded his head in acknowledgement. Thankfully, he did not bend over my hand.

“May I present Madame D’Aberge. She is visiting and M. Abigor thought she would be an interesting addition to your dinner.”

Madame D’Aberge made her curtsey and whipped out her fan. She had frizzy white hair piled high on her head, a face painted chalk white and a red cupid-bow mouth. Two large circles of rouge sat like pompoms on her cheeks and her eyebrows were painted black wings threatening to fly from her forehead. I smiled and gave her a curtsey and she again curtsied and fluttered her fan. Clearly she was some lessor demon rustled up for this event, a way to round out the company with feminine presence.

My first impression of M. Bucon was this: he was an unimpressive man, neither attractive in face or figure. I was surprised he didn’t wear a wig, as the other two men did. Garrett never did, but pulled his hair back in a pigtail for formal occasions.

Bucon was short, rather rotund, and badly balding. It looked like moths had attacked his head, for though he had hair on the front of his head and around the bottom, all between were patches of burnt, dark skin and little attempt to coax his remaining hair into something that was presentable. But perhaps the most prominent feature was his mouth: though his lips were not without form, his face seemed to fall naturally into a sneer. He had a peculiar way of closing one eye as he looked at a person, and a disdainful manner. If I had seen him on the street I would not have noticed him. Here in the house, in a sitting room illuminated by the soft lights of tapers and a good fire, he seemed out of place amongst the natural elegance of the other three men. Perhaps M .Bucon would only evoke contempt in all he met, and therefore he responded with hatred?

Again the music floated into the room and these devils weren’t doing a bad job of it. A little Corelli, a violin solo that sounded like bad Vivaldi, perhaps some obscure Handel, and here and there a taper appeared to light a corner or grace a sideboard. It was if an invisible servant were placing candles to illuminate parts of the room. A nice trick, but rather disconcerting.

A red coated devil, obviously part of the liveried staff came in with a tray of glasses followed by another one with a tray of spirits. They were dark, little men, probably French devils, or rather well sizzled denizens of their place of origin. In any case, they looked like burnt carbon copies of each other, and I wondered if they were part of the loyal legions of M. Abigor or M. Gormosy? Probably M. Abigor for he was he reigning head cheese tonight. They served without noise, seemingly to float over the floorboards, and were more like haunts than men. But of course! They were devils and bound by their magic. Or someone’s magic.

Madame D’Aberge’s mouth was so red her teeth had a yellow cast. She would look at me, smile, her upper lip rising like a horse about to sneeze, and then she would pull her lip down to meet her bottom lip. I was not sure that she had something to say, but I found her interesting to look at. Her hair was powdered white, her face and bosom so ghostly that the dabs of red on her cheeks stuck out like beacons. She reminded me of a rag doll I had when I was a child, except with white frizzled hair, not red yarn.

The men did not sit down but stood stiffly apart from Madame and I. Louis Gormosy did come over to where we sat and made a formal bow. Madame D’Aberge tittered and up went her lip. M. Gormosy also bowed to me, catching my eye and giving a wink. He made small talk amongst us, more I believe to reassure me than to effect any real conversation, but I was grateful for his attempts. The combination of the tight corset and the tension of the night made me uncomfortable and uneasy.

Madame D’Aberge’s mouth was so red her teeth had a yellow cast. She would look at me, smile, her upper lip rising like a horse about to sneeze, and then she would pull her lip down to meet her bottom lip with a snap. I found her interesting to look at. Her hair was powdered white, her face and bosom so ghostly that the dabs of red on her cheeks stuck out like beacons. She reminded me of a rag doll I had when I was a child, except with white frizzled hair, not red yarn.

The men did not sit down but stood stiffly apart from Madame and I. Louis Gormosy did come over to where we sat and made a formal bow. Madame D’Aberge tittered and up went her lip. M. Gormosy also bowed to me, catching my eye and giving a wink. He made small talk amongst us, more I believe to reassure me than to effect any real conversation, but I was grateful for his attempts. The combination of the tight corset and the tension of the night made me uncomfortable and uneasy.

When we finally went into dinner, I was famished. Behind each chair was a devil- in- waiting. M. Abigor and Garrett sat at either end of the long dining table, M. Bucon and Madame D’Aberge across the wide table. M. Gormosy sat next to me, and this was a relief. A quick squeeze of my hand under the table was reassuring. He took the liberty of an additional squeeze of my thigh.

The servants were excellent, both noiseless and gliding like ghosts, serving from the left and placing bowls of the first of two soups before each diner. I looked at mine, a shrimp bisque with clams and the little devils were still jumping in the cream stock and flipping their tails. Pretty little pink cooked shrimp should not be behaving in that fashion. A clam spit a stream of soup upwards, missing me but making me blink. I looked at M. Gormosy next to me and saw him smiling into his bowl. I carefully spooned the broth.

Next two servants brought in a stuffed and glazed swan on a huge platter. They placed it in the middle of the table and left. The swan started to sing, a melancholy voice that praised Apollo and sang of his sweet love of life. Suddenly I realized I knew the music: “The Roasting Swan Ballad” from Carmina Burana. There was no way I was going to eat that swan. I looked at M. Gormosy and saw he was struggling not to laugh. I looked at Garrett at the end of the table, and his face warned me not to say a word. A servant reached across the table and twisted off the head in mid song. It’s wings flopped over the platter and on to the polished table. It was dead.

Another servant brought in a fat and steaming capon and the bird started to crow. This was enough even for M.Abigor. He whispered into the ear of a devil behind his chair and the man left. Within minutes, a covered salver was returned to the top of the table. I could only guess what it contained under its dome, but all the activity of our food ceased immediately, and we dined.

(End of part one of Chapter 43)

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2006, 2011, 2018

 

 

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 4

I wrote this, my second novel, when I hadn’t a clue what writing a novel meant.  I just kept writing because the characters (some Devils) interested me and they seemed to take over the book.   I finished it about six months ago.  I haven’t a clue what to do with it, as it is…I am told….an erotic novel.  Well, I guess it is as sex seems to be some of the glue between the two main characters.  But to my mind, much more interesting are some of the immortal characters, Lord Abigor and Madame Gormosy , who appear later on.

The main character, Bess, has been abducted by this devil, Garrett Cortelyou from the 21st century to 1832.  The reasons for this are revealed later in the novel. 

I came from (really) an area in New Jersey that was historically Dutch.  The house, the landscape in this book are familiar to me and I drew heavily upon memories of this.  The Devils probably were there, but I didn’t notice.

Lady Nyo

–

Bleary with sleep, a dull pain in my head, I opened both eyes carefully. That wine last night must be the reason my stomach hurts. I am playing with fire if I continue to — Oh Crap! I’m here again! I sigh with disgust, my legs tangled in the sheets. This bedroom has become my new dungeon and looking out of the east window, is the dungeon master. I turn over and glare at him.

“Good Morning”. This time he said it in English instead of Dutch, but he didn’t turn from the window.

“Garrett, how long have you been there?” I yawned, rubbed my eyes and pulled my mobcap off. His commanding me here was becoming a bit routine now. How many times? At least a dozen but time was different in his realm.

“Not long,” he said, continuing to stare out the window. I looked at his figure illuminated by the sharp morning light. He was a pretty (“handsome” I heard him think!) man, broad in the shoulders, his back narrowing down to strong buttocks. Wearing the usual shirt of gentlemen and farmers, a heavy white linen cut full at the sleeves, his waistcoat was sleeveless, made of dark plum colored wool, and reached to his hips. The breeches were cut from heavy twill and his boots were brown leather, scuffed about the ankles. He had walked in deep mud somewhere. His boots were covered with muck.

 

“Get up, I want to do something different today.” Ah, this was a change; he usually wanted to play around in the morning.

“Important things first.” He finally turned from the window, hands on his hips, and looked at me with dour expression.

“Van Doren down the road has a litter of pups. Daniel said they’re old enough to take from the bitch. I want the whole litter. I’ll train them as gun dogs and hunt them next fall”.

Oh God, he probably will want to stable them here where it’s warm…

 

“My guess is you haven’t been paying attention. This house is haunted,” he said softly, his eyes narrowing to slits.

“What do you mean, ‘haunted’?” I shivered though the bed was quite warm.

“Those dogs will be flesh and blood, as you are, but invisible. No one would feed them.”

“So, I could go downstairs to Daniel and Anna and they wouldn’t see me?”

“Hell, I could stick you on the end of my –“

“Garrett!”

“– and walk around the house, and they still wouldn’t notice. They may wonder why John Thomas was saluting the wind, but you would be air.”

I had to laugh. He had a way of describing things. Vulgar, but comical.

“What time is it, Garrett?” I yawned and stretched my arms over my head, not wanting to move from the warmth of the bed.

“Time you get your butt up and come with me.” He went to the wardrobe and started tossing clothes. Out came some petticoats, woolen stockings and a heavy linen chemise. He rummaged around the hooks and drew out a green woolen dress.

“Can I use the chamber pot first, please?” I slipped to the side of the bed, my feet cold from the draughts on the floor.

“Do you need any help with that?”

“I need you to leave the room so I can get dressed.”

“Won’t happen. I happen to like seeing you struggle into your clothes. Arouses me.”

“Everything makes you horny, Devil.”

He grinned, his foul lust a tease and a torment. I did not dally, knowing he would not leave me in peace for long.

The clothes were thrown on the table by the fire. “Come here, be my angel and let me dress you.” He was sitting there with his legs spread.

“Are you a crazy man? I can very well do it myself.” He had some nerve.

“Have it your way.” He snapped his fingers and my nightgown fell to the floor. I was naked, the room cold, and he still a damn devil!

“Garrett! Stop screwing around! I’m freezing.” It was one thing to be naked by candlelight, another to be standing in the sharp eastern glare of early morning. This type of light magnifies all imperfections. I heard him mumble something….

“Love casts a glamour on things.” His words surprised me, for they were tender and human.

“Put you leg up on my knee and I’ll pull your stocking up.” I balanced myself on one leg, and put an arm on his shoulder. I could smell the sharp smell of brimstone.

“Very funny. Now, the other one.” He couldn’t resist running his hand up my inner thigh. I slapped his hand and jumped back.

He held out the heavy linen shift, and pulled it over my head and opened two petticoats for me to step into.

Oh, he was quite a demon this morning, with his half-hearted attempt to pinch my nipples, but he did get me dressed. He seemed to know his way around the hooking and lacing of tapes, and all were in place. I wondered what shoes to wear.

“Oh…must not forget these.” From behind his back he drew a big pair of Dutch wooden shoes. He placed them at my feet. I stared at them and started to laugh.

“You write about Dutch farms and farmers, yet you don’t know the muck they produce. Guess women writers from your century float over the shit. We’ll probably cross over a couple of pigsties in the going.”

Lovely. Just what I wanted to do with my morning.

“You’ll enjoy the fresh air. I want those dogs, so let’s get going. It’ll give you something real to write in your book.”

He walked to the door, and I gingerly shuffled after him. He muttered a low curse, and picked me up over his shoulder like a sack of flour. A wooden shoe fell off my foot and tumbled down the stairs, sounding like thunder as it bounced to the hall floor. He dropped me on my feet and led me to the front steps. A black rig and a blacker horse were standing outside. Of course! A black horse, something a devil would ride.

“Would you be quiet? The horse might have feelings on the matter.”

I laughed at him. He was entertaining this morning.

He helped me into the rig, walked to the head of the horse and whispered to him. He sprung into the seat, grabbed up the reins, the horse trotted to the main road, turned left and moved out smartly on the highroad.

 

I held onto my bonnet, which fell back with each jounce of the rig. The horse seemed to skim over the dirt, getting faster and faster.

“You really want those dogs!” I started laughing.

My Demon grinned at me as he shook the reins, and the horse fairly flew down the road.

 

The air was fresh and brisk for it was early winter. The fields were dun-colored but the cloudless sky was a crisp blue. I could see trails of smoke rising from distant houses across the far hills. At least the scenery looked normal with cows huddled under trees and along fences. I thought of a piece of Handel I had heard the night before. Written for harpsichord, last night played on piano. The rhythm of the music mimicked the fast trotting of the black horse. Suddenly I was hearing the music! I looked over at Garrett and saw him smile. The black leather of the rig surrounding us was our stereo and the horse’s speed matched the tempo of the music. Ah! A good piece of magic!

We traveled for a mile when the horse turned to the left. Down a short lane was a large, white house. Behind it were red barns. . Garrett stopped the rig and helped me down in the cumbersome shoes. He straddled the rig right over the mud and I looked at him with a grimace. My shoes sank almost to the ankles. He grinned and led us to the back of the house near the barns.

“Van Doren!” Garrett shouted. “I’m here to see those dogs.”

 

A clang like a bell rang out, but it only was a piece of metal being dropped. It bounced around for a bit. A rotund Dutch man came walking out the dark passageway his eyes blinking in the bright sunlight.

“Ah, young Cortelyou! Goedenmorgen to you!” He wiped his hands on his trousers as he came toward us. “So you here to purchase my pups? Well, there’s others hearing of this fine litter, so it’s goot you come when you do.”

The joy of exchange among countrymen was both in the bargaining,- and the coin. I was raised in the Dutch countryside of New Jersey. I had seen this before.

Van Doren looked to be in his seventies. He was a hale and hearty man, with a halo of white hair. He had a full, white beard, bright blue eyes and a red nose that said he liked his ale too much.

“This is my Aunt Sophie from upcountry, Abraham. She’s visiting Catherine for a month.” His Aunt! Do I appear that much older? Well, at least I wasn’t a ghost to van Doren. He gave a slight nod and led us into the barn.

“There’s four pups, but one of them’s a runt. All livers, with white chests. They’ll be about 2 months out, I believe. You wanting the whole litter?”

“I would, first I see them.” It seemed men talk differently to each other. Sharp, short sentences as if they were fearful of too many words.

“Dam’s my Lilly, and not a finer dog in the township. The sire is Rumble from over Vieght’s way.”

“How did she take to Rumble? He’s a brute of a dog, too tall in the withers for a spaniel.”

“Aye, these are big water spaniels, all except for that runt, which probably won’t live. I should bash her head in. The others will benefit.”

Van Doren fell silent. “So, you thinking of breeding your own pack here?”

“When I see them, Abraham.”

Abraham walked to the back of the barn, and in a dark stall, a bitch lay in a corner, her pups in the straw.

“Hush, Lilly, some one to see you.” Lilly was a thin hound, small for a water spaniel. Three of the pups were large. The fourth lay next to her, hopefully asleep.

Abraham van Doren, a farmer and used to all sorts of death, picked up the runt by the back feet and shook it to see if it breathed. I uttered a cry and rushed toward his hands.

“Give her to me! Don’t shake her like that.” The Dutchman almost dropped the pup in surprise, but handed her over. It was now awake and I held her to my breast, warming her with my cloak. I looked defiantly at Garrett and saw him suppress a smile.

“Abraham…I’ll take all the pups, and if you throw in the runt for my Auntie here, I’ll give you a shilling more.”

They settled on a price for the dogs. Picking up an old basket, Abraham van Doren dropped the pups in. Lilly whined and struggled to her feet.

“Quiet now girl.” His voice was kindly. “You’ll get some meat with your porridge tonight.”

We left the dim barn, and reentered the sunlight. My eyes blinked and finally adjusted. A few more minutes with Abraham van Doren, and I mounted the step to the rig.
Garrett placed the basket at my feet and taking the reins from the post, turned the black horse homeward.

“So…I hear I’m your ‘Auntie’? Does incest play into this story?” I looked at his profile, and saw him smiling.

“I told you about the glamour. Convenient part of magic, that trick. Can make people see whatever you want.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t resist asking him. “And how did I look to Abraham van Doren?”

“Oh, old enough to throw off any scent of scandal. About Catherine’s age.”

“With all the wrinkles and fallen- in gums?”

“Yep…and bald under your cap and bonnet.” He was laughing now, and turned his wicked eyes on me.

“Thanks a lot, Demon,” I said sharply. “Now you can read my thoughts and alter my appearance? Is there anything you can’t do to me?”

“I told you when I first saw you, in this story I am pulling the strings. You write the book, my good little ‘Auntie’, and I direct the play.”

He gave a short laugh and turned silent for a moment. “I can make you do anything I want… except one thing.”

“And quickly tell me what that is!” I said, laughing.

Looking ahead at the road, he said softly, “I can’t make you love me.”

My heart flipped in my chest, and my eyes misted over.

Ah, Garrett, my sweet Demon. I am glad you aren’t looking. My face would betray me. I would be totally lost.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2009, 2018

 

 

 

 

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 40, a dip into Druid mythology…

 

This will confuse any reader. There are 10 chapters or so where the characters (sans Mme. Gormosy) are in “Another World”, specifically  a fading Druid world that is in a locked battle with the Christians. As I work to end this novel, I have to decide whether these chapters (a search for allies) add or break the theme of the novel. Right now I can’t decide, but I do know how it ends.  Have for a couple of years.  The issue is always getting to that particular place where all strings are tied up and you can let go of the writing.

 The era is 6th century England, where Christianity has dug in but the aging Druids are trying to hold onto their territory and power.  The Morrigan appears in this chapter. The names reflect the era:  Garrett is now called Lord Gwrtheynr and Bess is Bethan.  Lord Dilwen is the old Druid priest who shepherds the colony of the remaining Druids.  

Lady Nyo

The sun was barely above the horizon when they rode down the causeway and onto the shore.  Circling the water, they came to the main road and went though the forest and up into the hills. They rode for Gwynedd, days in the distance, and Lord Evan looked with narrowed eyes at the far hills, soon to turn into mountains.  He was leading these men, but one amongst them was the true authority.  He prayed this man would help protect them.  He was getting too old for these forays.  Soon the soil would warm and the spring planting would call for his presence.  The comfort of his own bed and wife beside him was alluring enough.

Lord Dilwen was that man of authority.  He sat his horse with suprising grace for one so  old and though the pace was not fast, they traveled over landscape that rolled with a constant rhythm.  The journey would challenge his bones, but he savored the chance to get away from the women. When he was given to the Goddess more than sixty years ago, he was trained to endure hardship.   He was a very old Druid and the priests of the Christ did not challenge him.  If they thought of him at all, they dismissed him as senile.  His Lady Dilwen and he now lived in the comfort of the castle and both needed the warmth of the hall fire in winter.  Spring was appearing, the weather had changed.  He was glad to be out from the castle.  It did a man good to be with men, out of earshot of women.

Lord Evan sat his horse, lost in thought.  He knew the three men from his homeland to the west.  They would follow his orders. The new one, this Lord Gwrtheynr, was a puzzle to him.  He would dismiss him as a cipher, but he saw the behavior of those about him.  He hadn’t a clue why the younger lord had such value, and he smelled like a damn foreigner, but he knew enough to withhold his contempt.  He was commanded by his council of his lordships  to deliver this Lord Gwrtheynr to the Isle of Skye.  He hoped they would meet little resistance as they passed through the kingdoms.  All except Lord Dilwen were competent swordsmen, and if the young Lord Gwrtheynr was killed by a raider, they could turn their horses homeward that much sooner.  It was all the same to him.  He smiled to himself.  Lord Dilwen may not be a swordman, but he had other powers to compensate.  Lord Evan’s horse was leading them through the forest and he looked back at the Lords Dilwen and Gwrtheynr.  He could vaguely hear Lord Dilwen’s voice behind him.

“It’s a twisted history this land has been given.”

Lord Dilwen’s voice was low for they passed through a forest not of their own.  Better they pass quietly, without drawing the notice of locals.  They were too small a group to take on another force.  Lord Evan would know where they were, but to other eyes, one forest was the same as another.

Lord Dilwen rode next to Gwrtheynr.   “The Battle of Camlan, now that’s where Arthur carried the image of Saint Mary on his shield. That showed the Old Ones how much Arthur betrayed them.  He had been King Stag at the Beltane, yet look what he fell to!”  Lord Dilwen spat over his horse. “It was his love of peace that set this betrayal.  With the priests of Christ welcome at his council, there was no turning back.”

They rode in silence for a while, while Lord Dilwen collected his thoughts, remembering the past, or perhaps considering the present, the future.

“Arthur and his forces were up against Medraut, the son of Llews.  That was your foster-father.”  Lord Dilwen paused a bit, and thought back over his history.  “Medraut joined forces with the Picts and Saxons and blazed through the north.”

Lord Dilwen’s memories heated his words.  “Ah, things were again to change, though news traveled slowly.  The great five princes of the land, Constantine from Cornwall, Virtipore, who had Dyfed and the regions south, let me think now.  Ah! It was Cuneglase of Powys and Maelgun of Gwyddyl, and I believe Conan of Gwent., they held the land in the name of the Goddess back then.”   He fell silent again and his eyes darkened a bit.

“It was the wavering of Maelgwn who was won by the Christ’s priests. He was the snake in the grass!  When he was young, he served the Goddess well, taking many heads of tyrants.  But age can sometimes do strange things, my young lord.”  Lord Dilwen spit over the side of his horse again.   “Maelgwn  repented of his past and swore before the priest’s Christ that he would be a monk amongst them.  He was powerful, but turned too much to the council of those priests.  They gelded him.”

Lord Dilwen took a water skin from his saddle mount and drank deeply.  He offered it to Lord Gwrtheyrn, who shook his head.

“So, what we have, my young lord, is chaos and confusion.  Princes raiding princes, Kings breaking pacts.  The land is in turmoil, and the Christians no longer wait as wolves at the door.  They have made good egress into the minds and hearts all over the island. Their brand of ignorance is particularly galling.   Now, the Goddess hides Her face, and plague has descended in the east.  The pox lasted 6 years last time. . It took off your family along with King Llews.  With no one to plow and crops to be set, famine takes what plague didn’t.”

Lord Dilwen looked sideways at Gwrtheynr.  “Did anything of your childhood come back to you when you entered the land of your ancestors? Did you remember your foster father, King Llews?”

Lord Gwrtheynr shook his head silently.  “I remember nothing, of people or place. One mountain could be as another.”

Lord Dilwen’s eyes glittered for an instant, and he smiled to himself, turning his head. For a few moments he was silent.

“Our priests were wise in preserving your life. You might pay with it now, but there was a greater wisdom in removing you.”  He was silent for a moment.  “Do you feel any stirrings of your magic?”

Lord Gwrtheynr looked at him in surprise.  “It is that apparent?  No, it seems all magic and power have left me.  I wondered what had happened.”

Lord Dilwen chuckled.  “It will return, my young lord.  You are standing in many magic fields, what they call dragon lines, though that is the name used by the people.  The old Druids knew another name, one that is not mentioned aloud, and it’s hard to tell where one stops and one starts.  They crisscross the earth, and are especially potent underground.  Your lady will have some knowledge of its workings before she is finished.”

Lord Gwrtheynr looked hard at the old Druid, his mind forming questions.  “I know, my Lord, of some of the plans for my being here.  The council has made clear what they want from me.  But as to Bess…I mean my Lady Bethan, is it wise to give her such knowledge?”

“Do you not trust her, my son?”  Lord Dilwen’s voice was soft, his eyes looking at the back of Lord Evan’s jacket.

Gwrtheynr was silent in thought.  “It’s not that I don’t trust her, my Lord.  It’s that she is so distanced in mind from all this.”   He made a rude choking gesture with his hand.  “She will be trouble for the one who is doing the teaching.”

Lord Dilwen laughed.  “All women are hard to teach, especially when they resist the lessons.  But none of these plans were made without care.  We all have a reason for being here, though the Goddess doesn’t tell that to men.  Perhaps in the matter of women, She is more gracious.”

Gwrtheynr lapsed into silence.  Whatever they were planning for Bess back in the castle, she would give them a good run for their money.  He knew her to have a sharp mind, but she was a modern woman, removed from the turmoil and customs of this present land and time.  It would take a major adjustment to not be overwhelmed and he did not think that could be avoided.  Well, there was nothing he could do at this distance.  Those around her would have to adjust to her behavior.  He smiled to himself.  It would be quite a contest of wills and he was glad he was miles away.

They were following a rough road that wound through the hills and through more forests.  The hills mounted upward, and soon Gwrtheynr could tell that they had left the lowlands. They crossed over a long valley and began to climb into the mountains.  Lord Dilwen sat his horse easily, and at times appeared to doze on his mount.  When they began to climb, and the altitude changed he became awake and looked about him carefully.  He explained to Gwrtheynr that he was looking for a particular place, sacred to the Old Druids and he wanted to pay his respects to this place.  Lord Evan knew his plans and dropped back to speak to the old Druid.  Gwrtheynr slowed his horse and fell away from them, allowing the two men privacy.  They talked together for a while, though Gwrtheynr would not hear their low voices, but Lord Dilwen eyes were keen in observing all about him.  It was a further hour and then they pulled their five mounts together and stopped for the night.

*                     *                    *

 

Lord Dilwen walked apart from the remaining four up a steep hill and into a clump of trees. Taking his bearings, he walked westward through these trees until he came to an outcrop. There he climbed around rocks and boulders until he found what he was looking for.  It was called “Idris’Chair” and it looked out onto a valley below.  However, Lord Dilwen had to carefully step down a very narrow path till he could climb into the stone chair.

It was not cut or hewn, but of a natural shape.  Deep and wide, it was a place of great lore and mystery. Only those who had the power to command these mysteries would dare to sit here.  Only one who had training and was conversant with magical powers would dare to touch its stone.

Those Druids who had meditated there had transformative experiences, such that either they awoke the next morning enhanced, wise or dead.  These high points served as windows to the otherworld.  Lord Dilwen had demons to command and he needed these sacred stones for his personal protection.  Respect and regard on earth was very different than what was batted about in the otherworld.

Lord Dilwen settled himself into the cupped bottom of the stone chair.  Dusk was settling fast and the first star of the heavens was clear and high.  Soon the moon would rise in the western sky before him, a beggar’s cup a quarter full.  It was the right time, and the forces could be called to him with this moon’s rising.

Lord Dilwen stretched his arms out on either side of the stone arms.  It would be cold tonight, the spring very new and tender, but he knew he would be past feeling discomfort.  The trance he would slip into would make him insensate to all elements.  Only those creatures that would float through the portal of his mind and into his essence would matter.  Commanding the demons and spirits he needed would be tricky.  Some would try to lure him over the side of the chair, his body to fall to the rocks below.  He would have to discern the tricksters from the ‘helpful’ ones, and this would be even more a test of wills.

Taking out a stone from a pouch threaded through his belt, he held it in his right hand, and traced the labyrinth cuttings on this slightly larger than palm-sized stone.  He hummed a particular tune, and to a hidden listener, it would sound out of tone, an eerie scale of strange notes.  Over and over his hand traced the same lines on the stone.  The birds had settled in for the night and the wind picked up and blew sounds like low notes from hollowed out bones.

He knew that the trance, the altered state was approaching, and the serpent’s tails on his wrists started to twitch. Lord Dilwen’s eyes rolled back in his head and his neck fell backward, his shoulders cradled by the hard stone.

I call out to you, the powers of the Universe, those foul and fair.  I have need of your counsel, I have need of your power.  Come to me, horrid Morrigan, Come to me, in t-Ellen trechend- come to me three headed Ellen, and give me your wisdom.

The wind picked up and moaning was heard around the valley below.  A low cackle floated up on the breath of the wind and circled the stone chair.

The night was dark, and the beggar cup of a moon seemed to telescope, to move closer to earth, to enlarge itself and spread like a sickening smile across the sky, east to west.  Lord Dilwen knew that the power was upon him, for his breathing slowed and he could feel his heart beat lessen.  A warm, caressing air embraced his old bones and he knew he was being tempted by some demonic spirit.  It would call out to him in whispers, for him to

Stand up and come to me! Come to me, my dearest lover, step out into the night time air, walk to me, I am waiting, waiting. 

He knew this was a first temptation, and he willed his loins to shrivel.  It was a seasoning, a seasoning of unholy lust that was calling within his mind, and he knew it to be false.  His manhood had not shown such vigor in years, and this was the first telling of the temptation.

He shook his head and raised his arms and the serpents crawled up and down his arms, their mouths opening and their tongues flicking.  One hissed and the other snapped his jaws, and the whispers moaned and disappeared…for now.

Lord Dilwen knew he would not sleep tonight, for to sleep would be to seal his death warrant. There would be no awakening on the morrow.  His limp body would be found either in the chair, stone cold and dead, or his body on the rocks below in the far distant valley.

Still his hand did not stop his tracing the tracks of the labyrinth.  He hummed a different and as discordant tune and around midnight, the wind picked up from the north and blew hard down the valley.  Lord Dilwen knew then he was to be granted the presence of some spirit, and perhaps it would be the great Morrigan herself.  But there would be a price to pay. There always was.

Suddenly the air was filled with a foul odor. Lord Dilwen knew what this plague was, because it was a plague sent by the foulest forces of the Underworld.  It was another attempt to frighten him away, but he had smelled death many times before, the particular sweet-sickening scent of putrefaction.  He had been on battle fields where the stomachs of combatants had split in half, and had stepped in their fouled guts with their staggering last steps.  He had smelled the land when plague took entire villages, and had arrived days later when the stench could be smelled a mile away on the wind.  No, this was not of the earth, it was a huge swarm of red-ochre colored birds, the birds of the dead, whose breath withered fields and orchards and suffocated any man or beast they passed close by.

Lord Dilwen tied a cloth over his nose and slowed his breathing.  He knew it was a test, another one to see how strong he was, and how much he could stand.  After a while, the birds disappeared, but the valley was befouled with their droppings.  Where their shit landed, there were burn marks in the grasses and trees would look in the morning as if they were struck by lightning.

Suddenly, the wind picked up again, but this time no foul stench from birds.  A vapor appeared in the valley and swirled and gathered, entwining like a coven of ghosts.  It rose and exploded, and formed again, tendrils shooting off the tops and sides, then an updraft of energy exploding it all over again.  The wide smile of the moon constricted as if even this cosmic form was diminished by what was happening in the valley below. This vapor formed again and again, slowly rising  towards the place where he was.  Lord continued to trace the lines of the labyrinth.  He reached into his pouch and pulled out the dried leaves of mugwort, sacred to Morrigan.  For him to eat it would be certain death.  This would leave him paralyzed in a dream, where he would not be able to move.  But spreading it before him on the ground would be an offering.  He also took a clear quartz crystal, her stone, and placed it on the left arm of the stone chair.

When the swirling vapor reached level to his chair, it suddenly burst into a multi-colored display of streamers that shot out into the air, disappearing with a fury of energy.

Lord Dilwen felt a presence and looking to his left spied a huge raven.

Ah! Goddess Morrigan!  You are honoring me with your presence.  I have come for your counsel and bring you gifts. 

No sound came from Lord Dilwen’s mouth, but a tinkling of what could be called celestial music, or to other ears, a well tuned wind chime.  It was answered by a rude calling, a cackling, a low, menacing  call not expected from a raven. 

I already know what you want, Lord Dilwen.  You have called me from my labors to answer that of a mortal’s concern?  Of what is in it for me? Why would I mettle in such mundane affairs of mundane creatures?

Lord Dilwen knew he had to proceed very cautiously.  The Morrigan was a touchy Goddess.  But he also knew her to be a curious one. Mettling in the affairs of mortals, attempting to mess with fate was second nature to these immortals. They fed on this as a mortal would his meat.

I am here as an advocate to Lord Gwrtheynr in his battle against another force.  I ask your counsel, wise Morrigan.  I know these two were once locked in battle as young bulls in our prehistory. They continue to clash and it is time that one over come the other. This battle must end.

There was silence.  The dawn wind was unusually quiet, and no birds yet to be heard.  The sickly grin of the moon had dipped low in the western sky, faded, muted though the sun was not yet on the horizon.

The raven was as still as a statue.  Lord Dilwen rubbed his finger over the stone, a meditation path protecting as well as communicating other things to him.

Go home, you old fool.  You mettle in things you know not of. No power of Heaven or Hell or of Annwn will protect or succor your young lord.  Go home. Your quest is pointless.

Lord Dilwen sat in silence.  Perhaps another way could be found to the Morrigan’s counsel.

What price, Morrigan, do you demand for your counsel?  Would you want the remaining breath of my body?  I would give it to you, for I am an old and feeble man, with little life left in me. Is this your price?

Suddenly the quiet of the predawn was broken.  A low, rumbling cackle filled the air, and seemed to creep up the walls of the cliff face from far down in the valley. Lord Dilwen knew this hellish sound was from the Morrigan, though the raven sat its perch on the rock, silent.

Of what value to me the rattling and stinking breath of an old mortal, even one such as you?  Priest! Hear me! You attempt to change the forces of fate with your puny involvement. These issues are far beyond your power.

Aye, she will take the bait, it is only the matter of time, he thought.

But they are not beyond you, Morrigan.  You can change the fate of all, and the outcome will be to your glory if you just stretch out your hand. You can trump the Christian Devil himself and show the power of the Old Ones once again. Our ways have faded to nothingness, our Gods and Goddesses now reduced to the leprechauns and fairies in the myths. But you, Great Morrigan, with your power can restore a rightful history.  You can redeem the true faith.

A wind whipped up from the valley and the near-morning stars seemed to churn in the still dark heaven.  This wind tossed branches, uprooted small trees and large bushes and like a vortex, danced in front of Lord Dilwen’s stone chair.  He pressed himself back in terror as the vortex crept closer and closer, drawing the breath out of his lungs.  His eyes glanced over to the raven and saw it surrounded in an unearthly glow, and its beak was transformed into a terrible smile. The words of the Morrigan came now from that raven’s mouth.

You shall have what you have sought, Lord Dilwen.  I will command the trees of the forest to gather in battle, under the banner of your Lord Gwrtheynr to fight all the forces of Hell. But this must not take place on our soil.  Go home, go home to your particular Hell.  Let none of the forces of God’s Hell gather on our land.

The next morning, the men found Lord Dilwen, cold, seemingly dead, cradled in the stone seat of the chair. They wrapped him well in cloaks and carried him to camp where they tried to revive him. Chaffing his limbs and forcing him to swallow a strong liquor, they were able to bring him to some life, but he seemed beyond intelligent speech.  The only words he would utter sounded like gibberish, but the best they could make of it was the sound of “ca godu”.  To them it was the dying rattle of a very old man.  And so he did and they bundled his thin body in his cloak and set out to return to the castle for his burial.

 

Note:  Ten years ago I had to do a lot of research into the history of England at this time.  In re-reading this chapter, I have forgotten so much of that research. But I am grateful for the time when I was able to devote two years (at least) to the research into Celtic times and mythology.  This research affected more than this novel.  I was able, as a poet, to write verse that reflected this exciting time.   As writers, our  knowledge grows not just by our random work but by the investigation into the times of our stories.  For a writer to say, (and I know a few….) that they hate history is admitting to a particular ignorance that will never serve them well.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2009-2017

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 34…..

Garrett walked through a dimension where devils and other denizens of the spirit worlds come to converse and settle accounts.  He was meeting  Lord Abigor that morning, and a thick cloud of fog obscured his sight.  Suddenly it cleared and he was standing in a small clearing, surrounded by trees. A spectral aurora borealis of ribbon candy snaked through limbs of the trees behind him.   There was no sound of bird call, nor the rustling of small animals on the forest floor.  This place was betwixt heaven and hell, a place of neutrality among the spirits.  The lights sparking between the trees were the energies of forces, for this was a magical place.

He was looking for Abigor, and saw him, sitting on a stump.  Abigor was smoking his long, white clay pipe.  Garrett bowed to him, and sat on another stump a few feet away.  He took his own clay pipe from the pocket of his coat, and started to puff.  It seemed to be eternally lit, but that was standard amongst devils. Something to do with the perpetual hell fires.

“Father” Garrett bowed from his stump.  “I thank thee for your presiding over the coven.  I know my limits and I bow to your power and judgement.”  Abigor inclined his head with a smile, scratching his flank.  Sparks flew from his fingers.

“You have pulled together quite an interesting covey of demons there,” Abigor says.   “Some I have not talked to in centuries.  I believe it was Sitri who suggested the Grigori?”

The Grigori were the Nephilim, the fallen.  They were very old, from before the time of the Great Flood, and they were cast down for mating with mortal women. They were also heroes and victors:  Goliath was one of them.  They were giants, men of great strength.

“Father, Prince Sitri did so.  I wondered at their presence, but Prince Sitri has sixty legions at his command.”  Garrett puffed vigorously on his pipe, contemplating his words.

“Ah! A great Prince is not to be sneered at!”  Abigor said, thinking aloud.  “Present were Asmodeus, Behemoth, Azazel, Forcas, Leraie, Amdosias, Sitri, Cheitan, Aamon and myself.  And Madame Gormosy.  Quite an array of talents you have pulled together, my son.” Abigor blew a strong puff of smoke in Garrett’s direction.   He spat on the ground.

“I am humbled by their presence and guidance here, Father.”  Garrett blew back a puff of smoke and spat on the ground before him.  Devils did this a lot.

“Aamon counseled you take your consort to the mystic isles.  Are you considering his advice?”

Garrett let out a long puff of smoke.  “I am.  I know I must seek counsel and support from my kin.”  He spat.  “I am having a devil of a time discerning who they are, though.”

“Your bloodline is ancient and lost in the mists of time, my son.  But there are threads you can follow if you will just see them.”  Abigor looked steadily at Garrett through the smoke of his pipe.

Garrett knocked out ashes from his and packed it down with his thumb.  “The woman is seeing the Morrigan in her dreams.”  He smiled around the stem of his pipe.  “And others.”

“Ah! And you are not influencing her in her choices of dreams?”

“I tell her, Father, that I am.  But I’m not.  These dreams and spirits come to her unbidden.  I only can watch her.”

“If these dreams come to her as you say, my son, she is closer to you than it seems.”  Abigor reloaded his own pipe from a leather skin that looks suspiciously like a wizened breast.  “So you will go with her in good time to your birth isles?”

Garrett smiled to himself.  “Yes, Father, she has consented to go with me.”

“Ah! ‘Consented’ you say?  Was there ever a question?”

Garrett looked uncomfortable, thinking of what he should say. “The woman had a bit of resistance to the idea at first, but she has come around to my thinking.”

“And how, son, did you accomplish that trick?”  Abigor had many mortal wives and knew from experience mortal resistance.

“A small taste of the whip did its work for me.  That was enough.  She is wary but willing to travel.”

Abigor grinned around the stem of his pipe.  “You should apply the whip until they howl, son.  And then double the strokes. Mortal women are as stubborn as mules.”

“Yes, Father, but the few strokes seemed to produce the results needed.  I didn’t see a reason to cause her pain.”

“Ah! You must be under her spell to allow that to stand in your way!”  Abigor laughed and shook his head.

“She is a strong minded and delightful woman, but remember I said strong minded first, son.   If you give her no reason to fear you, she will not see your strength.  She will not surrender to you. She will be more trouble than she is worth.  Mark my words.”

“She is from the 21^st century, Father.  Women have access to much knowledge there.  They are well read and versed in many languages.  She seems intelligent enough to be won over by logic, Father.”

“Hah!  You make a cardinal mistake!  The pain you forgo is of benefit twofold.  Her submission, and better–your pleasure.  By not applying the whip liberally, you cheat both of you!  Talk to Gormosy about it.  She isn’t the Demon of Lust for naught.”  He spat, a black plume of saliva that crawled away like a snake.

“And as for intelligence and logic?  Purely wasted on a woman.  Apply the whip, my son.  See how easy life will be for you.”

Garrett was silent, thinking deeply.  “Asmodeus has given me a potion to make the woman invisible.  She has a repulsion towards magic.  This will make it easier to transport her to the isles.  Sometimes my own magic doesn’t work.  I might lose her over an ocean.”

Abigor laughed. “It might be better that you do, my son. She seems a handful.  I caught her wondering if I had a tail.  But I think I spooked her in the end.”

“Oh, Father, believe me, you did.  She was silent for three days. She was not herself.”

Abigor laughed, his chest heaving and black smoke puffing from between his lips with his laughter.

“Well, don’t shy from using the whip, my son.  Your life will be better for the effort. Have Gormosy work her own magic on her.  That will soften her up.  But watch Gormosy carefully.  As Monsieur Gormosy, he will put a fine set of horns on your head if he has the chance.” Abigor laughed heartily at the thought.

Garrett bowed to him in obeisance.  He had reasons enough to worry about Madame’s trickery. There was little loyalty amongst devils.

He took his leave from Abigor, an Arch Duke of Hell, and considered the morning well spent.  Perhaps Abigor is right.  Perhaps more whip was the answer to domestic heaven.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2007-2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 33

(Definitely a devilish looking character….)

I have been chided by an old friend for posting one chapter and leaving potential readers confused and hanging.  I have lost ‘friends’ because of the title and because of the theme.  Especially amongst those who are religious.   There are some sticky parts, issues in this one, and the issue of submission, etc. is so not ‘today’.  But Bess is a modern day woman writer (or trying to finish a book, except for all the interruptions and troublesome ‘friends’) snatched back into the 19th century by a Demon Lover.  Or a Demon, Garrett Cortelyou, who becomes a lover.  He has his own issues, big ones, and his friends are more devils….some not so dangerous (Madame Gormosy, a transgender Demon of Lust) and others who  definitely are so.  This was only my second novel and I had tremendous fun in the writing.  Whether it will be published or not is not decided yet.  But what I experienced was the joy and freedom of a world not of my own.  It was a heady experience.

Lady Nyo

 

For the next few days, I sat in silence, my mind unable to focus, my nerves sharpened, my behavior strange.  Madame Gormosy was all sympathy, and tried to distract with rounds of faro.  For once I was uninterested in the game, could barely hold my cards.  She was kind enough to allow me my undress, and does not insist I wear the corset.  She brushes out my hair when she arrives in the morning, and I uncomplainingly give myself over to her hands.  She rouges my cheeks and lips and fashions my hair into different styles.  I walk through these mornings like a ghost, only the routines of chamber pot and tea make me feel alive.  I am suffering some shock to the system according to Madame, and will eventually recover.

Garrett was absent most of the day, still meeting with his various devils and god only knows what else.  On occasion I will hear him, and ‘Monsieur’ Gormosy, in the hall. Even though at times I can pick up words of their conversation, and I am sometimes the topic, I listen with little interest, for nothing seems real or of substance in my life now.  The third morning, Garrett came in during my breakfast tea, and sitting down across from our tea table, stretched his hand to me, his usual offering gesture of tenderness.  I look at him over the rim of my teacup, my eyes blank, empty, and place my cup back in its saucer.  I give him my hand, and at that moment, tears swell in my eyes and spill over my cheeks.

“You’ve had your fill of demons now?”  He grins, gently holding my hand.  I nod, unable to speak.

“Come here, darling one, I leave you too much in Madame’s company.  It couldn’t be helped before, but I can do better.”

I get up and go to him, feeling like a penitent child.  He pulls me onto his lap, and wraps his arms around my shoulders.  I hear the heartbeat in his chest as I tuck my head under his chin.  He is warm with the heat of life, and my pain of the previous days lessen in his arms.

“Abigor has pledged his support against Obadiah and his forces.  Oh, there is nothing Devils like more than a chance at warfare.  They have all these impatient legions under their charge and it’s just another game to them.  It’s the chess game from Hell.”  Garrett laughed, a deep rumble in his chest.

“He was amused with your company.  It’s been centuries since he sat over a teacup with a woman.  Not many devils are interested in the French salons, darling.  You tickled his fancy with your curiosity and thoughts.  He could see you struggled to hide them, and of course he could still read your mind.   Abigor is a powerful devil, he will be useful.  You played your part well, Bess, and I thank you for it.”

He thanks me for it?  Does he even know what that glimpse into Abigor’s eyes did to me? I lay in his arms, hating him and everything in this room.

“Sweet woman, sweet woman,” he coos to me.  He tightens his grip and pulls me up close to his chest.  “Not all Devils have the, ah…nature of Abigor.  Look at Madame Gormosy.  She is all sweetness and light.”

Hah!  I guess this is his idea of humor!  Madame Gormosy is also lustful and quick with the hands.  My thoughts flow unchecked in my head.  At least I can think again.

“Ah, I warn him, but to no avail.  He is after all, the Demon of Lust.”  He laughed, and I can’t help but laugh with him.  Madame Gormosy comes by her vices honestly, cross gender that she is.

He holds me on his knee, silent for a while.  It is enough, for we have little time together.  This Devil’s coven or whatever you call it, has come and gone, and now perhaps I can roam the downstairs in freedom.

“You can.” (He still reads my mind) “But Madame has noticed soot on the walls and hoof marks on the floors.”  He made me laugh.  “I have something of interest for you.”   I am all ears.

“We are taking a trip.  But not in a dream.”

“I smell magic here.  Is that what you propose, Demon?”

“I liked it better when you called me Demon Lover, but in any case, I’m not asking you.   I’m telling you it will happen.”

“Oh! So….I have no choice here?”  I know I am picking a losing fight.

The Demon looks at me with a scowl.  “Perhaps I have been too lenient with your mortal feelings.  Perhaps you don’t fear me enough.”

Ah!  He wants me to fear him?  I am crazy with fear since I fell into his world, and he wants more?  I don’t know how to answer him, for it’s more than a question of him.  I stand and move to the window.  He watches me closely.

“You are a strong woman.  That’s why I picked you for consort.  Perhaps a bit too headstrong.   Abigor warns me to keep a tight rein on you.  You don’t know the rules yet.”

Rules! I have fallen into an irrational world, full of magic and devils, and he talks to me of rules?

His voice is steady, but it is touched with some anger.  “You have some standing in these other dimensions, because you are my consort, but only for that.   You have yet to prove yourself.  You will remember that I am your master.”

I whirl around from the window, my hands on my hips, and as soon as I see his face, I realize that I am playing with fire.  We stand across the room glaring at each other.  The words “make me” cross my mind, and immediately, before I can react, he has crossed the room.  He grabs my hair and twists it around his wrist, forcing my head backward.  I flail out with my arms and try to hit him with some force, but he easily backs away, never losing his grip on my hair.  I try to hurt him, and I am further humiliated by the expression on his face.  It only increases my rage and I continue to strike out, even try to kick him in that particular spot between his legs.  A look of surprise crosses his face, as he stays just out of reach.  Like the fencer he is, he turns sideways, and I haven’t a clear shot at his crotch.  He is hurting me with another twist of his wrist, and I am fairly spitting with rage.  He forced me to my knees with a downward pull on my hair.

“You bastard!  Let me go, bitch!”  I am incoherent with anger and still struggling with him.

“Ah! I’m a bastard and a bitch?  You don’t know my gender yet?  Perhaps that’s the problem.  I’m definitely bastard, but never a bitch.”  He is not grinning and he is as angry as I have seen him.

I was winded from my struggle. I was panting.  He let go of my hair and in a chair across the room, sits down slowly.  I started to rise, and his low voice stops me immediately.

“Stay on your knees, woman of mine.  Stay where you are if you value your life.”

I looked up at him, my eyes flashing with hate.  “What does this do, prove you are stronger than me?  Well, Einstein, there’s no surprise in that!  That’s why women are smarter than men.   We are born smarter to put up with your kind.”

I am stretching here.  I have little defense for my behavior besides my rage.

The Demon relaxed in his chair, a slight smile crossed his face.  “What Madame taught you was only the surface.  Appearances aside, you have learned nothing from her.  Your arrogance and ignorance keeps you blind.  You didn’t fear Abigor, and you don’t fear me.  We shall change that balance beginning now.”

Garrett rises from his chair and with a snap of his fingers, a small whip appears in his hand.  “You don’t like magic, darling?  You really won’t like this either.”  He stands there looking down at me, and I start to see that I have made some mistake with him.

“Now, stand up and strip off your gown.  Do it or I’ll do it for you.”  He looks menacing enough.  I start to undo the bodice and since I’m not wearing any stays, I drop it and slip out of the skirt, wearing only a linen chemise.  Immediately, either from fear or cold, I get goose bumps and I started to shiver.  I cross my arms over my breast and look at him, my rage dampened with fear.

“Come over here, Bess.  Walk slowly to me.”  I walked to within a few feet of him.  I am less defiant without my clothes.  He reached out and whirled me around and ripped my chemise from my shoulders like tissue paper.  It puddled at my feet and I am to step out of it and turn around.  I faced him, now with the scent of fear coming from me.  I can smell it.

“Now.  I want you to feel how powerless you are.  You are naked. I have a whip in my hand, and I’m bigger.  Older, too.  So, do you really think you can fight me and win? Now, move over to that chair and put your hands on the arms. Don’t move from there and if you do turn, I’ll hit whatever part that faces this whip.”

I was too afraid to defy him.  I did as he asked, and waited trembling.  I didn’t have to wait long, for I felt him hit me on the ass with a well aimed flick of his wrist.  It cut me like fire, and I yelped.  I was shaking, and he again popped me across the other cheek. He hit me three more times, and then nothing.  I waited for him to hit me again. This agony of waiting is as bad as the whip.  I took a gulp of air, and I felt the whip handle slowly trace my backbone from my neck to the small of my back.  It made me quiver. He suddenly hit me again, this time harder and I screamed.  I felt his hand run over the welts from the whip.   I was crying great dramatic tears and collapsed into the upholstered seat of the chair.   Feeling his hands on my back, I turned and embraced his legs.  He didn’t move, and crying into the fabric of his breeches, hide my face in his thighs.  Finally, I felt his hands on the top of my head.  He pulled me to my feet and lifted me into his arms, and carried me to the bed.   I felt him lie down beside me and, with my eyes tightly shut, I continued to cry.  At last, after the shock and silence of the past three days, I could finally feel again.  The pain and burning on my ass tells me I am alive.  I was beginning to wonder.

He leaned on his side, his head propped up on one hand.  He turned me to him and his other hand travelled  down my back to my flank.  He stroked me like he would a frightened mare, humming something under his breath.

“Sweet woman.”  His words were almost a whisper. “I choose you because of what you are.  Now you need to trust me and know I am wiser and stronger than you.  In me is your safety.  It isn’t the magic that makes me stronger.  It isn’t the whip.  It’s because I am.  It’s because of my experience.  You submit to me in these things, and you will find contentment.  It’s the natural order in the universe.  Men protect women.  That is our role and duty.  If you violate that order, and fight against me, you put us both in peril, do you understand?”

I looked up into his face, and was confused. He is more than mortal, that I well know.  Perhaps that part of him demands my submission.  I can tell by his face he knows what I am thinking.

“Ah, Bess, you have so much to learn, even about mortal men!  The women of your century must be very discontent.  They don’t know their place in the scheme of things, even in such a narrow dimension as yours.  Such unnecessary chaos.”

I couldn’t disagree, for there was more than a kernel of truth to his words.  His gentle stroking of my back eased my pain, and he turned me on my stomach and caressed the red marks he left on my backside.  I turned over to face him, and cupped his face in my hand.  He was beautiful, with dark hair and eyes, and the dark shadow that comes over his face in the evening. What had happened to us?  What did I think would happen? I was not dealing with a normal man, what I have hooked is beyond my comprehension.  What he has hooked is my heart.

This submission he demands confuses me.  I have little control over anything since I emerged in his sphere, his dimension. What I do know is I have no answers for anything and I can well believe that my safety, my very life depends upon him.  His behavior is rough, at times vulgar, uncouth, but he does have an experience, a wisdom, knowledge of things a few months before I would never have to exist

The petty magic, as he claimed, was only window dressing.  Something  else that was able to move Heaven and Hell was afoot.  And as he said, demons and devils were only a small part of the universe.  There were things of magnificent and incomprehensible ‘magic’ that awaited our discovery.  I was not sure that discovery was the proper word, it seemed to me that fate was already decided and we were just hanging on for the ride.

If this was what he meant by submission I was safer for it.  The natural order of things in his universe.  The natural order in mine?  Perhaps my life depended upon it.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2006-2017

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 32

This was the second novel I wrote. I had killed off most of the characters of the first (unfinished) novel, but had grown ‘attached’ to those who escaped death.  I decided to write them into a new novel. This time they would take up the appearances (and natures) of Devils and Demons.

Madame Gormosy is an important  Devil in Hell, a Demon of Lust.  She can appear as either sex.  She cheats at faro.  Bess  is a modern day woman snatched by another Devil to appear in the 1830’s.  His name is Garrett Cortelyou.  M. Abigor is an Arch Duke of Hell.  He is close to the hoof of the Throne.  Madame Gormosy is grooming Bess for the appearance of M. Abigor at tea.

Lady Nyo

 

 

When I came from the other room, Madame was sitting in the window, waving her fan slowly.  Looking outside at the gray winter landscape, she seemed lost in thought. I could see her aged and transparent skin reflected in the cast of light.

Of course!  Madame is old, she is pre-history, and I forget her age.  She is such a fountain of knowledge, sometimes delightful.  I was embarrassed at Garrett hissing at her, but then again, what do I know about manners between devils?

“Thank you, Madame!  M. Demon must not be thinking clearly now because of his guests downstairs.”  I came into the room, shaking out my petticoats and tried to regain some steadiness in my walk.

“You must remember he is only part mortal and the other part of him does not suffer as mortals do.  Non, ma petite.  It is not because of his thinking.  It is because he is cruel as are all men.  And, yes, thoughtless.”

I wonder if Madame includes herself in this category, for I know her also as Monsieur.  I decide to be bold and ask a question.

“Madame?  I know you are a shape-shifter.    What would possess you to appear so?  In my experience, men are covetous of their identity and their…..ah…equipment.”

“Mon Dieu!  You are a saucy one!  But since you ask, I will tell.   We have a moment before M. Abigor appears at the door.”  She considered her words before proceeding.

“There are many Demons of Lust and Love in Hell.  But I am the only Demon to want to do such.  Ah! Men die and go to Hell, and few have learned much on Earth.  There is great seduction in women!  Their sex developed the art, yet they are called ‘the weaker sex.’  They use their wiles and within a short time, have all men in thrall.  You are weaker in strength, but you are stronger in the head.”

Madame snaps her fan closed and points at her head with it.  I laugh, as much as my tight corset allows.

“But! We have short time, now.  I must talk to you about M. Abigor.  You must be on your guard, ma petite!  Monsieur is a wily one.  You don’t become an Arch Duke of Hell for your kindness.  Non, M. Abigor is to be feared!  Do not put too much faith in his charms.  M. Abigor is known for his lust for mortal women.  Your M. Demon was right to charm up your sex, mais tres cruelle!”

Cruel indeed, Madame!  I could not agree more.  Especially how tea goes through me.

“Attention!  M. Abigor’s knowledge is vast.  He is known to be an intellectual in Hell.  There are many stupid devils, you know.”  Madame rolls her eyes.  “M. Abigor has many interests, cherie.  Philosophy, music, the dance, politics, especially the French culture.  Ah!  I know what you must talk with him!  He was un habitant  of the salons of France!  Ah! He was an intimate of Mme. Du Deffand et Mme.Necker, et  Mme. Geoffrin, just a few!  M. Abigor knew M. Grimm, Sainte-Beuve, Voltaire, Diedrot,  so many illustrious men and women!  Talk to him about the salons, cherie.  Entertain him with philosophy.”

Ah, Madame Gomosy, I thought to myself.  If only I could.  My memory and knowledge of such a time and place was miniscule.  But I would try.  At least we could talk of music.  Now, here I was competent.  Or so I hoped.

“Mais…M. Abigor is a genius, ma cherie.  But he leaves the trail of a serpent!  When you see on his forehead the reflection of a ray from Plato, do not trust it.  Look well, there is always the foot of a satyr beneath.”

Madame’s words made me shiver, though the room was warm.  Well, what should I expect?  I was dealing with devils!

“Now, when M. Abigor knocks, I will answer and present him, and you stand and curtsey your best.  I will leave you both and then will return when he leaves.  Ah! Be charming, my young friend.  Your fate depends upon it!”

I wondered if we have time for a round of faro, just to calm my nerves, when we hear a strong knock on the door.  Madame rose from her chair, blew me a kiss, and glided to the door.  She opened it, and gave a deep curtsey to M. Abigor, who entered the room.

I rose as gracefully as my trembling legs allowed, and curtsied to him.  Monsieur Abigor looked at me for a second, and bowed.   Madame past out of the room and left me alone with my visitor.

“M. Abigor.  It is delightful to see you today.”  My voice sounded strange in my ears.  Dancing with Devils, today!  I looked at him as boldly as I dared and saw a tall and elegant man before me.  He certainly had a presence about him.  He was dressed in a black coat, with a dark wine colored waistcoat, embroidered in gold.  Black breeches and hose, and a fine piece of plain linen at his throat completed his appearance. His grey hair, probably a wig, was powdered and curled.

I dared a glance into his face, and his eyes! They were blank, like the eyes of a dead dog! No reflection, dull like the light had faded.  Fear rose in my throat. As though reading my thoughts, a small smile crept across his face.   I motioned for him to sit in the chair across from me.  Madame had moved the tea table between us, but had faced the chairs to each other.  M. Abigor sat, and flipped out the tails of his coat behind him.  I wondered if he had a tail.  Just as the thought crossed my mind, I realized with horror he probably had the same power as all these other demons.  He could read my thoughts.  My face colored fast.

Abigor’s smile broadened, and I knew he had discovered my thoughts! All I could do was to go on, now uncomfortable. He cocked his head to one side, and I thought of an owl.  Of course!  I remembered a picture in one of those heavy books, of this Arch Duke of Hell. He rode on a wolf, had the face of an owl, and carried a sword.  Otherwise, he was human.  Very human, according to the drawing in the book.  M. Abigor gave a chuckle.  I was not doing well.

I cleared my throat, and tried to swallow.  “M. Abigor, would you like a cup of tea?”

“Perhaps that would be safest, my dear.”  His voice was deep and low. He smiled at me, amused by my gaffes.  I rose to pour him a cup of tea, and my hands shook.  “Would you like cream and sugar?” I asked over my shoulder at the console on the wall where the silver service was placed.

“I take it black.”  Of course, why didn’t I think of that!

“I understand from M. Garrett you are a writer.  And, a bit of a musician and dancer.”

Oh God!  What did the Demon say to him?  “I am hardly a writer, M. Abigor, as I have only written one book.  And that I have not finished.”    I brought him his tea and tried not to rattle the cup in the saucer.

“Ah.  One would think your change of….ah…circumstance…would retard your progress.  Very human.”  M. Abigor picked up his cup, his eyes stared over the rim, those two dead pools of darkness. My stomach gave a flip and my fear returned.

Yes, very human.  I decided to approach the issue of ‘circumstance’ delicately.  “Yes, one might say so.  I find my world exciting and confusing.”

“It is to be expected.  You are out of your element as they say.  It will take time to adjust.”  M. Abigor regarded me with his head cocked to the side.  Again, I thought of an owl.

“Madame tells me you knew many of the men and women in the salons of Paris.”  I sipped my tea, and hoped to turn the conversation.   “I have little knowledge of the salons, but I am very curious as to your experience, Monsieur.”

“Ah!” His  face visibly brightened. “The Salons! Yes, they were a lovely invention.  Some good friends I made on different days of the week.  Some good friends I occasionally still see.”

I thought about his words and again I shivered.  I managed a smile.

“Did you know Mme. d’Epinay, Monsieur?”  I had read some of her writings.

“Ah!  Mme. d’Epinay!  I remember her well, though I don’t think I have seen her sweet face since the 1770’s.”

Good, I thought.  Then she isn’t in Hell.  From what I had read of her, she was a wretched but sensible woman. She suffered terribly from an early marriage to a dissolute cousin.

“But her husband, now, M. d’Epinay….I have seen him around some.”  M. Abigor’s grin reminded me of a wolf.

“Madame d.Epinay now…how she was to be pitied!  She was peaceful, and sweet and trusting.  And she was a good writer. She listened to so many others as they read their works out loud to the room.  A sensible and courageous woman, married to a monster.”

I thought of what I knew of the women of that century. In my own century, which I had forgotten for my surroundings,  women had all the expectation to do with their lives. It was hard for us to understand a society in which the best female intellect was given over to entertaining and living their lives through the minds of the men around them.  They had little place else to wield power except in the drawing rooms.  But from these rooms, such ideas!  Revolution, class warfare, the liberating and the terror, these were fermented by sentiments at times vain and sensual.

M.Abigor threw out names from history.  Mme. de Lambert, Mme. Geoffrin, Mme. Necker are just a few he mentioned.   And the men!  Grimm, Diedrot, Voltaire just a few more.  M. Abigor captured my interest with his fascinating tales of long dead people.  I was discreet enough to curb my interest as to who was where in the universe.

“M. Garrett tells me that you dance, n’est-ce pas?”  He changed the direction of his conversation so fast it took me by surprise.  M. Abigor relaxed in his chair, and stretched his long legs before him.  I hastened to serve him some cake.

“Thank you.  I don’t usually eat sweet things, but this looks divine.”  M. Abigor took a bite of his cake and his eyebrows lifted in pleasure.  Ah! Madame had prepared Devil’s Food Cake.

“M. Garrett overstates my talent.  It is not the courtly dances you would be familiar.”  I presumed too much, for M. Abigor was as old as the Alps and knew much of the world.

“I am familiar with the Harem dance.   I have known many Sultans and their harems intimately over the centuries.  In fact, in my youth, I effected the guise of a harem guard.”  M. Abigor looked at me, that wolf smile again gleamed out over long, white teeth.

“But I thought only eunuchs were allowed in the harem.”  I spoke without thought.

Abigor laughed, his voice rumbling deep from his chest. “One of the privileges of being a Devil, my dear, is appearing as we want. Like our Madame Gormosy, we appear as a man, and a second later, Voila! A woman.” He waved one elegant long finger in the air.  I blushed from my thoughtless words.

“And we can dismiss parts of our anatomy, and gain them back at will.”  M. Abigor obviously enjoyed my embarrassment; his dead eyes suddenly glittered at me!

I took a drink of my now cooled tea to cover my distress.  “M. Abigor, may I warm your tea?”

“You have already warmed my heart with your blunders.”  He smiled and gave me a little bow from his chair.  My embarrassment was tinged with fear.  I remembered Madame Gormosy’s words of caution about his ‘charm’.

“I can see your M. Demon has great fun with you.  I myself have had many mortal wives in my time.  I enjoyed the naivete and companionship.  M. Demon is to be applauded his choice.”  He chuckled and again bowed from his seat.

I inclined my head to him, my blush now covering my neck.   I was being courted by an Arch Duke of Hell!

We talked about many things and I noticed the room was darkening.  It must be about dusk.  I rose to light a taper from the fire, and M. Abigor rose with me, picked up a hot cinder from the fire and lit the first candle.  I made an exclamation, as he was sure to burn his fingers, but M. Abigor just smiled and showed me his unscorched palm.  He took my hand and placed it against his.  It was warm but did not burn.  Close to me, I looked up into his face, and by the light of the one candle, saw something in his eyes that terrorfied me.  His eyes opened suddenly, like the lens of a camera, and I saw scenes   and I could not look away.

Like a card deck being shuffled slowly and each card held out for a nanosecond viewing, I saw  wars, tragedies, famines,  scenes of torment down through the ages.

I saw male babies thrown in the river Nile, to be drowned at the whim and command of Pharaoh, heard their gurgling screams as they sank beneath the waters, their mothers anguish ringing out on the banks of the turgid waters.

I saw the Crusades, many cards there, with Christians riding down the ‘unbelievers’, slaughtering young girls, children,  raping them and cutting their throats.

I saw and felt the tumbrels rumbling through Paris’ streets, the fall of the guillotine, the roar of the crowds, the spray of blood from that steel knife cover the crowds, and the heads tumbling into the  fouled straw baskets.

I saw the results of the War to End all Wars, the men falling to the ground, spewing their guts, vomiting in the mud from the mustard gas, nerve gasses. The horror of field hospitals with severed limbs piled up like cordwood, and broken lives never to be regained. Horses rotting in the fields of battle.

I saw the brutality of the boyars, the Cossacks, the military riding into peasant villages and all slaughtered, the babies smothered under the fallen bodies of their mothers. I smelled the cottages burning, heard again the wailing of the women.

And then I came to the card, flipped over in slow motion, of the Holocaust.  I felt the fire of the ovens, saw the mounds of gold teeth, smelled the burning flesh that swept across the countryside and I stood there, looking at my forearms, and was covered by human ash.  I saw the children clubbed to death, their bodies thrown into the pits after their parents were shot and rolled into the mass grave.

I think I stopped breathing. I felt time had suspended itself.  M. Abigor’s eyes closed and a tear dropped from one eye.  I watched the descent of that tear as if all the answers to this madness were in that single sign of human compassion.

But of course M. Abigor was not human.

Woodenly, I pulled away and place the candlestick on the table.  Turning, I stood behind my chair, my face shocked beyond expression.  I could not stop my heart from pounding.  I wasn’t numb for I was able to feel an overwhelming sickness, a terror with every heartbeat.  There was something in the room with us, a presence more than the two of us.  It felt like the Ultimate Evil.  I thought I would faint.  In the growing gloom of the room, M. Abigor looked intently at me, and saw my distress.

“Madame, I have most enjoyed our tea.  In the next few days, I will return and take you riding.  I understand you pine to go out of doors. I will be your protection from the elements.”

M. Abigor bowed, a figure of masculine elegance. He turned at the door, smiled and left the room. Within moments, Madame Gormosy entered.   I still stood behind my chair, frozen, barely breathing.

“Well, Madame, you have survived this visit unscorched.  Ah!  You minded your manners or at least you did not insult the Devil!  Bon!  You live another day.  Your M. Demon will be glad of it.”

Rooted to the spot, blindly I put my hand out to her, and Madame came to my side.  I almost fainted and I found Madame’s arms around me, supporting me.  But it was Monsieur’s arms now around me, transformed by her particular magic, and at this moment, I was grateful.  I leaned on his chest, and I could hear his heart.  I started to shiver violently and Monsieur picked me up and sat down in a chair.  He rubbed my arm, my back and thigh.  I couldn’t stop shivering, my shock so great and Monsieur cooed to me gently. Soon I was weeping into his linen.

“Ah, my poor thing.  Perhaps M. Abigor let down his glamour for a minute and you saw him for the demon he is?  Perhaps you looked into his eyes and were frightened? Ah! It happens with devils.  We look like humans, when we want to, it is our favorite disguise, but the eyes will tell all. The horrors of Hell show up in these dark pools.  It is the one piece of ourselves we can not transform.  Quell dommage!”

I still shivered and Monsieur crossed over to the bed.  He pulled back the bedclothes and covered me to my chin, chaffing my arms under the covers.  He also rubbed my legs but decided a few hot bricks would be of service.  Bringing two bricks from the fireplace he placed them by my feet.  In a couple of minutes, my shivering stopped.  I fell into deep sleep.

I was told I was unconscious for a day, and cried out.  There was little to be done, for the shock I received from the presence of M. Abigor would have to be endured.  I am now told M. Abigor was pleased with my company and his tea, and this was the usual fate of dining with such devils.  The next time my mortal system would adjust, and I would not suffer such effects, at least  it was whispered to me that it would be easier to dine with the devil.

If this is to encourage me, Madame Gormosy is wide of her mark. I saw too much in M. Abigor’s eyes.  No amount of immortal elegance could hide those visions of Hell.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2006-2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“A Letter from Madame Gormosy”

(from: “The Pragmatic Costumer.com”)

 

Very recently I was asked by a blog to ‘interview’ a character from “Devil’s Revenge”.  This proved almost impossible, as the man I wanted to interview refused to stand still.  So I called upon Madame Gormosy, also a character in this novel to speak.  She has graciously done so and gives a good accounting of what was happening.  As she is also a Demon, please take what she writes with a grain of salt.

Lady Nyo, with sunburn today and not from the Sun.

–

“My name is Louise (Louis) Alphonse Margot Gormosy. As you can read, I have the delicious ability to change my sex at will. I am a Demon of Lust in the hierarchy of Hell. There are many Demons of Lust down there, but they generally are stupid devils. I, Madame Gormosy, am not. I appear in this novel at the bequest of Arch Duke of Hell, M. Abigor. He too, is a Demon of Lust, but he is not stupid. Non, he is not. He is a much respected Military Strategist and an ancient Healer. He sends legions into battle and then he tries to stop up the wounds. Of course, this is hardly the point, as all the  chiefs  in Hell have our own legions. I, Madame Gormosy, have 60,000 devils to deploy at my whim. M. Abigor has many, many more, uncountable, but his hoof is close to the Throne.

When Bess, who is trying to finish writing a book to end the conflict between M. Garrett and M. Obadiah, asked me to do this interview, I was pleasantly surprised. She later told me that the interview was mostly intended for that scoundrel, M. le Demon, his mortal name Garrett Cortelyou. I was not so pleased. I will tell you a secret. When I am in the form of M. Louis, Garrett is amiable. We two have fought battles, shared women, have caused much mischief over thousands of years, but he is unfortunately, uncomfortable when I violently shake my head and become “Louise”. Quel dommage! But he is a good soul (if Devils have souls) and we have each other’s back. Yes, and Devils have morals, of a sort.

This morning M. Garrett came in the room, nodded and listened to my request for this interview. Mon Dieu! He is a handsome man this morning! He is tall, broad shouldered, with dark hair that is too long to be fashionable. This picture of him on that blog? He is far older and much more handsome. That picture makes him look like a spoiled brat. He is a formidable man and has many conquests, but he is much older. Your readers would faint to know how much.

He refuses to wear wig and powder,  his hair is bound into a tail by a black silk ribbon. He will not wear the silk stockings either. He wears trousers and boots. He has dark eyes that snap when he is angry. I have seen the results of his temper over the centuries, and it can be impressive. But he is not a cruel devil. Non, in fact, if you must know… he is not a ‘proper’ demon at all. His mother was mortal and his father? Well, only M. Abigor knows for sure who his father is, and he is not telling. But M. Garrett’s father must be a very important person in Hell and History, because he is treated almost like a son by M. Abigor. And that status for a devil, is a much desired one. M. Abigor is known for his own temper, but this is to be expected of Devils. He can, if he so chooses, turn one to toast.

M.Garrett listened to my request for an interview, closing his eyes while I talked. He then snorted  and disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving the scent of brimstone in the room.   I saw him walking towards the woods with a shotgun and a dog so I would believe he is out hunting this morning. He could easily make a bird fall to earth with magic, but non, he forgets sometimes his bag of tricks  most devils have. And of course, he is half human. Not a proper devil at all. So, his magic is mostly  making ale and tea appear,  levitating a chamber pot, and  appearing and disappearing at will. This last is not good for an interview. He is a tricky devil. He is also a sexy devil.

As I mentioned, I am here at the bequest of M. Abigor. I am flattered that this exalted Demon would choose me, Madame Gormosy, to appear in this story. Bess (the author) might think she is controlling these events, but she is naïve. She is mortal, and mortals can’t see much beyond their noses.

I was brought into this novel to give instruction to Bess. As a mortal woman of the 21^st century, she doesn’t have the  knowledge how to relate to M. Garrett or really any other Demon. She is to be the consort of M. Garrett, and avec vous et moi? She is rather….stupid. All mortals are stupid compared to most devils. Except the stupid ones.

Let me tell you how this mess started. Bess, sixteen years ago started writing a story. She played around with these mortal characters, brought them to life, and then closed the book on them without finishing. I think she pinched M. Garrett’s tail. Then, in 2006, she went back to the book, but she saw  she had written a very boring novel. So, what to do? She took a number of characters, M. Garrett and M. Obadiah  (who hated each other) and stupidly made them into devils. Bon! She continued the novel. However, M. Garrett was furious that she had ‘closed the book on him’, (and dented his overarching ego) and he did not spare his temper. In fact, he did something that is not what a ‘civilized’ man would do. Of course he is half demon so that would account for his bad manners. Bess fell in love with this devil (who could withstand his charms?) and the story took off. It was not a straight love story, though, of course not with demons around. M. Obadiah, from the previous novel, made his appearance and the battle between the two men started all over again. M. Obadiah’s offense was intolerable. He abused Bess in the vilest way, but this was just to get at M. Garrett. Those two are like bulls fighting over the same pasture and heifers. Mon Dieu!

I was commanded by M. Abigor, who has powers over all of us….Bess included, though she doesn’t know it yet, to tutor her in deportment. Bess has had the standard education of a modern woman, but she knows nothing about the great French salons, the intellectuals and wits there, she has no idea of the power the Underworld has over mortal dealings. True, she knows of the power of the Church, but she knows much of nothing. Since M. Garrett has declared her to be his consort, she must now learn how to deport herself. She doesn’t know all the characters (mostly demons) she is interacting with, but soon, IF I can get her up to snuff…she will have tea with M. Abigor. By then, perhaps this woman (who is not a young, spring chicken) will not disgrace us all. Or become toast.

I must say this: What M. Garrett is focusing on, this great adventure to discover his father, his detour into Celtic history, is just a ruse by those more powerful than he. They are called “The Others” and they have been around since the beginning of time. They are more than Demons, they are Immortals. Some of them come from the Nephilim and some from cultures that have passed out of history. But they are the Untouchables above us.

I, Madame Gormosy, think these “Gods” are playing with us all, but we have our tasks here on Earth and in Hell. So, the fight continues between these two bulls with Bess the mortal woman the prize. I just don’t understand it, for Bess is no Helen of Troy. She is nice enough but her ignorance of life and history gets in the way. And, she can appear as a slob. I have come to her rooms in the morning and I see her sitting with her elbows on the table, in dishabille, a mob cap almost over her eyes. Mon Dieu! What Devil (or man) can tolerate that in the morning? But M. Garrett must be besotted because he just smiles at me. And of course, Bess doesn’t have a clue as to who is pulling the strings of life.”

Your faithful (as far as Demons go…) Servant,

Louise Gormosy

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Devil’s Revenge” Chapter 11

 

www. theodysseyonline.com

This is from my second novel, “Devil’s Revenge”.  I am thinking of working towards its publication late next year.  There is a lot of sex in this novel, but don’t read if you are queered by sex or a prude.  I have tried to be ‘tasteful’ but working with devils, it’s a hard slog.  

Jane

–

Standing at a window in this bedroom, I find myself more and more in his world, the world of the Demon Lover. Not sure of the sequence of time, but it seemed every few days I appeared back in this room. Today, I was busy for a number of hours writing a chapter, one I hoped would bring me to the conclusion of the novel. I have been in starts and stops over it for the past month, and have trouble forming my thoughts. Of course, there has been much to distract me. His presence in my ‘life’, for I guess you could call this life, has been a major obstacle in finishing it. He is entertaining and sometimes charming, but brings much chaos to my days.

All in all, it’s been a fruitful time, for if I stumbled in the writing, there is much to learn. I have discovered numerous things about him. He is a jealous demon, who prates he will chase away any competition, and has little regard for my marriage. He already admits he visits me, and not just in my dreams, but takes a seat next to my bed, and involves himself in my sleep. My patient husband sleeps deeply, and I am not sure Garrett, the mortal name of my Demon, does not have his hand in this. A former friend from the ‘north country’ already has caught his interest, and he has as much threatened me with some foul magic if I continue to converse with him. I will not bow to his threats, for I think he has become fond of me, and does not want my displeasure. He can be a bully but I know now he needs much assurance from me, and that I give most willingly. I have grown as fond of him, as he seems to have of me, though he goes to great pains to hide it.

Ah! The masculine vanity! Alive even in demons!

The landscape was bleak as I saw from the window. The middle of winter, and fog was swirling on the ground around a clump of trees in the midground distance. Or it looked like fog. But then again, it came together like smoke and rose from a central point in the trees. How strange. It whirled and eddied and took shape like smoke from a chimney. It held my attention and I thought I would go out to investigate. I threw on my red cloak and went downstairs and out the front door. It was not a long walk to the stand of trees where I saw the smoke. I felt a strange compulsion to follow. The trees were bare of all leaves, their black limbs silhouetted against the gray sky. I walked through them, feeling a sense of discovery, being pulled by my curiosity. There, before me, was perhaps a low fire, though I couldn’t see any flame. The smoke was thick. It seemed to pour from the ground! As I looked upwards, around the trees, there were blackbirds perched in the limbs. They were totally silent, which is strange for a flock of blackbirds. Suddenly the smoke parted, and there, sitting on a stump, about twenty feet from me, was Obadiah!

Oh! I couldn’t tell if he was an apparition, a ghost, or something else, but he sat there, his long legs stretched out before him, one upon the other, his arms crossed over his chest. He was not wearing a coat, but was dressed in a white, linen shirt, with a black stock wound around his neck. His face had no expression, but his eyes pierced me with their intensity, and I wavered where I stood, not sure if I would faint. He smiled, a mocking smile, devoid of any kindness. For some reason I found myself drawn to him as in a trance. I should be afraid of him, considering what he has done to me, but I was not. I was excited and unsettled, perhaps fear plays into these emotions, but curiosity and a perverse desire was overcoming all else, all caution.

Suddenly, I was on the ground, pushed violently from behind. Obadiah disappeared in a flash, and standing over me was Garrett. He had a sword in his hand, and his face was terrible to see. He grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me to my feet, scowling and in a fine high temper. Dragging me out of the glen I don’t remember my feet even touching the ground, until we were back in my bedroom. I heard the door slamming shut. It was as if I was in a dream, or a trance, and I tried to shake myself awake.

“You damn little fool!”

He was furious, and grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me hard, caught like a rat caught by a terrier. My head was thrown back and forth by his violence and I thought my neck would snap. He released me and I fell to the floor. I lay there for a moment, aware he was standing over me. I could still feel his wrath, like a thick fog in the air. I gasped with fear, and turned to look up at him. By the look on his face I thought he would kill me.

“Nay, get off the floor. You look like a kicked dog. I’ll not harm you more.”

His voice was strange, as if his anger had broken him. He extended his hand and pulled me to my feet, where he looked at me closely. I could tell he was still angry, but he was trying his best not to act upon it.

However, I was now furious. How dare he shake me like a child! How dare he throw me to the ground! Without another thought, I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. I saw his surprise, and then, to my horror, heard him utter a hollow laugh. He grabbed both of my wrists in his hands before I could think and pinned them behind me. He did not spare me any pain in the doing.

“So you want to play rough, do you?” He laughed again, and immediately pulled up a chair with his foot.. He up ended me across his lap and pulled up my skirts. He exposed my nakedness and beat me hard with his hand. I yelled loudly, and cursed him with all the names I could think of. He thrashed me, hitting my buttocks and also the tops of my legs. I screamed until I thought I would go hoarse. I cried and pleaded with him, yet he did not spare me his blows. Throwing me to the bed I cried and sobbed mightily, more from fear than pain, but there certainly was enough of that! My butt was burning with his blows. I hated him thoroughly, for I had never been treated like this before.   I cried myself out and he didn’t offer a word of compassion or apology. When I finally uncovered my face from the pillows, I saw him sitting there, smoking his pipe, like nothing in the world had happened. I felt humiliated and belittled.

“Tell me,” he said between puffs. “Tell me what possessed you to leave this room and go into the woods.”

His eyes glittered through the smoke and I knew better take him seriously. Now that I had proof he would not spare his hands, I was afraid of him.

“Oh, Bess, I can smell your fear, but that is not what I am after. Tell me, now, why you went into the woods.”

I rose up from my stomach, and gingerly sat on the bed. My butt hurt! He certainly was strong.

“I don’t know. I saw some smoke coming from the glen, and I thought that it was interesting. I felt curious.”

“Ah. Did you feel drawn to the woods?” He puffed more forcefully on his pipe.

“Well, the smoke drew me, but then, when I got down there, and near, I felt strangely drawn to the trees. The birds were all silent, I remember that.”

“Looks like Obadiah has called upon other forces for his designs.”   He puffed on his pipe hard. “Seems like he is getting a bit desperate.”

“What do you mean?”

“He is charming you and others to do his bidding. I don’t like it a bit. Makes me work harder, something I generally avoid. Looks like he’s preparing himself for battle.” He spit on the floor and I grimaced at him.

“Who is he charming, you make no sense?” None of this made sense at all.

The Demon thought a bit before he answered.

“You asked me before about my world. Well, there are many worlds. I frequent a number of them. This one, where I appear to you, is full of strange characters. I get lost in the numbers, can’t remember all the hierarchy. But it’s simple enough, or at least I’ll make it simple enough for you. Listen closely.”

He packed down his pipe with his thumb, though the tobacco glowed red in the bowl.

“Demons are intermediaries between gods and men. Most of us, what you call ‘demons’ were once men. We were not angels. Don’t make that mistake. No, there are lots of shapes and shifts abounding. There are Fates, who alter destiny, there are what you know as poltergeists, who cause much mischief, there are the incubi and succubae you have already experienced (here he tipped his pipe in my direction), there are familiars, who assist what you call witches.”

He puffed on his pipe, and a blue smoke whirled above his head in lazy, sensual spirals.

“There are Demons formed from human semen.” Here he grinned crazily, the smoke swirling around his face, obscuring his eyes.

“There are disguised Demons, which I fear our friend Obadiah is, makes it tricky in dealing with him. There are Demons who instigate Witchcraft. I don’t know what we are dealing with at present, but we are about to find out. He grows more powerful.”

“Is he more powerful than you?”

He grimaced around the stem of his pipe. “No, I’m still more powerful. But he grows. And he has enough tricks to harness Cheitan and Saalah to do his bidding.” He barked a short, bitter laugh.

“And who are they?” I didn’t like the sound of this.

“They are some minor demons, spirits if you will. Not of much merit, but amenable to a bribe. Cheitan is the demon of Smoke and Saalah is a demon who entices women into the woods. All kinds of mischief can befall a maid in the woods. They are known as some of the ‘Devil’s Handmaids’”.

He puffed on his pipe, sending up a plume of smoke to the ceiling that circled around as it hit the beams and spread outward. An example of “Cheitan”?

“And about your being in the woods, my dear lady. Very foolish of you. Had I not come at the moment I did, you would have suffered another rape by Obadiah. He seems to delight in taking his perverse pleasures with you. You can now thank me for saving you from an even more terrible attack than last time.”

What worse could he do to me than when he raped me? I shivered, remembering those details.

“Oh, there are plenty of tricks he could render upon your soft body, my darling,” said the demon, reading my thoughts. “What he did the first time was just a first course for his appetite. You forget we demons have terrific appetites, especially for mortal women. Your flesh, especially those places between your soft, white thighs, are irresistible to us.”

He leered at me and I shivered thinking of what could have happened.

“And with what bribe does he induce them to work for him?”

“Probably your blood, or a piece of your flesh. Or, if he’s in a particularly generous mood, a piece of your ass. Of course, that would be after he has sated himself on your charms. He would turn you over to them, where they would use you until they were bored and would tear you to pieces.”

Oh, what a terrible mouth on him! But now I was really afraid.

“You see, my dear, as long as Obadiah thinks that you are, ah, I think you call it “a free agent’ in your world? Well, as long as Obadiah thinks he can take you at will, even from under my nose, he will come back and try again. There are only a few ways to discourage him from this behavior.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Well, it is not by my authority to tell you how to end your novel, but killing him off would help….for a while. That would be one way. There is another way, but you would not want to go down that path.” He laughed to himself, and puffed hard on his pipe, his eyes glittering with mischief.

“And what is that path, Demon?”

It seemed the room darkened, or perhaps the sky did outside. But something changed noticeably. He still sat in his chair but it seemed he was whispering in my ear.

“A woman is much happier if she has a Master. Authority thrills a woman, my darling. Nothing but complete subjugation will finally satisfy her.” He smiled at me, and I shivered at his words. What a strange and alien a concept. To call him “Master”!

“In the animal world, nature’s decree the male shall dominate. And you are my little vixen, my little red fox.” He smiled around the stem of his pipe. “And I am very much the male here.”

I wouldn’t argue with that. He was more ‘masculine’ than ten men– twenty. And very proud of it. No ‘metrosexual’ confusion for him.

“You know, sweet darling, I am thinking Obadiah is nothing more than a very powerful incubus. Sexual relations with an incubus are decidedly unpleasant and an often painful affair. I think that you would agree with that.” He would get no argument from me.

“So, Demon, what are you saying I should do?”

“Why don’t you refer to me as Demon Lover anymore?”

“So, Demon Lover, what should I do?”

“Look, Bess, I think you should come under my power completely, and let it be known.” He grinned broadly. Oh! This was fun for him!

“What is it you are saying I do?”

“Sex is a powerful thing in our worlds, as well as yours. I am suggesting you become my consort, for as long as you inhabit my world. That could be a long time, it depends upon things.”

“What things, Demon?”

“Ah, that I have no competition in your heart and mind, that you submit to everything I say and do, and that I am Master of you and your body. That you obey me and submit to me in all things.”

“I don’t know. You know I am married. Would I have to give my husband up for safety here?”

“Well, I can not trample your marriage vows, came long before me.”

“What about my other friends, male and female?”

“Ah, that is another complication. But I will look the other way if you please me in all other things.”

“Are you talking about whips and chains and things, Devil?”

He laughed. “Why in Hell’s good name would I need such things? I’m talking about the natural roles of man and woman, or in this case, Demon and mortal woman. What could be clearer?”

“You have lost me. I don’t know anything of subjugation or submission. We modern women tend to avoid all such talk and behavior.”

“And are you any happier for it?” His eyes glittered through the smoke he exhaled.

He had me there. Relations in the twenty first century were confusing enough. Was there any real happiness between men and woman? There was a lot of anger, and sham, and moving about, exchanging partners and forming anew. There was a lot of unhappiness and divorces. The roles between women and men seemed to be mandated by some chaos that we danced to faster and faster. The ‘natural’ roles that seemed to work for past generations were lost to us now. Women were more like men, and men! God! They were like women! Most women I knew had more ‘friends’ who were homosexual, gays, than girlfriends. They were interchangeable.   The roles and relations had become very confused. Perhaps he had a point here. Perhaps what he was proposing was a balancing of the roles. The strong man (or devil) and the soft, weaker, woman. Perhaps he was on to something.

“You promise not to hurt me?” I asked him seriously. I don’t know what I was afraid of, but I was.

He shook his head at me in wonder, and laughed. “Are woman from your century so distanced from their natures that they don’t trust the masculine? Can you place your heart and body in my hands and know I will protect you? What is it that men do in your domain? Do they not occupy this fundamental role?”

“Well, not without a lot of confusion, Garrett. They get mixed messages from all sorts of places. I don’t think modern men know what to do with women.”

He laughed delightedly and gave me his opinion. “You use them good, and often, and they keep you entertained. It’s really an easy exchange. They lay down on demand, and you chase off all the wolves. What’s so hard about that?”

Ah, he is a trying and primitive Demon! He has the manners of a goat, but I have said that before. It is an exchange he is proposing here. My protection and security from Obadiah if I ‘cleave’ myself to him completely. He hasn’t given me much to go on yet, but I am interested enough in his idea. And he has allowed my marriage and my friendship (there are others he doesn’t know about) and promises to wink at them.

In any case, I am way over my head here, and not believing in anything supernatural or paranormal, I find myself at a disadvantage. He holds all the cards right now, and I am at his mercy. My fear of Obadiah and what he can do to me overcomes my disdain for my overpowering, vulgar demon.

Hopefully, he will be a kind and generous ‘Master.’   I think this is called ‘bargaining with the Devil’.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2006-2016

 

 

“Devil’s Revenge” Chapter 28, The Goddess Aine

 

 

 

I was standing at the bedroom window, watching the circling hawks and falcons fly in the woods beyond the house. There are four birds now, big birds with wings that barely move. They stay suspended above the wood. It is still winter, and I would imagine the thermals they ride are gone. Yet they glide and glisten in the air, weaving an invisible net over the trees. The birds come and go but there is one that stays. He was there from the first, soaring over the woods and on occasion, across the windows of the house. I feel him a specter or shade of Obadiah. The black bird out there is the reason I can not leave this house.

I needed something to divert me. This dream of the Morrigan was haunting. At first, I could only remember the cool taste of cider from her cup and the ointment she used on my body. With a shiver I remembered her last words: I was to give a girl child to her. She would assure me fertility, but she would take my daughter to be her own. What need did she have for my child? She tricked me by stilling my tongue and I could not fight or deny her.

I was powerless.   Of course! I was fighting a myth called the ‘Great Goddess’! What else would I feel? I am mortal and she is bursting with powers. She was the source of life and death, of fertility for all that grows. She commands the ravens and crows. She transforms herself into these birds and wheels above the battlefields. She lands on the bodies of the dead, and eats them. She and the crows clean the earth of the carnage. Morrigan is not death, but a keeper of death. And she would take the only daughter I would birth.

But even knowing this, I do not know her. I do not know the truth about Garrett. I knew he was uneasy with me, suspecting something, but her potion or charm was working, and he did not ask questions. I would notice him watching me, with a curious expression.   I glance at him, and this was enough to shatter the moment. His face became a mask.

I went to the kitchen for something to do. I was sick of reading and too nervous to sleep. The kitchen was cold, the fire low, and more kindling was needed. From that I was able to stoke the iron stove. At least I could bake bread, and think. I checked on my sourdough sponge. By putting out the right ingredients, yeast comes from the air, and like magic, the starters for bread. My yeast sponge was in a bowl, set back in the fireplace, where it would remain warm. I poured out flour from a crock and added some warm water and honey, and made the beginnings of bread.

Over a cup of tea, I thought about Cuchulainn. What I knew didn’t amount to much, so I retrieved a book from my bedroom. As I passed the library, I noticed Garrett gone, and went back to the kitchen. It was warming nicely. Celtic mythology was confusing at best, but I read for the rest of the afternoon in the comfort of the stove.

This Cuchulainn was quite the character. At seven he was swinging a sword and hurling rocks from a sling. He was beautiful to behold, and other warriors saw his effect upon their wives and daughters. They looked around for a suitable marriage, but found nothing he liked. Finally he saw a king’s daughter, Emer, telling her   “In that sweet country, I’ll rest my weapon.” He is cock- sure of his abilities and is set to terrible tasks to obtain her. He has many consorts, or wives, and probably many children. He is known for his ‘war-spasms’ where his hair stands on top of this head, shooting fire, and his face contorts into a monster and his body whirls around misplacing his anatomy. He is the hero of the Great Cattle Raid, and slews thousands. He was trained by the woman warrior, Scatlech.   I know already of Scatlech of Skye, from the dream of Morrigan, and I remember my own trip to the Isle of Skye. It was a fog and rain swept isle, with the seas pounding upon its cliffs. I think magic would be common enough here, for strange symbols were carved on the rocks and the people looked haunted. I remember feeling haunted myself in that cold and disturbing terrain. I had taken a lock of my dead father’s hair, to release it in the wind from a high hill. The wind howled and though it was only late October, the weather became much colder. Since it was a squall forming the ferry didn’t come.   It was a strange night in that little hotel on the top of Skye.

In reading the stories of Celtic mythology, there were too many characters and too many names to follow any certain path. I wasn’t even sure that my dreams would prove fruitful. But so much had happened, in both of the dreams that spoke to something well hidden. I had little to cling to. But I knew, somehow, the first dream pointed in a direction, and the second seemed to confirm it.

I looked into my now-cold cup of tea. The tea leaves spiraled in a circle, slowly moving in the cup, though I had no spoon to stir it. I watched the winding of the leaves, and it seemed to move in ever narrowing circles. I was tired and lay my head down upon my arms. The room grew warmer. I could hear the patter of rain on the windows and it was lulling, like a low chant. The yeasty smell of the rising dough comforted me like a narcotic.

Something disturbed me and I slowly looked up, half asleep, my eyes blurry. Across from the table, sat a woman. She was dressed in a rough, green woolen gown, with a gold torque around her neck. She had large, unrestrained breasts beneath her gown, and red hair. She gazed at me with deep gray eyes commanding my attention. No words came from her lips, but I knew she was Aine. She was a goddess of fertility and childbirth. The Goddess of wet dreams, nocturnal emissions, also.

I could not lower my eyes. I could not move from my seat. Without sound, her voice poured into my brain.

I am the Goddess of Fertility.

I stand over the soil and spill Lug’s seed into the earth.

It is not for him to plow the earth with his cock alone,

And spit his abundant seed to the earth,

It must come from my womb, travel down my white thighs

And into the soil.  

My womb ferments the seasons,

My piss waters the earth,

My dung feeds the crops and the harvest.

Nothing grows and prospers but I command it.

 

I am the lusting eye, the blush on the maiden’s cheek,

The hardening cock that seeks out the maidenhead,

I am the Goddess that makes a woman a vessel,

A man the water of Life.

 

In the fullness of time, I am the midwife

Pulling out bawling babes from bloody wombs

And doing the same with cattle and sheep.

All that bring forth are under my hand

In the fullness of time, you will bring forth two children,

Twins,

One male, one female.

I will stand between your thighs

I will touch the crown of your babes as they push down your passage.

I will catch your children as they are born,

I will mark the female for my own.

Remember your vow. Remember your promise.

Remember it is I who opens your womb.

 

She made a circling motion in the air with her hands, and disappeared. I was left in a trance, not knowing whether I was dreaming or awake. But one thing was clear, when I regained my senses. If I had thought I would escape any agreements made in that last dream with Morrigan, I was badly mistaken. This was a warning and it was further evidence I was not in control of my life.

When my head cleared, I went upstairs to the bedroom.   I moved to the window, and watched for the hawks, but they were gone. Perhaps roosting in trees, for darkness was falling fast. I wondered were Garrett had gone, and when he would return. I decided to read some more, this latest vision was part of the three, a trinity. I shook my head. Now I seemed to be caught up in the Celtic beliefs. Things coming in threes.

I opened the book before me to the pages of Morrigan, and had I read further, I would have realized the importance of spirals. According to this ancient writer, (a monk? A scribe sitting in a cold cell cobbling words?) …spirals were interdimensional symbols capable of parting time and space. It was something I was familiar with in my ‘real’ world, for churches and public parks to put out labyrinths for walking and meditation. No intention of parting time and space. They were used as defined paths for ritual dances, and this I watched at festivals. The tea leaves spiraling in my cup, unstirred by me, and Aine’s motion with her hands had effected me like a labyrinth. Either I had fallen into a trace, or magic was afoot.

Finally, just before dark, I heard Garrett on the stairs. He was singing a song, his voice off-key, and his steps heavy on the hall floor outside my door. He entered the room, and stood heavily against the door frame, a bleary smile on his face. He was drunk, no doubt at all. Just what I needed today: a drunk demigod on top of all else. I could not hide my anger at his state, for I had not expected this.

“So! You finally appear with a snout full of ale. I see you enjoyed your afternoon.” I stood with my hands on my hips, glaring at him from the middle of the room

“Ah! Already a nag, and not even wed!” He grinned, stumbling into the room. He was in worse shape than first imagined. He lurched towards a chair, and sat down heavily. He waved his hand around in the air vaguely.

“Madame Gormosy and I found a tavern down the road. The White Horse Tavern. We had a few tankards, just a few, at the White Horse.”

I started to laugh. The thought of “Madame” Gormosy entering a tavern on his arm was hysterical. The locals would have had an eyeful. Although drunk, he read my mind.

“Ah! Madame transformed herself into Monsieur. Her original form, you know. Good company, he.” Garrett belched and the smell of ale and onions filled the room. He grimaced and mumbled a curse.

“We hoisted a few tankards at the White Horse, and went across the road to the Black Horse. The ale was the same.” He grinned a drunkard’s grin. “Madame Gormosy mixes ale and raw whiskey. It would take a devil to stand after his toasts.” He belched and giggled. Patting his knee, he tried to reach for me.

“Come here, sweet Bess, lemme taste your red lips. Lemme rest my weapon in your sweeeeet country”.

I froze at his words. These were the same used by Cuchulainn in his courting Emer. Either magic was near, or his words prophetic.

I could see he was in no condition for anything except sleep, and knelt down to pull off his boots. That done, he reached for me and placed me on his knee. He fumbled with the front of his breeches and a scowl crossed his silly face.

“John Thomas was ready and willing climbing the stairs.   Ah! Fickle friend he is! Seems all he wants to do now is sleep. He does not hold his liquor well, the little man there. Had me running outside all afternoon.”

I could not help smiling, as angry as I was. All men are the same: man, demi-god or devil. Most of them could not hold their liquor.

I finally put him and his close friend to bed, where they fell asleep fast.   He snored with great loud bellows of sound, and I moved to the other room. Even from there, I could hear him all night. In the morning, he looked none the worse for his drinking. I found him sitting at the fire, smoking his pipe. He said not a word in his defense, but I noticed a tray of tea and toast and some bacon for me…… and a small tankard of ale for himself.

Ah! The proverbial hair of the dog!

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyright, 2016