'Come with me, James,'� Walter whispered, shaking his nephew again.

'What is it, Uncle?'� James asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 'Another late night astronomy lesson?'�

The orange candlelight created dancing shadows across Walter's features. Walter's deep-set black eyes, looking like lumps of coal, sparkled from twin pits. His bent nose jutted from his face, and his skin pulled tight over his features, lending his profile a spare, starving look accentuated by his thinning brown hair.

'No astronomy tonight,'� he said, his voice frail and wavering, the result of a life long struggle with sickness. 'No, something different. You'll see.'�

'Uncle, what is it, then? You know full well that Father wouldn't approve of me leaving castle grounds without a guard.'�

'Your father's not here, is he?'� Walter snapped. His face twisted up with anger so sudden and terrible that James shrunk back against his headboard, clutching his sheets with white-knuckled hands.

'My apologies, boy, but it's late at night and your uncle's tired,'� Walter said, softening his tone. Walter smiled, a toothy expression that only inspired more fear in James, rather than the reassurance Walter had hoped for. 'This was a last minute arrangement of mine. A surprise, you might say.'�

He handed James his leggings.

'And, besides, we won't be leaving castle grounds.'�

James threw his covers back and swung his bare feet over the bed's edge. A chill shot through his body; the imposing stone walls of his father's castle defended against all intruders but the bitter winter.

'It's cold.'�

'Come on, then. Let's get your blood flowing.'�

Uncle Walter grabbed the King's son by the hand and led him through the castle's maze of corridors and stairways. The floor's plethora of rugs masked the sounds of their footfalls. Blazing sconces placed every twenty feet lit the castle's interior, and the two men walked through countless alternating islands of light and dark before emerging into the night's velvet blackness.

In the open, the wind declared them fair game and assaulted them with a barrage of stinging, howling air. James shivered again, and hugged his arms close to his body.

'Uncle, it's so cold,'� he said, his teeth chattering. 'Might I return to my room for a coat?'�

Walter pulled a small flask from the pocket of his coat.

'Take a few swigs of this,'� he said, passing the flask to the young man. 'It'll warm you up.'�

'Easy for you to say. You're more prepared for this than I,'� James said, gesturing at his uncle's layered outfit.

'Mind your tongue, boy,'� he said, and a fit of coughs wrenched his body. Even while he fought for his breath, he held the flask out. 'I need the protection more than you.'�

'I'm sorry, Uncle.'�

James gulped the liquid down. The warmth began in his belly, and spread through the rest of his body, dispelling his unease and making James feel like returning to bed. For a moment, he lost himself in the comfort of that warmth, and dreamt only of immersion in the warm blankets of his bed.

'Better?'� Uncle Walter snapped his fingers in James's face, and continued walking without a reply.

They walked through the castle's courtyard. By day, the courtyard is a beautiful retreat, all bright flowers and green grass and tree branches that point their way to heaven. At night, the sun's absence robs the palette of all but the most dismal of coloring and leaves the courtyard a lonely place. Although the full moon shone, the trees created an inky ocean of shadow on the ground, mirroring the black heavens above.

The wind screamed and scattered brittle leaves into their paths, leaves that would crunch into dozens of fragments underfoot. The ground was frozen and resistant. The pond's waters lay dead and motionless, with naught a hint of the daytime's dazzling blue, and the bare stone benches beside it were but a reminder of the eve's solitude. Somewhere, a crow cawed.

They inched their way across this wasteland, each step a further commitment towards the darkness. As they continued, James felt the effects of the warming elixir increasing, the urge towards sleep irresistible.

'We're here.'� His uncle stopped James with an upraised hand.

No sooner had his uncle spoken than James collapsed into a heap on the ground, all his physical strength spent. The drugs conjured vivid memories in James's head, memories of recent days and reminders of his shameful pastime.
James dreamt.

*

James grunts as his closed fingers travel along his length. He fixates on the old oak tree, fascinated by the knot and how it wrinkles the tree's skin around it.
Before, he masturbated with his eyes closed. It was easier to imagine Catherine, the servicing wench, wearing that tight bodice that increased her cleavage. In his mind, it was always the banquet hall, and Catherine's breasts glistened with sweat and her face flushed from the heat.

He recalls the way Walter insults the young woman. Walter grabs Catherine around her waist and pulls her close. His breath heavy with beer, with crumbs of bread and droplets of gravy in his beard, he spits a fishbone down the front of her bodice, in between her breasts. Catherine's young features twist up in a look of disgust, but she doesn't pull away.

The familiarity doesn't ruin James's conception of Catherine; in fact, it thrills him, maybe more than her crinkled nose, her disgusted frown, and the fish juice on her breast. When he manages to sneak out of the castle, it's to this image that his mind returns.

He frequents his secluded grove because it lends privacy to his manipulations. Being the seventeen-year-old sole heir to the throne ensures a large retinue of guards follows his every movement. When he can manage to sneak out of the castle, it's to this place that his body returns.

Behind Castle Longstone, an easy three minute walk downhill will take one to the Royal Gardens, where a small pond is set into the ground, with a variety of colored fishes swimming about. Beside the pond, a round marble table is flanked by two curved marble benches, like parentheses nestling a period. Copses of trees dot the extensive backyard. James favors a particular copse, and a particular tree that is set off further from its companions.

He no longer closes his eyes during his routine. At first, he preferred to exist in his imagination, but he soon tired of it and found more excitement in the taboo nature of his deed. Heir to the throne, stealing away in the lazy afternoon hours, manipulating himself and thinking of the common serving wench.

Speeding up, he stares at the tree with determined eyes. His breath quickens. The sensation of cold air rushing into his lungs thrills him. James's face runs through a gamut of expressions as his mood escalates. He watches the warmed air escape from his mouth as a vapor. James can see the castle beyond the vapors, in between the trees.

When the time comes, he bites his lip to stifle the scream. A thin line of blood trickles from his dry, cracked lips and onto his chin. He lets it run where it will.

It all runs where it will.

*

James awoke to a sharp pain biting into his arms, and a rough, jagged surface tearing into the thin material of his pajama top. The first thing he saw was the wild flame of a bonfire in front of him. The flames sent sparks into the air, sparks that hissed as they descended towards the cold ground. Thick cords of rope, looped around his body several times, restrained his arms against the tree behind him.

He heard a wheezing to his left.

'Ah, you're awake,'� his uncle said, standing to the side. He leered at the boy. 'Good.'�

A thin rope of saliva overflowed his bottom lip. James watched the strand lengthen to its breaking point, then fall to the ground below.

'What are you doing, Uncle?'� James forced from his dry mouth.

His uncle turned away. He no longer wore his court clothes, but a long, purple robe that swept against the ground as he walked. Etched in white, various constellations and geographic designs patterned the robe, and these appeared to glow in the dim lighting.

With a long stick in his hand, Uncle Walter bent over at the waist. He occupied himself by drawing a detailed sigil on the ground, and accompanied his actions with a soft muttering. After several minutes, he walked to another point encircling the fire and repeated the process.

'You ARE dense, aren't you? James, my boy, you don't know how I've suffered.'�

The wind picked up again and, although he was unable to cover himself, James felt grateful for the slight protection the copse of trees afforded him. The liquor's warming influence had vanished; the only remainder of that medicine was the bitter aftertaste of betrayal.

'The throne should have been mine. Your grandfather, King Longstone the Third, passed me over. Your grandfather wanted a warrior for a son, someone who would go hunting or horse riding with him. My sickness prevented that sort of thing. No one can bond with a boy when his head's stuck in an Alchemy book.'�

Walter continued his circuit around the bonfire, drawing new characters or just touching them up, adding layers of intricacy and meaning.

'Instead, look at me: the heir's tutor. A footnote in your history.'�

'Isn't your life comfortable?'� James screamed, struggling to be heard above the wind. 'You live in the luxury my father provides, but with none of his responsibility!'�

'And none of the power.'�

The rope continued to cut into James's arms, and the tree's rough surface behind him pricked at his skin. Adding to this, for James, was the sick recognition of his surroundings. Walter had bound James to a tree covered in months of accumulated seed.

'In any case, all that ends tonight, when I call Lord Slorgutoth to my side. Together, we will kill the king and any that stand in our way'�'�

'The great god-beast Slurgutoth? Surely, Uncle, you must be kidding. That's just an old story!'�

Walter stopped, and straightened up. He met James's eyes with a cold and unflinching stare.

'You have proven to be such a disappointment, boy,'� Walter returned. His eyes narrowed and he leered at James. 'If only you had paid more attention to your lessons.

'For generations, the great beast-god has lay dormant beneath this castle. The very tree you are bound to acts to imprison his spirit!'�

Walter drew a ceremonial knife from the folds in his robes. An ornate design covered the knife's hilt, a silver serpent that wound around the handle, its open mouth and bared fangs threatening the crossbar.

'Now that the stage is set, all the beast needs is a sacrifice,'� Walter said, twirling the knife in the firelight, shooting starbursts of reflected light in all different directions. The knife inched closer to the extended index finger of his right hand. 'My blood! My blood will summon free Slurgutoth from his prison and link him to me! My offering will make him my slave!'�

Something roared. Although the wind died away, the trees around them shook; such was the force of the beast-god's terrible scream. The movement of their branches and leaves created a crash of violent shadows that raped the ground. The stench of burning sulfur, thick and suffocating, caused Walter to force several dry, raspy coughs from his throat. The fire exploded upwards, stretching towards the sky and searing the air all around. The sigils on the ground flashed white and James closed his eyes.

Walter dropped his knife. It fell, spun several times in the air, and stuck into the dirt ground. The man's mouth hung open in shock; unknown to Walter, the summoning incantation's prerequisite sacrifice of bodily fluid had already been met.

Lord Slorgutoth towered above the two men. The fire's orange glow reflected off its multiple purple tentacles, highlighting the definition of its corded muscle and bouncing off its rows of suckers. It opened one of its many mouths, demonstrating rows of crooked needle teeth. Slurgutoth bellowed once more.

The roar dispersed into the black night, leaving only the crackle of the fire and the whimpering of Uncle Walter. The older man cowered on his knees in front of the beast-god. Walter raised his shaking hands before his face in a defensive gesture.

Slurgutoth raised its tentacles in an exaggerated, maniacal gesture.

Even though the sight was the most fearsome of James's life'indeed, more fearsome than he could have imagined'James felt no fear, but a calming influence over his mind. James felt a kinship with the creature, an awful, accidental kinship born of shared bodily fluids.
A rope-like tentacle, shot through with thick veins, lashed at Walter, grasping him around the waist and pulling him to his feet. Walter's hands struggled for purchase on the slippery, mucus-covered appendage, but Lord Slurgutoth secured another tentacle around his legs.
Walter screamed. Sick cracking sounds filled the air as the bones in Walter's legs snapped. First his knees shattered, then crumbled to dust inside his legs. Walter reached for his knife, but Slurgutoth was already pulling him away from the weapon, towards the serrated blades of its teeth.

Walter mounted an increasing struggle for each breath as the tentacles tightened around his diaphragm like a boa constrictor. He could think only of sharp pain as his ribs broke and jagged edges jabbed into his soft internal tissues.

A long, forked tongue slithered out of one of Slurgutoth's mouths, dripping thick yellow saliva and making a loud slurping sound. Slurgutoth's rows of teeth chattered together in anticipation as it dragged Walter towards it. A chill ran up James's spine.

Finally, Slurgutoth had Walter's blood, but it wasn't on the terms the ambitious old tutor had planned. James wished he could turn away from the scene, but his bindings prevented movement. He continued to watch, eyes rooted to the grotesque feeding.

*

'Here he is,'� King Andrew called out to his retinue of guards. 'I've found him.'�

The sound awoke James, and James couldn't prevent a moan escaping from between his lips. His back and muscles cried out in anguish with every movement. His eyes burnt, suddenly exposed to the bright sunlight.

'James, are you alright?'� Andrew asked his son, running to him. He released James from the ropes. The boy's muscles ached from an uncomfortable night restrained against a gnarled oak tree. They were unprepared for the sudden liberation and James collapsed to the courtyard's ground. Dirt and ashes filled his nostrils, and James coughed.

King Andrew stooped, bringing himself down to his son's ears. The king looked around in confusion. The remains of a large bonfire, now dead, stood in the center of the clearing. Strange markings surrounded the remains, made indecipherable by the debris all around. His brother's ceremonial knife, a sliver of metal amidst a drying pool of crimson, shone in the sun's radiance.

'What happened here?'�

James raised his head to speak, found it lacking in strength, and returned to unconsciousness.

(title suggestions greatly appreciated- Marc)

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