Temptation in the Mountain

"Hello," said the snake.

It was huge, the size of a man. It reared up on its belly. It scanned the cave casually, like a visitor impressed with the wallpaper.

"Hello," said the boy.

He could see the snake clearly, somehow, despite the darkness. The creature had foot-long fangs and a cold pair of beady eyes. Yet it seemed friendly enough.

"Are you here to kill me?" the boy's voice was light. He couldn't really care either way.

The snake chuckled, "I could ask the same of you. But no, I'm not. I mean, I'll kill you eventually, but not till you ask me very nicely," Snakes like their little jokes. The snakes voice rang like a little echo off the cave walls. The boy did not laugh. All was silent, then.

The snake licked his great fangs, "Have you thought about what you'd want to do with the world?"

"In what way?" the boy didn't really believe there was a giant snake here. Even if a snake could get so big, it certainly wouldn't chatter away. Something very strange was happening, but what else was the boy to do in the dark?

"Let's say the spirits bless you with a great power. Now you can change the world in any manner you please. What would you do?"

"I would take away the hunger and the sorrow,"

"Would you?" the serpent smirked, "And would the people thank you?"

"I don't know,"

"Without hunger or sorrow, would the people remember you? Would they sing your name? Would they care?," like some rodent-flesh caught between the teeth, the boy could smell rotting breath, "Would they hate you?"

Those cold eyes gleamed and that pink, forked tongue flicked through the stink of death. The boy trembled at the noise and shouted, "Go away! Go away!"

But there was no snake. There never was a snake. It was just the boy in the dark with all the rocks closing in.

Maybe the snake would come back if he asked nicely.

Tickle That Faggot!

"Yes! Yes! That noise, that laughter. That is the battlecry of the Holy Spirit. Show no mercy my brothers, my soldiers-in-christ,"

"Sir, can I have a word with you?"

"Of course, my child. Though I only have a few moments before I must make my rounds again,"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. It's just that I wanted to ask you about the operation here. Our purpose,"

"Glorious, isn't it? A life in service to the Lord. His will be done. Never slept better in all my long life, never felt cleaner,"

"Yes, about that..."

"I wake up every day and thank Him that He has entrusted me with such a duty, and has shown me the ways to bring His glory to earth,"

"By tickling the gays?"

"Invasive tickling! Regimented, prescribed like medicine! Laughter is a gift, soldier. It is a gift from God. What is more joyous, simple, innocent than the laughter of a child? Nothing, it's a rhetorical question. We force that innocence back into them. We subject them to it, force the light upon them, drive the devil out of their loins! The devil hates the sound of laughter, the joy of christ!"

"Yes sir. And that cures them? That sets them right with God, sir?"

"Well, it gives them a chance. That's all we mortals can do. We lock up the gays, strap 'em down tight, then tickle the devil out. After that, it's up to them to change, to see the light of christ, to resist temptations,"

"So some of them revert to their... sin,"

"Yes, well, the flesh is weak and all that. Sometimes though, sometimes we have a great success. A few of our ranks are converted gays. Once sinful, lustful creatures, now number among our most enthusiastic ticklers! A clear sign that we operate under God's rightful blessings,"

"Is it all that bad? I mean, we're supposed to not like the gay... gayness,"

"It's a sin!"

"Right, so shouldn't we do something more drastic? Something more scary?"

"Let me ask you something, soldier. Do you want to be tickled?"

"Not really, sir,"

"Maybe I'll sign you up. I'll clean out a cell for you. I'll find some of the big leather straps,"

"Wow, no thank you, sir,"

"We've got ridged rubber fronds, ostritch feathers. I can get some right now,"

"No, please sir. I really don't want that. Really,"

"See? Tickling is a threat, a deterrant. We are agents of mercy, soldier. Never forget that. This is a place of healing. We are here to save them, to bring the light of our Lord,"

"Yes, I see, sir. Thank you, sir,"

"Of course, always happy to help. Now, if you have no more questions, go tickle that faggot!"

"Yes, sir!"

Hiding Behind Lightning

There was a storm, that was very clear. Wind shaking the skin from bones. Rain like a thousand hands pressing down, pushing away. Perhaps it was the flash of lightning, the brightness, the whiteness. Maybe it cleaned out his brain. He stood and walked out into the storm. He opened his arms. Could any of this be real?

The rack of thunder, the fury of heaven. He cried out, "What!" interrogating the sky. He was in agony, there was some kind of pain. He was in pain from something that happened before the lightning and the flash. It's too easy to forget things in a storm.

He shook his fists at the sky, "The fuck do you want?" Somehow this was all God's fault, that prick.

"My Lord, a miracle,"

"Huh?"

There were voices behind him. A few men huddled in a simple fishing boat. They stared at him in fear and wonder.

"You're standing on water, Lord,"

He looked down at his feet, and so he was. Dark, storm-troubled waters swirled around his ankles and lapped at his legs. The water rocked and tossed, yet he stood solidly, as if on stone. It was cold, bone-chilling freezing. Why couldn't he feel it?

"How do you do that, Lord?"

"I don't know," he had to shout over the din.

A breeze blew the boat, sideways spinning. The men scrabbled for the oars and heaved themselves back closer to the man out on the water.

"Why then. Why did you do it, Lord?"

"I wasn't... really thinking,"

One of the men stood up in the boat, excited, "Yes of course! Our Lord speaks true. How are we to know our limits. In the light of God, all things are possible,"

The others grabbed for his sleeves, "Sit down, you'll tip us,"

"Faith, my friends, is all we mortals need. Faith in God's love to transform us," With sure steps he hopped over the side, "Let me be a vessel, Lord, for..." and plopped into the sea, vanishing in a white froth. His shocked cry lost in the whip of wind.

The men in the boat reached into the water, catching the rough cloth of the drowner's cloak. "Peter, you dumbass," one muttered as they hauled him in. He gasped and sputtered. The storm spun the boat farther and farther away. The one they called Lord stood and watched the sky, waiting.

The Treacherous Duke, Part Two

"Here then, without his robes, I could see his frail, tiny limbs. Without his crown and wig, could I see his thin hair, his spotted, wrinkled pate. Here then, in the shadows cast by candles, could I see his madness. His lips, dribbling, mumbling. His eyes rolling at invisible terrors. The rage fled from me like leaves blowing from the sudden gust of an opened door. I fell to my knees and cried, 'My Lord!'"

"And the king ceased his dribbling and mumbling to look at me. 'Why do you come to me like this, with such furor?'"

"Words found my mouth unbidden, and yet, in speaking I discovered their truth, 'My Lord, you have such enemies against you, conspiring in frantic secret, pledging treason against your house,'"

"and he replied, 'This I know, my duke, and have always known. Still they hide dagger-tongues and save only sweet words for my ears. I am lost already, defeated by shadows in a war without swords,'"

"'No, my liege, not lost yet. To your honor I pledge my service,'"

"'All dukes have already pledged such service, true and traitor alike,' the king's voice sweetened with despair,"

"'None have pledged such as this, my Lord. I pledge to throw myself into exile, to bear great humiliations by you, to suffer harsh indignity, so that every snake and beetle in your garden will think me an ally. They will flock to my banner, trusting their armies in my care to war against you. Then, my king, with all the traitors lined up at my command, will I lead them to defeat and deliver them to your mercy. The evil devoured from within,'"

"His tiny eyes widened, lips twitching. He crawled on hand and knee across his bedding, 'Would you bear this indignity? This torment?,'"

"'It is my will,' spoke I,"

"'But why?'"

"And truly, I was unsure myself until that very moment. I looked upon the king in his weakness and knew the truth. I loved this man. I loved him and would see his legacy continue. I knew I would serve him, his will, his empire until the end of all things. I knew this even as he balled his fists against his sheets and cried out, 'Oh but they will know our deception! They have seen you storm into my personal chambers. They witnessed your mighty rage. They gather even know with cupped ears just beyond the eaves. They will spread stories. Again, we are unraveled, defeated before we begin. Our ship sunk by whispers!'"

"'Not so!' said I, 'We will fill their tongues with new whispers, leaving no doubt as to my hatred, my lust for revenge,'"

"'What then, is your plan,' asked the king,"

"'Step down from your bed, sire, and with an air of your former strength strike me, drive me from these chambers. Let them remember the warrior king, the red flush of cheek, the blood-forged blade, the roar of the war drunk over the din of chaos. Knock me and shame me. Strip me before your court so that all enemies will have no doubt that I can only be your enemy,'"

"And he rose from his bed, towering above me. For a moment, I could see those old days and thought fondly on such old, clinging nightmares. The horror of battle, a cleaner, clearer time. To fight and win, living for the glory of a king, great and wise. A king to bring a lasting peace. Such sweetnes in dark, old memories,"

"He struck me with his cane. A stripe across the face and I tumbled through the doors. The courtiers fell away, so tightly had they packed against the doorway, hungry for gossip,"

"And the king struck again, chasing me, bellowing threats and insults. I spilled into the crowd, fleeing, pretending to stumble. Again and again, marked by the wooden length of his stick. He ordered my lands stripped, my titles, my houses,"

"And so, to exile I fled. Long I dwelt in poverty. Nameless in the wilderness, far from the glittering halls of my Lord's court. In time, one by one, the other dukes found me and made their ambitions known. One by one, they pledged their houses to raise a great army. A legion to crush the king and I was to lead as high marshall,"

"And so we marched in polished armor with bright banners raised high against the king and his host of fools. I sent these gleaming soldiers to fight farmers in rags. It took all of my great martial prowess to carefully arrange defeat for the treasonous legion,"

"After each battle, the fools surrounding the king would cry out, 'A miracle!' and the treacherous dukes would lament, 'We are cursed!' But only the king and I knew the truth,"

"And so the dukes were delivered to the king and peace restored. I was placed in a prison with all the others. One night, the king came to visit,"

"'When am I to be set free? My lands restored? My titles? My great reward?' I asked,"

"The king was silent. I felt a chill in my soul. After a great while, he spoke, 'I still have enemies, my friend, deeper still and darker still. They hide in my kingdom, plotting,'"

"'I understand, my king,'"

"'You are my sharpest weapon, my greates ally,'"

"'As you say, my lord,'"

"'And so I must ask you to continue this charade. You must dwell in exile, in darkness and shame. You must do this in my name, for peace in this great nation,'"

"'Of course, my liege,'"

"'I thank you, loyal duke, and yet these words are too small for my intent. Through your suffering and sacrifice, my kingdom prevails in light and truth. I owe you more than I could possibly give,'"

"'You honor me with such words, my king,'"

"'I must tell you, most noble duke, that I have deceived you. I knew the great forces arrayed against me even at the day of naming. No matter who I picked, even with you as my high marshall, there would be war. Even victory would spell disaster, as the kingdom itself would be torn apart. My throne would rule over a vast wasteland, and empire of dust. And so, with no better option, I acted like a great fool, confused drooling. Like an old drunk. I feared your capability, I wanted to drive you from your armies. I deceived you, and am sorry to have done it,'"

"I received his confession like the shock of cold, mountain water. I bowed my head, remaining silent. He left me then,"

"And so have I escaped again to exile, in the wilderness, in the darkness. The enemies still remember my strength, they still seek me out. They trust me with their armies and I deliver them in defeat to the king. They do not suspect my true purpose. They are liars, sinners, and thieves. In this, I am first among them,"

The man grew quiet again. The boy sat and thought carefully upon this mad story.

He spoke, "Why then, knowing the king's deceit, his false madness, would you continue to serve in exile?"

"I was tempted to defy him, to quit his service, or even lead these armies properly to victory. It was the way he spoke to me, the way he talked about his crumbling empire, the way he talked about me. The king worried at my power! This knowledge has sustained me, nourished me. It is how I know he is worthy of my love, and I am worthy of his," the man said, so proudly.

"He feigned madness once to trick you. Could he not have also feigned fear? Could this just be another trick?"

At these words, the man screamed in rage. He grabbed the boy by the shoulder and threw him from the darkness. He struck about him with his fists, driving him away until finally, again, the man was alone.

The Treacherous Duke, Part 1

Somewhere, there is a dark place. Perhaps it is a cell, deep in a forgotten dungeon. It might be a cabin deep in the heart of a silent forest, or a dead submarine, slowly sinking, slowly collapsing from the weight of the impossible ocean depth.

In this place, a man speaks to a boy. The boy has traveled far to hear the man's story. The man has waited a long time to tell it. The boy listens quietly, politely. He sits very still.

"I know this one story in my mind," begins the man.
"I can not see the faces, yet I know the people. I can not hear the words, but I know them as spoken. It lives in my memory like something I might have read in a book, or heard from a storyteller. Yet I also remember that it was true and that it happened to me. It was a long time ago, and truth can be like threads in an old shirt, falling out, falling apart over time. Who knows what's..."

The boy sits quietly. The man turns a few thoughts around in his mind. He sighs.

"There once was a great king. He ruled over a vast, troubled empire. He was wealthy, but very old. Many powerful dukes would come to his court to honor him. They were strong, powerful men with mighty armies and wealthy estates. In this, I was first among them. Above all the dukes, I was honored and feared. In my heart, I knew great pride and anger,"

"The king had ruled in peace for a long time. The memories of war grew distant to the dukes. They began to forget the blood, the agony, the horror of chaos. In the comfort of their private palaces, they remembered the old glories. Contempt blossomed in their hearts. And in this, I was first among them,"

"The king had many loyal followers still. A flock of grinning, japing idiots swarmed about the throne. They buzzed sugary lies and empty flattery in his ear. He delighted in the fools' nonsense. These pleasures drove needles of hate into the eyes of the dukes at court. They began to plot against the king. Again, in this, I was first among them,"

"There came a day of naming. The king was to deliver honors among the courtiers. All nobles of the empire gathered in the great hall, packed close together in their silken finery. It was a day of dreary formality. Scribes and pontiffs in official hats and stoles trapsing up and down the hall, droning away ancient verses. Blind words in the speech of slumbering spirits. Trumpets and drums. The king in his crown and grand cloak. He took his seat upon the throne. A hush through the crowd. A small, rolled scroll. A hundred burning eyes,"

The man stopped then, shifting in his seat. He licks his lips.

"It is dark now, and you cannot see. But I was strong once! My wealth earned in blood, my lands taken and held by mighty armies. My soldiers followed a warrior-prince born with a sword. So it seemed to me, despite any coldness at court, the king would have been a fool to spurn me in the naming. And yet, among the fools and flatterers, he named councillors. From the drunks, bishops. The thieves became governers. The cowards, his generals. And finally, his high marshall, exalted in privilege and responsibility over all nobles, second only to the king, he named the dog that patrolled the feast hall, licking fingers clean and lapping at the grease puddles,"

"How I raged in my own head. I pulled at my collar and tore at my hair while all the fools danced and cheered their grand fortune. The king, wearied in his advanced age, fled the great hall to retire to his bedchambers. In a great storm of passion, I trod across the hall after the king. With these arms, I tossed aside his guards like bundles of wheat. I threw open those doors and strode within. The king, already in his simple linens, sat up in a fright. I closed the doors behind and locked them. We were alone,"