Cold Willow

Part 1 Of The Pagan's Castle Novella

A dark blue streak drooled from the corner of her mouth, her lips were gray, here eye color had gone black, as her vacuous eyes looked open, staring out as she laid on her side. Heavy bags around her eye were bleak and terrible to look at, her lovely pink dress had dried but was rough looking upon her still form.

Still wearing the reaf on her now pallid golden locks, the rosy red flowers are lost the luster of their color, as the greenery of her headband began to fall one leaf at a time.

The young nobleman having dismounted his horse, which was far to large for a boy his size, looked upon his younger sister with uncertain emotions. He understood she was dead, her lifeless body had washed along the riverbed, as the cold winds of that otherwise warm summer day shifted the drooping branches of the willow tree she lay under.

Holding the reins of Bömfo, his horse, he wasn’t certain what to do, it would quite a ride back to the castle to inform his parents, and he didn’t want to leave Raschel alone, incase she may come back to life.

Staying by her side, he tied Bömfo’s reins to the branch of a fallen tree, as he decided to sit close by and keep an eye on her. Prince Aérond sat himself on the grass. Sullen, bright blue eyes focused on his younger sister, though not much older himself, her was old enough to come to know certain things about the world.

Whether it meant he fully understood the current situation as much as a boy his age would is to be judged by others. Carefully he watched her, as the midmorning sun dipped behind the large white clouds, he kept his eyes on her, occasionally watching the river stream flow by, bringing with it the drifting of logs and other waterbound things.

There was a rain storm a few nights ago, the prince began to formulate a deduction about what about to Raschel, he remembered her mother wouldn’t stop crying after she didn’t come back by evening. Later that night as he laid in his own bed the storm came, and there was much yelling inside the castle and outside, where the rain continuously fell in heavy cascades.

Didn’t bother to get up, he laid in bed, his window shutters closed tightly, as he heard terrible roaring sounds outside his windows. When he got up to see what it was, he peaked through an opening in the wooden shutters, and he saw a monster down in the courtyard. Lightning flashes and light from torches and braziers around it, revealed the horrendous creature to him, it was dark haired, looked as if a man and a grizzly bear were in one form.

With large claws, sharp fangs, its head looking as if it were a skull that grew skin and eyes of a feral beast, it resembled a picture of a demon he saw in one of the priests books. The holy father forbade him to look upon it, claiming it was a “wicked heresy for innocent eyes to look upon such atrocious beings.”

Smeared in blood, its less hairy chest had something glowing as if it were made of coal embers in a fireplace that were still lit, a burning icon he couldn’t put a name to, it was almost like a cross.

Broken at the ends and twisted the glowing cross the monster’s chest making it look as though they were the gnarled, crooked branches of a dead tree or erratically moving snake. For a brief moment the prince locked eyes on the monster, and immediately a blinding flash of crimson lightning flashed outside his window.

Terrorfied, he let out a mute screech and retreated to his bed, where he stayed terrified, covered in his bedding until morning. Attempts to tell people what he saw were met with skeptical eye rolls or harsh rebukes, after all his sister was still missing.

Too scared of being attacked by the monster, he stayed within the castle keep, his mind preoccupied not with his lessons but of the terrible demon he saw.

The priest who tutored him in basic mathematics asked about what he saw, the prince wasn’t sure why he seemed interested, but he was certain he wasn’t believed. Telling the holy father everything the conclusion he was given to seeing that thing was it was “the pictures you saw in my book were fuel for your young mind to concoct that dream.”

Politely asking if he could see the book again, to know what it was called he dreamed about, the holy father bargained that if he kept to the lesson then afterwards he’d show him the book.

Doing his best to involve himself into the subject at hand, he was rewarded with the priest bringing the book to the table.

It was a odd book, red on the cover, and the binding was ridged as if it were made of something from a living body. Opening it, the priest thumbed through the pages, till he found the illustration of the creature best fitting the description given to him by the prince.

Unfamiliar with those strange letters, just having started learning latin, the priest read some of the passage, as the dark inked picture of the horrific creature glared at him from the page.

“He is a demon, this text tries to bestow this fiend with honorifics and classifications as typical of some druidic text. Just so you him as a figment of some heretics depraved mind, know him as Pagonroth, and I’ll heard no more of him, and to be certain of that—.”

Before anymore questions were asked or knowledge learned, the priest took the red book at hand and threw it within a unlit fireplace. Applying fuel to it, he started the blaze with a flint and stone, and being a old hand at it started a blaze that consumed the book, reducing even its bindings into ashes.

As it burned the priest thoroughly scolded his charge for having any interest in such occult fiction, and made a comment of having to go through the library purging it of heretical texts. Later that night he recalled waking up from a dead sleep, unaware of what roused him, he remembered hearing the rainfall, and hearing a disdainful growling outside.

Once again he went to investigate, feeling as if his innards were forcing their way out of his body through his urethra, going to the closed shutters, he peeked outside. There he saw an enchanting beauty, a woman of blue-ivory hair, eyes of glowing pearls, and a body of angelic beauty he had never seen before in his life.

Wearing a gown of snowy silks she looked at him, and gesture for him to follow, she then move away as if she being carried off by the wind, and vanished into the darkness of the night.

That is why the prince rode out that day, to search for that enchanting lady, she charmed his heart and mind, making him forget the fear he felt for the demon. As he watched his sister continue to lay still, he heard something move on the other side of the willow tree.

Standing upright, Prince Aérond felt a danger approach, it was as if he were a cat catching the whiff of some menacing predator that is stalking on the other side of a closed door. A fearsome shadow spread from around the tree, and as he reached for his dagger that was sheathed at his waist, he released his grip on the bladed weapon when he saw the radiant form of the woman he saw the night before.

Feeling obliged to kneel down, as if he saw a walking divinity, he wanted to speak to her but his voice wouldn’t come out. The willow branches averted away from her form as she approached him, and Bömfo let out vile and erratic cries as he was tethered in place.

The prince wanted to tell his beast to be quiet, but he didn’t want to dissuade the lady from touching him, standing near him, Aérond felt his eyes closed as if he was being commanded by a wordless voice.

Inside his mind a fantastical daydream grew in intensity and magical thinking, just when the lady put her hairy, giant hand on his shoulder, and dug claws deep into his flesh did the delusion vanish. Whatever charms or enchantments were used against him, they worked and Pagonroth had his claws into the young prince.

Eager to finish off the boy, the demon parted its maw wide, showing lines of serrated, flesh rendering fangs, as it prepared to bite off the child’s head. Reaching for his dagger, the boy was fumbling due to terror at peering into a expanding abyss, that smelt as foul as brimstone and was darker than the bleakest of storms.

Broken out of the doomful despair by a mind shocking gurgling sound. Just what he waited just in case for, his sister had come back from death. This drew the demon’s attention, who lifted his gaping maw from around the boy’s head, and looked into the direction of the stiffly moving little girl.

Her body was moving as if her bones were one solid piece, with no moveable joints or flexibility, she managed to raise herself up from unnatural strength, digging her bare feed into the ground.

Eyes listless and without a trace of life, she moved towards the closet living thing, barking, a hoarse, swallowing sound as she moved, she was like many others who would die but come back. None however came back as they were before, they were worse than animals, devoid of reason, patience, and affection, instead they were a calculating menace that sought to strangle life.

Even the grass beneath their feet withered and darkened at their toxic touch, Aérond intended to take his silver blade and vanquish his sister, banishing her to eternal damnation, but only if she came back wrong. Some fool’s hope in his mind made him eager to wait and see if she would arise as she was, though he never saw it or heard of it happening before.

Loosening his arm enough to draw forth his dagger, just as the demon turned around to focus on his real prey, the boy plunged the silver blade into Pagonroth’s eye. Blinded in its left eye, and feeling a scalding agony boil its brains, the demon reflexively let go, but not before out of pure malice dug its claws deep into the boy’s right arm.

Then with a roar of great rage and suffering tore off the boy’s arm, the air filled with the echoing cries of the demon. Drowned out by those hateful monstrous cries, the prince lay on the ground, his blood pooling heavily onto the ground. Barely able to catch his breath, he lost consciousness as a search party happened upon the scene by the river.

The king was there, his wife, an armed entourage the hero swordmaster, Clauddio, the champion of the crown and guardian of the realm, he leapt from his stallion and drew out of its sacred scabbard, the blessed sword of Antioch.

As soon as its gray glow touched opened air, streaks of lightning flowed up and down its elegant form, whose merciless edge slashed at the terrible demon Pagonroth who recoiled as the blade cut deep into its chest.

Trying to push the demon back away from the wounded prince, the rest of the search party watched horrorstruck by what they saw. The princess had died and has been afflicted with the Rotlife blight, the prince maybe mortally wounded, his severed arm still in the hand of the demon of myth and pagan lore.

Nothing could be done till the danger past, Clauddio knowing the tragic consequences for any delay kept slashing at the demon, who despite having his wounds heal faster than any human recoiled at the agony of being struck by the blessed sword.

‘You cannot kill me hero, no matter what boon the heavens bestow upon you, I am the eternal drinker of blood, and the passage of time will prove the undoing of even the most bravehearted mortal.’ Turning his one eye to the king as the sword kept pressing him, back the demon brandished the severed arm of the prince towards the king, and with a fang filled sneer spoke a terrible prophecy. ‘King Hymel, before you are laid to within stone, know that you shall reign over cursed lands, where the dead walk, devils walk the in the lands above, and your fields of milk and honey wither to excrement.’

Those prophetic words came out as a curse, as the demon took relish in seeing the look of sheer terror upon the king’s face. Before allowing the hero a more definitive strike against him, Pagonroth called upon a black haze, that covered his form, and allowed him to vanish into the black realm underground.

***

Prince Aérond laid in the infirmary bed, he was unable to attend his sisters funeral as he was still weak from blood loss. Feeling as if his right arm was still there, he occasional tried to rub it, but was dismayed anew every time he felt nothing was there, the holy father would come to apply fresh herbs to his wound, which stung terribly.

‘May that be a lesson to you, foolish prince, don’t bring evil upon you but looking into the profane.’

That condescending scolding irked the prince some, who wanted to retort but the medicine made him sleepy, so he rested, his brow unknotting as his muscles relax and the pain vanished into a blissful rest.

As he laid dreaming, he recalled seeing his sister again, she was not as she was by the river, she was as she was before, alive and cheerful.

His mother was there too, both of them were dead, and despite being not born to her, his mother cradled Raschel as if she were her own.

In that dream he was told something that he couldn’t remember upon waking, but deep in his mind, he kept the meaning of them and eternalized them as if he could remember what he was told.

‘Careful of your stepmother.’ warned his mother. ‘She the demon’s whore.’

Then afterwards came a quiet sleep without dreams or worries.

***

Sneaking out of the royal bedchambers after applying a drug to her husbands evening drink, queen Akeshia, slipped out into the castle’s hallways, and with stealthy purpose descended into the dungeons.

Separated from the main keep by a giant archway, sturdy pillars carved from the bedrock of the earth forced open a gaping maw of soil and stone. Walking down the stairs by candlelight, the queen went alone, unobserved as the shadows lengthened around her as if she were being caressed by the claws clutches of some phantasm.

Groping her buttocks, stroking her genitals, twisting her nipples in playful agony, she felt a womanly moist streak down her legs, by the time she climbed down the final spiral steps. Coming to a bleak chamber that once housed the condemned for torture before the jailhouse opened, archaic torture equipment and dangling, tarnished chains slung above on the walls and hanging from the ceiling.

Before she let out a prolonged exhale, she got sight of her master and lover, Pagonroth emerged from the shadows, his eyes alight with a sadistic desire of a feral beast about to rape a primed female. Unable and unwilling to resist, she was pulled into him by his outreached claws, she felt the pressed of his arms squeezing her against his rock firm chest, his course hairs tickling her soft, pampered flesh.

Sweat from the demon’s body nearly fused them together, as she panted as a long claw dug into her feminine passage, not cutting deep enough to draw blood, but ecstasy. A pleasurable meow came from her restrained lips, as she croaked out a profane utterance of, ‘God!’

Her voice didn’t echo in that dungeon of forbidden pleasures, in that moment Pagonroth forsaken his demonhood partially to become a male as mortals to, for the purpose of breeding his female concubine. Engaging in the deadly sin of adultery, he tore off her nightgown, and proceeded to inserting his gnarled, pig-like manhood into her throbbing orifice.

The black, slick appendage forced a tight squeeze into a orgasmic agony for the queen, who conspired to overthrow her lawful husband. Together she plotted with her unholy master, to disinherit or murder the mortal children of the king, then usurp him when he is too old and feeble to fight off his witch of a wife.

During which she’ll carry the seed of Pagonroth to term, whose half-human progeny will rule as king and bring about a era of disaster upon the mortal world. Sowing chaotic evils and blasphemous worship of the most profane occultisms upon the lands above and beyond.

For hours the night deepened as the queen was filled with eldritch sickness, becoming more depraved and wicked, turning slowly into a gentile maiden into a provocative, sinister crone. A wicked witch whose heinous magics she will soon use to destroy the prince as she did her own stepdaughter.

Upon straddling Pagonroth and fully impaling herself on him so she could feel the scalding upward exploding geyser of bubbling, blackish seed, her body sucked it all into her womb as if it were a toothless mouth. Belly swollen to the point of bursting, a sign of her evil deed was etched onto her naval by heathenistic powers.

The same twisted, ugly cross the demon bore on his chest, so did the queen did on her naval, a sign of her treachery. She have to silence any witnesses of the mark, if it is discovered and examined by knowledgeable experts, not even the king could spare her of the witch’s punishment.

Finished with the planting of his seed, Pagonroth reverted back to a sexless demon, its formally seductive, animalistic charms turned into cruel dominance.

‘Just remember whore, if you are discovered your life not only be forfeit—’ grabbing her by the scalp, it dug its nails deep enough to draw blood, as streaks of crimson flowed down her face, she was carried by the head towards a sudden blaze of fire that enveloped around the dungeon chamber. The heat became as intense as a furnace, and she felt her skin bubble and curl as if it were fat frying in a pan. ‘—but your soul will be surrendered to hellfire!’

After screeching out in terror and anguish the queen suddenly felt a coolness over his sweat drenched skin. Covering herself up in the sudden gloom, she looked about and saw the dungeon had reverted to what it was before, a cold, dismal place where secrets are kept. Looking to her naval she lifted her no restore blouse and saw the mark of her demonic treachery, covering it up, she fetched the candle still lit, amazed that she had no bloody wounds or harm on her body.

It was as if it were all a dream, hesitating in the dark she heard a voice from the darkness which made her skin crawl.

‘Hurry off.’ commanded Pagonroth, as it stood concealed in the shadows, its body a disembodied echo. ‘Dawn will fast approach, and your husband may wake to find his bed without his loyal queen.’

Rushing off the candle she held flickered in the night, ascending out of the dungeon, she came to the archway where she reentered the keep. Looking about in paranoia she felt the weight of new life squirm in his guts, she’ll have to make love to her husband again to bolster the deceit of the demonic bastards parentage.

Looking about, she saw nothing but darkness, going off to bed, she didn’t realize eyes were upon her, as a skulking shape came around the bend. Aware that the queen was involved in a plot against the crown. Keeping it secret, the skulker went back to a secluded hiding place to document the betrayal and preparing to act against the queen and her co-conspirators.

…end of the Cold Willow. Part 2 currently being edited.