Don't Read in the Closet: Volume Four (79 page)

Silvanus smiled. “As you like.”

****

far they walked, he did not feel weary. When he was hungry, he only

needed to pluck a piece of ripe fruit from a low-hanging branch.

When he was thirsty, the pure water of the brook was but a few yards

away. The shadows beneath the great, primordial trees were soothing.

When they crossed a clearing, the sunlight sank into his skin and

warmed him, but did not burn — just as Silvanus had promised.

As they walked, Silvanus asked him questions. Before long, Cato

found himself telling the stranger with the bronzed skin and long,

yellow curls, the sad and violent history of his life.

“Our tribe had fallen away from the Roman church generations

ago. Back to the old ways, you know?” Cato glanced at Silvanus and

looked away again, still not used to his companion’s brazen nudity, no

matter how the expanse of golden skin stretched over taut, lean

muscle attracted him. “We’d heard about the wars, and the Blight that

turned people into monsters, but they hadn’t touched us. We lived in

peace and plenty.”

“Until?”

“Until the Sacred Union’s warrior monks found us and decided

they needed boys like me to fill the ranks.”

“As soldiers?”

“Some of us were trained to fight, but I was sent to a monastery.

That didn’t turn out so well.” Cato rolled his eyes. “I didn’t believe in

heaven anymore, or gods, or all that supernatural crap. Turns out they

don’t like that in a prospective monk.”

“They punished you?”

Cato nodded. “Those of us they called ‘unfit for service’ were sent

to train as gladiators. What they didn’t tell us…” He paused to search

for the words to explain the horror of the arena. “What they didn’t tell

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us was that we wouldn’t be fighting other men. Instead, they turned

loose all their old war machines on us, to chew us up and spit us out.

The crowds loved it.”

“It sounds as if you are well away from that existence.” Silvanus

stopped Cato’s forward progress with a hand on his arm. “Your life

here will be one of ease and beauty, I promise you.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do with a life of ease, and I don’t know

much about beauty.”

Silvanus smiled. It was brilliant to behold. “But you find me

beautiful, of course. And now you must believe in gods and heaven,

and all that supernatural…uhh…”

“Crap,” Cato supplied. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

Silvanus looked almost comical, with his green eyes so wide and

his eyebrows clear up to his pale hairline. “Because you are
here
.

With
me
.”

“Are you trying to tell me you’re a god?”

Silvanus bit his lip. “Not…precisely.”

Cato sighed. Getting a straight answer out of this creature was

nearly impossible. “I think it’s time for me to go.”

Silvanus winced. “There is nothing here that can tempt you to

stay?”

“Like I said, my buddies need me.”

“Cato,” Silvanus replied, his tone and expression cold and serious,

“I have seen what becomes of them, and of you. Believe me when I

say there is nothing you can do for them but suffer and die.”

“But—”

“No. Let them go to their rewards, as you have gone to yours.”

Cato looked away, pierced by a pang of grief. He hadn’t known all

of the gladiators in his cellblock, but those he had known were fine

young men, no different from him. They’d shared their meager rations

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and kept each other’s spirits up when things looked bleakest. He hated

the thought of leaving them to the Holocaust Machine’s dreadful,

fiery hunger without at least trying to save them. But if what Silvanus

said was true…

He turned to Silvanus. “You’re sure? You wouldn’t lie to me?”

Something unreadable flickered across Silvanus’ face, but he

answered, “I would not.”

Cato sighed again. “You know all about me now, but I don’t know

a single important thing about you. Tell me something personal,

Silvanus. Prove to me that you can be trusted.”

Silvanus appeared to think for several long moments. Finally, he

said, “Once, a long time ago, I spread a rumor that Hercules

occasionally enjoys donning the garb of a female. It was a shameful

deed, and very wrong of me. I regret it to this day.”

“Because it was a lie?”

“Oh no,” Silvanus replied. “It is quite true. He favors the color

purple, and has his frocks specially dyed in huge vats of lavender and

violets.”

Perhaps it was Silvanus’ expression of simple innocence, or

perhaps it was the image of the great hero Hercules arrayed in pale

purple satin and lace, but Cato could do nothing but bend at the waist

and laugh till the tears streamed from his eyes. When he finally

righted himself, he found Silvanus standing close enough to reveal the

light dusting of freckles across nose, like the marks on a bird’s egg

fresh from the nest.

“I would like to kiss you,” Silvanus whispered. “I would like it

very much.”

He smiled, and the world around them seemed warmer.

Cato parted his lips for Silvanus. The kiss was wet and open, and

the heat of Silvanus’ mouth coursed through Cato’s body, setting up a

thrum of pleasure under his skin. Silvanus slid his hands across Cato’s

Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 478

chest, and his touch seemed to fill up all the jagged, broken places in

Cato’s soul.

When Silvanus dropped to his knees before him, Cato could only

stare dumbly. Silvanus lifted his kilt and tucked it into his belt, and

still Cato had nothing to say. But the first, grazing touch of Silvanus’

mouth against the head of his cock tore a ragged, toneless moan from

his throat, and he knew he was lost.

Pleasure wound around him like a tangle of vines, trapping him

and holding him close. He let Silvanus work at him with teeth and

tongue, his hands buried in his thick, golden curls. Silvanus gazed up

at him, and it was all Cato could do not to thrust harshly.

When he could stand the building pressure no longer, he buried

himself in Silvanus throat one last time and went perfectly still. He

found he could not breathe, or think, or do anything but hold on and

let the bliss wash over him, his skin pulsing in sharp tingles with each

burst of pleasure.

Silvanus pulled away. His mouth looked used and dark with

blood. As Cato reached down to help him to his feet, the breeze in the

treetops blew harder, and the air crackled with the gathering of power.

Cato heard Silvanus’ rude oath, and closed his eyes.

When he opened them, they were no longer alone in the grove.

A man stood before them in the garb of a huntsman. He was a

very average looking individual, yet Cato found him instantly

compelling, and could not take his eyes from the man’s face.

Next to him, Silvanus fell to one knee. “Your Highness,” he

muttered.

“Silvanus,” the man replied. “Did you think I would not notice?

My eyes are everywhere, you know.”

Silvanus rose to his feet without answering, but Cato caught the

look of shame on his face.

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“What’s going on?” Cato asked him, but Silvanus refused to meet

his eye, so he turned to the other man. “Who are you?”

“I am known by many names,” the man replied. “You may call me

‘sir,’ human, and bow in my presence.”

There was a definite air of command about the man, and one of

tremendous power. Cato had not lived so long beneath the boot heel

of the Sacred Union only to forget its most basic lesson — pick your

battles. Obediently, he bowed. “Yes, sir.”

But the man had already turned his attention to Silvanus once

more. “Why have you been keeping this human from his eternal

reward? Have you bewitched him with your playing?” The man cast a

glance at Cato. “Silvanus is a fine musician, I must admit. On the

pipes, he rivals even myself.”

Cato shook his head. “I’m not much into tunes. Listen, sir, I think

there’s been some mistake. I’ve got my eternal reward.”

The man — or whatever he was — looked amused. “We must

make allowances for your limited understanding, of course. I assume

Silvanus has told you that this grove and his companionship are your

reward?”

Not knowing what else to do, Cato nodded.

“Shame on you, Silvanus. Lies do not become you.” To Cato, the

man said, “He has woven a dream like a spider’s web, and you are but

the pitiful insect caught within it.

“But—”

The man waved away Cato’s objection. “Apologize to the human,

Silvanus, and be on your way.”

The horrified expression on Silvanus’ face made Cato defensive

for him. “Look, can’t we talk about this? I know I wasn’t exactly

excited to be here at first, but I’m liking it better all the time. Really.”

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But the man only crossed his arms over his chest and frowned

until Silvanus dropped to his knees once more in front of Cato and

reached for his hand.

“I have been dishonest, and I am heartily sorry. Free will is the

gift of the creator to all humans, and I deprived you of that gift with

my lies. In my own defense, I heard your prayer in the moments

before your death, and beheld your beauty and the greatness of your

heart, and I loved you. I would have lived here with you forever in

perfect contentment.” He choked on the words, but continued, saying,

“I beg your forgiveness, Cato. When you remember me…
if
you

remember me…think of me with kindness.”

Silvanus rose and, with a single, heartbroken glance, faded into

the greenery around them. In the silence that followed, Cato knew the

deep ache of misery.

“Why does it have to be this way?” he asked the man.

“I did not make the rules, human,” the man replied. “If I had, I

assure you that Elysium would not be saved for the likes of you. Now

let us get on with it. I have a kingdom to run. I cannot spend all my

time chasing down rogue satyrs and their human pets.”

“Satyrs? Is Silvanus a satyr?” Cato asked, recalling the

illustrations in his mother’s Book of the Old Ones. “You mean like an

old, ugly goat?”

The man shrugged. “That is a human construct. You have seen

Silvanus’ natural form.”

The man glanced in the direction Silvanus had disappeared, a

sharply curious expression his face. Had Cato thought him average

looking? He could see now that this powerful creature was anything

but average in any way.

“Satyrs are not known for their ability to love on a deeper level,”

the man said, his tone speculative. “Silvanus surprises me. But that is

a riddle for another day. Come now, let us—”

“Wait. What if I choose to stay here?”

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“That is not possible. Your reward is Elysium, and it is there you

must go.”

“But I don’t even know what Elysium
is
.” Panic had begun to rise

in Cato’s chest. He had survived so much, but the thought of leaving

Silvanus — a creature that had lied to him, and that he’d only known

the equivalent of mere hours — made him desperate. It was wrong

and illogical, but it was the truth.

“I have never seen Elysium,” the man replied, his impatience

becoming clear in the way the air between them sparked with

electricity, “but I understand it is every human’s personal vision of

paradise, honed through years of travail on your plane of existence.”

Cato thought about this for a long moment. Then he smiled. “I’m

ready when you are.”

He bowed his head. The man touched his shoulder.

All at once, the forest grove fell away, and Cato found himself

upended in the dry, dusty air of the arena, moving headfirst into the

open maw of the Holocaust Machine. Blood again ran freely from the

wound in his side, and the crowd again shrieked in his ears. In his