CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
HOLD ON FOR ME IN the Eisenhower Woods.
By now, Elliott shivered. It had begun to snow in earnest in the brutal brumal landscape that encompassed the distant Marlborough Mountains.
Elliott had worn copper-soled shoes because he assumed he would be heading to the amphitheater for the recitation, half drunk and depressed.
Sorrowful for the poor soul chosen for the hibernal ceremony.
It hadn’t once occurred to him that he would be the honorarium.
“I found out my answer,” Lucien said abruptly, treading several miles into the woodlands, only to circle the treed hinterlands all over again.
Suspicious, Elliott had begun to wonder where he was truly being led.
Hadn’t they been at the ceremonial entrance already?
Wouldn’t the recitation be nearly over by now?
The audience was expecting Elliott’s dead body as the grand conclusion.
Anyone with a heart would’ve put him out of his misery at that point, but Lucien lengthened his agony.
It dawned on him that Lucien deeply enjoyed the predation; he was no more than a predator that played with his vulnerable flesh.
A vulture that circled a carcass in the sky.
A merciless eel that circled its kill in the treacherous waters.
They spent nearly five miles of rounding the woodlands, bend after bend.
Hours wasted. Lucien wasn’t merely wrenching the knife any longer, he was strangling Elliott to death with tension.
Waiting for him to wail. Expecting him to snivel, beg, and plead.
A quick, unsatisfying death was not nearly enough for his thirst. Elliott could hardly stand to gaze at the gleaming, obsidian bident in his grasp after a few minutes.
“You found what answer?” Elliott bit back. He had a spine in his voice and it entertained Lucien. If Elliott was to die, he wanted to die with courage.
“You’ve always made me insatiably curious of what James Wilde meant to you. I needed to know the end of the folklore of the fox and the swan. In the end he meant your life.” Lucien widened his lips. “How valiant.”
Elliott grunted. “You wouldn’t understand it.”
“Is it because he’s attractive?” Lucien inquired, with a tint of envy. “Do you find him that beautiful that you would die for him?”
Elliott simply repeated, “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Do you cry after your mothers together, is that it? The rest of us have our mothers and therefore we can’t comprehend your bond?” Lucien interrogated. “Are you erratically in love with him?”
“He’s my best friend.”
“How many times have you fucked him?” Lucien demanded at last, blunt and intrusive, underlining his words in an unsubtle, increasing anger. “Was it raw between you two? Why else would you do this to yourself?”
Elliott didn’t care if his friendship was difficult to understand because it was affectionate, James was his best friend. That’s all. “You’re irate over nothing.”
“You must be sleeping with him if you’re willing to die for him,” Lucien remarked. He was exactly the kind of person who would only risk himself for someone if he slept with them. “Are you aware that everyone knows you two sleep together? That you share a bed?”
People knew, but not many asked about it. It wasn’t the sort of thing Baneburians openly talked about. Roslyn referred to James as his special friend in a respectful and considerate hint of letting Elliott know it was safe to talk about him with her.
Elliott and James drifted to sleep before their heads even hit the pillow. There was nothing sexual or romantic about it.
Nevertheless, Lucien referred to James as the Queen of Bithynia, an epithet of Julius Caesar who was repeatedly accused of homosexuality with King Nicomedes IV of Bithynia.
In the words of a consul, Julius Caesar was ‘every man’s wife and every woman’s husband.
’ There were several politicians that attested to Julius Caesar’s homosexuality in mockery, and Cicero went even further to claim Caesar lost his virginity to the king.
‘The virginity of the one sprung from Venus was lost in Bithynia.[10]’
However, James was not Julius Caesar.
Even if college men like Lucien viewed him that way.
The grisly truth was that no one in town knew that Elliott, James, Knox, and Finch were related to a man’s murder.
That the reason Elliott went to bed with people was because of night terrors and graphic images of horror that he caused in the manslaughter.
Everyone knew they were there. Most people assumed they witnessed the murder, and let the killer escape.
A hit and run. They didn’t know they caused the death.
Elliott could never let them know the truth.
Lucien composed himself. “Do you know what power you could’ve held as an elector instead of painting planets at least?”
I wanted to be a drummer. Elliott was tired of the senior elector scolding that Elliott should’ve been with him and followed in his footsteps. Lucien had always wanted Elliott at his side, even when they were young. Lucien tried everything to convince Elliott to be with him.
However, Elliott saw right through him.
Lucien wanted to be endorsed by orphans, financially disadvantaged people, and the working class of Banebury.
It would’ve polished his charitable image and sanitized his history of manipulation of young college girls.
He hoped Elliott liked men so that Elliott could be the harmless, fun peer to lure in more girls.
Lucien wanted to be a politician one day. He wanted to be elected the governor of Connecticut.
James’s grandfather had been the former governor of Connecticut. James had denied Lucien any affiliation.
Lucien was the sort of man to burn it all down, if he could not have what he wanted. Elliott denied him an alliance. Therefore, he was gratified to lead Elliott to death.
Elliott examined the trail of trampled footsteps where years of sacrifices were led on sacred grounds. Not many had made it this far north to the mountain range of Marlborough.
The path was outlined in commemorative wildflowers–arrowheads, bluets, fireweeds, harebells.
He counted the hawks in the sky, the spotted geese flying south for open water, the paths lined with meadowsweets, milkweeds, and sundrops.
The snowfall dusted the tops of his feet towards the flat plains ahead.
A river snaked through the mountain range, half-frozen with baby rabbits and juniper berries that reminded him of Kitty. It bled his heart.
Lucien broke into his thoughts. “Do you grasp that you’ve now given up your chance at a future–?”
Elliott bared his teeth. “James won’t be killed. That’s all that matters.”
Lucien rolled his eyes at his na?vety. “James Wilde ruined his life once, it’s only a matter of time before he ruins it again. He’s even ruined your life this time.”
Lucien believed James utilized Elliott for the clean image of friendly relations the working class to appear like a humanitarian. It was what Lucien had tried for years.
“Leave him alone.” Pine needles peppered the heavy river bed. Elliott concentrated on that instead of the tears prickling the corner of his eyes. James didn’t ruin my life. I did.
Lucien halted in his tracks to speak to Elliott. “I could’ve saved you, if you’d asked–”
“Why do you care what happens to me?” Elliott demanded at last, and Lucien’s ears tinted bull red.
“He’s the scourge of the earth.” Even though Lucien sounded composed, his neck muscles went taut. “You will never see him the way I see him.”
“You only hate him because I care about him.”
“That’s not the only reason.”
“Why, are you erratically in love with him then?” Elliott shot back.
Lucien’s nostrils expelled clouds of white.
“How do you think James actually became accepted into the political inner circles with the current governor for debates? What do you think he did in exchange for AEscwulf College to position him that high among ambassadors and emissaries?” Before Elliott could open his mouth, Lucien cut him off coldly.
“Think about it for a fucking second. He was implicated in someone’s incidental murder and he still meets with lawmakers and foreign councilmen.
Why would a dark college like AEscwulf would want a murderer? As a politician?”
“He’s not a murderer. He worked hard. Not to mention, his grandfather was the former governor. You’re resentful because he’s going to become senator one day.” Elliott’s heart hammered as he realized Lucien knew the redacted material in James’s record. How?
Lucien speared another question into Elliott like a lance to the sternum.
“What do you think the theater department actually performs?” Lucien asked him with spiteful amusement when he realized Elliott didn’t understand.
“The honorariums aren’t merely slaughtered; they’re kept alive for weeks–dissected, exsanguinated, and examined in pursuit of alchemy.
The pagan cultists intend to prolong their lives; that has always been the original intent in the establishment of AEscwulf.
Think of dictators, despots, and autocrats that pay the endowment.
The victims are dismembered slowly in torture.
” That was their pleasure of art. Exhilaration filled his eyes as he watched Elliott’s lips part.
“Do you know what the most incult element is–even if the alchemy rumors are nonsense, the real intention is to reinforce their loyalty and commitment to the cult. To indoctrinate them into corruption and power. The bodies don’t even matter. ”
A tear trembled at the edge of Elliott’s chin, plummeting into the snow.
“What, he never told you what he was?”
“He’s not…”
“He’s a cult pledge. He was initiated into a political cult.”