Chapter 2

After a wonderful day together where I continued the narrative of my life in Minneapolis, driving by certain evocative locations, Eva and I ended at the St Paul mansion for dinner. I happily greeted Nick's angels, missing only Salomé and Betty, and my favorite mortals Natasha, who seemed to be Naomi's constant companion, and Lindy. Except for Helena and Zhenzhen, even with only a few hours since I last saw my wives, I gave the warmest greeting to Lindy.

"Missing Angelique already?" I asked her.

"I do," she said.

"You should invite them up," said Nick, whom I hadn't actually noticed standing behind me. "I plan to move things to a place on a lake in Central Minnesota. It served as a dinner theater for many years, the family that owned it deciding to retire since the youngest have become successful in movies, and even the oldest have gotten jobs in Hollywood fairly regularly. There's a half a dozen cabins they used for visiting actors or for rentals for campers, and even a second house besides the theater, which also served as the main home. Like a family farm, a second generation was provided with some privacy with their own house."

"So we can keep Helen's clones separate if they're uncomfortable around you and your angels," Lindy understood. "That's considerate of you, but I don't think it's a problem. Helen's one of yours now, isn't she?"

"I suppose she is."

"And Consuela seems to have gained much greater tolerance towards Miwa for instance, and Helena. I don't know about the other two, but I bet they'll be fine as well."

"Good," Nick smiled.

The consequences of the conversation seemed to have struck Lindy all of a sudden, and with a gorgeous, beaming smile, she wandered off, pulling out her cell phone.

"Bringing Helen back into the fold?" I speculated.

Nick grinned. "Of course, but much more importantly I have a feeling the place will be inspiring for both Lindy and Angelique."

"Why are they key?" I asked him.

"And not you?"

"What? No. That's not what I'm asking. Fuck you."

Nick laughed. "But you are key, Joe, as is Natasha."

"Why?"

"To tell you the truth, I don't know. I have a feeling, but I really don't know with any certainty. Of course I intended to bump into you, to bring you into the fold. Through your mother, and because of your father, I had my eyes on you. I knew you shared potency with your father. You also impressed me with your work, but not only that, Lindy and Natasha impressed me with theirs. I have always had a soft spot for performance. Perhaps my history as priest and mage and wizard has to do with it. I knew that cinema, and especially television, has marginalized theater and dance and especially poetry. Maybe it's an impossible dream, but I envision a resurgence in performance art, giving the public what they miss, the beauty and the depth of live performance. It could possibly be their only means of being entertained, aside from music of course, which is its own kind of poetry when it's verbal, and the Double Q represents beauty at the non-verbal level."

"So you think your efforts, and, perhaps unexpectedly Helen's involvement, has to do with this apocalyptic vision?"

"I don't know. It does make the darkness less dark though. Troubadours and bards and travelling theaters will once more be important like they had been for millennia. Books will continue being produced, and hopefully the beauty of the words and the images will once more be thoroughly appreciated. But even if things don't become so dire, I hope the magnificence that Lindy and Angelique and you and Natasha and even my sweet daughter and her poetry can create will make the experience attending performances an essential one."

"Maybe if we created frothy musicals..." I began.

"Excellent idea," Nick interrupted. "Without perhaps all the frothiness."

"Or intelligence in the froth," Helena added.

Nick laughed. "Most definitely. Finish up. I need to tell my Tale."

Not long after, with angels surrounding Natasha, Lindy and I, all again in delicious dishabille, Nick did begin his Tale of the begetting of Betty.

Actually all he said was, "Salomé?" She had entered the room just as we settled in. Betty still remained absent.

"We took our time," the magnificent African beauty began, "traveling north, leaving many pregnant women in our wake. When we reached the Mediterranean Sea, we found a brutal, corrupt, powerful man, a chieftain whose power came from threats carried out, rapes of wives and children, against any man who dared resist, and even those who didn't. A little coup resulted, with us killing his small band of ruthless henchmen. Handing power to the smartest, if quietest of men, we left a couple of Nick's children who had grown up with us, and whom I had trained to be brilliant warriors, to be his bodyguards and advisors. After feasting on the delicious corrupt flesh, we made our way across the Sea.

"Crossing at night, just the two of us, in a small boat, we landed in Europe, on the future Spain, with no one aware of our presence. We found a quiet place a few yards inland to make a fire and let Nick transform. He ended up handsome, in his usual rugged way, and blonde and pale and thickly built, almost the opposite of what he had been before, and what I look like. I let him rest while burning his old skin, the fire nearly exploding before his skin dissolved into smoke and ash.

"Once fully aware, having been dazed for hours during his transformation, we exchanged smiles. 'Well?' he asked me. Shaking my head and chuckling, I told him we had a long journey ahead to find people for whom he would fit in. Of course I never would, and became his exotic companion.

"After a couple days in our hidden place, feasting on a faun I had killed and preserving some of its flesh for a gift, along with roots and fruit, we headed to a village led by an old minion of his, several generations away from the original inception, but still strong with Nick's presence having mated with other minions over the years. In fact the village contained pretty much all ancestors of Nick, though none knew of his presence in them except the chief."

"You are much changed since I saw you last in my mind," says the chief, a swarthy old man with wrinkles contoured by many smiles. In fact his words have been accompanied by a laugh.

The laugh calms the warriors who have led Nick and Salomé to the large stone dwelling. Curiosity remains, from the odd words, but fear and protectiveness disappear.

"Bring my granddaughter," he orders the young men. When they delay, he does not consider it a rebuke. He laughs again. "Do not worry. I will be safe."

"But Cynthia..."

"She will not affect me either."

They bow to his wisdom and depart.

"What's wrong?" asks Nick, and only then does worry appear on the chief's face.

"A disease has stricken her, as it has stricken her poor mother, my step-daughter, who has succumbed."

"Describe it," asks Salomé.

"They become hot, and their flesh melts away through shit and vomit. We have a healer who attends to the victims, of which there have been several, enough to have built a shelter just outside our village to keep them from affecting the rest of us. The healer for some reason has not been infected, though she has been exiled there as well. She had been a great healer, but cannot heal them to her shame. Not from me, but from her own feelings."

"Do you drink from brackish water?"

"We have a steady stream, with a waterfall above it."

"You use the pool to bathe?"

"Yes, but we wash clothing downstream."

"And your excretions?"

"We bury our feces."

"And your meat?"

"Wild boar and deer and domesticated sheep. We have goats, but use them for milk."

"How well do you cook the pig?"

"We cook it until the outside loses its color. What's left we cure in salt and herbs."

"You need to cook the pig until it is no longer pink. You may have to boil all drinking water, make tea of it or let it cool under cover. Grandfather and I will journey upstream from the waterfall. Perhaps something festers there."

When the chief nods, sounds from the village change, quieting, with a steady murmur.

"You wish me to enter?" they hear from outside the door.

"Enter, healer," the chief commands.

A woman of undefinable age, neither old nor young, and probably younger than she looks, enters carrying a young woman nearly as tall as her, but much frailer, revealing a strength in the healer, opposite to her age, much greater than she appears. Salomé helps the healer lower her burden onto a woolen rug.

"You shouldn't touch her," the healer murmurs.

"I'll be fine," Salomé smiles sadly.

"Grandfather," Cynthia mutters weakly.

"I do not wish to lose you," the chief murmurs.

"But ... we will lose you."

"I am not worried. My friends are here to help."

"I cannot guarantee..." Nick begins.

"We have no other hope," the chief interrupts.

Nick nods.

Pulling a gourd from her bag, Salomé holds Cynthia's head up and brings the opened container to the youngster's lips, slowly pouring the mix of fermented grains, fragrant herbs, essence of Snake and spring water into the woman's mouth. "Keep drinking," she tells her patient.

Stopping when Cynthia can drink no more, Salomé licks the place where the chief's granddaughter's lips have touched and lifts it. "Drink, Chief," she tells him. "It will not infect you. Just being safe."

Unworried, the chief drinks fully from the gourd. Nick takes it from him and replaces the top on it.

Everyone chuckles when, with an unexpected smile, Cynthia says, "Tastes weird, hunh Grandfather?"

"Weird but good," the chief agrees.

"So what do you do differently?" Salomé asks the healer.

"I do not eat flesh, except fish from the sea, raw. I have a cauldron in which I boil roots and herbs and legumes. Except for the stew, I drink only rain water I catch, and if I have none, I neither drink from anything but the stew, nor bathe in anything but the sea."

"You have bathed," says Salomé.

"Yes. It has been wet this time of spring, as it usually is. I also bathe my patients similarly, though when without, I use the stream water, well boiled, to clean them and clean the floors of their excrement. I keep my little home in exile as clean as possible."

"So they drink what you drink, and eat what you eat?"

"Except for the fish, yes."

"Excellent."

"Thank you."

They gaze at each other, liking what they see. Similarly, despite her sickness, Cynthia attracts Nick's gaze with her lovely features and is attracted by his pale, rugged features as well.

"Now young woman," Salomé mutters, almost a scolding tone. "What did you and your mother do differently?"

The sob surprises everyone. "I ... I can't say."

"You must!" her grandfather exclaims, even more surprising in its command and lack of gentleness, revealing another aspect of his leadership besides compassion, wisdom and humor.

"I promised Mother. It was her dying wish," she sobs.

"I don't care about promises when it means the health of my village! Only you and your mother have been stricken lately. We must know why!"

"I thought I could die, and leave our shame alone, like Mother. We worried, but no one asked until now. Now I am cursed for what we did perhaps more than she, even if it killed her."

"What did you do!" the chief roars.

"Quiet," Nick roars even louder in his thunderous voice. Much quieter, he adds, "We must have calm for her to speak." He hands the gourd to Salomé who pours the liquid once more into Cynthia's mouth.

It and the pause calm her.

"Mother never loved Father," she begins.

"A marriage of convenience?" Nick asks the chief.

"An alliance with the neighboring tribe," the chief nods. "She was sister to the current leader, second daughter to the chief when she married my son. She made for a sad bride, but amendable."

"Never amendable, actually," Cynthia says. "When she could, she laid with her true love. Either I or my two brothers could very well be the product of that union. Her being a symbolic trade for peace had less to do with secrecy than the scandal of her love affair with a lowly shepherd."

"That asshole," the chief grumbles.

"Then you do not have such striations here?" Nick asks.

"Never. Of course if one of my people is a lout, I'll do all I can to dissuade a union with one of my family. But he could be the son of a leader of men or a shepherd and still be a lout."

"And arrangement between tribes?"

"A necessity sometimes, and my offspring have never shown any real objections in the end. To tell you the truth, it has its advantages, Nick. Spreading influence through their offspring."

Nick nods. Minions.

Cynthia continues, "I suspected the liaisons. Mother would disappear and return changed. Like afterwards, her and Father had a rare bout of lovemaking. You remember, Grandfather, how she liked to explore, look for interesting plants and flowers?"

"Of course," the chief grumbles, holding back his anger. "But not without protection."

"Which she chose."

"Did she fuck him, too?"

"Not what he wanted. He prefers men."

"But he has three children."

"Part of the bargain. His wife accompanied them. She lay with Mother's lover. Mother laid with her too. The lover had brought a man along for the so called protector. Everyone's satisfied."

"What kind of man is this shepherd?"

"Quiet. Loving. A poet and an artist. He made use of his time doing nothing but watch sheep better than anyone. He had a mentor with similar abilities, not as talented I was told, but a good teacher."

"His father didn't mentor him?"

"His father died. His mother, too, in childbirth. The mentor became his father, and the wife became his mother. It helped that she's the healer in the village, since, like the lover's father, the lover had a frail constitution."

"If he's such a talented man, why didn't his chief notice?"

"You know the chief. A rude man. His father was just as bad. They wouldn't know beauty if it slapped them in the face. And again, the lover is but a shepherd. Anyway, after I began my monthlies, and I guess I became more empathetic about sexual attraction and its consequences, I confronted Mother about my suspicions. She barely blinked an eye, but wanted me to wait until after one of those clandestine meetings.

"The meeting that followed, I understood the purpose of the delay immediately when she met her lover. Accompanying them was about the most beautiful boy I ever laid my eyes upon. He seemed to be smitten with me as well. Leaving the lovers to their tryst, we wandered through the woods, talking, getting to know each other. He ended up being the youngest son of the mentor and the healer. Both had gifted him with their knowledge. He would have us stop and sit and would draw a plant, describing its healing attributes. I asked if he had been gifted with poetry, and he said he had, though with a humbleness I would discover to be undeserved. I admitted to him, for the first time with anyone, that I enjoyed composing poems as well. It was a silly dream of mine that if I found my mate, I would recite to him and only him. None of the village boys interested me. It seemed like we were destined to meet. He genuinely liked the poems, and made me promise to compose one just for us, about us.

"The next time we met, I recited it, by far the longest and most inspired of my compositions. He loved it so much, he kissed me for the first time. We spent the rest of our time exploring each other's bodies. Mostly touching, but kissing as well. I did manage to make him cum, and enjoyed it almost as much as he seemed to. When we heard the signal, a birdsong the lover made, we hurried to them. The lover had become my lover's mentor, and my lover wanted the mentorship to include lessons in lovemaking. The lover readily agreed. Even my mother agreed.

"The last time we met, delaying an excruciatingly long time because of the sickness, our village becoming so guarded and worried about things spreading from outside, when it looked as if it ended, Mother had her supposed guard bring his wife along. We got lessons in giving pleasure from the guard's wife and my Mother's lover. Mother left us to it, but I sensed her watching us. In the end, we watched our teachers fuck, and followed their lead. Afterwards we bathed our sweaty bodies, including the virginal blood from my pussy and thighs, and cleaned our palates of the juice of my pussy my lover shared with me. Then we spied on my mother making love with our two teachers, her pleasure surpassing any of our earlier pleasure at least tenfold. I actually used my fist to give my lover one more orgasm, and nearly came myself just pinching my nipples. My pussy was too sensitive to enjoy my lover's attention."

"So you drank from the water," Salomé asks. "Did you eat anything?"

"Cured pork."

"Could be either," Salomé mutters. "Show us where you made love. Chief, can you make us a travelling palette?"

Cynthia sniffles. "What about my lover? Is he... ?" She bawls.

"Head to the stream," Nick orders. "I will see to the young man."

"I should accompany you," the chief suggests.

"Only if you remain calm."

"How will you know him?" asks Salomé.

"The guard and his wife," the chief mutters.

"Neither had symptoms?" Nick asks.

"None," says the healer. "Perhaps the woman was sensitive because of her pregnancy."

"How could you know?" asks the chief.

"I may be ostracized for now, but I always know the welfare of my village. She is perhaps two months in. I wish to accompany you as well, Chief."

"To aid in healing?"

"I have failed there. Perhaps their healer may know more."

Warriors accompany both Salomé and Nick in their separate journeys. Salomé finds rotting pig corpses a few yards upstream. "I smelled something, but I guess I ignored it," Cynthia admits. The warriors watch Salomé pick up the disgusting corpses and bury them in the shallow graves the warriors have dug. She covers the corpses as well before pulling out a wine skin full of Nick's essence and pouring it on any rocks contacting the corpses and nearby ones, finishing squirting the last of the essence directly into the stream. "You might want to turn your heads," she tells her company before removing her skirt and pissing into the stream. Getting to see even more of this exotic beauty, the warriors ignore her warning.

She giggles at their gaze, and after walking upstream a few feet, removes the rest of her clothing, cleaning them in the stream before tossing them aside. She approaches the wide eyed warriors naked. "I'm horny. You?"

She sees the rise at their groins beneath woolen cover, and feels the turgid flesh directly. "Lie down," she directs one. When he does, she guides his cock into her pussy, the other cock filling her mouth. Too short a time afterwards, the supine one fills her pussy.

"Take off your clothes and take his place," she orders the other one, and he soon discovers the irresistible pleasure his friend has found. "You, too. Get naked." She sucks the quick ejaculator back to stiffness while her pussy continues massaging the deflated penis of the other warrior, who hadn't lasted much longer. "Fuck my mouth," she insists, pulling his glans past her uvula and down her throat. She pulls away before his fucking reaches its conclusion.

Lifting off the slowly growing penis inside her, she shifts down until the cock fills her mouth. Wiggling her tight round butt, she tells the other warrior, "Fuck me. Fuck me hard." He climbs behind her and she guides him in. Quickly building to an impressive speed, her swaying ass encouraging it while causing greater impact with each hard thrust, he manages to last just long enough for her climax to finally arrive. While stilled, feeling the hot ejaculate throb out inside her, her mouth and throat continue their work impaling the other cock until its expansion signals release, and she pulls it to her mouth to taste the semen and feel it spurt.

"Good job, men," she grins, moving off the two cocks and surprising them with kisses. Her strength prevents their mouths from separating. "Maybe not so good," she scolds them. "A good cocksucking should always be rewarded by an appreciative kiss." She could see her message probably hadn't been accepted. She sighs, and sighs again when the penises disappear behind wool. "Wish I'd kept some lubricant," she mutters to herself. "A nice double penetration would have done wonders."

"And I thought my mom was a horny slut," Cynthia comments from her palette. The warriors look pale, realizing their audience which sexual intoxication has somehow caused them to forget.

Salomé kneels beside her and leans into her ear. "Did you enjoy that?"

"I did," the youngster admits.

"You want me to make you cum?"

"Yes, but not here."

"I could send them off for some medicinal herbs."

"Could you?"

Salomé chuckles and stands, pulling a slate board from her bag and chalk, drawing an herb she saw several yards away on their way, and handing it to the warriors. "Go," she orders. "And take your time. She'll be safe with me."

They reluctantly agree.

"Hungry?" Salomé asks the pretty young woman.

"Yes actually."

"You look much better already," Salomé smiles, handing her some dried venison and pours a cup of the medicine.

"I feel better. I feel horny."

They share a giggle. Cynthia shifts onto her elbow enabling her to sip from the cup. Salomé lifts her blanket off her legs and above her groin.

"What are you doing?" Cynthia asks.

"I'm hungry too."

"But ... I'm dirty down there," Cynthia squeaks as Salomé licks along her inner thighs, quickly working towards her center.

"The healer cleaned you thoroughly, didn't she?"

"She didn't even seem to mind the mess."

"Because she loved your clean pussy, honey, just like me," Salomé winks before diving in.

"But ... Ooh ... Gods."

Squirming under the onslaught, food and drink forgotten, Cynthia watches in awe as the dark beauty gives her more pleasure than she ever thought imaginable. That those lovely brown eyes never leave hers only increases the intensity. When she reaches down to her taut nipples, Salomé nudges her hands aside and pulls her dress above them and adds perfect pressure to them to her recipe for bringing ecstasy.

Salomé knows the limitation of time and Cynthia's weakened state, so she builds the lovely youngster to the edge only once before easing back and driving the second rise to full completion. Even then, Cynthia writhes and stiffens and nearly blanks out from the intensity of it. Her exultant moan could have been much louder, but it still can be heard by their protectors. Salomé's exceptional hearing warns her of their approach, and covers the young beauty before they arrive.

"Need help eating?" she asks Cynthia, whose orgasm hasn't quite abated.

"I can do it," Cynthia replies, but finds moving her arms a struggle which, in her blissed state, she decides not to pursue. "I guess I could use some help." They both giggle.

Salomé places the youngster's pretty head onto her lap, stroking through the soft, dark hair while bringing the shards of dried venison to appreciative lips. The cup soon follows.

"Did you find the herb?" Salomé asks the warriors, knowing the answer even before their bowed embarrassment.

"We heard noises," explains one of them.

"I told you she's in good hands," Salomé scolds. "Never mind. We can gather them on the way home."

Meanwhile, further upstream, Nick and the chief encounter a surprisingly unwelcoming warrior. "You do not recognize me?" asks the chief.

"Uncle did not tell me of your arrival."

"So I need permission to walk these lands that your uncle and I have agreed to share?"

"No, but..."

"And my friends here would threaten your village?" the chief gestures towards the two guards and his healer.

"No, but Uncle is not prepared to receive you."

"I do not come here to visit your uncle, though I may later to salve my curiosity about certain things. I wish only to visit with your healer and her family. Will you guide me to them?"

"They have once more been quarantined. The sickness striking her own this time."

"That is why we seek her," says the healer. "And why this stranger accompanies us. He has a cure."

"Our healer has found one as well, though not always successful."

"Mine succeeds," says Nick. "Always."

"Then I will show you the way," says the warrior. He guides them within a few yards of a small hut at the edge of the village, and points the rest of the way needed to go.

"Keep vigilant," the chief tells his two guards before announcing his presence outside the house.

"You should not be here," says a woman gracefully entering old age. She meets the other healer's eyes, and they nod to each other.

"How is your son and your adopted son?" asks Nick.

"Uhm... ," she looks worriedly at the chief.

"I know of the cuckolding," the chief quietly growls, his anger somewhat restrained.

"My youngest remains suffering. My oldest has taken the cure well."

"Then you have found a cure," says the visiting healer excitedly.

"It works sometimes," the older healer almost smiles at the younger one's excitement. "We should trade knowledge."

"I would like that."

"As would I." She looks at the chief. "You are not worried?"

"I have taken my friend's cure, one he used to make my granddaughter better." the chief replies, gesturing towards the exotic blond. "But it doesn't seem to be as threatening to others as we had thought."

"No it isn't, as long as you are careful." Again she nods in silent agreement with her compatriot. "Enter then. Your presence is most welcome."

Though clean, the small room contains the odor of sickness. Three pallets fill much of the space.

"Your husband?" asks Nick.

"He stays with our children in our main house."

A moan emanates from one of the beds while the older healer introduces her adopted son who looks somewhat emaciated but with a much more healthy color to his skin than the young man in the other bed. The older man remains lying down, but rests his head on his hand watching the situation. Nick hands him the curative and commands him to drink.

A cup he has poured out he brings to the bed of the stricken youngster. Sitting at the head of the bed, he gently pulls the young man to lay his upper body against him and places the cup at the youth's mouth. "Drink. Drink it all," Nick commands. Patiently tilting the cup, letting sip after sip eventually drain it, Nick asks for more and pours another half cup into the ailing teen.

Nearby, the chief asks the recovering man, "Did your chief know of your trysts with his daughter?"

"His father knew," the man answers uncomfortably.

"That is why he chose her as a trade for peace."

"Yes."

"I imagine that did not endear him to you."

"No. But he was not an endearing man. He demanded respect and obedience, but never expected to be loved. To tell you the truth, it would have ended badly no matter what. I know I risk your ire, but having her close ended up being better than a life of punishment or our banishment. He never dared to kill me, fearing my adopted mother's wrath, her supposed magic."

"And his son?"

"Of the same cloth."

"Did they know of your continuing trysts?"

"I ... I don't know."

"They could have made it useful, making me seem weak, allowing my son to be cuckolded."

The older healer answers, "They feared your power and the great respect of your village for you. They didn't understand it, your benevolence compared to their use of fear and arrogance to remain leaders, but knew, with your greater numbers and the devotion your people held for you, that any threat to you would be a mistake."

"But my son..."

"Yes. I believe they hoped for your early death."

"Speaking of death," Nick joins in, "when did the wasting disease come to your village?"

"About a year ago," the healer replies.

"Ours started three seasons ago," the chief tells them.

"About when I found the problem and a cure," the healer relays.

"And what was the problem?" Nick asks.

"Pig. Both its consumption without adequate cooking, and a rotted corpse infecting a pool of water. It was easy to discover. All who drank from it suffered. And those who preferred their meat undercooked also became infected."

"And the cure?" asks the younger healer.

"Lots of boiled liquid with meat and vegetables. Some herbs and bark to soothe and replenish energy. I will show you."

"Did it always work?"

"No."

"Mine never did. Perhaps I should have added meat, but feared it might make them worse."