A Servant of Wisdom
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft, Ma/ft, Consensual, Paranormal, Polygamy/Polyamory, First, Pregnancy, Nudism,
Desc: Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - "God appeared to Abram, and said unto him, I am El Shaddai." A Tree. A Mighty Oak. A Goddess of old. Tom heard her. Heard a God of his ancestors make a covenant with him, him and his descendants. All it would require... was a sacrifice. (Author's Note: followers of the God of Abraham may find this tale annoying)
A new start
Tom closed the door to his old Ford hatchback. It slammed with the familiar sound that said it had probably latched all the way, but maybe not. That meant there would be some trouble opening the thing, although usually the problem existed while you were inside. He hadn't had to roll down the window to use the exterior handle in awhile, though. Such good fortune could not last.
He looked around. He had almost missed it. There was no road here, exactly, leading through the metal gate. No sign. Just a larger than normal flat grassy pull off next to the two lane forest road, a wood post, barbed wire fence, and a padlocked gate. Tom felt the key in his pocket, next to the map. Both were a mystery.
The soles of his sneakers were thin, the rocks hidden in the grass sharp. This must have been a stone covered parking spot at some point, before nature took its course. It probably could be paved, if he was going to...
Tom shook his head. He had to nip that thought in the bud. He was unemployed. Broke. There was no money for this. No money for living. He was here to look at his unexpected property, live on it for a few days to save on hotel costs, and try and sell it. Maybe get enough to get his life together.
If it wasn't too late.
Standing before the gate, Tom reached out to tug on the lock. The metal was rusted, but it held. Maybe the key wouldn't work. Well, wouldn't that suck donkey balls. Come across half the state, up into the Adirondack's, everything he owned stuck in the back of a ten year old car, and not be able to get into the reason he was here. How would he pay for a hotel? He had SOME money, what was left after selling his furnishings and settling the back rent on his old apartment, but it wasn't much. A hotel would eat up everything. Maybe he could just pitch his tent next to the car, in the rocky grass. It didn't look like many cars used this road.
Or he could just try the key. He laughed. It was definitely easy to fall back into assuming everything would go wrong. The idea of life and luck finally turning his way would take some getting used to. If, in fact, it was the case. It didn't pay to get your hopes up. What was the saying? "When God closes a door, he opens a window"? Whoever came up with that never considered that a window is a smaller opening and hard to use, and may be a couple stories up in the air.
Reaching into his pocket, Tom pulled out the envelope. It was addressed to him. That, at least, was certain. The enclosed letter had his full name right. Yet, it did have to be a mistake. Tom had no relative named Shedeur. Certainly not one who would mention him in his will, let alone leave him over two square miles of empty forest in the middle of a state park. Mystery upon mystery.
The silver key fell into his hand. It was shiny. New. So obviously not the key for this lock he had to laugh again. It was stupid. Life was stupid. Grabbing the rusted lock with his left hand, he inserted the key.
It turned easily.
Tom stood there, in shock, as the gate swung silently inward. The rocky grass continued on for ten feet or so, room enough to pull his car in, maybe. Beyond that were trees. Old, yet healthy, with thick underbrush, the green of spring leaves filling the branches. Bird song was everywhere. Where the grass touched the forest ... a path.
Why he had kept his camping gear, two decades after leaving scouts, he had no idea. Maybe he had hoped, in some future time, to be able to go off into the wilderness with a girlfriend, or wife. Or by himself, to just commune with nature. Maybe never to return.
It was getting harder to stave off that idea. Life ... had become a chore. Something he did, without joy. Without meaning. There was an end to it, yes. An end he could move towards slowly ... or quickly. The deals he had made with himself, the goals he had set, which he had to live to see to completion, were no more. Rather than give him hope for a future, they sat there as reminders of past failure, mocked him as a dream never to be fulfilled.
No one would miss him, if he vanished.
With a sigh, Tom settled the shoulder straps, the backpack a bit heavy but the weight distributed well. He had considered going on with just a water bottle, waiting to see what was awaiting him before lugging camping gear in. Something, though, as he had taken a half step though the gate, compelled him to take all he needed now. To enter as if he was to stay.
The car was locked. Whether it could be unlocked, that was always uncertain, but worst case he could go in through the back hatch. He had a metal canteen hung from his shoulder, complete with faded Boy Scout logo on its fabric covering, filled with water from a rest stop restroom some ways back. A second one, newer and plastic, attached to his belt. Both a sleeping bag and dome tent were bungie corded to the metal pack frame. Wishing he had a hat, Tom walked forward through the gate.
Something was different.
He noticed that immediately. The air felt ... he couldn't explain it. Tom felt refreshed. Awake. Almost like going from a smoke filled room into the clean summer air, yet the air had already been as fresh and pure as Tom had ever breathed. The pack felt lighter, too. Leaving the gate open, he moved across the grass. The rocks weren't as sharp as he had feared, nowhere near as sharp as they had been around his car. The ground under his sneakers actually felt ... nice.
Without hesitation, Tom walked into the forest. The path was virgin, no footprints visible, yet it also was clear and easy to travel. Roots and rocks, where they did cross the path, acted as natural steps. The air around him was cool, comfortable. Shafts of light came through the trees, giving it all a mysterious, almost spiritual air.
All thoughts of the outside world wiped from his mind, Tom continued onward.
The sound of the brook welcomed Tom into the clearing. He stopped, the rays of the sun feeling just as refreshing stepping into them as it had felt stepping into the shade half an hour before. Eyes closed, he raised his face to the sun. It almost seemed to caress him, like the hands of a woman. A sigh escaped his lips.
A splash broke the spell, but only slightly. Eyes opening, he saw a bird, hawk or eagle he was too ignorant to say, fly off with a small fish in its claws. Fish ... he could fish here. Tom had always loved fishing, when his father had taken him. Sensing this was his destination, he let his pack fall to the ground at the edge of the forest, walking forward through the tall grass. The clearing was the size of a baseball diamond, maybe more. It was flat, open. A stream wandered through, flowing east to west. Tom smiled as he remembered an old Scoutmaster telling the boys that all rivers flowed south, so you could find your way home using them when lost. His own Dad had laughed, naming a half dozen that flowed otherwise, including three local ones.
Wisdom did not always come with age, or authority.
He walked up to the stream. It was deep, deep enough for fish worth catching. At its widest the water was ten feet across, although flat stones made a ford where the banks closed in to almost half that. The water was clear. Pure. Looking to his right, Tom saw a flat rock right on the bank. Unthinking, his worn sneakers found themselves in the grass a few feet away, as did his socks. Sitting on the stone, Tom let his feet dangle into the slow moving water. It felt ... Good. Right.
The voice came from everywhere. Tom was not startled. Part of him, he thought, had been expecting this. A part of him long hidden under cynicism, and despair. His mind was in a fog, yet he thought clearly. Getting to his feet, the hard rock warm against his bare soles, he looked east. There, not far from where the stream flowed from the forest, lay another path. He walked toward it.
Singing. He heard singing. As soon as his feet crossed under the branches arching above him, song filled his head. It sang of life. Of wisdom. Of obedience. The trees, white birch, seemed to lean over the path, branches entwining. They formed a wall, the pines and maples of the rest of the forest hidden. Tom could feel the ground rise, could see the end of the path, bright white light framed by two trees.
Entering the hilltop, he saw Her.
The Oak tree sat in the center of the circular mound. It rose forty feet, bark pure white. Its branches divided in graceful curves, pointing upwards towards the sun. Its leaves almost sparkled, sometimes green, sometimes silver, always beautiful.
"Come," the voice said again. It was Female. Wise. Tom had no choice but to obey.
As he approached, Tom had enough of his wits still to marvel at the ground under him. His bare feet felt like they were walking on silk, even as his eyes showed just undisturbed grass. Coming before the Oak, he saw a large flat rock before it. Three feet high, maybe four feet long, it was dark with age. With ... power.
Tom knelt before the altar. He knew that's what it was. And he knew who was before him. Even before she spoke again, he knew ... knew...
"Yes," the voice said, seeming to come from every branch of the Oak. "You know me. Have known me. I have had many names. I was Shaddai, when I changed Abram to Abraham. I was Wisdom, when the world came to me with sacrifice. I was Ashratah, when the profane rejected me from my own house."
"And how may I call you, Lady?" It came out of Tom a whisper, and he wondered that he could speak at all. The Oak pulsed, its leaves singing.
"I am Wisdom. Other names you will learn, if you displease me."
"Why am I here?" He was a nobody. A failure. This was a god. No ... GOD. Why... ?
"I know you, Thomas. Watched you. I will make my covenant between me and you, and your descendants after you throughout their generations for an everlasting covenant, to be God to you and to your descendants after you. And I will give this land, for an everlasting possession. For Wisdom has blessed you, and yours. You will worship me, honor me, as is your duty."
"The first fruit of your labors will you give to me, until the end of days. So shall the covenant be sealed."
His mind was confusion. He needed time. Time to think. Her presence was overwhelming. To ... to serve a God. To be a new Abraham, or Adam! Slowly, Tom pressed his forehead to the ground.
"Yes, my Lady."
Alice could not decide if she had chosen wisely in life.
Leaving, she knew, had been wise. Leaving that horrible, hope destroying home. Leaving the family that, while genetically hers, sanity demanded she reject. Bruises, both physical and mental, could heal. But that required time. Distance. Distance from their source.
Well, She was far away now.
Most teens, when they run away, go to the city. Go to where there are others like them, where they can find a home yet fade into the shadows. Where there is opportunity. Alice had been in the city. Had grown up seeing such kids on the streets. Been smart enough to know she did NOT want to end up there. Thus ... she had fled to nowhere.
Leaning back against the counter, she looked around the general store. You saw such places in movies, on TV. The no stop sign town with one store that sold everything. Food, fishing poles, postcards ... if the tourist or local needed something and didn't want to drive thirty miles to a "real" town, they came to Nathan's Hunting Supplies. Prices were high, but so is the cost of gas. The store was clean, neat. Well run. She knew that as soon as she got here. As soon as she saw the job posting online, truth be told. Something about it had screamed to her that this was it. Her refuge. Two hundred miles from home.
They wouldn't look for her, she knew. Report her. That would invite questions. Questions her family, her father, would not want. The school would be told she was gone to live with some relative. Friends ... her friends ... they...
Sleigh bells tinkled as the door to the shop opened. Pushing herself off to stand behind the register, Alice brushed her hands down her brown apron as the man entered.
"Hello! Welcome to Nathan's!"
He wasn't a local. Alice knew that, or thought she knew it. Having only been there a week, she most likely hadn't seen ALL those who lived in town (which, really, they seemed to define as anyone within a gallon of gas from the store). She had seen many, though, especially the men, as they came to check out the New York City girl now in their midst. Offers to go to the local bar had been turned down every day so far, protests that she was just sixteen met with counter offers to share a six-pack in the back of their pickup. That, she figured, must be what counts as a pickup line in these parts.
The man in the store did not have the look of one of these. For one, he obviously did not know this place. After a nod to her, he just slowly walked around, taking inventory. He did not look like a tourist, either, be it hunter or nature lover. His build was average, not muscular, or particularly weak. A few inches below six foot, maybe, hair light brown and short, clad in slightly dirty jeans and a faded blue t-shirt that said "This was witty when I bought it". All in all, just some guy.
Alice's eyes followed him as he walked past a wooden barrel filled with fishing poles. Something about him was strange. Or interesting. Strangely interesting, maybe. She watched him stop to examine one of the long flexible poles, checking the price. The shake of the head told her the man would continue on, but after another few moments he seemed to grab one at random. She smiled.
"Can I help you with anything?"
Her voice seemed to startle him. Brown eyes looked up. Large, shining brown eyes. Alice found herself wetting her lips.
"Um," the stranger said, looking around. Her body tensed, ready to go over there. His head was shaking 'no', though, as he looked back. "The list of needed help is a bit too large at the moment. Let me whittle it down a touch."
"Whittling knives are up here in the case."
He smiled. The stranger smiled at her. Why that seemed so important, Alice couldn't say.
Mr. Falk (Alice could not, as he tried to insist she do, call him Nathan) had not tried to sleep with her. Had not given her the run of his house, or even let her crash on his couch. So far, there had not even been any flirting. She was glad of that. One reason for coming out here was to try and avoid using her body as currency. In the city, she knew, it likely would be her only option. But, her boss WAS cute, for all he was probably three times her age, and her ego was a bit hurt that he hadn't even tried.
Plus, if she was in his bed, she wouldn't be spending her nights in a tent.
It was a good tent. She wasn't complaining there. Old as the canvas dwelling might be, it was large, with lots of room for her to change and lounge around. It had been in storage, probably to be cut up Mr. Falk had said. He had set it up for her in his back yard, with a warning that her silhouette would be visible to anyone walking by if she had a bright light in there at night. Only one other house was visible, but the point was taken. A rain fly had also been donated, in case the tent itself was no longer waterproof, as well as two old sleeping bags. One to sleep in, the other to sleep on.
She WAS allowed to use his bathroom.
Alice settled down onto her two mattresses, the evening still warm. She had eaten a bit, a meatloaf sandwich at the diner across from the store. Mrs. Wither was giving her a discount, knowing Mr. Falk wasn't paying her all that much. They were definitely being nice. Perhaps they were so used to the story of troubled kids going to the city, the idea of one coming out here touched them. It had to be the main reason he had given Alice the job. Surely he could get a local girl to do this, without the hassle. Unless there was something she didn't know yet.
Which again brought her to why he wasn't hitting on her.
Alice closed her eyes. Why had she done this. Left school. She was now a dropout. A dropout! Her! There was no going to school here, not if she expected to work enough to support herself. The tent would not be there for her come winter. She had to get settled enough to get an apartment. If they had apartments in this place. Maybe a cheap hotel that rented by the week.
Or some guy she could shack up with.
No. Again, she could have just as well done that in the city. Alice was not going to be some farmer's woman, or a hunter's snuggle bunny.
But what if he looked like the man from the store?
The cell phone jarred her out of sleep.
Alice did not reach for it right away. She lay there, eyes open in the dark, listening to the Madonna song play. It could be anyone. Her parents. The police. Police ... wouldn't that be the logical thing to do? Call her, get her location that way? They could do that, right? But her parents would not have gone to the police. Biting her lip as she sat up, sleeping bag falling away from her nude body, she reached for the phone. The screen had barely flashed on, revealing a phone number, before she had the rectangle of metal and glass at her ear.
"Alice!" The voice was crying. Krissy was crying. Alice grabbed the phone with both hands, body tense. The tent vanished. Before her, she saw her friend, eyes red, slightly overweight form shaking. Alice closed her own eyes, but the vision stayed.
"Krissy! What's wrong?!"
"He ... He ... He hit me! Hit me!"
Her eyes squeezed shut tighter, tears coming. The bastard. BASTARD! And she was here! What good could Alice do here?! Fucking bastard!
"Call the cops. 911. Do it, Krissy! Do it! You'll be safe!"
"They didn't do anything last time!"
"It will be different! Just call them! Are you OK? Did he hurt you?"
"No." There was a loud sniffle. "No, I'm OK. He slapped me. In front of Zak. I've got to get out of here. Help me get out of here, Alice. We have to get out of here..."
"Why did you leave me? Alice, why did you LEAVE?"
"You didn't want to come!" Alice bowed her head. "I asked! You didn't want to come! Remember?"
"I didn't want you to leave!"
Alice's forehead throbbed. She shouldn't have left. Krissy was right. But Krissy should have come! Could have! But she shouldn't have abandoned her friend! Damn it, she was selfish! She was a selfish bitch!
"Dad took my money." Krissy's voice was angry now. "All of it. We can't leave without money, Alice. I'm not going onto the street. Please." Her voice broke on the final word.
"Krissy ... I..."
"Please. I beg you. We'll do anything..."
"We're friends," Alice said. Her shoulders straightened, composure returning. "You don't owe me anything." She sighed, tired mind trying to think. "Maybe ... maybe I can buy a bus ticket for you online. The same one I took. You'll have to walk a ways after the last bus, or I can ask Mr. Falk to come get you..."
"Two tickets. Zak is coming. I can't leave Zak."
"That's why I didn't come, Alice! I couldn't leave my brother! There's no way I'd leave him here. Dad will kill him!"
"I don't know, Krissy..."
"We'll work. Both of us. Don't even have to pay us. Please. Please..."
She didn't have the money. One ticket, maybe, yes, she could do that, although she'd have to ask one of the locals to put it on their credit card, but she'd be able to hand them cash to make good on it. But, two...
Alice's shoulders slumped.
"I'll try. God damn it, I'll try, Krissy. Get somewhere safe. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Thank you! Oh, God, thank you!"
"Just ... get somewhere safe. Please."
"We will. Bye!"
Alice heard the phone go dead. Her friend's voice continued to speak. Continued to plead.
"Please," Alice whispered, phone dropping to the ground. "Please, God ... help her..."