Prophecy of Noto Ch. 03

The king pulled Toma half way down on his cock and began to lift him and bring him down, beginning the rhythm of the fuck.

After the initial cry and groan, Toma began to pant and moan. "Nay, my king. Sheath your sword in its entirety. I must have it all."

To the king's amazement, Toma did take it all. The king had never before fully sheathed his sword; he had killed many a wife and concubine trying to do so. And after the king had given over his seed, Toma refused to release him, clamping down his channel muscles tight and demanding a second ride and then a third—until the king, virile as he was, had no more kingly seed to give, no more power in his pelvis and thigh and buttocks muscles, and just lay back, exhausted and sighing the satisfaction of total fulfillment.

Toma slithered up to where his lips were at the ear of the king.

But the king spoke first. "You are no innocent young man; you are a king's catamite, are you not?"

"Yes, lord, Toma answered in a whisper. I was the Lord of Sorso's catamite, but he did not satisfy me, and then the Lord of Jerzu's, and he did not satisfy me. And then both lords at once, both working their shafts inside me, and still they did not satisfy me. Three men have I taken at once, and still I was not touched to the quick. I went to the prince, and he did not satisfy me. But I satisfied him, and he confided in me. And I had heard about you and that you had the most magnificent member in all the world. And so I came to you. And you satisfy me, my lord. You, today, have reached me to the very center—not once but three times. You are an elephant of men."

They kissed, the king's vanity stroked to the limit, lost in love, blind to love and his Nubian lover from this point forward.

"And in your satisfying of me, I must tell you all. I must whisper it in your ear as even the walls of your palace have ears and tongues that speak to the Prince of Madness. You must not believe in your oracle. The Prince of Madness has suborned your oracle. It is not the beach at Cefalu where the attack will occur. It is the beach of Gela, on the other side of the island. You must gather your forces there."

"But the oracle—"

"Bought and paid for by the Prince of Madness, who is not really that. He is really the Prince of Darkness. I know as no other man does. His cock is as long as yours, but it is not as thick. It is not an honest sword. It is a serpent's tongue, hissing and slithering inside me. And it is as black as his heart. I cannot let this prince prevail over you. That is why I have come to you."

"But I go to the oracle tomorrow."

"No matter what it says, you must announce the truth and prepare for war in the right place. But now you must sheath your sword inside me once again. The very quick of me wants to feel the prick of your blade tip."

The cries and sighs and moans emitted by Toma during this fourth cocking assured the king that he satisfied his Nubian lover in each successive sheathing more than the previous one.

Such was King Xera's vanity. And such was his undoing.

The next day King Xera made the last of three ceremonial visits to the oracle. And, sure enough, the word that was whispered and echoed all around the smoky cave walls was "Cefalu."

"It repeated 'Cefalu' for the third time, but, even as you say, I think I could hear the treachery in its voice," the king whispered to his new catamite when he returned from visiting the oracle in private so that his court did not know the consultations were finished and when they were alone inside the canopy of the king's bed. "But the more I think on it, the more I hear the true oracle whispering the name of the beach at Gela to me. This is not the first I have heard of the beach. This is where the little Aramean lad who came to me told me of the presence of the prince of the oracle as well as where the prince could be found—but who was not there when my men searched him out. Yes, that makes sense. But what can I do?" the king moaned into Toma's ear as he cuddled the Nubian into his belly and entered him deeply. "I certainly cannot tell my people that my Nubian lover has told me the Oracle at Noto lies. They would pull me apart limb from limb and feed me to the Galotes. I am not mighty enough to withstand all of the men who would align against me. And they think you are dead, anyway, sacrificed on the altar of the sun."

"There is no problem, my King and the sovereign of my channel," Toma whispered in the king's ear as he pushed the king on his back and straddled his hips and began his own soothing ritual once more. "You go alone to the cave, saying this is the final consultation. Merely say that you went in and the name whispered was 'Gela.' And that as you were leaving the cave in confusion, the oracle called you back—twice—and the name 'Gela' echoed each time, providing the three declarations that told you the truth."

"I don't know. I . . . Oh . . . my ancestors!" Toma had descended full way on the Sword of Xera and was sheathing and unsheathing it and melting away all of the king's concerns and reason.

And thus it was so. King Xera declared that the oracle had saved its third, and authoritative, pronouncement for the beach of Gela, and his generals and armies and people believed it was so without reservation and planned their defenses accordingly.

On the day of his ceremoniously orchestrated departure for Gela, as the king was putting on his armament before leaving the palace at Enna, Toma came to him, a dirk hidden in the lining of his robe. "Let me go with you, King Xera. Let me show my loyalty and pledge of truth by riding with you."

"No, little one," the king replied. "You ride with me as far as the village of Favara, in heavy disguise, but no farther than that. You are unknown in my world, having already been thought to have been sacrificed to the Sword of Xera on the altar of the sun. I cannot give you up, but neither can I display you. And I cannot trust those I am leaving here to protect you. It's a simple village, but they are my kinsmen, and they will give you sanctuary. There will be no guards, no sign that the king's most precious treasure resides there."

King Xera had made these arrangements, as he had no intention of going into battle with the Arameans himself—and he saw no reason to share his duplicity with his devoted catamite.

Toma secretly rejoiced at the naming of the village of Favara, for he already knew there was a treasure there—nay, two treasures. And, although he fingered his hidden dirk, he knew now that the Watchman had told him true—that, although what he did would lead to the removal for all time of King Xera, it would not be Toma's hand that did the dispatching. Strangely enough, the Watchman had said that Toma had other, far more valuable talents and gifts than that of a warrior.

On the day of the invasion of the kingdom of Akamantis on the island of Li', in the month that Akamantis came under the sway of the country of Aram, Toma was standing tall on the cliff overlooking the beach at Cefalu to welcome the arrival of his sovereign and lover, the Prince of Madness, and a mighty force that included the contingents of the Lords of Sorso and Jerzu. In far off Enna, the allied forces were already inside the walls of the capital before the army King Xera had arrogantly and secretly sent forth to the beach as he himself returned to the comfort of his palace, even realized that they had been duped by a small Nubian spy with a talent fit for a king.

Transporting back to Enna on the winds of the Watchman's magic, Toma was set down on the top of the breached bastion wall in time to see the figure of his half-brother, Cleus, at the forefront of the fighting, slashing his way into the inner circle of King Xera's defenses and to the king himself. The Nubian's heart leaped with joy at each avenging thrust from Cleus's sword into the heart of the traitorous principal murderer of his father, Cletar.

Standing beside Toma a wizened, bent old man in a dark brown cloak laid a trembling hand on the arm of the small Nubian he had trained ever so well. "Have you had your fill of the sight of the Aram forces in victory, my son? Do you not wish to return now to Favara—to the arms of your wife, Maia, and of your own young son?"

"Yes, I am ready, Watchman," Toma murmured. "But what of you? And how does this help our goal for the Prince of Madness to hold sway in Akamantis as well as Aram?"

"All in good time, my son. You have done well; this is all according to plan. I remain in Enna for now. There is much more that is to be done."

"And so we part here? I have done my part?"

"We part here for now, yes. But as far as doing your part, no, my son, it will seem to you someday that your part had not even started at this point. And we will surely meet again. In Enna."

The Watchman almost told Toma right there and then of his destiny, but still he was not fully believing in the inevitability of the Prophecy of Noto nor of the inclinations and intentions of Prince Cleus. And so he held his tongue and did not presume to speak for the oracle. Even in his ancient years, he was capable of learning and biding his time. He had done enough meddling in the ways of oracles and the gods already.