DARK WAS THE PATH
By Delta
2nd Edition Copyright 2011
Smashwords edition
Smashwords edition License Notes:
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Cover Design by Delta
Dark Was the Path 1st Ed. 2000.
To contact Delta: mailto:thedeltonian@gmail.com
This ebook is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains explicit sexual content and uses graphic language, which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store this ebook where minors may not access it.
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, are 19 years of age or older, and any similarity to actual events or real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Other Works by Delta:
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This manuscript uses Canadian Spelling.
DARK WAS THE PATH
by Delta (c) 2011
Dark was the path. The rising wind blew branches together and wailed through the tops of the trees. Down below, the forest offered protection from the force of the wind, but the sound of it drowned out all else. Someone could be walking two steps behind me and I'd never hear him. I'd know nothing until the hand came down upon my shoulder . . . or worse. It did not feel good, and I quickly turned, my eyes trying to pierce the darkness.
Nothing. Nothing, but I did not laugh at my foolishness, for I was not being foolish. Nothing, but that nothing did not relieve me. Nothing, perhaps . . . nothing, yet.
I drew my cloak more tightly about me as I ventured deeper into the forest. Now and anon the moon would shine, full and bright, through a break in the clouds. During those fleeting moments I looked quickly around. I looked but saw nothing. Nothing but the gaunt skeletons of trees, through whose fallen leaves I now kicked my way.
My heart beat faster. Why was I doing this? What drew me to the depths of the forest upon this night? A double knock of branch against branch had me spinning, breath catching in my throat. Wildly I looked about. Nothing.
Yet it wasn't nothing. Somehow I sensed a difference between the wind's unknowing violence in the branches and this. The ear can hear. Our senses, which we rarely use to the full, can rightly judge the deliberateness of that which is not caused by random gusts of wind.
Again. And again I spun—the sound from behind. My hood blew off and my long black hair, now set free, streamed in the wind which grew ever more forceful. I climbed through the thinning trees to the top of a small knoll, away from the sound.
I felt electricity in the air, and all the tiny, invisible hairs of my arms rose. It was near. Close, and I wanted nothing more than to turn back. Back the way I'd come. But it was close, and the way back not an option. They were behind me, pushing me ever onwards. They, whoever—whatever—they were.
The wind at the top of the knoll blew with a fearsome power. I relaxed my hold upon the cloak and it fluttered out behind me as I faced into the wind. It pressed the cloth of my blouse hard against my breasts, my body outlined against the sky, for any below who might stand watching—and watching they were. I could feel it.
How long I stood there, I know not. Darkness surrounded me, yet I remained safe. Safe as long as I stood, face into the wind, upon that knoll. Safe under the moon, under the scudding clouds, baring my soul and all that I was to the elements. None could touch me upon the knoll. And the wind blew through my hair, through my clothes and, when I opened my mouth to it, through me. I was at one with it, and strong. Here, none could match my strength . . . or so it felt.
Yet, on the knoll I could not stay. Disdaining to wrap the cloak about me once more, I began the descent. Long steps, careless in the darkness, heedless of the stone which might turn the ankle, of the root which might trip, of the hole which might catch the foot and break the leg.
Let them come now! Let them try me, for I no longer feared! It had never felt like this before. I wondered how long it would last; wondered when the fear would rise like it had every time previous, its tendrils stifling and cold. I wondered, but I did not wait for it. Instead I strode forth, onwards.
How I managed to keep my confidence I know not, for the forest watched. Eyes watched. Feline eyes, yea, and others. Why I felt not the cold, I cannot tell. My cloak remained open, my warmth a gift to the forest, freely given, yet maintained.
Sooner than I expected, I saw it. In the distance the bonfire flickered. I looked around, seeking landmarks. Larger: the circle was larger this time. What did that portend? I turned toward the flickering flames, my pace slower though not timid. Not yet.
The wind dropped away and all that lived in me screamed out to leave this unnatural calm. I walked on, head held high, watching for the one who would come to me, who always came.
How could this calm exist, when the fire still flickered its essence to the wind?
Figures moved from the shadows, dancing a strange dance, moving to an unheard drum beat. Then I entered within and I, too, heard the drums, and my body began moving in the prescribed way, the way it knew, though I did not.
More figures this time. Each indistinct, each aware of me, of each other. We moved about the fire, swirling like eddies of air caught by the flames, drawn in and tossed out again. The flames alternately lit and left us. I looked at no one's face and none looked at mine.
The smell of smoke in the air came from a wood I didn't know, smoke which I breathed in, smoke which inflamed my senses. My hand reached out into the smoke and darkness; another hand met it, held it. The one.
I pulled him forward and looked upon his face as he looked upon mine. I saw strength and intelligence; however, I did not see a face of our world, of our time. Always before I had struggled against the inevitable, struggled against my own body as it betrayed me. Not this time.
The furs were dark and soft. My bare feet revelled in the warmth as I removed my cape and then my skirt. My blouse, he unbuttoned and spread, baring my breasts, their nipples hard and aching.
I smiled as I heard his intake of breath, smiled wider as I felt his excitement. We broke apart and I melted down into the furs, observing as he removed his rough garments. The dark furs nicely offset my pale skin and I lay there, his White Goddess. His eyes fastened upon me, held by his vision of a beauty I could only imagine, so intense was his gaze. Then he, too, was naked. My God came for me and I opened for him, moist and ready. So very ready, his not-so-virgin sacrifice.
"Oh!" I gasped as he entered me and we began the age-old, timeless dance. The drums beat in the background and we moved to the rhythm. He moved in me, strong and relentless, but I rose to meet him, hooked my heels behind him and pulled him into me again and again until my strength vanished and my legs merely held his sides and bounced as he moved ever faster.
My eyes opened to the knowledge that he'd stopped. I looked at him and he smiled, the smile warm and friendly. That, too, was different. Then the need came upon us both and in giving in I received. The energies of this place filled us and my strength returned in the way the ritual demanded. It demanded something else. I know not how I knew, but I knew and I turned over and rose upon my knees and elbows when he withdrew. Then he moved behind me and all became fury and storm once again.
I pushed back into his thrusts until my arms gave way and my upper body collapsed onto the furs. He kept up his assault and my breasts swung with each meeting of our bodies. The fur tickled my nipples unmercifully as they rubbed against their soft warmth; my breath came in pants; all that mattered was our joining.
"Let go." His wordless direction impressed itself upon my mind and I screamed. At the same moment I heard a roar from him and he fell upon me, driving me down into the soft furs, my legs splayed wide. He drove into me hard, and again, hands under my shoulders, gripping them, pulling me back into his thrusts. He stiffened, then relaxed, tension draining from his muscles. His head now lay beside my own, his breathing laboured, warm upon my cheek. I smiled, filled and fulfilled.
The beat of the drums comforted, and sleep overcame.
When I woke, he was gone, as was the moon. A faint lighting along the horizon told of the approaching dawn. I rose and dressed, feeling others around the dying fire doing the same, though I did not actually see any of them.
Ready to go, I took one last look at the embers of the great fire, then stepped out of the circle and raised my arm. The cab came to a halt beside me and I climbed in.
"Where to, Lady?" the cabby asked.
"West 21st," I replied, my eyes on a young man who had suddenly appeared across the street. Our eyes met and held for a moment before he turned away.
“Good party?” he asked, having seen my attire?
“Good party,” I agreed, thinking of him, of us, of our carnal dance.
The cab started and I sat back and tried to think.
The barrier grew thinner with each year. There was a merging going on. Every time more were drawn in. What was happening? Who could I tell? Who would believe? None. Fear came to me. Next year . . . . Next year would not find me in the city, I decided. My harsh laugh caught the cabby's attention and his eyes flicked to the mirror. I didn’t meet them. In the city or not, it wouldn't matter. The cycle trapped me within. No, next year would find me in the forest again. I recalled the knoll, the wind blowing and me standing there, strong. I recalled his face. I recalled our own merging. I banished my rising fear: next year would be glorious!
"Keep the change."
"Thanks, Lady."
Pulling my cloak more tightly about me I made my way to the door. The doorknob felt warm to my touch. It shouldn't feel warm. I put the key in the lock and turned it. The door swung open and I stepped through.
END
AUTHOR’S AFTERWORD
I took up the pseudonym ‘Delta’ in the 1990s when I published 31 erotic stories. Now, in 2011, I’ve decided to revamp, re-edit and/or rewrite some of those stories—in the intervening years I have become a better writer—and put them out once more. New ones may follow.
“Dark Was The Path” became my entry into the Samhain/Day of the Dead/Hallowe’en genre. Different groups have different names for this time of year, but all seem to agree that the barriers between worlds grow thin at that time. Some tell of ghosts, demons or other ‘things that go bump in the night’ crossing over to this side. However, I wondered about crossing over the other way. What might we find on the other side of the barrier? “Dark Was The Path” is my answer.
Some have asked about the warm doorknob and what awaited the protagonist on the other side of that door. That, dear reader, depends upon your imagination. In your mind, as you lie down on your bed in a darkened room, you become free to take up the path once more and follow it where e’er it may lead you. Pleasant dreams.
COMING SOON:
“Coincidence”
Cal doesn’t believe in coincidences. When things happen, he believes the universe is trying to tell you something. Thus, when a lovely woman takes the seat next to him on an airplane, he sees in it the hand of the universe, and erotic memories come spilling back, causing him to wonder exactly where they will lead him . . . and her?
Other books by Delta:
“Anything”
For a ride, she offered him his fantasy: Anything. Lance picks up a hitchhiker, Susan, on a dark and rainy night and she offers him anything to get her where she’s going, dry and on time. He agrees. And thus begins a flight into the imagination, a battle of wills, and a drive that neither will ever forget.
Six college students get together after completing 3rd year Finals and end up playing sensual games. During the proceedings, Jen decides to satisfy a long-time yen for Bill, and to spice up their night with a game of chess with rules of her own devising. She’s after fun, some sensual play, leading ultimately, to ‘mate’. But, as the game progresses, it becomes a psychological battle between the two, watched by the other four, who participate, knowingly or unknowingly, in the struggle. The heat from this one burned out two keyboards.
I remain,
Your friendly, neighbourhood Deltonian,
Delta
thedeltonian@gmail.com