Leap! A Love Story

By Laura Perry

He has done unforgivable things, or so he believes. Can Adelphos forgive himself and open his heart to love once again?

The city of Phaistos in ancient Crete is a bustling, prosperous place, where Adelphos son of Ida has the honor of being the Cattle Master, overseeing the herds that provide bulls for the temple’s sacred leaping festivals.

Despite that honor, despite his skill and popularity and success, Adelphos is not a happy man. He bears a grief that hides a shameful secret, one he could never admit to the man he loved. Now that man lies dead beneath the sea thanks to Adelphos’s anger.

When an unusually talented bull leaper arrives at Phaistos, Adelphos is torn between his desire for the new man, his guilt-plagued commitment to his dead lover – and his fear of the powerful goddess he has offended.

When even his closest friends and family can’t get through to him, will this new love be powerful enough to break the hold of the anguish in his heart?

A gentle tale of grief and redemption, this story is very lightly steamy, heavily angsty, and full of longed-for happy endings.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laura Perry
• Release date: Jun 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215729410

Laura Perry

Laura is a Pagan artist and storyteller. Entranced by the mystical traditions of the past, her aim is to bring those traditions alive in the modern world through her writing and art.

Book preview

L E A P!

A Love Story

Laura Perry

Copyright © 2023 Laura Perry

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 979-8215729410

Smashwords edition

Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by the author.

DEDICATION

To the Horned Ones, in gratitude for the Great Leap with all its risks and rewards.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Laura Perry

CHAPTER 1

Hey, boy.

Adelphos reached across the fence and scratched Smoky between the horns, right in his favorite spot. The bull leaned into the sensation, letting out a deep, soft snuffle that sounded almost like a sigh. His mottled coat, covered with spots and swirls of grey and black fur, had earned him his name. At three years old, he was in his prime as a leaping bull, his glossy coat shining across a broad head, thick neck, and massive shoulders thanks to the regular grooming Adelphos provided him with.

Go on then, the Cattle Master said when he stopped scratching the animal, even though the bull clearly didn’t want him to be done yet. I don’t have any treats for you this evening.

After sniffing Adelphos’s empty hands, Smoky tossed his head, snorted, and lumbered away across the field. Adelphos leaned on the fence, watching the long shadows slip over the ground as the bull crossed the grassy expanse. The field stretched out in front of him, the quiet of the early evening underscored by the gentle hum of insects. It should have been a peaceful moment. Instead, all the Cattle Master could feel was its emptiness.

There had been one human, one beautiful man he had been drawn to, had woven his life together with. But that was no more. Even before it was over, that relationship had soured, decayed into anger and bitterness. Then the end had come. The man was dead, drowned, and it was Adelphos’s fault. He wasn’t interested in living through that kind of pain again or dooming another hapless lover.

The dog at Adelphos’s feet whined, and he leaned over to stroke the animal’s head.

All right, Curly, let’s go home.

The sand-colored Cretan hound looked up at him, round brown eyes full of the kind of simple happiness Adelphos could barely remember. The dog had been a gift from a neighbor to soothe Adelphos’s grief after his lover’s death. Whether or not it had helped was a matter for debate, but regardless, the man and the dog were inseparable now.

Adelphos had only the dog for company these days, which was fine. Curly and the cattle kept him busy enough. He often preferred animals to humans. Animals didn’t harbor secret desires or make ultimatums. They didn’t suddenly become someone different, someone you didn’t know anymore. You always knew where you stood with animals.

Tilting his head up, Adelphos glanced toward the setting Sun. The golden orb was now half-hidden behind the Hill. Up there lay the temple, the marketplace, the ever-expanding city that covered the hilltop and spread along crowded terraces down the sides of the long promontory. So many people, and none of them the one man Adelphos would give his very soul to see just one more time.

The Cattle Master was not a city dweller, nor had he ever been one. His domain was the open spaces of the temple’s fields that spread out on the plain below the city terraces, east of the Hill and south of the river. Here, he could breathe, even when his heart was full of sorrow.

Shading his eyes, he squinted up at the whitewashed temple walls high above him. As Cattle Master, he was accountable to the temple’s High Priestess, but he rarely saw her. He spent most of his life down in the river valley, tending to the temple’s herds: the animals that provided the meat for the clergy’s table, the offerings for their altars, and one of the two essential components of the bull leaping rites, the other being the strong, lithe young people who dedicated themselves to the leaping arena and the Horned Ones.

The bull leapers were also part of Adelphos’s world. Like them, he had given himself to the cattle deities. Unlike them, he wasn’t interested in flinging himself through the air, either literally or metaphorically. Life was perilous enough without voluntarily adding to the risk. But he loved watching the leapers work with the bulls, their beauty and strength a blessing to the people and an offering to the deities as they gripped the animals’ horns and flew in graceful curving arcs through the air.

With a sigh, he pushed off from the fence and began striding down the path toward his house, the dog at his heels. He ached, but in a good way, from a long day’s work well done. As he flexed his broad shoulders, the short sleeves of his tunic slipped up to reveal a lighter shade of golden brown skin that contrasted with his deeply bronzed, well-muscled arms.

His daily outfit of a simple above-knee-length linen tunic and short, soft boots was practical for the work he did, but he also knew that it showed off his good looks. He had shortened his hems years earlier at the suggestion of his late lover, who had enjoyed Adelphos’s long legs, and had yet to alter or replace the garments.

Adjusting the leather belt that encircled his waist, he checked the contents of the soft leather pouch that hung from it. Today the pouch contained his own snacks in the form of almonds and dried figs. Some days, it was filled with dates, the bulls’ favorite treats. Once the summer heat arrived, he would hang a skin filled with water from his belt as well. But the springtime was still pleasant. He drew in a deep breath as a gentle breeze riffled across his skin, promising cooler temperatures as the Sun set.

Out of habit, he stopped briefly at each field along the way home, looking over the cattle there—the young bulls being trained for the leaping festivals, the retired bulls that fathered the next generation, the cows with their calves, the steers that would end up on dinner tables in the city up on the Hill. So many lives in his care. Yet that responsibility lay lightly on his shoulders compared to the weight in his heart.

As he turned the corner past the last field, he glanced down the road toward the two arenas that flanked the big barn—the huge arena where the bull leaping took place on festival days and the smaller practice ring. As images of loincloth-clad leapers flying over his carefully trained bulls snaked through his mind, he turned down the path to his front door.

Curly ran ahead, happy to be home for the evening. By the time Adelphos reached the house, the dog was sitting on the front step, his tail thumping against the doorpost. Adelphos pushed the door open and strode into the empty house. His supper was waiting on the table, cold now but still delicious, he was sure. Helene, the elderly housekeeper, was absent—she’d mentioned that morning that she was going to visit her niece who’d just had a baby. She would be back tomorrow. Tonight, it was just him and the dog.

He dropped onto the bench and poured a cup of wine. Helene had left some fresh flowers in a vase on the table, a bouquet of purple irises accented with some pink rock roses. It was a little more cheer than he wanted, but he couldn’t fault her for the decoration. He hadn’t been a source of much cheer himself in quite some time, and he was grateful for her patience with him.

Investigating the dishes on the table, he discovered that Helene had made his favorite barley bread with sesame seeds. He tore a piece off and dipped it in his bowl. The beef stew was heavy on the onions, just the way he liked it. The flavors mingled in his mouth, but he struggled to enjoy the meal despite the effort he knew Helene had put into the meal. In the end, he set his dish on the floor and let Curly finish the food.

Some time later, he found himself still sitting at the table, an empty cup in his hand, the room dark, the dog asleep on his bed—a carefully arranged pile of old wool blankets in the far corner of the main room. With a groan, Adelphos pushed himself up from his seat and dragged himself up the stairs to his own bed, not bothering to light a lamp.

He tugged off his boots and stripped off his tunic and loincloth, feeling the cool night air on his bare skin. Keeping his eyes averted from the far wall, he loosened the leather thong that held his long, wavy black hair back in a ponytail and dropped it on the table. When he lay down, he turned to face the window like he always did, but found he couldn’t stay that way for long. When the unease became unbearable, he turned over the other way. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was the altar that stood against the wall, and a pain shot through his heart.

CHAPTER 2

The Cattle Master graces us with his presence, Meliteus called out with a smile as Adelphos led Snuffles into the practice ring late the next morning. The Head Leaper Trainer was wearing a serviceable tunic similar to the one Adelphos had on, though Meliteus’s belt was a bit fancier, sporting a meander design tooled into the leather’s surface. But unlike the Cattle Master, Meliteus was decked out with plenty of jewelry and two different colors of eyeliner, black on the upper lid and green on the lower. He’d also carefully oiled his hair. Adelphos could smell the iris oil and labdanum wafting from his glossy locks. Though most men, regardless of age or sexual orientation, wore jewelry, makeup, and scented oils, Meliteus liked to outdo them all.

The Head Leaper Trainer leaned on his cane, waiting for Adelphos to position the replacement bull and lead Toots, now tired from a morning of practice, away from the athletes. May I interest you in the latest gossip? Meliteus asked.

Just a little information, my brother. Adelphos reached around Meliteus’s shoulders and gave his friend a one-armed hug, his other hand gripping the bull’s lead rope. He and Meliteus weren’t born from the same mother. But Meliteus was the head of the family of leapers and leaper trainers, and Adelphos was the head of the family of cattle tenders and cattle, including the leaping bulls. Those two groups were part of the larger temple family.

Among the island’s people, kinship was the most valuable aspect of life, more treasured than material wealth. Gold can be replaced; loving family cannot. When Meliteus dedicated himself to the ring, and when Adelphos dedicated himself to the herds, they became part of a family beyond the ones they were born into. So they were brothers as well as friends.

And I’d like to watch the practice, Adelphos said.

He had left Curly back in the big barn, since the dog was a dangerous distraction in the ring. Keeping an eye on the leapers, Adelphos maneuvered the bull until he and the animal were both out of the way of the action. Like all the other leaping bulls, Toots was well-trained and agreeable to being directed. Adelphos reached a hand up and rubbed the bull’s neck where the reddish hair thickened into curls, eliciting a deep sigh from the animal.

Toots was unusual in that he was a solid color. Most of the herd had spots of one sort or another. But Toots wasn’t the same color everywhere. That would have marked him as a sacrificial bull for one of the three big festivals, and Adelphos would have separated him from the herd while he was still a calf. Though Toots’s head, back, and sides were the same deep red the artists used to depict men’s skin in frescoes, his legs and belly were a light tan, the color of the soil as it fades into sand along the coast. And his inclination to follow directions had led Adelphos to add him to the roster of animals trained as leaping bulls.

The three of them—Adelphos, Meliteus, and Toots—stood in companionable silence for a while watching the athletes working with the fresh bull.

Are these all Yearlings? Adelphos asked, gesturing toward the group of leapers lined up to take their turn.

Meliteus shook his head. Just the ones at the front there. You see how the Leapers are giving them pointers? We’re a close-knit bunch, we leapers. Always helping each other.

Only the Leapers, the athletes who had completed both one year of basic training and a second year of intense work with the bulls, were allowed to leap in the big arena on festival days. The Yearlings worked with the bulls in the practice ring but sat as spectators in the festival arena. At the end of their bull year they had to demonstrate their proficiency before Meliteus and the other trainers would allow them to move up to full Leaper status.

Adelphos’s gaze shifted to the Calves—leapers still in their first year of training—who were gathered on the far side of the ring, practicing on the contraption that substituted for the real animals. The bull-sized wooden structure was covered with cowhide and had a pair of real horns mounted to the front. Even without a live bull, the acrobatic activities were still difficult and taxing. Those who weren’t working on leaping were practicing somersaults, backbends, and other challenging moves on the ground or using wooden frames and barrels as supports. Adelphos marveled at the athletes’ flexibility and coordination. The most he could manage these days was to climb a fence occasionally without hurting himself.

I remember when Ylissa and I and our cousins used to play bull leaper when we were kids, he mused. We used bales of hay for the bulls. Sometimes we leapt over each other.

Every child on the island does that. Meliteus tilted his head toward the Calves. But not many become good enough at it to try out. And of those who do come to the opening trials, only a few are accepted.

It takes a special person to be a leaper, that’s for sure.

Adelphos watched as the trainers patiently worked with the Yearlings on the far side of the practice ring, keeping them focused and encouraging them when they faltered. The two arenas—the practice ring and the festival arena—stood on opposite sides of the big main barn, the three structures tucked into the curve on the south side of the Hill. The barn, which was the center of activity for Adelphos most days, served as a stable for the leaping bulls, a temporary holding place as they moved between the two arenas and the fields where they spent most of their time. So the arenas were part of Adelphos’s domain even though he wasn’t a leaper. And he always enjoyed watching the athletes practice.

The practice ring was smaller than the one used for festivals. Adelphos’s gaze swung around the circular wall surrounding the bare ground where the leapers spent most of their days practicing their sacred skills. Even though the ring was built for practicality, the wall was whitewashed and adorned along its upper edge with a colorful design of spirals and bull’s heads. Tables near the gates held water and wine for the thirsty leapers as well as strips of linen and other supplies for the athletes. Benches flanked the tables and stood alongside the front gate, though the leapers rarely used them unless they were injured.

Adelphos noticed one Yearling standing by a table, wrapping fresh linen strips around his wrists and adjusting the ties that held his soft leather boots in place. The bare-chested young man’s loincloth was topped by a stiff leather codpiece, a bit of protective gear that leapers of all genders wore once they began working with the live animals. The codpiece was attached to a wide, stiff leather belt that held the loincloth in place and protected the leaper’s abdomen and lower back. Only Yearlings and Leapers wore the codpiece-and-girdle combination that everyone on the island recognized as leaper’s gear. The Calves wore plain loincloths, since they didn’t work with live animals and didn’t need the protection. In the practice ring, that difference allowed Adelphos to identify them at a distance.

They are pretty, yes? Meliteus said, nodding toward some older Leapers who were demonstrating