Selene, skin like ivory, naked; her long dark hair spilling down over her lovely form like a cloak of tangled serpents. They were all alone in a small cave, its walls and floor adorned with cryptic, runic scribing, carved deep into the stone. Scattered all about her were the yellow skulls of leering beasts. Horned, toothed, and taloned, some he thought, what were they? They didn't look quite right, were they from animals he had ever seen before?
His sense of unease grew, she was saying something. What? He couldn't focus, there was a sharp pain in his head, but Selene never uttered a sound, she couldn't. Huh, what was going on here? Her voice was as enchanting as it was beautiful, rising as she spoke with power and command.
"You have, at last, come to me? You are almost ready, but not yet!" Her words filled the chamber. "No, not yet." She hissed "Soon though, soon, very soon..."
The walls seemed to shiver and move, no that couldn't be possible, as he reached for the hard stone to confirm his reality. The alarm rose as the stone did not feel like stone. It was hot to the touch as it wavered in his sight, and he was suddenly aware that he too was very hot. Her voice was still screaming in his head.
"You must claim your father's inheritance but only, only if you are truly worthy..."
He was beginning to feel panic now, and a terrible thirst was suddenly upon him. Cool water, drink, I must drink I must. There in front of him a shallow pool, curiously it appeared lit from beneath, though how this was possible he could not guess. Why hadn't he noticed it before? None of this was making sense. The water was clear and bright, he must touch it, he must drink...
He crawled toward its greenish glow across the rune-covered floor, and looking into its shallow depths he saw the most beautiful weapon he had ever laid eyes on. Lovingly crafted, by a master of the art, power exuded from its predatory form. A curved katana blade unlike any he had ever seen, its gleaming finish was not the argent of the usual weapon, but appeared an otherworldly anodized black, wickedly sharp, etched with intricate designs of two dragons entwined on the pommel. There was something familiar about the design it occurred to his groggy senses.
"Yes," Selene's seductive voice went on as she hovered somewhere above him. "The sword Blacksteel, the arcane weapon of power, the inheritance for the rising son of house De Sade. Yes, my dear, it will be yours if you do prove worthy?"
He was so very hot now, and Selene seemed all about him, her hair touching him becoming hundreds of little writhing black snakes. He was sure the skulls that littered the floor had all begun to watch with their sightless gazes. No, no, this was not possible, none of this was happening! None of it! Deep-seated fear overtook him then, and blind panic became his master, he had to get out, he just had to. Madly clawing at the hot stone walls that didn't quite seem walls at all, in his desperate bid to escape...
*****
Instantly Carlos was wide awake, nails clawing at the steel wall, hot with the sun's warmth already on its side. Only a dream he thought a trifle foolishly, yet with much relief.
The ring is it still there? He reached for it in sudden alarm but looking down, there it was suspended on its chain, firmly around his neck just as always.
He shook his head, and looked at the ring again, no surely the dragons did not move then did they? This was weird, he felt weird, and come to think about it he now felt quite nauseous. The furs and the sun had made him hot, and yes he was damn thirsty too. Nothing more than a bad dream, and a hangover, that's all he assured himself.
He was now alone and he had slept late. It got warm almost immediately as the sun showed on the horizon and a hot northerly had begun to blow. It would indeed be a vile inferno of a day this day.
Slowly Carlos crawled out of bed, his head hurt and his eyes could not bear the bright light. Rummaging about in the mess that was the bed he found his torn and faded jeans and dressed. The water in the washstand felt good and cool on his face, and he stood there for a long while composing himself, willing his stomach to behave. The rusty door hinges groaned in the rising wind and the sound hurt his head.
I will be far from my best today he thought grimly. Well, no one will miss me for a few hours. Perhaps he could sleep it off for a bit up in one of the high caves. Most of the warriors would probably feel no better than he did, and there would be no chance that Raissa could slip away unnoticed. Even if she managed it he probably didn't feel up to the task. So it was just as well. Anyway, she and Lucy would be busy preparing tonight's feast. He hoped there would be plenty for all.
His thoughts again turned back toward his strange dream, it was so real and yet so surreal. Even now the tangible image of the shining sword scored his vision as he closed his eyes. Complete in every detail, the ultimate unachievable prize. A vision of fancy surely. What was its name again? Carlos struggled to remember, to again hear Selene's bewitching words, and recall all that she had said. Though try as he might her words would not come.
"It's only a stupid dream." He muttered to himself." This is my reality, this filthy rotten place, there is nothing more I can expect, except what I have here."
He sighed in disappointment, running his fingers through his thick black hair to comb the worst of the tangles, he felt used and dirty.
He looked around the small metal room some eight feet wide by twenty feet long. Furnished sparsely by a few pitiful comforts of home. On the battered wooden table its scattered and forlorn contents enshrouded in dust, there were items from another age. An age that as each year passed was becoming more mythology than fact. There was a photo of a man and woman in a broken frame, the long-ago colors fading but their smiles still bright. Some money, a credit card of no value now, and the wristwatch whose blank gray display had given up long ago. All sad symbols of a world that was no more, and opportunities lost.
Then there stood the dilapidated steel bookshelf, containing many dog-eared volumes, Carlos's eyes constantly drawn to one book in particular. 'Embracing Defeat, a novel by John W Dower." A novel of war, he sniggered with the thought that World War two was not the last. Had man learned nothing? Next to it a remaining stack of precious writing paper, no longer so white, and a handful of ballpoint pens. There were other books as well, many and varied, the titles mostly meaningless to him.
His reading skills had never been that sharp, and his writing skills little better, for he was constantly skipping school. Preferring instead to run amok on the inner city streets with his unruly friends. If his mother cared she never showed it, and as a consequence Carlos's schooling was poor, and his attitude to any kind of authority even more so.
There were only two other furnishings of any note in the hut, one being the washstand in the corner with its chipped white enamel bowl, complete with a very threadbare towel. This was as close to clean as anyone ever got these days. Water was just too precious to do something as simple as bathe, and a shower was a luxury unheard of. The other was the bed, an untidy collection of assorted furs, musty pillows, and moth-eaten blankets. All piled on top of an old queen-size innerspring mattress, placed directly on the floor.
Poor though it seemed it was indeed luxury to most. Many, Carlos included had learned the art of sleeping soundly on bare earth, and that's just what he would do today until he felt much better.
The sun was white and hot and stung his exposed skin and eyes as he stepped outside. There the canvas water bag hung from the bull bar of an old prime mover, its contents deceptively cool. He took a long draught of the refreshing liquid and began his reconnaissance of the camp. It seemed that most of the men were still in the great cave, and Bennett too he guessed. Probably he had been there making plans since early dawn, when but briefly a sharp frost had coated all the world in white.
He could hear the alarmed bleats of goats, and he could see Pig on the other side of the valley, another of Bennett's scum. Slaughtering tonight's meal reveling in the death throes. Pig was well-named, no one knew his real name, he was simply Pig. He was quite a chunky fellow, bordering on shortness, and most unattractive into the bargain.
To match his unfavorable exterior, he was ugly in mind also. Carlos was sure that he got more pleasure out of watching something die than any man ever got between a woman's legs. Not that one as unattractive as he was had many chances of scoring. The worst thing about Pig though was because he was getting older and had lost an eye, he was always relegated to stay behind when a raiding party left. This made him extremely bad-tempered and more sadistic than usual, and the slaves suffered if he could get them on their own.
Yes, indeed Pig was a nasty piece of work, and Carlos was mindful not to cross his path. Pig's source of pleasure was a cat of nine tails that he had so lovingly crafted. Bound and plaited leather it was, with small sharp barbs of steel knotted into its stinging tendrils. Any chance to use it he took with much gusto and relish. A few poor souls would surely feel its caress tonight, of that he was certain. Thus naturally Pig was both the butcher and the appointed torturer of the tribe.
Well, as Carlos had expected Raissa had not left the signal for him to meet her later at midday. They had a code where she would always leave the red water container by his hut, so she could signal her intentions subtly. Today though there was a blue one sitting there instead.
So he set off for the cool comfort of the high cave to sleep his hangover off and escape the worst of the day. It was quite an exertion by the time he made the top of the south slope. The uneven rocky terrain frequently testing the young man's agility and stamina.
At last the mouth of the cave loomed, cool, dark, and very welcoming. He came here often to be alone, and just as importantly he was strategically placed so that he could observe all the comings and goings on, in the camp far below.
He stretched out on the smooth rock shelf luxuriating in its cool, here he would recover, and go forth as the evening shadows darkened the valley below. He closed his eyes and made a promise to himself that starting tomorrow he would further explore these caves, even if it had only been a dream.
*****
The fire burned low in the stone hearth, just angry coals now, but still too hot to want to sit anywhere nearby. So Bennett sat in conference with some of his men to the rear of the cave, whilst Lucy and Raissa labored to prepare the feast. Many of the men were still half asleep, most sporting decent hangovers, and vile tempers to match. Though many others Sven, Gareth, Aran, and Renard included were already keenly engaged in deep discussion with their leader, as to what their next move would be.
"We shall take a party of ten men, enough to be a reasonable fighting force, yet few enough that we can move unnoticed and swiftly. We shall locate this settlement if indeed it does exist, and covertly watch until we can gauge its weaknesses. Only then can we formulate a plan of attack to exploit them," Bennett stated with authority. "Once we have a plan of attack we can then return for all the men and go in for the kill, but we cannot afford to rush things or our element of surprise will be lost."
An unexpected voice rose from the circle of dangerous-looking men.
"But, we cannot wait for too long either Sir, we need supplies badly..." The young raven-haired warrior's words died in his mouth, as the flat of Bennett's hand struck him hard in the face without hesitation, splitting his lip and knocking him to the ground.
"I decide the military strategy around here, boy, unless of course, you think you would make the better leader...?"
Bennett's voice went from a roar, descending at once to an almost chilling whisper. The young man all his bravado gone at least had the common sense to look chastened. He hung his sorry head and mumbled quietly to the floor.
"No Sir." His crimson blood dripped into the dirt.
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Bennett turned toward the lad reaching down, putting his big hand ever so gently under his frightened victim's chin. He lifted the young warrior's face to look him directly in the eye, and a thrill of sadistic excitement coursed through him, as he fed on his victim's fear. Reinforcing in a deadly whisper.
"There can be only one leader, naturally he is the strongest, naturally he makes all the plans, and if you ever do so much as question me again I promise you will know the true meaning of fear. Do you understand!"
With that, he savagely thrust the man to the floor and went back to his conclave of men, as though nothing had ever happened to disturb him in the first place. Leaving the much subdued, and hurting warrior to gather up what vestige of pride he could, and retreat to the outer perimeter of the group.
"I propose." Bennett went on. "That we leave here tomorrow evening at dusk. Sven, you will stay behind to command here in my place and Pig will help you to maintain law and order."
Both Sven and even Pig, despite his hungover state, were quick to acknowledge the given command.
"I will lead, with you Aran as my second."
"Aye Sir." Aran acknowledged tilting his handsome golden head.
"You too Gareth." Gareth nodded his acceptance.
"I will also take you Renard, as you claim to know something about the country south of here."
At this Renard appeared to momentarily blanch, Bennett observed.
Watching him closely for any other telltale signs of transgression. Renard recovering himself quickly, replied.
"Yes, Sir." Almost too loudly.
Bennett assessed him suspiciously. I must keep a close eye on him he thought. He has always seemed loyal, and yet?........ The seeds of doubt were there.
Six others were also chosen, including the camp's armorer Will, as well as the much-humbled and hurting Dwayne.
"Well, now that is decided I guess it is high time to see if our prisoners can tell us anything useful, bring them."
*****
It was sometime later, after the sun had reached its zenith, that Carlos realized that the screams he was hearing were real. So it had begun. He had wondered just how long they could wait? Usually, it was never too long.
There were only two reasons the band took male captives, the first being that now there were no vehicles or pack animals, and extra men were needed to carry the spoils back to camp. So the fittest of the prisoners were unwillingly enlisted as pack animals. The rest had their throats unceremoniously cut, their rotting corpses left for the crows and wild dogs. Of course, once these captives had done their work, they were incarcerated in the old cattle truck near the great cave, until such a time as they were asked to 'volunteer' information.
Rarely during these protracted sessions, did the warriors get anything useful. The poor wretches for the most part were just simple survivors and knew nothing of note. More often than not expiring quickly under the heavy-handed torture meted out by Pig and his willing helpers.
Most of the warriors partook in this vile sport. Though Carlos noted that Renard, rarely did so, perhaps like him, torture turned his stomach. Yes, he had witnessed it all many times before, even now he could visualize with stunning clarity, their final tortured moments. Hear their pitiful cries, smell the men's fear, accompanied by the metallic stink of blood. A good day to be here, hoping it would all be over by dark.
*****
One more to go, thought Bennett wearily, as the final man was dragged kicking and screaming into his sight. The vicious-looking leader settled his callous gaze on this contemptuous creature, quailing before him with absolute revulsion and disgust. A thin weak thing he was, a pathetic excuse for a man, so afraid to die that he had pissed himself.
Never would I be so undignified, thought Bennett as he signaled to Pig to go ahead. By this stage the poor wretch was talking so fast it was almost gibberish.
"I....I....I...know stuff," he labored to get out, the whites of his eyes betraying his mortal fear. "I could help, I really could........." Followed by a blood-curdling scream as Pig let the first lash fly. "Please no, Pleeeeese!"
"Stop!" Bennett boomed. "Speak quickly and don't waste my time."
"I know things," he gasped. "Many things I can make, lots, lots I can, I make your life better, just please I beg, don't kill me please."
By now the poor fellow was very close to Bennett's feet, abasing himself in the dirt in a desperate race to think of anything he could that might save his life.
Bennett's powerful bulk loomed above menacingly, all his men crowding eagerly around, with the patience of vultures waiting for the death that they hoped would soon follow. The only sounds, the creaking of leather and the jingling of metal as Bennett slowly squatted down, and his frightened prisoner's ragged breath.
"What things, what stuff?" Bennet questioned. With difficulty, the poor man tried to compose himself, willing his exhausted body to behave.
"I can build stuff you see, electronics and that, nsolar stuff, nbatteries."
This was his last gamble he knew, the vague hope that they would want a bit more technology. My god! He thought here I am, Warren Mc Callister, a university nerd, with a low-level military clearance as a Government auditor for the bomb silos that were scattered throughout this area. Let me hope that I can bluff these guys, buy myself some time, please God, please, he prayed.
He hardly dared draw breath, so primal was his fear, as he awaited Bennett's interest, or sentence of death. Just the slightest gesture from the big brute and the rest would be upon him like a pack of rabid wolves. Those few seconds seemed stretched into an eternity of painful hours.
"We will spare him for now." Came those sweet words from Bennett's lips. "If this man can do what he claims, then he may yet be of some use, especially when we take that settlement."
There was a murmur of general assent from most, but Warren sensed that many of them felt disappointment, cheated of their kill.
"Thank you, oh thank you, Sir. I........" He groveled, hardly believing that he had been lucky enough to have been spared.
"Shut the fuck up!" Bennett roared.
Silencing Warren mid-sentence, as he cowered abjectly in the dust. At once feeling an iron grip on the collar of his shirt, accompanied by the rending of its fabric, as he was roughly hauled to unsteady feet. He was sure that he had never felt so scared as he did that moment. The strength and intensity of this warrior warlord defied all description.
Quite suddenly a scary thought occurred to Warren, was he out of his depth? It was then he realized that perhaps there were worse fates than dying. Before he could dwell on this further, there came a sudden flash of pain, the warm wetness of his blood, no time even to cry out in surprise and hurt, as his legs buckled under him and he went sprawling to the floor.
"There, that ought to ensure that you don't go running off. Take him to the fine accommodation next to mine." Bennett gestured, matter-a-factly wiping blood from the deadly blade onto Warren's clothes, and dismissing him from sight. Rough arms grabbed Warren then, and he was hauled bodily from the cave, senses dimming fast, sliding headlong into the black maw of unconsciousness.
*****
The wind had dropped, as was a common precursor to evenings in this place. Whilst high overhead a brown hawk screamed seeking one last kill before dark. Interspersed by the persistent caws of crows. Their black shining presences are more than likely gainfully employed in the rubbish dump nearby. Stretching his lean body one last time, Carlos got to his feet. Looking out he could see that it wasn't really late, but late enough in the day to avoid the worst of the sun's sting. Again he felt thirsty, and ravenously hungry also. All traces of his earlier nausea gone.
He emerged from his resting place to survey the vista around him. Continuing leisurely down the slope, with all the sure-footedness and grace of a mountain cat. At once sighting Father Andrew far below, tending to his ever-wilting crops, and big Marcus collecting firewood from the few bedraggled trees.
The two nameless boys were foraging in the tip, with Selene yet nowhere to be seen. In no time at all he was in the valley and drinking greedily from the canvas water bag. Its welcome coolness ran seductively down his chin, to trickle over his well-formed breast. Lost in this simple pleasure, he gave a sudden start, realizing a hand had reached out to clutch blindly at his leg.
Looking down he beheld a pitiful sight, a frightened man, slight of build, filthy, torn, and bleeding.
"Help me would you?...." He tailed off, hesitation in his plea. "Please Sir, please," He choked out. "Water Sir, please? They..... They....."
Carlos could see that the fellow's reason was failing fast, and he would need to quiet him quickly to avoid any unwelcome attention. So he shoved the water at the unfortunate as swiftly as he could. The man drank thirstily, so thirstily that Carlos had to take the water away before he made himself sick.
Before the wretch could panic any further, Carlos squatted down beside him and said mustering his most soothing tone.
"I won't hurt you, mate, you may not believe me but I am not here by free choice either. My name is Carlos De Sade, so who are you?"
This seemed to have the desired effect, and the battered captive took a deep breath and replied.
"Me? Err... I'm Warren Mc Callister."
As he squinted upwards to see his savior better. Carlos quickly appraised Warren's situation, all the while scanning the camp to see they were unobserved. His bloody back would most certainly be smarting by tomorrow, but the wounds there were fairly superficial. Of more concern though was the cut behind the right knee, expertly placed to cripple, cruelly severing the tendons beyond repair. It was bleeding bad and by the look of things had been for quite some time.
"Is it bad? I can't walk on it, will it be okay?" Warren implored.
"It will be just fine," Carlos lied, no point letting him have the bad news now, let him recover a few days first. He would have to accept it in time.
"Your eyes, can you see me okay?" Carlos added, thinking that perhaps he was also concussed.
"I need my glasses, I can't see too well without them, I hid them, buried them I did, in the corner in the sand where we all were held. Could you get them for me, could you please?" He pleaded.
"When I can, probably not till tomorrow though," Carlos assured him. "But, for now, I think you should rest, and I will try to get a girl I know to come and patch you up. She'll bring you food and something warm."
"I'll remember this," Warren said. "I won't forget, I'll pay you back someday."
"Don't get your hopes up too high, mate, remember I really have no more say in things around here, than you do, but I'll do my best okay. I gotta go now we shouldn't be seen talking. I'll see what I can do." With that he was gone, not risking a backward glance.
Carlos didn't really know if he could do what he had promised he thought guiltily. Talking to Raissa would be close to impossible with all the men about. However, he told himself if it was possible he would try. Besides it had occurred to him that if Bennett had spared the man it was a certainty that he possessed some knowledge or skill that Bennett wanted to use. So surely then, Warren would not be left to die.
The shadows were growing long now, with another fiery sunset imminent on the distant horizon, Carlos looked on with undisguised longing toward that faraway place of possible freedom. Surely out there somewhere there must be a better place. I'll either get there or die trying he promised himself as he turned, his heart heavy toward the darkly looming cave.
The evening was for the most part like many others, but the warriors seemed more heartened than usual with the promise of better spoils to come. There was also a fine feast laid out, even a roast pig. Though Carlos knew he would see none of that choice meat, and there was drink aplenty. Many of the men had already embarked on a drunken spree and were eagerly devouring the food.
Carlos sat in his usual place, again awaiting his master's pleasure. Silent resentment dogged his every minute spent at Bennett's feet.
Lucy looked tired, but Raissa as usual so full of life was bustling to and fro, catching Carlos' baleful eyes at every opportunity. She was naturally beautiful, he reflected, with her tawny smooth skin, flaxen hair, breasts so soft and white. One of the only reasons besides revenge and escape he could think of, was for wanting to stay alive.
A pang of guilt assailed him then, why then don't I love her? If she is all of these things to me then why do I not feel love? Perhaps he too was no better than the rest, indulging in the selfish gratification of his lusts, not caring who he hurt. Try as he might and feeling as guilty as he did, he knew that what he shared with Raissa was really no more than a need, but did she feel the same? He prayed that she did.
Sven was comfortably reclined on some thick furs, with a silver tankard in one hand. He had already taken his fill of the delicious spread but still picked idly at the remains of his meal. He and his brother Aran were both engaged in idle banter, but for all his seemingly relaxed appearance he was very alert to the many other things going on around the fire that evening. Taking in many subtleties with a practiced eye.
For a while now the old campaigner had felt a sense of private unease, for he was positive, although as of yet he had no evidence, that there was definitely something going on between his woman, and Bennett's pretty boy. She was being constantly watched, knowing with all certainty that she would have to slip up soon.
Then there was the irksome matter of Bennett's pretty, toy boy. Sven could plainly see the deep-seated desire for revenge burning in the young buck's eyes. Dangerous he thought, why the hell can't he see it? The man gives him too many liberties and one day he'll be sorry; as he stroked his whiskered chin.
Unsettling also the attitude in Renard? What did he sense there, fear, hesitation, what was it exactly? Ever since being delegated to the patrol this morning he hadn't been the same. Sven casually swept his gray gaze to where Renard was sitting alone, repairing his crossbow. He was sure even now that he hadn't imagined it. Best he brings this to Bennett's attention when they could confer in private.
The evening wore on and it grew dark, the air chill. All Carlos could concentrate on by this stage was the overwhelming desire for food. The sadistic bastard was going to make him wait, and he'd get no alcohol either tonight he realized.
There was movement in the cave's dark maw, and there crouched Selene. Unnerving how she could just manage to appear, and disappear all so suddenly. Again Carlos could feel her dark judgment appraising him and finding him wanting. He really wished that she would just go away to wherever it was she had come from. Something about the girl really bothered him, almost frightened him even. Again wandering back to, and reviewing his mysterious dream.
After what seemed like an eternity he was finally bade to eat. The rabbit stew with a few poor vegetables was divine, the bread and cheese delicious, and the milk nectar of the gods. He ate till he could eat no more, being so hungry initially he did not taste the food. Only savoring its goodness when he was quite some way into the meal.
The remainder of the night passed without incident, the talk, boasts, and drinking went on well into the early, chill hours. For the most part after his satisfying repast, Carlos dozed, warm and comfortable by the fire. On occasion, he would look up and meet Selene's scalding gaze, other times it was Raissa's honeyed sweetness, or feel Bennett's possessive hand's caress.
Soon he thought, mind half fuzzy with sleep, he would again have to go and perform his dreaded and disgusting duty. However for now he would relish the comfort while he could, and worry about unpleasantness later.