The Vision.
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 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 even 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. Alarm rising 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 other worldly anodized black, wickedly sharp, etched with intricate designs 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, 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 wash stand 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, and a credit card of no value now, and the wrist watch whose blank grey 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 wash stand in the corner with its chipped white enamel bowl, complete with 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 well that 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 inner spring mattress, placed directly on the floor. Poor though it seemed it was indeed luxury to most. Many, Carlos included had learnt 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, then 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's 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 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.
