This winter has been such a creative time for me, thanks to all of you for enjoying and appreciating my work. Lots more in the pipeline.
Hope.
The first of the season's opening rains barely reached the valley as they were often wont to do. The dark fast moving clouds off in the distance further south teasing, only seeing fit to bestow a few light showers to the ever thirsty red sands of this place. Still the meager rainfall was welcomed, if there had been any crops to plant besides corn and squash now would have been the time. However it was too early in the season, the frosts had not yet passed.
Sven had made a slow but steady recovery, nursed by the ever attentive Raissa, she rarely left his side. The older warrior remained sullen, depressed, and most difficult to deal with. Those closest to him were afraid he would take his life. To that end Bennett even mitigated Aran's sentence after only two days in the hole, in the hope Sven's younger sibling's presence could help his friend persevere through the impossible new situation he found himself in.
It seemed to brighten him a little, Aran well aware his elder brother needed him now, with no time to dwell on his own aches and pains, and even less to contemplate any further form of disrespect to his leader. The young warrior had said his piece and proven what he had intended, to both Bennett and himself. Both men had formed a respectful truce.
Further disobedience would serve no real purpose, it could not bring Frances back from the dead, it was time for Aran to let go. All looked on Aran differently now, slave and warrior alike, even Wezley Bennett. On the warmer afternoons the giant of a man went bare chested often, the silvered, raised scars for all to see on his tanned back. He would sport them all his days. None here saw the marks as badges of shame, they only served to have the opposite effect, reverence. Few had merited three hundred lashes in the valley's savage history, and none had survived such a sentence but Aran.
Renard's dark eyes watched him from the steel confines of the cattle trailer, his new residence. He tried to not think of the future but rather just the moment, it was better that way. That fool of a warrior had betrayed him laying all his motives bare, and now Bennett would keep him indefinitely as a hostage the very thing he had desired least. The young man was not at all sure this was a better situation than the clean execution he was promised. How many days, weeks, even or months could he take here penned up like an animal? This was a despairing thought, and it was eating at his mind.
Aran passed him by heading toward the cave, the strong afternoon light playing on his thick golden mane. It was difficult to observe much from this vantage point. The trailer being set well off to the side of the great cave, and the other shipping containers shielding most of his view of the centre of the compound. Renard could just make out the gaunt rump of his faithful horse on the far side, his gelding's roan coat no longer shone with health. If only he could ride him one more time away from here, but the idea was a far fetched dream quite inaccessible to him. Renard slumped against the unyielding metal wall, head in his hands, despair in his heart.
*****
Many days passed, the occupants of this place settling down into the old rhythms of daily life. Things were in many ways as they were before the discovery of the steel fortress. The watch had been relaxed now numbering only two, leaving some of the men free to hunt and scout the surrounding desert plains. They caught little but some scrawny rabbits, and a few unfortunate birds, and found no occupied settlements or camps to raid. Still, the activity served to alleviate boredom, the men all needing the distraction such pastimes offered.
One such quiet afternoon, Raissa eyed Sven sitting in the last of the sun's rays in the open door of his simple domicile. Never blind to the feelings of others the slave girl observed he had become a pale imitation of the man he once was. He said and did little these days, his mind seemed to wander, most of his days were spent in deep inward silence, and his nights in fevered dreams where he would talk and cry out waking all with a sudden start.
Raissa was there beside him to comfort him and quiet him in those small dark hours, his faithful slave as she had been before his terrible disfigurement, but now it was different and she felt the cold grip of despair. Part of her was so saddened to see this transformation in a man who had survived so much. She wondered if indeed fate had been merciful to see him rescued and returned here, he in truth would have been better off dead, of that she was sure.
All Raissa could do was offer him the meager comforts she had at her disposal. Hoping against hope one day she may see a spark, the tiniest spark of the great warrior she used to know. The very same man who could make her tremble in fear, a fear that could spark in her a dark lust so shameful, it made her want to hide, yet at the same time embrace it fully, even if it destroyed her. But gone was that man she had known, gone was his lust. His body still looked deceptively strong, the set of his jaw aggressive, but he as the old and infirm, needing constant care and mentally in a far away world, one she or others, even Aran could not seem to penetrate.
Often in the dark of the cabin she would cry silent tears for her new found situation, now a chattel to a man who spent his days silent and immobile. If she was not by his side she was serving the camp, or mentally and physically getting ready for the arrival of her baby. Its movements and hard kicks so much stronger now reminding her she had many, so many unwavering responsibilities. Too many for a teenage girl.
If Raissa thought she inhabited a tortured place it was an ideal world compared to Sven's. He knew she pitied him, as did his brother, Gareth and Bennett, and hated it when she looked at him that way. The proud man did not want their pity. The anger stored in his heart just wanted to lash out and slap her, yet at the same time he felt devoid of the motivation to actually carry the action through. Trapped in a perpetually gray world.
After he had awoken, and the full horror of what had been done to him had sunk in, all Sven could contemplate was ending it. Every sharp blade lured him, coil of rope, or firearm. Sven had no tears. Everything was locked inside, he had no words either. Why had they rescued him? Sven lamented. For the longest time he was furious at Bennett, his friend and leader had the chance to end it cleanly. Why hadn't he? He would have been none the wiser, and spared the grim nightmare of the present.
The battle hardened warrior had survived much, war, hunger, loss of his loved ones, but not this. Why he did not take his life was beyond him, he had intended to. Each day even as his body mended he told himself it would be his last. He no longer sought the company of the men by the communal fire, he had nothing but steely silence for Bennett, and very little to say to his brother, not for any reason of malice, but Sven felt uncomfortable, inadequate anywhere near him. Even a pathetic specimen like the broken Warren bothered him. They all had something he no longer possessed.
The evenings were the worst, Raissa would come to him dutifully. The girl would avoid his eyes while she served him dinner, there was no conversation as he ate mechanically in silence, then kneel by him until he had finished. Sven would take her to his bed as he always had. Desires locked within him he could no longer enact, and wonder if he could go on.
*****
So this is how it would be? His every need and want tightly controlled, his very senses as well. Carlos spent many hours hooded and shackled in Bennett's cabin. His scalp itched, it was a maddening sensation as his hair began to re grow, the only time he was granted his sight was when he was fed, and allowed to shuffle from the cabin to relieve his often screaming bodily needs. His jailer never relenting for a moment, this was how it had been long ago when he was newly captured. The process even more unsavory with the knowledge it would now all begin over.
Bennett sat astride the old chair shaving his captive, Carlos humiliated kneeling on the floor before the big man wishing he could only press his throat into the straight blade and end it all. Bennett reading this just chuckled, he wasn't getting any love from the object of his desire, but he was enjoying breaking him down immensely.
Bennett realized he had not been hard enough on Carlos the first time all those years ago, but this time he would do it right breaking him completely. Better this honest fight of wills than his other slave boy's scheming. Bennett had felt uneasy with Nathan since the incident with the cat and had decided to let him fall from favor. The boy had been relegated to the duties and rank of the other slaves, no longer serving Bennett in any capacity, chained securely to a post in the center of the camp where he could do no harm.
As for Bennett's unwilling captive, there had been countless hours to think, with little else to occupy his down time. To begin with Carlos had slept as much as possible, but as time wore on with the inactivity the man was discovering he needed less and less rest. He had even taken up the habit of debating with himself just to attempt to pass the endless hours, ashamed at times, feeling like a mad man. Today though he hated himself all the more knowing the deprivation of simple liberties was beginning to take its toll. Carlos actually happy to hear his Master's boots on the metal floor.
Slowly by degrees the man was breaking him, that revelation scared him more than anything. There had been other realizations as well, discovering he had lost his father's only gift, the gold dragon ring. How he could not recall, he still had the chain about his throat but the ring was long gone, and its absence weighed on him deeply. Carlos deduced he must have lost it during the fight as he had never seen anyone but Selene who could stand to hold it. Guessing it was somewhere buried in the shifting sands, forever lost to him, and he felt more demoralized than ever.
