Avarice Desperation Valley

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 then ever.


As the term of her pregnancy grew to a close Raissa felt possessed with an inner calm. Gone were many of her earlier fears to be replaced with a sense of expectancy and even happiness. No live child had been born in this valley for many years. Hard as most of the inhabitants were perhaps new life might lend to all new hope. Sven had taken to overseeing her every move. Raissa was not quite sure how she felt about this. She was used to being for the most part unobserved and unnoticed. Sven would accompany her to the well to draw water, no longer allowing Raissa to carry the heavy vessels, instead carting them himself to the cave. The men were all cautious around him sensing something very amiss. Bennett, Gareth, Aran and Raissa had confided in no one the extent of Sven's disfigurement, all treating it as though it had never happened.

Raissa was collecting kindling, it was something that constantly had to be gathered. Sven as usual was shadowing her this fine afternoon. She deliberately took the path leading past the opening to Bennett’s abode, glancing within. She could see Carlos there as he had been for almost three weeks, clearly unharmed, but still enduring very unpleasant circumstances. Raissa was glad it wasn't her, she would have given in to whatever was asked of her after a day or so. Even now her heart went out to Carlos and she reflected on what might have been. But that time was long past, he had chosen his path thus relegating Raissa to hers. She sighed and continued on by, she could no longer help him.

They reached the broken scrub land just beyond the well trodden earth of the compound. Raissa began to gather the lighter kindling, the still powerful Sven lopping off larger branches with a machete, he was very good at it. The gruff shaggy headed man spoke to her rarely, never in public, mostly only at night when she shared his bed. The bed where nothing else happened. Sven would hold her, caress her with his rough wandering hands, and she would bury her face against his hairy chest and fall asleep listening to the strong beating of his heart.

Raissa paused a moment and looked up into the clear blue sky, there was a hawk circling lazily high above. If only she could fly like that. Her heavy squirming belly bringing her swiftly back to the mundane present. Sven had paused in his labors sweat already glistening on his skin and the girl could feel his gaze on her, honey eyes often catching his stormy grey ones looking her way intently, she was never sure what he was thinking, and it was not in her demeanor to ask. Sometimes she saw fleeting glimpses of the old hardened predator she had always known, and in the next moment she saw aching despair.

Raissa had been most weary the last couple of days and had lost her appetite, forcing down even the tiniest morsel had become a chore. The baby would arrive soon, she could sense it. Hence it was no surprise that the young woman felt a sudden pain different from the others she had grown accustomed to, as she reached down to pick up yet another twig to add to her armful. Her head swam with the intensity of it, and she dropped the entire bundle she had cradled in her arm. Raissa almost toppled forward but Sven was already there, strong hands steadying her, thwarting the fall. “I’m all right.” She muttered, not wishing to be made a fuss of, steadying herself in his hold. Sven not at all convinced, the big man pausing in his labors to just stand beside her a while. She felt the strong pain begin again, this time wetness on her thighs. Her water had broken, the baby well and truly on its way.

Raissa was carried by Sven to the cabin, Lucy was summoned forthwith, the stout woman taking immediate control, calling for the three serving women. She might be a slave here but as far as she was concerned the men would have to fend for themselves tonight, this baby was more important.

Sarah, Lissa, and Kate soon appeared, the trio standing hesitantly in the doorway. “Don't just stand there girls.” Lucy chided, looking at their solemn faces. “Have any of you seen a baby being born?” All three nodded that they had not, looking paler at the prospect than poor Raissa was. Lucy rolled her eyes, they were grown women and as far as she was concerned they should already have this knowledge. “Well, it's time you did ladies. Now lets get some warm water and some clean linen, we need to make her comfortable.” Still the three women stood dumbly in the doorway watching Raissa writhing in pain holding her belly on the bed. “Lets get a move on!” Bossy Lucy commanded seeing their inaction. “We have lots to do, and it will be a long night!” Ushering them out the door to their respective tasks.

Lucy might have been to many in this community sour and bossy, but the woman was a pool of calm to Raissa. She had delivered many babies, and had borne many of her own, sadly none had survived more than a few hours. Though it was rumored the feral boys were indeed hers, though Lucy never substantiated it. The two women had spent many hours talking of this event over curing skins and preparing meals, at last it was here.

Being a first time birth it was a long night, Warren would peek in at intervals bringing Lucy hot tea, she would smile at her man and send him on his way. Raissa was healthy and strong, an instinctive mother, Lucy encouraging her all the way. Telling her it would be all right, wiping the perspiration from Raissa’s brow, keeping her focused. The intensity of the pain increased and Raissa wondered how she was going to do this thing? Lucy always on the periphery to urge her onward. It seemed to Raissa to be the hardest thing she had ever done, and to think a man could do this to her any time he pleased, it hardly seemed fair. The other women looked fearful, but Raissa was beyond seeing, going inside herself to uncharted places she had never been.

Sven did not join the other men at the fire, he rarely did these days. For some time he paced the camp, blanket about his shoulders, never leaving the immediate area of his abode, catching Raissa’s pained exertions and cries on the wind. It was a cool night, but not as cold as it had been. To hear the woman giving birth was a primal experience for the man. Sven surprised and even awed by the toughness of the seventeen year old girl, in her own way a warrior just as he was. The moon made its pass over in the indigo sky, and the stars faded toward dawn. The east began to subtly brighten and Venus the last star to grace the sky shone brilliantly. The first birds stirred, as a new day was ushered in, and with it new life.

“Oh is a boy, a beautiful healthy boy!” Lucy’s voice emotional as she brought the loudly protesting child to Raissa’s encircling arms. Raissa took the small bundle, and looked on her baby for the first time. She was tired but still very lucid, the feeling most odd.

The new mother checked her reaction, this little boy, the child of her fantasy, not at all as she had envisioned. Instead of her dark little prince the perfect little boy’s ample head of hair was golden, trusting gray eyes peered back at her from his wrinkled face, promising in all likelihood to keep their color or become blue as he matured. It was obvious this was not the child of her forbidden affair of the summer, but instead the baby of Sven, or Aran. They were the only two fair headed men here. Raissa already knew this little boy could be no one’s child but Sven's. Part of her was elated, as the child of her forbidden tryst would never have been accepted here. Though part of her was crushed, now she would be bound to an impotent man, and a possessive one at that.

Sven heard the strident baby’s cry, and impulsively pushed the doors ajar to the forbidden sanctum of last night. There was Raissa propped up in his bed, the four women around her, all eyes and attention centered on the tiny bundle of new life.

The women politely stepped aside as the battle hardened warrior beheld his son. “It’s a boy.” Raissa offered quietly, presenting the squirming baby to his father. Sven was most pleased as he sighted the tiny child, and for the first time since his recovery he smiled, a real smile of genuine happiness. Raissa did not miss it, neither did the others hovering on the periphery. The first rays of lemon sunlight striking the center of the encampment, promising a day as golden and pure as the new arrival.

“He is beautiful, you have done well.” Sven’s rough hands stroking Raissa's hair and lingering to touch the side of her face in reverential appreciation, never was the slave girl more beautiful to him than she was at this moment. “I will name him Eirik Sorensen after his grandfather, and a fine warrior he shall be.” Again another smile, the hard man flashing his white teeth as he held the child aloft like some rare prize. Indeed the boy was the first healthy living arrival in this blighted place, a beacon of hope for all, and just the medicine Sven needed to continue living.