Avarice Desperation Valley

Homecoming

Nathan could plainly see the power inherent in his Master, lingering some distance behind the returned leader and his companions the slave gazed at his Master’s back with all the vehemence of a truly black heart. His young mind seething with dangerous possibilities, a mere boy of sixteen with no power in this camp to influence anything or anyone. None there noticed or cared what he thought, and with no voice to vent his vitriolic thoughts he was boiling inside. Both Bennett and Gareth had carried Sven on a crude stretcher for days, his head cushioned on Nathan’s precious bundle wrapped in the navy coat. Even the weight of this burden could not diminish the great man’s natural stance. Bennett was a born leader, covered in the dust of the desert it shone through, and this day the rightful chieftain had returned to his kingdom.

Eddies of dust rose as the group made their way to the valley’s edge where the ground abruptly fell away. Only a steep thorn lined incline gave them access to this naturally fortified place. The western entrance had all but overgrown in recent months and had been abandoned, so this was the only reliable entrance that remained.

Nathan tarried behind the tired men, taking one last long look at the endless wastes under the clear azure sky, green eyes squinting at its vast emptiness. The slender boy quite happy not to have to see it again for a very long time. It had been a grueling forced march, he was faint with lack of food and the beginning of his journey had been hellish indeed. His bruised face and black eye his sole focus initially. The copious swarms of black flies on the laceration to his left cheek tormenting him to madness, as his hands had remained firmly bound behind him for the duration as punishment. The usual four days it took able bodied men to cover the distance had taken a good ten, carrying the recumbent and often delirious Sven had proved most arduous.

They had already been spotted and some of the sentries joined them, jubilant at their return. However not every inhabitant was exultant, quite a number felt just the opposite at Bennett’s sudden return from the void.

Carlos was in pure panic, hastily ransacking the cabin he had made his home for the past few days, gathering up some essentials and fleeing toward the fetid dump in the hope he might be overlooked and could flee under cover of darkness. To where? He really did not know.

Pig and Dwayne were both fighting the urge to leave as well, knowing there would be some kind of penance to be paid at their gross misconduct and mismanagement in their Chief’s absence. They both knew well enough their oversight would not be left unpunished. Bennett was a far different man from Aran, no one was spared and no one was overlooked. But there was nowhere to run to, no place to live other than this. They must face their dues however unpalatable, life in the vastness on the outside was worse. Sheepishly they followed the others verging on the edges of the gathering, their eyes not meeting anyone’s gaze.

A tight knot of people had collected at the base of the pathway. Proud at their center was Aran much larger than almost all assembled, his thick golden hair spilling down over his broad, tanned shoulders, relieved the mantle of leadership could be at last handed over. He was expediently freed from the matter of Renard’s promised execution, all that day he had been dreading the evening to come and the act he must perform. He had learned in his brief reign he was a warrior not a leader, the decisions power brought did not sit well with his conscience. Better someone else with a steelier mind assume the leadership and deal with traitors and matters that were neither black nor white.

Bennett was a tyrant, but he had held this band together, and a strong hand was required, even desired by those in this hard place. Raissa was in the crowd right beside Aran dwarfed by him, holding her breath, hand to her mouth, her honey eyes drawn only to the recumbent man on the stretcher. She could see naught else.

Gareth and Bennett did not pause but crossed the dusty compound toward the cave and the cabin that was occupied by Sven and Aran, the entire crowd followed closely in their wake shrouded in eerie silence. The only noises the creak of leather, the labored breathing of the returned men, the shuffle of many feet in the dust, and the clink of metal and weapons broke the silence. It was a strange home coming. The two exhausted men entered the cabin and set the stretcher down. Gareth on a signal from Bennett pushed the crowd back, they obeyed soundlessly. Aran came forward eyeing the two returned men with a meaningful gaze, pausing but briefly before continuing into the dark opening toward his injured brother, Gareth and Bennett withdrawing leaving him to a private reunion.

The doors were closed behind him, it was quiet and dark, initially Aran could not see very well. He knelt down beside his brother waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, listening to the sounds of his brother’s steady breathing, the man was asleep mending. That was a good sign and what he needed most at this time. Aran’s long tresses cascaded over the prone man mingling with Sven's own of almost the same hue as the younger brother hugged his elder brother to him. Sven did not stir. Aran had hoped for this moment, but had never really expected it to come. His older brother alive, rescued, and back here to mend and return to the warrior creed. He had not lost everyone after all, and the big man felt the sting of tears as the emotions washed over him. In the dark away from the eyes of others he gave them free reign, something he had never done before.

Bennett and Gareth headed for the cave. As the afternoon shadows grew long, they appeared to all the onlookers bone weary. Nathan trailing a respectable distance behind his white flesh and prominent shoulder blades showing though the holes in his rent black shirt, which after the rigors of the desert was hanging from his thin frame in tatters. It was good to be back, for better or worse, this was his home now, this rough camp of tribal humanity. The floral wall paper of his grandmother’s home vague memoirs, her creased face hard to recall, and he felt shivers course through him in places of great delight as he watched the broad back of his Master enter the cave’s shadowed cavity.

Every time Nathan’s eyes lingered on him he parried those feelings, powerful and all at once difficult to understand. Love, hate, fear, loathing, helplessness. He so wanted to please and be noticed by his Master, a desire so fanatical he barely understood it himself. Yet in the same breath a hate so strong he would have been equally happy to run him through with whatever was at hand. His wrists chafed at his bindings which had rubbed red raw his skin. Longing as he was to be released he knew better the merit of not asking for his wish.

All wished to follow and stand in thrall of their mighty returned leader, and hear the tale of his escape, but most there knew better than to tarry. There was a watch to be maintained, and food to prepare for the returned men. Gareth was free to rest at last and he took full advantage of it near the steadily burning hearth, but the same could not be said for Bennett, leadership overrode everything even the demands of a tired, aching body that had been on the trail for days. There was much to be addressed.

Food and refreshment was brought swiftly by rough looking Lucy, her unruly, mousy hair streaked with early grey, and the three serving women who had belonged to Frances. All somewhat faded flowers burned by the desert harshness. They set the food before the warriors and backed away, retreating to their places beyond the tight knot of men, ready to serve immediately on any vague signal, all straining to hear anything of import.

Bennett allowed himself time to partake of the meal and quench his rabid thirst, mere water had never tasted this good, it went down like liquid gold. For a while he sat staring into the fire saying nothing, collecting his thoughts, taking in his men and even the slaves beyond them in the half light. Much had happened here in his absence he sensed, noticing Pig and Dwayne were avoiding all eye contact.

Suddenly he was made aware of a presence close beside him unused to intrusions in his personal space. It was only Nathan, he had quite forgotten him. The boy was hungry he observed as he casually tore off a large strip of meat with his dagger carelessly feeding it to him as he would a hound. The very same dagger that took life, opened putrid wounds, or served as an eating utensil. Nathan shied at this particular blade, the same blade that had taken out his tongue all those long weeks ago, but hunger compelled him in spite of the flash backs the sight of it always brought to him, and devoured the proffered morsel hungrily.

Perhaps his reestablishment of order and discipline could be meted out on the morrow Bennett reasoned. It was now dark, and he was tired, he had allowed his body to stop and it was demanding sleep. Settling back into his primitive hide covered throne he gazed over at Gareth already dreaming in his pile of furs adjacent the warm fire. The slumbering man completely undisturbed by the animated conversations of his men, and in spite of many missing faces it felt like old times.


Aran spent a lengthy time just sitting with Sven talking to him in a low voice, even though he was sure his brother could not hear him, making idle small talk. In the dark he could feel the extent of the superficial lacerations that covered the man’s body, he would indeed be very sore when he awoke, but in a few days he would heal swiftly and be back to his old self. It was nothing a warrior of his ilk could not bear.

Finally he rose, pulling extra blankets over the injured man against the frosty chill that had arisen with the advance of night, leaving him to rest. He left the small domicile, the cold making plumes of his warm breath and shivered slightly, the night would be a brisk one. His sword arm ached and he rubbed it absently, noticing little Raissa with all the patience of a mother, apparently standing outside this entire time in the cold, waiting for him to conclude his private moment with his brother. She was no raving beauty, though not displeasing either he mused, but she was a very fine slave. Easily the best one the camp possessed. He passed her by without further thought. There was much to report to Bennett, so many things he had learned of that would need to be addressed.

Firstly though urgent bodily needs had to be met, and he made his way to the verges of the dump site on the east side to relieve himself. The feral boys were there that evening as was their usual haunt, one of them looked up at him for a moment then resumed eating something nameless he had discovered in the tip. Aran did not enjoy the boys watching him complete this personal task, at once shooing them away, casting large stones with great accuracy in their direction. The larger of the boys yelped, the rock striking him squarely in the back even as he hurried away. The two wild children rarely lingered in plain sight of any of the warriors with good reason. A thin half eaten moon was on the rise and the valley was dead still. The comforting murmur of voices carried from the cave, as did the smell of wood smoke.

He was about to turn away when he was certain he saw movement on the far side of the valley, his eyes locked on to the position in question scanning for any intrusion. It was just an animal he reasoned, but perhaps one worth eating? It was a long shot as he did not carry a ranged weapon but he decided to try anyway, tracking carefully toward the source of the sound. If he could bag some decent game it would be worth delaying his information until tomorrow, and if it was an intruder he needed to investigate. Bennett would be very tired anyway, his report could wait.


The door squealed shut behind her with a hard metallic sound, Sven muttered something unintelligible in his sleep then quieted again. Sitting on the floor was becoming a real chore, Raissa wished she had a light source but this could not wait until the morning, the few candles they had were becoming precious and the lamp oil as well. The bowl of water she had warmed was tepid now, she had not expected Aran’s reunion with his elder brother to be so lengthy.

She had waited to attend Sven patiently since his return, not daring to intrude on Aran’s private moment even for such a necessary task. She dipped her small, tawny hand into the precious liquid, deciding it was still barely warm enough to be of use and stripped the blankets from Sven methodically cleansing his body beginning with his face. He was so familiar to her in every way, knowing every line of his powerful frame even in the darkness.

She did not hurry through this task rediscovering him like an old lover, relieved and revitalized at his return. She thought she had lost him, his younger brother had no interest in her and she fearful of being assigned to some less desirable man in the camp. Sven’s return was like a stay of execution to Raissa, she could dare to live again. She reached lower, the washcloth traveling over his hard belly, past his navel wiping away the sweat and encrusted blood.

Sven winced and groaned and Raissa snatched her hand back in horror and disbelief. Where his sex had been, there was nothing! Gingerly doubting her senses and cursing the lack of light her hand again going to Sven’s exposed groin. Raissa's head reeled, her man had been totally mutilated, how and why? Mortified yet curious her gentle fingers probed, all she could feel for the most part was smoothness and a neat suture. She finished her ministrations hurriedly, pulled the blankets back over the sleeping man. Blindly rushing from the cabin, there would be no speaking of what she had just discovered.

There was a loud commotion on the far side of the valley, rocky scree slid and fell, striking rusted metal and smashing against already shattered windscreen glass. It was unmistakably the sound of two men engaged in a violent brawl. All heard it taking up arms and headed from the invitingly warm atmosphere of the great cave out into the cold. Bennett woke with a start, as did Gareth, both men feeling excessively drowsy, to the sight of most of the men already armed and running toward the source of the disturbance. Had invaders breached their defenses and somehow made it past the watch? Dwayne who had been directly above was also half way down the path dagger in hand. Afraid of a stern reprimand if it had been discovered he had let anyone by him. He was sure he was in enough trouble already.

In the thin silvered light all could see two men locked in desperate struggle beyond the refuse site, adjacent the impenetrable brush. Both with blades drawn catching the bluish light. They were evenly matched, both quick, both deadly. Aran would settle this swiftly recalling the close fight between Bennett and Carlos some months ago, he was not going to make the mistake of underestimating his opponent. He felt he had the distinct advantage, being far larger, battle seasoned, and the more powerful.

Carlos had more to lose, possessing a cat like swiftness that meant the slightest opening or mistake would cost the larger man dear. Aran was not blind to that kind of desperation. Carlos also was blessed with the uncanny ability to fight with twin weapons, something Aran had never mastered. All Aran needed was one good hit, he would not honor this man by merely killing him, he would much rather prove to this upstart he was no warrior at all and only fit for a life of slavery. Only twelve short days before he had granted him his freedom and now it was in his power to return him to the abyss of non identity.

The warriors reached the two men dueling on the still warm sand, surrounding them in a circle. Carlos seeing this was a wild thing cornered, he knew he must now die and do all in his power to goad the huge blond warrior to kill him. He was not returning to a life of humiliating servitude under any circumstance. The men always interested in the specter of a good fight to break the monotony did not intervene. Bennett and Gareth were still a good way off, slow to gather their wits and weapons, but were advancing rapidly.

“You will not kill that which is mine!” Bennett roared over the excited encouragement's from his warriors as he approached, drawing his .45, the blunt muzzle pointed at the blond combatants head. Aran never had any intention of doing so. However Bennett was not privy to Aran’s thoughts, the strong command from his leader shook him causing him to pause for a fraction of a second. Aran’s dark adversary seizing on this opportunity, lithely stepping in under his careless guard, raking both of his sharp blades against exposed breastbone and slicing into the tightly muscled abdomen. The blow was never intended to kill, it was only a painful flesh wound, though the harried man could have easily done so. All Carlos wished was to entice the warrior to finish him and this should be all the prompting the impetuous brute would need.

The shock of the cold steel on him caused Aran to go into self preservation mode. Ignoring the gun at his head and arching away from his adversary he twisted desperately, forcing his body to be where he needed to be for his next attack. The maneuver was perfectly executed as Carlos dived under the big man’s guard completing his strike. Unwittingly positioning himself exactly where Aran needed him to be, left elbow colliding hard against the smaller man’s temple followed by the pommel of his dagger in his right fist, it was over.

A gun shot rang out the bullet passing perilously close by Aran’s face. Carlos fell to the sand with a dull thud unconscious. No one moved, even Bennett, the barrel of the shining .45 poised for his second aim, with no intention of missing this time if his henchman did not desist.

Aran panting heavily, gazed on the defeated prone man, face down in the sand as the blood slowly dripped from his own rent belly, spotting the glint of pure gold. He cast his weapon to the ground to make it very clear he had surrendered. However it was a very real risk he took to retrieve the treasure he had sighted. Bennett dangerously close to pulling the trigger. Bending down slowly, smarting at the gash in his midsection he retrieved the prize from the man’s middle finger. The circle of pure gold felt to the touch unusually warm, but he paid it no mind, placing it without ceremony on the only finger that remained unadorned, his wedding finger. It felt a little snug but he pushed it over his knuckle regardless. The ruby eyes flashed on the entwined little dragons as they re arranged their golden scaled bodies on their new host. A further compliment to Aran’s other prizes of murder, and a spoil of this victory.

Carlos was summarily bound and borne toward the cave, the spectacle over, the crowd shuffled away back to the invitingly warm hearth to bed down for the night. Raissa again tending wounds late that evening as Aran sat stoic staring into the dying fire. Most of the other men now slept. She avoided eye contact something she could be very artful at, curiosity burned in her, did they both share the secret of what had befallen Sven? She could not tell, the proud man’s demeanor gave away few hints of the contents of his mind. She staunched the bleeding fairly easily constantly having to push aside his beautiful wheat colored hair. The wound would be painful for a few days but there was little real damage and it would be an inconvenience for only a short time.