Avarice Desperation Valley

New Order

Nathan had been skittish all day, the boy was nervous, and with good reason. Tonight was the night he had planned to free his Master and he felt like a tightly coiled spring. In an hour or so they would leave this place of dark horrors for good, and go back to the valley where things would be as they had before. Not perfect, but better than this. Nathan’s haunted green eyes remained averted, avoiding the glances of others lest they read the traitorous thoughts that lie within. He went about the tasks he had been set like an automaton, daring anyone to find a reason to break him from his work.

Fat Robbie had not picked up on the change in his slave’s demeanor. All he could see as he looked at the angular boy was his beauty. Indeed Nathan was becoming more beautiful to him by the day. The constant diet of nutritious food had done the reed thin boy good. It was plain for all to see the changes wrought on him in such a short space of time. Robbie greatly coveted what he saw, his desires no secret to any who inhabited the greasy, stifling, space of the kitchens. The rotund man lusted after him daily, blind to Nathan’s manipulation. The avaricious cook too thick-witted to realize he was being played the fool by this mere sixteen year old youth, who was incapable of uttering a word.

Robbie looked on him now with shameless lust, a satisfied grin on his ruddy face, as the boy placed more sawn wood in to the oven in readiness for this evening’s meal preparation. His tousled, white blondish hair was well below shoulder length, partially obscuring his fine elfin features. He would have been considered by many a very handsome boy. The fat cook shuddered with delight at the thought of having him in his bed yet again, tonight and every night for as long as Nathan stayed this desirable to him. It would be a while before he would replace this one Robbie mused.

His newest boy was very pleasing to the eye, and did all he was bid both sexually and work wise. What an agreeable acquisition he was, the overbearing man reflected, fixing his eyes on Nathan’s slender back. Since Nathan’s arrival Robbie had procured for the boy some better clothing. His slight figure looked good in the black T shirt, and the tight low cut denim jeans that fit him exceedingly well, his toes peeking out under the hems. Tiger spiraled in ever tighter circles around Nathan’s feet, purring her pleasure loudly. The boy occasionally acknowledging the cat when his hands were free with a loving scratch under her throat. Tiger ecstatic at the attention.

Nathan had carefully made all in readiness for the escape this night. His plan he had run over and over in his mind to the point of maddening repetition, so it would be flawless in its execution. His master wold love him for it and cherish him always. The contemplation was a warm one in Nathan’s now usually very cold heart. He would be viewed at last worthy of his master’s ownership. More than just a mere object who would at last be seen by his master’s cold blue gaze, he would finally have a value, and a place. He trembled, causing him to fumble clumsily with the pots and pans and come dangerously close to dropping them, his mind clearly not on the task. But no one there seemed to notice his edginess, all were possessed with the evening meal preparations which were by now nearing completion.

Scruffy Jimmy was scowling downwards, engaged in peeling the numerous mounds of potatoes, and the nameless miserable girl was beside him clad in her rags, assisting him voiceless. Just the noises of the kitchen, and the loud wheezing of Robbie could be heard, the background music to the life he had lead here, soon to be a thing of history.

Tonight another round of roast meat the usual staple here, and a plethora of roasted vegetables accompanied by delicious heavy gravy. Nathan tensing ever more as the time drew closer to enact his plan. He eyed the long sharp kitchen knife he would steal when the time came, meandering over to grasp it feigning nonchalance. Its sturdy wooden haft felt cold and heavy in his hand but somewhat reassuring, as he set to slicing the crackling pork on the huge wooden platter.

He certainly was not expecting the touch on his shoulder, or the grotesque perspiring bulk of Robbie pressing against his back. The man’s soft, pudgy hand extracted the blade from his grasp before he had time to reason what was occurring. “I have other uses for you this evening.” Issued Robbie's statement laced with thinly veiled lust. “The others can finish up here.”

Nathan stiffened with fear, his mind in disarray, his plans foiled in an instant. He paused, resisting the force of the obese man’s pushing for a moment. Luckily his meaning was interpreted by Robbie as his desire to finish his chores. “You are such a hard working boy, they will finish up here tonight.” The cook gestured toward his private quarters waving Nathan forward, patting him affectionately on the head, and scowling at the others. They did not look up from the pile of potato peelings which now vastly outnumbered the size of the un peeled ones. “You will come with me.” Robbie chided, the emphasis heavily on the word will.

Nathan was in a quandary, hesitating for a moment, glancing sideways at the knife, however he was not a seasoned killer. The boy had never taken a life, and did not have the conviction or the hardness to go on with the task, though he thought it. This was not how he had planned his exodus. His chance this night was lost and he would have to try again tomorrow. It was a poor consolation to how he felt at this moment, as the beefy man pushed him forward toward the dark maw of the bedroom, heaviness of resignation seeping in and cloaking him like a blanket.

*****

It was good to finally be back home, the familiarity of the red, dusty, valley comforting in its unchanging self, a security of a kind from the chaos which reigned on the outside. Aran paused a moment to catch his breath, and to survey the camp far below from the rocky head of the valley, before committing himself to the steep downward path swathed in prickly box thorn bushes. The formidable plants were burgeoning with terrible spikes, and created a tight almost impenetrable wall along its sides that would tear and scratch at one’s skin all the way down should they be careless.

The past two days had seen his former strength return to him swiftly, and the young warrior’s renewed zest for life had begun to dull the pain of his brother and close comrades lost. He was returning to make Frances his, gone were all impediments to his desire. He would assume his place here as leader, knowing he would be the rightful choice and none remaining would dare challenge him.

The young man had dwelt on his many plans extensively during the final two day’s march home. It had helped pass the time and gave him extra resolve when his strength to keep up with the others flagged. Unlike his elder brother Sven, tempered by age and wisdom, Aran’s youth made him somewhat impetuous, and he had not even considered the idea that Frances may have other opinions on the subject of their union. Aran had already decided how it would be and he was not willing to accept otherwise.

First and foremost he would seek to ally himself with Frances’s father Stephan, through marriage to his beautiful daughter. Hopefully with the old farmer’s blessing, and if not he would have her through violence if necessary. That being accomplished in a peaceful manner he hoped, he would then seek protection from the attack which he was positive would be mounted in retribution from the Wolf Lord’s fort. He wanted to stay here, and feel safe in this place, but sense told him that would be most unlikely. Trouble would arrive on his doorstep soon. If the situation arose he at least wanted to relocate his remaining people to the safety and security that Stephan’s secluded little settlement represented. It was the least he could offer them as their new leader.

He could discern a small gathering of ragged inhabitants gazing upwards as the sentries announced the parties approach. However the golden woman Frances did not number amongst them. Aran shielded his green eyes from the glare of the sun high overhead that he might see clearer, his bushy blond brow drawn down in a scowl. Where was the woman he had returned for? She who had given him the will to continue and survive his ordeal, she who was his heart’s desire? Aran’s stomach tightening in a hard knot as he felt the first cold clutches of realization grip him, that perhaps she was not there waiting at all. Had something untoward happened in his absence? It was possible, her beauty a magnetic draw to all the men, slave and warrior alike, bound to cause discord.

The panicked feeling spurred his feet into a fast run, dislodging stones and creating eddies of dust as he ran helter-skelter down the steep pathway into the camp. The small flocks of surprised little brown birds scattering in profusion from their thorny protection, chirping in terror in the path of his reckless descent. He caught the others at the bottom of the path, they shot him looks but said nothing, letting him lead the way into the crowd.

The inhabitants of the valley were at first jubilant to see their warriors returning, all hungering for details. The contemplation of a feast, the stories of bravado, and the riches of new plunder on their minds. As the torn and ragged remnants of their once proud force numbering only five emerged from the path into their midst the hubbub of conversation expired swiftly as the questions caught in their throat, and died there. It was obvious to all assembled that there was no victory here, even to the dull witted Marcus who remained respectfully silent, his dusty, rusted hoe still in hand beside Father Andrew, who looked older and more emaciated than ever.

Lucy and Warren stood off to one side, Warren’s scrawny arms draped protectively around Lucy’s round shoulders, they looked at one another in wordless concern. The three of Frances’s waiting women stood glumly, pressing close to one another the faint breeze stirring the remnants of their gauzy clothing. The trio looking faded and worn in their rent and dusty finery, eyes reddened from crying, their make up and beautiful coiffures long gone. It was obvious the three had not taken to the rigors of captivity well. Selene watched calmly from a rock overhang and darted off to the darkness in the cliff face. The two feral boys looked up quizzically for but a moment from their scavenging in the refuse pile teeming with flies, then straight back to the objects of their interest, the commotion meaning nothing to them the wild things that they were driven by the basics and nothing more.

Raissa alone went forward, fueled by her spontaneous nature, something she often regretted. She ran to Aran attempting to put her arms about his strong neck. She was so glad to see him again, his appearance marked a return to at least tolerable living conditions and rules. Life under Pig’s jurisdiction had been far from easy or fair. Aran felt cold and indifferent to her, the blond giant shrugging her warm advance aside with a deft twist of his huge frame. Pushing her away without a word or a glance as he gazed over her head taking in the cave and the campsite beyond.

Raissa stood dumbfounded staring up at the man, sighting for the first time the large livid scar on his sword arm, and his ragged clothing. Further more it came to her attention Sven was not amongst them, and Raissa felt apprehension. Knowing her life was somehow ever changed. The disappointment on her face was there for all to witness, but few noticed as all eyes were trained on the returned men.

Aran continued to look above her head as though she was not there toward the mouth of the cave, and around the campsite. His scowling gaze coming to rest on the three pale women who cringed and trembled visibly at his stare. “Where is she?” He bellowed at them. His loud outburst fracturing the respectful, waiting, silence. The three women made little noises of fear and surprise but offered nothing, cringing away looking like startled birds. Aran made an abrupt move toward them, they fell to their knees on the warm orange sand, faces to the earth, trembling, eyes tightly closed. Aran did not see their beauty, their fragility, their fear, and readiness to submit, as they waited to feel the slap of his hand or a hard tug on their hair. He was blinded to their charms, after Frances no other woman could exist for him, she had become his benchmark in female beauty.

Will bravely attempting to avert trouble, was close on Aran’s heels, catching the solid man on the shoulder, offering in his quiet British accented voice an explanation. “Oh, I thought you knew?” He said circumspectly. Aran immediately swung around, his eyes wide, a fierce look on his face, his perfect, strong white teeth clearly visible, lips drawn back in a vicious grimace. Will a full head shorter than Aran countered quickly seeing the big man’s ire rising. “Bennett hid her to keep her safe while we were all gone. We forgot you were not here, you had no idea of this.” The hot headed blond at once raising his bejeweled fist to strike the bearer of this bad news, not caring at all if Will was not actually to blame. Clint and the other two men raced forward, grabbing for Aran’s mighty arms as the crowd scattered in confusion. Will ducking hastily in self defense, having no desire to be struck a savage blow.

“Argggg!...........” Aran roared in frustration, fists clenched, knuckles white, his out burst echoing off the stony walls, as the men fought fiercely to hold him in check.
“It’s okay, we will find her, she has to be close by somewhere?” Will responded louder than he had intended, doing his best to sound reassuring though he himself had his doubts. He was saying anything he could think of to quell the violent temper of his henchman before someone got seriously maimed. There had already been enough losses and discord borne by the recent violence without the encampment turning on one another like a pack of rabid wolves. They all needed to settle down and work together now for the good of all.

For some moments Aran was speechless, his face livid with barely suppressed anger as the men clung to him looking at one another unsure if they should free him. Finally the tenseness went out of the big man’s body and he lost his angry demeanor, the others only then feeling it safe to let him go.

All this commotion coincided with the swarthy Dwayne’s appearance at the great cave’s mouth. The shifty eyed warrior paused, the myriad of white bones gleaming his his midnight hair, his expression a mask of panic and confusion at the sight of the returned men. It was clear he had been caught by surprise and he had hoped to go unnoticed. Dwayne glanced nervously back over his shoulder into the dark recesses of the subterranean shelter, then returned his gaze, fearful to see Aran advancing purposefully toward him. The weasel like man shrunk away against the cave wall as the warrior pressed by him. Dwayne acutely aware of the lengthy, ghastly scar on the man’s sword arm and his blood encrusted, shredded, scarlet shirt as he passed. Even in his terror Dwayne could not help himself, privately hungering after the superfluity of gold that adorned Aran’s personage.

Pig was crouching over Renard’s bound, prone form, with sharp, silver dagger in hand, pressing it solidly against his immobilized captive’s throat. Renard squirmed violently drawing his own blood, but avoiding his fate until the last, causing Pig great difficulty. Startled at the intrusion, Pig fumbled with the knife, but only for the merest moment, swiftly attempting to push it home, fearful of the ramifications if he did not succeed.

Aran’s fist struck from above like justice barely saving Renard. The blow so powerful that Pig went sprawling in the dust his face cut along the cheek bone and temple bleeding profusely, the blade raked Renard’s neck but achieved little real damage. The disgusting, one eyed man made no move to counter his attacker, deliberately raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. Pig was a cowardly bully of a man and only felt brave if the odds were stacked in his favor.

“He is mine to kill.” Aran flatly stated, glaring around at the group, holding Pig’s gaze to make a silent point. He was riled and spoiling for a fight with any who would dare contradict him on this issue. The men just stood in silent assent. Pig dusting himself off unsure if he should flee or stay, deciding to retreat to the outskirts of the crowd his dirty shirt sleeve pressed to his face in an attempt to quell the blood.

Aran grabbed Renard roughly by his brown hair pulling his head back in the most uncomfortable manner, then bending down near the object of his wrath he spoke. “You traitor.” He hissed accusing. “You deserting piece of filth.” Vitriol spewing from his words. “I will decide what to do with you later!” He announced, letting go just as suddenly, disgusted. The relieved to be saved yet surprised Renard grimacing as the hand let him tumble back rudely to earth with a resounding thud.

The attractive young warrior decided then to seize the moment as all had followed him into the cave, warrior and slave alike, including two of the posted sentries. Aran took them all in, appearing among them as a lion, golden and powerful, regarding each in turn with his fierce scowling gaze and vivid eyes. It was an unspoken agreement but he said the words anyway, looking for a challenge anywhere in the crowd. “I am leader here now. You will address me as such, does anyone here dispute this?” All present looked around at one another and nodded their assent, there was not one among them who would have the heart, reason, or courage to tell him otherwise.


The evening drew in rapidly and the smoke from the fire wafted gently on the cooling breeze. It was a pleasant smell. Aran was grateful for the warmth of the blaze, and the fact he was at last home, but disconcertion flooded his heart. He had spent the afternoon inquiring of all what had happened to his beloved Frances, no one seeming to turn up any viable clues to her whereabouts. Bennett had hidden her, but where? It made no sense. Aran was wracking his brain trying to conjure up places he thought she may be imprisoned.

He knew this valley like the back of his hand, and he could not imagine where she might be. He was afraid for her. All the men including himself had called and searched for Frances the remainder of the afternoon. Even the sanctity of Bennett’s cabin was not spared as Aran went through it thoroughly himself seeking any clues. He found nothing of import there amongst the dusty belongings which had little meaning or relevance to him. Leaving them scattered like broken toys to lay on the sandy floor, a desecrated monument to their former leader.

As the shadows lengthened turning to bluish in the deeper recesses of the valley, Aran found his own stamina shortening. The march home and his injury had taken its toll on his powers of endurance. Finally he was forced to desist from his search retreating to the fire and some food. The roast goat was good but decidedly filling after so long with only meager food on the trail. It was hard to eat more than a few bites. He sipped at the hot, astringent, acacia seed tea Raissa had brought him and felt weary.


Aran now occupied Bennett's place at the fire, he had often wondered in times past what it would be like to be leader of the band. Somehow it seemed a hollow victory. Always it had been just a fantasy to him nothing more than an evil subversive thought. The young man had entertained the likelihood of obtaining such a position was at best slim. Sven by rights should be sitting in my place tonight, not I, he mused. Recalling again the last moments of the battle and his brother’s heroic concern and love for him. The only reason he was still alive today, along with Will’s expert medical care.

Pangs of sadness struck him then like sharp razors. He thrust the emotion savagely aside. He had always dreamed succession to leadership would have felt far greater than this. His eyes were heavy and they just wanted to close fighting sleep. The last thing he remembered was Will and Todd assisting him to Sven’s cabin, climbing into the furs warm and soft, losing himself in the first comfortable sleep in many weeks.


The silent hours before dawn. No one stirred, the fires had all burned down to faded embers, quietude, and darkness enveloped the camp. Raissa sat by Aran feeling her baby kicking within, it was as though her uncertainty and restlessness had affected her unborn child. Perhaps it had, she was unusually sleepless also. She felt big and unattractive, simple tasks were becoming difficult, and sleeping as well.

The stars twinkled brightly on their bed of deep indigo sky and she sat listening to the sleeping man’s rhythmic breathing in the darkness. The crickets musical chirping carried to her ears on the cool night air, goose bumps raised on her usually smooth tawny skin, in the places where her thin red blanket did not quite cover. Gently, ever so gently she stroked Aran’s long, blond, hair, thick, glossy, the hue of a wheat field in high summer. Aran did not stir at her light caress, the seduction of deep, dreamless sleep had taken him with all thoroughness.

The young woman who was barely more than a teenager, meditated on what the events of the day would mean for her future. She tried to remain positive, however she felt anxious. It was easy to feel that way right now sitting here in the dark, by the man who would decide her fate possibly in the next few hours. Would Aran choose discard her so close to the birth of her child? She fervently hoped not. Where would she go? Who here would have her then? Raissa felt cheated, did she not strive to work hard, did she not strive to be pleasing?

She felt cursed, tears welled and she fought the impulse to weep in all helplessness. She was sure if Aran cast her out another man would take her, but she did not want just any man. Perhaps Will would take her in, she liked the man. He was kind, at times humorous, and did not demand a lot. She admitted to herself he wasn't much to look at, the scruffy armorer was not in the same league of handsomeness as Aran was, or his brother Sven. However he would make a good father to her child, and he was not lazy or cruel. Yes, life with Will the armorer would not be so bad.

Raissa liked to fantasize that many things here would be of her own choosing, and within her sphere of control, but deep down she knew Aran would decide which man he would gift her when he was ready. She was already sure he would give her away once he was rested and felt better. Raissa dreaded his decision on the matter, but she knew his word would be final, after all she was a slave, she could hope for nothing more.

Her eyes had got used to the darkness, and she cast her gaze around the shipping container that had served as Sven and Aran's home. Sven had used it more than Aran had, the younger brother preferring the company of others around the communal fire in the evenings. Aran really only used this place in inclement weather, which out here in the desert was rare. He was the same way with her, she reflected feeling somewhat bitter, and he had expressed no interest in her since the beautiful woman had arrived.

Raissa felt the bite of jealousy strike and she was happy Frances had not been here in the camp for the past month with all the men mooning over her incessantly. Then in the same thought she felt sadness and compassion for the woman who must by now be in a desperate situation as her rations would be low or non existent. She could picture Frances in her torment, trapped in the dark so alone and cold, none to answer her vain pleas, walled in and vulnerable, thirsty and hunger gnawing, scratching futilely at the earthen walls. The vision made her shiver involuntarily. She tore her mind away to other things.

This humble, echoey, steel domicile had been her home since her capture, and it gave Raissa a kind of security and privacy knowing she could retreat here away from the prying eyes of others when she felt overwhelmed. The future felt dark and uncertain. Raissa dwelt on the memory of Sven, he was a gruff, hard man. Recalling his rugged face, his eyes the color of an approaching storm, his manly scent, and how he felt solid and strong next to her in the darkness. She had shared his bed many nights and it was a comfort of a kind, he made her feel safe in this dangerous world. Now he was gone.

Raissa was aggrieved Sven had not returned and she wondered with so few warriors could they even hold the valley and the precious water supply? Even more frightful would they be ousted by a stronger band of survivors and set to wander the wastes until they perished? Invaders would come as they had from time to time seeking in this desperate wasteland the most precious resource, fresh unpolluted water. All these possibilities were hurting her head, and Raissa yawned suddenly realizing she was more weary than she had first thought, deciding to snuggle down for a couple of hours next to Aran, and the small comfort he offered. First light and her chores were only a couple of hours distant, Raissa deciding she should rest whilst the opportunity presented.


Aran woke late, the sun well past its zenith having no idea he had shared his bed with the troubled slave girl as the new leader had slept exceptionally well. Deep slumber had left him groggy and his muscles were stiff and sore. He roused himself slowly from the furs feeling the warmth of the sun streaming in the open doorway. The tendrils of brightness felt good on his skin, pleasant yet not too hot. He squinted into the bright light rubbing his eyes noticing both food and a wash bowl had been brought to him and placed by his bed, Raissa’s work he guessed.

Aran removed his rent and soiled clothing tossing them into a crumpled pile on the floor and bathed as best he could in the small body of water in the chipped ceramic basin. Observing with disgust as the clear water became fouled very swiftly, it had been a long time since he had the opportunity to wash, he had not realized he was so dirty. The warrior held his damaged arm up to the sunlight that he might see it better. It was healing well. There was still some slight soreness as he flexed it slowly, the scar was raised and somewhat unsightly but overall he was pleased with the improvement. Will had done a good job with the healing considering the man had little with which to work with out in the field. Aran owed him one, though he would never admit it. The warrior smiled a small smile of satisfaction sensing he would wield a weapon again every bit as well as he had previously.

Ablutions completed Aran rummaged about in the rear of the cabin, searching for some better clothes in the battered wooden tall boy, a reminder of another more peaceful age. He and his brother were of similar size and stature, so it did not take him too long to locate adequate garments. Seven years on most of the mass produced clothing had begun to disappear, he now wore a combination of both. Brown hide pants tailored by the women, that hugged his great form surprisingly well, garnered by an enormous weapons belt constructed of thick hide.

He grinned as he discovered the rare treasure of a purple silk shirt, luxuriating in the new clean fabric as he pulled it over his expansive tanned shoulders. A fitting replacement for his last one, gold jewelry tinkling as he did so. As he closed the dull brown drawer, his eyes level with the drawer top, the photo of his brother and himself playing on their bikes in the back yard of their suburban childhood home brought him to a sudden stop.

For many long moments he just stared blankly, reminiscing on those bygone days of normalcy and peace. It pained him to remember his happy childhood, and he found himself gently placing the picture in the drawer safe amongst the bed of soft clothing. There were other photos buried there as well, ones he also could not bring himself to view, his mother and father, pictures of Christmas gatherings and family. It would be a long time before he could look at any of them again if ever.

Aran had always felt blessed to have his older brother by his side, so few had come this far, their family unscathed. Most had lost everything they held dear, relatives, friends and loved ones, all dead or dispersed with no way of knowing if they survived or perished in the great conflict. Until now Aran had always had the steady comfort of his brother by his side, in decision making, or in the heat of battle. Having Sven there was something he had always taken for granted. Now suddenly he was alone, and being master of his own destiny did not hold the appeal he thought it would. There were times in the past when Aran had resented his older siblings advice or interference, but he would grin and bear it all again to have his brother back. He hurriedly closed the drawer on his memories and made ready to address today's pressing issues.

Aran had many problems on his conscience this fine afternoon as he left the dark of the cabin and strode with purpose toward the cave. The sun felt good through the thin, silk shirt and a light chill pervaded on the breeze, enough that in the shadows it felt uncomfortably cool. The fire in the cave would be most welcome to drive off autumn’s chill this day. A lone black crow circled in the clear azure sky far above calling in its mournful tone.

The slaves glanced up at the blond giant as he passed, all engaged in their various activities, they were the backbone of this camp. Without them it would be rudimentary indeed here, and an even harsher existence than it already was. The small multi colored flock of goats were bleating as they climbed the cliffs with great agility, making meals of the hardy box thorn bushes that most other animals passed by. The few spare looking horses and mules grazed calmly nearby, tails swishing at the errant flies. Yet he gave them not one thought, Renard was on his mind this day. Aran had decided to execute him for his traitorous acts, but first he wanted to know the whole story behind his desertion. Renard had always been an exemplary warrior, fearless and reliable, this was out of character. There must be more to this than just simple discontentment, and Aran would get the full details before he condemned the man to death.

Dwayne and Pig had been placed on watch duty, Aran had not failed to notice the two men's impropriety in the camp’s management and he would investigate and deal with that later, until then he had deemed they would be better off out of the way of proceedings. Counting himself, his band consisted of only ten warriors, very different from the original thirty-one under Bennett’s command only a month ago. Defending this place let alone raiding with any success would be a difficulty his leadership would face, and he was sure he would have to make many hard decisions in the next few days ahead.

The remaining Warriors were all assembled about the fire in the great cave picking at the cold remains of last nights repast, engaged in mending weapons, and talking quietly amongst themselves. They may have looked casual and very relaxed but they were waiting for him, all troubled as much as Aran was, every man there needing a clear course of action to follow. When they sighted Aran approaching their conversation quieted as he took his place by the fireside. It was some time before he chose to speak, the new leader picking also on the cold goats meat to sate his hunger. Raissa appeared and bought him cool water which he drank greedily. Then focusing his mind to the issues at hand, he began.

Clearing his throat he started slowly, feeling the strength of his leadership, surveying every hard face as they regarded him in turn. His deep gruff voice almost a low growl, building to a more authoritative tone as he progressed. “Our position is precarious here. We number few and our supplies are dwindling.” The men shook their heads in agreement. He took more meat, chewed thoughtfully, and continued assessing the response from his men, hoping they were all with him.

“If we were attacked right now there is little doubt we would be defeated, and we would all be driven into the desert to perish. We are simply too few to hold this place.” His strong hands held his tankard steady as a rock and his intense green eyes held all in thrall. The men all nodded assent to this statement, clearly they were worried about this as much as Aran was, and wondered what their young, yet unproven leader was going to suggest. This had been a hot topic of conversation among them all the previous evening whilst Aran slept. Fueled by their response he continued. “We will for the time being double the watch, five of us will survey the surroundings at any one time in twelve hourly shifts, not very desirable I know but most necessary at this time. I have picked the men who will man the shifts and we will gradually rotate them so no one stays up all night indefinitely.

The men did not like this decision but all agreed with the sense of it, looking at their new leader in approval. Still most there were puzzled and it took Will to speak up voicing the question on many men's minds. “But how will this be achieved, we number only ten?” Aran smiled a small winsome smile flashing his even white teeth and elaborated.

“Yes, there may be ten warriors here, but there are others who live here too and are most capable of this task.” The men all looked at one another uneasily, surely Aran was not suggesting putting such an important duty into the hands of slaves.
“You mean, you would............” Todd spoke his thought aloud, not really meaning to do so. To many of the warriors the idea seemed blasphemous.
“We have to!” Aran countered strongly before Todd’s sentence was even complete, meaning to quash any dissension fast. Todd was immediately silent. Doggedly Aran persisted with his radical ideas. “The slaves have as much to lose as we do, this valley is their home as well is it not?” He paused here letting his point sink in, before continuing. “We need all the able bodied hands we can at this time, we cannot be too choosy.”

Aran stumbled for a moment as he went into the next part of his idea. A concept his men would not take to so readily. However the matter had to be addressed. “I have also noticed the reappearance of our leader’s plaything, I do not know how he has managed to cheat death, but I think he should be allowed a chance to join our ranks as a warrior, we have no quarrel with him. We need every able bodied man we can get at this point, and we all have witnessed he is a good fighter.”

The circle of men went quiet at this last statement unsure whether they liked this latest idea of their leader’s in the least.
“Can we trust him?” Will interspersed, the armorer could never help himself when it came to speaking his mind aloud often to his detriment. Will Aran noted, was less careful with him than he had been with Bennett, and he was not sure he liked this trend. Others nodded and voiced their concern as well along with Will, the conversation suddenly getting very animated in the echoey cavern. Aran raised his broad hands in a bid for silence, it was half heeded, but not completely obeyed.

“He will be watched very closely at first, until he can prove himself to us.” Aran assured his men over their voice of discontent. “But I do not believe he has any quarrel with us. His quarrel was with a man now gone. If he abuses the trust we have put in him then he shall suffer fitting punishment as any traitor. Angus, Todd, go fetch him for me... Now.” Aran could see the two men were not so immediate to take his orders, pausing far longer then they would have for his predecessor, however they left to do as they were bid.

Aran sighed inwardly he could see he was going to have to solidly assert himself if he was to get these men’s complete allegiance. They did not believe in him yet as they had their former leader, this weighed heavy on the young man’s mind. It would be a bad time to stand divided, and could cost them dear.


Renard sat bound hand and foot in Aran’s cabin leaning against the metal wall, dark eyes abjectly to the floor. His end would arrive soon unless he could think of something terribly clever, of that he was most certain. The slow despairing hours of his endless captivity had been filled with thoughts of the past, his family, especially his sister Frances, and his far away home. He longed to walk the fertile valley of his youth, beneath the dark welcome shade of the tall rows of cypresses and sheoaks, listening to the wind in their tops. To ride his fine chestnut horse through the vineyards, gardens, and fields once more. It was a simple wish, one which looked as though it would have little chance of fruition.

Home may as well be ten thousand miles away he despaired, it was a place that was no longer real to him, or within his reach. In protecting its sanctity he had made his sacrifice, soon he would pay the final price. To begin with Renard had been optimistic he might escape the stern sentence looming over his head. However as the time wore on he had begun to resign himself to death. He was ready he thought, he had been caught out and had failed on his mission. Traitors would receive little quarter, it would not matter what side he was on, the sentence would still be the same. He may as well reveal the truth and hope for the mercy of a clean death. Aran would give him that at least he was sure, he was a fair and just man. Renard’s only regret was he had failed to find his sister, it made his heart ache in his chest as he guessed time was fast running out for her too, if it hadn't already.

The condemned man’s inward reverie was broken suddenly by footsteps heading in his direction. So it is time he thought, time to say his peace. It was almost dark now but Renard could see Aran’s big frame plainly enough as he came up the path to the hut, kicking up the fine red sand as he walked in scuffed boots that had seen better days. The troubled leader pulled up an old chromed steel kitchen chair and sat astride it with his sturdy arms draped over its back looking down intently at his prisoner. The chair creaked under its heavy burden, and Renard could smell newly tanned leather, as the man sat close to him. Aran looked fierce with his lions mane in the half light, like some primal savage, the ample gold gleamed on his every finger, suspended from his ears, and around his heavy set neck. The red of a large ruby appearing like a clot of blood on his ring finger. Renard at once thinking of his own blood which would soon be wetting the thirsty sands.

Aran sighed almost regretfully and began in a subdued voice. “I felt this interview would be best conducted in private. Renard... you have been an exemplary warrior, and for that reason alone I wish to understand what has happened better before I pass sentence on you. Speak your peace if you will. What you say shall stay here within these walls, just between me and you.” There was a vast silence, Aran shifted his bulk uncomfortably on the chair, he was not a patient man. However he was not so blind he could not see Renard struggling with what was within. So he waited for the man to speak...

Renard’s voice was soft and low, he was speaking to the floor. There were the beginnings of tears in his eyes and he was fighting to keep control, grateful it was half dark and Aran was the only one present. He began slowly at first, but as the minutes wore on he was pouring out the entire story. It did not matter now, he would die soon, but he wanted Aran to understand it was his family he was fighting for. It was they who carried his true allegiance, and whatever the price he would never betray them. Of all in this forsaken place he was sure Aran could understand his sentiments better than most as he poured out his emotion laden words.

Aran was struck cold as he realized he was looking at the brother to the woman he loved, and all this time they had both been on the same agenda, if only he had of known. He was so taken aback he heard little of the rest of Renard's admissions, but sat through them in stunned silence his mind reeling with the ramifications of this new information.

Renard had no idea of the effect he was having on Aran, and the quandary the man was in. Tears were coursing down his cheeks into his beard, and his voice was now thick with emotion. The usually reserved man had cast his guard aside, he no longer cared if Aran thought him weak. He had said his peace, and he could now go to his execution cleansed. Expecting the moment was imminent Renard was confused as Aran did not say a word, leaving as suddenly as he had appeared into the now desert darkness. Even more surprised to be escorted back to the confines of his prison, wondering what kind of cruel joke had been played.

Aran stalked out into the cool night, he had to think, walking to the verges of the camp, past Bennett’s abandoned cabin, and the ring of long discarded trucks and car bodies laying further out. The chips of shattered windscreen glass collected the faint sliver of moonlight like stars scattered on the sand. The brush swayed gently looking ominous and dark, occasionally an alarmed bird scattered from its roosting place, making Aran jump.

Can I kill him even now? Aran asked himself. The men will want and demand it, it will be expected of me. How do I sate them so justice can appear to be done, and they do not find me weak? He struggled with the decision. Renard is her brother, Aran thought in disbelief.

He had never even reasoned it, but he had no reason to believe that Renard was lying. In fact it would explain many things, but what to do in light of this admission? Aran could not possibly entreat Stephan’s aid with the blood of his son on his hands. It was bad enough the man had lost a daughter. It was hard to admit to himself that he would in all probability not be destined to see her again. Aran feared the worst for the lovely Frances, it was most unusual that not one person here had any idea where Bennett had supposedly hidden her. His heart ached, he could still visualize her delicate beauty, hear her musical voice, see the despair in her indigo eyes.

He hung his head and stopped abruptly, his shoulders slumped in a posture of defeat, it was like some nightmare. Yet it was starkly real. Everyone he cared for was absent from his world, just like that, gone. Aran wanted to weep, but instead he pushed the emotion aside and stood as still as stone, darkness in his heart. Leaders must be strong he reminded himself, and he would be no exception, it was his duty to think logically what to do. He would not allow himself the luxury of such emotions, he must stand strong and sure whatever the cost.


Carlos was in a state of shock, he had been installed as a warrior under the supervision of Will on Aran’s behest. Freedom felt to the newly liberated Carlos a strange state indeed. He sat by the fire a short distance from the others, his change in status seemed surreal, and he did not feel at all comfortable. It was very obvious the men were contemptuous of him and still regarded him as only a slave. It was obvious the usually cheery Will resented the task he had been assigned by Aran, that of watching over him carefully.

The young man had washed away the many weeks of filth and taken a much needed shave, looking more his handsome self. Most of the wounds he had sustained at Pig and Dwayne’s hands had completely healed to small traces of light scarring on his tanned flesh. The news of Bennett’s demise was music to his ears and he was thinking about perhaps taking over his Master’s cabin. There was no reason now to run away and face the unknown harshness of the desert wastes, at least not immediately. He would stick it out here and hopefully with time gain some form of acceptance amongst his peers. If he did not then he would leave and take his chances elsewhere.