The Past
The woman sank back into her comatose state, still swaying slightly with her mount's long relaxed stride. Achmed then let his ears and eyes open, to take in everything about their path so as to memorize it in case they would need to come back this way, and the unusual scarred woman unable to guide them. He was no longer in his world and his unique abilities were somewhat obscured, true, but he still retained a piece of his innate ability to find and follow a path. When it became dark, however, Rhapsody insisted that they stop and at least rest their horses. Achmed reluctantly agreed, though more because he wanted to make sure the dark woman regained her facilities, and as quickly as possible.
The three made camp off the side of the dry-creek bed in a somewhat clear space between several tall pine trees. The horses were tethered on long lines to the nearest branches. Rhapsody and Grunthor set about making a small fire while Achmed propped the black clad women up against the tree directly across from him, not five feet away. If she said anything more, he wanted to hear. Her semi-lucid speeches offered intriguing insights. As the little fire crackled and popped, Achmed began to mull over the woman's latest ramble. His mouth turned into a thin line as he placed his fingertips to his lips in his posture of deep thought.
Rhapsody knew better than to interrupt the Dhracian when he took to pondering in that intense state of mind of his. Instead of trying to ask him what the whisper she heard the dark woman utter meant, she left it alone and tried, rather unsuccessfully, to sleep. Her mind kept drifting to the secrets she knew Achmed was keeping from her, the odd behavior of the dark woman, the methodic whispers that were just under Rhapsody's ability to hear…what in the name of her beloved star was going on?
Achmed did not feel the need to sleep. He continued to watch the dark woman intently, slumped against the rough shadowed bark, her head twisted limply to the side, resting on her shoulder. Her eyes were closed and the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed was hardly noticeable, if at all. She looked for all appearances to be dead.
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She was riding her great black stallion across the vast plains of tall, weedy grass. It was the beginning of fall; still warm, but not hot or humid. She gazed contentedly out across the land, taking pleasure in the calm simplicity of the plains. As the sun rose and made its way through the sky she saw the tiny dots on the horizon symbolizing the huts of a small town. The metal band twisted into the shape of a snake around her upper left arm warmed in the sun's rays, and her earrings glinted merrily.
The sound of hoof beats approached from behind. She turned to greet the lithe, brown haired man on the draft/paint mix riding up to meet her.
"Hey, Mort. How're the saddle sores?" she asked with a wry smile.
"Fine," the man replied. "Yours?"
"Shove it up your arse…" the woman chided sarcastically.
---
She twisted the knife further into his wretched body. "This time I want to watch the light leave your eyes…" she hissed. And as the greasy, formerly sneering grey man began to sink to his knees, she whispered, "Say hello to the devil for me!"
---
Her head hanging dangerously close to the rim of her glass, she ordered another shot of tequila.
"I think you've probably 'ad enough, woman," the barkeep said.
She slammed her fist on the bar and snapped her head up. "Don't tell me when I've had enough! I'll know when I've had enough; now give me the damned drink!"
The barkeeper reluctantly conceded and handed her the new glass. Once he turned his back and moved away, another rather drunk man sat down next to her.
"Hi, there, lady…"
---
She woke up in a haze; the blurry image of a cheap top-floor room of one of the shady district's inns lazily came into view. The onerous sound of a drunken man's snoring thundered in her ears. She cursed the filthy wretch as she dragged herself out of the shabby little straw bed and hauled her breeches and boots back on.
"Only one way to avoid hangovers…" she mumbled to herself as she left the room, "…stay drunk."
---
The woman teetered dangerously down an all-but deserted dirt path on the outskirts of the city. The world before her had been swirling and drifting in and out of focus for so long now it had become almost second nature, but this night she had drunk even deeper than usual.
"Where's th' damned inn?" she cursed under her breath.
She stopped. An old gray farmhouse stood alone in a small field. It looked as though it hadn't been used in years…the roof was sagging slightly, and a few windows were boarded up…but something about it struck the woman as familiar.
Then she burped, swooned, and passed out in the dirt.
Something jolted her awake some time later. She blinked rapidly, trying to let her eyes adjust to the sudden intense light. There was a large shadow looming over her prone figure; the silhouette of a big man on a big horse.
"Shit," she grumbled as she tried to fight through her mind-splitting headache and stand, or at the very least sit upright.
"I thought you cleaned up these streets, Randi!" scolded the old, dry, and screechy voice of an old, vulture like woman.
She, though extremely hung-over, recognized the voice at once and involuntarily stiffened.
"I cannot believe you let something like this happen!" the old woman continued to shriek. "What do you think it looks like when a wretched drunk vagrant woman passes out right in front of the Captain's own home? This is a disgrace!"
"Yes, Mother. It will never happen again," replied a deep, back-woodsy male voice.
She finally gained enough stability to stand steadily in front of the man on the horse, and through matted hair and gritted teeth she mumbled, "You may have grown a few feet up and out, and your voice may have dropped an octave, but you're still a momma's boy."
The shadow's head snapped back to attention, and if she'd been able to see his eyes she'd bet that they were staring directly at her, studying her intently, slow recognition, yet disbelief beginning to dawn on him. She ignored him, however, and stumbled painfully back down the road towards town.
---
He was working on the roof of the barn, fixing a leak over one of the as-yet still empty stalls. He worked shirtless, the sun glinting off the smooth, tan, and sweaty skin over the rolling muscles in his back.
"Damn," she muttered to herself. "I wish the last few years had been as good to me as they were to you…"
When he climbed back down from the roof she handed him a rag to wipe the sweat from his brow.
"How long has it been, Randi?" she asked. "Two, three years?"
"Five," he replied.
"FIVE?" she shrieked. "Fu…! Are you serious! Five! Where was I? I do NOT remember it being FIVE years!"
The man named Randi said nothing for a moment, and then very quietly and gently said, "Ryder, I think you have a problem…"
---
"This is your fault!" she screamed in pain. "I blame you! You did this!" She paused to let out an agonizing groan and grimace. "I hope you're satisfied with just the one, Randi, 'cause you ain't getting any more than that!"
---
She was searching frantically underneath the bed. "Where is it?" she muttered ferociously to herself. "I know I put in under here somewhere!" She groped around for a few more minutes, and then let out a small yell of triumph. "Yes!" She unwrapped a small silver flask from a rolled up piece of cloth. She was about to take a swig when the presence of a short little curly-haired person caught her attention.
"Daddy says you aren't supposed to drink," the two year old girl said.
"Well we just won't tell Daddy, then, now will we?" she responded. "It'll be our little secret!" The little girl just looked at her, and then turned around and ran out of the room.
"Daddy!" she cried.
"Don't listen to her, Randi!" she yelled. "She's lying!"
---
The children were bickering again. Her little girl was always fighting with the neighbor boy.
"My mommy says your mommy's crazy," the neighbor boy said.
"Yeah, well my mommy says your mommy's a doormat!"
"Enough!" she yelled, picking the girl up. As she made her way back to the house, however, she tried to banish the echo of the little boy's words from her mind.
Crazy…
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Achmed had been vigilantly on guard for hours, and still the mad woman remained unconscious. At one point he had seriously considered the possibility of her death, but at that moment her hand with the glass cuts twitched and his brief fear was dashed.
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She was walking through the crowded streets of town, a baby on hanging from a cradle off each shoulder, and a toddling little girl trailing behind her. She was headed for the leather smith's, but while making her way down one particularly busy road she suddenly found herself face to face with a familiar face.
She met the man's gaze squarely. He was a weasely sort of man, though admittedly a bit bigger than his brother. He glared at her with a disgustingly smug little smirk.
"Found you," he smiled.
---
She'd avoided retribution for years for the murder of Colonel Morrison, and it aggravated her beyond belief that they should find her now. Now, when she'd finally found something close to happiness, when she'd finally forgiven and forgotten herself.
"We have to leave," she told him. "Now."
---
She was sleeping peacefully; when all at once something jolted her awake. Her husband beside her was already sitting up in bed.
"What was that?" she demanded. She got out of bed and rushed to the window, where she saw a mob of burly, ghastly men carrying torches. They rushed at the house, throwing the torches at the walls and over the roof. One, thinner, paler, and more neatly kept man on a horse looked up straight into the window and caught her eye.
She turned from the window. She grabbed a pair of breeches and headed out the door.
"Ryder!" her husband called after her.
"Take care of the kids," she replied. "If you have to flee go out the back, through the barn tunnel. His fight is with me, I'll handle it." And she left.
---
There was fire all around her as she ran. They ambushed her among the flames, and try as she might she couldn't fight them off. They dragged her away through the melting snow; the red and yellow fury of the sky's fire dancing menacingly against the stark cold white earth.
---
They hit him again and again. She tried to jump up to protect him, but the skinny bastard cracked his whip and split open her face. She fell to the ground bleeding and partially blind. He pleaded with the ghastly man, who only whipped him as well.
She tried desperately to talk, plead, bargain…anything…but the bastard had only one thing on his mind.
She heard no words, just saw the knife in the murderer's bony fingers, and with one neat stroke he slit the other man's throat.
"No!" she screeched, crawling frantically over to her lover's sinking body. She held him in her arms, blood spilling everywhere, running down her arms, in her face; drowning her.
"Please..." she pleaded, for the first and last time in her life. "Please, no…I love you!" But he was slipping away, his life's blood pouring out, mixing in with her own, and she watched as the light faded from his eyes and he gasped no more. And then she sank into the deep pit of despair, lost in darkness.
---
She was strapped down to a wooden table; with an old gray man bending over her. She was an inch from death, she could feel it, and in that moment wanted nothing else, but the old man had a needle poised in his right hand. As he plunged its tip into her abdomen a incredible pain tore through her body; a searing hot bolt ripped through her muscles, burned her flesh and organs, and she screamed so that the gods above could hear her.
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The woman twitched, snapping Achmed out of his reverie. He fixed his gaze on the dark woman, whose hand was beginning to clench and unclench furiously. The dhracian raised himself to a position ready to move.
The rest of her body then began to shake, as if she were having a seizure. Her head thrashed back and forth violently as the rest of limbs flew out as if trying to detach themselves from the rest of her body. She hit and scratched herself, and just as Achmed tried to calm her unconscious person down, Rhapsody and Grunthor began to wake up, and the woman screamed. It was a blood-curdling, agonizing wail that caused the horses to break their ties and stampede shrieking away.
And then she stopped, limp once again. There was more blood on the woman's hand. Achmed took a step toward the dark woman, and froze whenher head all at once turned towards him.
Her eyes flew open.