Chapter 1 : Inferno
Hell was silence.
Caspian was not thinking metaphorically; that was
something he rarely did, preferring to leave such
thoughts to Methos, who seemed to enjoy such
things. Rather, he meant it literally. For this was
Hell, the Underworld, the Land of the Damned and,
contrary to popular belief, there were no pools of
magma and hordes of demons inflicting various
torments. Instead there was only a vast aching
emptiness of All, infinitely more painful than even
the most experienced torturers.
Then, there would be the cold fire of a knife on
flesh, the hot touch of blood and the scent of fear,
not that Caspian would have felt fear, but he knew
this more intimately from the other end of the blade.
Here, there was nothing but desolation, no touch, no
taste, no screams of tormented souls echoing through
the void. Caspian knew. He had tried to call out,
once, but even his own voice had not been heard. There
was only mind.
He'd wondered at first what had happened and where he
was. Caspian knew he was dead immediately, the cut of
the Highlander's katana and the feel of his quickening
being wrenched away could not be ignored. It was after
that was unexpected.
He had no more believed in the afterlife, or at least
that beyond the quickening, than he had in any of the
silly mortal religions. Immortals like himself were as
close as any of the fools were going to get to Gods.
Had he and his brothers not been Lords of Chaos and
Destruction, more fearful than his people's forgotten
Dark Ones? Had not even his father's Powers failed him
in the end?
At first, he'd thought that this was where MacLeod had
trapped him, but from what he knew of the Highlander,
Caspian should have been some influence on him. After
all, he was Famine, one of the Four Horsemen and one
of the oldest and most powerful Immortals on the
planet.
Even so, there was no escape from this prison
without walls. That had led him to an inevitable
conclusion....
His life had never been one to please any Power save
himself. He had openly laughed at the gods and broken
sacred taboos. Among the People, the flesh of the dead
was sacred and to desecrate it a great offense, even
the bodies of enemies were treated with reverence.
Today, ever since the birth of all these young
religions, even his more mundane acts were considered
monstrous. Not that that hadn't happened in the past.
His own village had stoned him to death as a demon. In
this place of barrenness immortal memory rose up and
struck like the blow of a whip with remembered pain
and anger. The blows from stones gradually crushing
him until he mercifully lost consciousness were felt
by nonexistent flesh.
Still, he had risen up like a virtual god upon the
earth to punish them. Instead of being a cheering
thought, as it normally had been, it only emphasized
his predicament for there was the sense that this time
there would be no second chance.
It was said that the Gods could look into a person's
heart. Only a few times in his very long like had he
felt this way, abandoned and alone. To be alone by
choice was one thing, to hunt alone by preference, but
to simply be forgotten... Even in prison he could
torment and taunt his doctors and keepers, knowing it
could not go on forever. It had been quite amusing.
Here, he did not even rate personal attention despite
all he'd done. Someone knew him too well. Caspian had
nothing here except his memories.
"Where are your brothers now, boy?" asked a voice
suspiciously like his father's. At least, so he
imagined, knowing that it wasn't real. That was the
real torment, that he would never know and never see
them again.
In his mind, he chuckled. At this point he was even
starting to miss Silas' company. Vaguely he wondered
at their possible success, or success on Kronos'
terms. He doubted his brother really wanted to rule
the world, so much as return it to the past.
Something that could happen if the virus was released.
Not that it would matter much to him, but he wanted to
be there. He had been alone for so long, there had
been so few people he could share with. Now it looked
like he'd be alone for a long while longer.
Despite the torture of nothingness, there was no
guilt. Even now he scoffed at such a notion. All he
had done was taken what he wanted, when he wanted;a
much more honest philosophy than those of most. Nor
was
there insanity, though this place was designed to
drive men mad, for Caspian had never been exactly as
crazy as he let others think.
He would have smiled if it had been possible, for he
had always known exactly what he was doing and could
tell what was real. It was hard to reach his age
otherwise.
He hadn't been stuck in the past either, unlike some
Immortals who died young because they couldn't change.
Unlike Silas, he hadn't locked himself in a time
capsule. Yet even insanity couldn't have explained
this landscape.
Now there was nothing to do except wait and remember.
Even gods were not eternal, that he knew only too
well. The Horsemen had lasted a thousand years,
eternity to a mortal, but not to him. It was betrayal
that had dissolved them, a brotherhood he had held
closer than life. Yes, that was the last time he had
felt this way, though not the first by far.
The Gods had indeed read his soul. Perhaps there was a
tormentor waiting in the wings making him remember
things he would rather have left alone. Still, he
would wait. He certainly had time, didn't he?
***
Memory
***
The sun beat down on Caspian's partially shaved head,
strengthening the outline of the stark black tatoo. A
rock flew passed his face, narrowly missing his nose
and he turned a fierce glare in the direction it had
come from only to catch a glimpse of a swiftly fleeing
childish figure. He ignored a few young giggles that
came from the incident. The People bustled this way
and that, preparing for their ridiculous ceremony. As
if fire made any difference to the darker powers.
The man ignored the looks directed at him. Man he was,
now, but barely and his father dead only half a year.
The jeers and half-muttered signs against evil Caspian
noticed absently; he was used to such things. Had they
not done the same as long as he could remember?
Still, he fought and controlled his anger. His father
had taught him well. Anger causes you make mistakes;
use it, but don't let it use you. It was harder now to
listen to a dead man, but that man was all he had
besides the People, a bunch of weak minded fools lead
around by their nose by the priest. They would believe
him if they said the sun would rise in the west as a
sign of the Gods' favor.
The priest though, he was no fool. He had made himself
the almost absolute ruler, but didn't have to do any
ruling if he didn't want to. Caspian couldn't think of
a better arrangement. Fool or no, however, time was
slowly overpowering him. That was the one Caspian
really hated, hearing how his father's death was
deserved for his ways and denouncing a man who had
saved their village from raiders out of dislike and in
safety, as the warrior was confined to the grave.
The path by the temple, crowded though it was cleared
in front of him, people jerking back to avoid being
too close. But this was out of fear, not respect.
Among the People, he was alone. He lived among them,
but was not one of them. Demon spawn, monster, devil,
all these were words with which he was very familiar.
But better to be this than cattle, eagerly lead to the
slaughter. He smiled, a chill icy grin, and the space
around him widened.
Suddenly his hand reached up, catching with deadly
accuracy the stone launched at him. There was silence
and all heads turned in the direction of the one
responsible. The boy was in the process of being
deserting by his companions, undoubtedly the ones who
had egged him on with taunts of cowardice and now were
proving themselves of the title.
Caspian walked towards the shaking boy, smile never
leaving his face, infinitely more frightening than a
glare or frown. Like a small animal before a snake,
the boy froze. Caspian squatted down to the boy's
level and twirled the rock between his fingers. Behind
him, he could hear the worried family members trying
to reach him before the "devil" did something to their
son. He chuckled.
"Good throw. Next time, though, make sure the target
can't see you." He grabbed the youngster's hand and
raised it up, opening the palm sweaty with fear,
placing the rock on it.
The small head nodded vigorously, hair bobbing in all
directions.
"Good."
Caspian straightened himself and met the eyes of the
boy's father, who was a good ten Sun Days his senior,
before continuing his journey. A little kindness could
be more terrifying than cruelty.
Behind him, the whispers continued, speaking of the
dark ones and spurning the gods. A memory came to him.
"There are other gods than those they serve, though
the priest would not have you believe it." His
father's voice was a contenting rumble, but the words
were intent and the small boy nodded. "The ones they
condemn are more powerful and more willing to be
helpful than Garashu ever has been."
But even his father was like them, though he loved him
dearly, he could see that now. His claim of
supernatural protection had not saved his life.
"No man can kill me. I have no need to fear death,
that is why I can fight as I do. One who does not fear
death is the most fierce of all."
Caspian had believed him with all his heart, for his
father had never lied to him, no matter how terrible
the question he asked.
The tattoo on his head was a protection like the one
his father claimed. The dragon, god of the underworld,
could stave off death, except from the most powerful
of magic. A boy, nearly a man, had endured the pain as
he had been taught as ink was pined into flesh.
"I'm dying, boy." The words had killed his heart,
leaving a black empty abyss. There was a cough. "He
tricked me." The once strong voice was weak with
illness, ragged and rough. It was then that the
coughing fit began and Caspian was forced to pull the
ailing frame up, as his father no longer could.
Finally it subsided.
Illness had taken him, robbed him of the one person he
had cared about. Now there was only the People, whom
he held in contempt and could never face without the
vague claws of hatred tearing at his mind, who even
now were watching him.
Now, Caspian did not care. He continued to walk into
the burning summer heat, the serpent on his head going
with him into the inferno.
Hell was silence.
Caspian was not thinking metaphorically; that was
something he rarely did, preferring to leave such
thoughts to Methos, who seemed to enjoy such
things. Rather, he meant it literally. For this was
Hell, the Underworld, the Land of the Damned and,
contrary to popular belief, there were no pools of
magma and hordes of demons inflicting various
torments. Instead there was only a vast aching
emptiness of All, infinitely more painful than even
the most experienced torturers.
Then, there would be the cold fire of a knife on
flesh, the hot touch of blood and the scent of fear,
not that Caspian would have felt fear, but he knew
this more intimately from the other end of the blade.
Here, there was nothing but desolation, no touch, no
taste, no screams of tormented souls echoing through
the void. Caspian knew. He had tried to call out,
once, but even his own voice had not been heard. There
was only mind.
He'd wondered at first what had happened and where he
was. Caspian knew he was dead immediately, the cut of
the Highlander's katana and the feel of his quickening
being wrenched away could not be ignored. It was after
that was unexpected.
He had no more believed in the afterlife, or at least
that beyond the quickening, than he had in any of the
silly mortal religions. Immortals like himself were as
close as any of the fools were going to get to Gods.
Had he and his brothers not been Lords of Chaos and
Destruction, more fearful than his people's forgotten
Dark Ones? Had not even his father's Powers failed him
in the end?
At first, he'd thought that this was where MacLeod had
trapped him, but from what he knew of the Highlander,
Caspian should have been some influence on him. After
all, he was Famine, one of the Four Horsemen and one
of the oldest and most powerful Immortals on the
planet.
Even so, there was no escape from this prison
without walls. That had led him to an inevitable
conclusion....
His life had never been one to please any Power save
himself. He had openly laughed at the gods and broken
sacred taboos. Among the People, the flesh of the dead
was sacred and to desecrate it a great offense, even
the bodies of enemies were treated with reverence.
Today, ever since the birth of all these young
religions, even his more mundane acts were considered
monstrous. Not that that hadn't happened in the past.
His own village had stoned him to death as a demon. In
this place of barrenness immortal memory rose up and
struck like the blow of a whip with remembered pain
and anger. The blows from stones gradually crushing
him until he mercifully lost consciousness were felt
by nonexistent flesh.
Still, he had risen up like a virtual god upon the
earth to punish them. Instead of being a cheering
thought, as it normally had been, it only emphasized
his predicament for there was the sense that this time
there would be no second chance.
It was said that the Gods could look into a person's
heart. Only a few times in his very long like had he
felt this way, abandoned and alone. To be alone by
choice was one thing, to hunt alone by preference, but
to simply be forgotten... Even in prison he could
torment and taunt his doctors and keepers, knowing it
could not go on forever. It had been quite amusing.
Here, he did not even rate personal attention despite
all he'd done. Someone knew him too well. Caspian had
nothing here except his memories.
"Where are your brothers now, boy?" asked a voice
suspiciously like his father's. At least, so he
imagined, knowing that it wasn't real. That was the
real torment, that he would never know and never see
them again.
In his mind, he chuckled. At this point he was even
starting to miss Silas' company. Vaguely he wondered
at their possible success, or success on Kronos'
terms. He doubted his brother really wanted to rule
the world, so much as return it to the past.
Something that could happen if the virus was released.
Not that it would matter much to him, but he wanted to
be there. He had been alone for so long, there had
been so few people he could share with. Now it looked
like he'd be alone for a long while longer.
Despite the torture of nothingness, there was no
guilt. Even now he scoffed at such a notion. All he
had done was taken what he wanted, when he wanted;a
much more honest philosophy than those of most. Nor
was
there insanity, though this place was designed to
drive men mad, for Caspian had never been exactly as
crazy as he let others think.
He would have smiled if it had been possible, for he
had always known exactly what he was doing and could
tell what was real. It was hard to reach his age
otherwise.
He hadn't been stuck in the past either, unlike some
Immortals who died young because they couldn't change.
Unlike Silas, he hadn't locked himself in a time
capsule. Yet even insanity couldn't have explained
this landscape.
Now there was nothing to do except wait and remember.
Even gods were not eternal, that he knew only too
well. The Horsemen had lasted a thousand years,
eternity to a mortal, but not to him. It was betrayal
that had dissolved them, a brotherhood he had held
closer than life. Yes, that was the last time he had
felt this way, though not the first by far.
The Gods had indeed read his soul. Perhaps there was a
tormentor waiting in the wings making him remember
things he would rather have left alone. Still, he
would wait. He certainly had time, didn't he?
***
Memory
***
The sun beat down on Caspian's partially shaved head,
strengthening the outline of the stark black tatoo. A
rock flew passed his face, narrowly missing his nose
and he turned a fierce glare in the direction it had
come from only to catch a glimpse of a swiftly fleeing
childish figure. He ignored a few young giggles that
came from the incident. The People bustled this way
and that, preparing for their ridiculous ceremony. As
if fire made any difference to the darker powers.
The man ignored the looks directed at him. Man he was,
now, but barely and his father dead only half a year.
The jeers and half-muttered signs against evil Caspian
noticed absently; he was used to such things. Had they
not done the same as long as he could remember?
Still, he fought and controlled his anger. His father
had taught him well. Anger causes you make mistakes;
use it, but don't let it use you. It was harder now to
listen to a dead man, but that man was all he had
besides the People, a bunch of weak minded fools lead
around by their nose by the priest. They would believe
him if they said the sun would rise in the west as a
sign of the Gods' favor.
The priest though, he was no fool. He had made himself
the almost absolute ruler, but didn't have to do any
ruling if he didn't want to. Caspian couldn't think of
a better arrangement. Fool or no, however, time was
slowly overpowering him. That was the one Caspian
really hated, hearing how his father's death was
deserved for his ways and denouncing a man who had
saved their village from raiders out of dislike and in
safety, as the warrior was confined to the grave.
The path by the temple, crowded though it was cleared
in front of him, people jerking back to avoid being
too close. But this was out of fear, not respect.
Among the People, he was alone. He lived among them,
but was not one of them. Demon spawn, monster, devil,
all these were words with which he was very familiar.
But better to be this than cattle, eagerly lead to the
slaughter. He smiled, a chill icy grin, and the space
around him widened.
Suddenly his hand reached up, catching with deadly
accuracy the stone launched at him. There was silence
and all heads turned in the direction of the one
responsible. The boy was in the process of being
deserting by his companions, undoubtedly the ones who
had egged him on with taunts of cowardice and now were
proving themselves of the title.
Caspian walked towards the shaking boy, smile never
leaving his face, infinitely more frightening than a
glare or frown. Like a small animal before a snake,
the boy froze. Caspian squatted down to the boy's
level and twirled the rock between his fingers. Behind
him, he could hear the worried family members trying
to reach him before the "devil" did something to their
son. He chuckled.
"Good throw. Next time, though, make sure the target
can't see you." He grabbed the youngster's hand and
raised it up, opening the palm sweaty with fear,
placing the rock on it.
The small head nodded vigorously, hair bobbing in all
directions.
"Good."
Caspian straightened himself and met the eyes of the
boy's father, who was a good ten Sun Days his senior,
before continuing his journey. A little kindness could
be more terrifying than cruelty.
Behind him, the whispers continued, speaking of the
dark ones and spurning the gods. A memory came to him.
"There are other gods than those they serve, though
the priest would not have you believe it." His
father's voice was a contenting rumble, but the words
were intent and the small boy nodded. "The ones they
condemn are more powerful and more willing to be
helpful than Garashu ever has been."
But even his father was like them, though he loved him
dearly, he could see that now. His claim of
supernatural protection had not saved his life.
"No man can kill me. I have no need to fear death,
that is why I can fight as I do. One who does not fear
death is the most fierce of all."
Caspian had believed him with all his heart, for his
father had never lied to him, no matter how terrible
the question he asked.
The tattoo on his head was a protection like the one
his father claimed. The dragon, god of the underworld,
could stave off death, except from the most powerful
of magic. A boy, nearly a man, had endured the pain as
he had been taught as ink was pined into flesh.
"I'm dying, boy." The words had killed his heart,
leaving a black empty abyss. There was a cough. "He
tricked me." The once strong voice was weak with
illness, ragged and rough. It was then that the
coughing fit began and Caspian was forced to pull the
ailing frame up, as his father no longer could.
Finally it subsided.
Illness had taken him, robbed him of the one person he
had cared about. Now there was only the People, whom
he held in contempt and could never face without the
vague claws of hatred tearing at his mind, who even
now were watching him.
Now, Caspian did not care. He continued to walk into
the burning summer heat, the serpent on his head going
with him into the inferno.
