Chapter 2: Escape
Whisper, shadow, the faint hint of presence, not the
buzz of a quickening, but a feeling of invitation. It
was weak, but distinct against the nothingness of his
prison. Caspian wondered if it was a trick, or if he
was creating an imagined hope of escape, but it spoke
to him, a faint clearly feminine voice he did not
recognize.
*?*
It was clearly a query, perhaps trying to find out if
he was still sane enough to respond. He thought loudly
an affirmative, that yes he had heard her.
The answer was not so much words as impressions.
*Vengeance, alliance, will, escape.*
It flew by so quickly, Caspian had to pause
momentarily before his reply, sorting out what he had
experienced. It was an escape plan. He had been right,
the only thing that mattered here was will. One mind
couldn't breach the barrier between the land of the
living and the house of the dead, but there was more
than one mind here.
There was no more hesitation. This is what he had been
hoping for. *When?*
There was amusement. *When I tell you.* The mind
retreated, but he grabbed on stubbornly.
*No, He'll find out. We must be careful. I've waited
too long. I can't talk much longer.*
*Who are you and who is he?*
*Ashur.* The voice swept as slippery as a serpent past
his grasp, not answering the one question and
vanished. Caspian wondered if the voice had been Ashur
or if Ashur had been Him. Still, that didn't matter.
There was a way and he would soon be free, reunited
with his brothers and ready to take revenge on the
Highlander if he still lived. The thought sustained
him in the endless night.
***
Memory
***
Years had passed since the Sun Day last remembered and
in this dream, another Sun Day had come and gone, the
night passed without incident for the People, and the
following day was a beautiful one. There had been for
Caspian, however, an incident which was why he was
trudging home late with his burden.
The antelope had been mauled by a predator, but
managed to escape. Why it had not been hunted down,
Caspian didn't know. Perhaps the creature had found
easier prey. He had followed its trail once he noticed
the traces of blood. Exhausted from its flight and
loss of blood, it could hardly escape the determined
hunter and now was a heavy weight against his back and
a delay to his feet. Sunset was approaching almost as
fast as the village.
So it was that he found himself passing the temple
with the crowd awaiting the relighting of the
ceremonial fire when the last rays of the sun fell
below the horizon. Only the sentries had seen him, the
rest stood staring at the aged priest and his young
acolyte, Zinair. It was surprising that the man had
survived this long when his father was so many years
dead. Ropes of color, vivid by day, faded into orange
and red streamers ruffling in the breeze. He had never
before seen the ceremony, having avoided it since
childhood and he rested his burden beside him.
They were all so intent that it was laughable. It was
not like the world would end if the fire wasn't relit
at precisely the right time. With exaggerated care--it
was the first time he was trusted with the ceremony,
Zinair bore the decorated pot containing the glowing
embers from an already prepared fire. His face
revealed the weight of worlds on his shoulders. It was
even more amusing because he was several years
Caspian's senior and, had he not been following in the
priest's footsteps, would have been considered a man
experienced at his trade.
Caspian laughed. He couldn't help himself. The whole
idea of it was so ridiculous. Over the crystalline
silence, the sound carried and shattered.
The sound was a distraction. Zinair, unused to his
dress, looked up.
To the horror of the People, his feet tangled in the
material that had been so lovingly prepared by his
mother, and he tumbled forward, the pot with the all
important embers flying out of his hands and crashing
down the temple steps in broken pieces. The red lights
fell to the ground, although some burned those too
near the temple stairs. In the dirt, they dimmed and
vanished.
As one the People gasped in dread, but Caspian only
laughed harder, picked up his burden and returned to
his home.
In desperation, the priest grabbed the largest of the
broken pieces and ran back to the prepared fire,
burning himself in an attempt to gather more embers.
He hurried back, but the sun was down, the darkness
had the opportunity to curse them. Still, best not to
give it more and he started the blaze as best he
could. The question that went through the minds of
everyone was: would it be enough?
***
Later
***
Zinair stretched his eyes to the limit of his vision,
but everywhere he saw only dying vegetation and dust
rising in the wind. Since Sun Day, there had been no
rain and, slowly, life around the People was beginning
to die.
This was the worst catastrophe in living memory, a
greater threat than the raiders for, with the sun,
water is life. Even the river was drying up, the blue
snake that had tunneled through lush green plant-life
was now a dismal muddy brown trickling through the
landscape. Animals were becoming scarce, many having
sought greener pastures. Zinair was beginning to think
that the People should follow them.
He sighed. What good would that do if they had earned
the anger of the Gods? It was his fault. Ever since he
had disrupted the ceremony, they had been cursed. His
master had been trying to divine portents in cast
stones, to read a way to appease the Gods or break the
curse that bound them.
Soon he knew, the People would begin dying. Already,
they had a gaunt look to them that spoke of too little
food for so many. The children were the worst. He had
none himself, but his nephews were as dear to him as
if they had been.
There was only one explanation for why darkness had
been drawn to their village. Caspian had brought it
back with him that night, trailing behind him like a
black cloud of despair. Had he not caused him to trip
and drop the embers? Could he have made a deal with
some dark power and disrupting their protection been
part of the price? He would ask his master if that was
possible, for if Caspian was the reason that so many
would soon die or be forced to leave their homes, he
had to stop it, one way or another.
***
The stones could still tell him nothing. All they said
was that something horrible was going to happen. The
old man looked at them in grief. Something terrible
was already happening. He prayed for rain, pleaded for
water, but there was no answer.
Soon, the People would have to move and many would
doubtless perish on the journey. Even after, good land
was occupied and the People would have to fight for
it, though he doubted they would have the strength to
do so. A solution had to be found and found quickly.
He was ancient in the years of those around him and
knew that he would be one of the many casualties.
"Master? Am I disturbing you?"
He turned his head at Zinair's tired voice.
"No, I can't find any solution. All the stones say is
that something terrible is coming. That you don't need
magic to read, all you have to do is look outside."
"Is it possible that one of us brought it in?"
"I suppose, but I doubt it." Who could carry such a
great evil on their back or their soul?
"You do remember how Caspian came back and laughed
during the ceremony?"
How could anyone forget? Caspian had a grin and a
chuckled that could freeze bones and make the dead
shudder in their graves, if he wished it, not to
mention afterwards.
He knew where Zinair was leading. He'd always
suspected Caspian's father of darker practices, but
everyone feared him so much that there was nothing he
could do. He did use them to protect the People and
did not the end justify the means?
Did they? That bore thinking about. Could it be
possible that Caspian was responsible? Possibly. The
man was unnerving and had never hid his contempt for
the divinities and himself. Even if he was not
responsible, removing him would remove a very
dangerous person who was likely to snap at any time.
There was something not right about him and his expert
killing ability could as easily turn someday against
the People instead of their enemies. Then there was
his birth, or lack of it, and his finding. Bad omens
all around. Perhaps this would be best.
"Thank you, Zinair. I'll think on it and pray."
***
"It was you."
"Demon."
"Devil."
"You've cursed us all."
Accusations assaulted him from every corner. Caspian
wasn't surprised; it had seemed merely a matter of
time. The unforeseen coincidence of the drought with
the accident on Sun Day would be too much for them to
ignore and they could not blame Zinair, their golden
child, so he was the obvious choice. Perhaps he should
have left before now, when it was apparent where this
was heading.
A child had died this morning, one of the children of
Ireto. Weak already, sickness had claimed his life,
leaving the People searching for a reason. Now they
surrounded him home like vultures around a dead
carcass crying for blood. If they tried anything,
blood they would get and it wouldn't be all his own.
Yet they waited, as if for a sign, or perhaps the
priest who came walking unhurriedly down the dusty
trail that the People considered a street.
"Hold!" The once powerful voice demanded silence. "You
have charged this man with witchcraft of the worst
order. Of consorting with demons and dark powers."
"He's cursed us all."
"He's not human. He's never been human. We all know
his mother was a demon. Should have killed him when he
was a babe and never let him endanger us!"
There was a hiss of agreement.
Caspian waited calmly. He already knew the outcome.
With luck, he could force them to give him a warrior's
death and take many with him. Still, it angered him.
As if a man could cause a drought. He forced down his
rage. There was no sense in wasting energy before a
fight.
"We know the punishment. Return the demon to the
earth. Bury him in the rocks he sundered to climb his
way up to torment us."
Caspian could imagine the instruction he gave those
sent to fetch him, but they were too low for even him
to hear. Concentrating, he listened, not to the yells
of anger and cries of blood, but for those who would
drag him outside into their wrath. He gripped the
wooden handle in his hands firmly, readying himself in
anticipation and was not disappointed.
There was movement at the entrance. Still, he waited,
patient as a serpent waiting for the prey to come
within its reach. The figure came into view, outlined
by the sun and deadly heat, a black figure, strong and
lethal. But not quick, not like the arm that reached
out as fast as the serpent he mimicked. A blow to the
face, the axe meeting flesh and bone and just as
quickly leaving, pulled back to await the next victim.
The body stumbled backwards, blood, the red elixir of
life, covering what was left of the features. This
lasted only for a moment. The man was dead. It fell,
knocking into one of his former companions before
meeting the dusty earth. There was a scream outside
from the man's wife, high-pitched and shrill as well
as yells of anger.
"Demon!"
"Monster!"
"My husband. My poor husband." The wailing grew.
Another entered, more cautious than the first. He too
held an axe in his hand. Blocking the first strike,
mainly through chance, he tried to make out the
second, but his eyes were used to the sun while
Caspian watched him clearly. The second blow reached
his arm, tearing tendons and flesh. The axe fell to
the ground, no longer supported and Caspian swung at
the man's unprotected neck. The blade practically
removed the man's head, the front half of his neck
completely severed. The body crumpled to the floor,
Caspian no longer caring, but waiting for the next
opponent. There was none.
"We can't kill him. He's a demon!"
"Burn him out!"
"Burn him!"
No! With the drought, the place was like tinder. Soon,
he could make out the scent of smoke. Caspian growled,
a low animal sound. He would at least try to escape.
Coughing, he made, not for the door, but the window.
He dived outside, rolling to his feet, meeting a briar
of spears. They had anticipated him and there was no
way he could get by the wall of sharpened points.
The first rock struck him in the face, breaking his
nose. Blood streaming, he cursed them and their
families. He threw the axe; it was no good to him now,
but the blow missed. Another stone, then another
tumbled down. Using his hands, he tried to protect his
face, backing up towards the now blazing building.
There would be no escape that way.
Slowly, bones crushed, skin broke.
"Monster!"
"Fiend!"
Like a torrent of pain, the rocks fell. Finally,
mercifully, he lost consciousness, the house behind
him blazing like a funeral pyre in the summer sun.
***
Like a swimmer coming up for air, he rushed through
the blackness towards the light. With a sudden painful
gasp air filled his lungs and eyes fluttered open,
only to close again as they sought to adjust to the
dim light. Caspian could smell the charred remnants of
his home and the blood covering his now whole body.
"Gods! He really is a demon. We didn't burn him soon
enough." Zinair gaped at him, but there was no answer
from the older priest, who clutched at his chest in
shock. The man toppled to the ground, not breathing
and Zinair kneeled over him as Caspian looked around
in confusion.
"They were right." The man was sobbing in terror, but
didn't even think to cry out in alarm. Caspian shook
his head in disgust. "You really are a demon," he
whispered.
Maybe he was. He smiled and stood on shaking feet that
recovered quickly. With a well placed fist, Zinair
fell to the ground unconscious. Caspian could just as
easily have killed him, but he wanted him to suffer.
Looking around, he recognized the temple. It was
surprising that they had brought the broken mass that
was his body their and had not just tossed it in the
fire of his abode, but they probably wanted to use the
sacred flame just to be sure. Luckily, they hadn't yet
had a chance. There was no one else about.
The temple was dark save for the dancing lights of the
fire playing on the walls. For all their skill in
stonework, the builders had not seen fit to have
windows. It was perfect. He rummaged through the
building, finally finding what he was looking for.
Taking some of the newer, stronger colored streamers,
he tightly tied Zinair's hands and feet. Another piece
of cloth was jabbed in the acolyte's mouth, ensuring
his silence.
The man was beginning to come to his senses. Caspian
gave him a quick slap to the face. Unfocused eyes
turned in his direction. Grabbing under the chin, he
forced the Zinair's face up, leaning down so that they
were a few bare finger widths apart.
There was a muffled moan as his prisoner tried to
speak, but it was unintelligible. Caspian ignored it.
"You thought I was a monster. I'll show you a
monster."
With that, he gave a surprisingly gentle kiss to the
man's forehead above the eyes that widened in horror
at the implications. Turning, he walked out into the
village. Soon they would know as much fear as the man
trying valiantly to remove his restraints and warn
them. One who does not fear death is the most
dangerous of all.
***
Hell
***
He'd waited. Finally, the time had come.
*Now.*
With all his will, he *pushed*, imagining the doorway
opening and walls breaking down. Suddenly, Caspian
could feel many minds with his, some pushing, others
caught by surprise. These weaker souls were confused,
but took advantage of the opening when it came.
A rush, like a vacuum in space that needed to be
filled. The world flowed past and then... then there
was light, sound, touch, taste.
Caspian reveled in the feel of the ground beneath him,
but knew he had to move. They had defied the rules of
the universe and would not be left in peace. He rose
to his feet, pleasantly surprised to find that he was
still clothed as he had been at death. He picked his
way quickly around the bodies, people from all walks
of life and from all times. He recognized none of
them, but there were so many it was impossible to see
them all.
The world waited. He was certainly going to give it a
welcome.
Whisper, shadow, the faint hint of presence, not the
buzz of a quickening, but a feeling of invitation. It
was weak, but distinct against the nothingness of his
prison. Caspian wondered if it was a trick, or if he
was creating an imagined hope of escape, but it spoke
to him, a faint clearly feminine voice he did not
recognize.
*?*
It was clearly a query, perhaps trying to find out if
he was still sane enough to respond. He thought loudly
an affirmative, that yes he had heard her.
The answer was not so much words as impressions.
*Vengeance, alliance, will, escape.*
It flew by so quickly, Caspian had to pause
momentarily before his reply, sorting out what he had
experienced. It was an escape plan. He had been right,
the only thing that mattered here was will. One mind
couldn't breach the barrier between the land of the
living and the house of the dead, but there was more
than one mind here.
There was no more hesitation. This is what he had been
hoping for. *When?*
There was amusement. *When I tell you.* The mind
retreated, but he grabbed on stubbornly.
*No, He'll find out. We must be careful. I've waited
too long. I can't talk much longer.*
*Who are you and who is he?*
*Ashur.* The voice swept as slippery as a serpent past
his grasp, not answering the one question and
vanished. Caspian wondered if the voice had been Ashur
or if Ashur had been Him. Still, that didn't matter.
There was a way and he would soon be free, reunited
with his brothers and ready to take revenge on the
Highlander if he still lived. The thought sustained
him in the endless night.
***
Memory
***
Years had passed since the Sun Day last remembered and
in this dream, another Sun Day had come and gone, the
night passed without incident for the People, and the
following day was a beautiful one. There had been for
Caspian, however, an incident which was why he was
trudging home late with his burden.
The antelope had been mauled by a predator, but
managed to escape. Why it had not been hunted down,
Caspian didn't know. Perhaps the creature had found
easier prey. He had followed its trail once he noticed
the traces of blood. Exhausted from its flight and
loss of blood, it could hardly escape the determined
hunter and now was a heavy weight against his back and
a delay to his feet. Sunset was approaching almost as
fast as the village.
So it was that he found himself passing the temple
with the crowd awaiting the relighting of the
ceremonial fire when the last rays of the sun fell
below the horizon. Only the sentries had seen him, the
rest stood staring at the aged priest and his young
acolyte, Zinair. It was surprising that the man had
survived this long when his father was so many years
dead. Ropes of color, vivid by day, faded into orange
and red streamers ruffling in the breeze. He had never
before seen the ceremony, having avoided it since
childhood and he rested his burden beside him.
They were all so intent that it was laughable. It was
not like the world would end if the fire wasn't relit
at precisely the right time. With exaggerated care--it
was the first time he was trusted with the ceremony,
Zinair bore the decorated pot containing the glowing
embers from an already prepared fire. His face
revealed the weight of worlds on his shoulders. It was
even more amusing because he was several years
Caspian's senior and, had he not been following in the
priest's footsteps, would have been considered a man
experienced at his trade.
Caspian laughed. He couldn't help himself. The whole
idea of it was so ridiculous. Over the crystalline
silence, the sound carried and shattered.
The sound was a distraction. Zinair, unused to his
dress, looked up.
To the horror of the People, his feet tangled in the
material that had been so lovingly prepared by his
mother, and he tumbled forward, the pot with the all
important embers flying out of his hands and crashing
down the temple steps in broken pieces. The red lights
fell to the ground, although some burned those too
near the temple stairs. In the dirt, they dimmed and
vanished.
As one the People gasped in dread, but Caspian only
laughed harder, picked up his burden and returned to
his home.
In desperation, the priest grabbed the largest of the
broken pieces and ran back to the prepared fire,
burning himself in an attempt to gather more embers.
He hurried back, but the sun was down, the darkness
had the opportunity to curse them. Still, best not to
give it more and he started the blaze as best he
could. The question that went through the minds of
everyone was: would it be enough?
***
Later
***
Zinair stretched his eyes to the limit of his vision,
but everywhere he saw only dying vegetation and dust
rising in the wind. Since Sun Day, there had been no
rain and, slowly, life around the People was beginning
to die.
This was the worst catastrophe in living memory, a
greater threat than the raiders for, with the sun,
water is life. Even the river was drying up, the blue
snake that had tunneled through lush green plant-life
was now a dismal muddy brown trickling through the
landscape. Animals were becoming scarce, many having
sought greener pastures. Zinair was beginning to think
that the People should follow them.
He sighed. What good would that do if they had earned
the anger of the Gods? It was his fault. Ever since he
had disrupted the ceremony, they had been cursed. His
master had been trying to divine portents in cast
stones, to read a way to appease the Gods or break the
curse that bound them.
Soon he knew, the People would begin dying. Already,
they had a gaunt look to them that spoke of too little
food for so many. The children were the worst. He had
none himself, but his nephews were as dear to him as
if they had been.
There was only one explanation for why darkness had
been drawn to their village. Caspian had brought it
back with him that night, trailing behind him like a
black cloud of despair. Had he not caused him to trip
and drop the embers? Could he have made a deal with
some dark power and disrupting their protection been
part of the price? He would ask his master if that was
possible, for if Caspian was the reason that so many
would soon die or be forced to leave their homes, he
had to stop it, one way or another.
***
The stones could still tell him nothing. All they said
was that something horrible was going to happen. The
old man looked at them in grief. Something terrible
was already happening. He prayed for rain, pleaded for
water, but there was no answer.
Soon, the People would have to move and many would
doubtless perish on the journey. Even after, good land
was occupied and the People would have to fight for
it, though he doubted they would have the strength to
do so. A solution had to be found and found quickly.
He was ancient in the years of those around him and
knew that he would be one of the many casualties.
"Master? Am I disturbing you?"
He turned his head at Zinair's tired voice.
"No, I can't find any solution. All the stones say is
that something terrible is coming. That you don't need
magic to read, all you have to do is look outside."
"Is it possible that one of us brought it in?"
"I suppose, but I doubt it." Who could carry such a
great evil on their back or their soul?
"You do remember how Caspian came back and laughed
during the ceremony?"
How could anyone forget? Caspian had a grin and a
chuckled that could freeze bones and make the dead
shudder in their graves, if he wished it, not to
mention afterwards.
He knew where Zinair was leading. He'd always
suspected Caspian's father of darker practices, but
everyone feared him so much that there was nothing he
could do. He did use them to protect the People and
did not the end justify the means?
Did they? That bore thinking about. Could it be
possible that Caspian was responsible? Possibly. The
man was unnerving and had never hid his contempt for
the divinities and himself. Even if he was not
responsible, removing him would remove a very
dangerous person who was likely to snap at any time.
There was something not right about him and his expert
killing ability could as easily turn someday against
the People instead of their enemies. Then there was
his birth, or lack of it, and his finding. Bad omens
all around. Perhaps this would be best.
"Thank you, Zinair. I'll think on it and pray."
***
"It was you."
"Demon."
"Devil."
"You've cursed us all."
Accusations assaulted him from every corner. Caspian
wasn't surprised; it had seemed merely a matter of
time. The unforeseen coincidence of the drought with
the accident on Sun Day would be too much for them to
ignore and they could not blame Zinair, their golden
child, so he was the obvious choice. Perhaps he should
have left before now, when it was apparent where this
was heading.
A child had died this morning, one of the children of
Ireto. Weak already, sickness had claimed his life,
leaving the People searching for a reason. Now they
surrounded him home like vultures around a dead
carcass crying for blood. If they tried anything,
blood they would get and it wouldn't be all his own.
Yet they waited, as if for a sign, or perhaps the
priest who came walking unhurriedly down the dusty
trail that the People considered a street.
"Hold!" The once powerful voice demanded silence. "You
have charged this man with witchcraft of the worst
order. Of consorting with demons and dark powers."
"He's cursed us all."
"He's not human. He's never been human. We all know
his mother was a demon. Should have killed him when he
was a babe and never let him endanger us!"
There was a hiss of agreement.
Caspian waited calmly. He already knew the outcome.
With luck, he could force them to give him a warrior's
death and take many with him. Still, it angered him.
As if a man could cause a drought. He forced down his
rage. There was no sense in wasting energy before a
fight.
"We know the punishment. Return the demon to the
earth. Bury him in the rocks he sundered to climb his
way up to torment us."
Caspian could imagine the instruction he gave those
sent to fetch him, but they were too low for even him
to hear. Concentrating, he listened, not to the yells
of anger and cries of blood, but for those who would
drag him outside into their wrath. He gripped the
wooden handle in his hands firmly, readying himself in
anticipation and was not disappointed.
There was movement at the entrance. Still, he waited,
patient as a serpent waiting for the prey to come
within its reach. The figure came into view, outlined
by the sun and deadly heat, a black figure, strong and
lethal. But not quick, not like the arm that reached
out as fast as the serpent he mimicked. A blow to the
face, the axe meeting flesh and bone and just as
quickly leaving, pulled back to await the next victim.
The body stumbled backwards, blood, the red elixir of
life, covering what was left of the features. This
lasted only for a moment. The man was dead. It fell,
knocking into one of his former companions before
meeting the dusty earth. There was a scream outside
from the man's wife, high-pitched and shrill as well
as yells of anger.
"Demon!"
"Monster!"
"My husband. My poor husband." The wailing grew.
Another entered, more cautious than the first. He too
held an axe in his hand. Blocking the first strike,
mainly through chance, he tried to make out the
second, but his eyes were used to the sun while
Caspian watched him clearly. The second blow reached
his arm, tearing tendons and flesh. The axe fell to
the ground, no longer supported and Caspian swung at
the man's unprotected neck. The blade practically
removed the man's head, the front half of his neck
completely severed. The body crumpled to the floor,
Caspian no longer caring, but waiting for the next
opponent. There was none.
"We can't kill him. He's a demon!"
"Burn him out!"
"Burn him!"
No! With the drought, the place was like tinder. Soon,
he could make out the scent of smoke. Caspian growled,
a low animal sound. He would at least try to escape.
Coughing, he made, not for the door, but the window.
He dived outside, rolling to his feet, meeting a briar
of spears. They had anticipated him and there was no
way he could get by the wall of sharpened points.
The first rock struck him in the face, breaking his
nose. Blood streaming, he cursed them and their
families. He threw the axe; it was no good to him now,
but the blow missed. Another stone, then another
tumbled down. Using his hands, he tried to protect his
face, backing up towards the now blazing building.
There would be no escape that way.
Slowly, bones crushed, skin broke.
"Monster!"
"Fiend!"
Like a torrent of pain, the rocks fell. Finally,
mercifully, he lost consciousness, the house behind
him blazing like a funeral pyre in the summer sun.
***
Like a swimmer coming up for air, he rushed through
the blackness towards the light. With a sudden painful
gasp air filled his lungs and eyes fluttered open,
only to close again as they sought to adjust to the
dim light. Caspian could smell the charred remnants of
his home and the blood covering his now whole body.
"Gods! He really is a demon. We didn't burn him soon
enough." Zinair gaped at him, but there was no answer
from the older priest, who clutched at his chest in
shock. The man toppled to the ground, not breathing
and Zinair kneeled over him as Caspian looked around
in confusion.
"They were right." The man was sobbing in terror, but
didn't even think to cry out in alarm. Caspian shook
his head in disgust. "You really are a demon," he
whispered.
Maybe he was. He smiled and stood on shaking feet that
recovered quickly. With a well placed fist, Zinair
fell to the ground unconscious. Caspian could just as
easily have killed him, but he wanted him to suffer.
Looking around, he recognized the temple. It was
surprising that they had brought the broken mass that
was his body their and had not just tossed it in the
fire of his abode, but they probably wanted to use the
sacred flame just to be sure. Luckily, they hadn't yet
had a chance. There was no one else about.
The temple was dark save for the dancing lights of the
fire playing on the walls. For all their skill in
stonework, the builders had not seen fit to have
windows. It was perfect. He rummaged through the
building, finally finding what he was looking for.
Taking some of the newer, stronger colored streamers,
he tightly tied Zinair's hands and feet. Another piece
of cloth was jabbed in the acolyte's mouth, ensuring
his silence.
The man was beginning to come to his senses. Caspian
gave him a quick slap to the face. Unfocused eyes
turned in his direction. Grabbing under the chin, he
forced the Zinair's face up, leaning down so that they
were a few bare finger widths apart.
There was a muffled moan as his prisoner tried to
speak, but it was unintelligible. Caspian ignored it.
"You thought I was a monster. I'll show you a
monster."
With that, he gave a surprisingly gentle kiss to the
man's forehead above the eyes that widened in horror
at the implications. Turning, he walked out into the
village. Soon they would know as much fear as the man
trying valiantly to remove his restraints and warn
them. One who does not fear death is the most
dangerous of all.
***
Hell
***
He'd waited. Finally, the time had come.
*Now.*
With all his will, he *pushed*, imagining the doorway
opening and walls breaking down. Suddenly, Caspian
could feel many minds with his, some pushing, others
caught by surprise. These weaker souls were confused,
but took advantage of the opening when it came.
A rush, like a vacuum in space that needed to be
filled. The world flowed past and then... then there
was light, sound, touch, taste.
Caspian reveled in the feel of the ground beneath him,
but knew he had to move. They had defied the rules of
the universe and would not be left in peace. He rose
to his feet, pleasantly surprised to find that he was
still clothed as he had been at death. He picked his
way quickly around the bodies, people from all walks
of life and from all times. He recognized none of
them, but there were so many it was impossible to see
them all.
The world waited. He was certainly going to give it a
welcome.
