Avarice Desperation Valley Ch 1

Preface

I began work on the Avarice series at a time in my life when I had stifled my impulse to draw, as it was necessary to work in other mediums to pay the bills. I found I could still have the time to sit and write in between my work, and the pictures still had to get out. So I began to experiment with painting with words. Being profoundly dyslexic and not finishing high-school made words a difficult medium for me. So religiously I tried to improve my work by reading classic literature, not so much reading the story component, but instead dissecting how it was written.

The initial manuscript was begun on scrap paper. The maps in my book were also hastily scribbled on to the same materials as you can plainly see. (You can even see if you look carefully, my beloved and long deceased dog Devil in the upper right corner of map two. He was just a pup then.) This was a very messy affair for me, and with my dyslexic difficulties almost impossible to make sense of. Yet I persisted. On the purchase of my first computer I felt as if I had been given wings. The word program helped me to spell, and it was wonderful to be able to type random things down and later assemble them in a coherent order. Though the initial transfer of my dog eared manuscript was painful to compose, the computer was the best thing writing wise that had ever happened to me.

I grew up and lived in the regions I described in my tale. Avarice in many ways is the sum of all things. It’s about locations I have lived, things I have felt, desired, and experienced. Avarice has traversed in its creation many years of my life. From its inception during discussions my sister and I had as children. To taking years of my adult life to commit to words.

Being a professional artist I feel blessed to also be able to bring my tale alive with my own images. Something I am sure very few authors have the luxury of. The initial book cover in the series is actually graced with my likeness, and a character in the book also follows my own motivations.

My grandfather had a wonderful way with telling stories, and in his stead I have simply decided to do the same. I do hope you enjoy reading Avarice as much as I have loved writing it. This book for me is all things, and if I only have one story to tell I’m glad it is the one I have chosen to write.

Prologue

Most of us long to “Be” but when the path gets too costly, or steep, we take solace in what we “Have.” Remove the trappings of what we own, and then what is the sum of us?

They were the survivors, abandoned by the allies who swore to protect, in the ultimate gesture of greed and betrayal. Their world plunged into annihilation and chaos. With the passage of years in this blighted landscape order was established anew. Those who had been anonymous before the war found their will to rule, those who had experienced the comforts and ease of western life, thrust into darkness and despair.

This brutal conflict had awoken those long sleeping, those who had ceased to care, those of immense power, the ones entrusted with the safe keeping of the often volatile mankind. Although their parallel world too was at risk, lethargy and arrogance ruled them.

Against the backdrop of this savage landscape the saga of three such tribes of survivors unfold, and the unwitting chosen among them. One tribe sought to prosper via savagery, one by organized military might, and the other who ruled with no more than fairness and love. Three tribes thrown together, competing for the limited resources to survive, in a world teetering on the brink of total decimation. Driven by human avarice.

Desperation Valley

It occurred to Carlos De Sade as he stared out on the savage desert vista before him shimmering with unbelievable midday heat; that he had fared better than most in these brutal and lawless times. For now a new order of supremacy prevailed, and it mattered not what one was before the conflict. Dreams and aspirations could no longer comfortably exist. He now lived in a place where only the strongest, and most cunning could rule.

Not that he was feeling exceptionally grateful for his present circumstance. Though many around him were broken in both spirit and body; some hideously disfigured, their loved ones taken, and they cruelly enslaved. A sad irony too that Carlos was as much a slave, despite his proud bearing and good looks as any in the encampment that day; his only salvation being he was favored.

Yes, favored he thought to himself, with a shiver of disgust, by the ruthless leader of this feral band of crazed warriors, Wezley Bennett. That hard and cruel man, leading his thirty or so men, on their wild, inexhaustible crusade. Bringing wave after wave of senseless death and destruction to all, in their never ending search for vanishing resources across this ravaged landscape.

Such was the cause that had fueled the zeal of the majority of the warriors this dawn. Departing the camp with the ever burning hope of replenishing the constantly dwindling supplies. Food was almost impossible to grow in this place of little rain and arid soils; the hunting poor. With many of the best water holes poisoned by warring factions. The fierce band also went with the high hope of capturing new slaves, especially women, though unsullied ones were hard to come by.

Most that were captured did not last long here in this terrible place, its only redeeming feature, a deep artesian well, which never ran dry. This Bennett's warriors initially had to defend at all costs, though as the years passed, the challenges over this vital resource greatly diminished, the surrounding marauders either perishing, or moving on.

How long had it been since they had first colonized this austere valley, Carlos pondered? Counting at least six years wasted here as Bennett's plaything. The very thought made him seethe with repressed anger, if only he could just sink a blade in that vile beast’s black heart, or even make good his escape. Try to escape on many occasions he had, and failed just as often.

On numerous occasions Carlos had made a break for freedom, eluding the sentries and making for the south where more habitable bush land lay, and perhaps the tantalizing promise of joining a settlement. Despite his best efforts he was usually promptly located and returned to his angry master, but never without putting up a good fight. Once he managed to elude Bennett's scum for more than seven days, living off the land as best he could and hiding in a cave. For those few days he was blissfully happy, despite the obvious discomforts of living rough, at least he was his own man even if only for a while.

As with all good things, they must, and do end, so stupidly too Carlos mused. Unknown to him the water he located had been poisoned, probably with strychnine, and he fell suddenly and violently ill. Luckily the poison had begun to dissipate and lose its potency, so he did not meet a swift and agonizing death as was intended. Find him Bennett did. Better he had died he wished than be brought back here to this foul place once more..

For many days Carlos was stricken, hovering near death without the will to live. His very being screaming for the release that he was sure death would bring. His past racing through his mind jumbled, confused, disturbing. Except for the clear image of his mother. “You must live!" She had implored, her cool, graceful fingers brushing back his raven hair from fevered brow. She, the only woman he had ever loved and lost, the only woman whose praise he had ever craved. She in life, as he always remembered, so cold, aloof, nothing he ever did was good enough for her, or her lofty standards.

Carlos loved her anyway, deeply. Forgiving her vanities and flaws. He, the unwanted child, no more than an inconvenience to her high life of endless parties and powerful men. She a high class prostitute, a beauty who could have had it all, and very often did. So growing up he was left vastly to his own devices, raising himself for the most part on the city streets, a life which prepared him well for things to come.

Annoyed he swatted at the flies, sweat coursed down his tanned skin, long mane of lustrous black hair half shading his face. Absent-mindedly he toyed with the gold chain that encircled his throat, and the strange signet ring, two dragons entwined like lovers, that hung there threaded on its length. Another of his mother's little mysteries, if only she had told him more? Though he doubted that she really knew much more about the strange piece than he did. “A gift from your father." She would say. “He said that you would know its purpose when the time came."

The young boy would only feel a sense of dread and confusion at her words. "Who was he?" Carlos would eagerly ask her, desperate to know more of this man who he had never met.
“He was so like you." She would say dreamily, looking out the window of their high rise apartment to the stark blue and white vista of the coastline below, lost in another place and time. Then she would add. "I only saw him once, a most striking man he was, and a fantastic lover too." Ruefully she would sigh going quiet for a while and he knew he would get no more. This frustrated him no end, as he longed to know who the man was, what was he like, anything about him. Yet today as he sat out the heat in the shade of the silent stones he was none the wiser, though he was now twenty years old.

Sure, he had survived to witness many others fall by the wayside. However he had so hardened himself that none could be close, and he would share nothing with another lest his weaknesses and hopes be laid bare for all to see, and manipulate. Many times he had in his despair clenched his father’s gift in his fist, wishing to cast it from him forever, severing his only link with a self absorbed mother, and a father he had never known.

However each time he did, a feeling of incredible and uncharacteristic weakness washed over his entire being, and the ring would burn painfully into his hand that he could hold it no longer, though strangely it never burnt his flesh. However others it did burn, Bennett included. Predictably the avaricious leader had tried to take the valuable looking trinket, only to be seared with incredible pain and lasting scars for his trouble.

So did Carlos look long and hard at his only inheritance, the two dragon’s ruby eyes seemed to glint at him malevolently. Not in all these long years a singular clue as to its meaning, and yet the strange power that emanated from it too real to be imagined. The vibrant young man wondered at his clouded past as he often did, wiping the sweat from his troubled brow. "God so hot." He muttered under his breath. Wishing he could see the sea again as he remembered it from his childhood, ever so blue, expansive, and cool... So mercifully cool.

However, Carlos’s current reality was that he was here in this stinking hot, desert valley. Surrounded by jutting rock escarpments rising high on both northern and southern sides, their faces pitted with many caves, in which the few hardy inhabitants sought shelter and made their homes. Through the center of this valley ran the remnants of a dry river bed, mostly sand, littered with rough stones. Any water that flowed there was no more than a memory. Only the pitiful little well in the center of encampment kept them all alive. Its water was brackish but drinkable, and meant the difference between life and death in this hostile environment.

The valley Wezley Bennett had chosen in the founding days of this settlement had not been the easiest place to defend against the constant onslaught for the water from outsiders. Sentries were constantly posted on the rises overlooking the camp to give early warning of invaders, or discourage slave’s escapes. The eastern end of the valley narrowed sharply making it almost impassable, it was also the site of the dump, filled with twisted steel, long ago discarded consumer items, and every manner of rotting refuse the camp generated.

Beyond this festering blight on the landscape stood a wall of impenetrable thorn laden brush. This hardy plant more branches and spines than useful green leaves grew rapidly, even with the lack of water and severe heat it thrived. Providing a deep safe haven for the multitudes of tiny brown birds and rodents that scoured the site for their food, and proving all but impassable to an enemies advance. The valley’s western end though was somewhat wider, likewise bristling with more of the same thorny sentinels. Only a small tunnel like opening remained as a relatively easy access to the world beyond, allowing the movement of larger items to and from the camp.

With the demise of the vehicles though this entry was no longer of paramount importance, and in recent years it had largely overgrown. The only other reliable path to the desert beyond was a steep well worn trail that was cut into the side of the southern face. It was a treacherous vertical descent, but the one most often used. On reaching the top the surrounding landscape was a sobering sight, beyond stretched the never ending sea of red sand and death for those who did not possess good survival skills, and sense of direction.

Carlos' intense dark gaze took all this in as he squatted in the rock shelf's welcome shade. Unlike most of the survivors of these parts he was still remarkably handsome and unscarred, lithe and well muscled, though not to heaviness like many of Bennett's men. The desert life had forged him well, to be lean, strong and self reliant. His eyes were dark and brooding, his expression sullen but not broken, and unlike most men he kept himself clean shaven. He wore nothing but a pair of old torn jeans, scuffed boots, and the only thing of worth he still possessed, the ring on the golden chain which shone against his tanned breast.

Escape was all he could think or dream, to steal a weapon, a few supplies, and he could again try his luck and run away. This time he would do better. Yes, this time he would not waste the chance again, but how? He despaired to himself, how many times had he sat here with these very same thoughts, and how long had he waited? He could have cried in despair for he knew that tonight Bennett and his men would most definitely return, and he would have to obediently do his master’s every bidding. He involuntarily shuddered, a sick feeling rising in his stomach.

Bennett and his men would return on dusk to the valley as they had many times before, full of bravado and blood lust, with plunder to distribute and consume, plus captives to maim and torture. Then finally after the last man had sated his hunger for cruelty, sex, and alcohol, Bennett would call Carlos to his furs shaming him as no other could. Ironic it seemed to him that he was no better than his mother, possibly he was worse, to be more despised, at least in his own mind. Whoring himself to evade a cruel existence or death. That he pleased Bennett he knew was the only reason on this blighted earth that he had survived so unscathed, all this time keeping his looks, being spared from disfiguring punishments, as others around him had not been. He was Bennett's and no other was to touch him on pain of death, a few had tried, and died cruelly by Bennett's hand.

Bennett for all his failings had defended this place well, and had the strength and common sense to keep his men in check, and to command them as a reasonably disciplined force. Though it must be said that with this unruly lot it was never easy to hold them all together, but these were hard times, and a strong leader ruled with ruthlessness, a dash of fear, and an iron will. Bennett was tall and powerfully built, two hundred and seventy pounds of solid muscle, indeed he was one of the biggest men Carlos had ever seen. He was somewhere in his late twenties, shaven headed, with piercing blue eyes; intimidating, a war lord in his prime. He possessed a loud commanding voice, a swiftness that belied his size, and towering over most men, he killed without remorse.

Unlike the rest of his cohorts he rarely partook of drink or drugs, and never to excess. He had no affection for women either that any had ever witnessed. This seemed to suit his men's desires well as they were able to distribute any comely female captives as they saw fit. Any foolish enough to imply that Bennett was somehow going against the natural order soon changed their minds. For Bennett could drive fear into all but the bravest or most foolhardy of souls. He was a man who liked always to be in control, a wise policy in this violent age. Most of all he was a man to fear, and fear him they all did, Carlos included.

Such was life in this blighted place, what meaning did it hold? Carlos thought as he surveyed his surroundings from his lofty vantage point. Down below all was quiet amongst the sorry collection of discarded trucks, vehicles, and other assorted heavy machinery that lay disused and rusting in the valley, very slowly being entombed in the ever restless sands. It had been a long time since there had been fuel enough to run these machines, and one by one they had to be abandoned to the desert graveyard.

The only things to remain useful were the numerous shipping containers that had been positioned around the well. Though too hot for habitation by day, they gave welcome respite from the cold desert nights, and choking sand storms that could strike at any time with little warning. Bennett and his leading henchmen had commandeered most of these for their own personal residences. With a bit of modification they proved quite comfortable habitation.

The remaining containers housed supplies, one full of dry rations, another contained weapons and what precious ammunition still remained. After the big war which had plunged the country into anarchy; Carlos had then been a teen. There had been ammunition to be had everywhere, but seven years later it was one of the most valuable commodities in the world. Understandably these supplies were kept under lock and key, and constantly guarded.

It was now the hottest part of the day, even the slaves rested until the cool of evening brought some relief. The sentries were watching him he knew from their shady nooks high up above. After his last escape, and near death experience, Bennett had ordered more vigilance, and Carlos knew his chances for another freedom bid were decidedly slim. He had been awake since before dawn, and tiredness was overtaking him, he also reckoned that there would be little sleep for him tonight. Despair flooded his mind, and dread of the evening to come.


Carlos awoke suddenly with a start shivering, the campsite below was beginning to stir, the evening shadows looming dark, and a slight frosty chill was permeating the air. It could certainly get bitterly cold here at night he thought, as goose bumps rose on his skin. He was sure the cold was not what had awakened him, and before his sleepy senses could evade the oncoming assault, a metal shod boot had collided hard with his ribs, enough to hurt but not enough to maim.

"Get up you lazy bastard, got nothing better to do than sleep here all day?" It was the harsh voice of Bennett's second in command Sven, fixing him with his cruel officious gaze. “Bennett's been looking for you, so you had better move your fucking lazy arse!" Before Sven's second blow could inflict more pain Carlos was already on his feet, he knew he was much quicker than the older, heavy set man, and took much delight in making him look clumsy with his lithe elegance, and cat like grace. However he knew that if Sven ever got the chance, he would do a lot more to him than he ever wanted to dwell on. Sven had always hated Carlos with a passion, he loathed the fact that he had bested him many a time, and that Bennett did not make him work for his keep like the other captives. Consequently he would punish him whenever he got the opportunity.

Sven had always been Bennett's second in command, he was a fair bit older than Bennett, somewhere in his mid to late thirties. Scarred from many battles, he had been a professional soldier during the war and seemingly immune to all its atrocities. With a physique like a bear, he was very much respected. Though not incredibly imaginative he was good second in command material, and zealously loyal to Bennett and his causes.

Sven was of Nordic heritage as his name suggested, complete with long unruly thick blond hair, pale complexion reddened by the sun, and he possessed the bleakest grey eyes. However by far the worst, and most fearsome thing about him, was he could be so invariably cruel. Bennett always gave him the most gruesome tasks and not once did he falter whatever the command. His military training had set him up well to survive, and even prosper in this hard and uninviting world. So Carlos knew he could never take this man’s threats lightly, for he was certain that Sven would get him, if ever the opportunity arose, and tendrils of fear coiled in his vitals.

So down the rocky slope he went in haste, sending the rough scree tumbling toward the encampment. He could hear Sven somewhere behind him swearing profanities all the while. The heavier man sliding on the loose stones. As he crossed to the center of the encampment the other wretched slaves glared at him, they too despised him because he was favored. He ate when they starved, he drank when they went thirsty, he slept in the warm at night, spending his days idly whilst they toiled. Sitting near the warmth of communal fire in the evenings while they huddled around its dark cold perimeter. Yes, to them he did lead a life of privilege, and most of them hated him for it, except for Raissa.

Ah Raissa he thought, lovely Raissa, immediately feeling a stirring of his manhood, perhaps soon the two of them could sneak away? Yes, that would be good, Carlos fantasized. She had always had a kindly word for him, a winning smile, eyes soft, the color of honey. The girl was nicely proportioned, with breasts soft, milky and white, and thighs to die for. Surely a prize in this sorry place.

He had known that she had wanted him right from the first. She had been taken captive from a settlement nearby to the south early that last winter, and she hadn't given in too easily to these barbaric men's demands. No, indeed she had fought them fiercely. Carlos had been sure that she would most certainly be killed for her recalcitrance, but after many long evenings of hearing her screams, it seemed she finally succumbed to her new station in life and played along, just as he had to stay alive. This was what he and she shared, though they never once spoke of it to one another; a special common bond.

It was Raissa who nursed him back to health after his last unfortunate escape, he could still remember the feel of her cool hands on his fevered body as she willed him to live. Whenever he awoke she was there and he was secretly grateful. She was a comfort beyond belief in his descending darkness. Finally he had regained his health and Bennett sensing something was afoot between them, had Raissa given to the battle hardened Sven.

Despite the difficulty and danger they met often, sating their desires when and where ever they could, but they had to be careful for Sven, and his younger brother Aran were ever watchful. Sadly despite all they shared, Carlos did not feel love for Raissa, she was more of a need than a love in his eyes. Besides, he knew that to love and trust were danger, the less who knew your mind in this place the better the chances of survival. Besides Raissa was now Sven's, he had power of life or death over her, and Carlos was sure he would not hesitate to kill her cruelly if ever they were caught.

He had seen it all many times before. Life was cheap here, a slave’s life even more so. Most who were brought back here to serve the will of their savage masters did not last long. They were worked hard, had little food, and even poorer shelter. If they did fall ill and could no longer be productive, usually they were killed fairly swiftly by the ruling hand. Often these kills were not clean either for the warriors loved the sport, and the hapless victim died slowly in excruciating misery.

There were at this time only eight slaves in the camp, Carlos included, not counting the nine or so new male captives, most of which would certainly be killed as sport in the ensuing hours. They sat miserably penned in the remains of an old cattle trailer near the main meeting cave.

The other six slaves were a hardy bunch, there was Lucy, big breasted and impossibly ample considering the lack of good nutrition. The men favored her and she did reasonably well for herself considering; for she was quite plain. She had lank, greasy, mousy brown hair that was always in her face, and hazel eyes. Her attitude for the most part was easy going, and she seemed to be the only one there who took any notice of the two feral children; who lived like wild animals hovering around the camp, which were in retrospect probably hers. She always seemed to have another baby on the way, mostly an exercise in futility, as all of them had only lived for a short amount of time, or presented dead at birth. Most of Lucy’s day was taken up with the preparation of food, and the grinding of corn to make simple flat bread. A task that Raissa often helped her with.

Then there was Father Andrew, at least he claimed he was a priest before the war. He was a thin, spare man, with white hair that he liked to keep neatly cut when he could, dark eyes that bored into one’s very soul, and an intense overzealous manner. Always preaching some passage from the bible. Even though he rarely opened the precious book he constantly carried containing the holy word, it seemed that he had remembered it by heart. Never missing an occasion to quote, or refer to God’s good word. He was a lot older than the rest of the valley’s occupants, and it really did seem amazing that he had managed to survive. Perhaps Carlos wondered, his Christian god had helped him after all.

Father Andrew spent all his days, along with Marcus his most loyal disciple, carting water to, and caring for the pathetic little scrap of soil that was the vegetable garden. It was difficult and thankless hot work, and was the only reason that the two men's lives had been spared, as this work was far too heavy for the women. The rest of his day was spent shepherding the small flock of hardy, multi colored goats, as they browsed the sparse, steep, rocky valley. This valuable little flock had on more than one occasion proven the group’s salvation in lean times.

Marcus was a brute of a young man, big and solid, with the constitution of an ox. Every bit as powerful as one of Bennett's warriors. However for all that poor Marcus was simple, and his only place in this society was that of a beast of burden. So Father Andrew looked after him and they spent every dawn until dusk, laboring to grow what little they could.

Technically not a slave at all was Selene. Not that any knew her real name as she never spoke. This was merely a handle the men in the camp had bestowed on her, in the way one might give an affectionate name to a stray dog. Carlos shuddered just thinking about the misplaced girl. She was indeed a strange one. Though wild people had become common place since the anarchy, living on the fringes, stealing scraps, accepted yet not.

Oddly enough she had arrived here of her own volition a few years back. Not more than a girl then, wild and unkempt, and for all this time she had lived like a feral animal on the verges of the camp. She made her home in one the higher south facing caves. No one had ever been up there. Being fleet of foot and slight others found it too difficult to follow her, and gave up the pursuit in disgust. There she would be, ever hovering on the verges of the communal camp fire each cold evening, and something about her both fascinated, and repelled Carlos all at the same time.

Father Andrew predictably stated that she was the devil’s child. "Spawn of Satan!” He would rant with accusing fury. As he struck her with stones to make her flee. However Lucy in her mothering way tried hard to gain Selene’s confidence, leaving food and some ragged clothing for her whenever she could, though the latter she never wore. Bennett's men for the most part had thought no more of her than just good sport. Many a warrior tried his hardest to catch her. She was lithe and agile coupled with a she wolves cunning, managing to lead them all on a merry chase; eventually losing them in the labyrinth of small caves deep in the valley’s northern rock face that she knew so intimately. As none could pursue her there, most quickly lost interest, and she continued to live on the verges of this little society vastly unmolested.

Selene was dark and petite, and even though she had to be at least sixteen summers, she appeared a child. Her long dark tresses, wild and unkempt reached almost to her knees, and her only covering was a mangy bit of animal skin tied about her slender waist with a leather sash. Tucked in to this sash she always carried a little pointed bone knife. Many a warrior had felt its sting, and the strangest thing was that always a nasty infection would ensue, sometimes laying the unlucky recipient low for many days. Her only other adornment was a crude amulet seemingly made of hardened mud, with the teeth of many small animals pressed into its uneven sides.

She would be there tonight just like every other night, in the shadows of the dancing flames, holding him in thrall with her hypnotic gaze. What did she want? Why did she not talk? Could she even if she wanted to?

It was coming in quite cold Carlos thought as he ducked inside the steel shipping container that he shared with Bennett, rummaging about in this tiny space for a warm fur against the cold. Clothes, he wished he had more clothes, perhaps there would be something Bennett would gift him from amongst the spoils from this last raid he grimly hoped. For soon he would have nothing to wear at all, but being only a slave his chances of getting anything good were at best slim. He must wait on his Lord’s favor.

How quickly all the accouterments of modern life and mass production had begun to fade. The great war had been a good seven years ago, and as far as he could see there had been no real winners. The conflict had been brief and from what he could make out, the allies who were supposed to protect them had all turned; like rabid dogs, eager for the rich resources to be mined from this land. These conquerors required no cities or population, so they were nuked, total anarchy ensued, and forced the surviving inhabitants out into the more marginal environments beyond. Yes, Carlos though young remembered the chaos well, all the comforts lost, and despaired at what he had become in order to endure.

Looking about him he wondered if indeed he had done as well as could be expected in these bloody times? Let’s face it he thought, he had more comfort and security than most, and as long as his Lord continued to prosper and be pleased with him, he would indeed be spared the worst. Guilt and revulsion overtook him then, and he slammed a fist down hard on to the table top making everything on its battered surface jump. How to get out! How! He wanted to scream, even Selene was freer than he, perhaps that was why she bothered him so, a mere girl mocking his inability to be a man. “How dare she." He muttered thickly under his breath, his anger rising, his strong body shaking with pent up frustration and loathing.

Suddenly it occurred to him with a start of fear, cooling his anger considerably, it was really beginning to get dark. He had been summoned and he had best make an appearance quickly, lest pain and privation follow. Even favored as he was he could still only get away with so much. Hurriedly he grabbed the fur which he had come for, creaking the rusty door closed behind him, and made haste toward the great cave that housed the community's hearth. Only stopping long enough to relieve himself in the dump on the encampment's eastern side.

The first bright stars were visible now, and a spectacular bloody sunset adorned the cloudless sky on the western horizon. Giving promise of yet another gruelingly hot day to come with dawn. The atmosphere was still, not a breath of breeze, and already Carlos was conscious of the warrior’s talk, and the smell of food and wood smoke, as it carried across the still valley floor to him from the mouth of the cave beyond. Trying not to betray the sense of dread he felt, he walked as proudly as he could toward the mouth of the cave and the evening to come. Avoiding the contemptuous eyes of others, steeling himself to do as he was bid.

The cavern that formed the main living area for the tribe was immense and provided an excellent place for Bennett and his warriors to hold court. Rudimentary benches had been arranged around the central hearth, some covered in animal hides for added comfort, and here was where all the cooking was done by Lucy and Raissa.

Carlos felt the powerful grip of his Lord’s hand in the waistband of his blue jeans as Bennett absentmindedly pulled him downwards to his usual place on the cave’s floor, at his master’s feet. At least he was warm here, unlike Father Andrew and Marcus who often shivered on the verges, hungrily eating any scraps they were lucky enough to have thrown their way. Tonight though they were nowhere to be seen, perhaps sensing the torture to come they had made themselves scarce.

Lucy and Raissa fared somewhat better and were allowed to share the fire’s warmth once the meal was served. As long as they were quick to jump when a warrior’s mug needed filling, and content to suffer the sometimes lewd comments and caresses that frequently came their way. They were happily tolerated.

Carlos could see Selene in the shadows at the front of the cave, along with the two feral boys hungry and patiently waiting. Her quick black eyes glittering, she was like some hellish vision through the drifting smoke. Her gaze bored into his as he dared look up, and he just had to look away.

Suddenly he realized just how hungry he was, as the smell of roasting meat assailed his senses, blotting out all else. Most of the warriors had already eaten their fill, but he would have to wait their pleasure. Unless of course Bennett might choose to give him something sooner, rather than later. The food here was simple fare, mostly goat, supplemented with any wild game that could be caught. There was flat corn bread, sometimes goat’s cheese, and of course milk, though regrettably not in quantity. Vegetables and fruit were quite another matter, a few vegetables did grow despite the difficulty, poor sad things indeed, but fruit was something one only dreamed about, rarely if ever seen.

Bennett must have been feeling especially benevolent this evening Carlos realized, as a platter of food was pushed toward him. He did not hesitate to consume the delicious flesh like a hungry hound, and gorging the dry bread in great chunks which made swallowing quite painful. How soon there was no more, and he lingered long over the remaining bone, for there would be no more until this time tomorrow. That he knew as a certainty.

"So, do we go there then?" Questioned Sven. He was sitting the other side of Bennett, with his handsome younger brother Aran close by. "I’m sure that there must be something good there, too many have made mention of it?" For once Sven looked half contented, a tankard of alcohol clasped firmly in one scarred fist, and the other wandering over Raissa as she sat beside him.

"Yes, I agree there must be better pickings to the south, and I am convinced that a larger settlement exists there." Bennett replied, carefully choosing his words. Most of the warriors were listening he knew, and he also realized that the last raids had netted them only a few paltry supplies. The forays had been simple enough with no casualties, but in this last year things had got progressively meager and he knew that he needed a big victory, and many spoils to keep morale high amongst his men. Bennett being a wise leader could sense the malcontent in his warriors, and knew if he was to keep unity in his force, he had to come up with something to hold his men’s interest soon.

Carlos felt the rough calloused hand he knew all too well idly caressing the muscles in his upper back and shoulders, and fondling his hair. He shivered, keeping his gaze low, face flushing hot with anger and his shame, lest any there should see. He knew in his own mind that he could be just as good a warrior as any here if only given the opportunity to prove himself. He was startlingly quick, good with a blade, and not bad with a hand gun either. He had owned one himself once he thought ruefully.

“I think it best if we do a bit more reconnaissance first, we need to know more, if this place is a big as the prisoners say it is. It will surely be well defended if that is the case?" Bennett added.
"Aye!" agreed his men.

"The day after tomorrow I will dispatch a reconnaissance patrol, however tomorrow night we shall have a feast, and find out all of what our prisoners know." As he said this he looked out into the dark in the direction of where the poor unfortunates were awaiting their gruesome fate. At this announcement the men gave a rousing cheer, raising their tankards for a toast.

"To our leader Bennett, and plunder aplenty!" They applauded thunderously. Yes, that's what his band needed, a bit of hope to spur them on, and surely greater things would follow soon he contemplated, as Bennett held out his cup for Lucy to fill.

"Drink." He ordered, proffering it to Carlos kneeling at his feet. Carlos took the cup quickly, he had learned long ago not to question the very dubious alcoholic beverages on offer. All the good stuff had been drunk way back, and these days anything containing alcohol at all was fair game. Occasionally raids on the nearby settlements had netted some reasonable brews. As none here possessed the knowledge or had any of the resources to make alcohol, they were entirely dependent on what they could take from others.

Well, better to drink and feel numbness, then the rest of tonight would not be so painful Carlos resigned himself, as he brought the battered mug to his lips, taking a long draught of the clear, vile brew. It burnt like fire all the way down, and made him feel even warmer than he already was. It went to work quickly, and in no time at all he felt very warm, and calm even. No longer was he aware of the warrior’s sneering disdain, or Selene's relentless stare from the dark. Even Bennett's touch had ceased to be an issue, and the world and its worries seemed far away.

Bennett cast his fierce gaze over his party of rough but loyal followers. Many had by now consumed quite a bit of alcohol, and were very relaxed. Soon the four men he had posted would come in from their cold watch on the high valley tops. It was to be hoped that they would have nothing to report, but all knew that survival lay with vigilance, and watchers had to stay posted at all hours. Being leader he instinctively knew that many here tonight had wanted nothing more than to go immediately and raid this legendary place of riches so often hinted at. However none would dare gainsay him on the matter, but Bennett knew he would have to make a move soon to quell the discontent that he could feel growing by the day. Indeed they were all good men.


There was Sven with all his great experience and training, he was an extremely valuable asset. Bennett knew that he had been the backbone of all the training, and strategies they had developed over the years.

Sven's brother also Aran, who had proven himself a good and capable fighter, that mostly made wise decisions for himself and led others well on the battlefield, even if he had a weakness for the fairer sex that at times compromised his judgment.

Then there was the tattooed Gareth, older than the rest with an almost cheerful disposition, especially when he was killing. Bennett was sure that he had done some serious time. Though Gareth had never once admitted to it.

Not forgetting Renard, tall, slim, dark, and mysterious. He had been discovered wounded, and left for dead. Fortunately a routine patrol led by Sven had found him, and recognized that to kill him would have been a senseless waste. So he was brought back to camp where he made a speedy recovery, swearing allegiance to Bennett for saving his life, henceforth becoming a valuable addition to his force. He was indeed a superb marksman, easily the best here. He frequently helped make up the shortfall by always bagging game where others did not. There were many more as well, and all played their part, gathered together over the past few years, and forged into this unwholesome unit by necessity and hardship.

It was beginning to get late, and most of the men were either half asleep around the fire where most of them preferred to spend the night, or in small groups engaged in dice or conversation. Again Bennett's thoughts turned to the warm flesh that lie slumped, drunkenly, against his leg. So fortunate he was to live in such times when one just took who and what they wanted simply because they could. Yes, indeed he could never have gotten away with all this is in civilized society. However here he was a Lord with all the power of life and death, and that had suited him fine. How easily he had traded all the trappings and comforts of a consumer society for this life, and he had no regrets.

He recalled again that fateful day many years before, when they still had vehicles and trucks, with ammunition to burn, and the plunder was always good and plentiful. He guessed it had to have been six seasons ago. How much his captive had grown in that time, and what a fine prize he had become. As he languidly stroked Carlos’s smooth tanned flesh. When he had first laid eyes on him he just knew. Never had he felt such strong desire before. Sure, there had been other boys, but always before too long they had seemed somehow broken and tarnished, and he had discarded them to their fates.

His much desired slave, well somehow Carlos was different. Try as he might he had never really broken him; that he knew. It was so alluring to Bennett to know that he had the power to get what he wanted, but there was always the exiting possibility that his captive would still resist, or try something inventive; and the trinket, now there was something really strange, that cursed gold ring. He never forgot the painful burns, and indeed still bore the scars. Why could he not take it? No one else that had tried could either. Yet Carlos seemed to be able to handle it with impunity.

Many times he had threatened and railed at him to tell him what it was, and its purpose. All the lad had kept saying was that it was his father’s and that was all he knew. Bennett being a good judge of human nature had finally decided that really it must be all the young man knew and let it slide. Though still it troubled him, and he wondered often about the strange artifact.

It was late he realized and it had been a long hard trek, even if the resistance had been easily crushed, and the prizes pitifully few. He suddenly felt the need for the solitude of his cabin, and other more intimate pleasures. He could sense that Sven was having similar thoughts, and already he had noticed Gareth's departure with the ample Lucy in tow. There would be time aplenty tomorrow to divvy up the spoils and formulate new plans while they sat out the repressive heat of the day. Then they would all feast and drink their fill, finish off the prisoners and move on to new things.

"I'll take care of the watch." Stated Sven, as if reading Bennett’s mind. He guessed he almost could, as they had been together from the first of those troubled days. Sven was probably the nearest Bennett had ever got to having a friend, and knew he could always count on him to guard his back. A necessity in these wild times.

"Well, I'll call it a night then. I'll be up at dawn. We can decide what we want to do tomorrow."
"Aye." Said Sven. Carlos felt a strong arm pulling him to his unsteady feet. Shattering suddenly his feeling of warm, drunken bliss. He had consumed a quantity of drink, and had on purpose tried to get as drunk as possible. This was his usual ploy, he had given up all hope of avoiding Bennett's unwanted attentions years ago. This way it was easier to accept and forget.

The sharp cold of the frosty air on naked skin shocked him partially into soberness as they reached the mouth of the great cavern, panic rising in his vitals. No escape to be had here as Bennett's grip tightened on his arm like a band of inescapable steel. Selene was still watching from the shadows, with the two boys curled up sleeping beside her like a she wolf and her cubs. A large clear moon now shed its wan light over the encampment, and the stars twinkled like rare jewels in the velvet sky above. Such beauty lost on the two men, one despairing his lot, the other thinking only of sating his lust.

They finally reached the cabin, the sound of the rusty hinges most obscenely loud as Bennett pulled the door closed behind them both. Within there was very little light, all the lamps, torches and candles had gone long ago. Fire now was the only source of illumination, and on nights in the desert without the moon one could barely see at all.

Carlos could feel his tormentor's bulk close behind him, the warmth of his breath on his neck. Next he was pushed heavily down onto the soft furs. Every nerve and fiber screamed for him to run, escape this hellish nightmare, and he began to tremble with the sheer intensity he felt. Not at all sure if it was anger, frustration, or fear, possibly all three. Surely he could just yield meekly after all this time. He knew in his heart he could not, he was better than that, he would always resist. Mercifully as he had hoped the alcohol had done its work, waves of weakness, and nausea overcame his senses, and suddenly he was fast sliding into sweet oblivion. The gentle caress of soft fur on naked skin, and the welcoming embrace of the dark...

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