From: "Vyper" Date: Mon, 17 Apr 2000 18:29:07 +0800 Subject: xfc: Holding Out For A Hero: Prologue 1/2 Source: xfc TITLE: Holding Out For A Hero AUTHOR: Vyper E-MAIL: vyper001@yahoo.com RATING: NC17 for explicit violence, graphic sex, disturbing imagery and language CATEGORY: SLASH (M/Other) m/m/f interaction; AU (Alternate Universe) & MT (Muldertorture) KEYWORDS: M/M rape; SPOILERS: Various episodes up to and including Pine Bluff Variant. TIMELINE: After Pine Bluff Variant. Folie a Deux, The End and the Movie don't happen in my universe. SUMMARY: Saved from almost certain death by a spell cast from another time and place, Mulder will have to draw on every ounce of courage just to survive. Along the way he'll encounter new friends and make new enemies, at times not knowing which is which. DISCLAIMERS: CC, 1013 & FOX Network owns all the characters you recognize, the marvelous writers put the words in their mouths and the actions in their bodies and DD,GA & all the other wonderful actors bring them to life. No profit will be forthcoming from this labour of love & no infringement is intended. ARCHIVE: Anywhere, just let me know so I can visit. FEEDBACK: Pretty, pretty please. I'd love to know that the last 14 months work wasn't a waste of time and hard-drive space. HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO by Vyper ************************************************************************ PROLOGUE: Into My World I am a woman in love And I'll do anything To get you into my world And hold you within A WOMAN IN LOVE Barbra Streisand CARTERIUS CASTLE Some time in the past..or maybe the future... The almost familiar chanting and long-forgotten odors drew Kaneesha down a long, dark corridor to an area of the castle she had heard about but never visited. As a child she had listened in amazed wonder as the old women in the kitchens, house-slaves since they were children themselves, told each other wild tales of magic and mystery, tales of strange creatures and things that she knew did not exist in her small, sheltered world. They spoke of such wondrous things as giant birds that flew through the air with people inside and that people were able to talk to each other even when they weren't in the same room, of pictures that also traveled through the air to be seen far from where they were sent. She remembered the servants whispering amongst themselves, brewing strange vile smelling potions whilst making plans for secret midnight meetings somewhere deep inside the massive castle. As she approached the large wooden door at the end of the corridor, she wondered whether she was about to do the right thing, the doubt lasting only seconds as she recalled the nightmare that had woken her three nights before. .....The image of her desire there in front of her in a dark, strange room surrounded by evil looking men all dressed in black. He was seated at a wooden table, his hands fastened by leather straps to it's dusty surface. One man sat across from him asking questions, expecting answers. Holding on to his left hand was another man who very frequently would twist the "prisoner's" finger, causing him to groan in agony and struggle in an attempt to escape the torture. When she not only heard but also felt the agony of his smallest finger breaking for the second time and as she shared in his struggle to stay conscious, an involuntary wave of emotion flooded her, almost overwhelming her with a torrent of fear and love and sympathy. That wave ricocheted across the ether, spreading out at the speed of light until it encountered two minds capable of detecting and interpreting the information contained within. It traveled two vastly different distances in space in two particular directions-- across dozens of light-years of apparently empty vacuum, and hundreds of years of time to a mind that was normally on full alert for extreme possibilities, now dazed and battered almost into unconsciousness. The recipient registered a tingling sensation, one of empathy and love with a touch of concern as well. It washed over him and in it's wake was the almost whisper of a soft, feminine voice, "It's all right. I'm here. You are not alone..." And barely six feet to the foot of her bed where her slave lay sleeping. He awoke immediately and sat up to stare at his mistress as she tossed and turned, a delighted smile creasing his youthful mouth and lighting up chocolate colored eyes. He didn't need to ask what had just happened, he had shared all of her dream, indeed he had opened the mind-bridge between them in the first place, not long after his arrival into her bed some two years before. However he did need to know what to do in order to assist her, if he acted inappropriately he would be punished and his only chance of getting what he lusted after for so long might be lost for all eternity. Better to just play it by ear and see what happens, he thought, and pray that she reacts in accordance with his plans. "Fox...no...don't hurt him...let him be...." She cried out as she struggled to wake from the nightmare that engulfed her. "M'Lady, wake up. It's all right." he talked to her in a near whisper, hoping to ease her up out of the darkness she was experiencing. He knew that she had had some sort of dream/vision a few years ago, but as she never talked much about it, he had no way of knowing whether they had dreamt of the same dark-haired stranger with the full pouting lips and curious, intelligent eyes. Upon hearing HIS name, he was certain that all three of them were linked in some mysterious way, were destined to one day meet. She came awake quickly, sweat mingling with salty tears as they traced their way down her flushed face. Looking around, it took her a couple of minutes to adjust to the fact that she was lying in her bed inside her father's ancient castle, not standing in a strange place watching as the cruel men released the captive and after covering his head with a dark hood, dragged him out of the room. She saw Morten looking at her, his expression one of concern and fear. "It was him, wasn't it, M'Lady?" he asked hesitantly. "The one you told me of soon after I arrived." He wished he could take credit for her dream, but for his plan to work, Lady Kaneesha had to believe she alone had the connection to Fox, that she was the nexus, the conduit, the source for the trinity that they were born to be. A strong feminine energy was needed for the summoning ritual to compliment and balance his own masculine karma. She lowered her eyes, unwilling to face her servant, something she had never, ever done before. It was the slaves who were supposed to respectfully keep their eyes lowered but for some unknown reason she often acted outside of established protocol where Morten was concerned. It was almost as if he, a mere slave, a non-person, had some undefinable hold over her. When she didn't answer he continued softly. "I saw what you did, I felt his pain..And yours." At this admission, she raised her head, staring directly at him. "It's only the second time I've dreamed of him. His name is Fox. I thought he wasn't real, a figment of my imagination." "Oh he is real, M'Lady. As real as you or I." "But who is Fox, where does he come from? I know he is in danger, but I don't know how or why I know." "I can verify your feelings of concern for him. While you were still sleeping I had a glimpse of him, I think it was something yet to happen, but happen it will and soon." Holding Out For A Hero:Prologue 2/2 Morten had risen from the floor and now sat on the edge of Kaneesha's bed, this new connection between them overriding thoughts of retribution from violating the master (or in this case, mistress)/ slave relationship. Kaneesha moved over to one side, allowing him to lay beside her. "I want you to tell me everything, leave nothing out." She commanded in a quiet, firm voice. "He was kneeling on the ground beside the man who had been asking him those questions. A man was standing behind them holding something pointed at their heads. It was small and black. I don't know what it is called but I know what its purpose is. The closest I can compare it to is a crossbow, but it fires small metal balls instead of arrows. The next image is of him and two men both carrying these weapons walking through a strange looking forest. I can see wood but it looks strange, it's so straight, no branches, no small green leaves, just large milky white foliage. The last thing I saw was the man lowering himself to his knees again..." "Are you telling me Fox is going to die? When will this happen, how do we stop it?" Kaneesha had no idea why she thought, no, KNEW that she and Morten could prevent tragedy from occurring, that she could save this man's life. She just knew that she had to try.... The creaking of the little-used door startled Kaneesha out of her recollections and she turned to see Morten standing in the doorway, dressed in a simple black robe. He gestured for her to cross the threshold and enter the tiny, shadow-filled room. The little light available came from dozens of richly scented candles placed randomly around the chamber. In the center stood a table which held various bowls, half unrolled scrolls and other items Kaneesha didn't recognize. Directly under the table, covering a large part of the gray stone floor was an intricate, many pointed star design, outlined in blackest charcoal and made up of numerous pictures and symbols. Against the furthermost wall was a low cot covered in thick animal furs. Morten guided her toward it and said very softly, "M'Lady, you need to remove your gown. We need to start the ritual. He doesn't have much time." Morten had spent most of the previous night explaining the ancient ritual to his mistress, knowing that she would not understand many of the references, words and phrases he would use. That would not be a problem, however, all he really required of Kaneesha was her belief and faith in his ability to pull Fox through the web of invisible energy that surrounds all things, both animate and inanimate alike. A belief that she had in such abundance it seemed to seep from every pore of her young body. He would collect and channel the infinite energy through himself, lowering it's vibrational rate to a level that someone as inexperienced as Kaneesha would be able to accept safely. Even using himself as a filter, Morten was unsure as to whether she would be able to tolerate the powerful energy that would course through her. He had seen many apprentice magi in his childhood suffer permanent injuries as a result of being unable to channel the forces properly, even with years of training and guidance under the watchful eye of a Master Magician. Given a choice he would have refused to perform the ceremony, however his mistress had made it quite clear that she was more than willing to expose his abilities to her father. He turned his back, pretending to occupy himself preparing the various herbs and potions he would use to open and strengthen the link between his mistress, the stranger and himself. In truth, he was giving her as much privacy as he could under the unusual circumstances. He had only performed the drawing ceremony once before as a young child and then he had the support and guidance of the village elders. Today it would all depend on him, whether this stranger and in return, Kaneesha, lived or died. Sensing that his mistress had disrobed and laid down on the bed, he turned around, shedding his own robe, and revealing that he had already marked various parts of his body with dyes he had made from wild herbs in accordance with the ritual. Morten began chanting rhythmically in an ancient, guttural tongue, swaying from side to side at an ever increasing rate. A pure white mist soon formed around him. He slowly raised his hands upwards, the mist rising as he did so, to coalesce above his head. With one final chant, the mist curved, forming a perfect, vibrant rainbow, it's seven colors clearly defined in broad bands two or three inches wide. As he continued to chant in a soft melodic voice, Morten made complex movements with his hands, twisting them above his head as he stood over his supine mistress. The rainbow of light begun to flow downwards. It entered him as a beam of intertwined colors, like strands of a rope, almost too vibrant to look upon. He accepted the power, distributing it throughout his body. He felt the energy coursing through his veins and it was quite a struggle to gain control over it, and then to contain it, to filter it to a low enough vibrational rate so that he could direct it to Kaneesha. As the beam left his body and penetrated hers it was still red but a much softer, lighter hue, almost a pastel shade that was easy on the eye. However, Kaneesha's untrained body shuddered violently as the unfamiliar force invaded her body, flooding her entire being before Morten directed it down the invisible link connecting Kaneesha and Fox. As the ritual continued, Fox came into focus in Morten's mind. It was like looking down a long, dark tunnel with a small pinpoint of light at the furthermost end. Fox knelt in that circle of light, his hands clasped behind his back, staring straight ahead in a calm, brave defiance of his impending death. As the energy beam reached him, he breathed in deeply, his body twitching as it accepted the energy without hesitation, without the apparent pain that Kaneesha was experiencing. *Oh Holy Creator,* prayed Morten, *He is handling the channeling power as naturally as if he was merely breathing.* Soon all three were linked by the light, the colors fading in intensity from Morten to Kaneesha to Mulder. Morten wanted nothing more than to collapse where he stood, his body awash with sweat, his mind and spirit totally exhausted from the ritual but the most dangerous part was yet to come. Now that he was joined to Fox via Kaneesha he had to use that fragile connection to draw Mulder's body and soul to him, to the casting chamber. One without the other was no good for either Morten or Fox. Mulder was asking many questions, wanting, no, demanding to know what was happening. Morten invoked a spell to shield himself from Mulder in order to concentrate. "Fox, listen to me carefully. I am Morten. You are in grave danger. I am here to help you. I want you to focus straight in front of you, concentrate very hard and you should see a tunnel with a light at the far end. Blink if you can see it... Good now all you have to do is imagine yourself moving down the tunnel toward the light. The light is safety, the light is home. Come to the light Fox." Morten could feel resistance from Fox, not doubt but unwillingness to trust a stranger, regardless that the stranger was communicating directly to his very soul. Mulder was shocked into compliance by a loud, sharp bang and he fell forward. Some ancient, prehistoric part of Fox's mind decided that it was better to flee than fight, and he was pulled along the dark path from which the comforting light and peaceful voice came. As Fox reached a point approximately halfway along the tunnel, a blinding flash of light spread instantaneously through the formally semi-darkened chamber, followed almost simultaneously by an enormous peel of thunder. Morten reacted instinctively, placing one hand over his eyes to block out the penetrating light. When he removed his hand only a second later, Fox was gone, only the rapidly fading outline of his aura as evidence that he had formally occupied that bit of the cosmos. END OF PROLOGUE HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO by Vyper CHAPTER ONE: Fight The Rising Odds (1/12) Where have all the good men gone And where are all the gods? Where's the street-wise Hercules To fight the rising odds? HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO Bonnie Tyler New Spartan's Property ANGOLA, DELAWARE Early May, 1998 "Stop there... Down on your knees... Hands behind your back." Bremer commanded, unable or unwilling to look the condemned man in the face. Only when he realized that his orders were not being obeyed, did he lift his head to look Mulder in the eyes. He longed to give Mulder the answer that he wanted to hear, that the brave young agent deserved. *Just relax. I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to shoot the bastard that hurt you instead. But you have to play along.* But he could not reveal his true motives knowing that Baxter would shoot him and then Mulder anyway. Mulder gave his executioner one last look, not a plea for mercy, but a silent please explain and lowered himself to his knees, clasping his injured hand in the good one as ordered. The stare that Bremer had returned had shattered Mulder's last remaining hope that he might make it out of here alive. He felt strange, calm and somehow energized now. He imagined beams of soft, diffused light, all the colors of the rainbow, entering his body, beginning at his groin and moving slowly upwards over his abdomen, his chest, throat and forehead to congregate at a point a few inches above his head. An infinitely more intense version of what he had experienced after Baxter had broken his finger for the second time and he was certain that his death was soon to follow. The voice that came after the light was different though, being male instead of female, the message it delivered was different as well. On top of the familiar sense of concern and anguish were also instructions on what he should do. "Focus straight ahead." Which he was doing anyway. "Concentrate until you see a tunnel with a light at one end." He saw the tunnel without effort, it was clearly in front of him, it's misty, multicolored entrance perhaps two feet from his nose. "Blink if you see it." He blinked, not of compliance to the voice but hoping to check that what was in front of his eyes was really there. Obviously the voice saw his movement and continued issuing orders in the soft, melodic tone that the female had used two days before. It was now telling him to imagine himself moving toward the light, that the light offered safety and refuge. *Yeah, easy for you to say.* Mulder thought. *You don't have a madman holding a gun to your head. I ain't moving a muscle.* Two scenarios occurred to Mulder. Either he hadn't heard the gun fire, hadn't felt the bullet enter his body, and had died and the tunnel in front of him was just his brain reacting chemically to a lack of oxygen as Scully would have suggested or he was being abducted by aliens, but he could rule out the aliens because only the government abducted people or so he had come to believe over the last eight months or so. Mulder heard the report of Bremer's gun, loud in his ear but it also sounded a long way off, and his brain reacted before his body could tell it that it was uninjured, that the gunshot had missed, that there was no bullet wound. He felt himself falling forward but he never hit the damp, manure scented earth that he knelt upon, instead he seemed to move toward the tunnel through no effort of his own. It was as if there was an invisible cord attached to somewhere on his body and someone, or something, was reeling him in, like some sort of prize catch. But rather than the life and death struggle between hunter and prey that he witnessed during long-ago camping trips with his father, this was like a gentle tugging, as if he was being guided toward the distant light that really did radiate peace and tranquillity just as the voice promised. As he progressed along the tunnel, he could see blurry images in the spot of light that was perhaps twenty feet away. A young bald man, a boy really, was standing in a stone walled, candle-lit room , his arms stretched out in front of him, relaxed, palms facing downwards, his head slightly lowered, eyes closed. On a low cot beside him was a woman of about sixteen to twenty years of age, her golden-hued hair fanning out behind her, reaching almost to her waist. She was naked, her perfectly formed body marked at various points with strange tattoo-like markings. Somehow Mulder knew that this was the owner of the female voice he had heard, the one that had comforted him after Haley's interrogation. The woman was asleep, but not peacefully by the look of the frequent spasms that swept through her. The source of the violent tremors was obvious- a multicolored aura surrounded her supine body, seven beams of light penetrating her body at the places she was marked. This shell was connected to the boy who stood over her by a seven-strand rope, each strand one color of the rainbow. Mulder thought that it was the boy who was generating the light until he saw the bright rainbow above the boy's bald head. *What had he said his name was? Morten, that was it.* Mulder thought. A similar rope connected Mulder to the woman, however the colors were softer, paler the further they traveled from their origin. *He must be acting as a filter or something, reducing the power of the rainbow.* Before he could analyze what was happening further, a blinding flash of light obscured his view of the strange room. Mulder felt one forceful jerk on the rope that linked him to the two at the end of the tunnel, then suddenly he was falling, expecting to be yanked to a stop, like in abseiling. Not being able to put the brakes on, his mind simply shut down, refusing to gather any further information as to what was occurring. His silent, dark freefall finally came to end with a body jarring impact into something hard and unyielding. He lay where he had landed for an indeterminable amount of time, lacking both the energy and motivation to open his eyes. He did however attempt to determine how badly injured he was and whether said injuries were life threatening. *Ok, I'm breathing, so that's a good sign. It doesn't hurt to breathe so that means no broken ribs. I can feel all the bits of my body, arms and legs, fingers and toes check out A.O.K, except for the present Baxter gave me, but that hurt before so no new damage there. I can taste blood, must've bitten my lip..yep definitely put my teeth through it. A good thing Scully's not here, she'd want to drag me off to the nearest hospital for stitches. Speaking of which, exactly where is here?* Certain that he hadn't heard any sounds of life since he arrived, Mulder slowly opened his eyes, expecting to see Bremer and perhaps Baxter standing above him, confirming the possibility that he had imagined the tunnel and the crazy events he had briefly witnessed, as a sort of stress induced hallucination. The scene that greeted him was unlike anything he had seen before or even imagined in his few pleasant dreams he could recall. The inky black sky above was filled with thousands, no, hundreds of thousands of stars, more than he could ever remember seeing at one time. Out of the hundreds of constellations he could see with his wonder filled eyes, only a few were familiar to him, but it took him a couple of minutes to realize that the few he could name were back-to-front, reversed somehow. *It's as if I'm looking at them from the other end of the solar system, but surely that can't be possible. God, now I know what I sound like to Scully when I give one of my "what if" theories a public airing.* He thought back to the basement office of March 1992, to the inaugural meeting with a green Quantico agent who so quickly came to mean so much to him. He had asked her if she believed in the existence of extraterrestrials. "Logically, I would have to say no. Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirements would exceed the spacecraft's capabilities..." Just remembering the conversation brought her image into focus in his mind, her bronze toned hair, pale skin and sparkling blue eyes. "Well I suppose that rules out travel by a spaceship piloted by little green men, oops little gray men." Mulder said, not realizing he spoken aloud for the first time. The sound startled him and he turned his head swiftly, looking for the source. As he did so, he spotted the distant horizon for the first time, obscured in places by tall ancient looking trees. Between two sets of trees, bright against the dark firmament, were two moons, one full and high in the sky, the other a new moon only a couple of degrees above the horizon. At a place perhaps halfway to those trees, Mulder could see flickering points of light, all huddled in a small clearing. He sat up and decided on his next course of action. His rumbling stomach and dry tongue reminded him that he hadn't had any food or water for many hours, since before the robbery. After Bremer had thrown him the Dracular mask, Haley and the gimp had taken him into the other room, and after strapping his hands to that damned table, turned out the lamp and left, locking the heavy door securely behind them. After a useless attempt to loosen his restrains that left his wrists raw and sweat dripping down his forehead, he fell asleep. Sunlight pouring in through the small window a couple of hours later had aroused him enough to hear the door being unlocked and opened. Heavy footsteps had come closer and before he could turn his head to identify their owner, the hated, claustrophobic hood was placed over his head and a plastic cup was lifted to his lips. He drank quickly, not knowing when , or if, he would get the opportunity again. Baxter had then tied the hood painfully tight. Mulder could visualize the gimp smiling as he performed his work, clearly a man who had real job satisfaction. His hands were released, only to be secured immediately behind his back. *Government issue cuffs by the feel of them* he thought. They had led him through two doors to a small outside lavatory. Baxter undid his belt and roughly pulled his jeans and boxers to his knees and issued his instructions in a smug voice. "Do your business, we wouldn't want any accidents later on would we?" He had complied, more out of biological need than any desire to obey Baxter, with a silent prayer that the gimp had pointed him in the right direction. The sound of rushing water reminded him of his predicament and he stood up slowly, scanning the area as best he could in the moonlight. His legs carried him automatically toward a swift running stream situated about thirty feet to his left. Kneeling down, he cupped his hands and scooped up a handful of icy cold water. He didn't swallow but rinsed the blood out of his mouth. After the third mouthful came out clear, he drank greedily for almost five minutes, coughing and spluttering noisily as his stomach rejected the first few mouthfuls of the refreshing liquid. One need taken care of, Mulder considered where he was going to find shelter, for he was not stupid enough to wander aimlessly in unfamiliar surroundings in the dark. After what had happened in the woods of Northern Florida, he had vowed never to enter any woods anywhere without his own SWAT team as backup. He started walking towards the lit clearing, instinctively reaching for a weapon that was not there. As he drew closer, he could see what was a rather substantial community that filled the clearing and spilled over into the surrounding forest. Mulder stopped at the rise above the settlement, trying to gather information as to it's make-up, clues and details about the people that lived there, if they were indeed humans and not some eight-legged, two headed , silicon based lifeform. He was inclined to think that the inhabitants were humanoid as he could ascertain no difference in the air he was currently breathing nor the water he had drunk earlier. Now that he thought about it, there was something lacking in the air and water- the smell and taste were fresher, neither contaminated by chemicals or other man made pollution that he associated with so-called civilized societies. The buildings that filled the clearing in roughly concentric circles were simple wood dwellings, the roofs made of thatch that reminded Mulder of some quaint little English villages he had visited during his school days at Oxford. Curls of gray wispy smoke rose above most of them, carrying salivatingly delicious smells of cooking meat and freshly baked bread on the soft breeze that blew in his direction. Mulder's mouth began watering and his stomach resumed it's demand to be fed. He ignored it and continued his surveillance. To the left on the edge of the forest was a sturdily built pen that housed a couple of dozen animals of different species, Mulder recognizing small cattle and sheep, along with birds of different unknown varieties, amongst them. Alongside, several horses were tethered on long reins, grazing contentedly at the long grass that grew at their feet. * Well the animals looked normal enough, maybe this was still the planet Earth only some back-to-nature-commune type deal* Movement down below alerted him to the fact that he was rather exposed, anyone who happened to look in his direction would see him clearly outlined against the dark of the night sky. He moved swiftly to his right, hiding behind a tree of enormous girth that towered above him. Two forms exited one of the innermost dwellings and Mulder sighed with relief when he saw that they were indeed human. They made their way towards him, swaying erratically and leaning on each other for support. They stopped only ten feet from his hiding spot and one immediately began stripping the other, ignoring the person's pleas and unco-operative gestures, both totally oblivious to Mulder's presence. Only when they were as naked as the day they emerged from their mothers' wombs, did he realize that they were both of male gender, one of them at least fifty years older than his less than willing partner. Mulder was sickened by the sounds of rape taking place on the opposite side of the tree, but he couldn't move away for fear of revealing himself. The rapid grunting sounds and cries of pain soon ceased to be replaced by noises of clothes being pulled on and hurriedly arranged. His FBI training almost overrode his body's desire for self- preservation, causing Mulder to hesitate, to want to go to the child's aid, to protect the child against further harm. That hesitation ultimately cost him his freedom, first costing him his favorite leather jacket and the protective splint that was still on his left hand. He was squatting down, like a runner at the starting blocks of the one hundred meters sprint, just about to launch himself upwards toward the dark woods in front of him, when he felt a large hand grasp his right ankle. He was pulled violently backwards, his head impacting with the rough bark of the tree, hard enough for him to sees stars, so hard, in fact that he briefly lost consciousness, coming around moments later to find himself face down beneath a solidly built man, minus his jacket. His left arm was twisted behind his back, the smallest finger bent at an agonizing angle and now sporting a deep, bloody cut from the zipper on his jacket's cuff. It was held firmly in place by his assailant's knee, while his right was effectively restrained by his own struggling body. His captor's other leg was pinning his own to the damp, dew covered ground, leaving only his aching head free to move. Mulder searched desperately for anything, anyone, to help him escape. What he saw did nothing to improve his prospects of survival. End 1/12 Holding Out For A Hero: Chapter 1 (2/12) The boy he had heard being raped was running quickly down the hill to the village, screaming at the top of his voice and waving his leather jacket wildly. Before he reached the boundary, his shouts had penetrated the houses, rousing the villagers out of their beds, to congregate at the center near a still smoldering bonfire. The boy drew to a stop, turned and pointed back up the hill, and turned to face the gathering again as he explained what had happened. Several people grabbed lengths of wood, lighting some and handing the unlit ones to others. A group of about twenty people started walking toward the forest, those with the torches and primitive weapons at the front. *Oh great, a lynch mob* Mulder wondered whether they would take the time to build a gallows from which to hang his body, or would they simply seat him on a horse with a noose around his neck, attached to the tree above him. *God I've seen too many spaghetti westerns* As the mob reached the spot where he was being held, his captor climbed off him, keeping a bone-crushing grip on his left wrist and wrapping a muscular forearm around his throat as he yanked him to his feet. *This guy could get a job at Quantico doing self-defense classes.* Mulder thought glumly as he struggled to get sufficient air into his lungs. He didn't even try wriggling out of the hold for the slightest movement caused his airway to be blocked. "What happened Hans? Did someone interrupt your fun?" A well-built, middle aged man stepped forward, an elaborately carved cane on which he leaned heavily in one hand, and a burning torch in the other, the torch coming much too close to Mulder for his comfort. He could feel the heat adding more sweat to that which all ready covered his body. *Well at least they speak English, maybe I can use that famous Mulder gift-of the-gab that nearly always worked on Scully.* Hans answered quickly, never relaxing his hold on Mulder. "I was just giving the young lad instruction in the ways of the world and all of a sudden this animal comes hurtling out of the forest and attacks me." As he spoke, Mulder got a lungful of alcohol drenched air, causing him to gag involuntarily, in turn causing Hans to tighten his grip on both his throat and hand. Just as he thought that the bones in his wrist would break under the pressure, Hans relaxed his grip. "At first I thought it was a bear or lion attacking me, until I was able to overpower it and I saw this mark of the devil." Hans jerked Mulder's left wrist upwards, holding it tightly in front of the other man's face. "Look at it Steven. Only those who have made a pact with the dark ones are given such evil rewards." Steven studied the metallic and glass device on the stranger's wrist, unwilling to touch it, for fear of what it would do. He had heard long ago about such bizarre items, spoken of in hushed whispers by his grandparents, whispers that ceased whenever he came within earshot. Looking Mulder straight in the eye, he spoke slowly, pronouncing each word as if speaking to a child. "What is this thing, what is it's purpose?" "It's a watch, it tells me the time. There's nothing evil..." The words came out of his dry, sore throat barely louder than a whisper, before Hans' grip tightened once more. "Let him speak Hans. There's no need to kill him. He may be valuable in the near future, with the annual quota due soon." Steven stepped back and resumed his questioning. "What's your name and where are you from?" "Mulder, and I don't think you would know of the place I come from. As I'm not sure where I am, I'd guess you haven't heard of America. I'm not even sure how I got here, wherever here is." Mulder sensed that even though Steven honestly didn't want to harm him, he had nothing to gain by lying, that maybe he could even get some information from his interrogator. Steven turned to the group behind him and spoke to a couple of unarmed men, "Take him back to the village, I wish to question him further." He faced Mulder again and gestured to Hans to release him into the other men's custody. "I suggest you go and get some sleep, old man. After your celebrating tonight you're gonna have a sore head in the morning." Hans reluctantly did as ordered, giving Mulder a solid fist to his back as a goodbye present, and headed slowly down the hill, stumbling more than once. Mulder was quickly surrounded by his new guards, escorted to the settlement and into the largest building, a multi-roomed dwelling with thick furs covering the walls and rugs on the dirt-packed floor. A couple of people followed Steven and Mulder into the central room which was filled with roughly fashioned furniture. A large open fire was in one corner, a cast iron pot, black with soot and age, hung above it. Mulder's escorts positioned him in front of the hearth, as Steven and the others, both older men, took their seats, talking in soft whispers amongst themselves. Mulder took the opportunity to further study his surroundings. The smell of freshly cooked and recently eaten food was driving him crazy and he was certain his hosts could hear his stomach rumbling. Looking around, he detected no sign of anything powered by electricity, no lights, no cables, no power points, not even a battery powered clock on the wall. On his journey through the small village, he had noticed a large circular piece of wood, set horizontally on top a large boulder. Sticking up through the middle of the disc was a perfectly straight length of timber, perhaps four feet high. He had dismissed it as a piece of sculpture, but now realized that it was probably a sun-dial, inert and useless during the night. Movement to his right caused Mulder to turn his still throbbing head in that direction. A young girl came out of an adjoining room, a kitchen most likely, a large wooden tray in her small hands. She walked to the table that stood against one wall and laid the tray down. Lifting one mug at a time she passed them to Steven and his companions, trying not to look at the stranger who knelt before them, but unable to hide her curiosity. Mulder smiled at her, thinking how she reminded him of Samantha, the same shade of hair, tied in two long braids that reached almost to her waist. She wore a brown dress, laced down the back with rawhide strips. The fabric looked the same as everyone else wore, only the styles differing. After taking several sips of the steaming liquid, Steven addressed Mulder. "Well Mulder, it seems that your arrival in our fair village has caused some alarm. We don't get strangers here often, especially ones who attack our old folk and carry dangerous weapons. Can that be removed?" He pointed to the watch on Mulder's arm with a hand that Mulder realized was severely deformed, having only three stunted fingers and no thumb. Mulder nodded and moved to unclasp the band, hoping to prove that it wasn't as dangerous as Steven believed. Before his right hand had reached the buckle, he was grasped from behind by one of his guards. "It's all right Darin. Mulder would be a fool to try anything, he may be a stranger from an unknown place, but he is no fool, that much I can tell. I didn't become govner without being able to judge people's state of mind." Darin released his arm and stepped away, never taking his green eyes off Mulder, almost daring him to make a move. Mulder undid the buckle, removed the watch and held it out to Steven. "I don't mean you or any of your people harm. I thought the boy was in danger, I didn't attack your friend, didn't have a chance too. He's pretty damn quick, even with my training." "And what might that training be? Assassin, thief or spy?" The eldest man spoke for the first time, a man with a snowy white beard and straggly gray hair and the brightest blue eyes Mulder could remember seeing. Eyes that told of a lifetime of worry, experience and grief. Steven had taken the watch and he turned it over, looking closely at it, pushing each button until he was satisfied that he wasn't going to drop dead where he sat. He placed it on the arm of his chair and focused his attention once more on Mulder. "None of those, I assure you. Where I come from, it was my job to stop the sort of people you just mentioned. I was trained to stop innocent people getting hurt, including myself. All I ask of you is shelter for tonight, food if you have any to spare and I'll be on my way before sunrise tomorrow." Steven consulted quietly with his two advisors, for he had not encountered a situation such as this during his leadership or even his lifetime. "This boy is either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Surely he must know of the penalties for carrying forbidden objects such as that time-keeper, unless he really is from some far away place where such things are allowed. But I know of no such place." Age-lined blue eyes studied Mulder momentarily and then focused on Steven. "Before you were born, in a village not far from here a young man was found hiding in one of their outhouses, taking shelter from a wild storm. He was carrying a small box that could make drawings of whoever it was pointed at. Many of the old folk were very frightened, afraid that their very souls were being sucked out of their bodies whilst they still breathed. Despite the Law that any such person found carrying forbidden objects was to be handed over immediately to the Lord's guards and despite the elders warnings, the villagers took a vote and decided to hide the young man, hoping to learn from him. Before the week's end that village was burnt to the ground, all the people dead or close to death from some unknown illness." "I've heard of the stories, Jakob, stories told to frighten young children, like the ones of monsters hiding in the woods, ready to eat children who don't behave." "He must be handed over to Captain Rajiv at once. The longer he stays here, the more danger he puts our homes and families in. Are you willing to risk the safety of your own people to save a stranger who attacked your own father?" Jakob's voice grew louder as he tried to convince Steven of the seriousness of the situation. From the heated argument taking place in front of him, Mulder doubted that he would be going anywhere of his own free will in the near future. He had picked up mutterings from the crowd that had brought him down the hill. Words that he had been able to decipher had sent chills running through his already shivering body--- auction, quotas needing to be met, gold exchanging hands, and Steven had also mentioned his possible value to them and the quota. The third man spoke for the first time, not bothering to lower his voice, openly showing his disdain for the prisoner. "After the raid by the Davidians, our stocks are dangerously low, especially with winter coming on. The reward we will earn by obeying the Law and turning him over to Master Rajiv will allow us to buy grain and wood to rebuild what those thugs destroyed. He may even release us from this year's quota as an extra bonus." Steven closed his eyes briefly, trying to come to a decision, almost wishing he had turned down the leadership of his home village when it had been offered five years previously. Deciding that there was only one decision that could be made, he looked at Mulder, burying his misgivings and regrets deep inside. "You are rather brave to be making such demands, considering your current position. You had better learn quickly that what you want doesn't matter anymore, your chances of survival, slim already, will be greatly improved if you accept that." Steven told him in a cold, unemotional voice. After another brief discussion with his two deputies, as Mulder now thought of them, Steven spoke to Darin, "Take him down to the holding cellar, give him food and water." Mulder was pulled to his feet, his hands bound with rope behind his back and herded outside. The crowd still huddled in the open area, despite the chill in the air, curious about this new arrival. They parted like the Red Sea, allowing the party of three clear passage. Mulder spotted the young boy in the crowd, proudly wearing his leather jacket, the sleeves hanging inches past his fingertips. He watched as Hans appeared in a doorway, a very suggestive smile on his weathered face. The old man took a few shaky steps in his direction, and Mulder thought he was in for more abuse from his original captor. However Hans only had eyes for his young student, and reaching out, he grabbed the boy's arm, dragging him back to the hut, obviously preparing to continue what Mulder had interrupted. The boy showed no signs of resistance, too entranced by the jacket's zipper, even as Hans undid his tanned breeches. He was taken to the far side of the village, opposite from where he had been captured. His guards halted near a foul smelling area, and Darin bent down and raised a latticed trapdoor, revealing a hole barely three feet square and seven feet deep, the sides made of slimy, fungus infested wood, three or four inches of putrid smelling water covering the bottom. The other man loosened the ropes, positioned his hands in front of him and retied them leaving a long piece of the thick, coarse rope free. Mulder didn't need to be told what to do, the hole in front of him would obviously be his bedroom for what was left of the night. He climbed in, trying to find a comfortable position and discovered after just one hour of being forced to stand on tip-toes, that one didn't exist. Darin had dropped the lid and taking the rope end from his silent companion, jerked Mulder's hands above his head, quickly securing them to the crossbars of the hole's lid. They had then placed heavy rocks on each corner and walked off, Darin rather satisfied with their efforts, his partner less so. "Steven is not gonna be pleased if his goods get damaged. He's hoping to get top price for that bit of meat from Rajiv tomorrow." "Yeah well , we're just makin' sure he don't go nowhere before then." ********** End 2/12 Holding Out For A Hero: Chapter 1 (3/12) Casting Chamber CARTERIUS CASTLE Pre-Dawn As Fox reached a point approximately halfway along the tunnel, a blinding flash of light spread instantaneously through the formally semi-darkened chamber, followed almost simultaneously by an enormous peel of thunder. Morten reacted instinctively, placing one hand over his eyes to block out the penetrating light. When he removed his hand only a second later, Fox was gone, only the rapidly fading outline of his aura as evidence that he had formally occupied that bit of the cosmos. Morten collapsed; exhaustion of mind, body and spirit finally taking it's toll, he fell in a boneless heap to the cold stone floor. The temperature in the small chamber had plummeted, leaving him shivering uncontrollably even though his body was still drenched with sweat. Knowing that something had gone drastically wrong, he pulled himself slowly to his feet, putting one weak hand on the cot to steady himself. His fingers brushed cool skin, soft, delicate skin that he took a long few seconds to recognize as belonging to Lady Kaneesha, his mistress and the third participant in the ritual. Looking down at her still, naked body he had to fight an overwhelming urge to mount her there and then, to plunge into her warm, available body , to give himself the sort of release and pleasure she so often denied him. Her breasts were firm peaks, topped with dusky brown nipples that called to him to taste, to suck, to bite. Performing rituals always left him drained emotionally and physically but extremely sexually aroused. His previous audiences had always been his teachers, old men, the elders of his village guiding him in the ancient rites and rituals. They would release the energy the ritual built up in a frenzied orgy of masturbation, by hand and mouth, another young apprentice swallowing the seed that would shoot from Morten's cock, believing it to be endowed with the very essence and power of the Gods. He was so highly aroused it was painful. He took his hard cock in hand and with only three or four short pumps, came explosively, thick white cum splattering the intricate design drawn on the floor. He looked around the now darkened room, not quite believing what had happened to disrupt the drawing ceremony. All of the candles were now unlit, many laying on their sides as if some wild wind had blown through the room--- the windowless, draught-free room. Ancient scrolls were scattered about under the table and cot, blackened edges curling and turning to ash as he picked them up. Turning once more to his mistress and not trusting his self-control, he merely covered her with her robe. Under better circumstances he would have bathed Kaneesha, removing the special dyes and markings, bringing the ritual to an end and severing the link between himself, Kaneesha and Fox. He had no idea what the effect of an interrupted drawing would be, though he was fairly certain that Kaneesha's spirit had not followed Fox's, wherever his had gone. He also somehow knew that Fox had been dragged against his will into this world, appearing suddenly somewhere with next to no hope of being able to return home. He hoped Fox had *landed* somewhere isolated, having first hand knowledge of how his people reacted to apparently magical events, many of them deeply superstitious, believing in and fearing ancient gods and demons. They were very likely to believe that he was some sort of devil, come to punish the village for some minor transgression. He still didn't understand why he felt so protective of the stranger, a stranger whose sole reason for being summoned was to take his own place in Kaneesha's bed, banishing him to the fields or woods or worst to the dreaded mines as a mere slave, like so many before him. Maybe it was the fact that Kaneesha ( and by association, himself) were just like the slave traders he despised so much, using other people as possessions, people with feelings and lives and families, dragged unwillingly away from all they knew and thrust into life-long slavery, serving cruel masters who cared not whether they lived or died. Although he was certain that Fox would have died without their interference, he was beginning to think that maybe death would be kinder than the life Fox faced as Kaneesha's slave. Morten had admired the stranger's calm acceptance of his impending death, amazed at Fox's steady walk to his execution. During his time at Carterius Castle, he had witnessed a few public floggings and one beheading that left him with nightmares for days after. The condemned man had been dragged, screaming and struggling to the main courtyard where the punishment was carried out in front of every slave and servant, regardless of age, as a deterrent to further rebellious behavior. It took six of the overseers to force the slave to his knees in front of a wooden structure consisting of two upright posts supporting a huge gleaming blade that reflected the mid-summer sun in a dozen directions. He had been unable to watch the execution, barely able to hold onto the contents of his stomach as he heard the blade fall, a shower of blood splattering the slaves closest to the platform. For the first time in his life, he cursed the *gift* that linked him with other minds. He had felt the slave's fear and panic, an overwhelming flood of emotion that threatened to destroy his mind. Only the years of training and practice as a child enabled him to put up a fragile shield to protect himself from the pain he knew he would experience when the blade was released. Even through the shield, Morten still felt the blade slice through his neck, severing his head. He'd had to put up one trembling hand to assure himself that his head was still attached to his sweat drenched body. After trying unsuccessfully to awaken his mistress, he dressed quickly, lifted her unresisting body into his arms and carried her out the door. Weak, dawn sunlight was filtering in through the windows and skylights, alerting him to the fact that the castle's inhabitants would soon awaken, and he had no reasonable explanation as to why he was carrying his unconscious mistress in a little used part of the vast fortress. Somehow he had to get them back to the safety of Kaneesha's rooms without being seen. *The tunnel* he thought, his feet unconsciously taking him in that direction even though he was unsure as to whether the secret passageway, one of dozens hidden throughout the massive, ancient building, was still accessible. He had never actually been there before, but the same gift that allowed him to probe people's minds let him visualize the location that Kaneesha had described. He turned down the second corridor he came to, entering a dark hallway that sloped slightly downwards, it's rough stone floor slippery with a faintly glowing moss that flourished between the cracks, able to survive with almost no sunlight. The air was still and musty, unlike the inhabited parts of the castle that were subject to almost constant draughts. The sunlight from the corridor faded gradually as he made his way down the slope until he was left with just the natural light from the moss to guide his steps. He knew that he could find the tunnel entrance blindfolded for he was following his mind's eye, trusting the images he could see as if they hovered just in front of his face. Seventy five steps along the hallway (Kaneesha had taken one hundred but he had unconsciously corrected the distance for his longer stride), he came to another opening, this one blocked by ill-fitting black stones of a type he didn't recognize. Shifting Kaneesha to rest over one shoulder, he reached forward with his left hand feeling for the lever that would open an adjacent, concealed doorway, allowing him access to the tunnel. Something both slimy and furry with too many feet to count scurried across his fingers. He screamed, his voice echoing along the narrow passage. He almost dropped his load, the one on his shoulder as well as the one in his bowels. Taking a few seconds to recover his composure, he pushed his hand further into the hole, feeling the warm sticky web that was home to whatever had just frightened him. Praying that the children and/or mate of the creature were absent, he closed his eyes and with one sure movement located a smooth piece of wood half his arm length into the crevice. He pushed it down and heard the squeak of a little used door opening to his right. He wedged the door open with one foot and released the lever, feeling the weight of the spring loaded door on his leg. Just inside the doorway was a steep set of wooden stairs leading downwards to the dark, smelly tunnel. Near the first step were three or four rough looking candles, a half dozen fire-sticks hanging from a cord on the back of the door. Taking a candle he struck one stick against the stone wall. A flickering yellow flame was created and he lit the candle, puffs of black smoke disappearing into the dark once they had escaped the light. He negotiated the stairs without incident, his mistress only a slight weight on his shoulder. Reaching the bottom, he found himself standing in ankle-deep stagnant water that was covered in a film of slimy scum. The smell was the worst thing he encountered, reeking of animal waste and death. He tried not to breathe too deeply and envied Kaneesha's luck at being spared the stomach churning stench. During the journey towards the far end of the tunnel, he felt his feet and legs brushed by unknown creatures, the feel of scales and wet fur forcing him to hurry as much as he could. A pinpoint of light up ahead and to his left captured his attention. When he reached it and held the candle up for a better view, all his fears about being dinner for some water-thing vanished, leaving him stunned and swaying on his cold legs. He was looking into a lavishly appointed room filled with thick, luxurious rugs and furs. Precious gems and gleaming metal reflected the morning sun that shone through large floor to ceiling windows that made up the furthermost wall. The walls to his left and right almost overflowed with the heads of many different animals killed in hunts, dark, almost black blood still coated many of the pelts. Bear and lion and panther stared at him from their final resting places, their eyes frozen in the fear they experienced as death claimed them. He even saw a legendary unicorn, a mythical beast he was sure no longer existed. A magnificent looking buck, it's proud head crowned with massive antlers, it's eyes clear pools of blue, looked down over a massive bed. Huge, candle filled chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling and from the few places on the walls free from animal heads. On elaborately carved tables sat plates of rotting, maggot infested food. Swarms of flies circled above the remains of some incredible feast, occasionally landing and burrowing into enough meat and fruit and pastries to feed a small village for months. Had anything been in his stomach, he would have vomited. The only other occupants in the room were in much worst condition than the stuffed animals. Restrained face-down on the bed with chains on wrists and ankles was a body of about his age, it's once plump ass raised on pillows as an offering to an absent master. He was unable to tell if it was male or female, as it consisted of mainly skin and bones, it's back covered with blackened welts. Another person, this one clearly female by the huge sagging breasts, was tied to a chair barely six feet from the life saving meal placed so close yet forever out of reach. Morten struggled to think who had set up the cruel feast, not believing any of the Royal Family could be so evil as to starve their own slaves. Then he remembered the night Kaneesha told him of the tunnel's existence and what she had witnessed. Her elder brother, Lord Jaxtar, heir to the throne and wealth of Carteria, raping a young slave. A boy of just eight or so summers restrained in the same way as the body he could see on the bed. Jaxtar had taken his pleasure and then reached down between the boy's legs. Kaneesha had been unable to see his next movements, but an inhuman scream of agony told her that something horrible was occurring. Jaxtar had sat upright, a small curved blade in one hand and a bloody piece of flesh in the other, a growing pool of blood under the slave staining the pristine white sheets. She had related this terrifying sight after several nights of violent nightmares after which she would restrain him in a similar manner, using him purely for her own pleasure, not caring if he achieved release. Indeed many times she purposely left him tied up for hours after, coming to him, time and time again to satisfy her own urges, until he was left with aching, swollen balls. Probing her mind in a desperate attempt to understand her uncharacteristically violent behavior, he had discovered that she was imagining someone else in his place, a stranger with dark hair and hazel eyes, years older than himself. That was when he knew she would co- operate in the dangerous ritual to summon Fox into their world. Of course, she would have to think the whole idea was hers, with Morten merely being a path, a conduit, to connect her and Fox. Kaneesha stirred in his arms bringing him back to the present and forcing him to turn away from the peephole to continue the journey through the tunnel. A short time later he came to another set of stairs. He extinguished the candle and ascended the steps, his mistress now heavy over his shoulder. He lifted a trapdoor at the top and pushed Kaneesha through the opening, pulling himself up into a clothes filled closet, racks and racks of luxurious gowns in all the colors of the rainbow, rows and rows of shoes lined up underneath. Lifting Kaneesha once more, he carried her to the bed he so often shared with her and laid her down on top of the feather filled blanket. Crossing to the hearth in the corner of the room, he started a fire for heating bathing water, knowing his mistress would awaken wanting to be bathed and fed, his normal morning routine taking over, leaving his overactive imagination to wonder about coming punishments for his failure to summon Fox. ********** End 3/12 Holding Out For A Hero : Chapter 1 (4/12) WOODSGLEN, CARTERIA Dawn Mulder was awoken out of a dream-filled half-slumber (no worse than he had enjoyed back home on his couch) by cold water splashing on his head and down his shoulders. He looked up and gasped in surprise when he saw a face looking at him, backlit by soft, pink light from the dawn sun. "Sam? Is that you?" The girl pulled back abruptly, a look of trepidation on her young face. "How did you know my name?" she asked in a slightly trembling voice. He was now fully awake and aware once more of his predicament. "Is that your name-Sam?" "It's Samarrah, but Ma always called me Sam. She said I shoulda been birthed as a boy, the 'mount of trouble I get in." Fox couldn't help smiling. Samantha was a tom-boy too, always following him around, wanting to go fishing or climb trees. Samarrah held a small cloth sack in one small hand and seemed to be debating what to do next. Seeing the smile on Mulder's weary face made up her mind. She opened the neck of the sack and Mulder was again assaulted by tantalizing, mouth-watering smells. Her head tilted to one side and she froze, eyes half closed, as if listening to, or for, someone. "Did the devil-man tell you my name?" she asked seriously, one hand buried inside the sack. Mulder was certain that his next, or maybe last, meal depended on his answer. He thought briefly of lying, but the knowledge that she was doing something that could earn herself punishment, an effort that reminded him of countless times when Samantha sneaked food up to his room after some minor misbehavior brought the wrath of their father down on him, convinced him to be truthful to her. "No, I was dreaming about a little girl that looked a lot like you. I was just confused, I didn't mean to scare you." He shifted, trying to take some strain from his aching shoulders. His hands and feet were numb, the rope restricting circulation to the former and the icy water freezing the latter. He looked up once again and gave her his best hurt puppy dog look that never failed to soften any female's heart, regardless of age. A genuine smile transformed her face, lighting up warm hazel eyes and emphasizing the dimples on her chin. "You must be hungry. I know that Darin didn't feed you as Dada ordered." Before he could reply, she pulled out her hand, revealing several small hunks of still-warm meat and a soft bread roll . She knelt down, lying on her stomach over the lid and put one thin arm through the lattice. Even at full stretch, her hand, and the food in it, was still more than a foot away from his open mouth. He didn't have the strength in his arms to raise himself even one inch. A determined look came over Samarrah's features and she lifted herself up and disappeared from his limited field of vision. Mulder could hear her rummaging around and then she was above him once more, the offered food stuck - kebab- style- on one end of a long stick. This she lowered into his cell and held it steady as he greedily ate the meat, it's juices running down his stubble-covered chin. She repeated the maneuver with the bread roll, and was rewarded for her efforts and ingenuity with a throaty burp from Mulder that had her giggling out loud. A long handled wooden ladle was lowered next and even though most of the water ended up soaking his already wet turtle-neck shirt, he managed to swallow enough to satisfy his thirst. Just as he was about to offer his thanks and gratitude, loud voices coming closer caused Samarrah to quickly scramble to her feet and vanish from sight. Moments later, Mulder saw two shadows just on the edge of his vision. The rocks were removed from the hole's lid and it was wrenched upward, pulling Mulder up as well into Darin's waiting hands. He was dragged out of the hole and dumped on the almost frozen ground. Feeling came swiftly back into his numb extremities in the form of agonizing daggers of pain starting at his stiff shoulders and quickly spreading along his arms. He got the worse case of pins-and-needles he could ever remember having as he was pulled to his feet, his hands still bound, the end of the wet rope now held in one meaty fist of his guards. His legs could not hold his weight and he collapsed to his knees, earning a lightening quick kick to his stomach from Darin. "C'mon man, take it easy, will ya? Do you wanna spend a night in the hole cos you bruised Steven's prize catch? He's expecting him back in one piece." As he spoke, he put an arm around Mulder and lifted him to his feet, supporting his body, even taking the rope from Darin, who just glared at him and strode off towards the center of the settlement. The village was coming to life, cooking fires being lit, the few animals fed, cows milked, eggs collected. Everyone seemed to have assigned tasks and they carried them out in a relaxed manner, talking and laughing. The large central bonfire was soon blazing brightly, and Mulder saw three or four men arranging sides of meat over the flames. In the morning light, Mulder could see a few destroyed buildings dotted throughout the community, the scars of recent fires clearly visible in the debris. This sight sparked something in Mulder and he turned to the man who was leading him at a slow pace towards Steven's house. "One of the men last night spoke of needing to buy grain and wood for repairs. Why not use wood from the forest? There's more than enough there. You could even clear some and plant the grain." His escort looked at him as if he was crazy, as if he had started speaking gibberish. He stopped and scanned the area around them, as if to make sure that he wouldn't be overheard. "You must come from a very strange place indeed. The whole forest and everything in it belongs to Lord Gareth. That includes us and now you I s'pose. He owns everything as far as the eye can see, and somehow he knows if something, a tree or deer, is taken beyond the assigned quotas. I've heard that there are demons in the woods that watch us and report back to Master Rajiv." Matthew stopped talking as they came closer to the large bonfire where most of the people had congregated, talking in small groups and preparing the morning meal. Over to one side several women were placing small packages and various fruits into small cloth sacks identical to Samarrah's. A few hide pouches had been filled with water and these were carried over to where the horses were currently having saddles and bridles fitted. Matthew and Mulder came to a stop outside Steven's hut. The door opened a short time later and Steven appeared in the doorway, a small leather pouch tied around his waist and stepped outside. He was followed by his two deputies, neither paying the least bit of attention to Mulder as if he had ceased to exist overnight. Steven glanced once at Mulder and walked passed him and Matthew towards the bonfire. Bowls of food were handed around, a young girl of about fifteen bringing one over to where Matthew stood, still holding onto the rope attached to Mulder. Taking the bowl in one hand, he placed the other on Mulder's right shoulder and whispered in his ear. "Sit down quietly and eat. This may be your last chance to rest for days." Mulder complied although he desperately wanted to talk further with Matthew. He was bursting with questions, wanting to know more about the regions politics and history. Most of all he wondered why Matthew treated him as a human being when to everyone else he was no better than the cattle locked up in the pens. Accepting the meal, which reminded him of porridge that he'd eaten in the Oxford cafeteria, he mouthed a silent thank-you and began eating. At a long wooden table, the senior members of the community discussed the coming days plans. Jakob and Steven were again involved in a heated discussion concerning the stranger whose fate had been sealed the night before. "I don't think it is necessary for you to go to Gilliania today. We've all heard the reports of bandits attacking travelers, stealing livestock and goods. And with the annual quotas due, there are those who would steal what we have worked hard all year to produce. It's too much of a risk." Murmuring voices agreed with Jakob's concerns. Steven looked around the table for signs of support. He didn't find many apart from Darin and his friends. They had actually volunteered to accompany the group, to guard the prisoner. This had Steven suspicious, given Darin's willingness to solve problems with his fists rather than his head and the fact that Darin had never volunteered for anything that looked like hard labour. "I disagree. We have valuable cargo that must be delivered as you made clear last night. It would be safer for myself and one or two others to go through the woods rather than the usual roads. I know a way that will have us at the yards before nightfall. The smaller the group, the faster we can travel. All of you trusted my judgment enough to elect me as your leader, and I'm asking you to trust me now." Steven pushed his bowl away and rose from the table, making his way over to Matthew and the captive. He still had not fully accepted that Mulder could be as dangerous as Jakob and the others believed. He had shown no signs of aggression since his capture, and Matthew had related how he had quietly accepted being confined during the night. Even when provoked by Darin he did not retaliate. Steven wished he could talk to Mulder, learn more about where he came from and who he was. But such insight was now out of his reach, or soon would be. Steven didn't think anyone, regardless of their circumstances or crime, deserved to be sold into lifelong servitude, the very idea of it sickened him. Stories and rumors had circulated for many years that entire villages simply vanished overnight, hundreds of men, women and children never being seen or heard from again. The old folk, still preferring their myths, legends and superstitions, believed ancient powerful gods had cast judgment on these sinners and disbelievers, destroying their homes in an attempt to rid the world of them. The truth, as Steven suspected, was more horrifying. Just as his own village had to supply an annual quota of timber and other goods, in order to buy grain and livestock, traders from other parts of the barony were paid handsomely to deliver men and women to Imram, Lord's Gareth's SlaveMaster, at the yearly market fair that was held in Gilliania. The overseers never questioned where the future slaves had come from, as long as they were healthy and plentiful. Steven didn't think it was a coincidence that as market day drew closer, bandit raids and village destructions increased, making even short journeys dangerous. He had no hard evidence as to what would happen to Mulder once he was handed over to Captain Rajiv but he didn't think it would be a pleasant life for the young man. He had stayed up late last night trying to convince his advisors and the elders that Mulder presented no danger to the community, in fact much could be learned from him. To his despair they had threatened to strip him of leadership and banish him, cast him out from his life-time home and family. Even his own father had sided with Jakob and Roland against him, saying that only a false, weak leader would dare to disobey or question the Law. In the end he had no choice but to agree with their decision. He had made it clear, however, that he would take the prisoner to market, that as leader, it was his duty. Secretly, he was hoping to protect the young man from further abuse from his people, maybe even provide information that may prepare Mulder for what lay ahead. Although he did not show any outward signs of fear, Steven imagined that he must be terrified, for he knew that he would be if he was in a strange land with no idea about the people who populated it, what their customs were, what was considered right and wrong. Three hours later and the party of four were deep inside the forest, sunlight barely showing through the thick leafy canopy. Darin was in the lead, a large bow and a quiver full of arrows strung across his back and a curved machete in his right hand. Jakob had insisted that he accompany Steven as he was their best archer, quick and deadly accurate, even at long distances. About thirty yards further back was Mulder, his hands bound to the saddle's pommel, his feet secured to the stirrups, with Steven squeezed into the saddle behind him. The horse they rode navigated the rough terrain with a sure-footedness that spoke of many generations of careful, selective breeding. Mulder recognized a variety of species; ferns and creepers; magnolias of every shade of color and dozens of types of palms ranging in size from barely knee-high to massive specimens that towered over the rider's heads with table-sized fronds that completely blocked out light where they met overhead. However these were outnumbered by the many unfamiliar plants and bushes as well as the fauna that lived in and under them. Mulder could see numerous brightly colored birds, could hear their calls, whoops and whistles. The sights, sounds and smells were unlike anything he could recall seeing back home. *These guys could make a fortune out of eco-tourism...Wait a minute... I'm on my to way to being sold at auction to the highest bidder in God knows where and I'm thinking of alternative career possibilities? Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought.* Mulder turned slightly, hoping to discover Matthew's position, however his view was blocked by his current guard. He could hear him however, somewhere behind and to his left. "How much further?" Mulder asked quietly, hoping Steven would be forthcoming with some useful information, anything that he could use to his advantage. Steven had been a wealth of knowledge during the last hour or so, but none of it was what he particularly wanted to hear. Once they arrived in Gilliania, he would be handed over to Rajiv or one of his Knights. The other men and women unfortunate enough to be captured by the roaming bands of traders and bandits would be presented for inspection and valuation by Lord Gareth's senior overseer. Very few slaves were ever rejected, only those who were so badly injured during capture or escape attempts that they weren't worth the rags they wore. Prices paid were non-negotiable and most sellers who wished to continue doing business with the Royal family accepted the terms without argument. Steven guessed Mulder would be handled more harshly than the slaves, given his unknown origins and the fact he was carrying forbidden items. He had debated whether to reveal the time-keeper at all, thinking it's existence would only mean more danger for his prisoner who had touched some place inside he didn't know existed, a place where he felt concern for the young man's future and once again deep regret for his own actions in creating that hellish future. However he was certain that Darin would draw attention to Mulder if he kept quiet. He was jerked out of his musings by Mulder's question. Stretching his stiff arms, he dropped the reins and exercised his fingers and wrists. Foxfire, named for his fire-orange mane and tail, never altered his steady gait, finding the best way through the dense foliage. "Um, less than a quart-day. We're more than half-way there, though I don't suppose that pleases you any. I'm sorry I can't offer you better news. If it was my decision alone, I would have been more than happy to welcome you into my home, but I have the well-being of many in my hands, deformed as they are." Steven noticed that Mulder no longer sat so upright, a visible slackness revealing his sense of hopelessness. There was nothing he could do or say that would relieve Mulder of his despair and helplessness. He could not give him any insight into what might happen once he was handed over for trial. He wasn't even sure if Mulder would be kept alive; those in charge may well decide he was too dangerous, an unknown quantity. Far too often there were public executions in the main square in Gilliania, more in the last four years than the previous twenty. A dozen horse-lengths ahead, Darin scanned the terrain, searching for danger, in either animal or human form. An unfamiliar sound grabbed his attention, and he turned his head in the direction from which it came, urging his mount on at a slightly quicker pace. Stopping at the top of a steep drop, he glanced down and discovered the origin of the rumbling roar. Not too far below, a fast flowing river occupied a narrow canyon where only two double moons before there had been a dry river bed. The remains of a wood and rope bridge hung on each side of the river, logs and beams that had once provided passage across the gap, now laying half submerged, being tossed this way and that by the swift current. Darin searched a little way in each direction, looking for a suitable crossing point. Finding a couple of slim possibilities, he headed back to where Steven had just emerged from the forest. Matthew came into view a short time later. Darin rode up to his leader, a determined look on his tanned face. "The bridge must have collapsed during the last storm, the current's pretty strong but we should be able to cross a little further downstream." Darin pointed to his left, but his piercing gaze never left Mulder. He neither trusted nor liked him. The sooner he was handed over to Rajiv's men, the happier Darin would be. Steven dismounted and headed in the direction Darin had indicated. The bank was steep but he thought they could get down to the river. Hopefully the water wouldn't be too deep, for Steven knew of no other suitable crossings that didn't involve lengthy detours and delays. He returned to the group and began undoing the ropes that secured Mulder's feet, ignoring Darin's concern about releasing the prisoner. He helped Mulder off Foxfire, Darin grabbing his upper arm in a painful grip before his feet hit the ground. "Matthew, you and Darin take the horses down to the river. I'll see to the prisoner. He won't try anything." Steven ordered, freeing Mulder's hands from the saddle but still keeping them bound. Darin reluctantly released his hold and gathered up the reins, leading the two horses toward the bank. Mulder followed Steven, not resisting at all. He thought he may have gained his captor's trust and did nothing to jeopardize the only too fragile relationship. Darin and Matthew were about halfway down the steep incline, their horses handling the conditions with ease. The two men continually lost their footing on the slippery slope and were covered in mud, small twigs and leaves by the time they reached the bottom. Steven and Mulder made it down much slower, due to the older man's bad leg. Steven decided to rest and have a small meal of meat, fruit and bread, washed down with the refreshing spring water. They ate in silence, lost in individual thoughts. End 4/12