Pain of Love 8

Grayne swung under the scorching rays of the summer sun. His body hung limply at the end of rusting chains supported by cruel hooks that had days ago stopped hurting. He felt only a buzzing numbness as he slipped in and out of conciousness.

At first, his prayers to the Seven were verbal, but now were silent as his voice was too dry for words. He had prayed for escape and bloody retribution, but now he silently wished for the strength to survive to be with his beloved Summer again. The image of her soft hair and smile kept him alive, the memory of her gave him the mental strength to endure.

Even the peasants that had enjoyed the public brutality he had been sujected to had long ago lost interest as his screams had faded away.

Grayne suddenly became aware of a fluttering and a weight upon his right shoulder. He turned his head until he could see a black raven perched on his shoulder with his left eye. The vision of a flail impacting the right side of his face was the last memory he had with that eye. He only felt discomfort from the area his eye once was as the dead eye was exposed to the elements without even an eyelid to protect it.

The raven cawed at him. Grayne tried to shake the bird off but was reminded painfully of his situation as the sharp hooks dug deeper into his infected flesh.

“Go away. Scat!” Grayne commanded the black bird. Though ravens were routinely used to send messages between men rich enough to afford such beasts, he suspected this was an ordinary wild crow.

He believed, that is, until it spoke.

” Whatcha doin’, Grayne?” the bird asked.

Grayne hissed at it, trying to frighten it to flight. “Well, that’s a fine howdyado,” it responded.

He knew he was having a fever dream, but the raven looked and sounded real enough. The legends spoke of ravens being the messangers of the gods, but they only sent ill omens and he didn’t believe in such childlish stories. “You’re not real. Now go away and let me die in peace.”

“Fuck all that!” it said flapping its wings but remaining on his shoulder. “You ain’t gonna die. What about Summer?”

“She’s better off without me.”

The raven turned its head away from Grayne and said, “That’s the truth. She’s a fine piece of meat, she’ll find a new man with no trouble. Especially with how you look.” The raven turned back and shrieked in alarm. “Ye Gods, man. What’s wrong with your eye?!”

Grayne said nothing.

“Looks painful. It is, isn’t it?” The raven bobbed up and down with excitement. “It’s all pusy and WHEW does it stink!” It scrutinized the eye with a diecerning vision. “Yeah, that’s got to go.”

With his good eye, Grayne saw the raven open and close its beak as it moved closer to his face. “No. Don’t!” he shouted.

“It’s got to go.”

Grayne screamed as the raven pulled the dead eye from its socket like a worm from the ground. Peasants slowly returned with grim humour to watch and laugh as the raven tugged on his infected eye until it was torn free. They clapped as the raven flew away with its grisly prize, leaving Grayne sobbing and moaning with renewed agony.

A Boy and His Weren

An Alternity story starring Tuk and Geo

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Arcady, the Fra’al pilot said as he looked up from his breakfast. “How did an eight-year-old human boy and a bloodthirsty Weren become such close friends?”

Tuk, the gargantuan Weren raised one eyebrow and looked up at Arcady, slowing his rapid ingestion of a plateful of less-than-cooked meat. A thread of food hung from one of Tuk’s tusks. Arcady tried not to snicker. “Uh, ya got something there,” he said thrusting a thin finger at one of Tuk’s larger teeth. Tuk grunted and pulled the offending piece of meat from his tooth and ate it.

“I am not eight years old. You forget, while I appear eight, I have only been alive for thirty months.” Geo didn’t look up from his data pad. The food on his plate remained uneaten and his juice had barely been sipped.

“Right,” said the Fra’al pilot, remembering that Geo was a genetic construct who possessed uncanny and incalculable intelligence and agility. “Tuck, care to fill me in on this no-doubt riveting origin story?”

“Okay,” the bestial Weren mumbled with a mouthful of food.

“Would you knock that shit off?!” roared Gunny. The human leapt to his feet in anger and stormed over to where the boy was scraping the stone walls of the shared prison cell with another smaller piece of stone. Gunny waved his arms frantically at the symbols the boy had scrawled on the wall. The etchings filled an entire ten-foot section of wall with seemingly meaningless symbols, numbers and calculations. “What are you doing?! You’re driving me crazy!”

“There is no reason for my work to suffer during my incarceration,” said the boy without halting his scrawling.

Gunny pushed the boy hard from behind. He slammed hard into the wall and crumpled to the floor, dropping his stone carving implement. “Knock it off!”

“Hey!” roared a gravelly voice from the other side of the cell. Gunny and the fifteen other prisoners turned to see an enormous Weren striding toward the boy and the aggressive man. The Weren stood almost seven-feet tall and his thick muscled frame was covered in bristly grey fur.

Gunny put his hands up at shoulder level with his palms flat in a gesture of non-hostility. “Tuk, I don’t want no trouble, but this kid needs to take a break. Right?” Gunny looked to the other prisoners for confirmation. All he received from the other tired and frightened men were blank stares.

“You okay?” Tuk asked, helping the boy to his feet. The boy nodded and stood slowly. When the boy was standing without assistance, Tuk turned back to Gunny and said, “C’mon, man. We’re all under a lot of stress and the kid is trying to deal with it the only way he knows how. You know, with math,” Tuk tried to muster a smile, but his bottom teeth jutting out caused his smile to make him look even more terrifying than he already was. “Now, say you’re sorry.”

Gunny grumbled out an apology and shuffled his way back to where he was sitting. Tuk turned to the boy and saw he had resumed his calculations. “That’s a fine thank you,” Tuk said to the boy.

“What should I be thanking you for?”

“I just saved your butt.”

“I could have handled him.”

“Ha!”

“You disbelieve me? I understand. If it were a matter of age or size, this man would have the advantage.” Geo dropped the stone and strode over to where Gunny was sitting. “Stand up,” he said. Gunny laughed and stood up. “Now, attack me.”

“What? I’m not gonna…no,” he responded looking at Tuk sheepishly.

“One-One-Five-Nine,” the boy stated as if that statement would mean something to the burly alien.

“Huh?”

“This man is right-handed and none too intelligent,” Gunny scowled at the boy’s analysis. “He has survived any physical conflicts up to this point by sheer size and not through formal training.” The boy, who looked no more than seven years of age grasped Gunny’s right wrist. “One. He will attack me with his right hand,” the boy held Gunny’s right wrist up, indicating that his right arm was indeed number one.

“Let go.”

The boy let Gunny’s arm fall. “One-one. I will use my right hand to catch his wrist and use his forward momentum and mass to throw him…five… into the metal bed spine-first paralyzing or killing him-Nine.” Gunny laughed loud and pointedly and the boy said, “Even though I have told him what I will do to him, he lacks the basic intelligence to alter his mode of attack.”

Tuk smiled and asked, “Can you do it without breaking his spine?”

“Of course.”

Gunny roared, balled his right hand into a fist and swung it downward at the boy’s face. In response to the clumsy attack, he snapped his head back and in the same movement grasped Gunny’s wrist in his right hand. In a fluid move, almost too fast for anybody watching to comprehend, much less Gunny, the boy yanked the man’s arm across his own body. With a twist and a bend the seven year-old boy flipped the much larger man back-first into the metal bed. There was a sickening crunch and a pitiful whine from Gunny and silence.

A prisoner checked his vitals and confirmed, “He’s dead.”

The men in the cell exploded fearful into conversations and mutterings.

Tuk looked down at the boy and said with a mixture of annoyance and awe “I thought you said you wouldn’t kill him?”

“No, you asked me if I could do it without breaking his spine. I confirmed I was able to do so,” said the boy, resuming his work on the wall.

“You Weren, you’re up,” a guard shouted through the bars to Tuk. The distant cheers of spectators of the arena could be heard behind the guard. “You can pick your partner,” the guard said.

“Hey, kid, what’s your name?” asked the four-hundred pound Weren of the seven year old human.

“Geo.”

“I pick him,” said Tuk to the guard. “I pick Geo.”

Arcady blanched at Tuk’s story of violence. “That’s sweet.”

“I like this kid,” said Tuk, placing his gigantic paw on the Geo’s shoulder. “I feel like he’s come a long way.”

“And I feel you have become better at iterating the meaning behind your statements and questions,” Geo said, seemingly to his data pad. His Weren father-figure guffawed in response.

“You guys are a perfect match,” said Arcady wiping his mouth and leaving the two to their breakfast. “Perfect.” he mumbled as he walked away.

Pain of Love 7

Grayne swayed at the end of jagged hooks, and as he slipped in and out of consciousness, the event that brought him to this moment tore through his mind like the hooks ripped into his flesh. He remembered the soldiers that pushed him into the large officer’s tent. A table and chairs, a bed and even a large bathtub adorned the spacious tent. Croget’s head and shoulders were visible in the bathtub which made sloshing sounds as he moved. The room smelled damp and of jasmine,

He was shirtless and his back and chest were adorned with many red lash marks.

Croget stood up and water flowed from his naked body as he stood there. Grayne looked at the young man with contempt for he had no signs of wounds or scars one would normally gain during military training or the accomplished service of an active knight. In fact, Croget’s lean form showed no sign of having done any manual labor in his entire life. He looked not unlike a twelve-year-old boy with a man’s height.

With his effeminate lisp the man-boy said, “How rude of me. Let me hide my shame.” And with that he stepped behind a semi-transparent partition that had the darkened shapes of trees painted on it. Grayne could still see the Croget’s silhouette as he put on a robe. Croget took extra time behind the barrier grooming himself, and as he did so, Grayne sprang into action.

In one fluid move he swept his handcuffed arms under his legs. With more range of motion he was able to pick at his skin on his shoulder where a sharp wound had healed leaving a jagged bump and raised scab. Grayne could see Croget through the vanity veil and seemed to be shaving his chest with straight razor. Croget said loudly, “I think good grooming is important, don’t you?” Grayne gritted his teeth as he pulled the metal out from under the skin on his shoulder. He clutched the metal piece in the palm of his hand. Blood was flowing from his shoulder and he swung his feet up over the metal links that restrained his hands as Croget emerged from the transparent barrier.

Croget approached Grayne slowly and deliberately. Each one of his steps looked dramatic, if not pathetic, due to his boy-like features. As Croget came closer he noticed the trickle of blood coming from Grayne’s shoulder. “Oh my!” he exclaimed. “What have they done to you?”

Croget brought over a towel and pressed it against Grayne’s bloody shoulder. Croget gasped again as he saw the lashes on his back and chest. He leaned in close and Grayne could feel his captor brush his lips against his back. Grayne cringed as Croget breathed hot breath into his ear and said, “I’m sorry they did this to you.”

Croget moved around in front of Grayne and traced his finger along his chest before walking away. Grayne unclasped his hand and began to work the very simple metal lockpick into the keyhole of his restraints. He feared the job would be impossible without being able to see the lock, but he was desperate.

With his back to Grayne he picked up a sword that the wounded northerner had not noticed before. Croget swung the blade through the air in a few practice swings. Grayne could hear the rapier slicing through the air. “You may be wondering how I came to such a high military rank at such a young age. I’m not just a pretty face,” Croget teased. “I am one of the finest swordsmen in Westeros, if not the known world,” he bragged. “I also studied military tactics and history under some of the finest minds.’

Grayne worked as fast as he could while trying to keep the metal scraping from making any noise. Every scrape sounded like an alarm of metal pots and pans falling off a high shelf, to his ears.

‘Keep talking, fop’, he thought.

Grayne held his breath as Croget turned and walked toward him. “Would you like to see my blade?” Croget asked with a twinkle in his eye and a smirk on his lips as he paced.

“Yes, sir,” Grayne feigned interest and respect with two words.

Croget held out the rapier in front of Grayne for inspection. “I cannot tell you how much it cost,” he said with a smile. “Trust me, it was significant.” Grayne saw more jewels on the basket-hilt rapier than he had ever seen in his life.

“Do you like it?” Croget asked.

Grayne paused as he worked on the lock. The tumbler was quite complex. There were in fact two, so while he held one down he bent the metal pick in half and worked on the other. “It is quite fine,”

“I so wish you could see me use it!”

‘I bet you’re fast,” Grayne said and with a satisfying click the manacles fell off his wrists. Suddenly Grayne was on his feet and closing the distance between him and his enemy. Croget was stunned and before he could raise his blade or scream for the guards, Grayne had his hands around his neck. Croget let out a tiny shrill screech that was not unlike a bat. “Not fast enough,” he said. Grayne was sure the guards had heard, but he kept on squeezing the life out of Croget. The fop’s face turned bright red as his mouth tried to pull air into his lungs.

As he anticipated, guards stormed into the officer’s tent with swords drawn. Grayne spun to face them as the last gasps of life slipped from Croget’s throat. With a final gurgle, he expired.

“He’s killed Lieutenant Croget!” one of the guards yelled, cleverly describing the situation. Grayne pushed the dead man’s form into the two guards and bent down to pick up the fine rapier that Croget was moments before showing to Grayne. As they struggled to steady the body and lower it to the ground respectfully, the young northern warrior sliced a long gash in the tent’s fabric, and without hesitation he jumped through the opening and into the camp.

Shouts of alarm emitted from the tent as the two guards shook off their confusion. Grayne used the cover of darkness to hide, but the structures were few and far between. He moved between the officers’ tents without being seen and was moving his way toward the fenced-in area for horses as the encampment erupted in activity. He could hear the rapid double clang of the camp bell followed by several seconds of furious noise. Soldiers huddled around campfires were on their feet and arming themselves.

“Halt,” shouted a voice behind him, but he did not turn or slow to acknowledge it. He did increase his pace to an all-out sprint.

An unarmed soldier appeared out of the darkness and grabbed Grayne around the waist and lifted him off his feet. He brought the basket hilt of the fine sword down on the back of the soldier’s head. Before the man could force Grayne to the ground, he was unconscious and lying face-down in the dirt.

Grayne took a moment to compose himself and get his bearings when he heard the rapid beat of hooves. He turned and saw a horse and rider in full gallop bearing down on him. The rider was swinging a spiked flail alongside the giant horse, and before he could raise his sword in defense or leap aside, the horse and rider were upon him. The last image he saw was the rider bringing the flail down upon him in an overhead strike. His world went black as the flail slammed down upon the right side of his face.

With a gasp, he awakened from his fevered dream. He still hung from the metal hooks as the sun beat down upon him. A teenage boy with a basket of apples stood staring at the wounded soldier. Grayne would have salavated if he had any spit left as the boy took and apple out of his basket and crunched into the delicious red flesh. The boy continued to stare at Grayne as he munched away. “What happened to your eye?” he asked.

Overhead, Grayne saw a black crow descend in a slow circle. It let out a shrill screech as it floated in a downward spiral, occasionally blotting out the sun with its onyx feathers.

Pain of Love 6

The hot sun hung high in the sky as the soldiers pushed the bound and gagged Grayne toward the hangman’s structure. The soldiers in their heavy armor sweated under the heat of the intense summer sun. As they forced him up the stairs and toward the opening through which many men had dropped to their deaths, Grayne frantically looked for an escape. With a furious eye, he searched the guards desperately and struggled against his bonds. His efforts were useless as his restraints were too strong and the guards too well armed for any escape.

As the guards and their prisoner stopped at the top of the stairs, Grayne took in the scene before him with horror. Where once was a rope attached to the roof of the structure there were now cruel jagged hooks attached to sturdy chains. The rusty links waited unmoving.

“Do you like the modifications I made?” came a familiar voice from the yard below. The silver plate mail of Farzan was blazing in the midday sun and Grayne squinted against the reflection.

The guards removed the northerner’s gag. He defiantly spat in Farzan’s direction. “You are a twisted man, Farzan! You can do whatever you want; you won’t get anything from me,” he said with less determination.

“I’m glad. It gives me the opportunity to test my new apparatus. I dare say this torture device will be copied by all the kingdoms soon enough. You have the pleasure of being the first test subject. Unless you wish to spare yourself the ignominy of this fate.” The cruel knight paused, and when Grayne was silent he simply said, “Very well.” With a nod of acknowledgement to his men, they roughly forced Grayne to the edge of the pit and as he was struggling they began viciously inserting the hooks into his flesh. One hook pierced the flesh of his back, two sliced into his armpits, two more into the soles of his feet and the final one was jammed into the tender meat between his balls and his ass. The men laughed roughly while Grayne shrieked. And without another word the men pushed him into the wooden opening.Grayne plummeted, but before he hit the ground, his descent halted as the hooks and chains did their job. His weight slammed into the hooks as the chains reached their limits and Grayne howled louder than he thought possible. Even the men who seconds before had laughed cruelly at the helpless man winced at Grayne’s torment as he swayed and writhed in agony at the end of the chains.

“Let’s see how a few days swinging in the hot summer breeze affects his mood,” the cruel knight said, but there wasn’t anyone who could possibly hear him over Grayne’s howls of pure agony that pieced the air.

Pain of Love 5

“Look at the teeth, boy,” Grayne’s father said with awe ringing in his voice. From their concealed location on a rocky overhang, the boy and his father had an excellent view of the slaughter. Even though they had a higher position and were upwind of the dire wolf, Grayne wondered if they should move away before beast finished her meal.

The ten-year-old boy and his father had been on the trail of the pair of cows that had wandered from the herd. This was an unspoken lesson to the boy that although there was strength in numbers there wasn’t much in the seven kingdoms that could stop a dire wolf.

“What do we do?” he whispered. The boy had learned much from his father in ten years. The man was cautious, but never afraid. The strength and wisdom of the gigantic man was enough to banish any trepidation from the boy’s heart and mind.

“Nothing we can do. That cow is dead and I’m not gonna risk our lives to avenge its death,” his father said through a forest of red whiskers. “Though, a dire wolf pelt would fetch many coins.” He seemed to consider the idea for a few seconds and shook his head vigorously to clear the notion from his skull. “We’ll go back and tell old man Rynyn that his cows are dire wolf food, and I’ll begin work on a stronger fence.”

Grayne could not take his eyes of the monster feasting on the not-quite-dead cow. Its powerful jaws took great bites out of the wounded animal. The boy blanched as the salty fetid aroma of the poor beast’s blood and entrails wafted into his nose. He turned away trying to hide his reaction from his father. He tried not to feel sorry for the poor creature as he heard the wolf’s jaws rip the juicy flesh from its bones.

“C’mon, boy. Let’s go before she decides to make us dessert.” Grayne’s father pulled him to his feet and the two moved hurriedly away from the grisly feast.

They ran through the forest for many minutes until Grayne’s father slowed and Grayne was more easily able to match his speed. “Let that be a lesson to you, son.”

“Sir?” Grayne looked up questioningly at his father.

“You’re never too young to learn this knowledge.” His father looked down at him and said, “Though she may be beautiful, never forget that the female of the species is alway more dangerous.”

“Yes, sir,” Grayne agreed as his father tousled his hair.

With the mystery of the missing cows solved, father and son walked quickly and quietly through the leafless late-autumn forest. Grayne soon forgot the scene of death behind them and became entranced by the sights and smells of the wilderness. He was wondering silently where all the animals were when a “Wssst” from his father stopped him mid-stride. He turned slowly to see the big man a few dozen meters behind him. The man seemed paralyzed, frozen in place scanning the forest for something unseen and deadly.

“Grayne. Run!”

The boy didn’t hesitate. He spun and sprinted as fast as his legs woud carry him. Dry branches and leaves cracked and snapped furiously as Grayne trampled over them in a tremendous flurry. He didn’t dare turn to check if his father was behind him, but the man made enough noise stomping through the forest that Grayne knew he was catching up.

As he traversed a small hill, Grayne lost his footing and slid painfully face-first into a steep wet valley. Branches and stones slowed his decent as he came to an undignified halt. Slowing only slightly, his gigantic father scooped him up with one arm and continued his rapid downward decent. Jumping over downed branches and stumps, the man barreled the forsest down. Although the two were in incredible danger, Grayne was never afraid for he knew there was nothing alive, man nor beast, his father couldn’t handle.

From his perch on his father’s shoulder, Grayne craned his neck upward and looked at their path of destruction into the ravine. Deep cuts in the earth where his father slid and jumped were alongside his own smaller openings. There were no signs of pursuit.

Suddenly he saw her and his heart stopped.

At the top of the hill stood a magnificent beast. The monstrous she-wolf that had killed the cow hours ago stood sniffing the air, seeming to see their trail with her nose. Then she lowered her head and looked directly at him.

His father lifted him from his shoulder and suddenly Grayne was face to face with a tree limb. His father commanded, “Grab it, boy. Climb! As far as you can! Climb!” Grayne grappled the jutting tree limb with his arms and legs frantically.

By the time he swung around and looked down at his father, the big man had unslung his axe from his back and stood ready. The mighty two-handed chopping axe looked small compared to his giant of a father and pathetic compared to the female dire wolf that was just beginning her rampaging descent toward the two.

The big man did not look away from the she-beast. “Grayne, climb as far as you can. Do not look down! Do not stop climbing!”

Grayne scrambled to find branches to raise himself up, desperate to follow his father’s orders. He panicked when a branch snapped under his weight, but he lashed out and grabbed hold of another stronger branch, narrowly avoiding crashing to the ground.

He risked a glance and saw the she-beast leaping catlike from stone to open ground and to a rocky outcropping as she combined her jumps with coordinated running to speedily and safely make her way toward her prey. She was grace and power incarnate. Grayne swallowed hard and kept climbing.

In a moment in which time stood still and the forest was silent, Grayne heard his father’s final words. The forest was quiet, and even the monster seemed to slow and hold her breath.

The forsest was hushed as Grayne heard his father say, “I love you, son.”

The monstrous juggernaut slammed snarling into the man with the force of a runaway boulder. The two rolled along the forest floor in a chaotic pile of snarling teeth and violent curses. In moments, the fight was over. The outcome was never in doubt for any concerned as Grayne heard his father’s final moan seep from his already-dead lips. The crunching of bone was mixed with the boy’s flood of emotion as the creature shook the last bit of life from his father with her blood-filled jaws. He wept uncontrollably from his perch.

The dire wolf released her kill and looked up at Grayne with cold blue eyes. Grayne stopped sobbing as her gaze calmed him with its piercing fury. Fresh from the hunt and the kill, her eyes were alive with joy. She left the dead man as she moved toward the tree, but let out a shrieking whimper as she took her first step. Grayne could see her right front leg was crippled, smashed apart with his father’s axe. Now with the energy of battle gone, the reality of her wounds hit her.

Confused and hurt, the beast dragged herself a few paces away from the dead man and the treed boy. Blood still dripping from her jaws, she paused on the snowy ground and licked her wound. The man’s blood mingled with her own as she began the fruitless task of caring for her mangled leg.

His father lay there, looking like a bag of meat, no longer the man of power and wisdom Grayne had idolized for all of his short life. Anger filled his stomach giving fuel to his emotion. The embers of sadness and grief turned to a firestorm of rage in his gut as Grayne began to climb down the tree. He moved quickly and heedless of his own safety or the scrapes and bruises he sustained as he clambored down. He dropped the last few feet and landed on all fours next to his father. Blood was still pouring from the man’s open neck.

The boy’s face was blank and did not show the sickening heat in his stomach as he picked up his father’s bloody axe. The axe was only meant for chopping wood and not intended for battle, yet it looked enormous in the hands of the boy barely more than four feet tall. He found the strength to lift it, however. Unwavering, he carried the axe over to the wounded wolf. Her eyes looked at him and their power was gone. Once a mighty killing instrument, she was now weak and feeble.

The boy’s grey eyes returned her stare with cold determination. Grayne raised the axe, and with strength that belied his size and age brought it down on the once-ferocious wolf. With a single blow he split her skull in two and ended her suffering.

He turned away from the dead creature and toward his own dead father. He dragged the axe, which was suddenly made of lead, to his father’s body and set about the task of burying the man deep enough in the cold ground as not to be unearthed by anything or anyone.

The ten-year-old boy had ended the suffering of the wounded dire wolf, but his had only just begun.

Pain of Love 4

“By the Seven, what in the bloody hell are you smiling at?!” exclaimed Farzan as he dragged the wickedly curved blade along Grayne’s bare chest. The eighteen-year-old northerner simply smiled in response to his stomach and chest being slowly sliced open. Farzan grimaced in frustration as Grayne seemed to stare through him with a stupid grin. Farzan resisted the urge to plunge the knife into the young man’s heart and be done with it.

Farzan shouted an unintelligible, guttural sound and stormed away from the stone table. He flung the bloody knife to the floor with a hollow clang.

A cloaked and hooded figure scurried to the door behind the dour-faced torturer. A gentle pale hand reached out from the dark robes and kept the door from swinging closed.

Farzan ran his hand aggressively up his own pale face and pulled his black hair in frustration. “It has been almost a fortnight and still he does not break! Two weeks of painful torture and he continues to test me!” the hook-nosed Dorn said to the robed minion who followed him through the stone passageways. “How does he resist?”

“Master Farzan, may I suggest changing tactics?” said the feminine voice from deep within the robes that lapped at his heels.

“What are you going on about?” he said as he halted suddenly, causing the robed woman to step aside to avoid colliding with him.

“When a man becomes accustomed to pain, he becomes immune to it,” she said, avoiding his furious eyes. “Grayne’s body will give out before he yields.”

Farzan grabbed her wrists suddenly and pulled them painfully towards him. She gasped with pain as he demanded, “Never say his name! He will not say Croget’s name; he does not deserve a name of his own!”

“Master, he will die if you continue like this,” she pleaded. Her hood fell away as she struggled to pull her hands away. Curly black locks fell chaotically around her porcelain skin. “You have to give him time to heal.”

Farzan stared at her suspiciously and after a lifetime of his penetrating gaze said, “Yes, perhaps you’re right,” He cast her away and said, “If he will not be broken by physical torture…” Farzan murmured to himself as he walked away, leaving the cloaked assistant behind him. She pulled her hood up over her black curls, and her pale face sunk into the shadowy recesses of the cloak.

The torturer’s assistant returned to the room that contained the bloodied and beaten Grayne. The northern man was naked and lashed to a flat rack that leaned up against the far wall. His eyes were closed, but he breathed shallowly, letting her know that he yet lived.

She pulled a bucket of soapy water next to the rack and dipped a rag into the tepid water. She began to clean his wounds on his chest and face with great care. She took time to not only clean every horrible wound, but to also clean the dirt and sweat from his entire well-muscled body. Although he slept, he had a silly grin on his face. The woman tilted her head questioningly at the man and continued washing. As she cleaned his thighs he seemed to smile more, but when she reached his genitals his eyes shot open and his smile became a hard, stern line. Their eyes met and her hood fell away revealing her fair skin. Her curly black hair fell over her face and her dark eyes closed as her face flushed in embarrassment. She stood and dropped the cloth into the bucket.

Without looking at Grayne, she suggested, “If you do what he wishes…if you say what he wishes, I can convince him to spare your life.” She pulled her hood up, again and busied herself cleaning the torture equipment. “He will listen to me.”

Grayne spoke for the first time in a week. His voice was low and raspy as he said, “I don’t think he listens much to you. In fact, I know he has no respect for you.”

“You know nothing about him. He is a very powerful man, with many responsibilities!” she said as she wiped a long blade clean of Grayne’s skin and blood.

“I know you want him to notice you. You desperately want him to notice you,” Grayne said, finding sick amusement in the reversal of torturers. “However, his heart belongs to another. It belongs to a young man with a limp wrist and a poor sword arm, whom I killed,” he said with a smirk. “It’s impossible to compete with a corpse, isn’t it, my dear?”

“Shut up! Croget was a respected companion! You don’t know anything!” She screamed as she advanced upon the naked and injured form of Grayne.

“I’m sorry, m’lady,” said Grayne with a genuine smile. “I’d bow, if I could…” With a suggestive downward glance he concluded his emotional assault by saying, “Now, where were we?”

The Greyhound and the Cheetah

The greyhound with her smooth coat and long legs gazed down upon the humans from up on high. They constructed many statues to honor her and her brood. They even buried their dead in their stone pyramids, an honor not given to any other animal.

“See how the humans worship me and my kind, Cheetah?” she said, her long nose pointing down at the wild cat.

Cheetah lay on the ground beside Greyhound and stopped licking her coat for a moment to also look down upon the people. ‘Yes, they do seem enamored,” she said as she resumed cleaning her stripped coat.

“They love my speed and my grace. My beauty is without compare,” said Greyhound with her nose in the air. “Do humans worship you, Cheetah?”

Cheetah stopped preening and stood up to her full height, a few inches shorter than Greyhound. With a false frown she said, “No, Greyhound. I am not worshipped by the two-legged men.”

“Why not?” asked Greyhound.

Cheetah seemed to consider Greyhound’s question for long moments. Then she replied, “For I am not as beautiful as you. My neck is not as long, nor are my legs. My fur is a mismatch of colors, not as pleasing to the eye as your magnificent coat. I lack your grace of movement,” said Cheetah with a humble look.

“What else?” said Greyhound.

“Hmmm?’ asked Cheetah, coyly.

“What about my speed?” asked the vain Greyhound.

“You are very fast,” said Cheetah.

“Perhaps,” murmured Cheetah walking away.

Greyhound pranced alongside Cheetah and asked, “Who on four legs is faster than I? The clumsy elephant? The large-jawed alligator? The brutish lion? The foolish tiger?”

Cheetah turned back and looked Greyhound in the eyes, “The cheetah is as fast as any greyhound.” Cheetah then turned and walked away from Greyhound.

The proud dog sputtered with rage as she ran past the cat and blocked her path. “You think that you are faster than I?!”

“It would be a grand contest, but I believe I could keep up.”

“Let us race and let the world and Gods know which animal is the fastest alive!” declared the proud Greyhound.

“Who would decide such a contest? What would the winner receive?” asked Cheetah.

Greyhound thought on this. “I will ask the beautiful and wise Athena to judge the race and I will ask her for a boon for me,…I mean the winner.”

“You are confident, my lady. May the fastest animal win.”

Later, Cheetah approached Rabbit. Rabbit was hopping happily in the grass. “Rabbit, I need your help,” said Cheetah.

“I am very busy, Cheetah. What do you want?” asked Rabbit hopping this way and that.

“I need help winning a race. I need you to distract Greyhound,” said Cheetah.

“Why should I help you?” questioned Rabbit still hopping.

Cheetah answered Rabbit “The winner receives a boon of Athena. I will give you the boon. I simply want to put Greyhound in her place.”

“Will Greyhound hurt me?”

“Oh no, Greyhound is a peaceful and benevolent creature. She will chase you, but not hurt you,” said Cheetah.

Rabbit agreed, wondering what boon he would ask of Athena. What would a rabbit need of a god?

The day of the race, all the gods were present and Athena stood at the starting line. With a wave of her hand, Cheetah and Greyhound started running. They raced side by side in a slow circle for many miles until Greyhound spotted Rabbit running ahead. Her eyes fell upon the Rabbit and she followed his movement even as it diverted from the race track. Greyhound overtook Rabbit and snatched him up in her mouth and snapped his neck in her jaws. However, Cheetah crossed the finish line and strode proudly up to Athena. Greyhound hung her head as she later crossed the finish line, her mouth still covered in blood.

Athena looked at the two racers and said. “I proclaim Cheetah the fastest animal on four legs.” Cheetah simply smiled for she was proud of her cunning. “However, I know that she cheated. Her boon will come with a curse. I ask, what boon shall you ask of the Gods?”

Cheetah looked up at the beautiful Athena and said, “I wish to be forever the fastest animal alive. I ask from Athena that all cheetahs forever more will be the fastest creature on land by a factor of two.” She shot the humiliated greyhound a sneer. Greyhound hung her head.

Athena looked upon the two and said, “I will grant this boon to you, Cheetah. However, your boon comes with this judgment to you and your kind. Though the fastest you may be, forever will you use your speed only to catch food. You will never know glory and admiration of human kind. You will not be worshipped and buried along with man. You will only know the meat of a fresh kill and never the kind hand of a loving person.”

Though Greyhound had lost the race and would never be as fast as Cheetah, she was content with Athena’s judgment. Cheetah returned to the plains, forever a huntress and never a treasured companion.

Pain of Love part 3

Her naked hips and lips were a wild toboggan ride for the young man. Grayne started at her mouth. Her plump lips always seemed to be pouting and she gave his fingertip a soft kiss as it passed. With a single digit, he traced a wiggling meandering line from her chin and down her neck.

From there his finger’s path began an uphill journey. Grayne took his time as his finger slowly traversed the fullness of her right breast. He pretended his index and middle finger were a tired traveler attempting to reach the summit of some dangerous mountain. Once the digits reached the summit, it has a quick ride to the bottom of the other side. He was quick not to forget the other hillscape as his fingers made a quicker ascent and descent of her perfect left breast. The fall of his finger was followed by a trip across her rib cage and then it took a gentle creamy downward turn and then a sudden dip and a drastic rise as the slope crested to the beautiful pinnacle that was her ample hip. Summer giggled and grabbed his hand. “Stop it,” she begged with a pout of her plump pink lips. “You know I’m ticklish!”

The pungent fragrance of sweaty love-making mixed with the aroma of burning wood filled the small cottage. A single bed took up a large portion of the one-room chalet, and two young lovers’ naked bodies were splayed across the bed in the aftermath of passion. The fireplace added to the heat of their lovemaking.

Grayne tried to hide his grin. He pursed his lips tight to avoid showing his teeth. “I remember my father and I built a wheel sled, when I was a kid”, Grayne said, quickly changing the subject and staring into Summer’s deep green eyes that squinted back at him with a hint of confusion. “You know, you put small wagon wheels on a sheet of wood and race down a hill?” he said as his finger sped off her hip and down her thighs like an imaginary wheel sled.

Summer brushed her curly red hair out of her face and smiled at her lover. He smiled at her and said, “I think I love you, Summer.”

“You know what I think, Grayne?” she said swinging her bare leg over him and climbing on top of him as if he were a stallion in need of breaking. “I think I want you again.” She plunged her fingers into his thick curly brown hair and pushed his face into her chest. Before Grayne took her breasts in his mouth he paused to say, “The Starks have it all wrong. It’s Summer that’s coming, not Winter.”

She groaned as she enjoyed the sensation of his mouth on her breast and she took him in. She gasped as pleasure filled her and radiated upwards to every part of her body. Tingling with exctasy she managed to breathe the words, “Shut up, Grayne. You talk too much.”

Pain of Love part 2

“What is your name?” bellowed an angry voice behind the darkened veil that were Grayne’s eyelids. The words pierced the darkness of the young man’s mind like a jagged-edge sword. The angry voice cracked his skull and forced him back to consciousness. One eye opened slowly letting in the flickering light of a dying lantern that danced in a breeze he could not feel. The wounded soldier’s hands were shackled by cold metal cuffs to the wall behind him, as were his feet. His battered form was suspended helplessly from a stone wall like a flayed pig in a storefront window.

Only eighteen years old, Grayne was a man in the prime of his life and at the peak of physical condition. His short chestnut hair was cut in an effective military style, but today it was chaotically disheveled and soaked with dried blood. His well-muscled body, lean and without any signs of fat was now covered with open wounds. His larger than average nose was broken and bloody as was his weather-beaten face, covered in three days growth of brown facial hair. The scent of his own blood was all he could smell.

Ordinarily, the young man was not what one would call a pretty-boy. However, the girls who enjoyed a more rugged man often would give him an extra smile.

No one would smile at his bedraggled form now.

He struggled to remember the details of the past day. He knew he was a soldier. He knew his name was Grayne. He knew he was injured badly, but he didn’t need memory to realize that fact. The constant stream of pain that was pulsating, throbbing, and slicing from different parts of his body was a constant reminder of the frailty of his form.

“Where am I?” he asked as he took in his surroundings with a single eye that was almost swollen shut. The other eye was not sending any information to his bleary mind, and it hurt whether it was opened or closed. The pain mixed into a confusing stew of open wounds that was his broken body. There was a man before him asking him questions, but Grayne ignored him, instead scanning instead his surroundings. He saw he was in a circular stone room and immediately he assumed he was in a tower in a keep or castle. Light illuminated the room only by lanterns. There were no windows in the tower and Grayne had no idea if it was night or day.

A booted foot slammed into his stomach returning his attention to his captor. Blood and spit dribbled from his mouth. “I ask the questions! What is your name?” demanded his hook-nosed captor. Grayne closed his eyes as he grimaced against the pain. When he opened them again, the dancing light of the waning lantern showed the darkened stone room and dimly revealed the shadowy form of his abuser. The man wore the plate armor of a knight, but with no helm. Grayne could see a sharp hook nose leaning above his mustache and he made note of the man’s thick unruly growth of black facial hair. His captor’s hair was black as coal and his skin was freckled from the sun, but had a paleness that indicated he had not felt extended periods of sunlight in many years.

Any trace of defiance slipped from him along with the saliva and blood that trickled from his mouth. “My name is…,” he said struggling. “My name is Grayne,” he moaned. He had not the sense of mind to remember his training or he would have recalled the first rule of being a captive. Never give your name.

“Good,” the hook-nosed knight said. “What is your rank?

“I…I’m just a soldier.”

A fist slammed into his already bloody face. Pain exploded from his nose and Grayne’s consciousness faded for a moment. He awoke before his torturer spoke. “You expect me to believe that a simple soldier was sent behind enemy lines and managed to kill a high ranking officer?”

“I’m…” he struggled to speak as he swallowed some of his own blood. “I’m sneaky.”

His torturer seethed. “You’re trying my patience. I know what you want. You want me to kill you. By the Seven, I’m not going to do that!” He caught his breath and turned away. In a whisper he said, “Not yet.”

“You’re smarter than you look,” Grayne groaned matter-of-factly without the hint of a smile. His eye scanned the room, looking for something he could use to escape, or with which to kill himself.

“Do you know whom you killed?” asked his captor turning back to him.

“No,” answered Grayne honestly. He couldn’t remember much of the man. He knew he was a dandy, a weaker, womanish man, but could not recall his name.

“His name is Croget,” said the torturer, turning away.

“Was,” corrected the victim.

Crack! A forceful blast to his skull forced the young man into blessed darkness.

The cruel knight grabbed Grayne’s short blood-caked brown hair and whispered into the young man’s unconscious ear. “Croget was a beautiful man, and you will say his name. By the end, you will say his name. Only then will I grant you death.”

Choose Your Own Adventure

You are a heroic knight, armed only with sword and shield you stand against a rampaging fire-breathing dragon that threatens to destroy your home and family. What do you do?

I am a firm believer in personal choice. Although many events in life happen to us and are beyond our individual control, there are frequent options that we can pick from that dictate the path our lives will take. The choice can be as seemingly inconsequential as which road to take on the way to work, or as important as the choice to fight or run, but those choices can have life-or-death unforeseen consequences. I am often reminded of the Choose Your Own Adventure books I read when I was twelve years old. The books placed the reader in the role of a variety of characters such as spy, race car driver, or dragon slayer. Never did any of those stories place me in the role of a thirty-seven year old, out-of-shape man trying to protect his girlfriend and her toddler son from her own brother hopped up on pain killers and looking for a fight.

I am dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and a pair of leather gloves and I am standing in the parking lot of my girlfriend’s condo in mid-January, unprepared for the weather and not expecting to be involved in a fistfight. It hasn’t snowed in a while and the previous snowfalls have been plowed into neat but dirty piles out of the way of traffic and parking spaces.

My girlfriend’s younger brother, Rex steps out of the passenger’s side of a pickup truck and finds me standing there in the way of his destination. Tim, a tall but portly man of approximately my age gets out of the driver’s side and makes his way slowly but determinedly over to Meryl. I understand why Tim is attracted to Meryl. She is a year older than me, but she is stunning. Tall and blonde with a perfect shape, and a confused and helpless demeanor; she has all the ingredients that even a smart guy like me fell for.

I am a roadblock with crossed arms in Rex’s way. I say, “Get back in the truck and go somewhere else,” but all with my eyes. Rex looks at me slack-jawed, hardly believing I would obstruct him. He is not as tall as I am, but what he lacks in size, he makes up in other areas; overall physical fitness, youth, and a circulatory system laced with pain-reducing prescription medications. These facts give him the edge that any Las Vegas bookie would call a ‘lock’.

What my adversary doesn’t anticipate is my proven record of being able to take a beating and survive.

Meryl, has informed me that Rex had stolen money and prescription medications from her when he has stayed with her, in the past. She received a call from her friend Tim, indicating that he had just been released from jail for a crime he committed earlier that night and was looking to stay with her.

“Turn around and go home,” I say, standing my ground. “You can’t stay here.”

“What the…fuck you!” comes the clever response from the thug. “Why not?” he says, laughing dismissively at me.

“Why?! Why?! Because you just got arrested for stealing from Hannaford’s and Tim said you’re high on oxy,” I reply full of condemnation and judgment. Meryl’s friend Tim, a soft-spoken, weak-willed man who was continuously hanging-on, waiting for our relationship to end, waits in the shadows. The symbolism is lost on me.

-If you want to stand your ground and possibly fight a 22 year old drug-addict, turn to page 15

-If you decide to let your girlfriend decide for herself go to page 16

I frantically turn to page 16 and am alarmed at the result of my decision.

16) You decide that it would be best to back away and ask Meryl what she would like to do knowing damn well she will let her druggie brother stay with her and steal money from her wallet and prescription pills from her medicine cabinet and endanger little Luke, whom you love more than anyone you have ever loved. However, you were in a car accident over ten years ago in which your brain suffered damage to your frontal lobe preventing you from feeling the emotion of fear. Due to the fact that you lack the flight part of the fight or flight instinct turn to page 15 and face the guy high on pain reducing drugs who is fifteen years younger than you. Good luck!

In a flash, he is on me. I am unprepared for his sudden attack and he pulls me to the ground and starts to punch me in the body and head. I decide not to fight back, because even though the punches are raining in on me I feel that my girlfriend, or her friend Tim, will pull my attacker off me any second now and talk some sense into him. I wait as he grips my head in his very strong hands and slams it against the cold pavement of the parking lot that has been chilled by the January air.

I did not anticipate the situation being resolved in this manner. I thought he would back down when faced with my stern and heroically unwavering demeanor.

The beating continues. Help does not seem to be coming.

-If you want to survive you had better start fighting back! Grow a pair and turn to page 21.

-To beg for mercy or lay down and die, go back to page 1 and start again.

I do not wish to die here.

21) From the ground, you push Rex off and get into a position where you can land some punches of your own. Wham! Wham! You punch him twice in the ribs. He continues to struggle and attempts to get you back in a vulnerable position. You decide that punching him in the balls, an effective, if not manly attack, will take the fight out of him. BAM! BAM! BAM! Three solid strikes to his softest part and you roll out of the melee and to your feet.

Rex and I rise rapidly and he stomps away from me. I am amazed that he is still functioning, much less on his feet, considering the punishment I have unleashed upon him. I stumble bloody over to Meryl who stands confused in front of a crowd of people who have ventured out of their condos and into the parking lot where our battle is taking place. The crowd resembles spectators in a gladiatorial arena in ancient Rome. They laugh and carry on as if this were an event staged for their amusement. Meryl is just as useless.

I turn to face Rex who is advancing on me again. This time he has a set of keys spaced between the fingers of his clenched fist creating a more deadly attack. I hear Meryl scream as I back-peddle away from his repeated wide swings at my face. Like some paraplegic ninja, I throw a half-hearted kick that does not find its mark nor does it force him back.

-Seriously, dude. No one is helping you! Turn to page 35 to get in your friggin’ car and drive away.

Surrender and retreat are options, but they do not occur to me.

Rex is pacing back and forth on the other side of the parking lot. I imagine steam rising off his body as he punches his fists in rage. I yell out to the crowd, “Did anyone call 911?!” Someone mumbles an unconvincing positive reply.

“You better hope they come soon, because I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you!” Rex yells at me from across the lot.

-If you want to wait for the police, go to page 32

-If you want to respond to his threats, go to page 33

I have taken a beating. Now it’s time to give one.

33) You stride determinedly toward the injured man as he raises his right arm to attack you. With your left hand you bat aside his fist and land a solid blow of your own on his unprotected nose. It collapses in a spurt of blood and crunch of cartilage.

He does not fall.

Instead he comes at me with fists flying. Only the swirling blue lights that are the harbingers of help put an end to the fight. A disappointed sigh escapes from the crowd like the last gasp of a dying animal and they return to their homes.

There are many choices I could have made after the police questioned all those involved in the fight and the witnesses. As the cops try to work out whom they should arrest they jokingly say they should arrest whoever is least beaten-up, because that person is likely the instigator of the fight. We both look beat up. I am covered in blood that is all my own. My skull and face are lacerated and bleeding. Rex’s nose is broken and his face and shirt are soaked in his own blood. His internal injuries are invisible and he cannot feel them.

I hold my breath, not sure whom Meryl and Tim will accuse or whom the police will think has taken less damage.

My luck holds and the police take Rex into custody. Later, they take him to the emergency room for internal bleeding. Had those less-visible injuries been more evident perhaps I would have been the one incarcerated.

The one life lesson I learned from those Choose Your Own Adventure books was that it is possible to make all the right choices and still lose and often the unexpected option leads to defeating the proverbial or literal dragon and getting the treasure.

There was no treasure in this particular story and I didn’t feel like I had defeated any dragons. For the months that followed, the princess I was trying to save instead blamed me for fighting and injuring the dragon. I was trying to be the hero, but instead I was the villain.

Often, as in real life, there is no way of winning and the right choices are not always the correct ones. The great thing about the books was the ability to take a different path if you didn’t like the ending you got the first time.

I wish real-life had the same option.

THE END

Jan-Ives Campbell

Autobiographical and fiction stories as well as random nonsense.

Author: Jan-Ives Campbell