by T. C. Edge
"If you're trying to intimidate me, it won't work," Dom said, still blinking to reacquire his full vision. "Just tell me who you are, and we can move forward amicably."
"Amicably," laughed the man. "You think we can move forward amicably, do you Prince Domitian?"
He swivelled and snarled. It was an ugly sight, the sort of face that was hard to bear for long.
"I believe," said Dom, "that you took me for a purpose. And I know that I'm valuable to you. Now speak to me. Tell me what you want."
"What I want? Well, now there's a question." The man crept forward, drawing a knife from his belt. "There are plenty of things I want. Lots of enjoyable things I could do to you. I'll get my chance soon. Oh yes, soon. Your life is over, my Prince. This room will be the last you'll ever see."
He drew closer with each word, his knife glinting and searching forward. It stopped upon Dom's cheek, slicing gently and drawing blood. Dom felt nothing at first. Then a drip of warmth spread, and the man withdrew the blade. His tongue slid from his lips, forked like a snake, and licked at the metal, smearing it red.
Dom's eyes never left him. He knew these were only words.
He hoped...
His telepathy was gone. He tried, so briefly, to utilise his gifts. To take command of this vermin's mind, to have him slice Dom free of his restraints, before turning the blade on himself. He'd force him to puncture his own eyes, to cut out his own tongue. He'd make him endure the most terrible night of self-torture, self-mutilation, before finally setting him free with a vicious gash to the throat.
But he couldn't, because his telepathy was gone. A drug was in his veins, the tables turned. So long had he used such medications to suppress the powers of his contenders. Now, it was he who found himself vulnerable, alone, taken from his world.
And maybe that was the entire point...
His captor drifted away again, his feet creaking on the floorboards. They seemed to be in an old house, quite probably somewhere in Southside. He listened closely for any other sounds, for voices or gunshots away through the streets. There was nothing. Silence. Wherever he was, there would be no calling for help.
His eyes turned again, darting down at his wrists. They were tightly bound to the armrests of a wooden chair, his ankles too. The skin was red either side of the rope, suggesting he'd struggled in his sleep to wrestle himself free. Or maybe...maybe he'd woken already. Maybe he'd been here for some time. Suppressor drugs were known to affect memory sometimes. He may have been out for days.
His voice surged. "How long have I been here?"
The snarling, manic-eyed man looked upon him again. He wanted the question. It showed a creeping desperation, and he jumped right upon it.
"Oh, minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks. I can't be sure, handsome Prince Domitian. Cranus isn't good at telling time." He chortled violently, wild eyes bouncing around in their sockets. "No, Cranus is just a simple man of simple pleasures. He likes pain, you see. He likes to take pain, oh yes. But giving it...mmmmm...so much better." He made a noise of deep pleasure, and shut his eyes with a disconcerting smile.
A shudder clambered up through Dom's body. If they'd sent this man to get to him, to break him down, he was started to have an impact.
He looked away as Cranus' eyes opened up again, centring immediately on his captive. It was weird and unnatural. The odd motion of his eyes was familiar to Dom, though warped and corrupted. He had powerful vision, Dom could tell. He may well have other abilities too.
The creature worked back and forwards across the room, never taking his gaze from the shackled man in the shadows. The occasional burst of laughter haunted the space, bursting out of him without provocation. Dom's eyes stared upon the man, refusing to leave. After several minutes, however, the contest was ended. He looked away, and the laughter roared again. If this was an act, he was playing it well.
Dom's mind was heavy, but busy. Many questions were drawn up but never uttered. He knew Cranus wouldn't answer them, but was seeking for a way to catch him out. To get something, some clarity on what time, or day, it was. On the fate of his ludus, of his household. Of Kira, who was set to fight that Sunday.
Was is Sunday already? Had she already stepped upon the sand?
It was that train of thought that broke him.
"Has The Red Warrior fought yet?"
The question surged, and Cranus pounced. He stopped his march, going still as a frightened mouse, before suddenly surging forwards again.
"No questions!" he roared. "Questions mean cuts!"
His knife sprung again, slicing along Dom's forearm. This time the pain was clear, shooting right through him. He grimaced and looked down at the blood, trickling from the shallow wound.
Cranus' eyes were right there. Inches from his own.
"Ask another question, get another cut," he whispered, his breath heavy and stinking of stale, filthy smoke.
Dom didn't look away. His lips hovered before sealing shut. Then an idea came, and he opened them up.
"And I thought you liked giving pain," he whispered back.
Cranus' eyes flared. His knife came forwards once more, but Dom didn't flinch.
"It wasn't a question!" he called out. "You said questions mean cuts."
The jailor stopped short, snorted, and pulled back.
"Clever boy," he oozed. "Clever, pretty, boy."
He withdrew, slipping away again. It appeared he was heading for the door.
An urge engulfed Dom. He spoke again.
"I'll tell you what," he called out. "I'll ask a question, and let you cut me. But...you have to answer."
Cranus turned. His eyes slid around in consideration.
"OK...Prince," he whispered, slowly pulling his knife. "Simple question now. No secrets. Go ahead, ask."
He was moving forward, eyes gliding upon Dom's frame to choose a suitable spot. They zeroed in on his hand, the flesh of his palm so full of nerves and sensitive. He reached out quickly with grim fingers and turned Dom's hand up.
"One question, one answer," he said, teasing the sharp blade upon Dom's skin.
Dom nodded, tensed his muscles, and whispered, "Is Kira still alive?"
Cranus smiled, and slowly drew the knife across Dom's palm, cutting into his flesh.
"For now," he whispered.
And then he was gone.
96
The 'haunted' woods outside of the city of Neorome, where no man ever chose to tread, were just as Merk remembered. While tangled and perhaps even ominous in certain areas, they were mostly quite open, verdant, and even rather pretty when the sunlight drifted down through the canopy above, showering the forest floor with a waterfall of yellow light.
It was a matter of some amusement to Finn and Gwyn, who rolled about on their motorbikes, winding through the trees, wondering just why the people were so afraid to come here.
"People are like sheep," Merk explained. "Urban legends spread quickly, and don't go away in a hurry."
"Yeah, but this is ridiculous. It's just a forest. There's nothing scary about it."
"Indeed that's true," said Merk. "But you're seeing it all through the eyes of an outsider. Anyone from Neorome has grown up with the stories. I suppose they think it's better to be safe than sorry."
"Right, stories that you helped make up," laughed Gwyn. "So you and a bunch of friends started it all?"
"Well, more or less. It's not a period of my life I'm particularly proud of. We robbed a lot of people back then."
"But you didn't kill them," said Gwyn solemnly. "Being a bandit isn't the worst thing out there. There's a lot worse, Merk."
Merk kept quiet on the subject after that.
No, he didn't kill anyone, at least not himself. However, on a couple of occasions the hallucinogenic drugs they'd used had gone too far on their targets. One elderly man had a heart attack. Another woman of middle age went wild and fell off a small cliff, snapping her neck at she hit the ground. It was the escalation of their criminal exploits that ended up causing a
fissure in the group, and led the authorities to up their efforts in capturing those responsible. After that, Merk's time as a woodland raider didn't last much longer.
He'd been back in those woods with the young gladiators for half a day now, working around the southern reaches of the forest. It had borne no fruit, really, other than drawing up memories for the old man, and giving the others a nice day out, away from the safe house, in a place that they were sure to encounter no prying eyes.
It was the southern parts of the woods that Merk knew well, particularly the areas closest to the routes and tracks that once passed through it. One road was particularly well tended all those years ago, the obvious choice for most traders who wished to pass through the forest without having to divert around it. It was along that track that Merk and his cronies staged many of their robberies, eventually turning would-be travellers towards the alternative routes. Which, of course, they also had covered.
As the morning rolled on, Merk encountered several of these old staging areas, though they weren't as they used to appear. After decades of neglect, they'd fallen into ruin and decay, overcome by roots and vines, and matted with coatings of grass and moss of various earthy hues. As such, they were often difficult to spot, the paths overcome and the forest growing wild. It was further proof that no one ever ventured here anymore. This world was long forgotten.
They worked nonstop that morning, covering as much ground as they could before stopping a little after midday in a small, dusty clearing. Finn gathered up some rocks to use as stone seats, utilising his fascinating powers to lift the heavy loads without ever having to touch them.
Merk watched on, awestruck. "That's quite a trick you have there, son."
Gwyn, setting out some food for a picnic, added her thoughts with a simple, "That's nothing. You should have seen him in the arena."
"Well, I'm glad I'll never have to," smiled the old man, sitting upon a recently placed rock.
The three relaxed under the sunshine, the clearing free of overhanging branches and opened to the sky. They ate, and chatted, as if none had a care in the world. Then the topic of their true purpose came up, and the smiles were wiped away.
"OK, so how much ground have we covered?" asked Gwyn, munching on a chicken sandwich. "We've been looking for, what, about six or seven hours?"
"About that," said Merk. "But we're just scratching the surface. If we want to search the entire forest we'll be here for days, maybe weeks."
Gwyn looked to her bag of rations.
"Er, not sure we brought enough for that. Maybe we should portion this out properly."
It seemed a genuine suggestion, and Finn was quick to pounce.
"We're only thirty miles from home," he laughed. "It's not like we're stranded on a desert island."
"Yeah, I'm joking, Finn," she backtracked. "I know where we are."
"It's not a bad idea, though," offered Merk, keen to diffuse a possible argument. The two had developed a relationship akin to that of siblings. Finn seemed to be rather good at pushing Gwyn's buttons, a skill all younger brothers applied with great vigour and mirth. "Depending on what you two want to do," he continued, "we might be here overnight. There's no sense in going hungry if we stay longer than expected."
"We will be here overnight," said Gwyn. "At least, if the morning's been anything to go by. I probably packed enough food for a couple of days, that's if fatso there stops his munching."
Eyes turned to Finn, wolfing on a leg of lamb.
He looked up.
"What?"
Merk shook his head and laughed.
"OK, you two stop your bickering," he said. "Let's get on the same page, shall we?"
"That's the page that wants to find this Polus guy, right?" asked Finn through a mouthful of meat. "So you're fully on board with that now?"
"Well, I'm here aren't I?" said Merk.
"Sure, but you're not exactly putting your all into it," suggested Gwyn.
Merk frowned at them both. It seemed if they weren't about to tear into each other, they were setting their sights on him instead.
"Well excuse me," huffed Merk. "I've brought you all the way out here, and I'm leading us right through these woods. I don't know what else you want me to do..."
Gwyn stretched out an arm. It was an apology of sorts, though the hand was quickly withdrawn.
"I just mean to say, Merk, that all this is quite aimless. I mean, let's consider this logically. If there was a man, a fugitive of the city, hiding out here, then will he really be just, I don't know, camped in these open trees? Won't he have found somewhere a bit more secluded, just in case anyone came looking?"
"Well, please enlighten me on just what your thoughts are, Gwyn," grumbled Merk. "Perhaps you'd like to lead the expedition yourself..."
"Don't be sore," said Gwyn quickly. "I'm just saying, isn't there a system of caves or something that you know about? I don't know, maybe a denser area of woodlands towards the north?"
"Not that I know about," muttered the old man. "Honestly, I didn't go north much. We were based here in the south. It's wilder up there."
"Right, well perhaps that's a better bet. I mean, it's quite open here, more than I expected. Not a good place to hide if anyone comes..."
"Well that's the point. No one does come here, Gwyn. Pretty easy to hide from someone who's not looking."
"What about water?" It was Finn, re-entering the conversation having swallowed his meat.
The others looked at him and waited for more.
"If a man's living out here," he went on, "then they need a water source nearby. A good clean one. Somewhere they can get to easily without having to trek too far. Anything like that?"
Merk's fingers had reached his chin. They were stroking gently, his gaze lifting.
"Well, there's a river that flows down from the north. The ground's a little higher up there. I'm not sure, but I think there's a spring somewhere. I never went myself, but some of the guys did once. Clear water, as you say, drinkable and fresh, and good for washing too."
Gwyn clapped her hands together. Loudly.
"Bingo! That's a good place to start, right."
"Well, restart," smiled Finn.
Gwyn laughed.
"Problem," said Merk, shaking his head and shrugging. "I don't know where it is."
"Um, north, you said..."
"North isn't particularly specific, Gwyn."
"Well, you must know vaguely?"
"Vaguely," he nodded.
"Good enough," said Gwyn. "I've got my eyes and ears. I can hunt a spring down, as long as there's water running into it making a splash or trickle. It's so damn quiet here. If I focus on any particular sound, I can track it."
Finn smiled and widened his eyes.
"Sounds great to me. Let's pack up and get going."
They did just that, and turned their eyes north. The woods thickened along their travels, hours passing by as swift as swallows. Yet the nature of travelling by bike through a forest made the going slow, and each mile became a minor victory.
There were hurdles to cover. In one region along the boundary between north and south, a recess in the earth led to a boggy mire. Merk hadn't been there before, and so struggled to find a suitable way out, leading to a fair bit of backtracking and doglegging until they finally found a traversable path.
Another issue had them meeting a section far denser and thicker than what came before. The trees were tightly packed, and the ground carpeted by heavy shrubbery and bushes that slowed them down no end. It was a torturous affair, and the fading light didn't help, blocked by both a gathering of grey clouds and a thickening of the canopy overhead.
Gwyn, keen of sight as she was, took the lead and drew them on, leading to a further problem when they came upon a nest of snakes. A phobia was revealed on her part, her shriek piercing the air and probably making it all the way back to Neorome. She leapt from her bike and scuttled backwards, leaving Finn and Merk to watch her go, frowning and wondering what the
trouble was.
Then they heard the hissing, and saw the coiling mass of writhing bodies. There must have been fifty of them, all slithering over each other in a tangle of serpent flesh. It was a repulsive sight to Merk, though he had some preparation given Gwyn's reaction. Finn, meanwhile, appeared entirely unperturbed.
"I deal with snakes back home all the time," he told the old man. "Though, I've never seen a knot like this before."
"Are they...poisonous?" asked Merk, his voice jittery.
"I can't be certain," said Finn, spying them pensively and getting far closer than the old man's nerves would permit. "But their colouring would suggest they are, so best keep your distance. We'll go around."
They moved back, reversing their bikes through the thicket to find Gwyn cowering behind a tree, fingers clinging to bark and face ashen. Finn took pity on her, understanding her fears even if he didn't give them sanctuary himself. After all, many of the village-folk back home would have reacted similarly when stumbling upon such a vicious den.
"I'll get your bike for you," he said softly, moving back towards the nest, hauling her bike from the ground, and walking it back to his friends.
"Thanks," Gwyn said, fingers still shivering as they took the handlebars. "Do you...think there will be others?"
"Nests?" asked Finn.
She nodded nervously.
Finn lifted a wicked smile. He couldn't resist.
"Maybe," he said. "This is snake country after all..."
Before she could query just how he knew that, he was off. His teasing stopped there, though, when he offered to take the lead, the sky clearing once more and the gloom deciding to dissipate, aided by the slight thinning of the canopy above.
They continued on their path, working northwards into territory Merk knew very little of. It appeared he was right on one front though - it was certainly much wilder.
As the ground lifted, so the trees closed in. They grew more intimidating in both size, shape, and general demeanour, taking on a sinister personality. Branches seemed to stick out at funny, unnatural angles, forming into fingers that pointed right at them. Burls, growing on the thick trunks, seemed to craft into faces, watching them as they passed by. And all over, little lights appeared to shine in the gloom, the eyes of the hidden animals here gathering to gaze down as these intruders passed by.