Dagger 2 - Blood Brothers - A Dark Fantasy Adventure (Born to Be Free series)

by Walt Popester

  DAGGER II

  Blood Brothers

  by

  Walt Popester

  Second volume of the Born to Be Free saga

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Walt Popester

  waltpopester@yahoo.com

  Dagger II–Blood Brothers

  Copyright 2014 by Walt Popester

  Professionally edited by progressivedits.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and places are products of the author’s mind or are used in a fictitious way.

  Cover art, copyright © 2014 by Silvio ‘Simbio’ Costa.

  facebook.com/SilvioCostaSimbio

  To Sonia and Salvatore.

  To a restaurant on a desert beach.

  To the beginning of a June in a sacred and raped land.

  To the reader:

  The following novel contains coarse language, unavoidable elements of Satanism and scenes of graphic violence. Reader discretion is advised. It is recommended for an adult audience; however, due to its contents, it should not be read by anyone.

  The author dissociates himself from the politically incorrect and socially irresponsible behavior of his characters. He is in favor of a well-balanced diet, daily physical activity, and he’s against human sacrifices.

  Anyway, it’s just a book and real life is still out there.

  Enjoy.

  We’re not coming back. Close your eyes and forget your name, step outside yourself and let your mind go, as you go insane…

  You’re just the shadow of the man you used to be, half-naked and unarmed, your disfigured face exposed in plain view for everyone to see.

  Someone in the crowd screams, “Angra be with you!” But you don’t turn. You bend your head as you walk in the general hatred of that eternal and dead city.

  A whiplash rips your back. You are smeared with rotten vegetables and blood, feces, and urine. You turn toward your faithful ones—eleven shadows that accompany you on the last trip. Marching barefoot on the hard-paved street, you are directed to the mighty Agalloch walls and the city gate opens just for you.

  “Why are They going, Dad?” a little Messhuggah asks his father.

  “Those men are paying for their mistakes, son.”

  “But They just wanted to protect us!”

  “Araya!” his father reproaches.

  At that name, you stop. You recognize the adult lizard as Varya, the Poison Dracon. You would tell him something, were it not for the gag that harpoons your tongue and forces you to the mute admission of any guilt. You walk to them and no one dares to stop you. The crowd moves away. Even from the two Messhuggahs.

  The father holds the child by the shoulders, as if he doesn’t want him to retreat in the face of terror. “You shall never be afraid, Araya,” he calmly says. “You will always be still and silent in the storm, an imperceptible grin on your face, as is worthy of a Messhuggah.”

  But it doesn’t seem the boy wants to escape. He observes the face in front of him. You saw it yourself when they came to get you, before letting the mirror fall to the ground. For a moment you smile as you look into the golden eyes of the little one, then stretch out a hand toward him.

  “Leave him alone!” the father hisses, but you only land an affectionate pat on the boy’s forehead.

  In turn, a coin bounces on your skinned head before falling to the ground. “Pay the price!” someone yells in the crowd. “Pay the price!” everybody shouts as money begins to rain.

  You bend over to pick up a coin, and see that the little lizard does the same. You roll the little piece of metal over your knuckles, then resume your march at the head of the sad procession, watching out of the corner of your eye. Araya tries to do the same with his trembling hand, but without success.

  Among the accusing glances, you walk under the high arch that opens in the massive ocher-colored walls. They are made of two gigantic hands with fingers crossed on the keystone. As soon as you pass the threshold, the gates close behind you.

  Since you are the only one who still has an eye, you gaze at the long Main Road which penetrates into the naked desert—the road that caused you only misfortune.

  Then, even your companions raise their heads and seem to observe it with empty eye sockets. It must be the wind that guides their shadow eyes: the desert calls you back, for there’s a score to settle.

  A thunderous roar shakes the world, and a scream of suffering falls over the land of mortals. You smile, challenging the iron that keeps your face tightened and tears at what’s left of your cheeks. You look behind. On the top of Golconda, at the foot of his brother Skyrgal, you see the shadowy outline of Angra spreading his dark wings against the gray sky. You watch him as he stands on his hind legs and screams again.

  Anger fills your mind. You clench your fists, driving your black nails into the muscles of your hand. You bow your head to let out a shaky, “Hallowed be thy name.”

  A gust of wind stirs your clothes, revealing the mark on your chest:

  ∞

  The Spiral now binds your fate to that of the gods.

  A bird flies down from the sky, landing on your shoulder. It has black feathers and a purple head, with a dark spot at the center of the forehead.

  You caress it, then raise your eyes and see that now there’s only the road you can count on. The road is the only salvation. Only by walking down it will you discover what lies at its end, like all those who have preceded you.

  We’re not coming back.

  Close your eyes and forget your name. Step outside yourself and let your mind go, as you go insane…

  * * * * *

  Prologue

  “Melt with a poem, oh Muse, the mud covering the skin of this tired man, the turbid pain that burdens his heart.”

  The woman smiled at those words. Then she put her soft lips on the man’s crotch to play the notes of her melody.

  Wearing only his cotton shirt, he brought the bottle to his mouth and took a long swallow. His gaze fell on the leather armor lying on the ground, worn and covered with repairs that, battle after battle, had changed its original aspect. Love conquers all, he thought, mockingly. Love conquers all.

  “Where are you, love of tonight?” the Muse asked.

  The man glanced down. He was giving her the wrong impression of not appreciating the song of rare beauty she was playing for him that night. He drank again, as she began to climb with her soft kisses to his navel, the washboard abs and a chest shaped by years of continuous training, of which he was so fond. Then she finally met his lips wet with wine, as she began to rub her freshly shaved genitals on his belly.

  “What’s wrong, love of tonight?”

  “Stop calling me that!” he broke, pushing her aside. He sat on the edge of the bed, his bare feet on the rough wood. Softly, he added, “I’m sorry,” burying his hands in his hair.

  She stroked his back. “If I hadn’t known you since we were kids, I’d think you were impotent.” She kissed him lightly on his ear, as she knew he liked. “But I’ve had you so many times that I always know what’s going through your mind, when only your body is here with me.”

  “And what’s going through my head this time?”

  “Death. An overwhelming sense of death. An impending death.”

  A bird chirped at the window, as if to counter tho
se words. The sweet song filled the vast silence between them.

  The man sighed, plopping down on the bed. “Impending death. They teach you well in here. You know words sluts of the other brothels would never use.” He twirled a strand of her hair, watching her face crumble. What an asshole I am.

  “You’re about to apologize again.” The Muse lay down and looked at him with doe eyes. “But remember that you can’t hurt me. Think about it. If my Lady insists so much on my education, it’s because I have to give you something more, that something more you pay for. In here you’re still just a customer, love of my life. And it’s always great to see customers leave once they have spent their liquids.”

  Paid back in my own money. With pique, he squeezed her pink nipple.

  The Muse stifled a groan of agony and pleasure. He was sure she was watching him as he continued to tease her breasts with his mouth, his tongue…

  His teeth.

  “TAKE…it easy.”

  Boobs white as milk, he thought. He adored them, he always had. If only the Muse had known there had never been another woman, no one who could make him feel at home, even in a small, bare room like that. He snorted one syllable of a laugh. Be faithful to a whore. It’s just a crazy, fucked-up world.

  “Why are you laughing?”

  “Something happened, beyond the portal.” He rested his head against her breast as she stroked his hair. “Something terrible, in the world Beyond.”

  “What?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “I want to know what troubles you so much not to love me tonight.”

  “Love…we all talk about it, but what is it? What drives us to—”

  “Stop changing the subject. You always did that, even as a kid. I’m the living person who knows you best. Don’t forget that so easily.”

  “What makes you believe that?”

  “What happened, beyond the portal?”

  He smiled, running his hand over her soft belly, down to the crotch. He loved to feel the touch of her hot skin, feel her tremble all over as he touched the humid core of her femininity. “There was an expedition to the world Beyond. Twelve years ago,” he revealed. “It’s a secret—a mission so delicate that the Deltas selected for it were declared dead once they left the Fortress.”

  “Go on.”

  “There would be no homecoming for them, unless it was horizontal, buried in a hurry and with a fictitious name on a tombstone. Well…some time ago, the expedition returned—at least what was left of it. Indeed, nothing remained of the original fellowship. Only the two Dracons who got their asses up from their undeserved throne to see what was happening on the other side.”

  The woman pulled herself up on one elbow, watching him. “And what did they see on the other side?”

  “You’d better ask what they brought back from that hell.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been racking my brains over it for days, but I think I figured it out.” He paused. “A book.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “A book?”

  “Yes.”

  “That doesn’t seem so terrible.”

  “It is terrible, for a lot of reasons. I’m afraid we’re talking about Benighted—an ancient code on which the infinite knowledge of Ktisis has been written, at least the part that some…ancient Guardians transcribed from the walls of his temple in the desert.”

  “Ancient Guardians?”

  “Oh, people banished beyond the walls of Agalloch a long, long time ago.”

  The Muse nodded. “And now you think this book is at the Fortress, right?”

  “Oh yes. And I will tell you a secret—don’t tell anyone! If someone wanted to take it from the Guardians’ custody, it would be too easy. From the suspicious movements I noticed, the Messhuggahs definitely keep it in the basement of their library. A not easily accessible place in itself, but certainly not unattainable for any good thief of this city.”

  “Couldn’t you tell them to hide it better?”

  “No, these decisions belong to the lizard Dracon, not to me. I’m just the Dracon of the Sword.”

  She grinned as she drew a small, invisible spiral on his chest. “Only the Sword Dracon, Olem? There’s a lot of people who would like to be just that.”

  He liked it when the Muse made him feel important. He smiled, embracing her with the strength of a Guardian of the Sword. She gave herself over to that renewed strength, locking her legs around his waist. She laughed against his lips, feeling that he was finally answering her wanton call. She rubbed her nose on his neck, desiring her reward. He planted a hand in her buttocks and the other one on her throat, almost choking her.

  She grabbed the sheets. “A-aah!” she exclaimed breathlessly, tightening her hands around the headboard as if to lift it, or break it, as he penetrated her with increasing force, more and more, again and again. He rode her hard and fast, to the middle earth between torment and ecstasy, and kept her there, long and painfully, until the orgasmic void—the sweet collapsing—flooded their bodies and minds, wiping out every other sensation.

  Olem continued a little longer. Relaxing. Slower and slower, until pleasure gently left him exhausted on the woman’s sweaty belly. “Shhh.” He put a hand on her long, rust-colored hair. “Shhh. You’ve been a good girl.”

  She kissed his hand with tenderness, gazing at him with a feeling of gratitude.

  The Sword Dracon smiled bitterly, sorry for what he had to do. He closed his eyes and felt a pain too great even for him. “I guess I’d better go now. I could draw attention to our secret love.”

  “Will you be back soon? You’ve been gone for too long this time. Where have you been?”

  “On a diplomatic mission.”

  “Did you betray me?”

  For a moment, Olem thought she really meant it. Then they both burst out laughing. He kissed her on the crotch before leaving.

  Alone in the room, the woman enjoyed her intimate pain. The golden days never seem to end for Olem, she thought. Since the age of twelve, his thing had rivaled that of a mogwart, but luckily the Lady would not send up another customer. Once it hadn’t been like that: once, the Muse had to ride five or even six times in the dark of night, not to mention that the Guardians—the biggest slice of their customers, often, in every possible way—vented in that particular activity all their frustrations. Later, Olem had become Dracon and the Muse’s bargaining power had increased. So now the Lady only wanted her to entertain their most distinguished guest anytime he pleased. Fate had made her an unusual princess locked in the tower, waiting for her Prince Charming.

  She rose up, her wavy hair tumbling like a blood waterfall against her white skin. She sat at the dressing table and wrote a few lines on a small slip of paper. She reread it carefully, before rolling it up.

  At the bottom of a drawer she found a ring.

  With a seal:

  ∞

  Melting a drop of wax, she sealed the message and went to the open window. A cage holding two blackbirds with purple heads hung next to the ledge. A black spot accented the middle of their foreheads. The Muse tied her message to one of their legs and kissed it with affection before releasing it.

  The chill of the night felt lovely on her heated skin. In that isolated alley facing the back of two brothels, no one would object to seeing a naked woman leaning from the windowsill. She had chosen that room herself, since fate had denied her the chance to choose a home with the man she loved.

  But at least, a better brothel than this…she thought bitterly. I’m sure he could grant it somehow. One of those places with soft beds and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, where money flows, no one hits you, and no one smells of alcohol. He could, but no…it is here, for me.

  “You’ve got a damn nice ass, you know?” Olem said from behind her. “You always have.”

  The Muse spun on her heels. She immediately realized something was wrong with his behavior. He was serious. Now, even his face was as long as a mogwart’s. “You ca
me for seconds?” she asked, disguising her nervousness.

  Olem closed the door, his face dark, and spoke without looking at her. “The lie I told you was so great I didn’t think you’d believe it.” He stepped forward. She looked at the big sword on his back. Certainly not his legendary four-handed one, but a weapon that could do some harm anyway.

  “If nothing else, now I know I’m dealing with a two-bit spy,” Olem continued. “They didn’t even instruct you on the basic things. The Benighted Code is in their hands. It’s always been. Damn, They wrote it! Receiving your message, wherever They are now, They will be quite confused by your words. At least before figuring out what’s really happened to you.”

  The Muse didn’t answer. She understood. Closing her eyes, she surrendered to the gentle touch of his hands.

  “Why did you do it?”

  “Cursed be the Fortress,” she said. “And all the Guardians!”

  “No.” He looked hurt. “It can’t be…”

  “Oh, it can’t be?” she retorted. “Muse! This is the name I was given on that day. A girl who is kicked out of the Guardians is marked, robbed of her name, and then there’s only one destiny waiting for her: Muse! How long have I had to wait, enduring in silence the atrocities of a world tailored to the Guardians?” She forced Olem to look in her eyes. “You’re not going to say we were happy together, right?”

  “Stop it.”

  She stroked his cheek, smiling through tears when she felt the stubble. She remembered one day, many years ago, when they were both young in the middle of a desperate corruption.

  ‘It’s already long enough!’

  ‘What, those four hairs on your chin? And…down there?’

  ‘Get it over with!’

  ‘Don’t be shy. It’s not the first time I’ve seen you naked.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not?’

  ‘Yesterday I saw you swim in the canal, Holly. Is it really so, you know…?’