by Rory Nelson
He gets on his knees in a pathetic beseeching manner. “Please, Sai!” he cries. “Please!”
“Get up, boy! Don’t die like a coward.”
He slowly rises while tears stream down his face. The echo of the gun blast is deafening inside the barn.
“Well?” Renault asks.
Daliance shakes his head. “No loose ends, brother. Set watch and warrant it, there are no loose ends.”
Renault nods. “That is well, brother.” Renault extends his forearm. Daliance takes it. “Godspeed, brother.”
“Godspeed,” Daliance replies in kind.
Daliance leaves the bar and walks to his horses. Ludepepper sees him coming, untethers his horses, and waves at Daliance like an imbecile. As he approaches Ludepepper, Daliance shakes his head.
“I must teach you how to be a little more inconspicuous, Sai.”
Ludepepper nods. “Ai, but what does inconspicuous mean, Sai?”
“It means less obvious. And from now on, you must be called something else. How does Petra suit you?”
“I like Petra. Are you always to call me that?”
“Me and everyone else from this day forward. Ludepepper is no longer your name.” He takes him by the shirt and looks him in the eye to impart the important message on him. “You understand your old life is over. I spared your life, boy. Don’t make me regret it. You ken?”
Ludepepper nods his head with vigor. “Ai, Sai. Whatever you say. Didn’t have much of one anyway. I’m an orphan and have no family.”
“Then you’re in good company. From now on, Petra, you’ll be my manservant.”
“What’s a manservant?”
“It means you will work for me. Fetch my meals, tether my horses, and so forth. In return, I’ll give you a wage and a place to live. And most importantly, protection. You ken?”
Petra’s face lights up and he smiles. “I would like that very much, Sai.”
Dale Walsh and Petra, his new manservant, gallop towards the township of Mullen. This small town lives along the eastern edge from the City States of Kent.
Renault watches from the distance as he pulls out a pixie stick and shakes his head. He laughs. “Well Daliance, can’t say I don’t blame you for it. Don’t think I could have done it myself.” Renault smiles and walks to his tethered horse Willoughby, a large mestiz stallion of Oriacan stock. The horse’s large hazel eyes follows Renault with his massive black-shaggy tail wagging. Let’s go.
Renault smiles. He strokes Willoughby’s muzzle, hops on his back, and together they fade into the horizon. A giant orange orb hugs the skyline. Splatters of dark ochre, purple, green and violet reflect against a deepening cerulean canvas. “Time to go home,” he says.
Chapter 3: Sadistic Loyalty
Merlin camouflages himself by removing his glasses. He inserts a ruby red dye in his right eye and a patch covering his left. He wears sheepskin chaps over riding pants and finishes the look with a hooded cloak.
He looks nothing like the old Merlin. Besides, the new Merlin blends in with the other rough riders, cattle brokers, card sharks, and tradesmen. These men enjoy libations after entering Markson’s Pub and Haberdashery. This establishment sits on the outskirts of Millipicent. The town is a burgeoning town in the City States of Kent’s southern border.
As Merlin ventures to the back of the saloon, a tall, statuesque, and imposing ruffian eyes him with curiosity. “Hey there, gent. This here’s a private game. By invitation only.”
“I was invited and paid for a fifth seat. Name’s Dillon. By Renquist’s invitation.” Merlin hands him a card. The ruffian looks at it and motions Merlin in with a perfunctory nod and a wave of his hand.
Merlin returns to the last table. A ragged curtain and a dim candle reflects a silhouette playing a card game, Solitaire. The cards appear to float through his hands of their own accord. Merlin pulls the curtain and sits down at the table. Renault nods and scans to be sure no one took notice.
Renault extends his forearm and they grasp each other. “We’re well met, brother.”
“Always,” Merlin smiles.
Renault opens a glass bottle of brandy. The smell of jasmine, honeyed vanilla, and pungent mesquite bourbon warms his nostrils of the bittersweet concoction. Renault pours two shot glasses and hands one to Merlin.
“To the Brotherhood,” Renault salutes. “The official and the Dark Brethren who serve you well—though some more wholeheartedly than others.” They chime their glasses, but before they drink, Merlin intervenes with a toast.
“To the demise of Herod Antipaz and all that he stands for.” The men smile and sip their drinks.
“May his day of crucifixion be hastened and his minions righteously slaughtered.”
“Ai,” Merlin responds.
“How are you doing on that front?” Renault asks.
Merlin shakes his head. “Proceeding, but it’s always the same. Whispers, rumors, evidence which won’t hold up in the courts. His alliances extend deep and his coin even further. He penetrated our inner sanctum. His men abducted one of our recruits in an attempt to bury him alive.”
“And the boy?” Renault asks.
“He lives, but not by my intervention. A turncoat intervened.”
“Is it him? Felinius?” Renault asks.
Merlin nods his head.
“So, the question is this. Did he do it in order to join our ranks or to extinguish his guilty conscience?” Renault asks. He pauses, taking a sip of his brandy “Hopefully it’s both.”
“I wouldn’t count ourselves so fortunate. Nothing is ever that simple. The man plots relentlessly. With each passing day, he becomes more emboldened and his infiltration deeper.”
“And yet?” Renault asks.
“There is a crescent of hope. Tiny. A gold-plated pocket watch that looks as if it was crafted by the famous jewelry designer Vandemus.”
“From Cortez? The same one who fashioned my daggers?”
“Ai.”
“No doubt you’ve sent someone to ascertain,” Renault declares.
“Atteus and Domithicus.”
Renault rolls a matchstick through his left hand while holding a cigar in his right. He rolls it through his hand faster and faster. As it flies across to his other hand, the cigar lights and dissipates in a streaking flash of fire. Renault sucks on the cigar and raises his eyebrows. “Good choice. I fear they may be walking into a viper’s nest. Especially if Herod Antipaz is trying to eliminate anything that can link the deed to him.”
Merlin nods. “Ai. Set watch and warrant it, they’re on full alert and prepared for anything.”
“Can I be of any assistance in this regard?” Renault asks.
Merlin shakes his head. “No. I have something else for you.” Merlin lights his cigar. He twirls the matchstick in his left just as Renault did. To his right, he flings the stick causing a fire flash to illuminate the room while lighting the cigar. Merlin takes a puff. “I’ve had one of my premonitions. Recurrent. It plagues me nightly, along with the rest of my nightmares.”
“Name it and see it done, brother.”
“You’ve heard the rumors about General Crixus of the Sandanistas?” asks Merlin.
Renault nods his head. “Of course. He and a small raiding party tried to break into the mines at Catgull to liberate some captive prisoners. He was the only one in his raiding party to survive. General Crixus awaits a summary trial at Belwait and a certain execution, I would imagine. How does this concern us?”
“I need you to rescue him.”
“Done,” Renault responds without hesitation.
“Are you curious to know why?” asks Merlin.
“A little, but I don’t need to know. I’m sure at some juncture, it will be revealed. I have a feeling you don’t know yourself. But you can’t ignore your premonitions. They’ve served us well in the past.”
Merlin nods. “Your faith in me swells my heart.”
“I owe you everything, brother. My life, my dignity, my purpose in
life molded by your hands. You keep me where I need to be—bathing in blood and savoring every moment.” Renault smiles sadistically.
Merlin shakes his head in disappointment. “Don’t do that to yourself, brother. You’re more than that. You’re loyal to a righteous cause. That counts for almost everything.”
“Almost everything, Merlin. But not quite everything. I know who I am. What I am. I torture my targets because it brings me pleasure. That’s abnormal. An aberration. A compulsive and unrepentant killer. There’s a special place in hell reserved for people like me. Perhaps with your intercession on my behalf, I can get a thousand years in purgatory. But even that’s a long shot.”
Merlin sighs, “I can help you with your demons.”
Renault looks past Merlin, the tables and into a nightmarish past, one he has never fully awakened from.
Cailyn looks frantically for his little brother, Brock through the massive heap of corpses. These are the boys who did not survive the deprivation chamber test. The thoughts from yesterday were amplified and echoed through his head incessantly are now cut short. Their rueful faces only hint at the horror of their excruciating final moments of life. Their lifeless bodies are stark white and ice-cold to the touch. Despite the dead weight, Cailyn moves them aside easily. “Brock!” he yells as if his brother could answer from the grave.
After several minutes, he finds another stark white body, unresponsive to the touch. His piercing green eyes have lost their glow and his lips are almost devoid of any color. Nevertheless, it’s him. Cailyn clings to him desperately, while the tears stream down his face. “No!” he cries.
Cailyn holds him while the tears continue, unabated. As he looks up, he sees several of those hateful men in their red jumpsuits surrounding him. Cailyn thinks briefly of making a run for it. But before he can act, he feels a flash of light and the loss of his limbs. And darkness.
When he regains consciousness, he finds himself in a strait jacket. The men in red jumpsuits cinch up the ropes tighter, making it difficult to take deep breaths. Will they push him into the ice-cold water, forcing him to hold his breath for three minutes again? No, this is a test. Of escape. He struggles for several seconds.
“Calm yourself,” says Dr. Trumain. “You’re going into that water. There’s nothing you can do. Live or die. You have acquired the skills. Give into panic and die an excruciating death. Or center yourself and live to fight another day.”
The men hoist him onto a hook inside the steel deprivation chamber. The water wheel generator grinds, lowering the chain on which he is hooked. He struggles for two seconds and quickly re-centers himself. “You have all the skills you need to escape. All the tools are at your disposal. You need only concentrate and avoid panic.” The voice repeats itself and he visibly calms. The descent into the deprivation chamber lingers relentlessly. His legs submerge, inducing a brief squirming. The water seems like small needles being poked into his skin. He ignores the pain and concentrates on the voice inside himself.
The water penetrates into his skin, causing a rash of goosebumps and shivers which produces a spasm. He ignores it. Seconds later, his head is submerged. Cailyn concentrates on dislocating his shoulder from the socket, knowing it will be painful. He pushes on his socket until he can hear the palpable snap. It’s painful, but nothing compared to what he will feel when he pushes it back in. Cailyn moves his hand forward at a difficult angle until he senses the zipper on his strait jacket. He clenches it and bends back the zipper’s train until a piece falls off. Cailyn uses the sharp edge to cut a hole in the strait jacket. He extracts one of the small metal rods used to secure the jacket.
In 30 seconds, he escapes his strait jacket. Cailyn slides out and floats to the top, breathing sharply. He grasps onto the chain and swings himself against the side of the steel drum. When he has swung fast enough, Cailyn throws his right shoulder forward in haste. This connects with the steel and pushes his shoulder back into its socket, causing torrents of pain to erupt throughout his body.
He climbs the chain-link fence several feet, stops, retrieves the tiny metal rod. Cailyn uses it to pick the lock from his shackles on his feet. In seconds, he is free. He drops his shackles into the water. Cailyn climbs higher inside the deprivation tank until he reaches the top. It’s so pitch dark inside. His eyes outline the shadows, which grow increasingly more insidious with each passing second. It is just what his tormentors expect.
At the top of his steel canister, he searches and notices a darker shadow. It is a small alcove to hide until morning. Cailyn pushes himself into the confined area and rests.
Exhaustion overtakes him and he falls asleep. Cailyn’s reprieve is short lived however as he wakes to the sound of running water inside the tank. “No!” he pleads in a small, pathetic whimper. He pushes it away. This is a test. Cailyn pushes himself through the alcove and discovers it goes back several feet. He scours every inch of the alcove with his hands, ensuring no square inch is left unsearched. The water continues to fill up inside the tank. In minutes, he will be submerged. Minutes later, Cailyn will be just another corpse inside a tank.
After searching every space inside the alcove, he realizes it is a dead-end. Cailyn moves outside and jumps onto the chain. The water continues to rise several feet. Another whimper escapes his lips. He moves before he gives into panic. He swings on the chain, using his extreme strength to catapult himself; but it is difficult, considering most of the chain is submerged in water. Cailyn blindly jumps and miraculously catches onto a ledge. He pulls himself up and crawls through the other alcove, painstakingly.
Within minutes, the water enters inside the alcove. Every square inch of the icy waters flood chills his bones. The water pours in faster and Cailyn must move with more expedience. As he gets to the dead-end of the other side, he goes back. Nothing. Of course there’s not. They wouldn’t make it easy. The exit is on the other side, into the deep abyss.
Cailyn takes one last heaving breath and dives into the icy water. Only 12-feet down, he notices an alcove but quickly decides from going in it. When the steel door closes, his suspicions are confirmed. The space collapses.
Cailyn drop further and senses the intense pressure on his ears. To mitigate it, he holds his nose and blows out. He approaches the cave’s entrance and walks inside. The mind-numbing pressure on his lungs screams for air. But Cailyn resists the urge to give in to panic. If he does, he’s dead.
The makeshift cave is a veritable maze of dead-end passages. The smaller tunnels are crafted to trap and kill him should he become indecisive. Keep traveling north to the second floor. Do not become confused. Do and you’re dead.
He comes to almost the end of the maze. In one direction the tunnel opens up into a massive chasm, with light penetrating through. He instinctively knows it’s a trap. Too inviting.
In haste, he chooses the other passage—a twisting, cramped corridor—and bolts through it. His lungs are now screaming in agony. Cailyn’s mouth wants to open for air. Instead, he pushes the thoughts away along with the insidious terror which lurks beneath the surface. Survive. At all costs.
He pulls on a lever, but nothing happens. Before he shouts in panic, he sees a large hose plunging into the abyss through a metal grate. Cailyn lunges for it. Instead of sucking on the tube, he blows out. The water forces through the other side. He finally sucks in air and quietly sighs in relief. Cailyn survived. He thinks of nothing else except he’s lucky to be alive.
For almost 30 minutes, he sucks air through the hose. And just like that, his nightmare returns. The hose is wrenched from his grasp and he is once again forced to fight for his survival.
Renault shudders at the memory.
“What they did to you was monstrous,” positions Merlin. “I implore you. Let me help you.”
Renault shakes his head. “I don’t want help with my demons, Merlin. I will not have you purge my memories. My brother Brock meant nothing to anyone. He was merely an afterthought. A failed experiment gone wrong. I will not have his me
mory and existence purged from this world. He meant everything to me, and my heart burns for him. Please don’t take him from me,” bemoans Renault, as his voice quivers. A few tears roll down his cheek. He wipes them away, embarrassed by his show of emotion.
Merlin touches his hand. “You have my word, brother. I won’t. I love you no less-demons and all. But you’re wrong. Your brother meant everything to you. That means he also means something to me. And so long as I’m alive, his memory remains with me as well. I will not let it fade from existence. We share burdens here.”
“And I thankee for that, brother.”
“Being a brother means you never have to say thank you.”
Renault smiles with awkwardness. “Nonetheless, your sentiments swell the heart.”
Merlin removes his hand from Renault’s, showing a change of subject. “Renault, you mentioned something twice- once in your letter to me and just a few minutes ago. ‘Some serve more wholeheartedly than others.’”
Renault nods his head and sighs. “Ai. Whalen is the toe of our brotherhood, struck with gout. Would be better to cut it off and be done with it.”
Merlin grimaces. “He’s one of us.”
“In name only, brother. He moonlights and plots relentlessly, trying to convince others to join in his cause. I could quietly but efficiently put a stop to his Tom Fuckery for good. I only need your word.”
“I will not give it,” Merlin sighs. “At least not now. I need all my brothers for joint cause. You ken?”
“Ai.”
“Have you tried to read his thoughts?” asks Merlin.
“Of course. When he’s unaware, I can penetrate but barely skim the surface. I can only decipher minute details. But the sentiments I picked up on do not settle a restless mind.”
Merlin sighs and rubs his chin in deep thought. “Then you have no proof. I need you all on this. It is a dangerous mission, one fraught with insidious dangers.”
“Made all the more dangerous by reluctant allies. He knows our innermost secrets and has the power to lead us to ruin. He’s a liability. Prudency calls for his elimination.”