Milc/C.J. Milnes
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Chapter 14 - The Dreamer
🕑 Added 2025-01-01 12:47:27 +0000 UTCAs I came back to consciousness I vowed to resume all of my old habits. The brief time I had spent free of the lifelong masquerade, of being open and unfettered, had clearly come to an end. The throbbing pain in my skull was all the reminder I would need. My arms ached as well, a burning fire in my shoulders that almost matched that in my head.
“I will take him as my slave.” An old voice, high pitched and androgynous.
“No. He goes to the women. They can take his balls and when they’re done the young men will use his head for sport.” My campfire visitor’s voice was rich with command and confidence now. At least I hadn’t been killed outright. So far.
“He survived two days tied to a horse after taking a bullet to the head. Jityk swears it was fired clay and should have been a lethal hit at that range. Something is amiss here, Hakubin. He might be the one from the dreams.” An ally? At least someone who wanted me alive rather than gelded and my head turned into a football. I’d take what I could get in this situation.
“He killed Graben. Fuck your dreams.” Hakubin’s voice ground out. This man was clearly not a supporter of mine and I cursed my assumption that Graben had not been seeking revenge with his request to let his father know he was gone. Going out into the wild must be dangerous and many would not return, their fates never known to their families and friends so I could see the reason for it. Granting some closure that was probably a rare boon for these savages. I was still fairly confident Graben had screwed me from beyond the grave.
“And he came to tell you about it!” The other person chuckled, a wheezing gasping sound that still conveyed their amusement. “Graben would not have wanted you to slay this man or he would not have made that request. You know I’m right!” Another cackle.
“You are son-less. Don’t speak to me of family, Uncle,” Hakubin snarled.
“I am the tribe’s Dreamer. King Nephew, what happened the last time you ignored my counsel?” Hakubin grunted noncommittally in reply. “Give this man to me. He will maintain my wagon and tents, cook my food and serve as I see fit.” The wheezing voice was firm.
“He can hang for another day. If he still lives after that, do as you like.” The sound of heavy footsteps moved away.
“You always were an ass, Bin. My brother would be disappointed in you.” My saviour muttered quietly. Lighter footsteps came closer and I felt a damp breath on my chest. This man must be even shorter than the ones I’d seen before. He was so close and I was vulnerable. Fear ran through me.
“I know you’re awake.” A hand touched my shoulder sending a jolt of pain through my chest and shoulders but I didn’t move. “Endure a little longer and we will talk. Or go to the Blue and feast with Aresk, the choice is yours.” My faint sense of his presence faded away.
Health: 48/120
Mana: 100/100
I cast heal ten times and my health went up to ninety eight. I felt better but the pain didn’t disappear. My thoughts felt fuzzy and hard to grasp. This wasn’t my first concussion and the fact I had survived being unconscious for so long suggested the worst was behind me.
My eyelids were stuck. I tried to move a hand to rub at them but the pain in my shoulder spiked. I was spreadeagled, thick ropes binding my arms out to either side and the weight of my body was hanging on them. I moved my feet slowly, struggling to take some of the weight off my chest and shoulders.
I could barely reach the ground with my feet but I was able to push my toes into the mud and take some of the pressure off. Immediately I felt my breath coming easier and my mind began to clear.
Opening your eyes when they are glued shut by dried tears, and whatever else had been smeared on my face during the time I’d been out, wasn’t easy. It was frustrating, something that should have been simple was seemingly impossible and I was denied my vision as a result. Being blind was always something that had terrified me and I fought down the bowel churning fear that this wasn’t simply sweat and tears. If Hakubin had taken my eyes in revenge for his son I was doomed.
After a lot of straining with muscles unused to that kind of exertion a crack of light appeared in my right eye. My head was still hanging against my chest so all I could see was an expanse of mud and churned grass at my feet. There were brown marks across my chest and legs where someone had been throwing something at me. Judging by the smell and the streaks it had probably been animal excrement. I briefly wished the Shop had some antibiotics. I’d pay whatever the Souls cost was, however unreasonable.
I raised my head as I forced my functional eye fully open. The left one seemed to be welded shut and wouldn’t move at all. Further away the grasslands stretched out. In the distance men on foot and a few on horseback were herding aurox, driving them off into the distance.
The sounds began to clarify as more oxygen reached my addled brain. The noises of animals, horses, dogs and cattle made up a background hum but on top of that I heard voices. Men, women and children were going about their business somewhere behind me. Friendly conversation and irritated arguments, perfunctory greetings and brash boasting assaulted my ears and made my head hurt even more if I tried to follow any of the many threads of conversation.
How many of them were there? The sounds of construction hit my ears, sawing and banging, craftsmen discussing the work in progress. The first example of civilization in this world lurked behind me and I couldn’t crane my head far enough to see.
The pain in my neck flared as I struggled to look behind me but I ignored it as my situation became clear to me. I was tied by each wrist to the end of some kind of large wagon. I had been stripped naked and left in the sun for god knows how long. It had been long enough for my skin to redden and burn; beneath the blood and muck that stained my body I found that my flesh was raw and pink.
My feet barely touched the ground. I had been functionally crucified, the rough wood of the wagon had left splinters in the flesh of my back and continued to scratch at me every time I breathed. Thirst consumed me. Hunger was there as well, but I would have chosen a drink over food in a heartbeat.
As the sun moved painstakingly slowly across the sky I faded in and out. Every time I lapsed from consciousness my legs would sag, toes slipping through the mud, and the pressure of being hung would compact my chest, making breathing difficult. In a panic I’d gasp for air and struggle to plant my feet again in the slippery muck. There was no escape back into darkness for me now that I was awake.
As the sun was fading I heard someone coming round the wagon. I didn’t have the energy to raise my head anymore. The footsteps stopped a few metres in front of me and there was the sound of something heavy being set down. I was in a universe of pain and delirium so I ignored the distraction. A few more hours and I’d be cut down. Once I had my strength back I’d escape these fucking savages and head south again.
“Graben couldn’t have fallen to you. You’re a liar!” A boy’s voice. I struggled to raise my head for a moment but the effort exhausted me and I was terrified of losing my footing and dangling by my wrists again.
Something wet slapped into my chest and I opened my eye to see a brown mess slide off my skin and land at my feet. The smell made clear what it was, although I couldn’t tell what animal had produced it. I was glad in a way; I’d gradually pushed the mud away from my feet and it had become harder to keep the weight off my chest. If this brat was going to fill in the troughs my toes had dug during the long day he was doing me a favour in a way.
Another wet slap sent a shock through me. A spike of pain had come with it because the little shit had been aiming at my groin. A giggle rang out, high pitched and mean spirited, signifying he’d done it deliberately.
“Can’t ignore me, peasant. You must have ambushed him but Graben was too smart to be ambushed by a shit like you. So how did you do it?” The lump of dung struck me in the face this time. I coughed and tried to shake my head to clear my nose and mouth, instantly regretting it as the fire in my skull reignited. I blinked my working eye clear and looked up to glare at the kid.
He was perhaps ten or eleven, allowing for how short these people were. Brown hair cut short on the sides and left long at the rear. Mullets. Just what I needed. His right hand was covered in shit from the bucket at his bare feet. He wore a red tunic that hung to his knees and the sleeves had blue threads woven through them to make intricate knotwork patterns.
“He tried to ambush me at my home but I returned the favour. Standing still in a fight is a bad idea, even if you don’t know it’s started yet,” I tried to growl. It came out as an unintelligible groan.
“Can’t even speak?” he asked. “I guess you’re out of luck.” Another lump of shit was thrown into my chest.
“Would you do this if I wasn’t tied up?” This time I did growl and it came through more clearly.
“Your head’s going to be used for the next Grak game. It doesn’t matter what I do to you," he taunted. I let my head hang and didn’t bother to respond. His face was Graben’s in miniature but the eyes were different, a younger brother probably. None of this mattered. I’d be a slave for a while then I’d be gone. I just had to make it through the night.
Eventually the boy ran out of shit to fling and grew bored by my lack of response. With a final taunt he went back into the town behind me and I was left blessedly alone again. I would never complain about feeling lonely again. The sun was setting and the sky was a cascade of reds and oranges. A few more hours, I kept telling myself.
Just a few hours can seem like a lifetime under certain situations and this was certainly one of them. The moons rose and set as I hovered between waking and sleeping, never able to fully step into either state. I envisioned women I had known, some I had even loved, coming to my aid. I envisioned long tall glasses of water where half the glass was filled with ice. Men I had killed came to put me out of my misery. Pizzas, burgers, roast beef dinners all flashed before my eyes at various times but the tall glass of water always replaced them sooner or later.
I was lost in madness as the sun finally began to rise and I thought for a moment that the plains had caught fire and these bastards torturing me would all burn. Eventually I heard the sounds of feet approaching and I braced myself for more shit to be thrown in my face by an obnoxious little princeling. I craned my head up to face down my tormentor.
Instead of the brat it was Hakubin and the Dreamer that stopped in front of me. Hakubin was much as I remembered but his bright red tunic now hung down to his ankles, cinched in the middle by a thick leather belt on which hung one of the stone maces these people seemed to like.
Something glinted in the morning light and I realised his mace differed to those I’d seen before. The round head was made of a polished metal. It looked like gold in my hazy vision but even in my current state some part of me assumed they would use bronze or copper for what was obviously a weapon.
The Dreamer was a shrivelled raisin of a man. Stoop shouldered and wrinkled enough that Mother Theresa would likely have told him to take better care of his skin if she were here. His skin was pale beneath his long white hair that he left unbound to fall around his face and shoulders. A thick beard obscured his mouth but it became wispy and thin the further it grew past his chin. He wore a dull red tunic that hung to his knees and his skinny legs were a patchwork of varicose veins. Unlike the others I’d seen, his belt was hung with dozens of leather pouches in addition to the ubiquitous stone mace.
“He survived. Will you keep your word, King?” said the Dreamer. Hakubin stepped forward and peered closely at my face.
“You think he is something more?” he asked. I considered trying to bite his nose off or set him on fire but now was not the time to fight.
“Aresk has spoken to me these last few weeks. Opportunity was the feeling I got from the dreams, perhaps danger as well. I think this man might be the source,” the Dreamer wheezed, his breath whistling through his facial hair.
“Drug addled hallucinations are not…” Hakubin sighed before continuing. “You’re the Dreamer. I’ve done as you asked, Uncle. I do not want to see this man again. Keep him at the edge of the camp.” Hakubin gave me a final glare and left.
“Well my wandering friend, slayer of princes, it seems you’re in my hands. I trust you won’t harm an old man like me?” he chuckled and drew a short metal knife to slice the ropes holding me upright against the wagon.
As the ropes parted I fell to my knees and curled up in the mixture of blood, piss, mud and shit. I rolled over and gasped as blood began to reach the extremities of my arms and a burning sensation overtook my hands. Aside from a few days of peace all I’d known in this world was pain. I needed to get back home. I needed to find my real enemies.
