Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 16 – In the cave

Note: I was going to go a little farther here, but I like people wanting a little more. I'll be interested to see the reaction to this.

Disc 1
Track 16: 3’s & 7’s by Queens of the Stone Age

“The truth hurts so bad, wouldn’t you say. So why tell it?”

The witch had summoned them, but she had also stirred the horses beyond consoling. Oan and Nestor tied each to a tree and spent the rest of the waning light massaging the horses’ muscles and trying to work down their fear. Afterward, they fed them and took off the saddles.

Oan knew his companion was glad to have the delay before meeting the witch. Her appearance at the entrance of the cave had done nothing to soothe either of their nerves about having to converse with her. For one, she was intimidating despite barely coming to either of their chests. Second, neither man really had any idea of what she was going to reveal. Nestor surely had secrets that he wanted kept from Oan. As for Oan, there were plenty of secrets he didn’t even know about himself.

With the horses as settled as they ever would be with the green torches flaming above and the screams of the Shadows still in the distance, Oan and Nestor climbed the rocky embankment up to the cave. The night air was crisp and cold; puffs of white breath came from Nestor’s mouth. Oan didn’t know how cold it would have to be before his breath would do the same. He guessed maybe only on the frozen plain to the heavens would he find out. Except, he doubted if that was ever a likely destination for him.

At the mouth of the cave, darkness loomed like an invisible door frightening away any passersby. Nestor sucked in air like he was dipping his head under water, Oan had to resist doing the same as they stepped into the unnatural shade. For a few steps, the entire scope of Oan’s vision was black. He held his hands out before him to hopefully protect him from any hanging rocks. He knew he’d heal anyway, but even for him, a knot on the head led to a lingering headache.

A few more steps in and the darkness gave way to an empty cavern glowing from more orbs stuck unceremoniously around the cave walls. The witch stood in the middle of the cavern, her back to them and her arms held straight out with her palms up. Her head nodded up and down as if she were asleep standing up.

“They drove spikes into his palms,” her voice sounded like it was coming from the other end of a hundred-mile cave. “He wore a crown of thorns that stabbed into his brow. Who would treat the King of Kings so?”

A vision, quick and jarring, of blood pouring from the witch’s hands and feet, came to Oan. Only it wasn’t the witch, it was a man. Then the vision was gone.

Nestor jabbed Oan with his elbow, then lifted his spear. Both men had entered the cave armed, Nestor with the spear and Oan with Kekur. For once, Oan was glad to have the sword.

“I thought you had lost your nerve, my lovely boy,” the witch’s voice seemed closer, but it still held a note of sadness and wonder. She twirled around, leaving her arms out till she faced them. Then her left arm dropped her side and her right she held out in front of her, palm up waiting for him to come and take it. He moved without thought taking her hand, kissing her palm and then turning it over kissing that side as well.

“The horses were frightened, mother,” he said, dropping to a knee.

“Ah well,” she took his face in her hands. “What to do when the beasts of burden become burdens? I know a good horse stew.”

Nestor coughed at the suggestion of eating horse. For a moment, the witch’s eyes shot to him, her face turning to cold steel then she returned her gaze to Oan and she radiated happiness.

“I have missed you, my lovely boy,” She kissed his forehead then cradled him against her stomach.

“I have missed you also, mother,” he felt her tense against his touch, but for a moment there had been comfort. He had longed for that sort of comfort his entire life.

“I will not have that mother business,” she pulled away. “I allowed that when you were a boy, but you’re are a man now and I am not you’re mother.”

Standing, Oan needed a few seconds to readjust to his surroundings. He grasped the hilt of Kekur, feeling the pulse of heat running through it. As if sensing his thoughts, the witch reached over and grabbed the back his hand.

“That quick is it boy,” she let go tracing her finger lightly up his arm. “One instant mother, the next a foe worthy of the nasty end of your sword.” Her lips pursed at the end of that line. “Have you not riled up enough shadows for the time being?”

Her finger came to his face, then his lips. For a second, he thought he heard her purr like a cat being scratched. He withdrew a few steps.

“We will not succumb to your trickery or spells, witch,” Nestor’s voice came out a growl.

The witch’s emerald eyes shifted quickly and she stalked toward Nestor, who still stood just inside the edge of the darkness. He held the spear out before him, pointed as in attack.

She walked right up to him, letting the point of the spear press at her left breast. She purred again before speaking. Her words came out more like a hiss.

“You dream of power you cannot have, one-eyed man,” the witch said. Nestor’s hands were shaking, the spear scratched against the surface of the silk gown. For the first time, Oan noticed the woman still wore no form of shoes. Her bare heals poked out from under the bottom of the gown.

“I dream of only avenging my wife and my honor,” Nestor seemed on the verge of tears.

“How will you do that?”

“I will slay the demon Salama.” Nestor poked the spear forward, Oan was sure that had to have pierced the witch’s flesh.

All she did was laugh. Not one laugh, but a full on fit in mockery of the man. She brushed the spear away and turned back toward Oan. Nestor regained the spear and was ready to attack. Only a shake of Oan’s head stopped him from stabbing into the witch.

“As I said, you dream of power you cannot have,” the witch said once she gained her composure. “Salama is dead. You cannot slay what is already dead.”

“Mo. … Madra, the demon has returned,” Oan said before Nestor could. The man obviously irritated her. Oan was not going to let him do anymore talking than necessary. “The man, Nestor, has seen him”

“Nestor is a fool and don’t ever forget that, my boy,” her lips sneered saying the name. Her shoulders slumped then and her head turned toward the entrance of the cave as if she were listening to some far off call. “I have felt that call. The one that pulls women like a hook tugging in an Anni’s mouth. But that being is not Salama, but does carry that demon’s shadow like a leach sucking the life out of its host. The Dinar have performed the ceremony, returned the black sword and unleashed the dark back upon this world.”

“What can we do?”

The witch’s eyes flashed to the back of the cave with Oan’s gaze following. In the shadows, he could make out the wood door.

“We can dine.” She said dropping to the floor, where she sat crossed leg before a blanket atop which was a loaf of bread and two goblets of wine.

She broke the loaf of bread in two as he sat down across from her. Nestor stayed near the front of the cave, thankfully staying quiet. She reached across to him with half the loaf in her hand.

“Take and eat,” she looked amused, but about what he did not understand. He bit into the bread, which was still warm and started chewing.

“You come here for answers,” she said handing him one of the goblets. “Take and drink.”

The wine was red and sweet. He did not often imbibe and knew that he could not afford too many swallows from the goblet.

“Who am I?”

“Oan Stoneheart, do not be silly, boy.”

“Who were my parents?”

“Ah,” she drank from her own goblet and swirled it for a moment considering her words. “No one of any consequence.”

He slammed the goblet down and jumped to his feet. The sword sang as he pulled it from the belt. It whistled through the air stopping in front of her face.

“Do not play with me woman!” The same steady, calm look never left her face. She took her right hand and stroked it up and down the blade leaving a thin stream of blood. She took her hand away and let the wound drip on her half of the bread.

“You are the last of a line. A distant, although not really official, descendant of Tarek Grandar.”

“Not official.”

Her grin was wide.

“The man kept many woman.”

“Whores,” Nestor’s voice came as a shock from the front of the cave.

The witch sneered at him before returning her gaze to Oan.

“A woman smart enough to use all her talents to stay alive. Call her what ye will.”

“My parents.”

“Dead.”

“How?”

“Their hearts stopped beating.”

He thrust the sword forward, nicking the front of her throat.

“Who.” he asked between clenched teeth?

She smiled again, bringing the sword up and kissing the tip.

“They were Keepers of Marek, a quiet folk that live up near the old palace. They both lept from the peak of Kekur. I suppose siring someone such as yourself can have that effect.”

Never more in his life did he want to spill blood. Yet, there was a weakening in his knees that made it hard to steady the sword.

“You lie.”

Grabbing the sword, she made a cross in front of her heart with it.

“Hope to die.” There was no mockery in her voice this time. He brought the sword down, almost with a whimper.

“Good, I am glad that is out,” the mirth returned to her lips. He sat there as she starting feasting on her blood-soaked loaf of bread. He heard Nestor retching behind him, but could focus on nothing else. Had he really caused his own parents to jump off a mountain? Why would they ever do that? What kind of monster was he?