Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 33 – The chase begins

Note: This came out very easily, despite not really following the outline I had came up with to start this last seven parts. I don't think I've updated this for awhile, we are at 132 pages, 57, 485 words.

Disc 2

Track 11: The Chase is Better Than the Catch by Motorhead

“I’ve got a bad reputation, I don’t care, I get my share. Don’t feel no deprivation.”

“Nestor, I see you!”

Nestor surged awake, grasping the edge of the path behind him and cutting his hand on a sharp corner of the stone cliff. The cursed path called Veris that led to the dead palace of Metahischoo was barely wide enough here for him to lie flat on his back. One wrong roll and an endless drop would follow.

The air was frigid, but for once Nestor did not feel it. Instead, a cold sweat broke across his wrinkled and scarred forehead as the woman’s voice echoed inside his head. Between gusts of wind, he could hear the boy snoring lightly. Oan, as always, was comfortably asleep despite the cold and the snow.

If the voice had been but a dream, it would have slipped out of his mind as soon as he was greeted by the freezing air and the long drop so close to each side. But it had not been a dream, for it was not the first time a voice had visited him so. Never had it been a woman before, but the clarity, the force of the words had him sure that he would be wise to avoid closing his eyes.

As if the being calling him could hear his thoughts, he could feel sleep pulling at him. He fought it, but the power denied his escape. His lids grew heavy; the clouded sky above was replaced by dark, infinite dark.

“Why do you run from me, Nestor?” The voice boomed. Nestor clutched at ears that were not really there. Fighting it, he was back on the Veris path listening to the boy snore.

Before he could force himself up, he was jerked back into the darkness.

“I grow weary of this,” the woman’s voice came from all around and echoed as if shouted from the top of Kekur. He was not sure he had a body here, but if he did, he was sure that he had just dropped to his knees.

“What spirit is this that haunts me this night,” Nestor cried out. In comparasion to the woman’s voice, his was a hoarse whisper. “Leave me be.”

“Leave you be,” the woman laughed. “Do you believe that our master has not kept a watch on thee?”

“Shut up!” Nestor wept.

There was silence save for his heavy sobbing, but he knew that he was not alone. He sensed sharp teeth set in heavy jaws all around ready to clamp down. Even here where his body was disconnected, he made to scratch under his arms. The flaming itch was constant now. Being so far away, it was the prickle of memory that kept him tied to his awful past. That and the scars in his face, but he did not see those and they no longer irritated him, except for the missing eye. There was a burning there that flared up sometimes when the sun kissed the horizon, but in the frozen world of the mountains that rarely occurred.

“You’ve begun the change,” the woman returned. He could sense the smirk on her lips.

“Who are you?” Nestor shouted again.

“An ally, man of the sand,” the voice answered. “One who wishes an audience with you and with your charge.”

“Shove your audience. … you witch!” The thought occurred to him. “It’s you, isn’t it? Back to haunt me. The boy said you went the through door, but it was more than I could hope. Well, get out of my head, I do not wish your consul.”

There was a pause, but the darkness did not break.

“What door, Nestor?” The voice was softer now, looking to pry new information out.

“The Do. …” He began then stopped. “Who are you?”

“Enough with the games,” Her voice was filled with impatience. “Our Master requires youre obedience, do you give it?”

“I know not what you speak of.” He was not one for sobbing, but he could not stop himself here.

“Do not be a dolt. Our Master shares much with me, he has shown me you’re dark heart, one-eyed man.”

“You lie!”

“You betrayed your post.”

“Shut it!”

“You betrayed your wife!”

“Never!”

“You robbed your own son of his most cherished!”

“I was tricked.” The sobs gave him away.

“Now you shall do it again.”

“No.”

“Where are you Nestor? Where is he?”

Nestor fought against the darkness, trying to wake this nightmare. He was done betraying others. Being away from the cursed sand had restored his sense of right to see that. The boy was hid redemption. He was sure of it.

“Where is he, Nestor?”

“You can’t have him!” As if shoving off a great boulder, Nestor lifted up and the darkness started to dissipate. Thrusting up again, clouds peeked through the bleakness. One more thrust, and he was out. Sitting up along the path drenched in sweat. Opening his eyes and looking up the boy was staring back at him wide-eyed, the woman’s voice one last time.

“I see him!” She exclaimed. “And the mountain. You shall cross the Belnor soon. We shall meet then.”

Nestor wanted to clasp his hands to his ears, but he could not let the boy see it. His stomach tossed about, and he unleashed it contents down the drop to his right.

“I thought you may take the plunge the way you were thrashing about,” Oan said. “Does Veris bring nightmares to thee old man of the sand?”

“Aye, it must, my boy,” he stammered whipping away at his mouth. “It’s already leaving my head though.”

Surprisingly, the boy smiled then. As they traveled longer together, the grins had become more frequent. Nestor wished it were not so.

“It’s always best when they slip away. No one needs those memories lingering.” The boy stood up turned back toward the palace. They would reach it today for sure.

“Aye, my boy. It is best to forget,” Nestor whispered and scratched under his arm. “It tis. It tis.”

* * *

The four Dinar knelt before Hatala, who sat upon the Cortobrane’s padded mayorial seat. Getting the Dinar to their knees had taken a lot of subtle coaxing, but her claws where too entrenched in their ancient nerves for them to withstand any longer. It was her boots they licked now. She was their Master. One day, Salama would bend to her will. She was sure of it. The boy was the key… and perhaps this door that the fool man spoke of. She was destined to bear a god. Her spot as mother would yield a rank nearly as high.

“My time in Stra ends tonight,” Hatala said.

Neros rose to object, but one wave of her hand sent him back down.

“The boy approaches the palace, from there he’ll cross the Belnor. I shall be there to greet him.”

“And of the battle before us.” Neros forced out an objection before she could wave it away.

“The twins,” Hatala looked down upon Lars and Het, “and the children shall handle this so-called king of Satar. Neros and Mahmet, you two shall accompany me east.”

All four Dinar bowed their heads in acknowledgement of her command. Rising from the seat, she felt the tingle of bliss drip from her fingertips.

“Great days approach, my subjects. Great days, indeed.”