PART 1/4

Where have all the good men gone
And where are all the gods?
Where's the street-wise Hercules
To fight the rising odds?

HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO
Bonnie Tyler

New Spartan's Property
ANGOLA, DELAWARE
Early May, 1998

"Stop there... Down on your knees... Hands behind your back." Bremer commanded, unable or unwilling to look the condemned man in the face. Only when he realized that his orders were not being obeyed, did he lift his head to look Mulder in the eyes. He longed to give Mulder the answer that he wanted to hear, that the brave young agent deserved. *Just relax. I´m not going to kill you. I´m going to shoot the bastard that hurt you instead. But you have to play along.* But he could not reveal his true motives knowing that Baxter would shoot him and then Mulder anyway.

Mulder gave his executioner one last look, not a plea for mercy, but a silent please explain and lowered himself to his knees, clasping his injured hand in the good one as ordered. The stare that Bremer had returned had shattered Mulder´s last remaining hope that he might make it out of here alive. He felt strange, calm and somehow energized now. He imagined beams of soft, diffused light, all the colors of the rainbow, entering his body, beginning at his groin and moving slowly upwards over his abdomen, his chest, throat and forehead to congregate at a point a few inches above his head. An infinitely more intense version of what he had experienced after Baxter had broken his finger for the second time and he was certain that his death was soon to follow. The voice that came after the light was different though, being male instead of female, the message it delivered was different as well. On top of the familiar sense of concern and anguish were also instructions on what he should do.

"Focus straight ahead." Which he was doing anyway.

"Concentrate until you see a tunnel with a light at one end." He saw the tunnel without effort, it was clearly in front of him, its misty, multicolored entrance perhaps two feet from his nose.

"Blink if you see it." He blinked, not of compliance to the voice but hoping to check that what was in front of his eyes was really there. Obviously the voice saw his movement and continued issuing orders in the soft, melodic tone that the female had used two days before. It was now telling him to imagine himself moving toward the light, that the light offered safety and refuge.

*Yeah, easy for you to say.* Mulder thought. *You don´t have a madman holding a gun to your head. I ain´t moving a muscle.*

Two scenarios occurred to Mulder. Either he hadn´t heard the gun fire, hadn´t felt the bullet enter his body, and had died and the tunnel in front of him was just his brain reacting chemically to a lack of oxygen as Scully would have suggested or he was being abducted by aliens, but he could rule out the aliens because only the government abducted people or so he had come to believe over the last eight months or so.

Mulder heard the report of Bremer´s gun, loud in his ear but it also sounded a long way off, and his brain reacted before his body could tell it that it was uninjured, that the gunshot had missed, that there was no bullet wound. He felt himself falling forward but he never hit the damp, manure scented earth that he knelt upon, instead he seemed to move toward the tunnel through no effort of his own. It was as if there was an invisible cord attached to somewhere on his body and someone, or something, was reeling him in, like some sort of prize catch. But rather than the life and death struggle between hunter and prey that he witnessed during long-ago camping trips with his father, this was like a gentle tugging, as if he was being guided toward the distant light that really did radiate peace and tranquillity just as the voice promised.

As he progressed along the tunnel, he could see blurry images in the spot of light that was perhaps twenty feet away. A young bald man, a boy really, was standing in a stone walled, candle-lit room , his arms stretched out in front of him, relaxed, palms facing downwards, his head slightly lowered, eyes closed. On a low cot beside him was a woman of about sixteen to twenty years of age, her golden-hued hair fanning out behind her, reaching almost to her waist. She was naked, her perfectly formed body marked at various points with strange tattoo-like markings. Somehow Mulder knew that this was the owner of the female voice he had heard, the one that had comforted him after Haley´s interrogation. The woman was asleep, but not peacefully by the look of the frequent spasms that swept through her. The source of the violent tremors was obvious- a multicolored aura surrounded her supine body, seven beams of light penetrating her body at the places she was marked. This shell was connected to the boy who stood over her by a seven-strand rope, each strand one color of the rainbow. Mulder thought that it was the boy who was generating the light until he saw the bright rainbow above the boy´s bald head.

*What had he said his name was? Morten, that was it.* Mulder thought.

A similar rope connected Mulder to the woman, however the colors were softer, paler the further they traveled from their origin.

*He must be acting as a filter or something, reducing the power of the rainbow.*

Before he could analyze what was happening further, a blinding flash of light obscured his view of the strange room. Mulder felt one forceful jerk on the rope that linked him to the two at the end of the tunnel, then suddenly he was falling, expecting to be yanked to a stop, like in abseiling. Not being able to put the brakes on, his mind simply shut down, refusing to gather any further information as to what was occurring.

His silent, dark freefall finally came to end with a body jarring impact into something hard and unyielding. He lay where he had landed for an indeterminable amount of time, lacking both the energy and motivation to open his eyes. He did however attempt to determine how badly injured he was and whether said injuries were life threatening.

*Ok, I´m breathing, so that´s a good sign. It doesn´t hurt to breathe so that means no broken ribs. I can feel all the bits of my body, arms and legs, fingers and toes check out A.O.K, except for the present Baxter gave me, but that hurt before so no new damage there. I can taste blood, must´ve bitten my lip..yep definitely put my teeth through it. A good thing Scully´s not here, she´d want to drag me off to the nearest hospital for stitches. Speaking of which, exactly where is here?*

Certain that he hadn´t heard any sounds of life since he arrived, Mulder slowly opened his eyes, expecting to see Bremer and perhaps Baxter standing above him, confirming the possibility that he had imagined the tunnel and the crazy events he had briefly witnessed, as a sort of stress induced hallucination. The scene that greeted him was unlike anything he had seen before or even imagined in his few pleasant dreams he could recall. The inky black sky above was filled with thousands, no, hundreds of thousands of stars, more than he could ever remember seeing at one time. Out of the hundreds of constellations he could see with his wonder filled eyes, only a few were familiar to him, but it took him a couple of minutes to realize that the few he could name were back-to-front, reversed somehow.

*It´s as if I´m looking at them from the other end of the solar system, but surely that can´t be possible. God, now I know what I sound like to Scully when I give one of my "what if" theories a public airing.*

He thought back to the basement office of March 1992, to the inaugural meeting with a green Quantico agent who so quickly came to mean so much to him. He had asked her if she believed in the existence of extraterrestrials.

"Logically, I would have to say no. Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirements would exceed the spacecraft´s capabilities..."

Just remembering the conversation brought her image into focus in his mind, her bronze toned hair, pale skin and sparkling blue eyes.

"Well I suppose that rules out travel by a spaceship piloted by little green men, oops little gray men." Mulder said, not realizing he spoken aloud for the first time. The sound startled him and he turned his head swiftly, looking for the source. As he did so, he spotted the distant horizon for the first time, obscured in places by tall ancient looking trees. Between two sets of trees, bright against the dark firmament, were two moons, one full and high in the sky, the other a new moon only a couple of degrees above the horizon.

At a place perhaps halfway to those trees, Mulder could see flickering points of light, all huddled in a small clearing. He sat up and decided on his next course of action. His rumbling stomach and dry tongue reminded him that he hadn´t had any food or water for many hours, since before the robbery. After Bremer had thrown him the Dracular mask, Haley and the gimp had taken him into the other room, and after strapping his hands to that damned table, turned out the lamp and left, locking the heavy door securely behind them. After a useless attempt to loosen his restrains that left his wrists raw and sweat dripping down his forehead, he fell asleep. Sunlight pouring in through the small window a couple of hours later had aroused him enough to hear the door being unlocked and opened. Heavy footsteps had come closer and before he could turn his head to identify their owner, the hated, claustrophobic hood was placed over his head and a plastic cup was lifted to his lips. He drank quickly, not knowing when , or if, he would get the opportunity again. Baxter had then tied the hood painfully tight. Mulder could visualize the gimp smiling as he performed his work, clearly a man who had real job satisfaction. His hands were released, only to be secured immediately behind his back. *Government issue cuffs by the feel of them* he thought. They had led him through two doors to a small outside lavatory. Baxter undid his belt and roughly pulled his jeans and boxers to his knees and issued his instructions in a smug voice.

"Do your business, we wouldn´t want any accidents later on would we?"

He had complied, more out of biological need than any desire to obey Baxter, with a silent prayer that the gimp had pointed him in the right direction.

The sound of rushing water reminded him of his predicament and he stood up slowly, scanning the area as best he could in the moonlight. His legs carried him automatically toward a swift running stream situated about thirty feet to his left. Kneeling down, he cupped his hands and scooped up a handful of icy cold water. He didn´t swallow but rinsed the blood out of his mouth. After the third mouthful came out clear, he drank greedily for almost five minutes, coughing and spluttering noisily as his stomach rejected the first few mouthfuls of the refreshing liquid.

One need taken care of, Mulder considered where he was going to find shelter, for he was not stupid enough to wander aimlessly in unfamiliar surroundings in the dark. After what had happened in the woods of Northern Florida, he had vowed never to enter any woods anywhere without his own SWAT team as backup. He started walking towards the lit clearing, instinctively reaching for a weapon that was not there. As he drew closer, he could see what was a rather substantial community that filled the clearing and spilled over into the surrounding forest. Mulder stopped at the rise above the settlement, trying to gather information as to it´s make-up, clues and details about the people that lived there, if they were indeed humans and not some eight-legged, two headed, silicon based lifeform. He was inclined to think that the inhabitants were humanoid as he could ascertain no difference in the air he was currently breathing nor the water he had drunk earlier. Now that he thought about it, there was something lacking in the air and water- the smell and taste were fresher, neither contaminated by chemicals or other man made pollution that he associated with so-called civilized societies.

The buildings that filled the clearing in roughly concentric circles were simple wood dwellings, the roofs made of thatch that reminded Mulder of some quaint little English villages he had visited during his school days at Oxford. Curls of gray wispy smoke rose above most of them, carrying salivatingly delicious smells of cooking meat and freshly baked bread on the soft breeze that blew in his direction. Mulder´s mouth began watering and his stomach resumed its demand to be fed. He ignored it and continued his surveillance. To the left on the edge of the forest was a sturdily built pen that housed a couple of dozen animals of different species, Mulder recognizing small cattle and sheep, along with birds of different unknown varieties, amongst them. Alongside, several horses were tethered on long reins, grazing contentedly at the long grass that grew at their feet. *Well the animals looked normal enough, maybe this was still the planet Earth only some back-to-nature-commune type deal*

Movement down below alerted him to the fact that he was rather exposed, anyone who happened to look in his direction would see him clearly outlined against the dark of the night sky. He moved swiftly to his right, hiding behind a tree of enormous girth that towered above him. Two forms exited one of the innermost dwellings and Mulder sighed with relief when he saw that they were indeed human. They made their way towards him, swaying erratically and leaning on each other for support. They stopped only ten feet from his hiding spot and one immediately began stripping the other, ignoring the person´s pleas and unco-operative gestures, both totally oblivious to Mulder´s presence. Only when they were as naked as the day they emerged from their mothers´ wombs, did he realize that they were both of male gender, one of them at least fifty years older than his less than willing partner. Mulder was sickened by the sounds of rape taking place on the opposite side of the tree, but he couldn't move away for fear of revealing himself. The rapid grunting sounds and cries of pain soon ceased to be replaced by noises of clothes being pulled on and hurriedly arranged.

His FBI training almost overrode his body´s desire for self-preservation, causing Mulder to hesitate, to want to go to the child´s aid, to protect the child against further harm. That hesitation ultimately cost him his freedom, first costing him his favorite leather jacket and the protective splint that was still on his left hand. He was squatting down, like a runner at the starting blocks of the one hundred meters sprint, just about to launch himself upwards toward the dark woods in front of him, when he felt a large hand grasp his right ankle. He was pulled violently backwards, his head impacting with the rough bark of the tree, hard enough for him to sees stars. So hard, in fact that he briefly lost consciousness, coming around moments later to find himself face down beneath a solidly built man, minus his jacket. His left arm was twisted behind his back, the smallest finger bent at an agonizing angle and now sporting a deep, bloody cut from the zipper on his jacket´s cuff. It was held firmly in place by his assailant´s knee, while his right was effectively restrained by his own struggling body. His captor´s other leg was pinning his own to the damp, dew covered ground, leaving only his aching head free to move. Mulder searched desperately for anything, anyone, to help him escape. What he saw did nothing to improve his prospects of survival.

The boy he had heard being raped was running quickly down the hill to the village, screaming at the top of his voice and waving his leather jacket wildly. Before he reached the boundary, his shouts had penetrated the houses, rousing the villagers out of their beds, to congregate at the center near a still smoldering bonfire. The boy drew to a stop, turned and pointed back up the hill, and turned to face the gathering again as he explained what had happened. Several people grabbed lengths of wood, lighting some and handing the unlit ones to others. A group of about twenty people started walking toward the forest, those with the torches and primitive weapons at the front.

*Oh great, a lynch mob* Mulder wondered whether they would take the time to build a gallows from which to hang his body, or would they simply seat him on a horse with a noose around his neck, attached to the tree above him. *God I´ve seen too many spaghetti westerns*

As the mob reached the spot where he was being held, his captor climbed off him, keeping a bone-crushing grip on his left wrist and wrapping a muscular forearm around his throat as he yanked him to his feet.

*This guy could get a job at Quantico doing self-defense classes.* Mulder thought glumly as he struggled to get sufficient air into his lungs. He didn´t even try wriggling out of the hold for the slightest movement caused his airway to be blocked.

"What happened Hans? Did someone interrupt your fun?" A well-built, middle aged man stepped forward, an elaborately carved cane on which he leaned heavily in one hand, and a burning torch in the other, the torch coming much too close to Mulder for his comfort. He could feel the heat adding more sweat to that which all ready covered his body.

*Well at least they speak English, maybe I can use that famous Mulder gift-of the-gab that nearly always worked on Scully.*

Hans answered quickly, never relaxing his hold on Mulder.

"I was just giving the young lad instruction in the ways of the world and all of a sudden this animal comes hurtling out of the forest and attacks me." As he spoke, Mulder got a lungful of alcohol drenched air, causing him to gag involuntarily, in turn causing Hans to tighten his grip on both his throat and hand. Just as he thought that the bones in his wrist would break under the pressure, Hans relaxed his grip.

"At first I thought it was a bear or lion attacking me, until I was able to overpower it and I saw this mark of the devil." Hans jerked Mulder´s left wrist upwards, holding it tightly in front of the other man´s face. "Look at it Steven. Only those who have made a pact with the dark ones are given such evil rewards."

Steven studied the metallic and glass device on the stranger´s wrist, unwilling to touch it, for fear of what it would do. He had heard long ago about such bizarre items, spoken of in hushed whispers by his grandparents, whispers that ceased whenever he came within earshot. Looking Mulder straight in the eye, he spoke slowly, pronouncing each word as if speaking to a child.

"What is this thing, what is it´s purpose?"

"It´s a watch, it tells me the time. There´s nothing evil..." The words came out of his dry, sore throat barely louder than a whisper, before Hans´ grip tightened once more.

"Let him speak Hans. There´s no need to kill him. He may be valuable in the near future, with the annual quota due soon." Steven stepped back and resumed his questioning.

"What´s your name and where are you from?"

"Mulder and I don´t think you would know of the place I come from. As I´m not sure where I am, I´d guess you haven´t heard of America. I´m not even sure how I got here, wherever here is." Mulder sensed that even though Steven honestly didn´t want to harm him, he had nothing to gain by lying, that maybe he could even get some information from his interrogator.

Steven turned to the group behind him and spoke to a couple of unarmed men, "Take him back to the village, I wish to question him further."

He faced Mulder again and gestured to Hans to release him into the other men´s custody. "I suggest you go and get some sleep, old man. After your celebrating tonight you´re gonna have a sore head in the morning."

Hans reluctantly did as ordered, giving Mulder a solid fist to his back as a goodbye present, and headed slowly down the hill, stumbling more than once.

Mulder was quickly surrounded by his new guards, escorted to the settlement and into the largest building, a multi-roomed dwelling with thick furs covering the walls and rugs on the dirt-packed floor. A couple of people followed Steven and Mulder into the central room which was filled with roughly fashioned furniture. A large open fire was in one corner, a cast iron pot, black with soot and age, hung above it. Mulder´s escorts positioned him in front of the hearth, as Steven and the others, both older men, took their seats, talking in soft whispers amongst themselves. Mulder took the opportunity to further study his surroundings. The smell of freshly cooked and recently eaten food was driving him crazy and he was certain his hosts could hear his stomach rumbling. Looking around, he detected no sign of anything powered by electricity, no lights, no cables, no power points, not even a battery powered clock on the wall. On his journey through the small village, he had noticed a large circular piece of wood, set horizontally on top a large boulder. Sticking up through the middle of the disc was a perfectly straight length of timber, perhaps four feet high. He had dismissed it as a piece of sculpture, but now realized that it was probably a sun-dial, inert and useless during the night.

Movement to his right caused Mulder to turn his still throbbing head in that direction. A young girl came out of an adjoining room, a kitchen most likely, a large wooden tray in her small hands. She walked to the table that stood against one wall and laid the tray down. Lifting one mug at a time she passed them to Steven and his companions, trying not to look at the stranger who knelt before them, but unable to hide her curiosity. Mulder smiled at her, thinking how she reminded him of Samantha, the same shade of hair, tied in two long braids that reached almost to her waist. She wore a brown dress, laced down the back with rawhide strips. The fabric looked the same as everyone else wore, only the styles differing.

After taking several sips of the steaming liquid, Steven addressed Mulder.

"Well Mulder, it seems that your arrival in our fair village has caused some alarm. We don´t get strangers here often, especially ones who attack our old folk and carry dangerous weapons. Can that be removed?" He pointed to the watch on Mulder´s arm with a hand that Mulder realized was severely deformed, having only three stunted fingers and no thumb.

Mulder nodded and moved to unclasp the band, hoping to prove that it wasn´t as dangerous as Steven believed. Before his right hand had reached the buckle, he was grasped from behind by one of his guards.

"It´s all right Darin. Mulder would be a fool to try anything, he may be a stranger from an unknown place, but he is no fool, that much I can tell. I didn´t become govner without being able to judge people´s state of mind."

Darin released his arm and stepped away, never taking his green eyes off Mulder, almost daring him to make a move.

Mulder undid the buckle, removed the watch and held it out to Steven.

"I don´t mean you or any of your people harm. I thought the boy was in danger, I didn´t attack your friend, didn´t have a chance too. He´s pretty damn quick, even with my training."

"And what might that training be? Assassin, thief or spy?" The eldest man spoke for the first time, a man with a snowy white beard and straggly gray hair and the brightest blue eyes Mulder could remember seeing. Eyes that told of a lifetime of worry, experience and grief.

Steven had taken the watch and he turned it over, looking closely at it, pushing each button until he was satisfied that he wasn´t going to drop dead where he sat. He placed it on the arm of his chair and focused his attention once more on Mulder.

"None of those, I assure you. Where I come from, it was my job to stop the sort of people you just mentioned. I was trained to stop innocent people getting hurt, including myself. All I ask of you is shelter for tonight, food if you have any to spare and I´ll be on my way before sunrise tomorrow."

Steven consulted quietly with his two advisors, for he had not encountered a situation such as this during his leadership or even his lifetime.

"This boy is either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Surely he must know of the penalties for carrying forbidden objects such as that time-keeper, unless he really is from some far away place where such things are allowed. But I know of no such place."

Age-lined blue eyes studied Mulder momentarily and then focused on Steven.

"Before you were born, in a village not far from here a young man was found hiding in one of their outhouses, taking shelter from a wild storm. He was carrying a small box that could make drawings of whoever it was pointed at. Many of the old folk were very frightened, afraid that their very souls were being sucked out of their bodies whilst they still breathed. Despite the Law that any such person found carrying forbidden objects was to be handed over immediately to the Lord´s guards and despite the elders warnings, the villagers took a vote and decided to hide the young man, hoping to learn from him. Before the week´s end that village was burnt to the ground, all the people dead or close to death from some unknown illness."

"I´ve heard of the stories, Jakob, stories told to frighten young children, like the ones of monsters hiding in the woods, ready to eat children who don´t behave."

"He must be handed over to Captain Rajiv at once. The longer he stays here, the more danger he puts our homes and families in. Are you willing to risk the safety of your own people to save a stranger who attacked your own father?" Jakob´s voice grew louder as he tried to convince Steven of the seriousness of the situation.

From the heated argument taking place in front of him, Mulder doubted that he would be going anywhere of his own free will in the near future. He had picked up mutterings from the crowd that had brought him down the hill. Words that he had been able to decipher had sent chills running through his already shivering body--- auction, quotas needing to be met, gold exchanging hands, and Steven had also mentioned his possible value to them and the quota.

The third man spoke for the first time, not bothering to lower his voice, openly showing his disdain for the prisoner.

"After the raid by the Davidians, our stocks are dangerously low, especially with winter coming on. The reward we will earn by obeying the Law and turning him over to Master Rajiv will allow us to buy grain and wood to rebuild what those thugs destroyed. He may even release us from this year´s quota as an extra bonus."

Steven closed his eyes briefly, trying to come to a decision, almost wishing he had turned down the leadership of his home village when it had been offered five years previously. Deciding that there was only one decision that could be made, he looked at Mulder, burying his misgivings and regrets deep inside.

"You are rather brave to be making such demands, considering your current position. You had better learn quickly that what you want doesn´t matter anymore, your chances of survival, slim already, will be greatly improved if you accept that." Steven told him in a cold, unemotional voice.

After another brief discussion with his two deputies, as Mulder now thought of them, Steven spoke to Darin, "Take him down to the holding cellar, give him food and water."

Mulder was pulled to his feet, his hands bound with rope behind his back and herded outside. The crowd still huddled in the open area, despite the chill in the air, curious about this new arrival. They parted like the Red Sea, allowing the party of three clear passage. Mulder spotted the young boy in the crowd, proudly wearing his leather jacket, the sleeves hanging inches past his fingertips. He watched as Hans appeared in a doorway, a very suggestive smile on his weathered face. The old man took a few shaky steps in his direction, and Mulder thought he was in for more abuse from his original captor. However Hans only had eyes for his young student, and reaching out, he grabbed the boy´s arm, dragging him back to the hut, obviously preparing to continue what Mulder had interrupted. The boy showed no signs of resistance, too entranced by the jacket´s zipper, even as Hans undid his tanned breeches.

He was taken to the far side of the village, opposite from where he had been captured. His guards halted near a foul smelling area, and Darin bent down and raised a latticed trapdoor, revealing a hole barely three feet square and seven feet deep, the sides made of slimy, fungus infested wood, three or four inches of putrid smelling water covering the bottom. The other man loosened the ropes, positioned his hands in front of him and retied them leaving a long piece of the thick, coarse rope free. Mulder didn´t need to be told what to do, the hole in front of him would obviously be his bedroom for what was left of the night. He climbed in, trying to find a comfortable position and discovered after just one hour of being forced to stand on tip-toes, that one didn´t exist.

Darin had dropped the lid and taking the rope end from his silent companion, jerked Mulder´s hands above his head, quickly securing them to the crossbars of the hole´s lid. They had then placed heavy rocks on each corner and walked off, Darin rather satisfied with their efforts, his partner less so.

"Steven is not gonna be pleased if his goods get damaged. He´s hoping to get top price for that bit of meat from Rajiv tomorrow."

"Yeah well , we´re just makin´ sure he don´t go nowhere before then."

**********

Casting Chamber
CARTERIUS CASTLE
Pre-Dawn

As Fox reached a point approximately halfway along the tunnel, a blinding flash of light spread instantaneously through the formally semi-darkened chamber, followed almost simultaneously by an enormous peel of thunder. Morten reacted instinctively, placing one hand over his eyes to block out the penetrating light. When he removed his hand only a second later, Fox was gone, only the rapidly fading outline of his aura as evidence that he had formally occupied that bit of the cosmos.

Morten collapsed; exhaustion of mind, body and spirit finally taking its toll, he fell in a boneless heap to the cold stone floor. The temperature in the small chamber had plummeted, leaving him shivering uncontrollably even though his body was still drenched with sweat.

Knowing that something had gone drastically wrong, he pulled himself slowly to his feet, putting one weak hand on the cot to steady himself. His fingers brushed cool skin, soft, delicate skin that he took a long few seconds to recognize as belonging to Lady Kaneesha, his mistress and the third participant in the ritual. Looking down at her still, naked body he had to fight an overwhelming urge to mount her there and then, to plunge into her warm, available body , to give himself the sort of release and pleasure she so often denied him. Her breasts were firm peaks, topped with dusky brown nipples that called to him to taste, to suck, to bite. Performing rituals always left him drained emotionally and physically but extremely sexually aroused. His previous audiences had always been his teachers, old men, the elders of his village guiding him in the ancient rites and rituals. They would release the energy the ritual built up in a frenzied orgy of masturbation, by hand and mouth, another young apprentice swallowing the seed that would shoot from Morten's cock, believing it to be endowed with the very essence and power of the Gods. He was so highly aroused it was painful. He took his hard cock in hand and with only three or four short pumps, came explosively, thick white cum splattering the intricate design drawn on the floor.

He looked around the now darkened room, not quite believing what had happened to disrupt the drawing ceremony. All of the candles were now unlit, many laying on their sides as if some wild wind had blown through the room--- the windowless, draught-free room. Ancient scrolls were scattered about under the table and cot, blackened edges curling and turning to ash as he picked them up.

Turning once more to his mistress and not trusting his self-control, he merely covered her with her robe. Under better circumstances he would have bathed Kaneesha, removing the special dyes and markings, bringing the ritual to an end and severing the link between himself, Kaneesha and Fox. He had no idea what the effect of an interrupted drawing would be, though he was fairly certain that Kaneesha's spirit had not followed Fox's, wherever his had gone. He also somehow knew that Fox had been dragged against his will into this world, appearing suddenly somewhere with next to no hope of being able to return home. He hoped Fox had *landed* somewhere isolated, having first hand knowledge of how his people reacted to apparently magical events, many of them deeply superstitious, believing in and fearing ancient gods and demons. They were very likely to believe that he was some sort of devil, come to punish the village for some minor transgression.

He still didn't understand why he felt so protective of the stranger, a stranger whose sole reason for being summoned was to take his own place in Kaneesha's bed, banishing him to the fields or woods or worst to the dreaded mines as a mere slave, like so many before him. Maybe it was the fact that Kaneesha (and by association, himself) were just like the slave traders he despised so much, using other people as possessions, people with feelings and lives and families, dragged unwillingly away from all they knew and thrust into life-long slavery, serving cruel masters who cared not whether they lived or died. Although he was certain that Fox would have died without their interference, he was beginning to think that maybe death would be kinder than the life Fox faced as Kaneesha's slave. Morten had admired the stranger's calm acceptance of his impending death, amazed at Fox's steady walk to his execution.

During his time at Carterius Castle, he had witnessed a few public floggings and one beheading that left him with nightmares for days after. The condemned man had been dragged, screaming and struggling to the main courtyard where the punishment was carried out in front of every slave and servant, regardless of age, as a deterrent to further rebellious behavior. It took six of the overseers to force the slave to his knees in front of a wooden structure consisting of two upright posts supporting a huge gleaming blade that reflected the mid-summer sun in a dozen directions. He had been unable to watch the execution, barely able to hold onto the contents of his stomach as he heard the blade fall, a shower of blood splattering the slaves closest to the platform. For the first time in his life, he cursed the *gift* that linked him with other minds. He had felt the slave's fear and panic, an overwhelming flood of emotion that threatened to destroy his mind. Only the years of training and practice as a child enabled him to put up a fragile shield to protect himself from the pain he knew he would experience when the blade was released. Even through the shield, Morten still felt the blade slice through his neck, severing his head. He'd had to put up one trembling hand to assure himself that his head was still attached to his sweat drenched body.

After trying unsuccessfully to awaken his mistress, he dressed quickly, lifted her unresisting body into his arms and carried her out the door. Weak, dawn sunlight was filtering in through the windows and skylights, alerting him to the fact that the castle's inhabitants would soon awaken, and he had no reasonable explanation as to why he was carrying his unconscious mistress in a little used part of the vast fortress. Somehow he had to get them back to the safety of Kaneesha's rooms without being seen. *The tunnel* he thought, his feet unconsciously taking him in that direction even though he was unsure as to whether the secret passageway, one of dozens hidden throughout the massive, ancient building, was still accessible. He had never actually been there before, but the same gift that allowed him to probe people's minds let him visualize the location that Kaneesha had described.

He turned down the second corridor he came to, entering a dark hallway that sloped slightly downwards, its rough stone floor slippery with a faintly glowing moss that flourished between the cracks, able to survive with almost no sunlight. The air was still and musty, unlike the inhabited parts of the castle that were subject to almost constant draughts. The sunlight from the corridor faded gradually as he made his way down the slope until he was left with just the natural light from the moss to guide his steps. He knew that he could find the tunnel entrance blindfolded for he was following his mind's eye, trusting the images he could see as if they hovered just in front of his face.

CONTINUED