“And I laid me down in that place to sleep: And I as I slept I dreamed a dream…”
John Bunyan



The Past

They carried their prize like victors, proud with their achievement. The enemy was vanquished, his body hung limp between the polls that they bore on their shoulders. Their feet tramped with a solid steady rhythm, their pace long and loping. Bushes, shrubbery, trees passed them by quickly; their legs pounded the dirt with ease. They were dressed in loose clothing; several did not possess shirts of any kind. A few were bandaged in a haphazard way, as if time had not been given for a proper wound wrapping. None carried any weapons of any kind, indeed, it appeared as if they were the weapon. Their skin was dark, with a distinctive red tint, almost as if blood had been smeared over their solid bodies.

The sky was dawning, what little light that did stream over the eastern hills pierced the clear, cloudless sky with arrow straight bravado. The leader of the party paused to consider; his men would be hot and sticky with salty sweat, drawing flies that would swarm, and bight like they had the days before Grunting slightly, the leader continued to pause on the top of a large hill, surveying the prospects ahead. Everyone crowded around to get a glimpse of the valley before them, for it was beautiful to the eyes. Trees of enormous height stood on either side of the party, and the dirt path they ran on was dark, and red with clay. The leader of the band motioned silently, and the pace was resumed. Down the long sloped hillside they loped, ferrying their cargo.


The prisoner stirred, slightly, so slightly that his movement went unnoticed amongst the swaying of his body with the movement of his captors. His hands, and feet were tied to two polls, and he hung belly down, his face a mere three feet from the red ground. His back bore a half-inch wide scar, running from the base of his neck to the top of his waist, and it stood out on his grey skin. There were other scars, and some newly acquired welts. His ritualistically shaven head hung low, lolling around with the rough movements of his captors. Several swollen lumps showed where he had been brutally struck to keep him unconscious, his captors not wishing him aware of his surroundings. Last time he had awoken, his mistake had been to move. This time he would not, another welt was not something he desired.

There were twenty of them; he could feel them easily. Five in front, eight spread in a circle, four holding him up, and three in back. It was a lot for a man in his condition to even think about escaping from. But yet he thought. Death awaited him at the parties destination, he knew this too well.





It was noon now; the party had stopped. The prisoner hung suspended between four trees, he was not allowed a chance to walk around, eat, or relieve himself. His captors despised him; they hated him with every molecule in their bodies. If they had not received specific orders to capture him alive, they would have killed him many times over.
Indeed, they knew how to kill more than once, the art of keeping a body on the very edge of life, and bringing it back was not a new concept to them; they had perfected it.

All of them but two were clustered around an obscenely large cooking fire, greedily grilling some creature one of them had taken down. Their captive had been given an extra thump on the head for good measure just before they went to eat. No use in taking chances was their reasoning behind such actions.

He drew on his seventh sense ever so slightly, hoping that they were not monitoring him too closely. No one shouted a warning - his action had gone unobserved. All were too busy gratifying their stomachs.

Now was as good a time as any, the captive thought. Lunging, he pulled at his bonds, and they shattered without hesitation. Falling to the ground, he rolled to one knee and looked up, his coal black eyes staring holes into his two “guards”. They died with their mouths open, staring at him. A quick glance toward the fire showed that only one man had looked over to see what he had felt. That man found himself within the midst of the fire, both legs broken. With his screams as the accompaniment, a dance began.

With a massive draw, the being punched, and sent the entire knot of eating beings tumbling. Bodies went forward, several suffered massive bone shattering. A crude method, but he was tired, and incapable of concentrating to the extent that he could deal with the entire group at once. This was simply a separation move, to allow him to focus on small groups of his enemies.

A wave at two rising foes promptly petrified them where they stood, now to forever be statues. Two more died with their eyes, ears, and mouth burning with fire - and yet three more simply exploded. Then the others were on top of him, piling on, pummeling him, attempting to block his power. They jumped on him, bearing him to the ground through their sheer weight.

He would have none of it. He drew deep, and flung his enemies from him. Turning, he swung his hand, and accelerated the speed of his arm. The blow connected with the side of a man’s head, and continued, right through the skull. With a gesture of a finger, a sapling was torn from the ground, and flew to his palm. An oncoming enemy was disemboweled with the crude weapon, another received a broke back from a backhand blow.

And they came, again. This time, he was subdued, an accelerated rock striking a blow to the back of his head - sending him to the land of the sleeping.

Another morning dawned bright, and clear. Yet no clouds floated overhead to cover the brilliant emerald sky, no sign of reprieve from the constant heat. The group was utterly tired, their numbers having been further reduced to seven; the death of two during a night time escape attempt. They had died silently; an unnatural heart stilling induced with a slight change of the nervous system. What had once been a two-day journey down the side of the mountain had become a four-day slow trek through hell.

As the weariness failed to work its way out of their tired muscles, the group began to get frustrated. Their prisoner made no attempts to struggle, refusing to speak even to answer their most pointed insults - he walked compliantly along. He was successful in his few actions against them, yet when bound he performed no act that deserving painful punishment. Even the leader was becoming irritated at his inability to retaliate in any real way. His lord wanted the man alive, and in good condition. And his lord would know if he hurt the man while bound. Yet they could not continue to loose fellow soldiers this way, soon there would only be him, and none of them. Seven men had to take shifts carrying him, four on and two off; the leader clearing any obstructions out of their way.

The land about them was lush, and fertile; under normal circumstances any one of these seven men would have considered beginning a plantation here. The well-worn path they followed often split off into other side paths through the now waist high grass. It was a hormung path, beaten into submission and an almost rock like surface from the massive weight of the animal. Traveling in herds, yet in single file these beasts made many a useful trail for people to use later – after the herd had left the area. The dirt their feet slapped against was now a deep brown, the clay of the upper regions giving way to the rich, deep topsoil that made the valley’s turn into paradises. The ground would grow even more fertile when the group reached the bottom of the mountain, where their village resided.

Each man envisioned their village, and their own home. It would be good to be back, they had been on the warpath for months now. Their wives, children, and pets awaited them at their village – only this cursed enemy was slowing them down.


The object of their scorn hung in his tremendously uncomfortable position, his eyes closed, head lolling. The pace set by the leader was no longer the long lope, for there were no others to grab the poles when the bearers became tired. Instead it was an easy walk, easy and long for the bearers, easy and long for the born. He was hurting now, the swollen welts on his head more numerous than they had been before. His face was undamaged, but the back of his head was a mass of black, blue, and red lumps. In three places the skin was broken, and covered with a new, thick scab. But, in truth, these were not the source of his true pain. The true pain stemmed from his back, and shoulders. The constant jostling, and the sheer pain of being hung belly down by all four limbs was slowly wearing down his mind, and he was forced to realize that even if he did escape, he would be unable to walk back to his home. He would be unable to travel back without many days rest, if then.

He had to escape; death awaited him at their destination. Certain death. Even escape was not totally necessary, significant delay would suffice. His people would follow, and attempt a rescue. He was certain of that. His signature could be traced by any of the Pu’ti for dozens of miles with ease. In all probability his enemies knew this too, though the being had not seen much in the way of any evasion. Nor did he sense any. Demoralization was his first priority; swarms of ants at night would keep anyone awake. Rocks pushing out of the ground right beneath while you slept caused cramps during the day, all day. Two men limped now because of that very technique. Subtle things like this made men loose the desire to continue carrying a man day in, and day out. Constant heat had been something he had ensured just before he had been captured, no simple feat that.

A rescue would occur, that he knew to be true. An explosion of pain lit his vision up, blinding him to all but the white, visual representation of pain. As he blacked out, something in the back of his head told him not to twitch next time…

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Damn you.” The sound floated across the being’s mind, only slowly registering as a spoken phrase with his brain.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Damn you, you and your people.” One eye opened painfully slow, it was a fight against the swelling to even open it a hair. Memory slowly came back, a rescue attempt, a search party, a battle. The details were a blur.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Damn you.” The voice spoke with unbridled rage, and fervor. Vision slowly returned, the being’s eye focused upon the ceiling of where he was held. It was a craggy surface, made of stone. Un-carved, a few outcroppings showed that his current resting place was a cave of some sort. The sounds he had been hearing slowly focused in his mind, and he realized that he was being addressed. The silence that was now around him told that a response was expected.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp With difficulty the being opened his mouth, and forced a few short words out of his beaten, and battered lips. “You … … damn … me?”
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Yes.” Came the instant reply. “Yes, I damn you, and your people. Your actions, and your cursed planet.”
The being opened his lips again, and croaked a reply. His vocal chords were tight, and his throat was dry. “ … By … what … … p … power …”
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “By my own power, Pu’ti. By my own power do I damn you. I shall bring this curse about.



&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Swift footsteps faded into oblivion, the speaker had left. The being seemed to collapse, the effort of speaking having drained the little energy he had. The arms of the deep came to him like a lover in the night, urging him to join her in sweet, blissful sleep. Yet, he resisted. Out of sheer willpower the being forced his swollen, battered eyes open, and forced them to focus upon his surroundings. It was indeed a cave he was in. The ceiling was un-carved stone, in a cathedral like shape.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp With great pain the being turned his head to the left, and right taking in his surroundings. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to lay still, to rest and heal. Yet he insisted upon shifting his bruised torso to move, to allow his eyes to evaluate the situation. It appeared he was lying in the center of a great natural cave; the walls were cloaked in shadows all around. A dim, steady light glowed white upon various surfaces. Sunlight, no doubt, meaning he was not far from the entrance of the cave.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He attempted to move his feet, and arms, but found himself bound down. He was lying on his back, chained to an elevated surface. Again the arms of oblivion reached for him, but he shunned it. His memory was beginning to clear. There had been a rescue attempt by his people, yet they had been beaten back. The enemy had sent out a powerful scouting party to search for the late band of men he had been the prisoner of . He winced as the sight of four of his people dying horrible deaths flashed across his mind. He had been swiftly rendered powerless upon the commencement of the battle, thus he knew little.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp But what he did know was that he was held captive, captive of a man who was determined to kill him. And, escape was paramount. Testing with the seventh sense, the being found to his horror that he was blocked. He could feel everything, yet manipulation was impossible. Forcing a blow to the ceiling that would have pulverized a boulder returned no action. An attempt to enter a healing sleep yielded no fruit. All attempts at doing anything other than simple body motions were refused. For a solid ten minutes the being fought lady sleep, and worked to escape. Finally, with a slight sigh he relaxed, almost resigning himself to his fate. Oblivion crept up to him again, and he embraced her.