A moment short of closing his eyes to sleep, he glimpsed movement at the top of the hill opposite. The same hill he had just searched for so long. Sleep was suddenly a long way from his mind and he swivelled and opened his pack at a great pace. Retrieving the binoculars was a movement in itself and the glasses came to his eyes at speed. Again he searched. Again he saw nothing. The greyness of dusk was now playing tricks with even the simplest form in the forest above. He looked to the woods one last time, before satisfying himself that the unfamiliar surroundings were giving him needless worries and playing with his imagination. His mind recalled the monsters he’d dealt with under his bed as a small boy and the Outlocked he imagined invading his room after his first experience with them. As they were then, he was certain they were also now, all in his mind. Callen packed his back pack again and lay his head upon it. This time there were no images glimpsed in the forest above, this time his eyes closed peacefully and in a very short time he lay sleeping.
Callen was startled awake with fire in his eyes. Torches from wood, ablaze with light that dripped as the flames burnt and lit up the darkness. There were screams and cries around him. He was surrounded by as many as twelve warring Outlocked. They were dressed as he remembered them and they attacked and terrified as he remembered them. They seemed to come from all directions and he had little option but to lie without struggle as they dropped to him. He was ripped from his pack and his arms were twisted harshly behind his back before a rough length of twine secured his hands. Bound and helpless he got to look at his attackers properly for the first time.
An older male came forward and tore away the rags Callen had been wearing over his own clothes. He then ripped off the shirt Callen wore in a display that signalled complete domination of the captured subject. With a laugh, the Outlock man put the shirt on treating it as a wonder and a thing of curiosity. He was showing great delight at his prize. Around Callen’s neck hung his crystal. It was studied for a moment by the male taking the lead in proceedings, before he tried to rip it away. The polymer carbon micro chain held firm and the disgruntled Outlocked warrior was forced to lift the crystal pendant conventionally over Callen’s head. He handed it to one of his tribe, before taking a healthy handful of Callen’s hair. With no other assistance, he lifted his prisoner to his feet. The man, who seemed to be the group’s leader, stood a good six feet tall. He deliberately studied Callen’s face. He took a hand and roughly framed Callen’s jaw, digging his fingers into the surrounding flesh and stressing the natural hinge. Callen was pushed hard to be caught and stood back on his feet by others of the hunting party. A bone, sharpened as if it was a steel knife was pressed menacingly into Callen’s throat. Callen pushed backwards into those holding him. His display of terror seemed to register with the group’s leader, who smiled and then slowly lowered the blade. Initially Callen was pleased to have his throat out of danger, but the hand holding that primitive dagger continued past his chest and stomach, coming to rest against the front of his pants. Callen began to shake.
“No, please,” was all he could manage to say.
The man snickered before bringing the knife again to Callen’s chest. He pressed the point to Callen’s breast and made a shallow cut, only enough to bring pain and the colouring of blood. Callen’s quest for answers now seemed very poorly conceived. Perhaps his nagging doubts about these people came, not from some misunderstanding of them, but from the fact he was seven years old when he first encountered them and was therefore viewed with charitable eyes. Now fully grown, he was finding their behaviour, every bit as terrifying as he’d ever been led to believe.
A hessian bag that carried the smell of dampness and the birth of mould was placed over Callen’s head and tied around his neck. He could just see the ground below and this, along with the filtered light passing through the material, would be the only thing he’d see for the next two days.
Callen was walked, hardly fed and given small amounts to drink. He complained bitterly about the need to go to the toilet, but his requests were ignored or not understood, he wasn’t sure which. When he finally relieved himself there was laughter from some of those leading him to nowhere, and within an hour he was guided to a deep pool along the river, into which he was thrown to rinse out his putrid clothes. A long piece of twine anchored him to the bank and it was quickly tugging him out of the water. As he emerged, he struggled to bring his pants back to his waist and when he reached dry land with them only just above his knees one of the more charitable Outlocked gave him assistance.
Nightfall came and he was left some distance from his captors. He fell asleep quickly, only to be cruelly woken within a moment. The night continued in this frustrating manner, Callen desperate to sleep and not being allowed. The Outlocked were torturing him for sport. When morning came Callen was close to tears brought about through exhaustion and the mental anguish of wanting nothing but rest; rest that would not be granted.
Again the twine dug into his wrists as it was wrenched forward, indicating he needed to pick up speed and walk faster. Callen had passed the point of being terrified by his ordeal; he was now in total submission. He wasn’t worrying about what was to come, because his mind was fully occupied with what he was currently enduring. He needed sleep and had already decided this whole adventure should end as soon as he could find a way to return to his own world.
Camp was made and rather than being tied nearby, as a dinner and fire were enjoyed, Callen became the focus of some kind of bizarre sport. He was pushed and shoved from one of the party to another, occasionally to be brought to the ground in a wrestler’s hold. His skin was grazed and his muscles bruised by the time the torturous session ended and his hatred and fear of these people had risen as a result.
He was tied up for the night as the group settled some distance away, but his hopes of getting rest disappeared when he was made to stand, something Callen wasn’t sure he’d be able to do for very long. Twice he tried to sit and twice an Outlocked ran to force him to his feet. With nothing to do but stand and think about how exhausted he was, Callen began to test his restraints. He hadn’t noticed until now, but his wrists had more room to move. He could actually swivel one of them almost entirely around. The twine holding him captive had obviously worked its way loose during the earlier tournament. Within a few more minutes the bonds behind Callen’s back came off his wrists. He took a gamble and tilted his head forward as he loosened the hood over his face. Callen felt a surge of hope when none of those off at the distant campsite made any moves to come and do the hood back up. They were unaware of his small freedom.
He crouched slightly, lifting one of his feet at the same time in order to undo the ropes around his feet. Callen was now clear of any restraints and while the Outlocked were eating and enjoying themselves around their campfire, he decided it was his best chance to escape. Slowly he turned and walked into the night. The moment he passed beyond the reach of the flickering light from the campfire, he ran. He ran as fast as he’d ever run before.
The ground under foot was that of a sandy dessert. The same ground he’d seen when he first began his journey into this world. All Callen could think about was escaping this land and returning to the city.
A cry went up from the Outlocked camp and Callen didn’t need it explained. His captors had discovered their prisoner missing. He was making good progress and had put much distance between himself and his pursuers. He decided to hide and let them pass. He had no idea where he was or where he was going and he rightly assumed that those chasing him would know the land better than him. He squatted down behind a large shelf of rock and peered into the dark distance as the Outlocked followed his trail. He didn’t think they’d bother with him as a prisoner a second time. Surely the trouble he’d caused would earn him a harsher punishment. The Outlocked passed by with screams and the sounds of hard running steps from their bare feet. Callen’s relief was immeasurable. He relaxed slightly and exhaled.
His relief lasted no more than thirty seconds as
the Outlocked swarmed back towards him. They had lost none of their number and were obviously aware he’d hidden in an attempt to lose them. Callen held his breath as the Outlocked listened intently to every sound coming from the still night. He didn’t dare move an inch. He was like a human mobile, balanced perfectly in the position he’d formed. The Outlocked came closer. They were searching hard and Callen knew he was about to be found. He began to run again. The chase was back on in earnest and without his healthy lead those chasing quickly caught up to him. They swung around in front cutting him off. Callen changed course and was again quickly headed. Finally he ran and seemed to stay ahead.
He came to the base of a steep incline and headed up the side of the slope. The surface underfoot was loose rock. The ground moved and sorted itself as his feet passed over it. And then he recognised the slope. It was almost a cliff. Above him, over slightly to one side, was an opening. This was his mountain. He was looking at the entrance to the old man’s cave. His assent slowed as the screams of those chasing grew louder. A couple of the Outlocked began to climb after him. But Callen wasn’t continuing. He turned and watched the Outlocked below. He watched them chant and scream and throw spears that whistled to the sides of him. He watched the few trying to follow him up the slope and noted what incredibly poor climbers they were. He remembered how easily they’d passed him only a short time before, when he’d chosen any path but the path that led to this point. Here he was, after a full twenty four hours journey away and two days travel back, exactly where he began, chased by people who couldn’t have known his starting point, unless they were organised. Callen was certain he was right about these people and he decided there and then to risk his life to prove it. He sat down and calmly looked to those below.
The Outlocked increased their ferocity. The two who had begun to follow up the slope, dug in with their hands, but made little progress. As their ascent became more activity than progression, Callen’s confidence grew. A volley of spears sailed through the dark of night and hit all points below where he sat.
“You’re not very good with those things,” he called, provoking only more effort from his attackers.
Sitting quietly and trying not to show concern, Callen wore his pursuers down. Their cries quietened until they ceased altogether. Not another spear was thrown.
Silence reigned. This was a situation the Outlocked had no plans for.
“I’ve been here before. When I was younger,” Callen said.
He now had their full attention and each one seemed to show great concern about what was unfolding.
“I was hurt and someone here stitched me up. When I got home, they tried to tell me they were stitches from a city doctor, but they weren’t city stitches.”
No one said a word for quite some time. The Outlocked watched Callen who was suddenly cool and in control. He’d played his trump card and it had proven a valuable one. The group turned in on themselves. They spoke in hushed tones, occasionally their heated debate rose in volume, only to be brought back down to a more private level. They only ever broke ranks for an occasional glance towards the young man sitting on the loose rocks above.
Eventually the circled conference broke up and the leader of the group, still wearing Callen’s shirt, began to speak.
“You can’t stay here,” he said in a manner that was a far cry from the very base language he’d been using previously.
“Why not?” Callen asked.
“Go back to the city,” the leader said in a stern tone.
Callen could see this was a serious matter for the man. But the dynamics between them had changed and Callen knew it.
“I came to get answers. Once I’ve got them, I’ll go back. Not before.”
“You’ll get no answers here,” the man said, regaining some of his assertiveness.
From behind him, a young woman sharply tapped his shoulder and he swung around to listen to her speak. The man turned again to look at Callen and then back to the young woman. He nodded his head and signalled for two of his group to climb up the slope and capture Callen. Callen shook his head in disbelief.
“We’re passed that, aren’t we?” he asked, trying to return to the conversation that the young women had brought to an end.
“Yes, we are,” said the man and before Callen realised, the two men moving up the slope had almost reached him. Callen had momentarily dropped his guard.
“Don’t let him get to the opening,” came the cry from below.
Callen was suddenly fully aware that this time, the chase was real. He reached the tunnel to the old man’s cave and scrambled to make the entrance. It was still a tight fit and he began to inch his way along. Strong firm hands wrapped themselves around his ankles. His progress halted. A moment later it reversed and he was dragged out of the tunnel by the two chasing him and all three slid all the way down the slope to the level ground.
Callen stood, again the chill of danger surging through him. The man in charge of the group came forward; he took off Callen’s shirt and handed it back to him in a very civilised gesture. Callen wasted no time in putting it on.
“I hope you don’t regret getting your answers,” said the man, before he walked off towards the camp that had a fire still burning in wait for them. Hands were taken off Callen and instead of being forced, he was given the opportunity to walk by himself. He did so, although the group positioned themselves around him making him very aware he was now genuinely their prisoner.
Chapter 9.
At the camp fire Callen was shown to an area within the group where he could make himself a bed. He lay down to sleep, something he hadn’t been allowed to do for almost two days. The young woman, who had interjected to her leader before Callen was caught, came to him. She handed over his crystal pendant.
“I thought you might want this back,” she said, passing it to him.
As she did, she smiled and for the first time Callen realised how beautiful she was.
“My name’s Eve,” she said softly, unsure if she should be speaking to him at all. “His name,” indicating the leader of the group with a nod of her head, “Is Ky and he won’t let anything happen to you,”
“I’m Callen,” he said, staring. Eve couldn’t have been more than seventeen years old. She smiled again, this time with some slight embarrassment, before she moved away to find her own resting place. Callen watched her settle down. He then closed his eyes and slept. It was a sound sleep that restored him in every way. He hardly even moved until a hand on his shoulder shook him awake with the rising of the sun.
Callen rubbed his eyes and sat with a stretch. The others were up and packing their few belongings into large flaps within their clothing. A meal was being prepared. Hard crusty flat bread was baked over the fire. Callen was handed a piece and he ate. While the crust was a good replica of the crust from a synthetic loaf, the soft bread centre was missing. Eve wandered quietly up to Callen as he ate. She sat beside him on the ground. She took out a small clay pot and took off the material being used as a lid. It was jam. Uneven in consistency, but the smell was remarkable, stronger and sweeter than anything Callen had smelt before. Eve dug some of the jam out with her finger and placed it upon Callen’s half eaten crust. He smiled and thanked her as he slipped it into his mouth. His body shuddered as the flavours reached him. The jam had a taste so extreme he thought it must be an unfamiliar fruit. Eve was surprised by his excitement. The jam was raspberry, a fairly ordinary berry at the best of times and one she was sure the city was able to produce. Callen calmed himself, raspberry was a long way from unusual to him. What he didn’t explain was that the jam he knew, tasted nothing like the full flavoured jam he was now eating.
He asked Eve for another serve, trying not to sound too eager. She happily held the pot up for Callen to help himself. He took two giant fingers full and spread it thickly on the small piece of crusty bread he had remaining. The jam oozed over the sides and as he took a bite, he had to snap at the last remaining piece to stop a huge dollop thr
eatening to jump from its side. He chewed the sticky substance for some time and savoured every moment of the taste as it reached all corners of his mouth. Eve watched him and smiled before giving out a slightly embarrassed laugh. Callen smiled back as he swallowed his mouthful, but Eve never once lost her awkward stare. Finally she reached forward and ran the side of her finger up against Callen’s cheek. She held up her trophy for him to see, a sizeable portion of jam that had missed its target. Now it was Callen’s turn to look embarrassed. It was a moment of innocence that quickly came to an end when Eve moved her finger to Callen’s lips. He looked concerned at the provocative gesture, a gesture that Eve never backed away from. She smiled warmly as Callen nervously opened his mouth, just wide enough to let her finger enter. He closed his lips and took the jam from her with his tongue, before Eve slid her moistened finger from his mouth.
Callen stared at this girl; a girl from another land who felt no fear about initiating physical contact with him in front of other people. Callen was in awe of her and felt great disappointment when she moved away. He sat and stared as she began to bury the smouldering ashes from the night’s fire. Occasionally she would look to him to see if he was still looking and on these occasions Callen would quickly dart his eyes away, but it was clear, he was very interested in everything she did.
Inner City Page 8
