Martyn Vaughan - The Cave of Shadows

Four men sat in the central area of a vast yurt in the village of Interlaken in what had once been Switzerland. From various sites in the area one could admire the mighty peaks of the Eiger, Monck and Jungfrau, now utterly devoid of snow and ice. Of course, no-one referred to them by those names anymore. The old names given by the Degenerates had been swept away and replaced by honorifics of the virile warlords who had carved out new realms from the festering corpse of the despised Old Ways.

The four men did not wish to waste time admiring mere slabs of rock and moraine: they had grander things to consider. They were in an ebullient mood – there was the feeling abroad that new conquests were in the offing; new peoples to conquer and enslave.

The four men were not from the highest ranks of the Protectorate: they were merely the rulers of medium-sized satraps. No, they had been chosen for their organising abilities and thus it was to them that the Great Khan had given the honour of carrying to completion this particular one of the many plans his fertile mind had produced. They knew that he would be bountiful if success should crown their endeavours. They, or their children, or their children’s children would be given many gifts, including the selection of the choicest women from the ranks of the Degenerates.

Maroun spoke first.

‘Well Korok, what is the current situation? Report.’

A large, heavy-boned man gave a smile that somehow portrayed menace and said ‘All is well. Our army grows stronger by the day.’ Korok’s deep voice conveyed the feeling of great rocks grinding together.

Gang Jianguo gave him a sharp look from hooded eyes.

‘Fine words Korok but this is not a matter for levity or overconfidence. Our people long once again to feel the scimitar in their hands. Without opponents, without enemies to crush, they will grow soft. The vices of the Degenerates will once again take root and grow, eventually dimming and draining the virility of our warriors.’

His voice rose to a strong timbre and he once again recited his favourite quote:

‘“Man’s greatest fortune is to chase and defeat his enemy, seize his possessions, leave his married women weeping and wailing, ride his gelding, use the bodies of his women as night-shirts and supports, gazing upon and kissing their rosy breasts, sucking their lips which are as sweet as the berries of their breasts.”’.

The others showed their appreciation of the famous words by beating their thighs with their palms and then after their display of approval had subsided, Rocha nodded.

‘Pity, compassion, forgiveness will rise again. The morality of the slave, the deceits of the prisoner who begs for compassion so he can avoid the sharp steel of his master’s wrath, will fester and spread. Those days of grovelling cowardice must not return. Those so-called men who in their filth became little better than women; who indeed in the end wanted to become like women and grow breasts and give suck.’

The group of four almost shuddered at that grotesque image and tried to put aside all thoughts of the unutterable crimes of the Degenerates.

Maroun brought the meeting back to order and nodded to Gang to continue his questioning.

‘Your people – is their obedience total? Can they be trusted in all things?’

Korok gave another of his fearful smiles. The other three were unmoved: they were not afraid of smiles.

‘They are mine to command in all things,’ he said in his firm, powerful voice, ’I could cast a trinket into the furnace and order them to retrieve it and they would not hesitate. They are mine.’

‘I take you to mean that they belong to the Great Khan,’ Maroun corrected, ‘He hears everything and will not tolerate prideful arrogance in inferiors.’

Korok bowed his head; his face as penitential as he could make it.

‘I am a humble minion in the Protectorate,’ he assured the others, ‘If the Great Khan threw a trinket into the furnace and commanded me to retrieve it I would do so.’

The others appeared to be mollified.

‘And when do you begin?’

‘In four weeks.’

‘And you are ready to accompany them?’

Korok risked a smile again.

‘I am. I will be the Great Khan’s eyes and ears. And if necessary, his fatal scimitar.’

Maroun seemed satisfied at last.

‘It is approved. You shall be their leader. You shall be he who wields the scimitar of the Great Khan. Go Korok – greatness awaits your spirit.’

Korok rose, bowed and left the central area to meet their very different destinies.

Jon could not quite remember when he had first begun to wonder if there was something wrong with The Universe. It had lain at the bottom of his mind like a sleeping worm for a long time: now it was beginning to stir and rise to the mind’s hitherto calm surface. There was something wrong with the world – but what was it?

He looked around: things were as he remembered them – lush, tropical foliage, heavily bedewed with the recent thunderous downpour; tree ferns swaying slightly in a gentle breeze and rising up, up in mighty wooden columns; the akaro trees, rising so high that Jon thought that they must puncture the great crimson sky itself.

Everything seemed normal; as it should be – but there was that worm, that worm that whispered in his ear: This is not right. Things are not as they should be. You must remember.

Jon shrugged mentally: this was not helping him catch a meal. He knew the world of moving things was divided sharply into two types: the six-footed things that usually ran away from him into the forest and he, himself, the only creature that walked on two legs and (occasionally) spoke.

Now was one of those times.

‘Come on Jon – this is no time for dreaming. This won’t catch a kabarra.’

But he stopped again and sat down heavily on a fallen log.

Jon.

That was his name – but how had he known that? Why should he be called anything? There was no-one to call that name; no-one for him to answer to.

Why should he have a name?

He shook his head as if trying to throw off the cobwebs that were clouding his brain. These thoughts – he had not had them yesterday – why should he have them today?

Why only yesterday – ?

He stopped.

What about yesterday?

He suddenly realised that he could not remember anything that had happened yesterday; it was if there had never been a yesterday; as if he had sprung fully formed into this world. A cold shiver of fear swept up his spine and he hung on to the log to stop himself falling.

This was madness – he was going mad. Of course, there had been a yesterday, just like there would be a tomorrow and a day after that.

This had to stop! He jerked himself upright and reached for his throwing stick. Somewhere there would be something to eat.

It was getting hotter slowly so it must be near the midpoint of the time of light. Then would come the time of darkness when he would become the prey if he was still on the ground. He had wasted enough time! With a new determination, he sent the worm of doubt back down into his subconscious and banished all those crazy doubts.

Food! That must be his only thought from now on. Somehow he knew that it would not be too long before the time of darkness.