Post by Cristiano Orisha on Dec 21, 2014 20:30:19 GMT -8
The first word he taught me was fear.
Knees raw and painful from days on hard, packed earth, the men were forced down. Rifle muzzles pressed against their backs, the too-warm touch of metal a sharp sensation in the warm, dry, heat. Even now, with the sun long gone, the night was stifling and the clothing of the figures with the weapons was sodden with sweat.
Another figure appeared. Strange, that. None of them heard him approach. By the gentle, and not startled cry, it seemed that the other figure was expected. Voices in a language not understood.
Adolyewe glanced between his captors and the men kneeling on the ground to either side of them. "Who is that?" he whispered, only able to catch a glimpse of the new man's shadow.
"Quiet!" and a white hot blossom of pain appeared then dulled into an ache in his shoulder, the imprint of the butt of a rifle forming a uniquely shaped bruise. The voice who had barked switched into the other language, speaking rapidly.
The younger man fell silent, trying to work at his shoulder even while being shackled to the men next to him. There had been a brief lull between the newcomer and the others. The sound of leather soles against the hard earth, crunching the soil beneath. And then a pair of legs, obscured by a generous cloak of deep purple and black. The figure did something, a motion of its body and the cloak billowed backwards as they knelt.
It was a man with skin originally pale, but darkened by the sun. The others had said that the white man was not fully done and that, like clay and bread, only the heat of life and the fire of the sun could make them complete. That is why their people were dark of color, with unburdened souls. The white man held dark secrets and the sun purified that from their bodies, causing them to sweat.
The man's eyes were a dark brown and his hair slightly curled. Brown with lighter tones. He was young and he was attractive but his eyes were old. As if it was a burden to bring himself to bother with the present, his vision so broad. He spoke.
The one that had struck him in the shoulder replied. Then, "He says look at him."
Adolyewe looked over the man's shoulder. He had been willingly led away from his village in exchange for goods he knew would sustain his family for years to come. With his being unwilling to marry the chieftan's daughter and the enemies he'd made during his political attempts, it was the only way he knew he could do so. But that didn't mean he would submit. He would work, as they said, and he might even decide not to put a spear through a throat, but he would not submit so someone with an incomplete soul.
The man spoke again, this time his tone lighter, humored. The man behind him replied slowly. "Look... at... me..."
He turned to regard his captor but the man's hand struck forward and caught his jaw in an iron grip so quickly, that he felt the gentle release of the tension in his neck. Slowly, inexorably, the hand turned his head toward him. Then, he spoke, with none of the strange, soft accents from the other white men who had taken him from his village.
"Look at me."
Their eyes met and the man spoke again.
Adolyewe was dimly aware that the man behind him was feeding him the language. "I will teach you your new language. I will destroy what you think you know of yourself. I will take away loved memory and cherished things. I will draw you into the Abyss and you will emerge anew." The man's voice rose and fell gently, like a father telling a young child how the world worked and why the sun and the moon travelled the sky.
"When you understand my first lesson, your first word, you will forget your barbarian tongue. You will be as a babe held by his mother as she sings to him."
Then the man said a single word in his strange language.
Cracks shattered in the ground as thick pillars shot upward, blotting out the stars and moon. They twisted and writhed, without color. There weren't transparent and they weren't black, but they were an absence, a void. They felt, not like the emptiness of a hole in the ground, but as a sucking whirlpool of darkness.
Then, they lashed out. The man to his left exploded into a mass of muscle and bone and skin, spraying the contents of his insides across Adolyewe's body. He tried to turn, to look, but the man held his jaw fast. Adolyewe reached up to pry the man's fingers from his face, but they were as undeniable as reality itself.
The men around them began to scream and there were several gunshots. But then, there was a wet squelch and a clatter as a weapon hit the ground. The shackled men on his right rose to their feet to run, but were held fast by Adolyewe, and Adolyewe was held fast to the strange man who had summoned forth this... this darkness.
Adolyewe didn't scream. The silence descended around them as the last of the shackles clattered to the ground, the arm and leg now free from the remainder of the body. The silence was heavy, oppressive, and still the man stared into his eyes.
From the corner of his eye, he saw movement. One of the thick dark pillars held a man fast, his face stricken. He was once of a full soul, but the paleness of his skin... It was the translator. The strange man spoke, and then the translator began to cry.
There was a crack and the translator screamed. The sound seemed to go on forever, but eventually he quieted. The strange man repeated himself. "He says," the translator began. "That what you feel now, the horror, the panic, the terror..." the translator trailed off, whimpering.
Then, the darkness crushed him.
The strange man spoke again, and Adolyewe's words left him as he understood.
"Fear."
Knees raw and painful from days on hard, packed earth, the men were forced down. Rifle muzzles pressed against their backs, the too-warm touch of metal a sharp sensation in the warm, dry, heat. Even now, with the sun long gone, the night was stifling and the clothing of the figures with the weapons was sodden with sweat.
Another figure appeared. Strange, that. None of them heard him approach. By the gentle, and not startled cry, it seemed that the other figure was expected. Voices in a language not understood.
Adolyewe glanced between his captors and the men kneeling on the ground to either side of them. "Who is that?" he whispered, only able to catch a glimpse of the new man's shadow.
"Quiet!" and a white hot blossom of pain appeared then dulled into an ache in his shoulder, the imprint of the butt of a rifle forming a uniquely shaped bruise. The voice who had barked switched into the other language, speaking rapidly.
The younger man fell silent, trying to work at his shoulder even while being shackled to the men next to him. There had been a brief lull between the newcomer and the others. The sound of leather soles against the hard earth, crunching the soil beneath. And then a pair of legs, obscured by a generous cloak of deep purple and black. The figure did something, a motion of its body and the cloak billowed backwards as they knelt.
It was a man with skin originally pale, but darkened by the sun. The others had said that the white man was not fully done and that, like clay and bread, only the heat of life and the fire of the sun could make them complete. That is why their people were dark of color, with unburdened souls. The white man held dark secrets and the sun purified that from their bodies, causing them to sweat.
The man's eyes were a dark brown and his hair slightly curled. Brown with lighter tones. He was young and he was attractive but his eyes were old. As if it was a burden to bring himself to bother with the present, his vision so broad. He spoke.
The one that had struck him in the shoulder replied. Then, "He says look at him."
Adolyewe looked over the man's shoulder. He had been willingly led away from his village in exchange for goods he knew would sustain his family for years to come. With his being unwilling to marry the chieftan's daughter and the enemies he'd made during his political attempts, it was the only way he knew he could do so. But that didn't mean he would submit. He would work, as they said, and he might even decide not to put a spear through a throat, but he would not submit so someone with an incomplete soul.
The man spoke again, this time his tone lighter, humored. The man behind him replied slowly. "Look... at... me..."
He turned to regard his captor but the man's hand struck forward and caught his jaw in an iron grip so quickly, that he felt the gentle release of the tension in his neck. Slowly, inexorably, the hand turned his head toward him. Then, he spoke, with none of the strange, soft accents from the other white men who had taken him from his village.
"Look at me."
Their eyes met and the man spoke again.
Adolyewe was dimly aware that the man behind him was feeding him the language. "I will teach you your new language. I will destroy what you think you know of yourself. I will take away loved memory and cherished things. I will draw you into the Abyss and you will emerge anew." The man's voice rose and fell gently, like a father telling a young child how the world worked and why the sun and the moon travelled the sky.
"When you understand my first lesson, your first word, you will forget your barbarian tongue. You will be as a babe held by his mother as she sings to him."
Then the man said a single word in his strange language.
Cracks shattered in the ground as thick pillars shot upward, blotting out the stars and moon. They twisted and writhed, without color. There weren't transparent and they weren't black, but they were an absence, a void. They felt, not like the emptiness of a hole in the ground, but as a sucking whirlpool of darkness.
Then, they lashed out. The man to his left exploded into a mass of muscle and bone and skin, spraying the contents of his insides across Adolyewe's body. He tried to turn, to look, but the man held his jaw fast. Adolyewe reached up to pry the man's fingers from his face, but they were as undeniable as reality itself.
The men around them began to scream and there were several gunshots. But then, there was a wet squelch and a clatter as a weapon hit the ground. The shackled men on his right rose to their feet to run, but were held fast by Adolyewe, and Adolyewe was held fast to the strange man who had summoned forth this... this darkness.
Adolyewe didn't scream. The silence descended around them as the last of the shackles clattered to the ground, the arm and leg now free from the remainder of the body. The silence was heavy, oppressive, and still the man stared into his eyes.
From the corner of his eye, he saw movement. One of the thick dark pillars held a man fast, his face stricken. He was once of a full soul, but the paleness of his skin... It was the translator. The strange man spoke, and then the translator began to cry.
There was a crack and the translator screamed. The sound seemed to go on forever, but eventually he quieted. The strange man repeated himself. "He says," the translator began. "That what you feel now, the horror, the panic, the terror..." the translator trailed off, whimpering.
Then, the darkness crushed him.
The strange man spoke again, and Adolyewe's words left him as he understood.
"Fear."