Dungeons and Damsels
Simon slept like a drunk. No dreams disturbed his slumber. He was unaware that Jhamed had dumped him unceremoniously into a large hessian sack, that formed part of his emergency travelling supplies for just such a contingency, and dragged him to the nearest dimension portal, cursing under his breath. Had he been able to hear he would have caught the words Redhead and Manfred loosely dispersed between the foulest profanities. Despite it all though, Jhamed loved his work.
When Simon awoke, he felt close to panic. Where the hell am I? What happened? Have I gone crazy? He was immediately assailed by a range of unpleasant sensations. His head throbbed painfully and his body ached, as though he had been lying in an uncomfortable position for a long time. A horrendous stench filled his nose and he retched as the foul tendrils caressed his nostrils. Above everything else, his ears were assailed by the screams and wails of people who seemed to be in perpetual agony.
He looked around and as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he became aware that he was in some sort of cave. The floor was sandy and the walls and ceiling were made of jagged grey rock, chipped and hewn as though by generations of human hands to smooth walls wherever they were in reach. He was sitting in a sort of alcove, his back to smoothly hewn rock with a low ceiling just above his head. For a moment, the panicked feeling of claustrophobia passed through him, but he managed to force it away. Stay calm. This is all a dream.
His nose though told him it was not a dream. The smell was abominable. It was a fetid animal smell, a mixture of unwashed bodies and excrement. Simon quickly realised that it was all the fouler because it was human. His throat was dry and he tasted the bile that rose from his stomach. He could taste the foul odours too, overpowering his taste buds like the Muslim invaders taking over his country. But the worst thing of all was the noise. The foul air was filled with the pathetic wailing of human beings screaming for help, begging for a taste of water or a mouthful of food, or beseeching their comrades to end their torment with the peace of death.
He stirred and looked around. Within his limited range of vision he saw at least twenty people, animals really, naked or dressed in a few remnants of rags. They were barely more than skin and bones, dull unseeing eyes sunk in bony sockets, all hope long since gone from their minds. They were waiting for the release from agony that only death can bring. They seemed to be keeping a respectable distance from him, considering how closely they were crammed together. Of Jhamed, there was no sign. Did I imagine him? What hell hole is this?
Simon suddenly became aware of someone beside him, so close as to be almost touching, but until now so still and silent he had taken the form for no more than an outcropping of the wall. The shape next to him moved a little and seemed to grumble to itself. Whoever it was was totally hidden beneath a full-length grey cloak. The figure moved some more and with a snort a head appeared. It was an old man – a very old man. His long hair and flowing beard were completely white. What little skin was visible through the hair and whiskers was grey and wrinkled like old parchment. But the thing that struck Simon the most was his eyes – pale green pools that suggested he had seen infinite sadness during his long life and yet deep inside he still held on to a faith and hope that things would get better. I never knew eyes could speak so loud.
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Simon, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” The old man smiled. “It’s about time you woke up. Jhamed always goes over the top with his knock-out drops.”
This is just another nightmare. I have seen you before. “You were at the funeral. Who are you? Where’s Jhamed?” Simon tried to talk without breathing too much of the fetid air and his voice came out as a croak. “And where on earth is this hell hole?” I’ve heard that saying before.
“My name is Manfred, although I have been known by many other names: Merlin, Mithrandir, Mutherion, to name a few. I imagine Jhamed told you something about me? I’m afraid this is not a nightmare; the Balance wish that it were. And I did give that line to a promising writer I came across at one time.”
“You can read my thoughts?” Shit, I must be careful what I think about!
“Only when we are in such close physical contact, I assure you. You needn’t worry. In any case, there are few things in this world or in any human’s mind that could shock me. Anyway, to answer your questions, Jhamed has gone ahead to scout out a route home. He had some problems finding a safe route for you, particularly since he had to carry you, as you were rather uncooperative, I gather. I had to come looking for you both and we had the good fortune, or misfortune, to meet up here.”
“Uncooperative? You’d be uncooperative if...” Simon’s protests were cut short by the sudden urgency in Manfred’s eyes.
“We are in the dungeons of Queen Freda in the Kingdom of Dishley. It is best not to speak of things in other planes of existence.” Manfred spoke softly so that only Simon could hear the words, or maybe he spoke directly into his mind, Simon wasn’t sure. “In this realm, Chaos holds sway. Dishley is a kingdom in name only. King Jack rules but Freda is the power behind the throne and she plots for the day her bastard son, Paul, will become king ahead of the rightful heir Prince Christopher. Anyone who crosses her or even speaks against her is thrown into this dungeon to rot. This is a one-way street. No one has ever left this dungeon and returned to the kingdom. Unfortunately, there is a link, a dimension portal, in here, which is why we ended up here. Jhamed is trying to find us a way out.”
Simon’s head throbbed, in pain and in disbelief. This morning had been an ordinary morning: Woke up, had a wank, wow that Julia, took a shower, headed for the café, ordered a simubacon roll… and the world went crazy. Despite everything, Simon’s thoughts triggered bodily responses. The thought of the unfinished simubacon roll made him realise how hungry he was and the thought of Julia triggered blood flow to a part of his anatomy over which he had little control. Manfred, still reading his thoughts, laughed aloud and the huge weight that he appeared to carry on his shoulders seemed to lift for a second. “By the Balance, I had forgotten the power of a young man’s hormones. It does an old man good to feel a passion he has not felt for many a long year.”
Simon realised what had happened and the blood now rushed to his face instead. The semi-darkness of the dungeon covered most of his embarrassment. The sudden return of Jhamed, who appeared to materialise out of thin air, saved him from further discussions on the matter.
“By the Balance, Manfred, this place is amongst the foulest fester holes in the multiverse. None of these poor souls has done anything to merit this disgusting treatment. You are a wizard, can’t you fix it?” Jhamed was so worked up, his fat belly wobbled uncontrollably and his black curls escaped from the containment of his broad-brimmed hat and cascaded down his face.
Manfred frowned. “It’s on my to-do list, Jhamed, but there’s just so much to do these days and so few heroes to help with the work. I fear that the time will soon come when it will be beyond my power to help anyone.” A dark cloud passed over his eyes as he spoke. Had Simon been paying attention, he would have seen the green pools fade to grey for a moment. But he was distracted.
Jhamed’s arrival had caused him to look up and he was studying the group of pitiful humans nearby. They eyed him enviously and he saw greed and hatred in their eyes. To them, Simon and his companions were as millionaires. They had clothes and perhaps other belongings, maybe even food hidden away. Simon shuddered as he realised what his fate might be in here without Manfred’s power to protect him. For he now realised that the prisoners held Manfred in awe and were afraid to approach too closely. As he watched he heard an old iron gate screech open, complaining on its rusty hinges. In the gloom, Simon could now make out the bars of the prison and the shapes of guards outside.
“You dared to speak ill of our beloved Queen Freda. Your property is forfeit to the Crown. Your life is forfeit to the Black Dungeon. You are cast to your fate. You will never walk in the air again. Be gone!”
Simon heard the door screech closed and then the ugly roar of the inmates as they realised they had a newcomer in their ranks. It was a sound that made Simon’s blood freeze and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It sounded like a pack of lions closing in on an injured antelope for the kill. All we need now is Satan and I’ll be convinced that this is Hell.
The guards had given the newcomer a push into the overcrowded dungeon and she came into Simon’s view. Simon gasped. She was the most beautiful girl that he had ever set eyes upon. She was tall and slim, with a tiny waist and small breasts that heaved in fear under a simple red gown. It looked like she had been taken from a soirée direct to the gaol. Her hair was long, straight, and jet-black. It framed an elfin face of such pure beauty that it made his heart lurch. Her eyes were the purest blue, shining like jewels against the milky whiteness of her skin. Her voluptuous lips were painted red. Around her neck, she wore a simple necklace that carried a small silver locket. Her mouth was frozen open. She wanted to scream but fear had robbed her of her voice. Her blue eyes were filled with terror and tears. Her expression pleaded for mercy.
The roar of the crowd grew louder as they realised what a pretty trinket had fallen into their midst. They stumbled over each other in their eagerness to get near her. Fists flew, fingers gouged eyes, knees and elbows found soft flesh; bones crunched, and lives ended as the filthy heaving mass surged forward to claim its prize.
Simon was in a trance, bewitched by her beauty and dismayed by her predicament and terror. Unthinking, he rose and moved towards her, pushing aside the weakened inmates who barred his way. He fought his way to her side. Their eyes met in a single moment of understanding. He embraced her in his arms and they stood together facing the crowd. Time seemed to stand still as they waited in the calm for the storm. I have found my soul mate. I am ready to die for her.
“Not again!” Jhamed exclaimed. “Are we doomed to spend our lives fighting for Simon’s five-minute lovers?”
Manfred only grunted and pulled himself to his feet. He extracted a simple wooden staff from within his cloak.
The baying of the crowd, which had reached fever pitch when Simon joined the girl, suddenly ceased. A pathway through the crowd parted as if by magic and a group of men pushed their way through to stand before Simon and the girl. The men were dressed in a strange assortment of clothes, obviously harvested from other inmates, and they made a strange sight amongst the near nakedness of the crowd. The men then stood aside, revealing the individual at the centre.
Simon recognised him immediately and shuddered. He was tall and gaunt with a sickly looking pallor but two things stood out in Simon’s mind – the eyes, black and evil, and the mouth curved upwards in a sickly grin. I may not have got you this time, but I soon will. Your days are numbered red boy. The words echoed in Simon’s mind. How can Uncle Dring be here?
“Well, well, what have we here?” The man’s voice was shrill and high-pitched. Like a crow or a raven, Simon thought. “What a pretty pair. A red boy whose days are numbered and a pretty little girl for Dring’s pleasure.” He leered at them both, displaying a mouthful of broken and rotting teeth. His foul breath made the background stench seem almost fragrant. “We shall have some fun tonight, my cronies. Oh yes, we shall.” He licked his lips and stretched out a thin spindly hand towards the girl’s face. Simon moved himself between them to shield the girl and the hand touched him instead, on his cheek.
It was as though a huge shock of static electricity surged between the two of them. Dring shot backwards with a puzzled look on his face and was only prevented from falling in an undistinguished heap by his cronies. Simon felt cold, the deepest darkest feeling of cold he had ever felt. His face felt numbed, worse than any dentist visit.
“He is the one, then,” Jhamed said excitedly.
“So it would seem,” Manfred replied, drawing himself up to his full height and brandishing his staff.
Dring recovered his composure quickly. “Even better,” he shrieked, “my master will secure my release for this pretty red boy.” He turned to his cronies. “Kill the boy! Bring the girl to me, unharmed. You may have your fun with her later.”
“Not so fast, Dring!” The voice was loud and powerful. It seemed too big for the frail white-haired man from which it emanated. “Your master will not reward you tonight, but I will secure your release.”
Manfred seemed to grow in stature. He stood tall and proud, brandishing a multi-hued staff emblazoned with strange runes. A bolt of blue lightning appeared from the end of Manfred’s staff and lanced towards Dring, surrounding him in its fury, lifting him off his feet, and depositing him in a heap of cinders on the sandy floor of the dungeon.
“Be gone the rest of you, lest you also taste Manfred’s wrath.” The cronies disappeared into the crowd. Manfred sighed and appeared old and frail again. “I don’t like to kill, but he was already dead and his destruction today may have saved him from eternal damnation.”
“He was undead, then?” Jhamed asked. “It’s lucky you were here or we might not have left here today or ever.”
“Perhaps, although there is great power in that one.” He pointed to Simon. “Although he knows not how to use it yet. Did you see the force with which he repelled the undead one?”
Simon led the girl over to where Manfred and Jhamed were standing. The crowd parted to let them through. He felt strange. His face was still numb from Dring’s deadly cold touch and the cold seemed to be seeping into his brain, numbing his thoughts, slowing him down. My brain is being eaten. I am going to die.
Manfred seemed less concerned. He took Simon’s head in both hands and looked deep into his eyes. Simon was mesmerised by the green pools. He seemed to be drawn inside Manfred’s mind, where he found himself on St Kilda Beach on a hot summer’s day. He was lying on the sand, face down so that he could observe the scantily clad young women without his excitement becoming obvious. The hot sun burned into the back of his head, forcing out the cold thoughts and thawing his frozen face. He came back to reality to hear Manfred’s voice telling him, “Lucky for you that I was here, otherwise your brain temperature would have fallen until all thought activity stopped. Then you would have been ready for reprogramming. With the right programming, you could have become an undead one like Dring.” Simon shuddered at the prospect, suddenly feeling very cold again.
Meanwhile Jhamed was fussing over the girl, making sure she was all right. When Simon had recovered enough to feel jealous, he forcefully introduced himself to the one whom he now believed was his intended soul mate. She is so beautiful. I love her. “Hi, I’m Si Si Simon.” It was all he could manage. I don’t know whether it’s the after effects of the freezing or because I’m so nervous. I’m such an idiot. Why can’t I be cool with girls? The blood once again rushed to Simon’s face.
The beautiful young woman smiled at him. Her teeth, like everything else about her, were perfect. “Thank you all for saving me. Especially you, Si Si Simon.” She blushed a little as their eyes met. “My name is Juliana. I am... I was... I used to work at the court of Queen Freda. I used to prepare her clothing and help her dress.”
“What crime did you commit to warrant this cesspit?” Jhamed asked the question they were all thinking.
“I was bold enough to suggest that she take Prince Christopher with her to a royal function. She went crazy. She screamed at me, accusing me of favouring Prince Christopher over Prince Paul. She called the guards and sent me here.”
“Things may be worse here than I thought.” Manfred sighed. His bent frame seemed to sag as if a great weight had been placed on his shoulders. “I shall endeavour to give it my priority. But there is a greater need that we must deal with first. We must leave here quickly. Jhamed, did you secure a route for us?”
Simon, who had been observing the exchange of information with incredulity, was roused from his stupor and jumped into the conversation before Jhamed could answer. “We will take Juliana with us, won’t we?”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Manfred said. “She does not have the power to use the dimension portal. If everyone had such power then this dungeon would be empty. There are many places in the multiverse worse than this place, but also many that are exceedingly better.”
Simon shivered. “The multiverse must be a terrible thing if there are places worse than this.”
Manfred continued. “However, we will provide Juliana with some protection until we can return and make more permanent amends here.” He smiled at her. “Come here child, don’t be afraid. Jhamed, do you have a knife?”
Jhamed produced a vicious looking knife from inside his left boot and Manfred took it gingerly from him and with great care used it to cut off a lock of his long grey hair. Gently, he removed the locket from Juliana’s neck, opened it, and placed the hair inside. He mumbled something in a strange language before replacing the locket around her neck. “No one will trouble you while you wear this. Keep it around your neck at all times. Jhamed will leave you some supplies; keep them close to you, and be of good cheer for we shall return soon.”
Simon was about to say something about the wisdom of leaving a defenceless girl in such a place, especially one he found as beautiful as Juliana, but Manfred’s glare stopped the words in his throat. Instead, he turned his gaze to Juliana and their eyes locked for an instant. It seemed to Simon that time stood still. No words were spoken, but there was more communication in that instant than he had ever had with another before in his life. As Jhamed manhandled him away, he reluctantly broke their eye contact. She is my soul mate. I love her. My heart aches for her. I would die for her.
The thoughts stayed with him as a smell of pine needles replaced the rank odour of the dungeon and Simon, Manfred and Jhamed found themselves in the middle of a pine forest. Yet beneath those thoughts, there was another one. Simon realised it had been there all the time he had been in the dungeon but there had been so much going on it had eluded his consciousness. Now it nagged at him. I am here. Come for me.
Simon was overwhelmed with a series of different emotions – relief to be out of the dungeon, sadness bordering on grief, to have left Juliana behind, and total confusion as to what was happening to him. Am I crazy? Not for the first or last time today, he asked himself that question.
His sense of confusion and disorientation only became worse as he was bundled along between Manfred and Jhamed. No sooner were they in the clean air and dappled light of the pine forest than they were in the middle of a hustling city night with thick vehicle fumes that made him retch. Next, they were stumbling through a frozen, snow-covered land where an icy wind chilled him to the bone. Then that too was gone, replaced by a wasteland of ash and dry heat that made his skin crawl. Just as the heat was becoming unbearable, they stumbled into a cool clearing in another forest. This time, old oak trees with new green leaves provided shade from a weak springtime sun. Birds were singing and nearby the sound of flowing water seemed to soothe Simon’s tortured soul. He fell to the ground and lay there, mentally and physically exhausted.
“Welcome to FirstWorld,” said Jhamed, proud of his navigating skills.
“Welcome, indeed,” said Manfred. “Now the work really begins!”