Quest for Knowledge (Volume 1 of the FirstWorld Saga) - Christopher Jackson-Ash (black female authors .txt) 📗

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