To One in Paradise

[Lucien]

((Thanks mister Poe, for the thread title. Gotta' give credit where credit is due. Closed))

The sand grew soft and malleable under the relentless lapping of waves. Each rolling wall of foam carried with it a piece of debris. There were splintered beams snapped in twain by the sheer force of the sea, waterlogged chests filled with soggy maps and rusted treasures, all washed ashore to the barren beach where nothing seemed to live. And how could it? The sun beat down with a relentless fury unknown in the outside world. It was a deceiving ploy, the golden orb above promised beauty but delivered only wrath as it scorched everything in its sight. The sand grew dry in minutes when the waves stopped reaching them, leaving a thin and grainy crust to each piece of salvage that managed to finally set foot on Fallien.

From the far off dunes came three travelers. Like wraiths they moved, relentlessly despite the heat and sand. They were natives; born into the harsh conditions they traversed and experts in how to survive it. Behind them they lead horses burdened with the task of pulling wagons through the shifting landscape. When the natives reached the shore, horses in tow, it was no surprise to them what clung to the land. They'd seen the signs of the shipwreck from miles away as the vultures gathered at the beach. The fresh corpses made a meal rich in salt and still moist from the water. But the dead were not what the men were after.

One by one they split off, looking over every inch of the sand. They picked up crates and barrels, large chests, pieces of gold shimmering in sunlight; whatever could even be considered of value they took and loaded onto their wagons. When the larger things were packed, the three moved to each corpse, scaring the vultures off as the did. Taking clothing, coins, jewelery; the natives seemed to lack any respect for the dead. Their faces and skin were hardened with sunlight, and so it appeared that their hearts were as well.

And then one came to the last body; the body of a boy not yet in manhood. He wore a bright pink shirt tousled from the sea and exposing his midriff. His pants were foreign, made from a tough material in dark blue. Shoeless and wearing bare minimal, the traveler who bent down to examine him could only assume he was just another sailor. Perhaps his end was tragic; a young boy trying to earn his keep on the ship after being orphaned. But the man shook his fantasies out of mind. He'd come with a purpose, not to daydream in the restless heat.

Yet as he dug his large dark hand into the loose jean pockets, the boy groaned in a weakened voice. The man stumbled slightly, taken aback by the small surprise. He stood up with wide and focused eyes, calling to his comrades in an alien tongue. They chattered amongst themselves, undisturbed by the boy who only slept there in the sand. With precious few words, the men had finished their talk. The largest one, the one that had found the lad, lifted his lithe body into the air and loaded it on with the rest of the salvage.

Their work complete, they set off into the dunes once again, hidden behind a distorted veil caused by the heat.

[Lucien]

He'd been awake for minutes, but his body felt as though it had gone days without rest. The boy's tongue was parched and felt like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth; the bitter flavor of sea salt was an incessant annoyance. He couldn't grimace, he wouldn't with his thin lips so sore and dry. Each attempt at movement was met with what seemed a crushing weight on top of him, though nothing was there. Even blinking took effort; a constant effort needed to block out the sun. Quiet and arid moans escaped the prison of his throat. It was the only sound the boy could manage to conjure.

The men around him paid no heed to his inadequate begging, all they did was continue on ahead at a slow and steady pace. The boy squinted, trying to recall who these people were and where they were taking him. But his mind was a nail, pounded at any attempt to remember what had happened only days before. He soon gave up due to lack of energy, for now there was only the steady ride in the wagon. It was an ancient thing, made from poor quality wood and pulled by an even poorer quality horse. The wheels were thick and wide to help with traction on the sloping dunes, but the heavy gears that turned them desperately cried out for oil. As the boy carefully rolled his neck from side to side, the pain cracking in his spine, all he could see were the vast desert dunes surrounding him; a sea of yellow that lacked the glimmer of water or living flora.

Dried husks of trees were the only landmark in the unchanging wasteland. Their sullen grey and white branches stretched out into the sky, reaching for some salvation in their last moments. Like all life, they saw their end coming and tried to escape it, to no avail. A shiver ran through the boy's bruised body, a deep despair at the pitiful sight. Yet soon they were gone, as slowly as they came, for the wagon moved ever forward at a snail's pace. And only the sun could truly disturb the boy any longer.

It was burning, searing his pale flesh still tender from the beating it took in the sea. He couldn't look up to the vast expanses of blue above, averse to the sharp pains the light caused in his eyes. The boy looked over to and fro at the men to his side, who were draped head to toe in flowing robes that reminded the boy of fields of wheat flapping in the breeze. More pleading; a word began to form in his throat, choking him slightly. The word managed to pass the rough and sore voice box and finally reach that sandpaper tongue, soon escaping from the chapped lips.

"Please." It was almost a whisper, almost inaudible over the sound of shifting sands. Yet somehow, one of the men managed to hear it. He had keen senses, as anyone who lived in such a climate would. The man didn't stop, only slowed his pace to the back of the wagon. And it was then that the boy noticed the tarp at his feet. The man slowly pulled it over him until his skin and eyes were veiled from the scorching assault.

And then the boy slept.

[Lucien]

Consciousness is a strange thing. Without it, people are left naked to the world, defenseless and ignorant to all that surrounds them. Yet with it, they remain in a harsh reality that shakes their own fantasies to ruin.

The boy wished he'd went without it.

Stretched out by a high stone pillar, his bare wrists were tightly shackled to poorly wrought iron. The cheap metal chaffed, it bruised, it made the humidity even more unbearable for the boy. His captors had disrobed him, stripping him of even the slightest of modesties. Whether from the sun or from the humiliation, his skin had reddened. He shifted uncomfortably on his tip toes, trying his best to relieve some of the stress on his shoulders as the chains above were pulled by his own weight. The men has left him, left him alone in an echoing chamber filled with dust and not much else. Breathing was a labor; a chore that brought with it lungs full of sand and soot. Unaware of where he was or how he'd ended up there, he could only wait in solemn silence and try to hide the slight excitement showing.

The boot steps were deafening; they echoed through corridor and chamber as if to warn any unwary soul that something dreadful was coming. Soon three men arrived, but the boy couldn't tell if they were the men that he had seen as he lay in delirium on the wagon. They wore tunics and loose fitting robes that matched the scenery seen earlier, with strange symbols that looked like orbs of fire on their chests. And their faces; engraved and hardened, lacking all emotion like statues seen from days long past. Only their eyes gave any indication to their intent, curious and darting black dots that scanned the boy from head to toe.

The middle man approached, the bulkiest looking one with arms like steel and a chin to match. He moved slowly, carefully reaching into his robe to remove something from his breast. The dull jingle of metal chimed softly as the Fallien man held a set of worn keys in his hand.

The chamber's light was too dull for the boy to see what the object really was. But his eyes grew wide, fearing the worst from the scavengers. He screamed as hard as he could, twirling and pulling at the chains that held tightly to the pillar. Tears rolled down his cheeks as the moved closer to him. The boy spoke no coherent words, only a jumbled mass of pleas and prayers.

Finally grabbing hold of the struggling boy, the middle man released the shackles around the lad's stiff arms. He fell to the floor, smashing his weak knees into the stone and causing grains of sand to grind into the skin. The boy could only look up at the three men as he rubbed at his sore wrists. There were no snide remarks or crass jokes, only a look of utter terror dissolving into confusion and pain.

The men laughed at him; pointing and taunting in their thick unconquerable language. But he knew why they laughed. He'd pissed himself in the final few moments before he was released from his bonds. Shame reddened his face just a little more. The man that released him, who seemed much taller now that the boy knelt, began to speak. "What is your name?" The boy could scarcely understand him. He knew it was common, but the accent was some thick it took the lad a moment to finally respond.

"Lu-Lucien," he whispered almost unsure of himself.

[Lucien]

***editing***