Though Heroes Fall - Part 8

He-Man tortured by Evil-Lyn                                                                                    The work of: sazariel.deviantart.com

4.3

 

“Skeletor has departed Snake Mountain in force; his fleet and ships of his allies drew up in array over the sea beyond the Doom Isles – and headed on northwards.” The voice was clear through the comms speaker; all listening could hear – and Teela sat up at once, a light shining green in her eyes.

“Northwards? You are certain of this?” Man-at-Arms frowned at the news.

“Indeed; your own scanners will confirm it readily enough.” Stratos paused. “But there is more.”

“Say on.”

“They appear to have been aiming for some destination well to the north, for they were gaining altitude all the time – far more than would ever be needed for the hop across the Sea of Rakash.”

“What exactly is it that you are saying, Stratos?”

“Do I know? Only that the flight pattern evinced would seem more fitting for a far longer voyage; we could no longer see them, of course – but it would have been a very elaborate deception – even for old Boneface.”

“Indeed so. And why such numbers? They could be seeking to mislead us and double-back – even complete the circuit of the planet. But why?”

“They may be seeking to diffuse our suspicions prior to launching an attack.”

“Well, yes; that is of course possible.” Duncan stroked his moustache in thought. “They will surely know by now that we lack He-Man. It would be a good time to challenge our defenses. All the same, these are elaborate lengths to be going to; hardly Skeletor’s way when he knows himself to have the upper hand.” He paused, deliberating. “Our thanks, Stratos. Please keep us informed of any status changes. Meanwhile we shall see what the eyes of science can show us.”

He turned to the other listeners. “I shall get the scans on screen at once; let’s see what he’s up to – and track him.”

It did not take long; but the screens showed blank – scan after scan.

“But – even with cloaking, even with sorcery on an unimaginable scale, even he couldn’t hide that many ships! So where is he?”

Teela was still anxiously watching the empty screens, as if they alone could give her back the two young men missing from her life. She leaned forward and pointed.

“Look,” she said. “What’s that in the ninth sector? It looks like some kind of disturbance – a cosmic maelstrom or else a –”

“A portal,” finished Man-at-Arms for her. “It’s the swirl left by the forced opening of one; the disturbance takes time to settle again. My girl has sharp eyes, I see.” He smiled, his own eyes intent on the magnification dials.

“Look there!” exclaimed Mekanek. “It’s still open – there, over the Pole!”

“Ahhhh! So – that’s where he’s bound, is it?” Duncan leaned forward and slowly shook his head. “Well, well, well.”

The image of the far distant planet was clear to see through the magnified image of the still-open portal; so clear that it could be no other.

“He’s headed for Etheria – with almost his entire strength. He’s committed to it – he cannot simply turn about and return – that would take some time – and some very careful timing, too. No – he’s further from Eternia with every passing moment.” He shook his head. “The main question –”

“Is why,” finished Teela for him. She looked round the watching faces. “He must know about He-Man’s capture by now – he simply must. So why is he leaving? Surely he should be headed here to take us on while we are without our strongest fighter? But instead he chooses this vital moment to leave Eternia altogether! It makes no sense! Evil-Lyn takes He-Man prisoner – but not to Snake Mountain – and Skeletor heads off into space. I just don’t get it.”

“Well –” spoke out a slow voice hesitantly “– unless’n as how the witch ain’t done told him nuthin’.”

All eyes turned on Ram-Man who at once blushed scarlet. He blushed even deeper when Teela flung her arms as far about him as she could and gave him a smacking kiss.

“You’re right! That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“She didn’t tell Skeletor – she hasn’t – and she won’t! He doesn’t know!” Her words, her voice, her bright face all carried conviction.

Mekanek caught up quickly – perhaps hoping that the kisses would keep coming. “So Evil-Lyn’s in business for herself, now, is she? She had you seized – and arranged for He-Man to give himself up in exchange. But not for Skeletor’s benefit, no: for her own! And so the Dark One doesn’t even know that He-Man’s taken?”

“Exactly!” Duncan banged down his palm on the worktop. “Nothing else could account for his absence at this crucial time. So; she sets her plan into motion and has He-Man submit himself to her; she spirits her prisoner off to the Southern Seas and holds him there on one of the maze of islands. And Skeletor – ignorant of this – ups and flies off to Etheria. No doubt to pursue his duel with the Hordelord. I wonder if she somehow managed to dupe him into that as well? She’s clever – and ruthless – enough for anything.”

“Clever – ruthless – and holding He-Man captive!” Teela’s voice was both grave and urgent now. “If only we knew just where – but even the Sorceress can’t trace him to that fine degree. We need to move now – while Bonefeatures is away. It’s just got to be our best chance of rescuing him!”

Concerned faces exchanged worried looks; the girl was right – no doubt about it – but there seemed to be nothing to be done until they could locate the exact island – and for that they were wholly reliant upon the Sorceress.

“Evil-Lyn’s vindictive – and dangerous – and he’s all alone there and completely under her power! She could be doing dreadful things to him right now – while we just sit here!”

“But, Teela, it isn’t so simple as –”

“Would He-Man bide his time and not lift a finger if any of us were in his situation? Well – would he?” Her green glare raked the company with demand and accusation and no few faces fell away before her fierce look.

“We’ll – do whatever it takes,” her father promised quickly before she erupted again. “We can be there in force within hours – once we know where to go.” But Teela did not look much mollified as she shook her head.

“And in any case, if He-Man’s held on some island – then where in all Eternia is Adam?”

 

******

 

4.4

 

He was sleeping when they came for him; the cloudy edges of a dream were still dissipating from his mind as he awoke with a start. Someone was seeking him, calling his name – but he had been barely conscious of it – and could make no answer. He sat up now, shaking his head, aware that he was again in danger; and all-too aware also of the lingering dull ache in his body. He briefly considered making a fight of it – but judged it best to save himself for what was to come.

They watched him from the doorway with their expressionless eyes and then entered into the chamber as he braced himself with surging heart-rate. But all they did was place food and drink on the table, look at him completely dispassionately – and leave him alone again. And he found that he was hungry – and thirsty too, so he ate and drank and then sat on the bed once more, cautiously stretching his muscles and wincing with the sharper twinges. For all the careful work of Lyn’s handmaidens the ache went bone-deep within him and the abiding memory of the pain too. Not for the first time he wished that he had his sword, whose virtues would have healed his hurts – albeit probably not all at once; he had never set it such a steep test before. But that was pointless; he had no sword and his strength was already depleted – he had only himself and his willpower and sheer stubbornness to set against what was to come. And how long had he been held here now? Wherever ‘here’ actually was. He blinked, feeling his eyelids droop with heaviness, his head start to spin, and he lay back with a sigh, unequal to further thought and let sleep claim him.

In the night – if night it was; all times were alike here under the leprous light of the cells – he awoke and lay still, listening. He had felt a presence – a strong sense of threat, of malice directed towards him – and it was close – and lingered still. He sat up abruptly, his face to the doorway – and caught, he thought, a glimpse of a pair of glowing red eyes watching him through the barred grille. At once they were gone, leaving only a faint impression which faded into uncertainty. Perhaps he had dreamed it; he could not be sure. There was no sound and it did not come again and he grew weary of watching and laid himself down again, appreciative of the luxury of the pallet. And before long he slept again.

– And awoke suddenly to the door of his cell being made open – and the re-entry of the soft-padded Mooks. They seized him immediately and dragged him off – back to the same cell he had occupied before – and they hung his chained wrists again on that dangling, damnable hook and left him hanging there with his aching arches doing their best to hold up his weight and relieve the pull on the already overstressed muscles of his shoulders and arms. The cramps began almost at once and he sighed and his head fell dolefully to his chest; he couldn’t help it. Somehow, it was almost worse to have been spared awhile – and then brought back to this. But he must bear it, whatever; he must.

They came again; this time he was sure that they were going to take him and put him on that demonic ‘Machine’ again and subject him to further torture. But they did not do so; instead they fed him water and some strange fungus-like foodstuff – if it could be called that, for its taste was odd. But he knew better than to refuse anything that might help to sustain him. So he swallowed as best he could while they watched him with their alien, unwinking eyes and held more water to his lips to drink. And in the end they left him alone again.

It was – confusing – the way in which he never knew quite what to expect; at times torment, and then remission and even care. The sheer unpredictability made it somehow harder to resist, he thought as he hung there, doing what he could to support his own weight to spare his throbbing arms and shoulders. And he was puzzled at how he found himself feeling – well – grateful – when he was spared, allowed solace. It made no sense – but that was true of so much that had befallen since he had ignored Duncan’s advice and made the impulsive decision to offer himself in exchange for Teela – and fallen neatly into the witch’s trap. He shifted uncomfortably, setting up a metallic grinding. It had been the right thing to do – surely it had? And yet – Well; it was too late now; all he could do was hold out until help arrived. They would be seeking him; of that he could be certain. And they would find him, too – for all that he had told Duncan not to come after him; he shook his head at his own callowness: he would know better after this experience, that was sure. But first he had to pass through the trial of whatever the witch did to him. He thought of the Machine, the needles – and suppressed a shudder. It was not the kind of battle he was used to – but a battle it was, nonetheless – and he had to endure it, survive it – because he could not afford to fail. But it was not comforting to think such grim thoughts while dangling from a hook far from all that he knew, all those he loved. Determined, He-Man closed his eyes, concentrated hard – and sent his mind to rove where it, at least, could be free.

The making open of the cell door again awoke him; there was no means of telling how long he had drowsed, how long since last they had visited. But this time they did not bring water – and there were many more of them, which set his heart racing with the urge to act. And so, when they unhooked him from the roof-chain, he fought them, sent them spinning about the cell, using his wrist chains as weapons for want of better, clubbing and kicking out and head-butting them as they swamped him – and finally bore him down to the ground. Furiously he struggled, but they were just too, too many, and he realized now for certain that his strength was not as it had been as, between them, they lofted him up onto their shoulders and bore him along the passageways with his head lolling back.

The Machine again awaited him; the screens above leaned to his face; its tabletop rose to meet his back as they laid him on it. And all the while he fought them, numbly, with a ferocity that was too close-akin to despair for his good. He flung several of them off, arching and twisting wildly as they tried to force him back to the steel slab, lashing out at them and sending them sprawling. But he was tiring, his strength failing, and they were fresh and numerous – and the uneven fight could not go on. At some cost in injury to themselves the creatures finally bore him down and held him spread-eagled while the cables were again made fast to the irons at his wrists and ankles. Even then he resisted, head-locking one of them each side in the crook of his bulging biceps until the Mooks set to pounding him hard in the stomach and sheer lack of breath made him release them.

And then they stood back from him, watching him impassively as he panted and wheezed for painful drafts of air. The fight had at least gained him some slight sense of self-worth, if little else beyond an exhausted numbness and a blessed dulling of the keen sense of danger burning bright through his mind.

Hands clapped, slowly, with a heavy irony. “Oh, bravo, my brave young warrior – bravo! This time you made it really rather hard for my poor devoted servants, didn’t you? Again, a most remarkable performance – considering.”

He-Man looked resolutely up at the blank screens above; he would not satisfy her with a glance. He certainly did not intend to speak a word; best to save his already labored breath, then. She was walking slowly around him, studying him as he lay there exposed to her will; he could hear the gloating mockery in her voice.

“You really are a magnificent creature, are you not? The finest exemplification of human heroism in all the universe; the very model of manhood. Such mighty thews – and yet so lithe and shapely too. The Power of the Elders surely did not stint when it endowed you; not at all.”

He shifted in unquiet reaction to her words; it was worrying just how much the witch already knew. So; it was his clear task to deny her the rest. And only his silence would do that.

“Yes, a truly remarkable physique: but, I fear, far from invulnerable. You will always have found your body to be your friend, He-Man: it will have done your will and borne you up through all your many – adventures. But, I fear, you are soon going to find that it will turn traitor, that it will betray you – for it will not be able to help itself.” She saw him squirm uncomfortably and permitted herself a slight upturning of the lips. “As you will know, there are many parts of the human body that are especially – sensitive. It is all just a question of identifying them – and making good use of that knowledge. The Machine was designed with just this end in mind. The control here – for example –” she held up a small device where he could not help but see it “– is the Machine’s pain enhancer. You have met it before. Simple enough in its stimulatory effect on the nerve-endings – and so very effective, too: as you will no doubt remember.” She leaned right over and laid her cool palms on his chest, above the indignantly beating heart; her fingertips toyed suggestively with the nubs of his nipples. “Yes; especially sensitive,” she repeated, “and thus especially vulnerable. So won’t you reconsider? Won’t you? There can be no escape from this place – put away all thought of it. Nor will rescue come – not here. So it is between the two of us – and the Machine, obviously – to the end. And this can end in but one way. You must already be able to tell for yourself that your great strength is failing you, that even your munificent muscles –” her fingers moved on over his torso and He-Man swallowed down anger and apprehension “– cannot endure this much longer. In the end you will have to submit. So – show sense as you did on the Plateau of the Winds; yield now, before worse befall you.” She set her hands either side of his waist; her thumbs massaged the twin crests of the joints jutting above his hips in persuasive fashion. “I would so much prefer not to have to hurt you; not when there are so many much more appealing things that we might do together, you and I.”

Her hands shifted, were again active about him, sliding smoothly over the sweat-slick skin, contouring the landscape of his body while he lay helpless and struggled to focus his whirling mind: they massaged the broad muscles of his chest; her questing fingers followed the mounds and hollows of his abdominal muscles and slowly sculped the shape of his thighs.

She was only taunting him he knew; it was no more than that – her habitual ironic mockery; but he also knew that her touch was having an untoward effect on his helpless body. He forced himself to breathe slowly, to remain quite still and unresponsive under her hands, but the unrestrained intimacy of her caresses was making it hard – very hard indeed. Her face appeared over the mound of his breast and drew close to his.

“Tell me, He-Man – have you subjugated all your human desires to duty? Do you ever permit yourself actually to feel pleasure? Well – do you? Or are you so sternly and resolutely the hero that you shun such things as unbecoming to your calling? Could it even be that you do not even know how? That none has ever taught you such things, shown you the way of it? For if so, then what a dire waste that would be.” She smiled at the red blush spreading over his face, the shamed look in his eyes; he was so very easy to manipulate, so completely defenseless against one with knowledge such as hers. “Why, I do believe that it is so; that you lack all experience of the pleasures of the flesh – that you are still an innocent in such matters. Well well – whoever would have thought it? And yet, on reflection, it is not perhaps so very strange, given the restrictions imposed upon your freedom by the harsh demands of Grayskull. How that must irk you; to possess so perfect a form; to be the man of all men – and yet be no man at all –” She shook her shapely head at the look in his eyes as her words penetrated – and still her touch teased and tantalized his body.

“For my part I certainly find it – pleasurable – to have so splendidly sculpted, so handsome and, above all, so helpless a hero held at my will. Whatever that may prove to be.” She indulged herself and again humiliated him by fondling the soft hardness of his ridged abdomen; her fingers plucked playfully at the waistband of his scant garb. “But tell me now; are we to continue amicably and agreeably like this – or must I fetch the control unit from where it lies ready?” Veiling her own thoughts she watched the tell-tale flicker of reaction in his eyes as she continued. “You surely know which I would prefer; but, alas, the decision is not mine to make.” She waited, observing the inner struggle as he acknowledged his duty to accept the agony. And then, with a last stroke of his hair, she left him and fetched what was necessary. Looking down at where he steeled himself, grimacing in readiness, his mind already creating the pain, she shook her head. “I do this with a heavy heart,” she said – and pressed the control-button.

Panel lights blinked and gears engaged smoothly; with a low whirring the Machine set the revolving drum in motion – and the cables began to wind in, taking up the slack and drawing He-Man’s arms and legs slowly and steadily apart. All-too swiftly they reached the point where there was no more slack, and any further extension must be at the expense of that stretched and lengthening body – and still the drum turned steadily on. She watched his fight, saw the strain show clear in his face, the flaring outline of the great ribcage become starkly apparent beneath the tautening skin as his chest lifted and back arched hollow, the enforced tapering of the waist under the powerful traction. The strong muscles in his limbs shivered with sheer tension, their outlines sharpening as it went on so that veins stood out proud; his entire body gleamed and glinted with perspiration under the powerful lights as the Machine relentlessly drew him out and out. His hands clenched and unclenched spasmodically in a pointless bid for freedom – but, though a hissing of air whistled sharp through his teeth, he did not cry out. With a jab at the button she released the tension and noted with careful interest how his body reacted to the slow retraction. As he gasped and writhed and finally calmed she leaned over him, speaking while his eyes were still shut tight; she could see the tips of his teeth through the slightly parted lips

“You suffer so very beautifully, you really do.” She studied him appreciatively as his eyes opened and looked accusingly into hers. “You see, suffering is always so very becoming – and particularly poignant on open and easily-read faces such as yours.” He said nothing, unless it was in the way in which the look on his face confirmed her words. “And your expression under duress is – sublime. At times you look positively exalted in your martyrdom, believing implicitly that your pain is in the cause of what is right and good. I see it all so plain. It is just – regrettable – that you are in error. You see, your eyes are like a clear blue sky – and, as such, hide nothing; nothing at all. You will not conceal anything long with such open windows into your very soul.”

He was watching her; a guarded look. Plainly he had promised himself not to speak a word; they often did so, of course, in the mistaken belief that they could thereby avoid speaking the words required of them.

“But there really is no need for you to continue to endure this – we can end it, together. Simply tell me those things I wish to know.”

And then, pat to cue, he spoke, his voice choked.

“I’ll die three times over first!”

“Only three? My – associate – will be disappointed; he set your initial bid at no less than a dozen.”

“Then a dozen times! But get this now, Lyn; I’m not going to tell you!”

“So the fair young hero courts death so assiduously that he offers to die more than once? I do rather think that you may misunderstand the concept. Oh – I have no doubt as to your bravery – and stubbornness. But you are too young and know too little of life – or of love – to be so besotted by death.” She stroked the back of her hand gently, almost tenderly along his cheek. “One so well-endowed with such generous gifts of mind and body should surely find life sweet; not be out of love with it, so willing to lose it. And you think only of the premise of being dead without considering or comprehending the long, drawn out process of pain and suffering and despair which would – eventually – bring you to that state of unbeing.” She looked closely into his face – and knew that her words had a horrid resonance to him, one that he could not hide. Again she softly stroked his face. “And you already know that I am right: I can see it in your eyes. Well, it is only natural to fear such things – particularly for the young. Heroism in battle is one thing: dying by degrees quite another. But do not fret, for it will not come to that; the Machine will persuade you to speak long before your life is endangered. I told you; I do not wish you harmed – so show sense and give me what I need.”

His eyes blazed at her, defying her threats, his fears. “I told you; I’d rather die!”

Lyn paused, scanning his set and angry face. And then she shook her head. “So determined; so dramatic – so – foolish –” She sighed, almost as if sorry. “You still have  much to learn, it seems. And so I fear that I must teach you greater wisdom with greater harshness. A pity: but learn you must.” Her finger again applied pressure to the control – which in turn set the mechanism to apply a far greater pressure to her victim. She watched closely as the captive body, taken up by the tightening cables, was slowly, agonizingly extended. The pull of it lifted his chest, scooped his stomach, arched his back clear of the steel slab so that his shoulders and buttocks alone were in contact with it. She slid her hand underneath him and ran curious fingers over the sweat-soaked small of his back, then laid her spread palm on the straining muscles of his abdomen, feeling their firm tautness as they fought to contain the elongation, the stretch inflicted upon his body. And even as it went on she tempted him, offering release. “This need not be, you know,” she intimated. “This plight, this pain are all of your own making. Or do you truly believe my heart incapable of pity?”

His response was incomprehensible – but it still wasn’t a scream as such. Well; that would come soon enough. She touched at the control at last – and the Rack desisted in its carefully precise work of applied destruction. 

“That will serve – for now. We do have plenty of time, after all. We can afford to give you a brief rest.”

She watched the powerful chest rising and falling as he fought raspingly for air. Streams of sweat ran down the slope to his stomach, off his flanks, every part of him; his sole garment was sodden with it. So she fetched water and, when his eyes made the supplication that his stubborn lips would not, held it to those same lips, even lifting his head for him as he drank it thirstily up, her fingers smoothing back the damp-darkened hair at his temples. There was a certain touching bewilderment in the look he gave her as she did so; he was so ill-versed in the rules of this game that he simply did not understand. And it was time to confuse him a little more. Her voice insinuated the chance of an end to the agony – a temptation towards submission.

“I told you; we don’t have to continue with this.”

“I – I think that we do” He spoke quietly but grimly; brows some shades darker than his hair formed a straight and stubborn line.

“Oh, but you will  insist upon your hero-role, won’t you? Well, on we go, then – though your defiance will come to nothing in the end. I told you; this mechanism was designed for this very purpose – that your stubborn tongue should be loosened: and loosened it will be. And you will have noted already that the Machine is amply long enough – even for your impressive length. After all, it was adapted especially with you in mind. Are you not flattered?”

“Ecstatic,” grunted He-Man.

“Oh, but I do so like your gameness; that I will say. It mitigates this whole sorry business, for I do have to admit that it saddens me to see you so. Yes, I confess that I thought at first that my revenge would be sweet; but it transpires that you are giving me the greatest grief that I have had in a good while – and we are far from done yet; very far. Unless, of course, you are beginning to see sense? No; I rather feared as much.”

Her finger hovered over the control while he watched, swallowing rapidly and bracing himself for the onset, his fists clutching convulsively at the cables in a vain effort to hold back the coming strain. But instead of pressing on the button, she leaned towards him with a sudden urgency in her voice.

“Tell me, He-Man – just tell me – and the pain can end, and with my art I can heal you and take away even the lingering memory of it. I would do that for you, so I would; will you not do this little, little thing for me?”

“Never!”

“Never,” answered Evil-Lyn shaking her fine head regretfully, “is a very long time.” And her finger stabbed at the control – and again He-Man was drawn out, until his entire body was nothing more than an extended stretch of sinew and tormented muscle. And the strain was held – and held – and then with a nightmare sense of helplessness he realized that the witch was adding yet further tension! Every muscle, every joint and tendon in that great frame sang out loud in protest as they, already stretched terribly taut, suffered re-adjustment to yet greater extension; no part of him was free of the invasive penetration of the pain. It seemed to violate his innermost self in its tearing strength and left him nowhere at all within to hide. He could feel the atrocious agony soar and swell within him until it felt fit to burst – and carry his silence away with it in a great flood of release. He clenched his teeth tight to stop himself crying out, but a long, low moan escaped him all the same. The darkness behind his eyelids was turning red – all to red. Tautness vibrated through him, strung-out tight like an overstretched lute string; there was nothing but this agony – there never had been anything before it, might never be again. His head thrashed fiercely from side to side in a vain effort to evade what could not be escaped; the inexorable will of the Machine.

Elders – hear me – help me – Sorceress, be with me!

Evil-Lyn, watching closely, judged it enough – and let off the pressure on the cables by releasing the gearing of the ratchets so that the drum reversed and the pull slackened to nothing once more. She looked down; her captive’s eyes were tight shut, his sweat-sheened chest and stomach rose and fell in rapid rhythm as he gasped and gulped for air, and his tension-released muscles were all quivering in spasm. A thin trickle of bright blood ran out from under the manacles imprisoning his wrists and mingled with the welling perspiration which drenched him entirely. She frowned; it would be unwise to go so far again until his body had been permitted some recovery. Otherwise there was a risk that the damage might well be lasting – and that was not her aim. And then his eyes opened, blinking in the light and staring cloudily upwards. She leaned forwards with a dampened cloth and gently, almost tenderly, wiped the sweat from his face, the foam from his lips. He watched her as she did so; she noted the sudden over-brightness of his eyes, the moisture lodged in the dark-gold lashes – and concealed her satisfaction.

“We really, really don’t have to go on, you know.” She smoothed back his thick, damp hair and smiled encouragingly. “Share your knowledge with me; you would not find me ungrateful. I would willingly reward you in all manner of ways.”

“I – I – won’t tell you.”

“Yes; I feared that you would say that.” She sighed – and fetched water and again helped him to drink it, supporting his head while he coughed and swallowed and choked, and calming, drank again. He looked up with brimming and uncertain eyes as she spoke softly to him. “It truly grieves me to see you suffer so; I have no wish to do you lasting harm – So won’t you co-operate; at least a little?”

“I won’t tell you anything – I can’t!”

She noted his words, his suddenly desperate tone, but did not comment. He was looking up at her, that expression of bruised incomprehension again on his face – though the hurt in it went deeper now. And when he spoke again his voice was less steady than he surely hoped it sounded.

“W-why are you – doing this, Lyn? You must know – that I’m not going to – submit; I won’t and can’t. So – why?”

“You know why. And – yes; maybe I do have other reasons, too, which would surely surprise you, for they compass only your good – and that of many, many others. And these reasons are of such moment that to accomplish them I will make you yield if I must – even if I do deeply regret the necessity of inflicting such pain.”

He stared up at her with uncertain eyes. “Perhaps if you – told me what these reasons are – then I might at least understand – why you are – doing this to me.”

“Perhaps if you told me of Grayskull then I wouldn’t need to hurt you,” she replied, turning his words back on him – at which he sighed; a hopeless, helpless sound.

“Then I’ll have to – do without understanding, since I’m not – going to – to give in.”

She studied him close until he turned his head aside, fearing that she would read too much from his face; he feared rightly – for so she had. And she saw a mute appeal in his eyes which was at variance with the obstructive pride in his voice.

“You will: you must. It is merely a matter of time – and of your continued suffering. And of mine to be obliged to watch it.”

“But – it’s senseless! You must know by now that the Power is beyond you – that whatever your nefarious plans it will thwart your purpose in the end!”

“Not this time.”

“It always has and it always will! Its wisdom, its mercy and its strength cannot be overcome.”

“No – but yours can, He-Man; yours can. For the Power has not spared you, has it? Here you lie, helpless, in need of that mercy, that strength as never before – and yet the Power leaves you, abandons you to your agony. And still you defend it in such faithful hopelessness. Truly it is – pitiable.”

He stared at her – and the look in his eyes only served to confirm her words, though he thought his inner doubts hidden. And so she bent to bring her face close to his and spoke softly.

“Yes; I pity you – and more for your misguided faith than for your suffering. I know much about the nature of the Power; far more, I might venture to say, than you do. I know how ruthless it can be in pursuit of its goals, and how we can barely comprehend its purposes, which seem strange to us in all our ignorance. And, He-Man, can you be so sure that I am not acting as the instrument of the Power – that it allows you to be harmed because you oppose its intent by your stubborn resistance to its will? That I am fulfilling that will, while you misguidedly suffer? I am trying to help you; the Power is trying to help you: but all you do is fight us.”

A tremor ran over his face and he looked away, hiding his eyes from hers which saw too much.

“You should tell me,” she said. “It would be for the best in every way.”

“But I can’t tell you – and I won’t!”

“Such bold words. I wonder how long you will stand to them – especially as I know them to be at odds with the doubts harbored already in your mind. Such things cannot be hidden; not from me.”

“I don’t have any doubts! And I am NOT going to tell you!”

Lyn was studying him he could see; and he could also see that she was not much impressed by his show of defiance.

“As you wish,” she sighed. “Then let me leave you to think about that answer a little while. You do understand that, for the greater good, I must have what I need of you? Which means, I fear, that this process must continue – though neither of us wish it to. Well; I will allow you some time to consider. Use it wisely.”

And she left him alone with his thoughts – and they could bring him no comfort at all. He lay gripped by the Machine and struggled to right his careening mind. Lyn was far too close to being right for comfort: how long could he withstand this torment if help did not come? She might express her pity, but surely would not give way to it: and why should she, knowing that his resistance could be worn down session by excruciating session? And he would not yield, either. He simply couldn’t; the secrets of Grayskull were not his to confide, and the consequences of her knowing them just too appaling to contemplate. Unless she was telling him the truth, that the Power wished him to yield to her. But how could that possibly be so? No; Lyn was lying, seeking to deceive him and he must remain firm. Which meant, with a dreadful and inescapable logic, that she would continue with his interrogation – and that the pain which gnawed so fiercely at his will would go on – and on. And he must endure it. He must.

But for how long? 

Nothing in his young life had prepared him for this; he had fought and he had suffered injuries, even taken some few wounds which, if troubling enough, the virtue inherent within the Sword had healed. But this was – different. There was none of the thrill of the fight, the heady rush of power as, blade in hand, he brought his great strength and skill at arms into play. No; here he could only react, resist as best he could, try to hold on against an assault which was both insidious and – somehow – coldly clinical. But there was too much that he did not understand – and the confusion, the isolation – and the growing sense that he was failing – were all undermining the once-proud certainty that he would win.

Win? How can you possibly win? You don’t even know how to play this game of hers, do you?

To shut out these traitorous thoughts and fears he set his mind to think on other things, kindlier things, images from the time that was – before the Machine. Cringer as a kitten, chasing leaves in the garden; his first-ever victory in a sky-sled race; swimming in the fountain with Teela all those years ago, both innocently naked, until chased away by an indignant head gardener; Teela – not long ago (but how long? The measure of time lost meaning here under the lights of this new world of steel and sweat and pain) as innocently kissing his cheek in play. If only – but no: there was no comfort to be had in that; best not to dwell on it at all. But regrets were mingled with the memories, falling thick and fast like Cringer’s autumnal leaves.

He would have liked to be able to make his parents proud of him; he would have liked to have had time to grow up further, too – to become a man in the normal way, without the Power of Grayskull running like liquid fire through his blood. After all, he had never asked to become He-Man: he had been chosen and the Power had devolved on him – whether I wanted it or not – and now here he was, helpless at the mercy of one who plainly had none. It just wasn’t fair! What had he, Adam, ever done to deserve this? And he had done his best to be the hero they all wanted, expected of him; he really had. It wasn’t their fault that they could never know that Adam was also He-Man. And it wasn’t his, either, was it? And where were the Elders now, when he most needed them? How was this fair, either –? The look in Teela’s eyes as he handed himself over to them – how it haunted him. And she would never know; now she never would. And she dismissed Adam in her overwhelmed admiration for Eternia’s hero. It ought to be funny – but, here and now it wasn’t; it wasn’t at all. And how was that fair? None of it was fair!

Some part, some deeper part of him was dimly aware that he was being tested; that the inner struggle of Adam against his other self was only surfacing through mistreatment and fear – and that he must fight it as surely as he must resist the witch’s subversion of his body and mind. And yet he feared – he feared that under this unremitting pressure, the steady diminution of his strength, of his power, then it was Adam who was becoming more prevalent. And He-Man, lying there, smiled grimly to himself, knowing that the young Eternian Prince had no chance whatsoever of long resisting the Machine. It was seriously disturbing to find the two halves of his soul becoming conflated like this; it was not usually difficult to keep them apart; to be wholly Adam-like when he was the Prince and He-Man only when the Power was with him. But the Power is waning – and without it you can’t hold out, can you? It’s just another fight. Just another like all the rest. Never so long or so bitter as this – nor in such danger of losing it as you are now – No! He would not, could not give in. He had told her that he would not give her the satisfaction – and he had meant it, too! But soon she’ll be back to test that resolve – and can you still hold to your proud words then, hero? Well – can you? I can: for Eternia; for Grayskull, for Eternos, for my parents, for my loyal friends and helpers, for Duncan and – yes, Adam my lad, for you, too! And for Teela? Yes – for Teela, too. So that she would be proud of – us both. It’s you that she’s proud of – not me. It’s you she spends time with: and at least you have the chance of making her love you – But it’s you that she loves – or at least admires so much. It makes no odds; we are one, you and I – together. And we must remain that way. We did this for Teela – remember that – and why. For love. Yes – for love.

A voice interrupted his inner deliberations.

“Well? Do we proceed?”

He opened his eyes; the witch was back, bringing him too back from pleasant dream to horrid reality: yes, the witch was standing over him with some new toy held in her hand; a long, round-headed metal rod that glinted menacingly bright beneath the lights.

“Oh no – what now?” The dismayed, candid words were out before he could help it.

“Weary already, He-Man? Tut-tut-tut. Hero – remember?”          

“Haven’t you already done enough to me?”

“Enough? But we have barely even begun! I shall no doubt be forced to re-write the entire book of lore on such matters in what I shall have to do to you, my brave, foolish, stubborn boy. Unless, of course, you have by now seen the utter hopelessness of your position –?”

But He-Man had already turned his head away from her in resignation, almost managing to conceal the despair haunting his eyes. She smiled, satisfied; progress was indeed being made. But there was plenty still to be done. Plenty. So she activated the electro-probe and, looking him over with careful deliberation, considered where best to begin.

 

******

 

4.5

 

Duncan’s scouts had returned – eventually – and were making their report. Teela had insisted on going with them, and her father had agreed – mostly to remove her restless presence and to give her something more constructive to do than brood.

“We found the tracking device – attached to a fallen giant statue in the ruins at far Gorthlindir, way beyond the forest.”

“A fallen giant? Someone has a sense of humor, then: after a fashion.”

But Teela was furious. “It was a decoy – a deliberate paper-chase – and all for nothing! Worse – it means that while we followed the wrong scent we lost all sight of where they really did take him!”

Man-at-Arms shook his head in a weary fashion. “They were far too well cloaked for our trace, anyway – strong sorcery like that is hard to overcome without a deal of preparation.”

“One day I shall settle the score with Evil-Lyn,” fumed Teela. “Oh, but I’ll make her pay for this – you see if I don’t. And if she’s done any harm whatsoever to He-Man, then –”

“Let it lie,” sighed her father. “Such thoughts aren’t helpful.”

“Then what is?”

“Finding out where she took him would be a good start.”

“But we really aren’t any closer to knowing that, are we?”

“No. We aren’t.” His tone was grim.

“And Adam?”

“Him neither.”

“So what do we do now? I can’t bear just sitting here – anything could be happening to them – anything!”

He looked at his daughter: yes – two of a kind, that pair, right enough. It did not make him feel any better.

“We wait. Or, rather, you wait; I’m for Grayskull and the Sorceress.”

Teela rose at once. “Me too.”

One look at her imploring face made him relent.

“Very well. Come on, then.”

 

******

4.6

 

He reeled through the door of the dockside tavern and, staggering, collided with a table and overturned it in a clatter of spilled tankards. Speech within faltered as all eyes turned to watch – though this display was no new sight in that place. Nor was the fact that the newcomer promptly doubled over, retching – and vomited all across the flagstones.

At once two men, whose task it was to maintain such order as the tavern could muster, came swaggering forward.

“Out!” ordered one. “Get you gone!”

“And you shouldn’t be armed in here, neither,” added the other, noting sword and knife and firearm in the drunkard’s belt.

The man, heavily-built, grizzle haired and clearly a warrior, turned a green and sweating face up to them – and both took an involuntary step back from the look in his eyes.

“A healer – f-fetch me a healer –”

“Oh aye? A healer is it? And what could a healer do for you, then? Go and sleep it off – and pray you’ll feel better on the morrow,” laughed the first.

“I – I said a healer – f-fetch me one – now!”

“There are none here – this is an alehouse – and you’ve already had more than drink enough, it’s plain – So out you go!”

He laid a brisk hand on the newcomer – whose fist promptly shot out and felled him like a log.

The terrible, red-rimmed eyes in the sick-looking face swiveled – and fixed on the other. Breathing raggedly he fumbled at his belt – and the man at once stepped hurriedly back – but the warrior pulled out a purse and jangled its contents.

“Gold – e-enough to b-buy this lousy fleapit, aye – an’ a score more like it. A h-healer – an’ it’s yours –”

"I know of one, once reputed good - but he's old now - and a drunkard."

"Just fetch him."

He slumped to a bench, dribbling a livid bile – and drew out his weapon.

“Rest of you – s-see as you keep your damn’ distance. An’ you – be about your errand. An’ hurry!”

With a last look, the man turned – and hastened out of the door.

The warrior leaned back breathing heavily and closed his eyes, the light glinting on the sweat sheen of his waxen face. Though his whole body shook as with a palsy and though his eyes remained shut – and though the purse of gold lay temptingly on the tabletop – so did his firearm. Sick the man might be, but drunkard he plainly was not – and the veteran of many a fray to boot. And so none in the place dared to approach, but looked on in silence.

“I’ll settle s-scores w-with that b-black hearted b-bitch yet – See if I don’t –” came his muttered voice. “S-see if I don’t –”

 

******

 

4.7

 

“No!”

His rejection of her repeated demand was curt, confined to a single word – but it came at a price – earning him the immediate punishment of being returned to that place of dark emotions and over-bright lights for another session of torment in the rending grip of the Machine.

And, since he still did not speak, they set him again to hang the night in chains for being unhelpful in his attitude. And there he hung as the sad hours limped slowly by. And the fiery ache in his arms and shoulders was no worse than the one in his heart. 





Dungeon despair                                                                           The work of: thepolishgirl.deviantart.com