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Heart's Desire r1-StarWindDancer-p2

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Kentucky Territory
1642

Several children of the village gathered around the campfire watching the painted man carve his weird figures into the wood. His stolen knife, one he had taken from the white men, dug into the wood-leaving image of strange people staring out of the pole. It looked similar to the totems that the elders of the village carved to ward off evil spirits.

"Osebo, tell us the story of the land of painted men?" one of the children asked.

The painted man, his skin as dark as the night around him, looked up from his work. All eyes were glued to his, watching him. He had told the story of his homeland; the place where he and all the other slaves had come from many times but the children always wanted to hear more. The children never tired of the stories of his homeland nor of his journey over the lake of endless water to this land.

"And what story would you like to hear, Running Deer?" His black eyes bored into the child’s eyes, watching the wooden color. She was a pretty little thing, long limbs and innocent little face. She was quickly turning into a woman, her figure filling out nicely into curved shapes.

Osebo licked his thick lips wondering how her bronze skin would feel against his own.

"Tell us the story of the lions."

"No, no, tell us the story of the bad white men that took you and brought you here."

"Yes, yes, tell us a story of the endless lake, the sea," other children chanted.

Unnoticed by the children Osebo shivered. The memory of the beginnings of his slavery was imprinted on his brain. The screams of his family as the white men came to claim them as slaves still fresh in his mind. The slavers invaded his village to take him and his family. It seemed that their pitiful screaming never stopping as they were shoved into the huge canoes called ships to cross the endless lake called the sea. He hated the sea; he hated that water, separating him from his land.

"The sea is a huge lake that stretches as far as the eye can see. It rolls like the leaves in the trees. It was like we were birds floating above the trees, watching the land pass underneath us. There were large animals in the sea. Things called dolphins that sped by the ship. The wind would catch the sails and the ship would race over the water, much like the birds in the sky. For days the only thing we saw were the sea and the sky."

"And what did the white men do?"

"They tended the ship. They would let us out onto the deck and let us dance to the music of the piper. We would live in the bottom of the ship as we journeyed over the sea." Osebo wanted to tell them about the bad food or the slaves thrown over board. In his mind he could still smell the smell of rotting flesh, the cloying scent of too much sweat, urine, and other waste but these were not the stories the children wanted to hear.

"The water would move under us constantly, up and down, up and down. The ship never stood still and there was never any land to step on. We lived in that ship for many, many days."

"How many days?"

"Hold out your hands," the children held out their hands. Their small, grubby little fingers looking so tasty. "It was that many days."

"Wow, that’s a lot of days."

"What happened next?"

"Well, the ship landed in a place called the Caribbean. There the white men took us from one place to another, handing some of us out to different people who gave them these pieces of gold."

Osebo’s mind went back to those days long ago. Barley 17 seasons old with no idea what was going on around him. The sweaty, obese men fondling him and the other black men. He remembered the market place, being lead up onto the wooden stage and the shouting of men. He remembered the load crack of the gavel on stage; somehow knowing it was sealing his doom in ways he never even imagined.

"After that I was loaded into a wagon with other painted men, to be taken north. There we got onto another ship that brought us to the land of New Orleans. We sailed up the river with the white men who were not white, the French men. We sailed up the muddy rivers, the Mississippi to the land near here. There we worked on farms for the white men."

"Tell us how you escaped the white men?" Running Deer asked. Her face was intent on Osebo’s. It seemed like they were the only two around the fire, the young not-quite-woman absorbed into his spell.

"I killed them." Osebo said simply. His lips curled back over his teeth, teeth he hoped to sink into her tender little flesh. He tried to will her to see the images in his mind, the white slave master dead, his throat slit from ear to ear. Would she enjoy the hot feel of blood as he had? Would she feel the absolute power that surged through him when he felt the head master die? Or was she too precious a jewel to feel something like that?

Running Deer watched in fascination as the blade of the knife reflected the light of the fire. It moved rhythmically in his hand, back and forth, back and forth, much like how he described the sea. His voice slid over her ears, telling the story but all she could hear was come to me, come to me my beauty.

The rest of the story went on, about how he escaped the white men and came to their tribal lands. She didn’t hear about how the tribe adopted him, how he nearly died running the gauntlet. Running Deer didn’t hear any of it, she only heard the words only meant for her, to come to the painted man.

Once the story was done and the moon hung high over the sky the other children raced off to sleep for the night. One Who Is Always Laughing tugged at Running Deer’s arm, trying to get her to join in their play but her eyes never left Osebo’s.

"I want to hear more about the painted men," Running Deer said. Her word came out filled with wonder. She had to know about the power this painted man had over her. She had to know why his eyes seemed to glow just a little too much from the firelight. She needed to know why he seemed to change into a dark and dangerous animal in front of her and only she could see him. He looked something like a wolf stalking it’s pray when he changed. Sometimes he looked like a man as big as the sky, his eyes wide and dark with no ring of white around them. She had to know what he was.

"I’ll tell you the stories of the land of painted men," Osebo said, approaching his bronze jewel. She sat there obediently as he stalked his pray.

One Who Is Always Laughing let go of her hand to run after the other children. //Let Running Deer hear her stories.//

Osebo, for his part, led Running Deer into his tent. The strange totems that he carved lining the walls. There were images of men and women next to images of strange beasts from his land. There were elephants, leopards, lions, flamingos, and dolphins. But what drew her eyes were the strange beasts that hunted the night. These were stained black with the power within them. They seemed to hold all the evil in the world, wrapped up in wood by Osebo and his knife.

The painted man stepped up behind the girl, pressing his body into hers. He could feel the warmth of her flesh cover his. So warm and innocent but he would take care of that soon.

He licked the side of her face, as she stood entranced in the middle of his tent. His large hands stoked down her baby fat arms, feeling them, feeling skin.

Running Deer watched the statues. Their faces contorted to smirking, evil grins. Some licked their lips; others just started moving their hands over their bodies. However, they all watched her and she watched them back.

Osebo bit the side of his jewel's neck, making her stiffen momentarily underneath his hands. He soothed her body, making her melt into him. He pulled her back to rub his erection between her buttocks. His hands gathered up her skirts, lifting them up to pull it over her head.

The shock of her skin against him, against his bare chest told him that he had been right in claiming this young thing. He turned her around to feel her budding breast against him. His mouth descended on hers, claiming it, possessing it, taking every thing she was through it. He could almost feel her young little soul being suck into him.

Quickly he took off his breaches to free his trapped erection. He was pleased to hear the note of fear in her voice when she saw it.

"Do not worry, little one, it will all be over soon," Osebo said as he laid the girl onto the ground and covered her small body with his own.

Running Deer didn't watch Osebo as he claimed her, she watched over his shoulder, watching the strange figures. They contorted and writhed, twisting like living things. Over his shoulder as he claimed her she was able to see the spirits of the night. They all laughed and grinned at her, their eyes filled with an evil she never had seen before.

The images came and came, one racing after the other until the whole tent was filled with their gasps and moans, sounding so much like Osebo who moved over her and her own body that seemed far behind her.

They cavorted and laughed at her. Their horrible faces dripping with blood and lust juices. Running Deer tried to tear her eyes away but could not stop watching them. Their dance became frantic as she watched. They spiraled around until they were blurs of chaotic motion.

She screamed.

Osebo chuckled as he felt the madness enter Running Deer. He knew he would have to leave, knowing that the others would soon find out what he had done, but at the moment it didn’t matter to him. He had claimed this innocent thing as he had claimed those young girls and boys from his homeland to this new land. The white head master’s daughter had been one of the best.

But it was time to move on. He had escaped judgement through no fault of his own on his long journey here but now was the time to take his life in his hands and move on.

He left Running Deer behind him, walking out into the night. He never intended to come back.

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Appellation Mountains
1678

Crazy Visions cackled madly as she watched the braves of her village drag a man before her. She could clearly see that this man, this evil painted man had not changed one day since her childhood.

She danced around the fire, chattering with the visions around her. It had been years since she was called Running Deer but the memories were still there. Through her visions she had watched her painted man wander the world. She had watched as he claimed others like her; men and women, adult and child. He filched parts of their souls from them, taking away their innocence and leaving them behind, mad, crazy, and waiting for death.

Crazy Visions knew that the painted man never expected to run across any of his victims again but here she was the hand of vengeance to strike the vampires man. She would punish him, make him pay for the deeds he had done.

"String him up, kill him, kill him," she chanted. She clucked as she saw the recognition in his eyes. "Make him pay," Crazy Visions sentenced him to trials of death.

She rocked in the sunlight as she watched the warriors string the painted man up. His arms were painfully stretched out to hang from the tree. Already nervous sweat ran down his sides. Osebo looked positively delicious hanging there. She knew the sight would only get better.

"Strike him down, cut him up," Crazy Visions ordered the first warrior.

She watched with glee as he threw the first ax. It whizzed by Osebo’s ear who jerked reflexively from the ax.

"No, no, no, no. Won’t do at all. Tie him up, string him down."

The warriors followed her orders, tying up the painted man even more until his entire body was fastened tightly to the tree. Crazy Visions rocked and chattered as she watched Osebo writhe in his bounds, trying to free himself.

One after another the warriors came to show their skill. Inch by inch their throws got closer and closer to the painted man. From wounds from wobbly shots he bled, surprising Crazy Visions when she saw it was indeed red but the red was a black red, surprisingly similar to the color of his carvings, the ones stained with evil.

But what sent shivers down Crazy Visions spin were the screams. She loved hearing Osebo’s screams. They were screams of a sweet, high pitch that rung in her ears until the entire world was filled with his screams. Sweet justice, wonderful justice, it fed her craving.

"Enough!" she screamed, throwing her arms out. The warrior next in line stopped in mid arch. He was a warrior of high rank and would probably deliver the deathblow, cleaving the painted man’s skull in half.

"Osebo, Osebo," she crooned as she ran a hand in his sweat and blood. "So sweet, Osebo, I wonder how you taste. If I were to take your soul would I feel my own."

In front of her the painted man jerked around as her fingers dug into his flesh. She soothed him with wild croons as she leaned up to kiss him. Her lips locked on his, feeding on him.

Osebo had never tasted one he had taken before. Her mouth was tainted with his own taste but still the last lingering taste of her innocence and youth clung stubbornly to her. He sucked hard, trying to free herself from herself but she fought back. She was a strong one and Osebo hadn't tasted a strong one since he had been claimed like this.

His mind drifted back to the demon that had claimed him in Africa. The witch had stolen him but he had stolen her right back. She had not been strong enough for him and this one would not be strong enough for him now.

It was a sheer battle of wills but Osebo felt the last of Running Deer leave the old woman. He felt her death throws against his bleeding body. The old woman slumped against him, drained to death.

Osebo felt the familiar surge of power but it was short lived. The power in the old woman wasn't enough. He felt his life's blood draining away. It ran like sap over the tree, his dark blood pooling on the wood.

He knew he was dying. His jewel had won after all.

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Off of State Road 706
Present Day

Mulder sat next to Krycek, his mind running around in pure furry. It was the rat’s fault that he was lost in the woods, it was the rat’s fault that everything was dark, and it was most certainly was the rat’s fault that it was snowing. Every time he met Krycek things went from slightly bad to worse. Hell, he nearly lost an arm because of the rat. It was all his fault, it always was.

He stared intently out the front window of the car trying to see anything in the dark. Up ahead he saw some light.

"There!" Mulder said. "There must be a town over there, I can see the glow from the streetlights reflecting off the clouds."

"Mulder, I don't think that's a town......... "

Mulder saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Something big appeared in front the car and in only a moment the car was caroming off the road.

It slid on the snow no matter what Mulder tried. The car slid down the embankment and slammed heavily into a tree. Before darkness enfolded him he could almost swear he heard laughter.

Fire licked up the side of the tree, releasing Osebo from his wooden prison. It felt good it hurt so much as the flames licked over his prison. Greedily he reached out to the flames, trying to bathe himself with its powerful heat. Only part of his mind paid any attention to the men emerging from the car.

The fire turned deep red, fed by the gas and wood, nearly reaching the sky. Osebo flew with the fire, dancing in the sky. His arms were flames that reached up to try to catch the stars.

Osebo howled in delight at the magnificent power of it all. He was released from his wooden prison, his tomb, ready to walk the earth once more.

But his pleasure was too quick. Soon the flames started dying down, dampened by the falling snow. Osebo huddled in the charred remains of the tree, feeling the emptiness inside him. He needed to fill the void, he needed to feed.

The two men from the land ship came to mind. He could still smell the blood of the two men. Like the new shadow, the new ghost that he was he slipped out of the tree and into the new world around him.

Osebo followed the two men, watching them, studying them. He had never been a ghost before. He hadn't the first clue of what to do so he watched. He knew that he would need a new body to get out of here so he studied them.

The one man was practically carrying the other man, the one with blood on his face. This one was strong, his body built to take on the world. He was beautiful like one of the sirens that lured seamen. Osebo could tell he was dangerous, like those sirens, luring people to their deaths. Too bad about the one arm though, but still those enchanting green eyes spoke of something to Osebo. They were haunted eyes, beautiful eyes, tempting eyes.

The other was just as pretty. There was a naiveté to him that was tempting. He was tall and lanky, cute and innocent, almost like honey. But honey can be turned against people; it could trap them like flies.

Osebo reached out; his hands now tree branches. He tried to grab onto then but the young one screamed and ran. Osebo tried to grab them but they plundered steadily throughout the forest, just out of his reach. He howled at them, screaming at them to come back but they rushed on.

The two men practically fell into the cabin, Osebo in hot pursuit. He bashed against the door and window, trying to get in, trying to take but he was tired. He had never been a ghost before; he didn't know what to do. The incessant pull of darkness pulled at him, calling him to rest and store up energy.

//Yes, that is what I will do. I will rest and then I will take,// Osebo grinned his ghostly grin as he fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

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Next,

Nicole