Water (29 page)

Bowls of water and lit candles surrounded the table I was on.  Two elements wouldn’t mask me from the island completely but nothing reacted to my movements yet.  I finally freed one hand and used it to quickly release the other.  I lifted myself to my knees and my lungs expanded, grateful to be returned to their full form.  I had just long enough to draw in one full breath of air before two very strong hands pushed me back down on the table.  A gruff voice in my ear sent chills down my spine, "And now to finish what we started."

Shawn gave commands in Spanish but no one obeyed.  They looked scared and unsure, glancing at each other for encouragement.  I squirmed violently, enough to send small rumbles throughout the ground around us.  That didn’t help Shawn’s case; the men actually started backing away.  Still holding me down tightly, he barked more orders and what may have been several threats directed at the men.

"Do unto others, Shawn."

"Shut up," he snarled.  He spoke again in Spanish, but this time his tone was cool and controlled.  I heard the word
dinero
mixed into his speech and a few of the men perked up.  Four of them stepped forward. 
Oh good
, I thought,
one for each limb
.
 Which is exactly what they did.  There was a short scuffle as the four vied for a spot at my legs.  The two that lost cursed aloud then very hesitantly took a position by each of my arms.  A promise of even more money from Shawn cajoled them into actually taking hold of my wrists and pinning them down.  I wiggled my wrists a bit, testing their holds and letting them know I wasn’t going to make it easy on them.

Shawn walked in front of me and withdrew his black-handled knife from a sheath on his belt.  What did Micah call it?

"An athame."  Shawn answered my unspoken question.  "My sword of discretion, revealing the truth and killing all other options."

"That is very dungeons and dragons of you, Shawn."

He shrugged, "It works.  I’ve marked every other Gaia using this knife and it never lies.  Those unworthy of the title, such as you, find it to be very painful and can never truly heal from the wounds it inflicts.  Those that hold the position of Gaia with true strength and control easily endure the cuts…" his last words filtered off into a whisper.

He shook himself out of some sort of self-evoked memory and moved my hair to reveal the old scar.  The triangle within a circle still pained me even though the stitches had dissolved and had been replaced by slightly raised, pink scar tissue.  He began to cut, and it was every bit as painful as I remembered.  As the knife pierced my skin, leaking its poison into my body.    

Panic welled up within me and I looked around, desperate for a distraction.  I couldn’t give Shawn the satisfaction of knowing he was breaking me.  I focused in on those closest to me, and considered the potential in the men that held down my wrists.  Might as well make them earn their pay.  I pulled back on my arms and almost slipped free of my captors.  The two men frantically repositioned themselves, tightening their grips.  They leaned back, ensuring the rest of their body was as far away from me as it could get.  Shawn blocked most of my view of the man on my right, so I turned to study the one on my left. 

I wriggled my left wrist again.  The man shuddered, squeezing tighter.  He tilted his head back, stretching it as far from me as he could get, but his eyes darted over, stealing glances of me.  Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead.  Shawn, partly preoccupied with his task, lectured me, "Stop teasing Juan." 

He was working inside the triangle now, occasionally crossing over the old scar tissue.  Beads of sweat started to form on my own forehead and I half grunted, half whimpered during some of the deeper cuts.  Every time I made a noise, the four men leaned even further away, stretching my limbs out until I thought they would rip me in half.  Had it not been so painful, it might have been humorous. 

"Done," Shawn announced suddenly.  All six of us let out a sigh of relief.  Shawn held up two mirrors; one behind my shoulder and one in front of me.  I studied my painful new body art.  It took a minute to discern the actual cuts from the pool of blood still leaking from them.  The triangle inside the circle now contained a square inside of it, then another circle inside the square.  On top of the outer most circle sat a crescent moon.  It was tilted sideways and took on the characteristics of an evil smile, wide with lips parted and blood red.

 "Ok, Picasso."  I couldn’t hide my grimace, "What is the significance?"

"The outer most circle and moon signify the Horned God, the male deity.  Something taken far too much for granted in our industry.  All of the shapes within the circle represent Alchemy.  A bridge between matter and spirit.  It brings about change in life."

"So now I am supposed to change into your idea of a Gaia?"  I tried shaking off the men at my arms again but they continued to hold fast.

"The symbol is more about me, not about you, Princess."  He bandaged the area.  "Besides, my athame now holds your spirit."

I didn’t question him further.  The pain was too much.  After he finished, he still hadn’t given the order to release me.  Instead, he sat down in front of me, producing a small lime from his pocket.  With his athame, he made two small cuts in it.  Then he held up a small piece of paper for me to see.  My name was scribbled on it.  He crumpled it up and stuffed it into the lime.

"Is it happy hour already?"

Shawn didn't a laugh.  Without glancing up, he said, "I am souring your luck."  He put the lime in a bowl and added salt and ashes.  He placed the bowl in front of me, stood, and gave orders to have me moved back into the bed.  As they lifted me off the table, I managed to kick over the bowl of lime and ashes.

I can make my own luck
, I thought. 
Mother taught me how.

Once left alone in the bed, my thoughts drifted to my mother.  Lilacs.  She always smelled of lilacs - a clean, fresh floral aroma, sweet but not overpowering.  Very persistent in the way it can permeate an entire room, or cling to you even after she was long gone. 

In a way, she was very much like her lilacs, persistent in passing her knowledge of prayers and chants on to me, drilling me until I knew I could never forget them.  One such chant came to mind.  It was meant as a prayer to water, and you inserted your wishes into the prayer.  That might just work.  I slowly slid off the bed, holding my injured shoulder as still as possible.  I sat down cross-legged in front of one of the water bowls.  I held my hands, palms down over the bowl of water.  I closed my eyes and tried to center myself, imagining pure personal energy flowing from my center and out of my hands into the water.  Keeping my voice barely above a whisper, I chanted, "I pray to the Water and the Goddess Spirit that governs it.  Send this to Susan, wielder of the power of water."  I paused, rolled my eyes at how cheesy that sounded but continued anyway.  "And to Micah, Ardwyad of Gaia, that they may find me.  Blessed Be."

 After the prayer you are supposed to pour the water into the earth, preferably at the base of a tree, or down a drain, carrying your prayer through the earth to all things.  I didn’t dare try to step outside the circle of elements, but thought of another way to disperse the blessed water; by evaporation.  I could sit there and let it evaporate on its own, but would the blessing wear off? 

Taking the risk, I mustered the tiniest spark of energy and sent it carefully into the bowl.  I could feel the bowl heat.  I waited a few minutes, but Shawn never appeared.  I repeated the chant and heating of the water a couple more times then slid back into bed, exhausted once again. 

It would be necessary to exercise my powers as much as possible.  I would need them to be at their strongest during my escape attempt.  When it came, it would be all or nothing.  I did not plan on coming back to this prison of a bed.

Keeping up my physical strength was just as important.  I looked around.  There wasn’t much I could do bedridden, but I had to try.  I tightened my core muscles for ten seconds, then released, repeating the exercise three times before moving on to another set of muscles.  By the time I had finished with every muscle group I could think of, I was sweating, and the sheets were soaked.  Apparently I would be sleeping in a wet bed once again.  It didn’t much matter, after the last of my exercises I had passed out within minutes, oblivious to physical discomforts.

Chapter 33

Field Trip

Several weeks had passed since I first awoke on La Isla Isabel.  I had wakened that morning with tears staining my cheeks.  It was becoming more and more difficult to function as an overwhelming sense of depression worked against me.  I wiped my face dry, took a deep breath, and began my meditation exercises.

No matter what the exercises did for me, I had to appear weaker, both mentally and physically.  Shawn expected the island to suck the life out of me, which it would, if I let it.  My escape plan was still taking shape.  It gave me purpose, a goal, and most of all something by which to maintain some sanity.  Without it, I would have long since succumbed to Shawn's mind games. 

Shawn would sometimes be present for several days, coaxing me into playing chess or cards.  I always lost, maintaining my façade of weakness.  During one evening of Scrabble, Shawn had me smiling, and almost laughing at his jokes.  It was the first night I had fallen asleep feeling somewhat hopeful.  Maybe I could survive this.  That same night, I awoke to him brutally ripping the clothes off my body.  I barely had time to blink the sleep from my eyes and comprehend what was happening before he penetrated me with a candlestick.  It was thankfully thin but very long – and probably did more damage inside than what Shawn could have done himself.  After it was all over he didn't say a word – just walked out, leaving me fearing further attacks the rest of the night.  I would have thought I dreamed the entire incident if it weren't for the insistent aches in my lower abdomen over the next several days.

I didn't see him for a full week after that, but that doesn't mean I had a reprieve.  I was scared, only managing to get a few hours of sleep once I keeled over from pure exhaustion.  A few days later, the men took turns dumping a bucket of cold water on my head every hour – or what I judged to be every hour, for an entire day and night.  By dawn, I was soaked through, shivering, and sleep deprived.  The only satisfaction I had was the sheer terror on each man's face when they approached with the bucket.  No one wanted to come close to me; I had apparently worked up a reputation as a witch.  If they only knew – the worst I could probably do was blubber uncontrollably on their shoulder.

Food came sporadically.  Days went by without an ounce of food and very little water.  Just as I thought I would surely die of starvation, a full plate of delicious smelling meats and breads was set down outside my room for the penguin to feast on, and for me to watch.  Shawn wasn't there, but everything had to be happening on his orders.  Even the men looked at the bird with jealousy. 

"You are not making any friends here, pal," I said to the penguin. 

He just squawked at me.

When Shawn finally did return to the room, he was sporting new clothes and an impressive collection of cigars.  "You look haggard."  He immediately had me laid out and proceeded to massage me.  He puffed away on one of his new purchases, and for the first few minutes, my entire body tensed, expecting an incident similar to the candlestick, but with a lit cigar.  His hands, however, were insistent, and they kneaded at my muscles, working out the kinks and forcing me to relax.  The sweet smelling tobacco, and the gentle, methodical rubbing, combined with a need for physical compassion tricked my body into arousal.  This was the last thing I needed.

Naked old people.  Naked old people.  Naked old people.

A cold shower wasn't possible; I had to come up with something to deter the inevitable. 

I was too late, Shawn already knew.  "Is it cold in here, or are you just happy to see me?" 

I looked down to see my nipples had gone as hard as rocks, and were jutting through my thin t-shirt.

Crap.  Dead kittens.  Dead kittens.  Dead kittens.
 

It wasn't working.  His methodical rubbing moved down my torso and in between my legs, his soft hands gliding over me with a practiced touch. 

Dirty toilets.  Moldy bananas.  Anything!
 

Waves of pleasure mounting inside my body overcame the sickening feeling in my gut.  The disdain I felt for letting myself want more, or worse, want him, slowly dissipated. 

I felt myself climaxing and just as I was about to peak, he stopped and leaned into me.  "I control you.  I say when you come, I say when you bleed, and I say when you die.  Just remember that, Princess.  Don't ever forget it."

I watched him walk away, bursting with desire to call him back and hating myself all the more for it.  I was breathless, almost in pain from the need to finish.  He disappeared into the thick forest.  It took several minutes to gain some semblance of control over my traitorous body.  I spent the rest of the night red with embarrassment and shame. 

In the days after, I attempted to focus on the one small pleasure I was still afforded; my baths.  I insisted on taking one every day and thankfully, Shawn obliged.  No matter how much I bathed, the dirty feeling could not be scrubbed away.  However, when completely submerged in the imported water, I could practice my mental exercises to the full extent of my power, work out details of my escape plan and perform my chanting rituals without Shawn detecting any of it.  After blessing the entire trough of water, I was returned to my bed but I always watched the men dump the water in the forest.  I figured something had to make its way to Susan and Micah.  It just might take some time.