shaman_yuri
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Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
It was a phrase I had heard from one of the foreigners who did business with Mr Cruz. He had actually been somewhat of a nice sort. He seemed to me to find working with my master to be a “necessary evil.”
Still, Cruz and his cronies are the devil that I know. Leaving him with this creature could lead to worse. On the other hand, I knew a sign would be coming and likely would only present itself once. If I am not willing to take a risk, to help myself, then I likely will spend the rest of a very pathetic life in the service of Cruz…or worse.
“I am interested,” I say, willing my eyes to show fear and not hope.
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The bizarre situation makes it rather easy for me to follow the creature’s second directive. Between my master’s disturbed emotions and this newcomer, I was afraid. The past months had conditioned me to be fearful despite my efforts to resist it. But I’d heard of creatures like this before, and whatever he was I was at least his equal as a goddess of my people.
“I am Ixchel,” I share, looking furtively toward the man who still held my arm so tightly I could easily imagine a bruise would appear where each of his fingers dug into my flesh. “Why should I trust my story to one who does business with my master? In any case, if you want something of me, I’m not the one to ask. My master commands and I perform.”
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I’ve only seen Consuella a few times, and every time she has confused me. She’s the daughter of the man who binds me to this evil place, but she’s kind. Part of me wants to believe she is sincere but the more cautious part of me that has come of age during my captivity has kept her at arms length, not willing to trust. Still, the sandwich looks delicious and even the dubious voice in my head can’t imagine she’d want to poison me. I mumble thanks in Spanish as I take first one half and then the other and greedily consume it.
I almost find myself asking her between mouthfuls if she knows why I’ve been summoned, but my fear overrules me and I stay silent, finishing the sandwich and allowing the older girl to control the situation.
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I yelp as the baton strikes my thigh more out of dismay that the girl…the vision…vanished than of the very real pain accompanying the blow. Still, the feeling of that moment allows me to collect myself…sort of. My vision is still swimming with tears and pain, but I manage to rise and wipe my face with my left hand.
“I’m…okay now…” I say without meeting the woman’s angry eyes. Instead I face toward my next challenge and move along before another blow might land. I still have no idea what my master wants so soon after our last…transaction.
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Escape.
Like I haven’t thought about it every waking moment, and even in my dreams, since I’ve been abducted.
The verbal blow hurts more than Manuel’s physical ones. For once I can’t hold back the tears. Before long, the sobs come. I try to hold them back, but I just can’t hold it in any more. I finally give up and collapse on the floor, curling up in a ball while the agony I’ve been trying to hold in all this time pores out.
I want to be back with my people. I want to sleep in my safe bed.
I want to go home!
{Author’s Note: Ixchel is only about 13 years old – a very precocious and magically gifted young girl but still a prepubescent girl. As I pondered the situation, I felt it was time she act like it}
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Talking back would get me nowhere. It was best just to get this over with and see what the master wants. I’ve disappointed him before, and after a bunch of threats and bluster we come down to the fact i am more valuable to him alive and intact than I am dead or damaged. Nothing has changed that. Unless I do something really stupid, we’re at an impasse until I have a period. And with the diet I’m getting, I don’t see THAT happening anytime soon…
So I just ignore Manual’s taunts and make my way up to the back servant’s entrance of the big building. I’ve been through this before. I quietly slip in, leaving Manual behind to go in the front way, and announce myself to the chief slave who current stands imperiously with his baton over the kitchen staff to ensure no one slips a morsel as dinner is prepared. The man’s face reminds me of a weasel and his expression is that of one confronted with a particularly disgusting bug which is also known to have a nasty sting.
He never has known what to do with me.
I shrug and indicate with a head gesture the living part of the house, as if to ask whether I should just go up myself or not.
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The rap on my skull barely registers now. It’s a normal part of my existence and in any case Manual holds back because he doesn’t own me…and despite his claim likely never will.
There’s no way he could afford me.
The fact I feel even a little superior over that makes me more than a little sick to my stomach. Just a little…though enough to distract me a bit in the car as I ponder just what Cruz might want with me so soon after I disappointed him. It’s good I just showed my continuing value to the bastard. As much as I hate him, I know a new owner could be much, much worse…
Now if only I could roast Manuel’s wandering hands and feed them to him. Someday…
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I manage not to smile at the appellation Manuel has just granted me in that statement. A witch has power. Leashed as I may be, perhaps I can nudge that unconscious recognition and bring about an equally unconscious wariness.
“If she doesn’t get eight hours of rest and a meal with some real food, by that I mean meat, the healing won’t hold. I saved her and sped up her healing, but the actual “stuff” still need to come from somewhere. My leash,” I indicate by gently tugging on the ring on my neck with the barest tip of my index finger, “keeps me from making something from nothing. I could have her up and back to work in 10 minutes if it came off.” I forced my face into a neutral expression, but left the enigma in my eyes. “Sir.”
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Despite the suffering around me, it is the self pity that I find hardest to tamp down. Ancestors, why must I go through this?
Yet such thoughts will get me nowhere. I long to be a child again, but I must wonder if by the time I make it through this, childhood will be a dream.
Sigh…
I must survive this. We all must survive this. Call if a gut instinct, but I cannot believe this will go on much longer. If we can just last a few more weeks…perhaps months…then the tables will turn. In the meantime, I move as directed to the side of the piteous victim and channel my power…
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1814 wrote:
Manuel snickers as you pass him, but he does not touch you., though as you walk ahead of him to the car, you can feel his eyes undress you. He motions to the open passenger door and shuts it after you slide in before getting in the front passenger seat for the ride out of the slave pens. The door lock clicks as you shut the door.
Exiting the tunnel into fresh air and sunlight is as much a miracle this time as every other time. The driver, a man by the name of Paco, quietly opens the rear windows enough to allow some air in for you. Manuel notices and jumps his ass for it. <span class=”d4pbbc-font-color” style=”color: blue”>”Hey, what are you doing? She does not deserve special treatment.”</span>
Paco snorts. <span class=”d4pbbc-font-color” style=”color: blue”>”Special treatment for her? Fuck off, Manuel. It is for me. You don’t have to get the smell out of the seats every time she rides in the back.”</span>
Manuel twists to look around at you and takes an exaggerated sniff before nodding and turning back to face the front. When Manuel is occupied elsewhere, Paco looks at you through the rear view mirror and gives you a small smile and a wink. Of all of Senor Carlos’ men, Paco is the only one to have treated you even partially decently. The car leaves the hacienda and heads into the city. You have been to his high rise in the past a couple of times and know that it means a special client, but the route the car is taking is wrong for that. The most likely alternative is one of Carlos’ brothels. He has used you in the past to heal one or more of the girls and boys he pimps out from there. Before you, it was easy to just let a sick or injured whore die and replace her with another girl or boy from the streets, but since you came along, he can just have you heal then and get them back to work. Sure enough, the car eventually pulls into the parking lot of the Pink Pussy Cat, a low class brothel. Manuel gets out and your door unlocks. He motions for you to accompany him inside.
I would have rather stayed in the cell. This duty of denying the pitiable the escape of death and the arms of their ancestors turns my stomach. This was not mercy, it’s torment. Still, a little voice reminds me that I am waiting for a sign, never knowing when my opportunity will arrive. It is entirely possible our fortunes could turn in the next hour…or a year from now. It is the possibility of the former that permits me to do this detestable duty despite the pleading eyes of these wretches. Our time will come, I’m sure of it.
I harden my heart and pass by Manuel into the place, hoping my look of serious determination doesn’t belie my inner turmoil.
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I’ll start working myself back in now. Sorry for my absence.
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I woke up unsure of how long I’d been asleep. My hunger suggested it had been a while, but I didn’t feel rested. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to sleeping on a bit of straw over hard ground. I’d learned a while ago that it was best to just gulp down the stuff they feed us down here and then wash it quickly with the water. The less opportunity there was to theorize on the contents, the better.
No sooner had I gulped down the stale water than my least favorite person manifested himself at the door of the cage and ushered me out with a leer I did my best to ignore. At least I knew he wouldn’t dawdle if the master truly was requesting me. And if he wasn’t? We’ll, no sense borrowing trouble when I owned enough already.
“I look forward to doing my Master’s bidding, sir,” I said with practiced if perhaps flat enthusiasm as I passed the much larger man. No point giving Manuel an excuse to “punish” me for lacking respect.
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With little else to do, I settle into my own patch of straw and try once again to fight against the collar. Given how much I’d already expended myself in the hopeless attempt at ‘healing’ a corpse earlier, it’s not long before I fall asleep exhausted.
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I’ve done my best not to get involved with the other slaves and various minions the master keeps around him. It’s not that I’m arrogant or anything, but I’m an empath. I mean the real thing, to the point where I have a hard time being sure where another’s emotions end and mine begin. Perhaps the only blessing of the collar is that it’s dulled even that power. Still, old protective habits die hard and allowing any real connection with the others could cripple me that much more if somehow I manage to overcome the collar. That time is not likely to be soon, though. What could it hurt to be a little friendly? It’s not like I’ll ever see her again after a few days…
“I’m okay,” I answer with the lie every other slaves would give. I know my ration is actually pretty good compared to the others, and Manuel didn’t leave me with much appetite. Despite my best efforts to sustain myself, maybe half was still left. “I can’t eat all this,” I gesture to the slop. “Do you want some of mine?”
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Dumped such on the floor of the cell, for many moments I couldn’t hold back the tears. Slamming my clenched fists on the ground didn’t accomplish much, but at least stone didn’t hit back…or breathe fetid air in my face. I managed to keep the sobs silent. I didn’t want to give Manuel the satisfaction.
Why the Ancients have brought me to this I have no idea. I had been at the height of my coming of age spirit quest, astrally at my most powerful but physically at my most vulnerable. On return to my body I was to be an adult; even more a fully realized god. My power was to safeguard the future of my people as the other gods are soon to become one with the Circle. Instead, I awoke to my hands zip tied close, my mouth gagged, and my mind drugged. How they knew where to find me and that I needed such special treatment, I can’t say. I have my suspicions, but…
Never mind that. Bitterness will just play into Senor Cruz’ and Miguel’s hands. I need to think clearly now or I may miss my opportunity. I was not sent to Earth by the Ancients to be Miguel’s mistress…or any other outlander’s for that matter. There is a reason for this. I just need to survive until that reason becomes apparent…until the vision in my quest manifests and I can bring my full powers to bloom. My people need me, despite the possible betrayal of a few who seek material gain rather than to follow the gods on the path set for them by the Ancients. I am a goddess of my people. Part of a Circle going back to Creation. I won’t disgrace my lineage.
But to survive, to realize my destiny, I need to survive. I finger the collar around my neck and curse my powerlessness against it. It is tight; not tight enough to prevent my breath, but it may as well be. As long as it remains there, my link to the spirit world is severed. No help from my guides can come. And no magic remains to me except healing. Cruz, or whoever set Cruz up for this, have planned well. I may be weak; more so because I am still a child. I am helpless except for my wits. But the Ancients gave me a generous intellect. I can only hope it was part of Their plan.
In the meantime I eat and I wait…
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Depending on the situation, I actually have trouble reacting. I’m glad I have some time to sleep on my latest challenge since my little one is still forming in my head. She’s not quite ready to respond and I’m certainly not going to talk for her… :p
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Um, I’m glad I was cagey with my last name. I didn’t realize that field was public when I entered that. :$
I intended for my handle/alias to be Shaman_Yuri. But ah well. I hope I can live up to Mercy’s billing. ^^
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“You worthless piece of drek!” my master screamed. My face still stung from the backhand to my right cheek. The blow had sent my slight, 30kg frame crumpling to the floor of the exam room. I curled up into a ball in case he decided to kick me.
While Mr Cruz rarely got this mad at me, I had enough experience to hope no more serious blows would land. Despite my recent failure, as big as it might be for his reputation and bottom line, I knew my value alive was still far too great to kill me even over this. Someone soon would get to buy a “virgin goddess” in full bloom, one with enough magical potential to have a pretty good chance at yielding awoken babies. I was like a calf bought in youth – just feed me until I can be sold for beef.
But then again, why not kick me. He knows I can heal myself…
“Did you think letting her die would somehow make me let you go? Not a chance in hell, brat. I’ll make you regret whatever scheme you dreamed up!”
Answering rationally would just make it harder – I’d learned that. Other kids could whine about the unfairness of life – they weren’t slaves. I can’t heal a corpse. Why Mr Cruz had told the client that I could heal his wife I have no idea. The bastard had never made sense to me ever since I was sold to him half a year ago, but for some reason he thought with enough “inducement” I could pull off the impossible. Even without my chains, mundane and magical, even back in my temple in the village, I wouldn’t have been able to save her.
Seemingly frustrated at my lack of response, the massive man grabbed my left arm and pulled me up and out of the room. I caught the faces of a few staff as I was dragged bodily out of the clinic into the mid-day Bogota sun – downcast eyes…all effort to pretend they didn’t see what was before their eyes.
No one likes to see slaves get treated like slaves. Maybe it’s fear that this fate could befall them. Maybe some people in this accursed city still have a shred of humanity. I honestly can’t say. I’ll have a lot of time to think about it locked up in the trunk of his black sedan…