Shackles Of The Past

Chapter 25- Sacred marking

No man ever steps in the same river twice,

for it’s not the same river

and he’s not the same man.

~Heraclitus.

***

The two halves of the tiny bathing area were separated by an old, dilapidated screen. Behind it, feminine silhouettes were engaged in active conversation. The first slide contained at least ten to eleven slaves, while the other side somewhat maximum. The fifth group to use the bath was Medusa and some other girls.

Shedding her cloth to stand naked before the hot bath, she kept her garment at the top of a solid wall before her and stood at the shower with hot water dripping her body and that of the others which had turned the entire bathing area to steam.

Medusa could see the others gaping at her figure, but instead of feeling smitten, she only felt disgusted. Her eyes grew colder each passing seconds, and the rest could only feel suffocated by her intimidating aura that oozed around. They were scared.

Good. That's how they should feel onward, she thought.

Her silver hair cascaded behind her back and a few strands of her hair covered her bare breasts. Those eyes were shut as though she were into her own world. A peaceful one. But as usual, her expression betrayed their thoughts.

The water flowed down her body, and her mind drifted to the darkness. ‘May the devil take you home, piece by piece…’ she remembered. The dagger, Medusa thought. Unconsciously, she placed her hand on her chest and felt tiny beat of a heart beneath her ribcage. Heart?

She felt the way it moved under her palm, the way it thumped faintly, but one she could still feel. Feeling? Amongst all, it was the one which haunted her the most.

She could still feel the pain, and the words, as though she was being plunged right there, right now.

And she opened her eyes, meeting the faint scar on her chest. How deep it went, how horrific it seemed, how bitter it felt. It was all clear to her on her pale, almost milky color of her skin.

Her skin, she thought again. She had scales, terrifying scales that could appear anytime when she felt hungry. Anytime she refused to find for food. But mostly the times she weren’t hungry.

Fire that threatened to burn her evoked her and she breathed. She didn’t want to go there. She didn’t want to go back. Only she knew how ugly she looked when her true nature comes.

She was bald and had terrifying scales. So terrifying that sometimes, she didn’t want to see them. But she always had too.

Ugly nightmares for an ugly Scalekin Witch. No one would understand that even an ugly figure had ugly nightmares. For once, she wished that she would dream someday. One dream, and never wake up.

But she was rather met with one greatest nightmare.

After few minutes of standing under the shower, she quickly washed her body without delay, letting the water wash off her foamy self. She let the water wash her and if possible drain her heavy mind.

In a millisecond, a flash of memory basked her without warning and her eyes snapped open. In confusion, what was that? She asked herself. She looked around with her thoughts. Did she see things clearly?

She noticed the way the girls passed looks at her at her strange eye contacts and she turned her head to the shower. She must have mistaken.

Feeling the urge to leave, she let the water flow on her, not wanting to be drenched any longer.

The time she had spent in the bathroom, gave her a sense of feeling she was rather being in two things; either watched or targeted. Not even now those emerald eyes taunt her dearie, and those hateful words that filled every corner of her mind, every fiber of a dead being.

It was like a ritual, a promised call that threatened to find her and fill her with death and grave. The words ringing so loud and clear every time she thought she had forgotten. But she couldn’t.

After she was done, Medusa turned to reach for the fresh pair of cloth at the wall. Before she could grab it and walk out like the rest, she heard few gasps. But what she heard more clearly, was a horrified voice saying, "Medusa, your back!"

***

‘Beauty and the devil,

are the same thing.

~Robert Mapplethorphe.'

*** [AVOT]

It was like a great shadow in the middle of which was a dark form of dragon shape, yet greater and a power with terror seemed to be in it to go before it. Two headed snake spew out from the dragon's back stuck into a three pronged trident. As the dark creature streaming with fire, the flames roared up to greet it, and wreathed about it, and a black fog swirled at the top around her back. Its streaming man-kindled and blazed behind in its right wing that was spread, was a blade-like stabbing tongue of fire; in its left, held a whip of many thongs.

There in its surface seemed to die, but the darkness grew. Its frame was as though the fire around it was burning too fast and then slows. Like it wasn't enough, the marking turned orange in flame like a bituminous coal burnt due to the incandescent of fire, before dying down in a flash. But just one person was quick to catch sight of it. A sacred marking, it resembled, carved so painful and brutal but ugly for a sight. Dark and evil, yet vivid. It was unholy.

The girls started murmuring as they kept staring; gasp of shock filled the atmosphere. Some of it questioning how she got it too soon, when it hadn't been up to a month they have been enslaved. Medusa had been locked up in the dungeon which meant hostage and that fueled their curiosity. How was the marking originated? Had she escaped the dungeon even before her punishment was commenced? Or did she perhaps make use part of her witchcrafts to her own bidding? How then could one explain the marking, so vivid and clear like it was newly created?

And they chose the latter. They knew who she was. The witch with blue eyes. Dark magic was the conclusion.

Medusa heard their open thoughts and she couldn't blame them. Humans. How she despised those creatures with every fiber of her being. They were nothing compared to empty vessels in her eyes. Making up stories and false tales were one trait inherited by all.

The loud murmuring escalated from the bathing area, and a guard that had been stationed nearby to ensure the slaves acts accordingly, barged in with a frown. "Quiet!"

He looked like he was in his late twenties with a brawny and fat appearance, a thin mustache at the top of his mouth and a pot belly that protruded in his uniform.

The girls gasped out loud with wide eyes at his unannounced appearance, covering their exposed part in haste with their hands. Of course, their reaction earned a lustful gaze from the guard but was quick to vanish with little lingering around the corner of his eyes.

"Move out. Everyone. Now." He ordered, watching them pick up their garment and putting it on, before scrambling out.

Medusa didn't spare a glance even as she sensed the onlookers staring at her, sending both petty pity and disgust when she put on her garment and stepped out like nothing happened.

The faint daylight broke through the heavy gray clouds lacking the sun, fair enough to bask the crops. It had gone off as usual. Their works assigned had been carried out as part of their daily routine.

The frequent rain pour that fell on the land of Dragsholm, of which was a familiar weather, was enough sign for the villagers and folks to be aware of the harsh season. Apart from the rain, there was winter, but never had the land come across summer season. Not enough sunlight reached the fields but the rain pour help aid the plantation, renewing the life root of the plants beneath.

Another week was again quick to pass since that night when in grief and confusion she had tried communicating to her master. But the result was the same; futile. Her presence was absent. It appeared she had indeed disappeared without a trace. But how? She had been a slave in the land, and up until this very moment.

Her hand trailed behind her back, feeling the curve of every marking. Markings that seemed to scream in bitterness, even if she hadn’t taken a clear look at it but with the help of her shadow, she still roamed about it.

And she remembered the dagger. Was is it? Or was it the time she felt her back ache, and her chest hurt? Was it the time those things crawled against the wall and went behind her?

Where had this come from?

She pulled her dress and covered bare back, taking it from her shoulder. The night was still young, still filled with questions and miseries. She lay on the cold ground, the cicadas singing and the night birds not.

Medusa closed her eyes. Using her shoulder to support her head while listening to the quietness of the night, her eyes snapped open when she heard the metal bar rattle, as someone unlocked her cell. She had the urge to say, 'Of course, who else would it be.’

The weather was fine and the breeze sang the melody of a peaceful night. She heard her soft footsteps approach her but she made no effort to turn. Seconds turned to a minute when silence was all that reigned, but Medusa knew she was the one. And she was still there.

Inhaling soft breaths, she shut her eyes in an attempt to doze away. She realized she needed the rest to preserve her mental health. She wasn't planning to work it for no one.

But after what seemed almost like forever, “I know where the stone is.”

***