Chapter 15- The first night
(If you prefer Wattpad to read, you can find the novel here : https://www.wattpad.com/story/78722854-the-songs-of-loss-book-one-armanth )
Night had long since fallen on the Alba Rupes, so the return of Jawaad and his entourage to his estate, with a sizeable escort, did not go much more unnoticed than the news, spread throughout the city, of what had kept him at the Elegio palace.
The trot of the horses pulling the stagecoach, itself escorted by three mounted guards, clattered on the cobblestones, attracting the attention of the men and watchmen posted at the entrances to the estates making up the upper part of the district. Just about everyone was aware of the news, which was circulating throughout most of Armanth; the previous tragedy caused by a Singer of Loss was three years old and still being talked about. So the interest in this new story, whose content was swelling as new, sordid and formidable details emerged, was only going to increase still further; and the master merchant’s return under escort would add further epic flourishes to the tale.
In the coach, Abba held back his anger. It was for his sake that Jawaad had accepted the offer of an escort. He’d been able to see a doctor, while his boss talked to the captain of the Elegio palace guard, but the man of science had been unable to do much except ease the pain and provide the colossus with an elixir that would boost his symbiont’s regenerative powers for a few days. However, it was strictly impossible for him to walk other than on one foot; and, given his mass, it would have taken four strong men to carry his stretcher. That left the stagecoach, which had lengthened the journey, even at a trot. Armanth was a city of islands and islets linked by bridges and terraces climbing towards the cliffs. As a result, apart from a few main arteries, there were few lanes wide and high enough for stagecoaches and carriages, which made getting around difficult.
Supported by Jawaad on one side and Damas on the other, followed by Azur, Abba struggled out of the coach. From the villa, a good part of the master-merchant’s household rushed to meet them; but the one running fastest was Joran. She sped towards the slave-driver, tearful with panic, having eyes only for her master. Letting go of Jawaad’s shoulder, Abba grabbed the tiny girl compared to his titanic mass, who let out an exclamation:
“My master!”
Abba returned her welcome with a brief kiss, taking her lips, before putting her down again, growling in pain.
“I’m fine, I’m fine. Go make us something to eat, mine.”
The little slave girl pouted in protest, taking on a pleading tone:
“But I want to take care of you, my master… Please!”
Abba stretched out a smile which, in its gentleness, contrasted with his brutal face, made even more hostile by the pain.
“Obey. Run!”
Joran didn’t insist, and even took it in stride, despite his pout, as the inhabitants of the estate all arrived at the entrance. Among them was Airain, also distressed, who approached Jawaad to check on her master. A small crowd gathered, including Janisse and Hembar, the pair of grooms and, looking relieved, Alterma, who had not been the least worried of the household. The master merchant, after a ruffle in the wild fleece of Airain’s hair, turned to Azur.
“Go with Joran, have the slaves help him prepare a generous meal for everyone. You’ll eat with us.”
Azur nodded and headed for the villa, following Joran. Airain stayed behind, lending a hand, as did everyone else, to help the black giant hobble along. The paved garden path sloped gently, but it was no mean feat to hobble along.
Azur was a member of the household, the head of Jawaad’s slaves, respectfully referred to as the « eldest » by all. As for Airain, she was her educator and the only slave who didn’t obey Azur’s every word. Azur was responsible for all the girls in the house. Although appreciated for her kindness and generosity, she was also feared. You couldn’t lie to a psyke or hide anything from her, and even Airain, who often took his ease with the discipline of the place, had regretted it once or twice, for Jawaad’s favorite also had the duty to punish. In the absence of the masters, she didn’t hesitate to do so.
The only one who escaped this last rule was Joran, Abba’s shy and adorable favorite. The young girl, a little pearl of beauty with pale freckled skin, clear spring-green eyes and wavy red hair with orange highlights, burst into the kitchen, eager to prepare the meal. Azur was nearby, and in an authoritative voice was calling the other four girls of the house to come and lend a hand. In an instant, the kitchen became a cheerful mess, orchestrated by the psyke who insisted that all the slaves follow Joran’s instructions. She was the best cook in the house, but without Azur’s authority, the young woman would never have dared tell her fellow slaves what to do.
It was only a hundred meters from the estate gate to Jawaad’s villa. It was a very long hundred meters. Damas laughed at the sheer effort.
“But you weigh the same as a dead donkey! Do something, I don’t know… Lose weight?”
Abba grumbled, but smiled briefly, quickly wiped out by the pain; the palace physician’s painkiller was beginning to wear off. From what he understood, he had torn ligaments and a sprained knee. Although he had only the vaguest idea of what ligaments were, he knew that he was painfully disabled.
“Yeah, well, that’s okay. It’s muscle, it weighs a lot, what can I do?”
Jawaad, on the other side, was also huffing and puffing to support the weight of the colossus; but for the third time, he refused to be replaced… especially by Alterma, the last to offer herself, who would have collapsed under the giant’s stature.
“Thanks, but I’d rather you went to the pharmacy and found something to ease her pain. Airain, go with her!”
All around them were questions about what had happened. Hembar had offered to fetch a horse, but Jawaad had also refused.
“He won’t be able to stay in the saddle without screaming, and I doubt he’ll appreciate it if we hear him cry.”
Abba barked, annoyed:
“It’s humiliating enough as it is! Besides, what are ligaments, anyway? Besides something that hurts like hell? »
There was a general burst of laughter, which lifted both the spirits and the efforts of the little troupe as they finally reached the villa and the living room, where Abba was made as comfortable as possible. Damas added a little, huffing and puffing in exhaustion.
“Joran will be able to pamper you to his heart’s content for a few days!”
Abba couldn’t help smiling, between two grunts of pain, as Airain ran over with the remedy she’d found in the pharmacy.
“She’s been waiting for this, but I could have done without this bad moment to give her the opportunity!”
Jawaad was catching his breath too. But the question returned, posed by Alterma, curious and worried:
“But what happened?”
***
The explanation took a long time. Everyone had added their own point of view, but the story had been mostly fuelled by Abba and Damas, who had almost rivalled each other in invention to revisit the event in a theatrical way.
Finally, as Joran, followed by Azur and the rest of the girls, brought in what closely resembled a real impromptu banquet, the storytelling continued between the storytelling talents of the two companions. Jawaad let them get on with it, intervening only slightly, smiling at the acting of his two friends who were captivating his entire household this evening. However, neither of them ever mentioned any part of the discussion with the Ordinatori or exactly how the master merchant had escaped death.
The banquet was a success and a moment of relaxation that calmed the anxieties of the household. Everyone had been able to feast and enjoy the meal, including the slaves, seated on carpets around their respective owners. Between good food and good wine, as the evening lingered into the night, only Jawaad, Abba and Damas remained. Azur was daydreaming half-asleep on her master’s lap, and Joran was snuggled up like a cat under Abba’s arm. Jawaad had insisted a little on sending Alterma back to stay with his trusted men; but the accountant, fairly inebriated, had quickly given in. Damas had lit a genlane pipe and was enjoying the soothingly sweet smoke, himself slumped around the low tables in front of the remains of the banquet. Now back between them, he decided to break the still silence of the night by asking the burning question:
“Now what?”
Abba, relieved of the pain, caught Joran in his broad arms and cradled her against him, causing her to flinch in surprise. She settled down immediately, however, smiling and delighted, burying her face against her master’s chest, her hands caressing him with obvious pleasure. Abba leaned over to place a kiss on the top of her head, then turned to the master merchant.
“He’s right to ask. By the High Lords, who knows how many people saw you survive what happened? Between that and this bastard’s words, word will get around, Jawaad. Do you realize how much your rivals are going to want to jump on this? He provided them with the gun and bullets to take you down!”
The master merchant nodded, gently stroking Azur’s hair. Airain had just quietly joined them, bringing him his tea, which he received by patting the carpet next to him, so that he too could snuggle up.
“That was probably the second goal. The first was to see me do it; but this young priest isn’t smart…”
Damas raised a puzzled eyebrow, releasing a puff of smoke.
“How so? I think it was a remarkable trap!”
“Yes, but he didn’t organize it, he was just the bait. He told me too much about his master’s goals.”
Abba was curious in his turn.
“Err… explains?”
Jawaad took his time, sipping his tea. A real tea, which brought a satisfied smile to his face; this one was good:
“He said: Something to do with your heretical passion for ancient artifacts and writings, which you collect. Not many people know what I collect. For books, it wouldn’t surprise many people, and there are many wealthy men in Armanth who also collect relics from before the Divine Wars and the Long Winter, and I’ve always been very discreet; but the word artifact, which he used, is the key…”
The master merchant paused again for a sip of tea. Damas and Abba were suddenly very attentive. Next to him, Airain had found a place for herself and, with a tender sigh, slipped between Jawaad’s arm, holding his tea, and his chest, resting her head against his chest. He let her, closing his arm against her, possessive and welcoming. The educator was making the most of these moments, and as much as she was attentive to the discussion, she also wished to be able to taste the serenity of a peaceful moment against her master. Her work forced her to live in the Slave Garden most of the time, and she sometimes missed snuggling up to her owner.
Jawaad smiled briefly as he watched Airain and let go of his tea to caress her educator’s hip:
“Not necessarily wanting to kill me. Wanting to sow doubt about me in Armanth, interested in my travels and collections. To make sure that I am what he thinks I am. To provoke a drama in which I’m involved in the middle of a crowd. This Franello doesn’t want me dead; he wants something I own. He doesn’t think he can get his hands on it directly, but he assumes it would be easy for him to get his hands on it if I were to lose my position, ruined.”
Damas tinkled, leaning back in his chair towards his boss.
“-Jawaad, I don’t know what this Ordinatori is looking for, but your collections, a guy like me, if we tell him what to find and where, can get his hands on them; and if he can’t, it’s because they’re so well hidden that it’s you they should get their hands on. It doesn’t make sense: he could have killed you, and a corpse talks dirty. He could have found a way to kidnap and interrogate you; we’re not infallible, and if he’s patient, he might succeed.”
Jawaad nodded.
“That’s why his other aim is to discredit me. There’s another project behind this Franello and other men; what happened is just the beginning of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“That it’s not just me.”
Abba grumbled.
“And… and what? We start looking for other merchants and nobles in Armanth who collect old stuff, who might have offended the Church? Half the town could be involved, we’ll never find them. Not to mention that we’re not going to find many master merchants and aristocrats on your side!”
“No, Abba, you’re right, that would be a waste of time. I’m thinking of bringing forward my departure.”
“What’s up ? You want to leave with what happened?”
“Yes, from tomorrow; the best way to let things settle down is to let the story grow and then run out of steam. In the meantime, Franello will have to revise his plans or bring them forward; and if I think I know what he’s looking for among my collection, I’m curious to know what the rest of his project is; my absence removes a piece from the game and allows me to watch it from afar.”
Abba rumbled again, caressing the back of Joran’s neck with his free hand with astonishing tenderness.
“It’s not a good strategy; you’re going to let the rumor run free, the Elegio men are going to investigate and want to question witnesses and you’re the first one concerned. You can’t kill a rumor by running away from it. What’s going to happen when the main witness is known to have decamped?”
“You’re the one who’s going to answer them. You’re hurt, so you’re not likely to travel. You’re the main witness with me, on our side, and you’re my second; when I’m not here, my House is yours. I have my doubts that anyone would dare put your word on the line.”
“And what am I going to say?!”
“The truth, in the sense that suits me best. By the time of my trip, the tension will have eased and story-lovers will have had other, fresher stories to sink their teeth into. By then, I’ll have had time to exchange a few letters with the Elegio and clarify the official aspects of the affair. In the meantime, you’ll have had time to join me and let the rumors die down.”
Damas always took a drag on his pipe. For lack of ever having found – or rather found again; he had owned one, and that had ended very badly indeed – a slave to his taste, he compensated with a few pleasures from his own people and others acquired in Armanth, where one could find everything; but he envied his two companions for the feminine tenderness with which they were surrounded, even if he took ample advantage of the girls of the house. He dismissed this uninteresting thought: after all, he’d come across the perfect woman in his eyes, sooner or later; besides, he didn’t much like slavery, like all his people. He blew out the smoke for a long moment, before asking:
“By the way, what would he want with you?”
Jawaad stretched out a broad smile, staring at his boatswain. On his chest shone his astrolabe-like silver pendant, the only piece of jewelry he ever wore.
“He had it right in front of him.”
***
Ortentia was piercing the rainy clouds of the night, already well advanced, when Jawaad came to his room. A candle lit the room, and he motioned to Airain to light another. His two slaves had accompanied him, and for the night they would both sleep with him; not an uncommon occurrence for Azur, who always slept at the foot of his bed, but a gift to the two young women, who hoped that Jawaad had more in mind than just sleeping. They were not disappointed, and their cries of pleasure, laughter and sighs echoed late into the night.
***
Under the bluish light of Ortentia, the plain stretched to infinity. It seemed infinitely covered with canvas encampments sheltering hundreds of thousands of men, horses and mounts, banners and chariots. An ancient army in the field, waiting for the day to come.
Lisa thought she was dreaming, but her dreams always took her back to Earth, to nightmares of guilt and regret, to howls of sorrow and the suffering of unspeakable tortures that her mind reinvented every night. At that moment, the dream was too foreign to her own memories, too sharp and too precise. Ho, she could have imagined herself piecing it all together from the old or recent peplums she’d seen on TV, but she’d have to admit that these were far removed from what was unfolding before her eyes.
It was a coalition army, with colorful banners and colors, as if men had been gathered from all horizons. She could see – and she knew she’d never seen them before – ghia-thunders, trained war griffins, and in the distance, on the ground and in the sky, dragens. Animals from Loss, many more exotic and impressive, trained to fight and serve man in battle. She recognized them, these mammals so similar in appearance to terrestrial dinosaurs, and was convinced that no one had ever described them to her. And she immediately knew the name, in the spectral haze of the horizon, of the city that stood before this army: Antiva.
“But who are you?”
The voice was as authoritative as it was perplexing. Lisa turned, realizing she was standing on a knoll overlooking the endless plain. Beside her, seemingly startled into contemplation from the heights, stood a tall woman in her forties, all nobility and self-assurance. Almost two heads taller than Lisa, she was dressed in a short, pleated tunic covered by a solid laminated cuirass, her shins and forearms encircled by metal protectors. A heavy red cape fell from her shoulders to lick the ground, and a short, richly ornamented sword hung from her belt. All that was missing was a hoplite’s helmet to complete the picture of a Hellenic warrior, but its absence made the flaming red of her long curly hair, held back in a catogan, even more conspicuous. On her clear face, with its racy features, shone a deep, sharp green gaze. Lisa riveted her gaze on the ancient warrior. The air seemed to float around the two women like an impalpable mist, a sign of the dreamlike nature of this encounter. She was obviously dreaming, but there were so many details that she was already apprehensive she’d remember everything when she woke up; it was obvious.
“I’m… Lisa hesitated for a brief moment to choose the name she would give: I’m Lisa; and this is my dream here, I think…”
The noble red-haired woman raised her chin, eyebrows furrowed.
“I feel as if I’m dreaming; yet I know what we’re looking at, but only in a dream will I see a young woman dressed like you.”
Lisa twitched and tilted her nose to look at herself: worn jeans with holes in them, sneakers that had seen better days in the past, and the outline of a black tee-shirt flanked by the logo of a symphonic-metal band she liked: she had everything of an earthling, everything of the normalcy she’d lost over three months ago. She held back a sob, swallowing her tears.
“The way I dress at home, on Earth. I don’t suppose that means anything to you…”
The woman frowned again, staring at the scene of the huge military camp at the feet of the two women, running across the plain, before returning to Lisa.
“I understand the concept. Our ancestors from the stars had many names for our past world, from which sometimes still come lost beings, sometimes whole tribes; but I shouldn’t understand that word. We do dream, you and I.”
“But where are we?”
“Don’t you know? This is the site of the longest and greatest battle of my time. Antiva is the impregnable city we’ve been fighting for almost thirty years. A coalition that has entrusted me with the command of its armies: Parcia, Eremanth, Nadesiva, Noïqomos, and so many others, who refuse the cruel and barbaric yoke of the Circle of Apollo’s Magi. A war that has become blind and must end tonight, because I still refuse to sacrifice thousands and thousands of soldiers…”
The noblewoman suddenly took a step towards Lisa, perplexed, almost threatening:
“Don’t you know who I am?”
***
Lisa opened her eyes again, lost, as daylight licked the back of Jawaad’s room. Instead of the dreamy plain whose details eluded her but which, as she had sensed, remained so clear in her mind, she was in the master-merchant’s bed. Slumped on his chest, he held her tightly with, on either side, his two slaves sleeping peacefully snuggled up against him. She had no recollection of how she’d gotten there, the dream still floating at the bangs of her drowsy mind. She didn’t know she’d been lightly drugged the night before by Airain, on Jawaad’s orders, to sleep more peacefully. Had she known, she might well have thought that this striking dream had come from there, but the explanation could not have convinced her. She wouldn’t have been able to invent animals she’d never seen, or names she didn’t know but knew were real.
Panic gripped her when she realized where she was, and she nearly struggled into Jawaad’s arms. She was, of course, naked – completely, in fact; she wasn’t even wearing a collar anymore – and so was the man. The master merchant opened his eyes in turn, staring at her, seemingly clearly awake. His calm, dark gaze rested on the young woman, his face close to hers. Lisa began to tremble, and Jawaad murmured, without letting go.
“Shh. Don’t wake them.”
Lisa’s reflex was to arch her back, but Jawaad pressed her against him again, forbidding her to back away. She gave in, trembling, her eyes misty with tears. He continued:
“Do you know who I am?”
Lisa felt a painful sense of déjà vu. Since her awakening, she had been haunted once again by her sister’s screams and by her guilt; she would have given anything at this moment to return to abandoning herself in the reassuring arms of the most passive catatonia, but something else was forcing her attention and the keenest awareness. It was the smell of this man, which captivated her: a smell which, despite herself, sent an uncontrollable, sweet shiver down her spine.
“A… a master?… The… master?”
Jawaad nodded slightly no. Lisa swallowed, panic coming on fast; yet she couldn’t give in to it: there was always that smell, always that fascination. She remained riveted to the dark gaze that wouldn’t let her go-
“M… My master?”
“And who are you?”
Jawaad spoke in a low voice, keeping his dark eyes on the slave whose face he detailed, discovering with interest the ease with which she expressed everything through her eyes, without being able to hide anything. An open book of raw emotion. Lisa stammered:
“A… a slave, my master…”
The master merchant nodded again, but gave the young redhead no time to try and catch up.
“What’s your name?”
“Selyenda…”
Jawaad stared for a moment at his new acquisition. His gaze was hard, his face cold and unreadable, his eyes followed the details of his slave’s face, then after a passage to her slimmed form, came to rest again on the young woman’s green jade gaze, trembling with fear, wet with tears.
“You don’t have one anymore. I’ll give you a name when you’ve earned that gift. Who am I?”
“My…. my master…”
Lisa trembled as she uttered these simple words. She felt the merchant’s embrace tighten around her at the same moment, and her body escaped her in a rush of pleasure and warmth, as she snuggled helplessly against her owner’s broad chest. A sob she couldn’t hold back made her hiccup; the next moment, she was crying with all her might, shaken by tears. She woke Azur and Airain, a little roughly. Jawaad was smiling. He spoke again in a low voice.
“You’re my slave and you’ll learn to love being one.”
Jawaad let Lisa cry against him for a brief moment, before kissing his other two daughters good morning and gently pushing them out of bed, sending Azur to prepare breakfast and Airain to take a bath.
Just long enough to cover his waist with a towel, he returned to Lisa still curled up on her bed, still sobbing softly. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her towards him. He didn’t need to be brusque, but the gesture didn’t suffer to be contradicted and Lisa let herself be dragged, docile and frightened, her face in tears, to end up standing against her master. He looked down at her.
“You still have a day to mourn your sister.”
He said nothing more and, pulling his slave by the wrist, headed for the villa’s baths.
Hardly more modest than Priscius’s, the premises, adjoining the master merchant’s apartments, were far more comfortable and cozy, complete with showers and copper fittings, in addition to the large basin where Airain, enthroned upright, awaited her naked, superbly feline and provocative. She had brought her master clean clothes and prepared the bathing kit. She would still be able to enjoy the privilege, but above all, for her, the pleasure of washing her master; and her smile, as blissful as it was devoted, betrayed her happiness at serving him in this way; but she couldn’t hold back a slight pout of slightly disdainful jealousy when she saw the young barbarian the master-merchant was pulling behind her, so frail, so skinny, so pitifully fearful. Jawaad glanced at his educator.
“Jealous?”
Airain pouted.
“No, my master, not really. I don’t see why I should be jealous of her.”
It was a little lie, to tell the truth, but in fact the comparison between the feline, sculptural Teranchen educator, with her generous curves and firm belly, and the slimmed young earthling, so fragile and slight, could only reassure her. Jawaad, who was not fooled by her slave’s possessiveness, gave a quick smile.
“So don’t make that face and come and wash me.”
Lisa trembled, forced to follow the movements of the master merchant who was still holding her wrist. She too found herself under the spray of the shower, but Jawaad cared neither for her tenseness nor for her fear, and let Airain soap him, enjoying his slave’s care as much as she enjoyed his attentions and the tender, sensual gestures he lavished on her with his free hand. Then, without warning, he pulled Lisa to him and, taking the sponge from Airain’s hands, washed her himself, never letting go of her wrist. Far from the gentle care of his educator, he was rougher, but without any brutality. The young Earthwoman had to allow herself to be washed, flinching at times with hiccups of panic only contained by the languorous effect of contact and proximity with this man.
Airain watched her master, having stepped back to prepare some oils and soaps for washing Jawaad’s hair in the basin. She ended up observing the scene, eyebrows furrowed and attentive. She was an educator and watched the women with a sharp eye, trained to guess and conclude from what she could note. By the time of the bath, she already had a pretty clear idea of what the new acquisition had been through and what the causes of her condition were, which touched her, despite her jealous impulses. So, more tenderly and patiently, she came to help her master wash Lisa, who had finally started crying again, her nerves on edge; but the young redhead didn’t put up a fight and let herself be done with, with an obvious need to snuggle up to the merchant when he held her in his arms, sitting in the basin, in the care of Airain, who was washing his hair.
A voice from the bath’s entrance interrupted this moment of regained calm. Alterma was standing behind the curtains and wouldn’t have moved; the mere possibility of seeing her boss naked would have turned her from fair complexion to a perfect peony red in a second.
“Jawaad? I’m sorry to bother you. I have a message from Damas to let you know that the Callianis will be ready to set sail on the first watch of the night.”
The master merchant replied in a dry voice.
“It could wait until I got out of the bath.”
“-Ho… uh, yes, I know… but I don’t. We don’t have much time to settle your day-to-day affairs now, and it’s with you that I must list and arrange for the purchase and embarkation of all the necessities and comforts you desire. The boat wasn’t due to leave for two weeks.”
“I trust you, you’re paid to know all this.”
There was a laugh. Alterma had a cheerful voice that often disarmed his interlocutors.
“I know that, Jawaad, but I’d be upset if I omitted something from the list that you’d miss. I’m waiting for you, thank you!”
Jawaad stretched out a smile, unclasping himself again under Airain’s tender, expert hands. He was enjoying his accountant’s mood and her ever-polite curtness. He closed his eyes, gently stroking Lisa’s hair, which had stopped shaking a little as Airain began to sing. He mused that, beyond his annoyance at seeing his second-in-command and friend injured, beyond the problems created by the latest events, which he would be forced to manage as best he could, that his adversary who had just managed to destabilize his carefully orchestrated daily routine was becoming more and more exciting…
***
The cellar was silent and dark. Elena had been swallowing her tears for some time now and was ruminating on her anger, the only thing, oh so fragile, that hadn’t yet completely brought her down after her sister had been taken from her. She was aching all over, especially in her back. Priscius had whipped her himself, after she’d been beaten up in the wake of what had happened; and since the day before she’d been locked up again in that loathsome cage, in darkness and silence.
She knew she’d probably spend at least a day or two at the bottom of the cellar. She also wondered what had happened to Cénis, who had tried to defend her and had also taken a beating from the angry slave-driver; and of course, she wondered what fate her sister was living. In fact, she couldn’t stop worrying about it, haunted by her cries and tears.
She swallowed hot sobs.
A faint noise made her straighten her head and freeze. She opened her round eyes in surprise; in the half-light stood the easily recognizable figure of Sonia, standing before her. She was stunned. She was convinced that the educator had also been thrown into a stinking cage in another of Priscius’ gaols, while he decided her fate. Sonia stretched out a vicious smile, as if guessing Elena’s thoughts; she addressed her in particularly honorable English. Elena understood the language without difficulty:
“He doesn’t know how to close a padlock properly.”
Overcome by astonishment, Elena straightened up as best she could. The cage forbade her to be more than on her knees.
“Get me out of here! Help me out!”
Sonia leaned over her and squatted in front of her pupil; her smile never left her.
“And what, with your stammering athémaïs, your awful accent, your talents as a small-town girl from a comfortable city in your world? You’ve learned nothing yet, and understood nothing either. You’re just an idiot here, a stupid animal.”
“Get me out of here! Or I’ll scream until I can draw Priscius in, and believe me, I’ll tell him without hesitation that you want to run away!”
Sonia shook her head, looking falsely sorry, with an amused pout.
“And you’d ruin a chance I’d give your sister? Would you be that stupid?”
Elena opened her round eyes.
“What do you mean by that? Explain to me, you dirty bi…”
She stopped her words there, almost blushing. Instinct had just forced her to carefully, almost respectfully, hold back her insult in front of the educator who had so expertly tortured and trained her for weeks, which only made Sonia more satisfied.
“I’ll look after her, unless of course I end up in chains, awaiting the ordeal Priscius has in store for me, should you scream to reveal that I can get out of his cages as I please and prepare to run away.”
Sonia leaned over Elena again, on the other side of the bars, and brought her hand up to gently caress the Earthwoman’s cheek, her blue eyes glowing mournfully.
“You, here, are nothing; a slave with no chance of survival even if she could escape. You’d be caught and tortured as an example, and your worthless life would be over; so stay in your cage. Stay there, and learn from everything I’ve taught you.”
Elena finally pushed Sonia’s hand away in an angry gesture, her voice muffled.
“Why are you doing this? Why? Do you get your kicks out of torturing me?”
Sonia straightened up. Time was running out and she had to be quick, she was going to have to take far more dangerous risks than on her previous escapade and this time she would have to improvise practically everything; but she stared at Lisa’s eldest for a brief moment, before replying:
“Because maybe you’re just as interesting as your sister. To verify this, you need hope; now you have it and all the lessons you need to use it. There’s just one thing missing…”
Sonia dropped a small metal rod into the cage. Barely larger than a sewing needle, the object appeared to be shiny silver.
“Hide it well, never lose it; you’ll soon find out what it’s for if I’m right. Farewell, Elena.”
The educator left Elena there, to her stunned surprise, disappearing into the half-light. Sonia had used her original first name; from her, it simply seemed unthinkable.
Elena grabbed the little silver splinter, wondering how she was going to conceal it, although the solution, unpleasant as it was, soon became obvious to her. It took her a long time to try and understand the educator’s words, in the silence of her cramped cell. She wept with anger, and almost gave in to the urge, out of sheer revenge, to break her voice screaming to denounce her. She banged on the bars of her cage and did indeed scream in rage, two or three times; but finally, as the day was dying and she was plunged into an inky blackness, she understood.
Sonia would never know, but she murmured, almost like a prayer, to the half-crazed, cruel and insensitive woman she hated so much:
“Thank you…”
