Chapter 16- Out and into
Fortune favors the bold,
but caution favors the wise.
~ Ancient Greek Proverbs.
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He paused, allowing every word sink into their heads. Watching the murmurings and distant voices, he brought his hand mid-air, a sign that was acknowledged. Then he continued. "Ears belong to that who hears and eyes for those who sees. Mark my words!" And with that, he descended the platform, followed up by two guards ascending with a whip on their hand.
As everyone anticipated what would happen next, they also couldn't help but be affected by the words spoken earlier. It had only been a day of their arrival and things would only get from bad to worse. A sudden lash descended ruthlessly on Medusa's back. The sound causing a strike to the ears, and the slaves gasped at the scene; their faces twisted.
Medusa pressed her forehead deeply on the pole and bit her lower lip hard. But there was something the spectators failed to notice. It was the instant flicker and return of her eyes, from blue to black. Another lash landed harshly on her back, and then came another and another, and so it continued.
Several gasps escaped the lips of the shaken slaves, lingering around the scene while their eyes stretched in horror. Even Esther drew a tight breath and her heart squeezed in worry and pity. How on earth will someone be this strong to handle this kind of torture?! The amount of blood that escaped her back, soaking the garment she wore made it all wet and sticky on the bruised part. And that smell, the smell of burning flesh, it came from her!
Not a wince or flinch escaped her lips and body at the pain. She stood still like what the guards weren't whipping was a being, but a statue. Who really is this girl?
Medusa's breath went out of her. She didn't make a sound. Tears never spilled. Her eyes glittered under the daylight as she dug her nails into her palms so tight causing blood.
She didn't understand what was happening to her. It was as if something was trying to pull out her powers and return it back. The instant twist of push and pull rendered her body feeling helpless speed with every few feet of bruising terrain beneath her.
.
For a moment, all the smell of the land engulfed and overpowered Medusa that she felt the prickling movement which weakened something beneath her chest, moving through, gripping her and sending the coarse ripples of sweat around her skin.
She shut her eyes, letting the sudden wind stroke her face, let it chill her fingers that seemed to burn each passing seconds.
As distant sound touched her ears, more like a scream. That moment, she felt she was imagining things. But there he was, the black hat that covered most part of her upper face, leaving only a cunning smile on his stretched lips, the dark aura and the black cloak looking right at her.
He hid behind the body of the slaves, as it appeared no one else could see him except from her. The shadow again.
But this time, she could see him in his physical form. He expressed one look that could pierce through your soul and send chills to your body, staring at her. He stood at far distance, that dark smile never betrayed him.
The sound grew stronger, or rather, she allowed herself to hear them more truly. The wind rose and died away; then it was as if suddenly the world came to halt.
The place became so quiet and eerie. No sound came to her from depths. The silence leapt back, curling, perhaps into the very depths of the platform. The people present at the platform all froze. Nobody moved, as if someone had remotely pressed pause and surrendered them in their exact position.
Even in this warm atmosphere, she was sweating. She felt the mixture of sweat and blood trickle down her garment, and down to her waist. She felt the wetness like something greasy and filthy on her forehead.
The wind came up, but not too strongly. Her hands and feet were cold, but it was not a coldness she couldn't endure. Indeed, coldness had always refreshed her.
The atmosphere which surrounded her began to morph into a small clearing, eyes fixed on the distant overhanging peak. Trees appeared, that were so close that she could not easily find any path or simple footing.
Medusa looked downwards to realize she wasn't shackled or chained of any sort. Then she looked around. What just happened?
She mind-linked her inner soul only to receive silence as response and her brows drew in confusion. Something wasn't right. Something felt off.
She had smelled death all around her. She smelled it now, but the smell of blood. She took timid step and then another. Medusa moved on, with both hands upon the close walls. Her hair brushing the roof overhead, until the passage broadened and the very echo of her footsteps told her that the roof was rising above to a new height.
Medusa walked through trees, and then up close to the foundations and along the stones, searching for doors that mysteriously appeared out of nowhere. There were three, all in the same size, same shape, and same height.
She had to go through one of them. Medusa settled for the one at her right. Although she felt nothing, something urged her to go through that door, which she did.
Twisting the knob ever sensitively, the light that appeared was blinding and the fog was thick that she was swallowed by it right in an instant.
When Medusa feet touched the ground, the first thing that came to her view was a house. She knew this place. This was her home. The house she lived in the past. But the now abandoned house. What was she doing here?
The house seemed to grow in immense size as she approached it. Sprinkled throughout were weak but lights nevertheless. Through the series of barred windows, she saw a cellar kitchen. Two lady cooks in white were setting aside the kneaded bread to let it rise. And the white floor covered their hands and the pale of wood of the slab.
Medusa walked along, out of the helpful illuminations through the windows. She entered through a door without having to push it open. The stone walls, the flower pots, the portraits and artifacts, the small garden, and then came a door that stood in front of her. It was one that hadn't been used lately, and seemed quite impassable.
Indeed it looked neglected, and when she studied it, she saw it had no lock at all, but merely old hinges, very rusted, and a simple latch.
To her surprise, she pushed the door open, and it made a yawning creak that unnerved her. She thought she would pass through the door without having to open it, since she was only in a memory. But strangely, it did.
There was a stone passage and a small stairway leading upwards. Fresh foot tracks on the stairs, she observed. A gush of warm and faintly stale air, the indoor air of winter kissed her skin.
She entered and pushed the door close. A light lightdown the stairs from above, illuminating carefully written words carved upon the closed door that says; THESE BITTER TIMES SHALL FADE TO MYTH, AND MEMORY LOSE ITS MEANINGFUL EXISTENCE. BUT WHEN AT LAST HER ARMS YOU SEE, OUTSTRETCHED IN BOLD TRANCE, SHRINK NOT FROM WHAT THE EARTH WILL DO, WHEN RAIN AND WIND DO TILL IT.
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