The Master and The Marionette (The Pawn and The Puppet series Book 2)

The smoke seeping off of this morning’s roast is making my stomach growl with each breath I suck in through my nose. This is sometimes how Kane chooses to wake me up. Hot, fresh food. Right out of the fire. The smell of roasted deer, rabbit, or boar triggers my empty stomach. The aroma coaxes it out of a deep sleep and it gently shakes me awake.

“Are you hungry?”

I groan. Not all of us can survive on four hours of sleep, Kane!

“It’s going to be fascinating seeing you get used to constant hunger. Most women in our society have to get used to it, but you clearly didn’t follow protocol. How’d you get away with that anyhow?” Before I open my eyes, the chilling voice throws the memories of last night back into my mind like grenades. The disparaging shock of not waking up to a campfire with Kane and DaiSzek is like eating expired food, fully expecting a delicious treat.

“Thought we discussed your poor response time, girl!” A touch of anger. Only brief.

I part my lips to reply, but there’s a snap, like stepping on a branch, and a blinding pain stabs along the left side of my body. I yelp and thrust my eyelids open to examine what force assaulted me. Nothing. Cage. Cabinets. Chandelier. It’s my collarbone, it feels broken, definitely broken, like it’s sticking out of my skin. I gulp down the nausea swelling up my throat, the taste of bile and dread coating my tongue. And I can’t move, can’t examine myself, can’t dull the searing agony blistering under my skin.

A whimper slips from my gaping mouth. Oh, god. Please help me, God.

“Well, aren’t you going to cry?” His input adds to my urge to vomit.

“Drop—dead,” I say between labored breaths.

Albatross spits in disgust. “Now listen here, girl, I make the rules. If I dropped dead, you’d drop dead. I demand appreciation for my company due to that fact, at least.”

I can’t answer. Sweat is forming a glossy shine on my skin, and the pain is debilitating, it’s as though someone stabbed me in the neck, and then broke the blade off inside me. It’s lodged, and with each movement I make, a new rumble of pain ignites.

He sighs. Adjusts himself in his seat. “Now let’s move on from this! I hate obedience conditioning, it’s catty and boring.” That long brittle finger emerges from the dark corner, into a warm spot that the glow of the chandelier reaches. “You keep sweating like that, I’ll have to give you a bath.”

As if time reverses, like rolling yarn back into a ball, the pressure, the sharp discomfort, the blazing pain in my shoulder and collarbone start to disappear. The ugly jolts of sensation from a broken bone crawl back to where they came from. I release a groan of sweet relief. My head falls back against the cage, my muscles let go of their fighting stances. I breathe again. In and out. Rotating my shoulder around. Wait, what?

I stare at Albatross’s dark corner. “What happened?”

“Oh, now you want to talk to me, hmm?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I thought you broke my collarbone.”

“I know. Neat trick, hmm? There are so many advantages we have over Vexamen. We’re quite clearly the dominant country. Far more advanced in most areas of war, technology, alchemy. It’s entertaining that most civilians are consumed with their looks, their bony bodies, their floral-infused baths, and their grand balls. And then you have what’s here, going on under their noses, and no one cares to try and find out. Such a superficial breeding ground.”

“But what did you do to me?”

Hands slam down against what sounds like a leather chain. “Does everything I say just go in one ear and out the other? My god, I would have never guessed you to be so dense!”

“I’m sorry. Please continue.”

“When I had you delivered, I really thought you would be this bright, astonishing young woman. I thought we’d have a lot of fun. Especially considering who your travel companion was. This has been a monumental letdown for me so far.”

I cower back into my corner. No more broken bones, please. If Dessin knew how Albatross was treating me, he’d be torn to pieces. Where is he? Does he know where I am? Does he know what’s happening to me?

“I can imagine where your feeble train of thought is going right about now. Usually, at this time, the thoughts that blossom from fear is reason to keep hope alive. Is someone coming for you? You won’t have to suffer too long. Am I hitting the nail on the head?” Albatross is no longer a man to me, sitting in a dark corner. Albatross is a faceless demon that has no human form. It only exists to torture me with its desperate need for conversation. I wish I was like Dessin right about now. I wish I could find my way out of any situation like he can. I don’t ever want to be a prisoner again. At least when I was a small child, I was locked in a basement with lots of room. This cage is going to deform my limbs. I won’t be able to stand up straight. If I were like Dessin, I’d imagine all of the terrible ways I would make Albatross suffer for this. I would even taunt him the way Dessin would. I would play mind games with him and love every moment of it.

“You have permission to relieve yourself of those thoughts. After studying your travel companion for years and years of his early life, we have installed every precaution to keep him out. There will be no rescue mission.”

But unfortunately, I’m not Dessin. I’m Skylenna, and I don’t have a way out.

~

I can finally stretch my legs. It’s almost euphoric to be able to let my muscles expand. Point my toes. Roll my ankles around. My spine was starting to feel cramped, a geriatric soreness and ache building in my lower back. My neck feels like a doorknob in a snowstorm. Completely coated in ice, not enough warmth to get it moving again.

“My name is strung along a family tradition. I can’t remember if I told you that yet or not.” Albatross’s weaselly voice knocks me back into my misery. “Oh well, I’ll tell you again. My great-grandfather’s name was Crow Ivast, and my father’s name was Cardinal Ivast. I think it’s oh so fascinating that my name also can mean psychological burden. Which in your case, the irony is downright cruel.”

I attempt to roll my shoulders and ease the new birth of tension. They won’t move. There’s a pressure like a seat belt or a straitjacket keeping me nailed down. My eyes peel open, sticky and hot. And there’s an old woman hovering over me, eyes of a Siamese cat, the grim expression of a gravedigger. My body is strapped down by leather restraints. I wiggle abruptly, testing my bounds, unable to control the rising panic. What could they possibly plan on doing to me strapped down like this?

“If you didn’t catch the tradition pattern, Crow, Cardinal, Albatross—it’s that we are all named after birds. It’s the family crest. Because we’re a family of savants, it means the sky is the limit for us. Isn’t that interesting?” Albatross asks from the same dark corner of the room. I can’t lift my head to look at him, but I know he’s in that same spot.

I learned my lesson last time. Always answer him. “Very interesting,” I say, trying my hardest not to pant. The woman injects each of my limbs, a jab followed by a quick sting. I squirm to get her to stop.

A hand smacks me across the cheek, a nail scraping underneath my eye as it makes contact. I gasp at the electric pang of shock that devours my face. My eyes involuntarily begin to water, and my nostrils burn the way they would if you swam upside down underwater.

“You move again and I’ll use my fist, girl.” Her old shaky voice matches the crow’s-feet around her eyes and lips. She walks over to adjust the IV, filling it with a cloudy, gray liquid. I can’t stop my legs from trembling. The more I try to keep them still, the harder and faster they shake.

“Oh pardon me, Skylenna, I haven’t introduced my grandmother. This is Absinthe Ivast. She was married to my grandfather, Crow. She assisted my grandfather way back when they lived in Alkadon. My grandfather was viewed as some sort of psychologically impaired freak there.”

“Oh,” I mutter, unsure of how to entertain his incessant need for conversation.

“He migrated to Vexamen but was recruited by Abraham Demechnef and Orin Blackforth. They truly saw the value of what he was capable of.”

“I, uh, always forget that Demechnef is the name of a person.”

This makes him chuckle. “Of course you do. It doesn’t surprise me, only special bureaucrats know that it is indeed a family and not a faceless government or military agenda. The Ivasts are a prized value to our leadership.”

Old Grandmother Absinthe is now measuring the lengths of my limbs. She takes the measurements of my ankles to my kneecaps and then my elbow to my shoulder cap.

“I didn’t realize your family was so honored.”

“My grandfather, Crow, has begun the greatest trials of experimentation the world has ever seen.” His knobby knees, covered in red velvet, cross. “My father and I have each helped carry it out after his death. I’m going to win the war for our country with what we have uncovered.”

“That’s wonderful. So you take your orders from Abraham Demechnef and Orin Blackforth?” I ask, keeping my head still under the restraint that’s making my forehead numb.

“No, not anymore. Now it’s from—” He stops himself. Hesitates for several moments. “Your travel companion doesn’t tell you all of Demechnef secrets?” There’s caution and baffling amusement in his tone.

Why does he keep referring to him as my travel companion?

“Told me what?”

He snickers, sounding like a rat feasting in the garbage.

“Well, I certainly cannot tell you. And you know that clearly pains me to withhold information as I do love educating you.” I’m beginning to understand the nature of Albatross’s personality. He’s narcissistic and deeply enjoys the thrill of knowing what others don’t know. Privileged. Shallow. Insecure.

“Could you educate me on something else then? Like what you have planned for me?” I ask quietly. I’ve decided I’m rather talented at playing alone with mental anomalies like this.

He clucks his tongue. “Part of what I have planned includes you being in the dark about what I have planned. If you knew, it would all be corrupted.”

The old crone examines the insides of my ears with a tool I can’t see. When she opens my mouth, I realize the lining of my tongue, mouth, and the inside of my esophagus are drier than the taut skin on Absinthe’s elbows. I haven’t had food or water in… in…. How long have I been here? A day, I think. Perhaps two days. I’ve blacked out and fallen asleep a couple of times.

The ache in my stomach is growing like the constant need I have to stretch my body out. The discomfort has been so constant, it’s turning into a dull and annoying pain. I want to ask for water or a couple of crackers, but I’m scared of getting the back of old Absinthe’s bony knuckles. My under eyes still throbs.

“Her vitals say she’s dehydrated and low on several key nutrients.” Absinthe turns to the dark corner, the red-covered kneecaps.

Oh, thank God. I don’t even care what they give me, I’ll take anything.

Silence.

“Feed her then.”

Yes! I could have gone longer, of course. I spent half my life hungry. But the thoughts would overtake me. Will they ever feed me? Do they want me to starve to death? How long will I wait until I have even a small sip of water?

Absinthe leaves my side to fetch a meal and in the time she’s gone, Albatross stays quiet. Watching me. Or maybe he left too. A deep, controlled breath comes from his corner.

Definitely watching me.

I wait patiently in the awkward silence, knowing he has his eyes glued to me, knowing that he knows I’m aware that he is watching me. But I don’t even mind. I’m going to eat. I’m going to have some water. I’m going to be okay, this might not be that bad. Sure, there was the illusion of my collarbone breaking. That was rough. But now I understand him better. I can keep myself out of harm’s way until Dessin comes for me. Maybe I’ll even ask Dessin to spare him.

Absinthe approaches my side with a rolling table. I try to suck in any whiffs of hot food but so far, I’ve got nothing. My eyes strain to my right to try and see what she has set out for me. Is she going to feed me herself? If so, I won’t argue. I just need to keep up my health.

Another deep, controlled breath from Albatross’s corner. Absinthe looks in his direction. She nods. Picks up what sounds like a cup or a plate. Touches it to my lips. Thank you, Grandma Absinthe. Seriously, thank you.

“Open up.” Her grumpy tone demands my cooperation. Say no more, Absinthe.

I open my mouth, unable to prop up my head to swallow whatever she pours into my mouth. Probably water first. I’ll manage. Something metal enters my parted lips and sits between my front teeth. My pulse picks up. Absinthe hovers over me with a rubber tube, aiming it for the hole of the metal mouthpiece, the contraption that is prying my mouth wide open. The tube is inserted. It moves against my tongue, slowly pushing against the back of my throat.

Wait… I make a grunting sound as it touches the part of my tongue that makes me want to gag. It’s going too far. That’s enough!

Adrenaline and terror shoot down my spine. My tongue and throat spasm in my mouth, a natural response to force an unwanted object out. The tube is pushed out, only by the tiniest centimeter.

“Just for that, I’m not going to be gentle, girl.” Absinthe thrusts her body forward and jams the tube past my best muscular defenses. My throat opens up for the tube as its edges scrape past my uvula and tonsils. A throaty, gargled scream involuntarily generates from my chest. I start to gag as it moves farther down my esophagus, followed by choking and exasperated sobs. My eyes fill up with fluid, not the kind from any particular emotion, but the kind that happens when you get hit in the nose or get something like a speck of sand stuck in your eyes.

Dessin, please come now! I need you! Please, help me! Help me! Help me!

The more I jerk around, the heavier the urge is to dry heave, so I hold still. Just like the broken collarbone, it helps not to move.

With wide, bloodshot eyes, I gawk at the raw eggs being dumped down a funnel connected to my tube. The orange globs and clear, slimy fluids swirl as they drain down my tube. I lurch at the sight of it falling into my mouth. This triggers the gagging, like a contagious attack of my body rejecting the objects prying me open. My abdominal muscles burn from the rapid contractions, loosening and tightening, making my chest, gut, and back inflamed.

By now, the eggs must have completely filled my stomach to the brim. Because the pressure in my gut is stretching my tummy outward, protruding against my ribs. TAKE IT OUT, I’VE HAD ENOUGH! But she picks up another pitcher, pouring clear liquid into the funnel. It’s water, I think. Just water. But the pressure is building in my core, my stomach protruding and my rib cage expanding. I’m going to explode! Is this how I’m going to die? I’d rather starve!

Choking sounds escape my mouth, like a deer with an arrow plunged through its throat. In a guttural heave, the water sprays back up from the funnel, showering both me and Absinthe with water, runny eggs, saliva, and bile. It gets in my eyes and nose. Absinthe shrieks, shaking her head back and forth, trying to dodge the downpour.

“You awful girl!”

The tube is snaking back up my throat, slimy, gushing, stretching the walls of my throat. I blink furiously, trying to rid my eyes of the water. But Absinthe isn’t being gentle. She grunts in frustration as she tugs in sloppy movements, trying to avoid the egg and saliva coating the tube. I cough and choke and gag as the feeding machine is taken away from me. The ghost of the sensation still lingers. I want to sit up, to cough out the phlegm and whatever else remains. But my body is still bound to this table and I’m not going anywhere, anytime soon.

Scarlett? Why is this happening to me? Can you ask God to protect me?

A blazing sting like the back of a frying pan makes contact with my cheekbone. I yelp as the blow glides against the bone. Absinthe made true on her promise to strike me with her fist. Both the cold, aching feelings of fear and anger form in my chest.

My first assessment was wrong. I thought if I played along, responded to Albatross like he wanted, then I could survive this without torture. I was wrong. They’re going to keep hurting me no matter what I do.

“I would have willingly eaten whatever you wanted me to! You didn’t have to force it inside me!” I release dry sobs formed from anger and hate.

Albatross chuckles. “So would most women, Skylenna. Want to know a secret?”

“Sure!” The sarcasm I intended fails to saturate my scratchy throat.

“When a woman in Dementia gets a little extra skin, perhaps she has trouble losing the baby weight after giving birth, or maybe she doesn’t have self-control around sugary treats—she gets brought to the woman’s ward of the asylum for reconditioning. Force-feeding.”

“I know all of that,” I snap.

“Fine. But what you don’t know is that the women who never come back, get sent to me. For my own studies. And when I’m done with them, Demechnef uses them as fucking dolls for our soldiers.” His tone is suggestive, like I should be personally offended. “Including your travel companion.”

I may as well have been slapped across the face. Again. “You’re lying.”

“A fucking doll is a woman, near death, unable to move or speak. The soldiers bury their cocks into her so they can think clearly when their hormones start to dominate their thoughts. Barbaric, isn’t it? And to think, your travel companion was by far the most gruesome—”

“I don’t want to hear anymore!”

Dessin would never do that. He couldn’t. But—I remember the way he thrust into me, filling me like a madman. Is that because he no longer had access to these—fucking dolls?

No. This man is a liar.

I wish I could glare into his eyes. See the evil that is tucked away. Know the color of his hair so I could accurately visualize myself pulling it out of his head. Or perhaps I could visualize Dessin doing that for me. Where is he? I know he must have an idea of where I am and what’s going on, but then why hasn’t he come for me yet?

Strings of my saliva hang from my mouth, connecting me to Absinthe like a gooey spiderweb. She swats at them like they’re lethal, like they’ll cause her wilted skin to sprout boils.

I squeeze my eyes shut, smelling my own bile and the saltiness of my spit covering my mouth and chin. I hear Absinthe’s footsteps as she shuffles away to clean herself off. I’m cold again, wishing I were back in the asylum after the simulated drowning treatment, when Dessin made the orderly bring me lots of blankets. I imagine waking up again to his soothing, deep voice, those rich brown eyes. But I’m here, exposed on this table, my medical gown as thin as a baby’s eyelash. Trying to get warm in this position is like sleeping naked next to an open window in a blizzard. Goose bumps creep up my legs and arms, and once again, I shiver involuntarily.

“I would stop shaking if I were you,” Albatross warns. And I flinch, absentmindedly I forgot he was still here.

“Why?”

“If Absinthe sees that you’re cold, she’ll give you a reason to be cold.” A long slurp of what I would guess is from tea or hot soup. “You really wouldn’t want an ice bath so soon after being force-fed.”

Another shock of fear clamors inside of my nervous system. What is their goal here? At least at the asylum, they believed they were treating insanity.

“I’d suggest thinking of something nice and warm to get the cold sensation off your mind.” Albatross confuses me with his help. First, he makes me believe my collarbone was broken, then he instructs Absinthe to force-feed me in the most violent way, and now he tries to help me from being forcibly given an ice bath.

I try to nod my head but I’m still firmly strapped to the table. I remember the first winter I was living with Scarlett. We were snowed in, the ice hardening over our windows and door. I was sitting in the family room, pressed into the corner of the couch without a blanket. My body was shaking much like it is now. I was too scared to let her know I was in need of warmth because it wasn’t my house. I was just a visitor, a guest. I didn’t belong. It wasn’t my place to start a fire or go find a cozy blanket. I just had to sit and tremble, rubbing my hands against the back of my arms to soothe the bumps away. And I remember when Scarlett came in. She stared at me, watching me shake. She quickly ran out of the room and came back with the comforter from her bed. I could tell it was hand knitted. It made me wonder if our mother made it, because as far as I knew, Scarlett did not know how to sew. She draped it over my body and ran out once more. The second time she came back, it was with hot cabbage soup in a cup so I could hold it in one hand and drink it without a spoon. It was bland without any flavor, but the hot steam washed over my face, thawing the tip of my freezing nose, and the broth ignited a soft flame in my core as it traveled to my stomach. And if that wasn’t enough, she started throwing wood into the fireplace, and before I knew it, there were the yellow flames licking the tops of brick. And my body was surrounded by both the pulsing heat of the fireplace and the kindness Scarlett shared with me that day. She snuggled under the blanket with me that night. Our hands entwined and our toes tucked under our legs.

The memory of her thin body pressed into mine stops the trembling. I open my eyes and Absinthe is back, glowering down at me like a hawk getting ready to pick apart a field mouse. Staring back up at her, I notice she doesn’t have eyelashes or eyebrows. That must be why she looks wild and feral and withered down to the bone.

Thank you for saving me from the ice bath, Scarlett.

“Do you wish to sleep now, dearest?” Albatross speaks softly. Like he is a king granting a homeless man land and title. At least, that is how I feel. Because right now, there is nothing greater than sleep. Sleep to escape this madness. Sleep to shut the door on this putrid slice of hell. I make a sound to verbalize my gratitude and melt into a cloud of blackness.