|
|
|
 |
PART 3 As Qa left, a group of the black-robed demons - the Roffs, Buffy supposed - entered. A Roff moved behind her and brushed out her hair with a wide wooden comb and, afterwards, rubbed scented oil behind her ears and between her thighs. Buffy tried to press her legs together but they were bound… it was no use. Desperate to distract herself, she chanced a glance at the other “girls”. They were all being treated similarly except that the demon ones were having some sort of paint applied to their faces. It made them look ghoulish. She could see that, painted or not, all of the girls appeared to be about her age and all, while not beautiful by American standards, had a certain form of beauty or exoticness. One demon looked like she was from Hawaii and would have looked human except for the fact that she had a long lizard-like tail and her pupils were like a cat’s. One was, she sensed, an enhanced human (a witch, maybe) with the darkest black skin and blinding white teeth. Another looked almost Asian but had orangey-pink skin. She was busy observing another when the door opened. Her breath caught as Qa led a group of seven large demons, built similarly to Pava, into the room. Qa spoke to the other girls in their native tongue, while Buffy struggled not to cry, aware that the demons were ignoring Qa and the other girls and eyeing her hungrily. The largest demon, clearly the leader, stood in the front, and began to stroke himself through the cloth of his robe. She fought to breathe. Oh God, she didn't think she could do it again. Not again. Please, God... please forgive me, whatever I did... please make this stop Finally, Qa finished speaking and the six subordinate demons rushed for the other girls, coming to blows if two wanted the same one, fighting it out. At the end of one of the fights, one demon lay on the ground motionless, and Buffy felt relieved that at least the black girl would get a reprieve. Her heart fell when the healers entered and attended to him and, after a moment, he stood and forcefully grabbed the girl out of the chair, knocking her to the floor with his elbow, smashing it into her temple. Buffy’s breath stopped when Qa crossed over to her, the large demon by her side. He licked his lips showing two rows of grey teeth inside his mouth. Buffy's stomach churned. “Bryn,” she said pleasantly - oh, how Buffy wanted to slap her - “Dis is Pinor. He is very pleased to be your first Taking - after de Pava and, of course, de Zhor.” Buffy assumed the Zhor was the tendril demon that had tortured her. She shuddered. Pinor seemed to think she had shuddered for him and grinned, if you could call it that. Qa continued. “You will stay with Pinor for his entire broht - a total of eight days, six days for his Clan and two as part of a deal he made with de Pava. Dere will be a Roff at his service should you need to be balanced, or should he wish to have you balanced for his pleasure.” Buffy had not idea what that meant; her stomach tightened further in fear. “De Pinor speaks only our language, only Bet'aran. He does not understand what I am saying so I will tell you,” she continued, a pleasant smile on her face, but a warning in her eyes, “Det he will enjoy you trying to fight back. If he kills you, you will be brought back much like with de Zhor, so don’ worry. He is your first and if you would like de two Eart' girls to live, your two ‘slayers-in-waiting,’ you will pleasure him. Do you understand?” Buffy’s eyes widened. She *had* died. And they had brought her back. Death was no way out for her here, only death by Celebration, whatever that was. And those girls. She had to do well or they would be killed. Tears began to fall. The Pinor smiled broadly. “Alright den,” she said to Buffy, giving her a small nod. “Parraneu, Bryn.” Qa turned and walked out as the Pinor hit Buffy so hard that, still tied to the chair, she slammed into the floor. *** Weeks blurred into months, blurred into years. Bryn knew she’d once had a proper name… had another life… she knew that Betharan was not her native tongue, but it was all... foggy. She did remember certain words though. She’d asked Qa once about them and Qa had uncharacteristically hit her, hard, and said that that part of her life was done, that she should forget that life. Now, her life was her Penance. Her Penance was all she knew and all that she *should* know. But she remembered the other world. She remembered being out in the sun many years before... the sun, singular. For a long time she’d thought such ideas were just dreams but Qa had let slip once that she hadn’t been born there, on Bethara, and since then she’d trusted her “dreams” as memories. She longed to go back there, to go back to the place of one sun and to talking to others and wearing garments. There was a woman there who’d loved her – her mother; there was a beautiful man there, a ‘vampire’ if she remembered the word correctly, who had also loved her. There had been other people there who'd talked to her and cared about her as well. She’d had freedom there, but she’d been bad and was exiled to Bethara to pay for her crimes. When the Pava felt she’d paid adequately, she would be Celebrated. Over the years, she'd often found herself longing for Celebration. The final cleansing would be excruciatingly painful and would result in a death period lasting many months with no balancing allowed, but after that period, she'd be free again, deemed to have made her Penance fully and adequately, free to move on to Permanent Darkness. While she was terrified of experiencing the pain (she’d seen girls who had been Celebrated - Pava had taken her every few passings to watch the Celebrated girls writhe in agony for many months afterwards until the Rapture was finally complete), certain punishments were so incredibly painful, she was shocked to wake up again, fully healed, having been sure at the time that she *was* being Celebrated. Enduring the continual punishing, enduring the balancing and subsequent loss of more of her memories was devastating. She often thought she’d just like to get it over with already. She’d found out the hard way, though, that, barring a complete beheading, anything - no matter the blood loss, no matter the unbelievable agony inflicted, no matter the disfigurement - *anything* could be balanced. The Pava was always angry when it took her more than a day or two to heal and surely she had been punished so brutally that she had some scars that had never fully faded, yet the moment she was able, she was back at the Darna for further punishment. This was her life. She was still in the early years of her Penance (she’d been told by a smirking Pava it would last a minimum of 400 years) and so she tried not to think about it, tried to hold onto those few happier memories as long as she could, tried to remember her people’s faces even when she could no longer remember their names. It was the only thing keeping her sane. She didn’t remember what she’d done - *why* she was there - she’d been there as long as she could remember - but it was likely very bad because she was treated far worse than the others. Each Darna, the day of Choosing, she was led into the Darna chamber and placed on the center dais to await that broht's punishment. The other girls seemed to rotate in or out. Just when she was sure a certain girl had been Celebrated - having been missing from the Darna for days or weeks - they’d turn up again. Bryn was at each Darna, always. Her reality was penetration and being filled to breaking. Her reality was slavery and torture. Her reality was belonging to the Pava and pleasuring scores of demons. She was beaten, fucked, bitten, choked... sometimes killed. But always balanced and treated with respect and politeness by Qa and the Roffs. Having a rare evening alone, Bryn looked out of her window, out over the land of the Pava. She could see it snowing in the distance and was struck as always that her cell was always comfortable - neither hot nor cold. She could see no glass in the window although it was set too far into the stone for her to actually reach a hand through and check, so something could have been there, preventing the cold from entering. But she’d never know. She’d been staring out for who knew how long when the Roff came to her with her evening meal. She reached down for the kvor, taking off a large bite and reveling in the taste of the meat, following it with a bite of fruit. She was hungry. She had spent the last eight passings of the moons with the Meior and his three sons, all at once, for the entire time. They’d taken her in the Dungeon and, while they hadn’t locked her in the bnrian coffin this time, what they had done…. It had taken the Roffs hours – four excruciating hours – to heal the burns that covered most of her body. Despite feeling fine again, she shuddered remembering it and forced her thoughts to her “memories,” as she continued her meal. The beautiful man, the 'vampire' was named Angel, of that she was sure. She was also sure that while her friends Willa and Sanda were fading from memory, that Angel’s beautiful face would always haunt her. She couldn’t remember his voice, but she could remember his words for her... “beloved” and “love” - they were her old language and had no translation into Betharan. Maybe that’s why they had stuck with her... why she hadn’t lost them? Her meal finished, Bryn stood again and continued to remember as she stared up at the moons, enjoying, for once, the solitude of the night. *** She awakened, as usual, well rested and in a pool of sunlight, to the sound of the Roff bearing her morning meal. What was unusual was that the Roff brought enough for two and informed her that Qa would be feeding with her that morning. Bryn stood by the window, leaving her food until Qa arrived, careful not to offend by ignoring the Betharan custom of beginning any given meal with all who would be attending it. The suns were bright today, but, typically, the temperature of her cell was no different than usual. From the top of her stool (a gift from Qa), she could see the Clansman shopping in the Square, their mates being pulled by ropes several steps behind them. All were wearing heavy cloaks. She looked at the markings on her wall. If it were truly growing colder, truly the beginning of the Cold Season, that would mean she'd been there for twenty-two years. She climbed down when she heard the key in the latch. The door opened, admitting Qa. “Parraneu, Bryn. Forgive me for invading your morning meal, but I thought it would be a good time for us to speak alone about our next guest.” “Parraneu, Qa,” she said, slightly bowing her head in deference. “Our next guest? Singular?” “That is why I wished to speak to you. Our next guest is the Tar.” Bryn's heart tightened. The Tar and his kin had only had her twice before, but both times, they had reveled in her pain, had done horrific things to terrify her and all six of them had ripped her apart so badly, it had taken the Roff several *days* to balance her. “It seems, Bryn, that there is a new Tar, this one even more brutal then the last. I have called to the Pinor and they are sending their two best Roffs over to help with the balancing. And we’ve made sure that after he leaves, you will have adequate time to heal without creating another diplomatic situation. “Pava is planning on meeting with the Tar before you do. As you know, Clan Leaders are within their rights to do with you as they wish with no interference, but as you are the *Slayer* and as the former Tar had caused such a problem, the Pava will insist that he or a Roff be present at all times to place a limit if it seems like you are about to be Celebrated. As indeed you almost were the last time.” Celebrated. With its promise, Bryn found suddenly that she wanted to live very much. “Will the Tar agree to this?” Bryn whispered, struggling to keep her voice steady. Qa looked pensive. “We believe he will. He is not a native Betharan - he hails from Pylea - and is not familiar with our customs. The Pava will impress upon him that the price paid by someone other than the Pava enacting the Celebration is death, to both the Tar and his people. The Pava will also threaten his Pylean kin if the Tar is inflexible.” Bryn sank down on her pallet, staring at her scarred hands, a remnant of her last broht with the Tar. Even the Roff could not completely heal that. Qa touched her shoulder. “You are the Pava’s greatest possession, Bryn. And unlike the other Slayers, he has become somewhat... attached to you. He will not allow an unsanctioned Celebration to pass unavenged.” That didn’t really make her feel better, but she nodded and smiled as she knew was expected and sat with Qa to dutifully choke down a bit of food. With a final compassionate glance, Qa exited her cell and Bryn curled up on her pallet to seek oblivion in rest. *** The Tar had indeed arrived alone. Bryn learned from a Roff that the Pylean was an ugly creature, shorter than the other Betharans, with thin, almost translucent, humanlike skin. He had come to Bethara only three years earlier and had already claimed the Tar and, unbeknownst to the Pava, had recently fought and won ascendancy to the Schoek. This was bad for Bryn. The Roff said she could feel waves of angry death flowing off him when he entered the palace and that he had, in exchange for promising to not Celebrate the Slayer, negotiated fourteen days with her. He would only agree if he could have that time with her and her alone. The Pava had fought him on it, but had ultimately relented when the Tar had agreed to a Roff being just outside the room at all times. Bryn was terrified. She knew that if the Tar wanted to Celebrate her, he could and the Pava, for all his negotiations, could do little to nothing to stop or avenge it. After all, the Pava served the current Schoek and upon the current Schoek’s death would indeed serve the Tar. Bryn also knew that if the Tar decided to Celebrate her and the Pava made no move for vengeance, the Pava would curry favor with the Tar and perhaps be granted more privileges. It was a very bad situation. The Roff led her into the empty Darna chamber and placed her on the central chair, preparing her for the Tar. Bryn knew it was *really* bad when the Roff, finished with her tasks, looked her in the eye and muttered ‘Parraneu’ as if for the last time. She stared hard at the floor, willing herself not to cry, willing herself to ignore the familiar "demon alert" feeling of the Tar in the next room, willing herself to think of nothing as she sat there awaiting her fate. After an eternity, she heard the scrape of the heavy door opening.
|
|
