The Breaking of Chrystal Belle

“Is she dead?”

“Mostly.”

“Why not completely?”

“I’m not finished; you said to prolong it.”

“It’s been prolonged enough. Finish it.”

“She’s said nothing. If I finish it, you’ll get nothing.”

“It’s been three hours. You’ve done everything but…”

“I could do that. She’d need to be cleaned up first, but I can do it.”

“Would you? Would you really? Even now?”

“Why not?”

He looked at me a long moment.

“You’re going to tell me I’m a monster? A fiend? A devil?”

“No.”

“ ‘No’,” I imitated his voice, “ ‘I’m just going to think it.’ Right?”

“I…I’ll leave you to your work.”

“Ha! It’s your work, wizard; I’m just the tool you’re using.”

That stopped him in his tracks, but he didn’t turn around, and after a heartbeat or two, walked out.

I went back to work.

 

****************

“You heard him, Chrystal?”

Her voice was raspy from screaming and the smoky torches, deliberately dabbed in something to make them so.

She nodded.

I leaned in close: “He doesn’t care if I kill you. Do you?”

She nodded again.

“I’m going to take off the gag, all right? Just tell me what I need to know.”

She gasped, and I gave her some water to wet her throat, clean the blood, and deceive her into thinking I just might be merciful.

“Where are the others?”

“He told you to rape me.”

“Yes.”

“You told him you would, if he wanted.”

“Yes.”

She paused a moment, then said “What if I said you didn’t have to force me?”

I smiled in shocked amusement at her pluck.

“Do you think I’m so easily bought? I could have you whether he granted me permission or not.”

She gave a smile of her own, red rimmed as it was. “You know that’s not true.”

Interesting. It had been a statement meant to rattle her.

“You’re stalling, Chrystal. When he returns, he expects me to hand him your corpse.”

“You’ve broken me up inside already, and what have you gained?”

“I told him that, but I believe you know where the rest of your kind is hiding, and…”

I picked up a branding iron, spit on it to let her hear the sizzling hiss.

“I would so hate to ruin that lovely face.”

“Do it. I don’t know where they’re hiding, and it no longer matters.”

I took off the hooded mask I wore, and she flinched at my appearance.

Walking toward her now, I saw her shrink back, and I smiled, which made her flinch even more.

“Before I do…”

Gripping her chin, I forced her lips to mine a long moment, heard her retch in her throat, and I stuffed the gag back in, and jammed the brand onto her thigh.

As she thrashed against the bonds and screamed behind the gag, a thought occurred to me.

Maybe I am going soft…

 

*****************

The pain shooting me through me made me drop the brand, as if I’d burned myself with it.

Chrystal was still kicking a bit, her eyes watery, and mucus and saliva pooling around the gag made her unlovely.

I knew immediately where I’d made my mistake, and I could torture her no longer; everything I did to her, I would now feel. Already I could see bruises appearing, feel the aches she felt, saw the cuts I’d made on her now slice my own skin open and weep with blood.

I could see the brand on my own leg.

Her eyes were still defiant, and if I weren’t going to go blind in the doing, I would’ve gouged them out with my thumbs.

The gag dissolved, and her smile had that same smarmy slyness when she told me I couldn’t have her without permission.

“Free me. Now.”

“You marked me.”

“You marked yourself with your lust, Bressal. You knew, or said you did, of our powers.”

I freed her.

“Are you going to kill me?” I asked her.

“No. You’re going to kill the wizard for me. When he comes, don’t bother dragging it out.”

She walked over to my array of bloodletting toys, and picked out an axe, one I’d trusted through the years for other duties, but it was somewhat dull now, as I’d not used it in some time.

I bowed my head in defeat.

“Put this through his skull,” she said.

“It’s dull.” I could no longer meet her eyes.

She laughed. “As are you. My husband has made his choice, now I’ve made mine. Strike as many times as you have to; I’ll be back to see what you’ve done.”

Her eyes narrowed, and I felt something like a fist around my heart.

“And if I see no body, Bressal, I’ll know you’ve betrayed me, and make you wish you were never born.”

The fist let go.

I didn’t like being threatened. She’d bested me, and now felt emboldened to boast.

“We will one day have reckoning,” I said to her retreating back. “I will break this spell, and then you, Chrystal, into shards of bad memories your husband’s maid will sweep under thick carpets.

“My ruined face will be the last thing you see, my kiss the last thing you feel, as I take your womanhood along with your life.”

The door shut on my tirade.

I wiped at the tears in my eyes that baptized me into her service, but I couldn’t stop them, and decided to blame it on the acrid torches.

Then I took the axe, put it across my lap, and waited.

 

 

Waves at Twilight

They sing a timeless song, these waves

of harpooned whale and gleaning gull

They batter a bitter beat, these waves

against the rocks that say, “no farther.”

They gleam with diamonds of sunlight, these waves

that shimmer and glide under the azure sky

They guard the souls of drowned slaves and sailors, these waves

and wash the flesh away from buried bones

And in the gathering gloam of

crepuscular dusk

You  and I watch them, these waves

gently crash and foam and sizzle

at our feet

inviting us to

frolic

buoyant

across their seamless surface

And reaching for my hand, you lead

And taking your hand, I follow

And we are received by them, these waves

holy water

incessantly blessing

pure love.

 

Within

smithaw50's avatarBeyond Panic

Within the world

we wandered

and walked without

a care

Within our hearts

we reached

and opened them

so they were bare

Within ourselves

we wondered

at what the other

sought

Of that bare heart

within us

we offered without

thought

And so within our love

without the world

we left behind

Without a backward glance

we closed the door and

drew the blind

And deep within each other

we put our trust and fears

and then discovered real love

is not without its tears

And so without you

now I live within my memories

The tears within my eyes will stay

I’ll live without love, please.

© Alfred W. Smith Jr.  2015

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And Yes, I Still Believe in Love

smithaw50's avatarBeyond Panic

And yes, I still believe in love
I still believe it’s there
It’s trembling out there somewhere in
the frosty winter air

Or trapped inside a mountain cave
from which it can’t escape
because it fell while running out
and gave its knee a scrape

Or floating on the raging sea
and looking for a light
to guide it safely home to shore
before it’s out of sight

Perhaps it’s on a city street
outside at a café
You didn’t hear it call your name
and hurried on your way

Perhap it’s somewhere crying
it cannot find a heart
that seems to want to keep it
not tell it to depart

So when we say we ‘look for love’
that happens to be true
I still believe it’s out there and
it’s looking for us too.

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Overmorrow (6)

6)

I waited just outside the Summoner’s door as once again the yellow, green and blue eyes of the night creatures flecked the darkness as they came to watch me and wait for the ideal opportunity.

In time, as they eyes crept closer and closer, Jirus appeared at the top of the rise; his eyes were still that pale blue.

“Mitre Harkin.”

At his greeting, the eyes began to recede into the trees.

I walked up the rise and he took my hand.

“Vilus is back at the camp, and the meat is cooking. Did you do what you needed?”

“I did.” I stopped, and since he held my hand, he stopped with me.

“I may need your help later. I’m afraid that the Dark Wood won’t be spared this time.”

He nodded.  “I didn’t think it would be; with the departure of so many, there are holes in its protection, and what magic remains has faded, or weakened, to the point where we’ve been vulnerable for some time.”

We began walking again.

“We’ve been relying on reputation to keep out intruders for some time. The truth is, Mitre, you wouldn’t have been able to get as far as you did if everything was still intact.

“The original barrier prevented travel through the last of the hill country, and you were very lucky to survive.”

That was a sobering thought, but I let it pass.

“So no, we won’t be spared, and we’ll help in any way we can.”

This time, he stopped, and looked up at me with a rather fierce expression.

“But I’ll not put Vilus in harm’s way for you.”

I was taken aback, and said so. “I would never ask you to do that.”

We started walking again.  “War makes men do all sorts of things they’d never do.”

I had no answer for that either.

We arrived at the camp, and Vilus ran up to me and hugged me.

“Were you able to help her, Mitre?”

The most expedient thing to do in the moment was lie, one of the first things I vowed never to do when I donned the temple’s robes. Already what Jirus told me was proving true.

“Yes Vilus, I was.”

She smiled.

“The food’s ready,” Jirus called.

As we ate, they regaled me with some of their more dangerous hunting stories, and while they weren’t exactly feral children, if their exploits were true, they were relentless in their pursuit, and brutal in their killing.

They said nothing of their family, or how they came to be alone, much less survive, in the woods all these years, and nothing of how they gained their hunting prowess, and why the animals feared them so.

Something told me that if I asked, I would lose them, so I didn’t.

That’s a tale for another day.

It was what my father often said to us when we’d ask him for another bedtime story because we didn’t want him to go, and we didn’t want to go to sleep. Sometimes he’d indulge us, but when he didn’t, that’s what he’d say.

I felt it applied here.

Soon time and quiet exacted their price, and the light in the children’s eyes was flickering as their lids closed as they too, fought sleep; but as the fire died, their stories trailed off into light snores

Knowing I was safe as long as I stayed close, I watched the unfed fire dance across the embers, and darken, and took what rest I could in the remainder of the night.

 

*****************

In the morning, Vilus woke me.

“Mitre Harkin, it’s time to go.”

I woke up, rubbing my eyes, my face, as I looked about to see Jirus not in the camp.

“Where’s your brother?”

“He got your horse.”

“He found it alive?”

She smiled. “Yes, and it’s already saddled for you.”

She took my hand.

“It’s not dark, Vilus.”

“I know.”

She gave my hand a little squeeze.

Friends again.

 

******************

Jirus held the reins as I mounted, and I gave the bag with the rest of the gold.

“That’s very generous, Mitre.”

“You’ve more than earned it. I only hope you find it of some use before the demons come, before their masters gain more power.”

“I wish we met under better circumstances.”

“Well, we have a chance to make them better before we meet again.”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too,” Vilus said. She handed me my crossbow.

“Thank you. Both of you.”

“Until we meet again, right, Mitre Harkin?”

“That’s right, dear Vilus. That’s exactly right.”

I turned the horse, who took off at a gallop, eager to be back on familiar ground.

I didn’t bother turning around this time, because I didn’t want to see the empty space.

The sun was rising.

Overmorrow had now become today.

 

 

 

When the Broken Dolls are Screaming

She left me here alone with them again.

I asked her not to; I always ask, but she always forgets.

I try not to look at them, but the room is only four walls, and I’ve read all the books in the case now, some more than twice.

I do the, read the books, to keep from looking at them.

They seem whole, serene, even, their painted poker faces never moving.

Dust motes drift in the persimmon light of a dying sun, and there’s an air of expectation, though no one’s here but me.

And them.

Their eyes glitter as they track me aimlessly moving about the dark and stuffy ‘guest quarters,’ for such is my dwelling called.

The days of glory, when it housed royalty, heads of state, politicians, and valued courtesans (two sides of a coin, that), had long past.

It was now little more than a storage room containing forgotten tributes and trinkets of those times, but the dolls took up the most space.

They belonged to Doll Kensington, a woman child with a moue for a mouth and the morals of a…

No…no, I will not brand her a whore; she was voracious in her appetite, and highly skilled at sating them; she enjoyed sex unapologetically, and when expedient, or necessary, charged highly for those skills.

I was a fool to think I could save her

She was a fool for laughing at my foolishness.

Even now, I wonder if her spirit is the one within these dolls; I can fell the heat of the hellfire in their eyes, the longing for revenge.

They are, after all, no different from their namesake: her eyes glittered, but had no life, her limbs were pliant, but without strength, her face was garishly painted, and her red, red lips were cold.

But I never touched her.

 

*********************

I was alone in the bar.

   Life and music, women and smoke, vice and danger all danced around me with the familiarity of tired old couples no longer in love, clinging to a tattered remnant of a happy, fading memory, even as they trampled it underfoot.

   In the bottom of my glass, I saw myself.

  It wasn’t appealing, so I ordered another to drown the face, but it only floated to the top again, and looked at me with sad, defeated eyes.

   “It’s on me,” a voice next to me said, and a pale hand with painted nails slid money across the bar, and an old hand, bristling with white hairs and missing a finger, slid it off and took it to parts unknown.

   I didn’t look up, or say ‘thank you,’ or do anything.

  The pale hand went from the bar to my thigh.

   “I can make it better.”

  “Only for awhile.”

   “It’ll have to be enough, love.”

   I tossed back the whiskey, felt it burn my blood, and followed her out into the abyss.

 

Together All Ways

Stare we no longer

at

the setting sun

 

The evening starlight

knells

the day is done

 

And you and I

are here

Love’s victory won

Inner Cage

Inner cage  Outer rage

Kill the people Turn the page

Bleeding in an alleyway

Watching darkness hunt the day

 

We’re the only monsters here

Gods of violence, blood and fear

Rule blue heaven overhead

Die not with me when I’m dead

 

I am dead to faith and hope

Love is but a hanging rope

I’ll not dangle; Best beware

I will roast your heart so fair

 

Toss you like a broken knife

Dare you still to be my wife

 

Break inside the inner cage

Sail the sea of outward rage

Take me safely back to land

with your roughened, gentle hand

 

When your love has calmed the beast

Claim his heart your wedding feast

Ever fast and ever true

In the inner cage

with

you

 

 

© Alfred W. Smith Jr.  2015

 

Within

Within the world

we wandered

and walked without

a care

 

Within our hearts

we reached

and opened them

so they were bare

 

Within ourselves

we wondered

at what the other

sought

 

Of that bare heart

within us

we offered without

thought

 

And so within our love

without the world

we left behind

 

Without a backward glance

we closed the door and

drew the blind

 

And deep within each other

we put our trust and fears

and then discovered real love

is not without its tears

 

And so without you

now I live within my memories

 

The tears within my eyes will stay

I’ll live without love, please.

 

 

 

Song of Sacrifice

My heart, pierced

My breathing, shallow

My blood, pouring

hardening, cooling

on the

trampled grass

The gates of

an iron underworld

yawned wide for me,

a cremating maw of

mocking damnation

You came from

unseen shadows,

dressed in black

with flowers

wreathed and woven,

white against

the sable strands

of your glory

And when the fiery demon came,

flaming axe in hand

to claim his unholy inheritance

You sang

a note so sweet,

he flinched

at its beauty

Of care so far reaching,

it stopped him

in his tracks

Of friendship so lasting,

his fire died

Of desire so strong,

it burned him

Of two souls so

tightly bound,

he dropped his weapon

Of bodies so entwined,

he fell

to his knees

Of love so unending.

he

vanished

Sacrificing your song

to the fire,

I am restored,

but your voice,

now lost,

is but the

hollow soughing

of hot winds

across the silted surfaces

of cooling suns

of long-forgotten

gods

© Alfred W. Smith Jr.  2015