CHAPTER XV - Jaunee's Story Continues
So I was left for dead in an unknown alley in Drentwych by the Papa. The tears froze upon my face as I resigned myself to my fate and waited for death’s numb embrace to claim me. I may have passed out, or perhaps I was still awake but too delusional to tell reality and dream apart. My next vivid memory, though, was of a man towering above me. In a desperate desire to stay alive I clung to the waking world of the living just a bit longer and managed to move my lips to form the word ‘please’. He was a tall yet skinny man, perhaps twenty-five years of age, with a well-kept shaven face and black hair oiled and brushed backwards. His black robe, adorned by silver was so beautiful … He had a dark kind of beauty about him. He studied my face intently before he spoke, standing still like a statue. This is what he told me:
“Little girl,” he said in clear French. “Disease overtook you and no healer in this world can heal you with his crafts. You are going to die.” I closed my eyes and resigned myself once more, losing all hope.
“I am a magician, and it is within my power to save your life, but there is a price …” he announced. I opened my eyes, desperately wanting to believe there was still hope for me.
“Yes?” I strained my lips to form the word.
“Servitude. You will belong to me,” he said sternly.
“Yes,” I replied as the world spun about and faded into dark.
I woke up in a strange room that at first glance appeared to be a very clean nursery room, but on closer examination turned out to be a prison cell of some sort, with a heavy iron door confining me. Suddenly a sharp pain gripped my stomach — it was like being stabbed over and over again, until a horrible nausea compelled me to vomit the contents of my belly. A hand pressed against my mouth. Surprised, I first tried to fight, but then his voice spoke to me.
“Calm down,” he said. “Don’t fight it. The potion is the only thing that can save you; you must not spit it out.” I did as instructed, swallowed the vile potion again and watched the man’s swirling aura as he kept his hand on my face; there were magic runes in his aura now. It was the same man I had seen before, so I realized that this wasn’t a dream. I was really alive! Comforted by the knowledge that I was still in this world, I let sleep and oblivion claim me again. His aura, like his robe dark and silver, was so magnificent.
When I woke again I was surprised to find myself standing. I quickly looked around, and to my surprise saw my body lying on the bed with the healer standing over it drawing strange runes upon it. I tensed in fear, realizing that I might be dead; a ghost standing over my own dead body. Something moved behind me and I turned, surprised and fearful. But the movement had just been mine. I had wings; beautiful angelic rainbow-colored wings. I had died and become an angel. I reconciled to the notion that I wasn’t a demon-child after all, but a higher being, beloved by God. All my life I had loathed myself for being a monster, but now I knew that they were wrong, the priests and my father ― I was not infernal but angelic instead. How saddened I was to know the truth now, only after having spent the few years living in vain self-loathing. The man’s voice broke the train of my thoughts and centered my attention on my body again.
“She’s dead,” he said in disappointment. As he uttered the words, I felt the gravity of their meaning more fully; it was as if someone had stepped on my grave. Such a terrible feeling of hopelessness and fright gripped me that I tried with all my might to awaken — to live. Despite my curiosity; despite the bittersweet joy I now felt; despite the realization that I was better off dead and divine then living and miserable, I wanted to stay alive. I strained with all my might to enter my body. I called upon my will and unleashed my magic. I wanted to live! At long last, my efforts proved successful.
I woke again with great difficulty, and it was then that the burden of life returned to me threefold. I felt such weakness, misery, and pain that I couldn’t even cry.
“You’re alive!” He said, overjoyed. “It worked!” Yes, indeed, against all odds I was still alive, or alive once again.
“Yes,” I said, as I felt my strength slowly return to me.
“Hush now,” he replied and patted my hair. “Save your strength and sleep,” he added, and I did as instructed, content and comforted by the fact I was still here on earth, an angel.
It was then that I had the strangest dream. I dreamt that I traveled to a land of ice. It was cold but I didn’t mind, for I was an angel and angels were never cold, sad, or lonely. I found myself walking towards a cave, but I paused for a moment to study my dreamscape. It had always been a natural ability of mine to be able to consciously control my dreams, and even sometimes to see the dreams of others when I strained hard enough.
The ice appeared strange, for beneath its layers I could see an ocean of sea-sand. I looked towards a cave that harbored similar qualities, a world that had once been an ocean of warm sea-sand now turned into a cold desert of ice. I entered the cave, straining to see in the dark. The cave consisted of five walls of ice formed into a geometric shape. Never in my life or even in my dreams had I seen such sheets of clear ice. Then I noticed that there was someone trapped on the other side of one of the walls. It was a woman, naked and beautiful. I moved closer, touching the ice and gazing at her intently.
“My darling,” I heard her voice say in my head. As she began speaking a red liquid began flowing on the cave floor. I touched it, and found that it was blood. I looked at her with a questioning gaze; I did not have the ability to speak to minds, but she did.
“Blood is life,” she said. “Fear it not, for the flowing blood signifies the streams of our lives.”
“Who are you? You are so mysterious,” I thought.
“You,” she replied. “You and I are one, one and the same.” I strained to see her more clearly now, trying to dream-craft the ice to make it more transparent.
“You can’t see in the dark?” She asked.
“No,” my thoughts replied.
“Take my eyes, then,” she offered. “They are a gift,” she added. I touched my eyes, my hands moving of their own accord. I smeared blood on my eyes by accident. My vision became blurry for a moment, and then it cleared and became much sharper. The dark didn’t appear so dark anymore but rather radiated with magnificent pale blue light, resonating off the icy walls.
‘Thank you,’ I thought.
“You are most welcome,” she replied. It was then that I saw and marveled at the cave’s true beauty. The ice radiated and reflected the starlight, which sparkled and made everything wondrous. With a smile I gazed at the woman and marveled at her beauty as well.
She had red hair like mine, but it was much prettier, cleaner, and longer, the way I would have liked my hair to be. Her skin was white and perfect without blemish, like an ivory statue of an angelic being animated to life. Her features were likewise perfect ― feminine and divine, as I dreamed of being. Not a single flaw marred her beauty. More than anything, I wanted her words to be true; that we were indeed one and the same and that I too would someday be as beautiful and feminine as she.
“You and I are one,” she replied to my thoughts. I marveled at her rainbow-colored angelic wings, just like mine only longer and far more striking.
“Why are you here?” I asked her, for I felt that beneath her mask of glamour she was suffering and sad, just like I was.
“I’m trapped here,” she replied, her face turning sad, though it hadn’t really moved. It was more as if the light somehow reflected differently, coloring the room with her sadness. I couldn’t bear seeing her unhappy, and wanted to cry in misery and pain, echoing her sadness.
“How can I help?” I asked in desperation.
“You can free us,” she replied.
“How, oh how I beg of you, tell me how!” I cried.
“If you exert your will and power all barriers will shatter before you — all gates will open,” she explained. I didn’t understand her at all, so I tried banging at the wall, hoping to free her by force. But I couldn’t, and since I wasn’t calm anymore, I couldn’t hear her thoughts, which made me panic even more. I then wished for fire with all my heart; burning fire; enchanted flames that would mirror the warmth of a distant summer; fire everywhere to melt the ice, boil the blood, and free the other half of me from the cage.
I woke up frightened, and screamed, vividly aware that I had failed to free the woman in my dream. The room had become warmer. Or perhaps there was heat rising from me again. The candles and torches burst into flames, and fire licked the walls; it was me, I now knew. I could feel it. It was like a wave of lava that flowed in my bloodstream, with my heart pumping it. Then suddenly there was sweet release as a volcano of power and flames erupted from me, lighting fires all around.
Before long I was trapped in this inferno of my own making, yet I had power still ― I felt it flowing in my blood, raising my hair on edge. I waved my hand towards the living flames and concentrated, mentally commanding them to die out and sleep. I felt my heart beating ever so fast, until a few pulses of power bent the fire to my bidding, and it slept. Wind flew through my hair. The feeling was intoxicating and wonderful.
The door opened. My captor and savior entered the room. With a wave of his hand the smoke cleared and vanished. He eyed me then, most pleased with himself.
‘He is a real magician …’ I thought, ‘… and a powerful one, as proven by the ease with which he cleared the smoke.’
“Excellent! You are by far the most successful experiment as of yet,” he boasted.
“What?” I asked him feebly, exhausted now that the haze of power had lifted.
“So many times I’ve tried! So many specimens wasted! Strong young men. Powerful witches. All failed. I almost gave up hope, only to succeed with a frail, dying, odd-looking little girl!” He said triumphantly, his voice growing in volume as he spoke.
“I don’t understand,” I ventured, but there was no stopping him.
“I’ve only administered the potion yesterday, and already you can light and extinguish fires with your mind!” He gloated.
“I’m an angelic demon-child,” I replied softly.
“What?” He demanded abruptly, as if this was the first time he’d heard my voice.
“I am an angelic demon-child, I have always been able to light fires,” I explained, telling a partial lie. It is true that I’ve had some control over fire all my life, but it was more in the realm of lighting a candle when I concentrated with all my might.
“Really?” He asked, quite surprised. “How did you come to be such a being?” He asked soothingly. I liked his pleasant tones so much better than his angry ones that I would have told him almost anything he wanted to know, if only he wouldn’t be angry with me anymore.
He listened carefully, and I began. “When I was a little girl, a man used to come to our home. Mama and papa didn’t like him, and were both angry and sad every time he came. Mama told me she was sad because she had to give him coins, so one night when he came I told him to leave. He was a bald wrinkly man, and when he smiled or frowned, he wrinkled even more,” I explained.
“What happened after you told him to leave?” The magician asked.
“He yelled at me, so I yelled back. I was so angry. The wrinkly man slapped me and I fell down. So I bared my teeth at him and he laughed. Papa came running when he heard noise,” I said, getting angry just remembering it.
“What happened then?” The magician asked.
“Then the man grabbed his eyes and screamed. He couldn’t see anymore because I had burned his eyes with my power,” I said.
“And then?” The magician asked.
“Then everybody screamed ‘Demon, demon!’ At me,” I said and hid my face from him.
“You did well,” he said.
“Papa and his friends didn’t think so. They all shouted at me and then papa hit me. I tried to protect myself from him, but he hit me again,” I told my captor. He tried speaking softly to me and even patted my hair. When I closed my eyes and went to sleep he was relieved, and asked me no further questions.
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