THE DREAM MAN
The world I lived in was continually disappearing and reappearing, and I with it. It all depended on when my Persie fell asleep.
As dreams go, they never took a definite form. At first I remember finding it disorienting, but after seventeen years of intermittent existence I had been forced to appreciate its strange beauty. After all, that unreal place was the fruit of Persie's imagination, and sometimes of my own. Strands of thoughts unknown even to ourselves intertwined incomprehensibly in unique ways, each night I would open my eyes to find myself in a different ephemeral scenario. When everything melted into fog, I would confine myself to a corner of his mind, waiting for another dream that would allow me a way out.
Together with the girl I have cared for, I swam in oceans of shadows, rolled through meadows of mist, jumped in endless falls, walked through the starry sky, talked to faceless characters, contemplated hypnotic storms, flew aimlessly, visited the bleakest wastelands, ran without moving and faced dozens of fears that were not mine. Without being aware that, for her, none of it made sense. That world, that life, was all I had ever known.
Or so I thought.
I lived for a long time believing I was nothing more than a figment of the imagination of a little girl who needed someone to take care of her. As much as I loved her, and I did with all my heart, she was all I had. I accepted my emptiness because I thought it was part of me. Since Persie's magic awakened, since I discovered that she was something more, I have realized that she is not. I was never something imaginary or non-existent, at least not once, and that has made me feel my loneliness, the feeling of all those things I lack, as something real. Knowing that I possess memories of an existence that has been veiled from me all this time makes me despair while relieving me, it fills me with impotence and determination. My new goal was to recover everything that made me part of reality, I wanted to belong to it as much as possible. There was only one thing I could do: to force out all the memories imprisoned in the depths of my soul, to bring out my identity, my reality, because after knowing all this I would no longer think of myself as an imperceptible presence, I would no longer consider myself imaginary. Maybe, that way, I could be there for my little girl. Even as I was beginning to know myself, she was all that mattered to me.
I looked at her, sitting next to me. We were both sitting on an image that was running through both of our heads: some rocks forming a riverbed. The water, reflecting multicolored light on its gentle current, did not make us feel cold at all. As the days passed, I had come to the conclusion that the metaphor I had used the last time we spoke was wrong. My memory was not a riverbed, but a quarry. A quarry from which, for the time being, I had only extracted pebbles.
Persie was being very brave, but I could feel her tired. Her soul was metamorphosing before my eyes, elements were emerging that I already thought had disappeared. Her eyes, two dead stars as hard as diamonds, were fixed on the bright, infinite horizon. The ripples of the water rose up her white nightgown as if she were part of the current.
I remember when I was very little, before all those traumas and nightmares came along, there were a couple of times she called me "daddy". At that time her dreams didn't give me enough details of her life to let me know that she was terribly lonely and had no one else, but I liked that she called me that a couple of times. I considered myself little more than a figment of her mind, and yet I was moved as never before and vowed to myself that I would protect that little girl as much as I could.
Later, I realized that I could not protect her at all.
Nightmares came, full of darkness, pain, fear, all because of this man who, in the real world, pretended to be her father. It was then that I realized that Persie was really alone, because I couldn't help her. I was useless. She couldn't avoid all the horrible things that awaited her outside of her dreams. As his gaze faded day by day, I never heard him call me that way again.
Chances were that even if I remembered I couldn't really change anything, but the certainty that I had once been part of his world was compelling. I had never given much thought to the similarity between us, but when Persie said what it could be due to, it was the thing that had motivated me the most since I had been reduced to this existence. I didn't care in the least that the identity that awaited me beyond the fog of my memory was that of a cowardly traitor who allied himself with the Insurrection. I would choose no other if it were in my power.
"Tell me you've been doing better than me lately," she murmured, dipping her fingers into the multicolored water.
"Did something happen, dear?"
"I am confused. I know what I want, but not how to get it."
I nodded, encouraging her to explain.
"I'm learning new things, things that I think can help me control my powers."
"I think that's quite positive."
"It is, but in doing so I also learn things from Queen Furya. And that never ceases to irritate me." He looked at me, and a dark glint flashed fleetingly across his eyes. "I want revenge."
"From the Queen?"
"Everything that has happened is her fault! Her and the Insurrection! But without an enemy there is no rebellion, she caused this island to be what it is today, she caused the general to take me with him, because it was she who caused my father to die."
Something in me stirred when I heard that, but I didn't let him know it.
"So, whose side are you on? The Insurrection's or the Queen's?"
"Does it matter? I don't support any of them. There is no good side in this war. I only care that both are the cause of... everything!"
I placed a hand on his, and the light spread over the back of it.
"Do you think revenge is the solution?"
"The Queen is secondary, those who are going to pay are the general and the prince. She may have given rise to all this, but it is they who have made me a prisoner of my own life. When Eneas insists that I go for a walk with him... people look at me with disgust, and if not with fear. I have come to realize that even if I were to marry him and become the queen of Ethryant, I would still be that for which everyone feels little more than disgust. He makes sure I realize it, he wants to see me suffer, but I don't give him that satisfaction. I guess that's the way it will be everywhere, I've already made up my mind that's what awaits me."
"We both know that not everyone feels that way about you. Don't I count?"
With that I managed to make him laugh.
"Of course it is."
"And that red-haired ethryn doesn't count either?"
I raised an eyebrow when the mention of that guy nearly brought a smile to his face.
"I think what Lokih feels for me is something... different."
"I see."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"In my opinion, you'd better clarify, and, more importantly, how you feel about it."
Persie sighed, resting his chin on his hand.
"It's complicated."
"I guess because of Fyodor's son."
She looked at me out of the corner of her eye, erasing any hint of a smile. This, it seemed, was still a sensitive subject for her. She had reacted with a self-respect I was proud of, but there was no doubt in my mind that the fact that the one she thought was the love of her life had left her had hurt her more than she was willing to admit even to herself.
"You can see how complicated it is. The truth is that I'd rather not talk about it tonight, I'd rather you tell me if you've made any progress."
I nodded, with a bitter smile, and reached out my hand toward the river rocks, which began to rise as they melted into silver mist. When the mist receded, it revealed another of the memories I had recovered.
My brother also appeared in this one. In that picture we must have been ten or eleven years old, and we were in a yard playing at fighting with some logs as if they were swords. Physically we didn't look too much alike, except for our eyes. He was a little shorter and scrawnier than me, with softer features and curly hair of a lighter brown than mine, while I recognized in that smiling little boy my own long, sharp face.
"Isn't that your brother?" Persie asked.
"Steaphan," I muttered. "His name is Steaphan."
I could tell he was more competitive than I was, because he handled that log as if it were really a weapon, and I laughed, amused by his determined attitude.
"I don't think your brother likes you," she joked.
"No, it's just that he loves to win," I replied, and for some reason it came naturally to me, as if I was used to defending him. Persie seemed to notice it too, because he smiled at me. We both turned back to the memory when my child self said:
"Have you been practicing, Steaphan?"
"Yes," grunted the other, without losing his concentration.
"Hey, be careful! Do you want to beat me that badly?" I exclaimed, still joking. After a couple of collisions between the two sticks, I let go of mine and took the opportunity to wrap an arm around my brother's neck and ruffle his hair.
"That's cheating!" he protested, and tried to reach me with his.
"I'm sorry, Sir Steaphan the Invincible! That will be your title when king Honir knights you, won't it?"
"None of you will succeed if you continue to act like children."
A man with a distinguished air and the same curls as Steaphan, only covered with gray hair, was approaching from the courtyard. Instantly, I released him, and he took the opportunity to fix the locks I had messed up, both with his eyes fixed on the ground.
"You have fought without honor, son," he said, referring to me.
"We were just playing."
"There are rules in war, the sooner you learn them the better. Do you know what would have happened to you in a real duel? The king would have you executed for fighting without any honor."
The older boy twisted his face.
"I don't care. I don't want to be a warrior anyway. Let Steaphan do the dueling, he's better at it than I am."
"Well, perhaps he should be my heir in your place, since he does seem to care about honor," he looked at the younger of the two, who still hadn't looked away from the ground. "Though I doubt he'll find the war any more fun than you. Go back inside, and don't let it happen again that you skip your lessons to go out and fool around."
The man walked away, leaving the two children behind. I looked at him with resentment and kicked the stick he had dropped. Then the fog dispersed, putting an end to the memory I had of that day.
"Your father was not very nice."
"It certainly wasn't too cheerful."
"Do you think this is why you remember your parents with sadness?"
I shook my head.
"I may have been scolded quite a bit as a child, but the resentment I feel towards them is too intense for an overly strict father to be the reason. I guess I'll find out in time."
"Did you remember anything else?"
"That's right. It's also a memory from my childhood."
I reached out again toward the river to raise the smoke, in which a new image was reflected. It was two children again, but the other was not Steaphan. It was a girl, a rather tall one for her age, with short, raving hair and a bony face that gave her a certain equine air. Sitting against a tree, she was reading a thick tome while I was perched on a branch, also with a book in my hands. It didn't take me long to get bored, because I closed it, turned to her and asked:
"What do you read?"
"Another of my mother's books," he replied tersely.
"And what is it about?"
She gave me a serious doubtful look, and said:
"Why do you care?"
"We can exchange, if you want. These books my father makes me read are so boring. I can't wait to get my novels back."
"If you didn't give him the slightest chance, maybe he wouldn't take them away from you."
"What do you say? Will you change it for me?"
"No!"
"But you've already read that one! You've had the same book in your hand for a month! Besides, you haven't told me what it's about."
The girl closed it, and laid it on the floor so that the title was not visible.
"You are so annoying that sometimes I don't understand how we are friends."
"That's because we're not friends, Delphis. We are best friends, and therefore I have permission to be as annoying as I feel like being with you. Now, are you going to let me see that precious and mysterious book?"
"I said no, you idiot."
Still dangling from the branch, I stared at her with my wide brown eyes in an expression I was probably trying to make adorable, but which didn't do much good against Delphis. I desisted, crossing my arms behind my head and muttering:
"I see you leave me no choice but to resort to blackmail..."
"Ugh, okay! Read the damn book, but if you don't want to be friends anymore then that's your problem."
Far from being concerned about that threat, my curiosity only increased, because I climbed down from the tree and picked up the volume.
"Delphis, I hope I don't have to inform your family that you read obscene books."
"It's not that! You're disgusting!"
"'The Arts of Apollos'. Sounds boring." Then I raised an eyebrow. "Wait, wasn't Apollos the sorcerer who cursed his enemies with misfortune?"
"That is not true. He did not curse anyone."
"So?"
"If the things he threatened his enemies with came true, it was because that was his power. He saw the future."
I cocked my head to one side, looking at the girl who had folded her arms with a sullen expression.
"Why did you think I wouldn't want to be your friend?"
"You hate witches. I've heard you say that. I hate them too, it's just... don't you find it interesting?"
"I don't hate anyone," I replied, and I meant it sincerely. "I repeat what my father wants me to say from time to time, but magic doesn't interest me. Why would any of that interest me?"
"And why not?"
·Because there are none left. And, if we ever see one, that's when I'll be interested. Anyway, the Kraemans will kill him, won't they? Anyway, why were you reading about Apollos?·
Delphis stirred, adopting a sheepish, angry pout.
·Before they knew he was a sorcerer, everyone loved Apollos. He told the good things that were waiting for people, it was when he was hunted that he began to predict the bad. But when he said what people wanted to hear, he was loved. I wonder if that's the secret. You know, saying what...·
"...people want to hear? Never."
The girl frowned.
"Never?"
"It is better to say what you want. If you always say what others want, you will forget what you want. It's like when our parents want to control what we do. If you don't want to, if it doesn't feel right, you don't have to do it."
"But we have responsibilities..."
"Our responsibilities are one thing and orders are another. I don't like to follow orders."
For a moment, Delphis feigned a smile, but she snatched the book from his hands and snorted:
"And that's why you always run out of novels, you idiot."
When the smoke dispersed, my hand was still raised, and I barely noticed when Persie grabbed it.
"Yes, you were annoying," she whispered, but she was smiling with emotion.
"Delphis and Steaphan meant everything to me." I said. That memory had left my heart in a fist, even though I had already witnessed it. "My parents never tried to be. As a child I loved them much less than my brother, I admit, but as an adult I came to hate them. I have only managed to recover the feelings, but I know what happened. I don't know what they did to me, but it must have hurt me enough to disown them."
"Can't remember what it is?"
"It's a heavy stone," I sighed. "My memory is divided in two. The first half is the one I have begun to explore, because the second half is more difficult to extract. There was an event that marked everything, something that marked the years that followed in a way that I could not understand. But only a few years."
Persie swallowed, but asked:
"What's next?"
I looked at her, and I had no doubt that there were as many shadows in my eyes as in hers.
"Nothing."
After whatever it was that marked that divide there were only a few more years of memories. Beyond that, the only thing that awaited me when I tried to explore it was the greatest of blackness, which I knew could only mean one thing. As far as I had been able to calculate, there were thirty-one years of memories in my memory. Nothing more. And thirty and a few was the age that my ethereal appearance appeared to be.
"I am dead. That is the only answer."
"No, you can't be dead. You're here, with me!"
"And yet I cannot live in the real world. I am made of fog and you can only see me in your dreams. I don't like to think about it, but the sooner I come to terms with it, the better."
"I will not assume such a thing! You are alive, do you hear me?"
"Persie, I'm still right here. That's the reality though, I'm still here. Death delimits my memory, but none of those memories are anywhere near as important as the ones I've experienced with you, here, in our world. I want to know who I was, I want to find out my name and my identity, but that doesn't change that this is where I want to be, watching over you."
I hugged her, and my hand on her back trembled as she sobbed.
"It's all right, my dear."
"I'm a fool. I don't know what I expected, maybe that... Maybe that, if you knew who you were and how you got to me... you could get out."
"Get out? You mean, out of your mind?"
"It doesn't matter, really. I want you to stay with me too, even if it sounds selfish."
"No, it's not selfish at all. There hasn't been a single moment in your whole life that you've acted selfishly, little one."
She laughed ruefully.
"It's about time I got started, isn't it?"
She turned away from me and wiped away her tears.
"Your memories are precious."
I nodded, because they were.
I reached out toward the river a third time. I hadn't dug up much more, but I wanted to keep digging. The smoke could not ascend, because I had not chosen what to unearth. I clenched my fist and closed my eyes, traveling back to the years of my life that for some reason had been so deeply scarred. I felt Persie's hand on my shoulder, so I didn't stop. It didn't take long for a deep regret to come over me, but I kept going until I picked out a very heavy memory, which when my mind brushed against it conveyed a great sorrow, mixed with something else. It hurt, but it was not a normal pain.
I pulled.
I wasn't prepared, and that's why I couldn't get it out. I screamed, putting my hands to my temples while, behind my closed eyelids, I saw glistening smoke. No image came to me, but a voice I didn't recognize, a female voice that made my whole body shudder with the emotion it gave birth to in me.
'Get away from me.'
'I can't.'
'You'll have to, can't you see I can't love you, I can't!'
'Don't do this to me. Don't do this to us.'
'You'd better get going.'
'If this is not love, what is?'
'I don't know!!! But I can't!!!! I-I can't...'
"Wait..." I found myself whispering after opening my eyes. "Don't leave me... I love you."
"Are you all right?"
I blinked as I saw Persie in front of me, grabbing me by the shoulders as if he intended to shake me.
"Did you hear that?"
"Yes. Who was it?"
"I don't know. He said... we couldn't be together."
"I don't understand."
"Neither did I," I had time to say before a deep headache assaulted me. I screamed again as the world, the river and the multicolored light were torn apart to return me to the deepest darkness.
PERSIE
After talking to the Dream Man, I woke up in the wee hours of the morning. I could not get his expression of absolute pain out of my mind when I heard the voice of the woman who rejected him. Who was this woman who had made him suffer? If my suspicions were correct, was there the slightest possibility that he had heard the voice of...? No. No, it was not possible.
I was so engrossed that I nearly tripped as I followed Scilla to the training area.
"Careful," he growled.
"I'm tired," I protested.
"It's not my problem. I hope I don't have to use the chains again in this training."
Even if she said that, I knew she enjoyed doing it. My teacher had never missed a chance to put me in shackles whenever I didn't control the magic as well as she would like. It was not lost on me the feint of a smile she would flash when she saw the marks the metal left on my wrists when I finished training. Every morning I had to spend with her I hated her more, and I suspected she hated me too.
When we arrived at the clearing, I was surprised to find, apart from all the dummies being repaired for the umpteenth time, three recruits in the emerald uniform of the Insurrection; they were carrying shields and spears.
"What is this?"
"We have come to assist in your training, Lady Persie," said one of them, a wiry man with tiny eyes and barely any hair. He looked me up and down with clear hostility, an attitude shared by his two companions.
"Do I have to fight you? Do you think so highly of yourselves that you are going to take the place of Galatean?" I mocked.
"We don't exactly hold that bunch of killers in very high esteem," said another, younger than me, who I was surprised they had chosen for this task.
"What about you? You were recruited yesterday and you're already fighting witches?"
"Shut up, child. Go sit down."
I rolled my eyes and walked over to the stool between the posts where the shackles were hooked, where I crossed my arms.
"What am I supposed to do, master?"
"You have to knock down the three of them, as well as throw the dummies. They will be able to lift them, you have to get them all on the ground at the same time."
"Is that it?"
"I think it's the witch who is held in very high esteem," the first one who had addressed me guffawed, and the other two laughed scornfully. I cocked my head to one side, holding back a mischievous grin. My magic sparked with impatience, and I decided it was time to put what I had learned into practice.
"Wow, such confident warriors. Ready for a little dance?"
Scilla was about to uncover one of the mirrors, when she said to me:
"If any of them suffer serious damage, I will personally see to it that you are punished."
"Should I be as gentle with Furya?"
The scarred woman shook her head in annoyance and one by one uncovered the mirrors. As my powers connected with each one, I closed my eyes and remembered the words in the diary. I had to let her hear me. Be in control.
When I opened my eyes, in each crystal was already reflected a young woman as white as marble. The recruits raised their shields and stood back to back, but I saw in their eyes restlessness, and maybe fear.
My reflection walked around him, and they, without taking their eyes off the mirrors, pointed their spears at him. However, before attacking he slowly moved towards one of the dummies and, with a single blow, tore off its arm. The wooden limb floated on our side to the glass and began to strike it.
"What are you doing?" Scilla exclaimed, but my doppelganger kept cracking the surface in which it was reflected until it broke into pieces that fell to the ground. I took a deep breath and said:
"Don't question my methods and I won't question yours."
With a movement of my fingers that I tried not to let her notice, I made the pieces of glass rise until they were suspended in the air. The insurrectionists turned toward them, also moving away from my reflection.
"You didn't say I could do that!" protested the younger one.
"She just couldn't!" replied my teacher.
I ignored them all, and made the pieces of glass shoot towards the dummies. Some of them were stumbling and somewhat slow, not as accurate or fast as I would like, but it was the best I could do without moving.
They slammed into their heads and torsos with enough force to knock them all to the ground. My reflection picked up the arm he used to break the nearly shattered mirror and threw it against one of the shields. It didn't do any good, but it did distract them, and he took the opportunity to make a powerful leap and break through their defenses. Unfortunately, one of them looked at the mirror in time and pointed his spear in their direction. I made my reflection react, and it grabbed the weapon in mid-jump and propelled itself to the ground without being grazed. However, another hit her with his shield, leaving time for the third to lift two dummies off the ground.
The sensation of my reflection being wounded was new, it was like an unpleasant throbbing in my temples that made me grimace. I made it get up in a hurry, just in time to dodge a spear, roll on the ground as I got a wooden leg and made it collide with my opponents' weapons. The instructions for my magic flowed easily, but I couldn't take my mind off the battle or take my eyes off the three insurgents. This was the most mentally taxing training I had ever done.
With a snap of my fingers, a few shards of glass broke off the inanimate corpses, startling the insurrectionist who was in charge of lifting them, who returned to his companions and stood on guard. They no longer knew what to look at, whether at the mirrors or at the sharp shards that were slowly approaching them. Their distraction allowed my doppelganger to deliver an impossibly strong kick to the center of a shield that sent its bearer staggering and knocked the others off balance. I smiled before getting a crystal stuck in another shield, by way of threat, before the rest returned to knock down all the dummies they had raised.
The fight dragged on even though the insurgents did not decide to attack. I tried to combine the defense of my reflection with new attacks on them, but this was my first combat using magic, and it was costing me more than I thought. However, for some twisted reason, I was having fun. My magic was writhing happily, as if it was congratulating me, as if I had been waiting for that moment for an eternity. Maybe, in a way, I had been, too.
After a couple of agitated minutes, a spear struck my reflection in the side, nearly knocking him over. I closed my eyes, annoyed, as the pain made my temples throb and, forgetting Scilla's warnings, I made a crystal rise above the insurgents and stabbed into the shoulder of one of them, the oldest one, who collapsed screaming in pain. My frustration boiled over, joining the flow connecting my powers to the mirrors, and my doppelganger's eyes gave off a sinister light before slamming into the shields of those left standing, again and again, until his knees buckled from the effort. He hadn't been able to do that before, he had become stronger. To what extent could my emotions strengthen him? Before I could check, the younger soldier staggered, and my reflection positioned itself like a flash behind him, grabbed him by the back of the neck and threw him to the ground. He didn't look badly hurt, but still the boy made no move to get up again. The last one standing, a guy skilled with a spear and a permanent frown wrinkle on his forehead, maintained his stance, until my reflex quickly tripped him and, once he was down, put his knee in his chest.
They had all been defeated, and the mannequins were scattered, torn to pieces by white hands or skewered by shards of glass. The remaining scene was even more grotesque than the last time, a vague imitation of what I would one day be capable of, and unfortunately for me, they had all seen it.
I sighed and closed my eyes as the connection to the crystals faded. When I opened them, Scilla was covering the mirrors, shivering, and the recruits had risen, helping the one with a crystal on his shoulder, who was breathing heavily and letting out moans of pain. They looked at me as one looks at a dragon with flames writhing in its maw.
"I won." I whispered. Judging by my teacher's expression, if she wasn't so afraid at that moment she would come over to slap me.
"What have you won?! Does this look like a game to you, girl?"
"No matter what, I won. And I didn't move, so you should be satisfied."
"How can I be satisfied when you've smashed one of the few mirrors we had for training?"
I crossed my arms indifferently.
"I don't think it would be that complicated to get another one. I bet Ethryant has lots of them."
"Are you really still not aware of the risk we run having only these on the island? We risk Furya finding us, we risk her killing us all! And you tear them apart just to make a show! Where did you learn to do that?"
"What, this?" I asked, as the pieces of the mirror rose from between the wooden bodies, "I don't know, I guess it comes naturally to me. When were you planning to teach me how to do it?"
"She's a monster!" exclaimed the young soldier. "Does his excellency really plan to marry that?"
"Actually, I'm the one who doesn't really want to marry him."
"She almost killed Darrock! He's just like her!"
"Now it is you who hold me in very high esteem."
The looks of deep horror hardly fazed me anymore. That expression was burned into every eye I met, whether at home or in the streets of Cavintosh, it was an infinite succession of hatred and horror that I created in my wake. My presence alone was enough to provoke murmurs and grimaces, I would spread shadows that would wipe away any trace of smiles like a passing plague. It was going to be like that wherever the name Persie Aursong was known and signified heresy.
Scilla pointed out to me.
"You disobeyed me again. I told you you couldn't hurt them."
"And what is this training supposed to consist of? Letting them beat me up without defending myself? You'd love that, wouldn't you?"
"Save your damn bloodlust for the battlefield, child. Here you obey me, and now you have smashed a very valuable object and harmed one of the allies of the cause. If you don't learn the easy way, you will learn the hard way. Take her."
As if rehearsed, the two recruits pounced on me. Instinctively, I tried to resort to magic, but all the mirrors were covered, so I couldn't stop them from grabbing me by one arm each. I kicked, but they were stronger, and the feeling of going from being inconceivably lethal to being completely helpless disarmed me.
"Let me go, I'll kill you all!" I blurted out.
"Do you see why this is necessary? You talk like her. You behave like her. I'm glad her highness has finally given me permission to correct you. When I'm done with you, you'll never raise your voice again, not even to the rats."
With the help of the recruits, he chained my hands to the posts, leaving my shoulders in an awkward position. I could tell the two men enjoyed it, as if they needed revenge for being defeated by that which they so loved to call an abomination. The pride of men seemed more vulgar to me every day.
"I wanted to say, but I couldn't finish the sentence when I saw what Scilla had just picked up. It was an object I had seen several times in the hands of Clariess' most ruthless governesses, something that had made me see her holding back tears with scratches on her hands."
"This Insurrection, however little we like it, needs you. If this is the way for you to win us freedom, I could not have chosen a more desirable one," hissed my teacher, raising her rod."
"No! Stop! You're crazy!"
"They turned me like that, and you can't imagine how much you remind me of those who did it to me."
"Please! I'll behave, it's okay!"
"It's too late for that."
I closed my eyes as the rod fell on one of my shackled hands, and it was as if a red flash of pure pain shot through my eyelids. I was still screaming when he brought it down again, and again, and again. That continuity and that violence reminded me of the last thirteen years of my life, so I probably regretted it less than Scilla would have liked. When they did it to Clariess they left her with a scratch or two on each palm. She went on a rampage with mine, and when she had left it raw on me, she moved on to the other with the same determination. I kept my eyes closed and bit the inside of my cheek so hard that soon the taste of flesh and bitterness invaded my palate. The laughter of the recruits could be heard above the cracking of the rod, so I imagined that it was their blood, theirs and my teacher's that was spreading across my tongue instead of my own, that it was theirs soaking my hands. I wished to cover them in red, to paint my arms and face the most rotten scarlet, for that was the image of peace that year after year, blow after blow and shadow after shadow had formed in my mind.