Mindgames Ch. 05

Chapter 5: Awakening

Present day

For days Mariah drifted in and out of consciousness. When she awoke she would feel the pain, and then, somehow, blessed relief as the clouds surrounded her limbs. There was a sound that could have been the wind in the trees outside the wall, or could have been the low murmuring of voices. Sometimes, on the edge of awareness, she could hear the breeze whispering to her, "Strength. Life. Courage."

Once she woke up. A human she did not know was sitting on the edge of her sleeping ledge. He held her left hand. It seemed his voice was the breeze, for he was saying those words. Then she slept.

The next time she awoke he was holding her hand again, or still. But this time he was sitting on the floor next to her sleeping ledge, his head bowed against his chest, breathing deeply, only his arm reaching onto her sleeping ledge to hold her hand. His hair was so black it was almost blue, and curly and shiny. On an irresistible impulse, she took her hand from his and smoothed down a cowlick. His hair was soft to touch, like the leaf of a violet.

He awakened with a start and turned to her, a haggard, embarrassed smile beginning on his lips. "Hey there," he said quietly, with the voice of the breeze.

She froze, chilled to her core. On the path, leading the horse, the stranger. It was this master who had assured her he was not playing a mindgame, and, what was worse, who she had believed. She shut her eyes and wished they had carried out their promise to kill her, no matter how slowly, in the fields.

"Mariah, I'll never hurt you," the master said. "You're safe now." His voice was low but gravelly with sleep. She involuntarily drew back. She concentrated on keeping her eyes shut, although the tears that could not fall made them sting.

He stood up clumsily. "You need to rest," he said at length. "We'll talk later." Mariah heard him leave the room and quietly close the door behind him. For a minute or more she lay entirely still, fearing a trick. Hearing no noise in the room, she opened her eyes and looked around. The master had indeed left her alone.

Her tears escaped. She lifted her hands to wipe her face, then gasped as sudden pain shattered her right elbow, spreading through her arm. She dropped her hands and waited for the pain to subside enough that she could hear her own thoughts.

She looked around. Sunlight through a high window illuminated the room. She was in a bedroom, and she realized with a start that she was not on a sleeping ledge but in an actual bed, alone. The room had only the standard furniture: the bed, a small bedside table, a storage trunk, a couple of wooden chairs. A pitcher of water and a glass stood on the bedside table, water droplets condensing on them. Mariah spied on top of the trunk some bottles and what appeared to be dried leaves.

These mysteries would be solved or not, Mariah told herself, but they were not important. What mattered was that she was alive. In the middle of a mindgame, true, but alive nevertheless. The slave woman Vancea's words echoed in her head. Mariah had been outside the gates. She had been free. The thought of it made her heart pound fiercely.

Mariah remembers

The corn was well-grown. It was late afternoon in the season when the daylight was shortest. Mariah was grabbing ripe ears and tossing them into her cart. She was towards the end of a row when the bell clanged. She started at the unexpected sound and stood for a moment, unsure whether to bring the cart or leave it.

A few rows to her left, Samson looked to her. He had been small and weak, but recently, he, like the other males in the cohort, seemed to have shot up as if he were a stalk of corn himself. The girls didn't grow as tall, but their shapes had changed as well. Mariah was glad that her breasts hadn't ballooned out like those of some of the others, but she was no longer flat like a little girl. There had been other changes as well - not just her hips widening and hair growing in unexpected places. She felt mysterious sensations, in her breasts, and in her crotch. Sometimes, as she fell asleep at night, she found herself thinking about the bodies of the boys, their deepening voices, how their penises had started to look more like snakes than worms. Then she tried to turn her thoughts elsewhere. If Master Timon suspected where her mind took her, he would thrash her.

She silently indicated with a nod that Samson could walk with her. He trotted over, his sandy hair falling in his eyes. "What is it?" he said in a stage whisper. "Why is Master Timon ringing the bell now? It's so early."

Mariah shushed him and preceded him down the next row. "I don't know," she said in a considerably softer voice. "Let's hurry."

As they arrived at the circle of lean-tos members of Mariah's cohort appeared from all directions. In the center of the circle was a slave woman, full grown, probably ten years older than Mariah. Her hair was tangled and over her face. For a moment Mariah thought the slave woman was flying, like a witch, but then she saw that her legs dangled down like a scarecrow's over a vertical wooden pole that was dug into the ground, wide at the bottom and narrowing as it went up. With a gasp Mariah saw that the pole went into the slave woman's crotch. Her arms were stretched out lengthwise over another pole which was attached near her hands to two other poles which also led to the ground. Her entire body from her neck to her ankles was covered with fresh whipmarks. There was silence as the cornfield slaves took in the horror of the sight.

The woman moaned weakly and shook her head, vainly trying to get her hair out of her eyes. Mariah's own eyes welled up with tears at the sight. Samson grasped her hand tightly, clinging on to it.

As if on cue, Master Timon stepped out of the shadows of one of the lean-tos with a mistress Mariah had never seen before. They approached the slave woman and then turned and faced the cohort.

The mistress spoke. She was about the same age as the slave woman, but tall and imperious, her blond hair pulled back in a neat braid. She wore a knee-length sleeveless blue tunic that displayed her muscular arms and legs. "This girl's name was once Vancea." The mistress's voice was as proud and strong as her body. She looked at some of the slaves in the eye, one by one. "Now she has no name." Her voice dropped. "You are all young and do not know what is to become of you, and I am not allowed to speak of it. But I will tell you that, if you are found worthy, you will serve humans. The work is easy and good, and your master or mistress will love you, and you will love them."

Mariah grasped hungrily at this bit of information. On a clear day, when her work brought her to the top of the hillock, she could see the mansion. She knew she would be brought there soon but had never been told what would await her. Tales were whispered at night, but each one was crazier than the last.

The mistress continued. "Vancea was found worthy, and she served me, and I loved her. But she was deceitful. She pretended to love me but she did not." The mistress looked at them with glittering eyes. "One day I took Vancea on an outing, to a peaceful place by a river. I did this for her because I loved her. This place was also near the outer gates of Riviera. I did not worry about this because I believed that she loved me. But she did not! When I rested Vancea ran away. She ran to the outer gates of Riviera and tried to escape. Of course she was caught at the gates - no slave can ever get outside."

Outside. Some of the tales talked about outside. There really was such a place, then. Riviera had a boundary just like Mariah's cohort's acres had a boundary.

The mistress continued. "Of course she was caught immediately. No slave has ever escaped Riviera and no slave ever will." Amusement sounded in her voice. "But Vancea lost her name, and she will also lose her life. Not kindly, in the service of love, but slowly, as an example to all of you, so that when you are grown, if you are ever tempted to disobey, for even a moment, you will remember the fate that will await you."

The mistress turned and touched her lips, slightly parted, to the bound slave woman's lips, pressing them for a moment. Mariah felt a strange tingling sensation as if she had to relieve herself. The slave woman whimpered slightly, and weakly shook her head. The mistress pulled back, and grasped the whip that was attached to the waist of her tunic.

The whip was light, lighter than the one Master Timon used. But as the mistress brought it down across the slave woman's stomach, it drew blood as it crossed the fresh wounds of the recent whipmarks. At the very first blow the slave let out a half moan, half scream.

The second stroke of the whip landed directly on the slave woman's left breast, curling around it. This time the slave shivered, and as she did so her body slid a fraction of the inch down the pole that was inserted into her sex. This in turn caused her to wriggle again, moaning uncontrollably.

Mariah watched with her cohort, horror struck. She knew that if she looked away she would certainly be punished. The mistress brought down the whip a third time, this time on the Vancea's behind. She jerked forward, sliding down the pole in her, and then jerking backwards as rapidly. Tears streamed down her face and she made incoherent sounds. The mistress paid no heed, but aimed the whip at the top of the slave's legs and struck her there, once, twice, three times. "Please," the slave begged hoarsely. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." This seemed only to enrage the mistress. Her arm was a blur as the whip struck the slave, front, back, up, and down.

At last the mistress paused and looked at the cohort slaves. When her eyes rested on Mariah, for a reason Mariah could not explain she blushed. A smile played on the mistress's lips. "This slave will be taken from one field to another and whipped until she finally dies." Her voice rang out, breathless from her exertion. "This is the fate that awaits each of you if you fail to obey." The mistress turned then to Master Timon and said, "She needs to be fed and watered. May I?" She tilted her head coquettishly. Master Timon responded with a slow smile, "Of course. Pick any one you want."

Premonition came to Mariah like a cold shadow. She pried her hand away Samson's. As if in a dream the mistress turned to her and beckoned. Mariah dropped to her hands and knees and crawled towards the mistress, purposefully banging her knees on the ground to distract herself from her fear. She stopped at the mistress's feet and touched her forehead to the ground. She heard Master Timon dismiss the other slaves.

"Kneel up," the mistress commanded, and Mariah obeyed, keeping her eyes down. The mistress placed two fingers under Mariah's chin, forcing her to look her in the eye.

She watched Mariah dispassionately for a moment. Finally, she said, "Your cohort will be leaving the fields soon." She turned Mariah's head to the right and then to the left, looking her over critically. Then she dropped her fingers from Mariah's chin. "Look at that rag," she commanded. Mariah obediently looked over to Vancea, who seemed barely conscious. The mistress contemplated her as well. "She will be put to death for her disobedience and deceit," the mistress said, and there was something that sounded akin to sorrow in her voice. "But her death will be by pain, not thirst and hunger. Bring her water, and feed her." When Mariah remained, unsure of the mistress's command, the mistress grasped at her whip handle. "Go now," she said. "I have no time for games."

Mariah touched her forehead to the ground. "You honor me, mistress," she said automatically, and crawled away as quickly as she could to obtain water and gruel. She heard Master Timon exchange low, laughing words with the mistress and the two of them slipped off together to his workday cabin. When Mariah returned to Vancea with the food and gruel, she was alone with her.

With a quick glance around Mariah stood up and gingerly wiped the hair off Vancea' face, as the slave woman had been trying to do by shaking her head when Mariah first saw her. She had no cloth so Mariah dipped her hand in the bowl of water she had brought and wiped Vancea' face with it. Vancea came to with a start, sinking down on the pole in her sex and bouncing back up. She looked around for a moment, wild eyed.

"Shsh," Mariah said in a low, soothing voice. "We're alone. I have brought you food and water."

Vancea squinted her eyes shut for a moment and then opened them, focusing on Mariah. "Water," she said, in a low, ragged voice. Mariah held the water dipper to the slave woman's mouth. Vancea swished the water around and spit it out, splashing Mariah's feet. Mariah jumped back involuntarily. A sound came from Vancea's mouth like laughter or grunting. Mariah lifted the dipper again and Vancea took a long drink. She looked at Mariah. Echoing her mistress, Vancea said, "You are well-grown. You'll be leaving the fields soon." Her voice was rough. Mariah nodded but did not reply. She lifted the bowl of gruel she had brought and spoon fed the slave woman, one bite and then two. Then Vancea clamped her mouth shut and refused to be fed. When Mariah lowered the spoon, Vancea said, "No more of this slop." Mariah's eyes widened at the slave woman's defiance. Vancea laughed again. "You eat it," she said. "No one will know that you haven't obeyed." Mariah looked at her fearfully. "Go on," Vancea urged her. "This isn't a mindgame. You eat."

"No," Mariah said. "You need to eat. You need your strength."

Vancea laughed once more, harshly and quietly. "You're sweet," she said in a ragged voice, "But weren't you listening?" She stopped for breath and continued, "I'll be dead soon, and better sooner than later. Look at me-fucked to death by a pole!"

Mariah looked at her blankly. Vancea snorted and then coughed weakly. "Of course, you don't know what fucking is yet, do you?" Mariah shook her head.

"Eat the gruel," Vancea said, "and I'll give you some advice."

Mariah looked around. Master Timon and Vancea's mistress were in his cabin. The other slaves were still in the fields. Mariah moved closer to Vancea and quietly began to spoon the gruel into her own mouth.

"Listen to me closely," Vancea said. "This will help you to survive. Your whole life," and with her head she managed to indicate all that surrounded them, "everything you have been taught, it is all a mindgame! Every word! But you know the only way to get through a mindgame."

"To play it through to the end," Mariah said.

Vancea nodded. "Soon they'll take you from here, to the factory. Don't believe a word of what they tell you, not one of them. They will try to take you from one mindgame to another. They'll make your body betray you, and tell you it is proof that you deserve to be a slave. It's not true. It's not!" The slave began to sputter and cough.

Mariah gave her more water from the dipper. "You don't understand what I'm saying, do you?" Vancea asked, and she seemed not to see Mariah. "It doesn't matter. Just remember! They all lie. None of them care for you. None of them love you." Vancea was weeping now. "I was outside the gates for an hour, maybe two. She tries to tell me it never happened, but I remember. For two hours I was free! It was glorious! I wish I could live, for the hope of another chance. But I will die in peace. Two hours of freedom." Vancea's voice trailed off, and Mariah knew she could not see her; but what vision Vancea was having Mariah could not guess. Gently she brushed the hair of Vancea's face again, and did what she could to bathe some of the dirt out of her wounds. Vancea merely muttered. "Two hours. I know it happened. Two hours."

Present day

"Two hours. I know it happened. Two hours." Mariah was muttering to herself.

From the edge of sleep she heard a girl asking softly, "Is she feverish?"

Gentle fingers moved hair off of her face, and a gentle hand pressed into her forehead. "No," said the voice of the strange master. "Not feverish. Dreaming."

Mariah sprang to consciousness. Although she kept her eyes closed, feigning sleep, her every pore strained to understand this mindgame.

The master stroked Mariah's hair, in a manner Mariah felt was soft and strangely comforting. Through her closed eyes she could sense the master staring at her face. Then he dragged the fingertips of one hand slowly down the side of her head to the left side of her neck, then her left shoulder, and down her arm until he reached her hand. He gently massaged her fingertips and let go. Mariah wondered that rather than becoming aroused by this touch, she felt the tension of her dream memory draining out of her body. Her eyes wanted to open, but she fought them.

She heard the master stand up and say softly, "She is awake." There was a silence as he waited to see if she would open her eyes. When she did not, he said, heavily, "Rose, I'll leave her to you." His footsteps slowly led to the door, which he shut behind him.

Mariah continued to keep her eyes shut. She knew that as the mindgame played out she would be unable to resist it, but for now she would keep whatever advantage she had.

For a moment there was silence in the room. A finger touched the back of her hand, and the girl's voice said, softly, scared, "Will you talk to me?"

Mariah did not move or open her eyes. The girl put her whole hand over Mariah's. "I'm just a housegirl," she said. "They asked me to talk to you so you won't be afraid."

Mariah considered. If she opened her eyes and the girl were lying, she'd know it immediately. But if she was a housegirl she might be punished if Mariah remained stubborn.

Mariah gave in, relieved when she saw that the girl was indeed a slave. She had light brown hair set behind her ears. Her eyes were hazel with specks of yellow in them. Her face was fair and she had a smattering of freckles across her nose. She was thin but not scrawny. Although she bore typical marks and scars all over her body, none of them were fresh. Even though she looked worried, there was something calming about her, Mariah thought, like being alone in a room.

The girl gave a tiny, uncertain smile. "My name is Rose," she said in a voice scarcely above a whisper.

Mariah kept her face blank and expressionless, and did not reply. The girl already knew her name.

Rose said, "They told me to feed you if you will eat. Will you?" She was almost pleading, as if she were begging a favor of a human. Reluctantly, Mariah nodded her head.

Rose smiled again, tentatively. "I'll be right back," she said quickly, as if afraid Mariah would change her mind. She almost ran out of the room.

When she left Mariah furtively checked out her limbs for usefulness, wiggling her toes and ankles, bending and straightening her knees, compacting her abdomen. She ached all over but it was a dull pain, as if she were feeling it through a dream. She bent her left arm and it was fine. When she attempted to move her right elbow, though, burning pain shot like lightning throughout her entire arm. She gasped and sank back into her pillow, holding herself still until Rose returned with a bowl of gruel.

Rose put the bowl on a tray table that Mariah had not noticed and wheeled it over to the bed. Timidly she said, "They told me to spoon feed you, if you will let me." Mariah nodded and obediently opened her mouth as Rose lifted the spoon to it.

It was the most delicious food Mariah had ever tasted, better even than the samples she was given in her housegirl class eons ago. Panic. "This is not gruel," she gasped, and with her left arm she swept the bowl off the tray, the liquid flying, onto Rose, everywhere. The bowl crashed to the floor and splintered into pieces. Rose half whimpered, half screamed.