A Tale of Ties and Binds - Chapter 18

Chapter 18. An Alliance of Adversaries

Her chest and crotch felt raw. The original burn marks were only now beginning to heal. Five days ago she had crashed into the isle, bringing forth five days of torture.

Penelope appeared to be half leopard. Small red dots covered those parts of her where the droplets of liquid wax had stained her skin. The rest of her was left covered in a dusting of dirt from the wind and the cell where she spent most her day.

Sometimes the Sirens would come for her in the morning, sometimes they'd come for her at midday, or in the evening. It was never certain. But they'd always come for her. "You have the sweetest voice," they'd tell her. "How we love to hear you sing." She'd never said so, but Penelope knew Ellisia was grateful for her accidental arrival to the island. Before she'd appeared, it was the Matriarch of the Thunderbolt and her sisters-in-arms, Hera's Daughters, who'd spent their days having wax dripped upon their bodies, left to struggle in their unyielding racks while their captors played their instruments to the never ending lyrics of 'ooh's and 'aahh's and 'please let us go's. Penelope had given them some respite. She was always chosen to sing.

On the second day, Penelope was unsure if she still had the same captors. Ligeia the lyrist no longer had hair of green, and Celaeno the flutist was no longer blue. Instead, the lyrist had hair so purely black that it seemed to absorb the light around it. The flutist, contrariwise, had hair so white that it outshone the flames of the torches. They had the same voices, and the same faces, the same gait, the same cheer and the same malice. Only their hair had changed, having taken on an odd unnatural tint.

When they came for her on the fifth day, the Sirens had changed their hair again. Ligeia was a deep red with golden roots - like a fire - and Celaeno had taken on the bluish-grey of the ocean. They opened her cage, bound her wrists and added a gag before the walk to the valley, as always. Penelope struggled each time if only to show that she hadn't completely given up. And it was on that walk on the fifth day that her heart was filled with defiance.

The cobblestone path took them through dense trees and into open crests overlooking the island. Ligeia pranced in the lead, strumming her lyre lazily, and Celaeno blew her flute. This much was the same, but Penelope had noticed something that was anything but.

A shadow was stalking them from the bushes. It had been following them since they left the prison. It slithered through the bushes and leapt from tree to tree. It glided over the rocky cliffs and crawled through the derelict husks of broken ships. Penelope had wondered where Serena had gone.

She couldn't recall seeing Serena after they'd crashed on the island. The Sirens never mentioned her, nor did Ellisia or her crew. Daphne hadn't seen her either. In the brief moments between being ungagged and tortured with melted wax, Penelope had asked her loyal companion if she had seen any Celtic Knots. "None," the redhead replied before being rained upon by liquid fire.

And now the former hostage was the only one who was free from bondage.

Penelope thought it best not to look at her too long lest the Sirens follow her gaze. Serena was likely, and frustratingly, her only hope of escape. She couldn't let her captors know there was someone else on the island.

They strapped her down into the rack, unaware of the pair of eyes watching from the bushes. Her wrists and ankles were tightly bound in leather straps and a thicker one was clasped down around her midsection to stop her from squirming too much. They left the gag in her mouth while they both skipped away to retrieve their second muse from the prison. It would not be Daphne this time. Daphne had sung only the day before. Most likely it would be one of Hera's Daughters.

When she was alone, Penelope peered around as best she could. She had to crane her neck as far as possible to see beyond the curved painted walls of the valley. "Serena?" she tried to call, but all that came out was "Fmrmnh?"

The golden-haired teen emerged from the bushes, her nudity showing her sensationally curved physique and toned body - a goddess among mortals, though one to resent more than admire. But not today, Penelope warned herself. Today she is the most wonderful woman in the world.

"It's funny how the Fates spin their thread, isn't it?" Serena grinned as she rested her arm across one of the rack's limbs. "First you were my prisoner, then I was your hostage, and now you're the plaything of a pair of insane hermits. It's hard not to laugh at times like these." She slipped the linen gag from Penelope's lips. "You wanted something?"

The most wonderful woman in the world. "Serena, thank the goddesses you're here! You have to undo these straps!"

Serena giggled. "I do?" She was the mirror image of her older sister and matriarch, Titania the Celt. She tapped her fingernail against one of the candle trays. "But then we'll miss out on the fun part - the part where I watch you squirm in pain as the hot wax drips onto your tits. There's little else to do with my day and this really is the highlight."

"Please, Serena," Penelope begged. "They're crazy!"

The blonde ignored her, tracing a forefinger in a ring around one of Penelope's sensitive breasts. "That game you used to play with me, the one where you'd flick my nipples as hard as you can and whoever makes me squeal the loudest wins; that was terribly unkind." Her thumb joined in the dance and closed around a hardened nipple, slowly tightening and slowly twisting. "That Spartan had fingers like vices."

"Serena, please," the captive gasped, "I never even played that game. You have to let me g-MMPH!" Her words turned to muffled screams as Serena slapped a hand down across her mouth, pinching Penelope's bud with bitter strength.

"Don't scream too loud, Captain. You wouldn't want your captors to hear us." She twisted again a quarter-turn.

"MMMPPH!!" Tears were welling in Penelope's eyes. The pain in her nipple was intense. It isn't fair, she screamed inside her mind. I was kind to you!

Serena leaned in closer. "I'm your only hope off this cursed island. You know that, don't you?"

Penelope nodded her head, wary that any words emerging from her lips would be incomprehensibly muffled.

"You need me, don't you?"

She nodded again.

Serena lifted her hand-gag and released Penelope's poor nipple from her grasp. "Good." Her hand pulled the cloth gag back into Penelope's mouth. "I wanted to hear you say it. They have a ship docked in a still bay on the other side of the island. I'll come for you at night." With that, she spun on her heal and made off towards the bushes from whence she emerged.

"Hrmmph!?" asked Penelope in disbelief? All that and you don't even rescue me?

"If I freed you now, they'd comb the island until they found you, which means they'd find me too. Besides, this is my favourite part." Serena giggled once more before she disappeared into the dense foliage just as the sound of a lyre rung through the valley.

The captive captain chewed on her gag in frustration, imagining it was the sneaky blonde between her teeth. She hated it. She hated knowing she was dependent on someone else, especially a person who'd gloat about it.

And then it struck her. Serena's had five days to escape. She could have fled without ever revealing herself. But she hadn't. Had she grown so fond of her captors that she couldn't bear to part with them? Unlikely. Serena wasn't a whole lot like her older sister but it was doubtful the two Households of the Celtic Knot and the Scylla would ever be amicable so long as Penelope was in charge. No, Serena hasn't escaped because she can't sail the ship by herself. She's trapped here just as I am, though without the ropes... and the gags... and the wax torture. She needs me to escape just as I need her. Penelope couldn't help but laugh.

"Why are you so happy?" asked Ligeia curiously when she returned. "And why is your nipple so red?"

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The crickets were chirping their own songs outside and the flames in the sconces were flickering with their dying dance for the night. Penelope was huddled in the warm blankets, carefully plucking the dried splatters of wax from her skin. Her body was trapped in the cell but her mind was focused on freedom. Serena was a good fighter - she would be if she'd been trained by her older sister - but Penelope was doubtful that even the Celt's own blood would be able to best one of the Sirens in a fight. The first day in captivity had proven they were not a force to be underestimated. Celaeno had dodged Penelope's charge and tackled her to the ground within a heartbeat. Penelope could only hope the Celtic girl wouldn't attempt to be a heroine and attack them by herself.

In the cell next to her, Ellisia was snoring softly, half covered by a blanket and curled up like a cat in the evening sun. Her skin was not as red as it had been only days earlier and her wax burns were far and few between. Penelope watched the rise and fall of Ellisia's breasts. Soft and slow. The lost Matriarch of the Thunderbolt was peaceful when she slept so Penelope dared not wake her. The cells were too far apart to touch each other, despite their wish for human contact that didn't involve hot wax. There was little else to do but sit and watch. And hope. And wait.

She didn't need to wait long.

Serena emerged from the bushes like a cat on the prowl. She moved carefully and deliberately, cautious not to make any noise and staying low to the ground. She entered through the open doorway. Penelope couldn't help but see the humour in the fact that her Siren captors had never imagined they'd need to install a door on an island occupied only by themselves and their prisoners.

The blonde teen drew a key from a string bound around her upper arm and placed it within the lock of the cage.

"You stole their key?" Penelope asked.

"Don't be stupid," scoffed Serena. "I wouldn't be so careless. I crept into their chambers and found the key, remembered what it looked like and made a new one out of old nails left behind in the shipwrecks." She turned the key and released Penelope. "It's a simple design."

"That's quite ingenious." Ellisia stood patiently by the door of her cage, though Penelope hadn't heard the curvaceous girl wake up. "Gorgeous and clever." The matriarch flashed her bright eyes flirtatiously. "Have I seen you before?"

"This is Serena of the Household of the Celtic Knot," Penelope introduced. "The Celt's sister and heiress."

"Ah, of course. Blondes are seldom from any other family. Well, any friend of Scylla is a friend of mine. My name is Ellisia, Matriarch of the Household of the Thunderbolt."

Serena was quick to correct the maroon-haired matriarch. "We're not friends, just... enemies with a common goal." She unlocked the second cage and released Ellisia.

The matriarch took a step out, stretched her arms out wide and took a deep breath, showing off her feline curves and physique with all the subtlety of a loud-mouthed brothel owner spruiking her wares. "It's a pleasure to meet someone new - friend or foe. I'd like to get to know you better, but first we need to find the others."

Penelope nodded. "And then take revenge."

"Revenge?" Serena glared. "I say we steal the ship and make for the horizon before they wake up. Are you really so eager to be captured again?"

"I agree with Scylla," said Ellisia. "There are eight of us and only two of them. Catching them in their beds while they're sleeping, we have both the numbers and the element of surprise. And I need a battle. I've not fought anyone in more moons than I can count."

Serena bit her lip, realising she was out-voted. "There's no convincing you elsewise?" The two matriarchs shook their heads. "Fine. Far be it from the girl who saved you to talk you out of doing something stupid."

After Serena had led the way to the other prison further into the island, they released the other captives from their cages. Daphne was unsure how to react after being rescued by Serena - a former hostage - so kept her mouth shut before Penelope ordered her to gag herself. The four remaining Hera's Daughters all introduced themselves to Penelope and Serena.

There was Stacia, Helen, Leah and Circe; all of a height with their captain and hair with a limited range between dark brown and dark red. Penelope suspected they were all sisters, or first cousins at the very least. They were all eager for revenge, matched only by Daphne's sharp-toothed smile as she expressed her wish to include candles.

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The Sirens, Ligeia and Celaeno, were lying sprawled across each other's naked bodies in their beds, blissfully ignorant of the eight women who had joined them in their chambers. It was difficult to tell who was who without their instruments. Ligeia was the lyrist and Celaeno was the flutist, but with neither instrument present it was near impossible to tell the two apart.

The one on the left had hair as gold as a royal crown, glistening softly in the light of the moon and the glow of the torch in Serena's hand. The Siren on the right was a brunette of bronze - so rich and thick in colour that it seemed almost forged of metal. Their legs were tangled in a sheet made of sailcloth reaching half-way up their thighs, and each girl rested a hand on the other's crotch as though they'd spent their night pleasuring each other with their fingers before collapsing into an exhausted slumber.

Looking around the dark chamber in the glow of the torch, Penelope realised there wasn't a single section of the walls that hadn't been adorned with the trophies of the Sirens' spoils. Propped up against one wall was a barbarian carnyx, a boar-headed horn blown in battle. Punic symbols were inscribed upon a set of vases from as far as Phoenicia sitting upon a high shelf. There were coils of bandaging used to mummify Egyptian noblewomen for a life of lazing about and being waited on by handmaidens. A Scythian loincloth hung from a nail in the wall, minimalist in armour and leaving less to the imagination. A pile of stone tablets lay stacked up to waist height in one corner, the top one inscribed with a blockish script that Penelope didn't recognise as any that she knew.

One wall had been dedicated to the armour stolen from captives. There were segmented vests worn by the Romans, tall and pink plumed helms used by the Etruscans, and the rounded triangular breastplates of the Messapians. And in the far corner were the Greek bodices of boiled leather and bronze ornament - those belonging to Hera's Daughters, Penelope and Daphne. And even a few more for Serena to choose from. The Sirens had a lucrative operation on their island.

The eight former captives crowded around the sleeping Sirens, four to each one. They silently organised between them who would tackle which body part until they all came to agreement. Each woman assigned themselves one limb to wrestle and bind in the ensuing chaos to follow. They readied their ropes, visualised their movements, and then they all pounced as one.

The Sirens sprung into furious struggling as soon as they felt hands upon them. They wrestled and twisted and turned and tossed and flailed. They were incredibly strong. Even outnumbered as they were, it was nothing short of an Olympian match.

The former captives pulled the Sirens' hands up towards the head of their bed, joining them together only to flip the two beauties onto their fronts. From there, their legs were bent at the knee until their heels were brushing their arses and were bound fast with ropes, locking them in place. Next, their strong arms were pulled back down and boxtied, wrists to opposite elbows. How they shrieked as their freedom was stolen from them, their wails piercing the ears of their attackers.

"Gag them!" someone yelled before the Sirens' mouths were stuffed full of shreds of sailcloth and tied off tightly behind their necks.

The Greeks stepped back to enjoy the sight of their former captors struggling in their ropes, mmphing into their gags and furiously cursing with their eyes. Their breasts were heaving with erratic breaths and their loins were open and exposed.

Penelope gave a nod to Daphne and the hot tempered nymph replied with a maniacal grin. Taking the two fresh candlesticks she'd stolen from the storehouse after being released, she forcefully inserted one of the thick red shafts between the legs of the golden-haired Siren on the left. The Siren squealed like a piglet as the arm length of wax penetrated half way into her chalice. Try as she might have, but with her arms boxtied behind her and her legs frogtied beside her, she had no means on pulling it out.

The bronze-haired Siren, upon seeing her twin in defenceless and terrified anticipation, struggled all the more to escape her bonds. But not even with this added incentive to get free did she manage to avoid her fate. The candle slipped between her legs with little resistance. Daphne pushed it in as deep as it would go, bringing it in and out several times just to be certain of the depth.

After watching the two Sirens squirming on the bed for a few moments, Serena held her torch out before her. "Who will do the honours?"

As the captains and matriarchs, it was up to Penelope and Ellisia. "You've been here longer than I," said the Matriarch of the Scylla. "It's all yours."

Ellisia nodded appreciatively. She took the torch in hand and waved it playfully through the air to make a whooshing sound, revelling in the way the shadows danced around the captives before her, their eyes welling with frightened tears. "First, you shall feel the heat of the flame against your thighs. It will creep closer, and closer, and then you'll feel the drops of wax hitting the bed. Closer still they draw, like the footsteps of a feared creature hunting you in the night. And then the first droplet shall trickle down the candle's shaft and burn the sensitive flesh of your chalice. You'll fight it. You'll struggle. But the small flame has grown into a raging inferno between your legs. The wax will ooze over your skin, scolding everything it touches. And then the flame will arrive at the entrance of your soul. Pray to the goddesses it is extinguished there, for if not, you shall both know the true meaning of pain." She dipped the torch to light one candle, then the other. "Sing for us," Ellisia whispered. "You both have such lovely voices."

The Greeks donned their armour and equipped their weapons as the Sirens began to sing. It felt good to be clothed once again; they felt whole. Ellisia and her sworn sisters wore boiled leather bodices of a light brown tint, studded with bronze rivets stamped with thunderbolts - the sigil of their household. There was no armour to match Serena's household - preferably with Celtic knotwork - so she settled for a plain bodice with no ornament and plenty of scratches.

Exiting the villa, they found themselves in a secluded bay ringed almost entirely by high cliffs. A crude dock had been carved out of one side, and a large ship was tied to the bollards. It was a bireme flying a large white sail with silver vertical stripes and a pair of orange apotropaic eyes painted on the bow above the ram. Atop the forecastle was a giant siege weapon commonly known as a 'mermaid's sling'. A dozen tightly coiled sinews held a long wooden arm in place upon a sloped bed. When released, the arm would spring quickly around, hurling a large net a great distance - ideal for capturing smaller ships or groups of women on a beachhead. Penelope had only heard about the slings before now and could hardly wait to find a use for it.

The Greeks boarded the ship, unmoored from the dock, unfurled the sail and lowered their oars. They edged themselves slowly out of the bay and shot off once the sail captured the wind. The sun was rising on their starboard side with bands of light creeping over the horizon and tickling the clouds.

It was a new day, with new allies and a new ship. But for Penelope, the goal was still the same - return home, rescue her countrywomen and deliver on the promise she'd made to Titania the Celt.

Continued in Chapter 19

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