Tales from Arondell: Sodom - Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Nathanael Scarlett

I lounge upon the ebony divan – one of three such antiques in my Sanctuary – smoking in silence. Some might think I'm a strapping gentleman in my prime: A scarred, cherry haired eccentric with sharp teeth, skin like pitted ivory, perfect nails, and pierced lips. But when I look at myself, that's not what I see. I'm the Head of the Fraternity, one of the most influential men in Sodom, and my reputation precedes me. Although I've been so much more in my lifetime.

Pausing to swirl the aromatic smoke in my mouth, I tuck my hand behind my head and cast a lazy eye over my surroundings. Like the rest of my house, I've taken the time to decorate my Sanctuary with all the things I found pleasing and reflects me as an individual. An exotic assortment of swords and blades hang from the walls – symbols of my long years as a soldier – with torture devices, antiques and old pieces of furniture scattered throughout the room. It makes sense because I spend so much of my time down here.

The last two years... I wince, and shift on the cushions. My back hurts again, in two distinct places: My shoulder-blades and tail-bone. Some days are worse than others, the ache so bad I can't get out of bed in the morning. At least today it's bearable, only causing real trouble when the stumps start to itch, tempting me to scratch them until they bleed. Not that it makes any difference.

Soft instrumental music plays in the background. It's not my favourite. I prefer orchestral elements and keyboards, combined with heavier beats and aggressive vocals when relaxing. But Madam Verune forbids it. She says that shit is bad for me and turns it off when she catches me listening to it.

I screw up my face in disgust. Damn woman. I snort, releasing smoke through my nose and mouth. I let her take too many liberties. But, I suppose there's some sense behind her reasoning. I close my eyes for a moment, and massage the bridge of my nose. My long white fingers trace the puckered scars, straying upwards... I wouldn't keep her or the other two around if I didn't value their company...

Stuffing my cigar back into my mouth, I sit up, fluff the cushions behind my back and refill my wine glass. It's a sweet red, slightly spicy, and the perfect accompaniment to the latest shipment of Jawbone cigars.

Of course, after the goods arrived, I had to sample them and test their quality. I'd cracked open the first case, divvying them up among my men, and kept a few for myself and Zaenack.

I close my eyes and sigh. Zae, my Love. You've been away from home for too long. I know, there are reasons for his absence. Tonight he'll bring Isabella to me, and I'll finally meet the lovely Feyrin in the flesh. I've waited, wanted for so long to claim her. I sigh again. Soon, my Dove. Soon... You will be mine...

Trying to distract myself, I gaze at Lola, sitting between her girlfriend's legs. Earlier today, Madam Verune set them up between the bookshelves and the surround sound stereo system, so I can't get up and change the disk any time I want to. She does this to me, or something similar all the sodding time.

Lola's soft voice rises and falls in time with the music, hypnotising me as she recites aloud, from a leather-bound tome, my favourite poem:

A kiss from the Razor;
a taste of my flame.
To bite for pleasure:
Or mark with pain?

Only you will know,
if you dare from the start.
To taste the joys
of my satyric heart.

Look into my eyes,
I see your fear
I taste your lips;
your need becomes clear.

How can you betray
your heart's darkest fire?
Now quench your Soul
with burning desire

For me, my Bella!
Yes, I yearn, believe me.
Surrender and learn
your proclivities.

Needing, wanting,
to feel me deep inside;
This joy, this ache,
you can't deny.

Darling, Isabella
won't you come with me?
Join me far away,
let me set you free!

Long I've waited
to hold you tight;
to love you the most
all through the night.

A gift of Salvation
have I been blessed?
Each lovely inch of You
I must caress.

Run my fingertips
all over your skin;
on this path with you
I must begin.

So take my hand,
Bella, if you dare;
drown your sorrows,
and lay your Soul bare;

To seal this kiss
with enraptured fire.
My Bella, I am
your deepest desire.

Lola stops reading then and blushes. Her gentle ebony eyes meet mine across the room.

I groan. Please... Don't stop on my account. I offer the young woman an encouraging smile, and gesture for her to continue. Keep reading... The poem is one of many I've penned this year, when the nights were long and lonely – even with Zae – and my heart burned for the sweet slave I met only in my dreams.

Behind Lola, Fierra sets aside the hairbrush and slips her ivory fingers beneath her girlfriend's chin. Both women gaze at each other, sharing that deep unspoken connection between lovers. Lola's neck arches, surrendering to the hand that explores her vulnerable flesh and dips between her breasts.

I swallow hard. Their gentle teasing always stirs the flame inside me. It's a game to them, and although I'm not theirs, or Madam Verune's, plaything any more, I still like to watch them. I still want to touch what I can't have. Because denying myself, and them denying me is a test of self-control.

Both women wear heavy, flowing skirts and matching scoop necked sweaters of the softest cashmere and probably nothing else underneath.

My heart races. Try as I might, I can't look away. Fierra fondles Lola's breasts, plucking at her tiny nipples and bites her neck.

I groan, feeling my desire sweep through me. It floods my loins, making me hard and I can't do a damn thing about it. Fuck. Hurry up and come home, my Love...

Lola's hungry moan, and the way her legs spread, her hands lifting her skirt, cuts through me in an instant. I catch my breath. My hand shakes so violently I nearly drop my cigar. I puff on it, sucking the fumes into my mouth, but I can't quench the heat building inside me. I only make it worse, imagining the cigar is my Beloved's cock and I'm sucking him to full attention.

Gods be damned. I groan, jerking away, and knock aside my cushions in frustration. But it doesn't matter. Any discomfort I feel as I settle into the velvet upholstery, is better than the nagging sensation in my loins. A few days is starting to feel like an eternity.

Turning so I face the door, I reach into my jacket pocket to check the time. Zaenack should be here by now. Only my old engraved pocket watch isn't there. Damn it. I hiss. Of course I don't have my watch on me. Rolling on my back, I drape my arm over my eyes and let the other hang lazily over my ashtray. She took that away.

There aren't any other clocks in here, either. The Madam, in her infinite wisdom, got rid of those too. I snort again, and butt out my cigar. She likes to think she does it for my own good, believing I'm fixated, when I should concentrate on my mental well-being and becoming the Master Zaenack – and hopefully Isabella - deserve.

"It's a lot of nonsense, if you ask me." I reach for my wine glass. "I chose to come back down here. No one forced me.” I pause for a sip of wine, and settle into my cushions, draping my arm across my face again. “I'm already everything he needs. And more."

The door into my Sanctuary opens and closes with a soft click. I lift my arm. Madam Quille Verune sweeps across the room. Her full ebony silk skirt rustles on the light grey carpet around her. She snatches the book from Lola's fingers, ignoring Fierra's glare, and glances at the plain leather cover. She frowns.

"I thought as much." The Madam shakes her head and gives the book back to Lola, leaving it open at the marked pages. "You're a bad influence on those two." She flops onto the divan across from me, and crosses her shapely legs. “They're too young to be reading such filth.” With fuchsia lacquered nails, she flicks back her violet fringe.

Filth? Hardly. I smirk at the Madam and fill a second wine glass, even though I know she won't drink it. "It happens when you leave impressionable minds in charge of my stereo." I offer the glass to her. "Wine?"

She dismisses it with a wave of her hand. Predictable as always. "I don't drink this late." She eyes the half empty carafe in front of her.

I know that look, Verune. I sip my wine as I study her. You think I'm going to drink too much. Well, guess what: I have a lot more self-control than you think.

Madam Verune arches a platinum eyebrow – she understands everything I'm thinking, whether I speak into her mind or not – and folds her hands in front of her. At least she's keeping her thoughts to herself. Good. She can keep it that way.

"So, any word from Zaenack yet?" I stretch out my legs.

Madam Verune hesitates. "He's here," she says at length, inspecting her long finger-nails for a moment. "With that faerie woman. Vorin told me, a few minutes ago."

I suck in a quick breath. Why am I not surprised? "See, that's the problem with you, Verune," I growl, clenching the fragile stem in my fist and set the glass aside before I snap it. "You knew I was expecting him. You knew he was bringing her to me. Yet you didn't-"

"I would've told you," she says without batting an eyelid. "In time."

"In time!" I throw up my hands and shoot to my feet. "It's always in time with you, isn't it?" My long legs bump the coffee table between us, causing both glasses to wobble and tip over. Spilling the expensive vintage across the polished oak. But I don't care.

Ignoring the mess and the Madam, I start to pace. You always do this to me, Verune. You never tell me anything, and you expect me to stay calm? My Gods, woman! I rake my fingers through my hair and growl in frustration.

"I hardly think you're ready for two slaves, Nathanael." Her tone is calm yet firm, despite my outburst. "No matter how much you might want her. You barely have the right mindset for Zaenack."

Rage flares white-hot inside me. It doesn't even matter that a week ago she questioned my love for Isabella.

I spin about, clenching my fists at my sides and jab a red tipped finger at her. "And who're you to judge?" I demand, ignoring the little voice inside me, telling me to calm down and rein in my anger. Because she could be right.

Verune arches an eyebrow, and the other two ignore me. Why wouldn't they, when they've weathered worse than this? “Someone you need to guide you down the right path, Nathanael,” the Madam reminds me, pursing her lips. “Because you certainly can't do it yourself.”

Always so quick to doubt me. I sigh and stop then, reaching into my jacket pocket for my engraved tin of cigarettes. I light up in front of Verune and inhale with a gratified sigh. Feeling only slightly calmer, I resume my pacing.

"You know I'm right, Nathanael." She turns on her seat to watch me.

“You're missing the point,” I growl. "You should've told me." I massage my puckered brow. I've missed him more than you can imagine, and I've waited for her even longer...

“Well, since you've decided to ignore me, perhaps you should use caution around this girl. Not unless you intend to bend her to your will.”

Where the fuck did that come from? I whirl on the Madam, and glare at her. “What's that supposed to mean?” I puff on my cigarette, sucking down the sweet poisonous fumes.

She shrugs, making me grit my teeth. How can one woman be so Gods' damned frustrating! I feel like tearing my hair out.

“It means that, whether you realise it or not, you don't play fair, Nathanael.” She raises her hand, cutting me off before I even think to bite back. Damn she's quick. “Most Transients aren't as strong-willed as we are. And don't even assume for a second that she'll be half as forgiving as Zaenack-”

“Of course you had to bring that up, didn't you?” I snarl, clenching my fists. “I didn't do that on purpose-”

“We know that, and so does he.” She gives me a belittling look. “But what about this woman you claim to love? Can you really force your will upon her?”

Her scathing words cut deep, setting my teeth on edge, but once again I know the woman is right. In my blind need to see my Dove brought to me as swiftly as possible, I didn't even stop to consider that. How could I when she's the first person I've actively pursued since Zae? How can I when I know she's the missing part of me?

I growl again, crushing my cigarette in my fist and thrust my other hand through my hair. Gods be fucking damned. Despite everything I've lost, everything that was brutally hacked from me, I didn't lose my ability to influence anyone I desired. It's a constant, painful reminder that I'm not a Transient, but I'm not a true Netheren either. I'm an outcast no matter where I go. I don't know what the fuck I am any more.

“Got any more shit to remind me of, Verune?” I glare across my Sanctuary, avoiding the Madam and my younger companions. Not that they're paying much attention to us.

“Well.” Her fine silk attire rustles as she shifts on the divan. “Since we're on the topic of relationships, which I know you can't seem to live without, when are you going to fix up your relationship with Zaenack? Or are you just going to let that fall apart, now that he's served his purpose?”

You. Fucking. Bitch. I clench my fists and suck in deep breaths, forcing myself to remain calm. Even tempered. In control. It's no easy feat, though.

She has no heart. No compassion or consideration. Nothing. But what can I expect from someone who's tolerated me for all these years? Of course I know what she's hinting at, even if she doesn't come out and say it directly. She's speaking of all the men who've abused me. Matthias included.

“I don't have to stand here and take this shit.” Discarding my crushed cigarette, I turn my back on Verune and tug the door open. "Now, if you'd excuse me, Ladies..." I disappear into the next room.

I know. I should be more grateful. They've been by my side for so long. I owe them my life. I sigh and stride for the stairs. The ancient risers creak and groan beneath my heavy steps. If it weren't for them, I'd still be deep in drink and strange women, tossing rowdy drunks from Doran Caine's tavern. If it weren't for them, I wouldn't be the man I am today...
 

Still deep in thought, I creep into the library on the second floor. It didn't take long for me to find out where Zae had taken the lovely nymph.

Somewhere far below, a set of speakers turned up almost to full volume belts out a vicious symphony. Sanguine Catharsis. My favourite. One of the few things my estranged son Vorin, and I have in common...

Edwin Rift's workroom stands at the far end of the library, between the overflowing floor to ceiling bookshelves. The door hangs open so I have to be careful, lest she sees me when I'm not ready. I don't want to frighten my Dove.

It's a strange sentiment I know, considering I've never met the woman before, and it shouldn't matter if she finds me repulsive or not. Few slaves I know of desire, let alone like their Masters and Mistresses.

But it matters to me. I sigh. I want her... To love me... As Zae loves me...

Hesitating, I touch the scarred stumps of my horns. One of the few things remaining of my Netheren heritage. My fingers tremble as I follow the deep puckered line across my left eye socket, and over my cheekbone.

Although it's not related to the savage mutilation and my loss of self, it marks a turning point in my life: Lilleah's death, and both my Blade-Brother and my son vanishing. Lilli's loss destroyed me for a time, and so did the betrayal of my Blade-Brother. My downward spiral into drink and nameless women would've been absolute, had Fate not tossed Verune and the others into my lap one blustery evening. But it wasn't just they who saved me. Doran was the one who took me in, giving me a job, a home and some sense of purpose, when I'd rather be dead or simply forget.

Then, five years ago, both Vorin and X'artru came back into my life. Naturally I wanted to gut the man for stealing my son and leaving me for dead, but they both told me the truth. The one responsible, who also fought by my side so long ago, now lives in the city somewhere and he's tied himself to the Harrier-Confessor.

So much happened the same year I met Zaenack, Doran's son...

I sigh again. I'm not the man I used to be. I'm not handsome like I was back then.

True, I never needed to change my form to woo Zae. His undying gratitude, after I rescued him and his brother from prison, and my promise to their father, secured our devotion to each other. But now I've got nothing to win Isabella over. Nothing honourable, anyway.

I can't share my Dream-walking experiences with her: She'll think I'm creepy, or a stalker, and living in this house carries its own stigma.

The only way I can secure her love is to make it happen, but playing with another's free will comes with its own messy consequences.

Verune's right. I got fucking lucky with Zae. I lower my hand and light another cigarette. Sweet acrid fumes surround me for a moment, and drift away across the library. Maybe I should go back to my Sanctuary. At least there I can hide and be safe.

I turn and start to walk back the way I came. My Dove's in capable hands. She will see me soon enough...

I stop again, and glance at Edwin's study. The light and voices beckon to me, Isabella's clear, dulcet tone set apart from the others. No! I shake my head. This isn't me at all. I run my hand over my ruined face. I never run. Not from a sword fight. Not from The Watch. Certainly not from the beautiful nymph I intend to claim... But at what cost?

Fingering my cigarette – what's left of it – I stuff my other hand into my trouser pocket, and creep on bare clawed feet closer to the study door. I peer inside. My breath catches in my throat.

Radiant against the surrounding disarray, Isabella Darian is a wondrous sight to behold. She hunches over her gaping dress, clutching it to her breasts like a shield. Although truthfully, I've seen her naked in my dreams, so I know the treasures she hides. Tangled hair, the same hue as autumn leaves and a vivid sunset, spills down her frail shoulders and graceful back. Her malformed wings, like fleshy buds with tight membranes, poke through that lush damp mane. A closer look reveals her delicate, pointed ears.

She's lovelier in the flesh, the realisation driven home by the long pink scars her hair can't hide. They cut across her spine, those cruel marks from Sinah's cane, and disappear into the folds of her dress.

Edwin Rift stands behind my faerie Dove, brushing her hair aside so he can massage the healing poultice into the old wounds. Isabella squirms on the white sheet and giggles, her tiny wings fluttering in time with her laughter.

I feel a sharp pang in my chest. Oh, what a glorious sound that is! I'd give anything to make her laugh or smile like that. Because I'm certain the minute she lays eyes upon me, she'll cringe, scream, or shrink away.

Perhaps... I sigh and finish my cigarette. Perhaps influencing her is the only way? It's better than facing a life without her...

"Apply this once daily," the pale, yellow-eyed Zantraxan explains.

I cock my head to the side as I listen. In some ways, Edwin and I aren't so different. Neither of us were born. We were forged, and we're foreigners on Arondell. We've been outcasts because of who we are, and where we come from. He hails from the Mirrorverse, a place - like the Phages - that's shrouded in ignorance and fear. As for me, all mortals revile Netheren, no matter where we come from.

These things brought us together. We're almost like family. Now it seems the only difference between Eddie and I, is he was probably something else before his current incarnation. Such is the way of creatures and people from the Mirrorverse: They don't grow old and die. They evolve into something new.

"Within the week you should see improvements. Although you might want some help putting it on." The Warlock glances pointedly at Zaenack.

Zae reclines in the worn leather armchair beside the open window, and a leering human skeleton. With his pipe-stem between his teeth, he thumbs through a dog-eared copy of Crater News.

"I'll tell my sisters," he says without looking up from his newspaper. He's reading a review on the controversial play, "Etched In Scarlet", by Razor-Kink Productions, a small theatrical company funded by the Fraternity. My theatrical company, actually.

I lean against the wall and purse my lips. That simple head-line stirs in me a mixture of emotions, not in the least because Zae deserves much of the credit.

It seems I produced my best work – our best work – in the two years since I was found, half-dead in a ditch three blocks from home. So many months in pain, drifting in and out of a drug-induced stupor, and Etched in Scarlet, our greatest achievement, was the result. Because it's about my incarceration... Everything Sodom needs to know: About the Watch, the Harrier Confessor, the ruins beneath us... Any sordid little detail kept from them.

"I'm sure one of them will help." Zaenack folds his newspaper then, and takes the pipe-stem from his mouth.

He knows I'm here. Good. I shift position, and cross one foot in front of the other.

Yes Master. I know You're here. Zaenack says, mind to mind as I've taught him to do, and eases his weight out of his seat. Oh fuck, don't tell me he's going to drop to his knees, hands behind his head, as he always does? I groan and turn my eyes skyward. Morpheus, I hope not.

Thankfully, Zaenack understands what I expect, without explicit instruction, proving again how well I've trained him.

Master, would You like me to announce You to Miss Darian? Zaenack clasps his hands behind his back and stares straight ahead, doing his best to act casual.

Not yet, my Love. I offer a tight smile. I'll announce myself.

Yes Master. Zaenack hesitates, glancing briefly at the chair and his folded newspaper. If it pleases You, Master, may I...

Yes. Sit. Relax. You've performed admirably for one night.

Zaenack's cheeks flush with pleasure... Or is it a hint of guilt? I cock my head and frown. Zae's keeping something from me. I don't need to invade his mind when it's written all over his face. He hasn't done everything I instructed him to do. My ire flares up again, but I tamp it down knowing it won't do me any good. Not when I've got other things on my mind.

We'll discuss it later, my Love.

Zaenack swallows hard, blushing again, and returns to his seat, as though he already feels the caning he believes he deserves.

Oh, there will be a caning. He needs to learn. But, by Morpheus I've missed him so much. I sigh and run my hands over my face.

Well, no matter what I do, it'll have to wait. The time has come to step into the light, and formally introduce myself...

Continued in Chapter 6