novelxo The Master and The Marionette: Chapter 37
With my newfound, heartbreaking resolution Albatross helped me to see clearly, I have gained some trust from him. Which is good. Really good. Because he’s my friend, my mentor, and all he’s tried to do since I’ve come here is help me see the truth. He didn’t want me to live in a sea of lies any longer than I have my whole life.
After the mess I made all over my cage floor, he allowed me to clean it up myself. Absinthe reluctantly brought a bucket of soapy water and a stack of white rags. I was strategic with how I approached such a task. I haven’t had any real purpose in months, I think. I’ve been detoxing in my locked space from the reality I knew. It was necessary. Albatross tells me it was like breaking a drug addict from his addiction. Sure, it’s painful and atrocious to live through…. But once you’re out of the worst of it, it’s smooth sailing. He told me that I was in a weeded section of the woods. There were thorns and sharp branches, and lots of poisonous insects. It was a nightmare to travel through alone, which is why he wanted to sit with me the entire time. He wanted me to know I had a friend. And that was very nice of him, indeed. I am grateful for my new friend.
I took my time, scraping up the vomit and blood with my hands before I began to deep clean the area. It was thrilling for me, actually. I am finally useful. I can do more than just wait around and feel the pull of depression tugging at my gown to ruin me, waiting for a man that would never come. I tried not to let that concept peel layers away from my heart, but the burn was still fresh. And I am still recovering.
After I proved myself useful, Albatross now lets me crawl out of my cage and sit while he shares with me more of his work. I recognize that I’m not allowed to come near his shadowed area. His feet and knees cringe inward if I scoot too close. I’ve wanted to ask him why he won’t show me his face, but that’s not my business. That kind of curiosity would earn the strike of Absinthe’s bony fist. While I sit and listen, sometimes Absinthe brings me a glass cup of fresh eggs, and sometimes another slab of beef. I always show her my appreciation. She tells me I’ve lost thirteen pounds. I don’t know where that weight went, but I share the same smile she gives me. If she thinks it’s a good thing, I think it’s a good thing.
There are still days when I am blinded and surrounded by darkness. And then, I see DaiSzek hovering over me in my mind’s eye. He waits for me to follow him. But I’m no longer allowed. Albatross asked me to remain present. And I’ll do just as he asks me, even if I’m swallowed in terror. I wave DaiSzek away, but he begs me with his eyes. He wants so desperately for me to jump on his back and go far away from here, to meet young Kane in Ambrose Oasis once more. But I swat that dream aside like a gorgeous butterfly trying to land on my shoulder. I can’t go there anymore. Adjusting to the madness that engulfs my mind when I’m swarmed with hallucinations of my father or other beasts waiting to attack in the night. It was hard at first, of course, to mold myself into this nightly routine. I would rebel against it. I would lash out at Albatross for forcing me to endure such evil. But rightfully, I was put into my place. I’ve felt the pain of childbirth, without the love of having a child. I’ve undergone the pain of a broken leg, with bones sticking out of my skin like the jagged edge of a broken porcelain plate. I’ve choked on fluid in my lungs for several minutes as I experience the torment of being several stages into horrendous lung cancer.
After so many correctional forces, I have understood what my role is. To listen. To abide. To never question what is asked of me.
“Might I ask you a rather serious question?” Albatross speaks to me while I sit upright inside my cage.
I nod eagerly. “Please.”
“I put you through certifiably strenuous tribulations. Every day. Every night. Yet, you never cry. Not even close. When was the last time you did cry?” He wiggles his gangly fingers through the air like he’s trying to rid them of spiderwebs.
“I’m not sure,” I answer mechanically. But I don’t give specifics. A steel-plated wall rises in my mind, a warning, an impenetrable force that won’t let me give details. That I cried to Dessin, and without him here, I’ve held it in—trapping it in my chest, only to be released when I see him again.
He hums in curiosity. “Ahh! You must have a block then?”
“A block?”
“Yes, yes! A block. It makes perfect sense. A block is a curious thing, indeed. Very hard to locate and even harder to remove. But it allows you to shut out the side of you that falls apart. Oh, but dear girl, if I removed it… do you even realize what would happen?”
I shake my head. I wish I could see his face and understand the expressions that hold his motives in a glass jar.
“Of course you don’t. I’ll inform you. If the block were lifted, your emotional floodgate would burst into billions of unearthly pieces. No one would be able to contain the universal explosion that would happen to your insides. It would be magnificent. Magnificent!” He gasps again. “That’s probably how you’re able to escape in your mind when bad things happen. Did someone teach you how to do that?”
Another quick shake of my head. “No, it just happened.”
He’s silent for a solid minute. His breathing becomes heavy. “Are you sure about that, dear?” His hands fold over his kneecaps, fingers drumming against them. “Have any holes in your memory that you’re aware of?”
Even though I know better by now than to ignore a question or refuse to interact with him, I can’t answer. I bite down on my lip and attempt to find a decent response.
“When my father beat me and hit me over the head with a club… I think he might have left me with some amnesia.” I sigh.
Hands clap together. “Fascinating. Truly. I can’t wait to learn more.”
Before I can respond, the walls shudder. The chandelier vibrates like it’s attached to a large piece of machinery. A teacup falls to the ground, crashing into pieces, sending a piece of glass gliding across the floor, hitting my cage. I reach through the bars, pick it up and look back at Albatross for answers. I hear him shift in his seat. His knees are pressed together. And there’s a moment of searing silence that passes through this room like a ghost.
Another shudder rolls through the walls and furniture, followed by a boom. The sound of a strike of thunder. I grip the bars of my cage. What’s happening?
The door flies open and Absinthe is holding a crossbow. The skin on her cheeks is flushed, the color of wine. And she’s so sweaty, her thin forehead covered in a runny sheen of oil.
“We need to take the girl to the panic room,” she pants, looking at Albatross’s corner.
I can hear him stiffen.
“Why?” he asks through his teeth.
“He—” Absinthe gulps, face pinching in discomfort. “He decapitated thirteen soldiers. Their heads are on spikes around the mountain.”
He? He, who?
“We’re firing the perimeter but haven’t found his body.”
My eyes dart back and forth between the two of them.
“He won’t get in,” Albatross tells her.
Absinthe laughs, a strained old woman laugh. “You still feeding the girl that story?” She cackles some more, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Guess she hasn’t seen your face yet, or she wouldn’t have believed you.” Absinthe looks back at me with a wicked smile. “You really are a stupid girl,” she says with spite.
“What is she talking about, sir?” I ask Albatross.
A grunt turns into a shout and he slams the palms of his hands down on the leather chair.
Absinthe leans against the cabinets, the crossbow in her left hand, and holding up her weight with her right hand. She squeezes her eyes closed, like she’s in pain, then unravels a whiny laugh that howls like an old violin from her chest. Tears bulge from the corners of her eyes as she crows harder.
“Oh, goddammit,” she chokes out between fits of laughter. “Were you going to hide it from her forever?! Did you really think she would want to be with someone in a shadow?!” Her laugh grows scary and aggressive. Albatross remains concealed in his corner. Without so much as a flinch.
Absinthe pushes off of the cabinet and rushes over to his side. “Get up, you little coward! Your father would roll over in his grave that he raised such a recreant. A craven! I let you play your little game of hide-and-seek with her, now it’s time to be a fucking man!” She reaches down into his chair and snatches his arm. I see his hand dangling from her grip in the light. “He’s coming for us now! Show the girl what he did the last time you pissed him off!”
What is she talking about? I sit up straighter to get a better look as Absinthe yanks Albatross from his seat. At first, I see that he is dressed in black slacks, a white button-up, and a red velvet robe wrapped around him. She heaves her body backward again, and he is fully in the light. My jaw falls into my hands and I gasp, loud and impolite.
Albatross has shiny red hair, the shade of a carrot. He is, by all accounts, skeletal. With gaunt cheeks, pallid skin, and small, mouse-like eyes. But my eyes fall first to his mouth, then his forehead. Above and below his lips are deeply indented lines with holes at the top and bottom of each line. I blink a couple of times, realizing they are markings of someone who has had their mouth… sewn shut.
I suck in an unsteady breath and my eyes travel to his forehead. Something written. Pink scars across his brow line. I have to squint my eyes, crank my neck forward to make out what it is.
“D-E-S-S-I-N,” Absinthe spells it out and chuckles again. “He carved his name into Albatross’s forehead. He cut in so deep, that blade scraped down into his skull!” She pushes him toward my cage. “He got tired of hearing my grandson talk, so he sewed his mouth shut too! I’m the one that found him! Considered leaving him a mute too!”
Albatross’s cheeks turn bright red, and he stares at the floor in humiliation. His face, defiled, punctured, carved, made hideous. Made a product of Dessin’s infamous wrath.