by Q. Zayne
I waited. The great cat stalked through the ruins growling low. I held still. The predator passed by. I hoped Chuck was still awake. The cat wasn’t interested in us. That one’s hunt might find something more tasty, and less trouble.
I got a grip on my flashlight. I’d spent a long time unaware of the present. I rolled to my side.
“Thank you,” I whispered to whatever it was here that allowed me to see, to experience, all of that. I felt opened and filled.
Holding the altar’s edge, I sat up, taking it slow, disoriented. My body and mind felt different than when I departed in the time stream.
All of this changed me. I wouldn’t be the same when I left this island. Not only because I faced my desires. Not only because I admitted there was a man I could love, something I’d closed my mind to since Josh. Not only because the veils between worlds were thinner than ever. I sensed that the people I touched, who touched and filled me, stayed with me. My mother’s suicide wasn’t final. In some form, she continued her journey. No one was lost to me. I sensed Dad and a tear escaped. The last presence might have been a young man. Hard to tell in the panic and confusion, the grief, the shrieks and the smells of burning flesh. My body was so different then. Even buoyed in the sea, I felt unfamiliar weight between my legs.
I held myself, seated on the altar, calling myself back, remembering everything I could about soul retrieval, not sure if I would come.
“I’m okay,” I whispered, not sure I’d ever fully return.
Chuck approached, his manner diffident.
“It’s okay. I’m okay. We can leave in a minute.” I pulled the water bottles out of my pack and handed him one. It felt good to do such an ordinary thing. This was the present, the junked world of plastic bottles. When I got back, I’d stick to reusable bottles. Fragile, our planet, all life, so fragile.
“Alright. Thanks.”
We drank water, and I settled myself into the present.
I slipped down from the altar. It took a minute for the pins and needles to ease. I descended the ancient steps, Chuck silent by my side. I wondered if he and Jen would hit it off. She was due for a good guy. Me, I seemed fixated on an impossible one.
I picked up my pace as we left the ruins and gained the path. This part, I knew. Considering Chuck, I stepped aside and let him lead. After all, the man had spent most of the night guarding me. It wouldn’t hurt me to let him complete his job.
He gave a small smile and soldiered on, leading us up the narrow jungle track back to the house. It sounded like the monkeys were awake.
“What do you think happened here? You said before that you experienced something on the altar, too. What did you sense, Chuck?”
“I was one of the attendants who brought a girl to the altar. It was a sacred duty. Through his eyes, there was no horror at her death. It was a right thing, part of life, essential. She was for the gods.”
“Wow.” I stopped. Put my hand out to a tree, then withdrew from it, remembering the time Dad got a spider bite and the skin on his leg died. “It makes sense that in a culture where sacrifice is part of life, people wouldn’t regard it with shock. Ritual forms reality and acceptance.” My mind had always balked at certain elements of Christianity. Some ancient Egyptian tales featured dismemberment, and even impregnation via his detached penis after Osiris’ death. Blood was a powerful essence, and so was semen. The ancient Mayan Popul Wuj included an unusual impregnation scene. The ancients had a less inhibited connection to the fluids that created and sustained life.
“Yes. I—he acted from a sense of what was right.”
I fingered my hair back. Heavy stuff, to delve into a completely different attitude toward death.
“Why? What was it for?”
“For the gods. They demand our blood.”
His certainty chilled me.
I sucked in my breath. Chuck wasn’t talking about the past, being the guard, he was talking about now.
That was one secret of the island in the open. The gods who longed for sacrifice and blood hadn’t left. They were still here. And they were thirsty.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“Yes. Watch your footing.” He gave me his hand, and we wended our way through the ruins. His touch was impersonal, without desire.
“What’s going on here, on this island?” I held my breath. I didn’t think he’d tell me anything, but I had to ask.
“I understand your curiosity. It’s better that you not ask questions. Remember, don’t discuss these experiences with anyone except Marcus.”
At his name, desire went through me with a pang.
“What did Marcus say about your last experience?” He let go of my hand and stepped onto the clear path that led back to the house.
“I didn’t tell him.”
I caught Chuck’s sidelong glance, but he didn’t comment. As I suspected, his role was one of discretion. The tension in his shoulders and walk told me he didn’t approve. Chuck wasn’t the one loving and hurting Marcus, I was. I didn’t want to hurt him again. He’d had enough pain here. Anything I said about the altar would take him back to wedding Emily and losing her and his daughter. I wouldn’t do that to him again.
What an intense place for a wedding. The disquiet flared through me again. Had their marriage in that death-saturated place full of hungry gods doomed Marcus’ wife and daughter? It would be horrible if my vision was right. It would worsen Marcus’ grief and guilt. With his sensitivity, if I said anything at all, he might sense that he truly was responsible for their deaths.
The manor’s glow showed through the trees as we approached the rear of it. Chuck led me to the back door and into the house without comment. Yes, he knew how I sneaked out. So much for my cleverness.
“Thanks for keeping watch.”
“No problem. Do me a favor, let me come with you when you want to go out at night.”
I remembered hitting him with the flashlight and flinched. “Sure thing.”
“Here.” He opened a cabinet by the door and pulled out walkie talkies. Yes, that’s what I needed for my next adventure. But I’d have to have a partner, and I wasn’t sure that would be the case. I tended to daydream solo travel.
“Thanks, Chuck.”
“Good night, Cleo. Be careful.”
I hurried away in hopes that he wouldn’t offer to see me to my room. I needed to be alone.
Whatever was going on at this island, I might be the only one who could do anything about it.
In the Labyrinth
Giving my hair a careful brushing, I mulled over my options for the day. Rising early gave me the morning to do as I pleased. I slipped on a mint linen dress and slathered myself with sunscreen. Spritzes of bug spray protected me from the islands most prosaic dangers.
I longed to see the rest of the labyrinth. The quality of the statues left me eager to discover more of them. Had they been here when Isabella bought the place, or had she collected them? I imagined they were a personal touch of hers. They went with her home’s decor, the celebration of her travels with Alphonse. The entire island stood as a lovely homage to his life and their love. I would have liked to ask her about the statues and the labyrinth, but the awkwardness of our last conversation deterred me.
I blushed over asking her for Marcus. No wonder she gave me such a look. Even if they had an open relationship—which I supposed they must, given that she knew he’d been with me in the Mansion of Desire—that didn’t mean it would be easy for her to be the one scheduling my next session with him. I felt doubly the fool, first for believing I might be special to Marcus, and second for being clueless that Isabella might have a lover. She was gorgeous, intelligent, wealthy, powerful, and loving. No doubt she was a better match for him than lowly me.
Part of my heart didn’t believe that, though. Part of me believed I fit with Marcus like half of a puzzle box with its mate.
Overriding my vanity, I slipped on my most practical walking flats, the ones with tread. I’d keep my distance fro
m tall men until I had time to change. Given how uninhabited the place seemed to be, that shouldn’t be a problem.
As dawn stole over the jungle, I slipped out of the manor, well-practiced at making a silent exit.
In the daylight, the garden was less daunting. The balance of colors, with its symphony of rich yellows, oranges, reds, pinks, and voluptuous two-toned orchids, made it luscious in sunlight. The shades of green, from the delicate veined blossoms of small orchids to the umbrella-sized leaves of some of the tall plants, put me in mind of paintings by Gauguin. He took me to the tropics in his paintings, embedding jungle palettes deep in my sensibilities. I hadn’t yet dreamed of a lion, but another encounter with a great cat wouldn’t surprise me. I flashed on the way Marcus seemed to scent the air like a jaguar when I surprised him and Isabella in the labyrinth.
Monkeys called in the distance. Their voices sounded like a warning.
Perhaps it wasn’t wise of me to be going out alone. I wasn’t familiar with the island’s venomous species. I didn’t know what to do if the big cat stalked me. Breaking my word to Chuck gave me a pang, and I wasn’t certain there weren’t any dangerous men at large. They could be anywhere. Life taught me that, most notably via a narrow escape in a campus bathroom. I had the presence of mind to slam the guy in the head with the trash can and escape.
I patted my bag. At least I had the walkie talkie. Pride aside, I’d call Chuck if a problem arose. Of course, if the big cat or a maniac attacked me, it wasn’t likely I’d have time to call, and Chuck wouldn’t have time to arrive. I shook off the bad voices.
Maybe the atmosphere of threat was in me. I carried enough ghosts and demons to populate more than one island. Still, I couldn’t shake a sense of menace.
I glanced around to make sure no one observed me. As long as I evaded Chuck, I’d be in the clear. As usual, there was no one in sight. It was a heady feeling in good moments, as though the entire place existed for my enjoyment, lowly me, the sole guest at a world-class resort and BDSM club. Sweet, but lonely and eerie.
Shadows fell across the path. I shivered despite the heat.
I entered the labyrinth. I couldn’t have explained it to anyone, but I had to explore it. What other riches did it hold? After the wonders of Pan and the Minotaur, what other spells could it cast?
Despite my nerves, I walked the winding path with great receptivity. In many parts of the world, including in my favorite cathedral in San Francisco, walking a labyrinth was a spiritual experience.
I slowed my breathing and my steps, bringing myself into the moment, doing my best to quiet the bouncing habits of my mind. No need to analyze or decide anything. I drew in a breath of air perfumed by the opulent blooms outside the forbidding hedge. The barrier of reason, of the ordered world, couldn’t exclude sensuality.
She took me by surprise, a tall, graceful figure covered with dangling, teat-like bulges. My mind scrambled to find her name. She was associated with Ephesus. Originally, I thought she had dozens of breasts. I read they were bull testicles. Cybele?
It seemed as though she moved. That wasn’t possible. That was a thing of fiction or a movie, where the statues come to life. Thank you, Stephen King, for making topiary scary forever. I adored him giving me chills, but many things weren’t the same for me after reading his books. I would never, ever stay in a remote, old hotel. But what was this, after all, with its Colonial buildings that must have seen many deaths, the area’s history of social inequality and violent oppression of indigenous peoples, the haunted ruins? I pressed my fist between my breasts. I would probably die with my heart still within my body. The girl who filled me on the altar didn’t get to keep hers.
She was marble. The goddess was marble. She didn’t move. Step by dragging step I made myself approach. I reached out with my shaking hand and touched her. If she moved now, I’d scream.
She held still, as she must. The sculptor breathed life into her, with such love that her rounded limbs spoke beauty centuries later. She must be a reproduction. Isabella couldn’t have an original of such antiquity sequestered here, could she? I sighed. There weren’t many limits to what the wealthy could do. Was that part of her concern about having laws that weren’t too onerous? Did she have a fortune in illegal antiquities here? I didn’t want to believe it of her, but wealthy collectors supported the looting of history, the destruction of irreplaceable knowledge about the past. Each artifact wrenched from its surroundings robbed us forever of what could have been learned from it in context. Then the pieces were hoarded away by their owners, to be viewed by a select few.
The hot, fragrant air blew over my bare arms in a soft breeze. The statue’s face radiated nobility and peace.
It incensed me that greedy people robbed others of their heritage. There was no evidence Isabella was doing anything wrong, though. Her pieces might be commissioned from talented contemporary artists or skilled forgers. There was a great demand for those who could make art that looked like authentic ancient works. Or they might have clear provenance, dating from times and places where their export was legal. It didn’t do to judge her.
I examined the goddess from every angle, musing about the bull testicles. They festooned her in rows like a tiered gown. Perhaps I wanted to imagine Isabella guilty of wrongdoing. I liked her, yet now she was in my way. I detested that line of thought. I’d never thought of myself as the catty type who treated other women as competition, but here I was, staring at severed bull testicle offerings and damn it, I was in love.
I probably wouldn’t have suspected Isabella of anything criminal before considering her a rival for Marcus. Petty me. I wasn’t that sort of woman. I wasn’t going to sink that low.
Marcus loved her, that’s what I had against her.
I stomped away further into the labyrinth, disgusted. Being in love was unacceptable. Being in love with an unavailable man was contemptuous. It was the stuff of the most hackneyed sorts of books. I was not a trite heroine. I would not play a role in a cheap tragedy and get my heart broken by a man I couldn’t have. No.
Stopping, I checked the sky to judge the time. I wanted to see more of the labyrinth, but despite my tirade, I tingled in my panties.
Soon, I’d see Marcus soon. My ranting mind could take a leap. Nothing was going to spoil my morning with my handsome master. Not even nefarious reality with its intrusive insistence that he could never be mine, nor I his.
Damn it.
I rushed to leave the labyrinth. The rest of it could wait for another time. Despite my imaginings, those statues weren’t going anywhere. I wanted to freshen up before I returned to the Mansion of Desire.
I wouldn’t risk being late for date with Marcus. I shook out my hair. Not a date, appointment, session. Whatever. My skin purred in anticipation of him touching me.
No. That hedge wasn’t there before. It blocked my way. Solid hedge. I couldn’t believe it. I gathered my dress between my thighs and crouched down. It wasn’t a trick. The hedge grew from the soil like the rest of it, no one had moved a panel into my way to torment me. It only seemed as though someone moved it, because that bloody hedge wasn’t there before, I was sure of it. But the tall, spiky, trimmed bush blocked my way, the fast exit from the labyrinth that would take me to the path back to my suite.
Goosebumps rose. I stroked my arms. The labyrinth did this before. This time, there was no path veering around the blockage.
The direct path out of the labyrinth to where I entered it was the only way I knew to exit, the only way to get back to my suite to be on time to see Marcus. My heart thumped. This couldn’t be happening.
I put my fists in my pockets and turned around in a slow circle, taking care to come back to my original position. I had a chill fear of becoming more lost. Despite my strong sense of direction and care not enter the labyrinth too far, I was lost. I’d done it now. I blew it.
Think, Cleo, think. I could still save this day. All I had to do was find a way out of the labyrinth and get to the Mansion of Desire. If I ha
d to forgo freshening up at the suite, no doubt he’d forgive me. I might beg prettily for his permission to take a shower once I got there. All I had to do was get there.
I couldn’t shake the strong sense that the exit was straight ahead, through that impenetrable block of hedge. I crouched again, letting out my breath as my belly-dance sore muscles complained. No, there wasn’t enough clearance to get under the hedge, even if I wanted to risk getting lacerated and filthy in service of being on time to see my master. Isabella couldn’t fit under there. It would be a near thing for the cat.
The cat. That should have been a clue from the first. When I met Marcus in The Spanker room, he had a cat on his lap. He stroked the long-haired black feline like they were old friends. I should have realized Marcus was no casual guest, that he was close to someone on the island, someone whose cat had the run of the place. If I’d been thinking of anything besides how hot he was, how masterful, and how alive he made me, I would have realized sooner that he must be close to Isabella.
I shook myself. Now was not the time to beat myself up for missing the clue of the cat. I wasn’t a detective. I was a submissive about to be tardy for a spanking. I paced the hedge, examining the ground in each direction for signs of my passing, but the path was unmarked. It wouldn’t be much of a labyrinth if you could follow your footprints out, but damn it, that’s what I wanted to do. I paced farther in each direction, hoping to find the way I’d come.
I squeezed my hands together. I had to pick a direction and go with it. I’d either find a familiar statue or not. It could take hours. Based on the maze’s exterior size, it was enormous. No, minutes, I had to solve this puzzle in minutes. I’d move fast, get re-oriented and get out. If I didn’t find the minotaur in a few minutes, I’d come back and head the other way. I pulled off my hair band and set it on the ground at the base of the hedge. Unsporting, perhaps, but this was an emergency.