The tree vanishes and her body is pulled away from bliss. Freya opens her eyes. Her bedroom is dark. She glances at the clock, eight-thirty; eight hours spent in her sacred space felt like less than an hour. She switches off the alarm, no need for it now, and wanders downstairs. The house is empty and will remain so for some time. She decides to fill it with sound.
She grabs a Budweiser from the fridge and heads upstairs. She chooses a favourite mix on her music player and closes her eyes. The first track is by Dead Can Dance; she reaches for the remote control, it reminds her too much of Satori. Lacrimosa oozes through the speakers next. She sits on her bed with her back against a pillow and sips the cold beer. German lyrics caress her ears. The sense of all but three are lost to her tanz mit mir ‘Dance with me.’ It feels as though she’s swallowed a rock. Every time she swallows she feels pain and her eyes moisten. ‘Dance with me.’ Who would dance with me? Who would I want to hold in my arms? My brother? No even I know that will never last. Satori? Dave? Of course not. I am alone.
Something scratches her cheek. She puts her hand to her face and touches a twig. She untangles it from her hair and looks at it. Clutched in her hand is a willow branch. She discards it. For a moment she believes it must have come from the park. Something in her mind clicks and she leans over the edge of her bed to grab it from the floor. At each tip of the tiny twigs that jut from the branch are blossoms. She shakes her head. It cannot be. How can I have brought something back from the other realm? If I can bring this back that means…it means Satori could actually succeed.
Chapter 26
Satori sits cross-legged beside the pool. Hugging his knees, he rocks his body. The movement calms his mind, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. The image of his reflection, his true reflection, haunts him. He tries to untangle the vision. A baby with reptilian arms, what can it mean?
‘Baby,’ he says. Automatically associations flash behind his eyes. He echoes these thoughts verbally. ‘Helpless, needy, greedy, demanding, selfish.’
He nods. Obvious really, who have I helped but myself? I cling to those who love me. I need their strength, drawing it from them like a vampire. When I’m alone I am lost. Nothing makes sense. I seek guidance from others: friends, books, guardians and even strangers, but never from myself. I am emotionally stunted. Unable to love someone unless I receive something I need in return. Yes. This is me, an infant. Can I change? Perhaps, if I want to, but what of those reptilian arms?
‘Reptile – cold blooded, not human, snake crushing, claws tearing, reaching, taking.’ He pauses for breath. Ideas leap around his mind, eager for release. ‘Snake, Lilith, the Garden of Eden, forbidden knowledge.’ He rolls up his shirtsleeves and studies his skin. ‘Feared, scaly, alien… sheds its skin. Shed skin – change, temporary, renewed!’
His eyes widen. Temporary, renewed, yes. I can change. I will change. ‘How can I change?’
Across the unyielding earth, he returns to the pool on his hands and knees. ‘How can I change?’ he whispers. He receives no reply.
Sitting at the water’s edge, he dips his shoes into the water. The liquid is thick like tar and clings to the skin around his ankles. His body shakes and his toes prickle as if from frost bite. He withdraws his feet and looks at his shoes. They are dry. Swinging his body around so he faces away from the mirror, he removes them. His skin looks purple. He rubs his feet with the palms of his hands until his blood returns and a healthy glow is restored.
Instead of replacing his footwear he pushes the soles of his feet as hard as he can onto the stone. As his skin meets the ground he feels energised. Throwing his winkle-pickers into the pool, he decides he will continue his journey barefoot. He wants to feel his skin. It reminds him of his human façade.
‘Shed skin.’ Satori looks again at his forearms and rubs. The friction causes his dermis to turn pink. He scratches his arms. Stripes of white which turn to red adorn his skin. He scratches harder. New stripes are raised and in places droplets of blood blossom on the surface. Picking up a loose rock he scours his arms. Gritting his teeth, he watches more blood rise to the surface. My arms burn, but is it enough?
He looks back at the pool. If the reflection changes at all it is only that the infant’s eyes shed more tears. He stares at the mutant baby who stares back at him. His peripheral vision picks up a movement to his right. He spins to face the source, anything rather than stare with growing frustration at his image.
Less than five meters away a creature moves towards Satori. Its hunched body suggests it is stalking him, but it appears reluctant to pounce. It watches him with undisguised suspicion.
‘Hello,’ Satori calls, trying to quell the trembling of his voice.
The creature does not answer. Satori studies it. It is the size of a lion. Wings sprout from its front shoulders. It walks heavily on all fours like a caged tiger. Its chest and face are feathered and birdlike. The tail that thrashes and coils behind its hind legs is covered in scales and looks like the body of a golden snake.
‘A cockatrice?’ Satori whispers.
He tries to look away, but is unable to move. His eyes, wide open, do not respond to his mind’s instructions. I must look away before it is too late. He tries to open his mouth and question the monster. His muscles refuse to obey. His body is petrified, but his mind active. I am not dead.
The cockatrice’s blood red eyes study Satori. He feels an ancient intelligence behind them. What do you want? The creature waits. The front of its body much lower than the back, like a cat ready to pounce, but it doesn’t pounce. It waits and it watches.
Terrified, Satori realises he is no longer drawing or pushing breath in and out of his lungs. His heart does not beat in his chest. His body is a statue and his mind its prisoner. Star! He thinks. This cannot be over. It has hardly begun. I need to reach Star.
The serpent-bird lowers and raises its head. The movement is slow and regal. As the creature’s eyes focus on the ground Satori feels his heart kick into action. The moment the head rises and resumes eye contact Satori is frozen once more.
Chapter 27
Freya greets her family as they step through the door. Ivan smells fresh from river spray. She opens her nostrils and inhales as she hugs him. Freya can feel her mother’s frown. It makes her smile.
‘Did you have a good day, Freya?’ her father asks.
‘Yes Daddy,’ she answers. ‘Can I pour you a drink?’
Mike smiles and nods.
‘Ivan?’ she asks.
‘No thanks, Sis,’ he answers. ‘We won.’
‘Wow! That’s great. I knew you would, of course.’
‘What did you do today, Freya?’ There is an edge to her mother’s voice.
‘I went out for a walk then listened to music,’ Freya answers.
Her mother snorts, but asks no further questions. Instead she turns and walks towards the kitchen.
Freya’s heart follows her mother’s stride. She sighs and catches her father’s sympathetic eye. She hurries behind her mother and opens a cupboard for a couple of glasses.
‘Do you want one too, Mum?’ she asks.
‘No thank you.’
‘Did you have a good day?’ Freya stares at her mother, willing her to respond. Desperate for a conversation or an indication that Lorraine is willing to acknowledge her daughter’s existence.
‘Ivan did well,’ Lorraine says.
‘I mean YOU, Mum. Did you have a good day?’
Her mother shrugs.
This must be what it’s like to have a teenage daughter. How did the roles reverse? ‘I’m sorry, mum,’ Freya whispers.
Her mother shrugs again and turns away.
Freya replaces one of the glasses, takes the other to the drinks cabinet and pours her father a Scotch. ‘Here you are, Daddy. Can I get you anything else?’
‘Thanks, Freya. No, this is perfect. Don’t worry, she’ll come around.’
‘You’ve been saying that for months, Dad.’
‘I kno
w. I’ll speak to her okay?’ Mike’s eyes are dulled by sad resignation and dark shadows lurk beneath his lashes.
Freya nods. ‘You want anything, Bro, before I head up to bed?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. Goodnight.’
Maybe she imagines it, but she feels Ivan’s eyes follow her through the doorway. He must be full of adrenaline. She wiggles her hips before she turns to climb the stairs.
After a shower she sits in her room applying makeup. She ties fresh ribbons into her blow-dried hair. What to wear, a skirt or a pair of skinny fit jeans? The jeans will be better on the bike but harder to remove. Maybe that’s best anyway. Everything was too fast last time. I didn’t have time to think. Jeans it is. She pulls them onto her slender legs and ties big boots around her calves. She chooses a pretty lace blouse with a warm cardigan over it. Her jacket is downstairs. She’ll slip into that before she leaves. She checks her clock, ten-thirty. Hopefully everyone will be so tired they’ll be in bed by eleven.
She hears footsteps on the stairs. The bathroom light clicks on. She hears the rush of water escaping a tap. Minutes later the first of the three retreats to their bedroom. The other two follow and the house broods silently. It is now eleven-twenty. In less than half an hour she must leave. She switches off her light and watches the clock as it counts through the minutes. She yawns. No, I must stay awake. She feels for the rucksack beneath her bed. Not much longer. Her heart races and her mouth feels dry. Seconds continue to blink past. Her eyelids get heavier. She shakes her head, trying to fight her fatigue. A ribbon slaps her mouth. She licks her lips. Ten more minutes. She strains her ears, listening for any movements. Silence greets her. What if they aren’t asleep yet? Then I must be silent too. Any noise might disturb them.
She slides the bag from under her bed, wondering how many adults must creep silently from their homes. Every time she does it both amuses and frustrates her. Could they really stop me leaving if I wanted to? Perhaps, it hardly seems worth the risk of finding out. She slips her arm beneath the strap of the backpack. Carefully she turns her doorknob. Only the faintest light from the street illuminates the stairs. She treads lightly, avoiding steps that squeak or groan. Like a ghost she moves through the sleeping house. In the hallway she stops to shrug into her jacket. She hears a thump upstairs and steps into shadow. Her body trembles as she hears footsteps cross the landing. Her throat tightens and her chest threatens to burst if she doesn’t exhale. The bathroom door opens and light floods the upstairs hall for a moment until the door is closed again. Without a sound she unlocks the front door and slips through.
She jogs along the street. Mist flows from her mouth. She feels like a dragon stalking its prey. She sees the bike’s headlamp ahead. Her face is caught in Dave’s spotlight. She smiles, waves and strides the last twenty metres towards him. His helmet shields his face and for a moment she thinks he might be someone else. Her heart skips a beat. Is that fear or excitement? Dave lifts his visor and she sees him, flushed and damp. Gravity tugs her stomach as she searches his face for what she once saw in him. Seconds slip by and his smile falters. She shrugs and takes the second helmet. He offers to fasten it for her, but she fumbles with the strap herself. Climbing onto the seat behind him she clutches the backrest. He looks back to check she is okay and pulls away.
They head through the suburbs and into the countryside. Black hulks of cattle moan at them as they pass. The full moon is severed by a narrow black cloud. Cold air numbs her fingers. As the bike swings around yet another bend she starts to wish she had wrapped her arms around his waist. Giants loom before them as they approach the woodland. They ride through darkness, frightening rabbits and badgers as they zoom past. The bike slows suddenly as a stag darts across the road a few feet before them. Then they accelerate again. They are almost there. Dave steers between an avenue of trees and changes gear to mount the steep hill. Unlike before, theirs is the only bike. There is no meeting of friends, no drinking around a campfire and wishing Happy Birthday. Only him and her, passion and pain.
He hops off the bike and holds her arm as she climbs down. He grasps the clasp of her helmet and removes it then takes off his own and kisses her. His face looks paler now. The ride must have calmed him.
‘My fingers,’ she whispers.
He grabs her hand and breathes warmth over them. She feels blood return. His breath gives her life.
‘Your parents still keeping you prisoner?’ he asks, smiling.
‘I’m no one’s prisoner,’ she replies. She does not return his smile.
He nods. ‘I know. You’re a free spirit.’
She looks into his eyes. ‘I missed you.’
He grins. ‘I missed you too.’
She grapples in her bag and pulls out the torch. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Where you lead I will follow, as always.’ He bows.
She grins, flattered and turns around with a flourish. As she switches on the torch a circle of light hits tree trunks and she follows it into the forest with one hand held out behind her ready to accept his. When he grasps it his hand is warm. The heat returns to her stomach. She breathes deeply to catch his scent. Her pulse races. I must stay calm, she tells herself. They stumble over rabbit burrows and stray roots. Each time he catches her before she tumbles. She feels the strength of his arm around her waist and wants to be held tightly. All feelings of dominance and cruelty fall from her into the springy moss beneath their feet. How does he do this to me? I should be making him mine, not giving myself to him. She thinks of the rope, the knife and her plan to use and abuse him. She thinks of him holding her, kissing her, tearing the clothes from her body. She shakes her head.
‘You okay,’ Dave asks.
Freya keeps walking. ‘Of course. It’s not much further.’
‘I’m completely lost. I’m in your hands,’ he says.
She nods. It sounds good.
‘We’re here,’ she tells him.
They stand at the edge of a grove, a weeping willow at its centre. Large oaks encircle it. Freya feels power all around her, inside her. Dave leans towards her and touches his lips against hers.
‘I want to play a game,’ she says.
‘Anything,’ he answers. ‘I am yours.’
‘Stand with your back against that tree.’ She points towards an oak tree with a long trunk.
He wanders towards it, looking over his shoulder towards her every few seconds. As she pulls the rope from her back pack he presses his back against the tree.
‘I see you came prepared,’ he says. A grin spreads across his face.
She smiles coyly and nods. He wraps his arms around the tree and she ties his hands together.
‘What now?’ he asks.
She holds a finger to her lips and his eyes widen. He is already hard beneath his leather jeans. She strokes the bulge before returning to her back pack.
‘Where are you going?’ he asks her. His voice sounds cracked. He doesn’t want her to leave.
‘I thought I might need some other toys later,’ she says, bringing the rucksack closer to the tree.
‘Toys,’ he says. Goose pimples rise on his cheeks. She enjoys his excitement and nervousness.
Reaching up on tiptoes, she whispers in his ear. ‘Perhaps.’
Her tongue explores his open mouth. She holds one hand behind his neck and pulls his face closer to hers. Still kissing him she unzips his jacket and unbuttons his shirt. First with her fingertips and then with open palms she caresses his chest. She wants to taste him. She lets her tongue slide across his skin. He shivers. He tastes delicious. She tugs at his jeans button and eventually wins. Unzipping his jeans, she lets them fall over his thighs. He’s wearing boxer shorts. She looks at his eyes and sees that they are clouded with desire, desire for her. Stretching the waist elastic she pulls his shorts down, pushing them and his jeans over his knees to his ankles. When she looks up again his cock nods above her. The eye of its purple head stares at her, daring her to touch it.
She licks the tip. I
t moves, bouncing against her lips. Dave sighs. All she can see is his beautiful cock: the serpent. Temptation made flesh. His musk makes love to her nostrils. A proud vein on the underside of his penis creates a ridge that runs along its length. She studies it for a moment then traces the line, from base to tip, with her tongue. He moans.
‘Oh god,’ he whispers.
‘Not god,’ she answers.
Opening her lips, she plays with the head inside her mouth. Her tongue leaves spirals of spit then she draws him deeper inside. As he hits the back of her throat it spasms in reflex and, for a moment, she thinks she will gag. She moves backwards, holding his velvet skin between her lips. Back and forth, back and forth, the movement is hypnotic. Fire burns inside her. A need grows between her thighs. With a farewell kiss on the tip she lets him fall from her mouth. Standing up, she looks at him. He is hers: helpless, vulnerable, but not afraid.
He watches her, silently. She moves clockwise around the tree. Her left hand trails across his skin as she moves away from his body. There is plenty of rope left at the rear of the trunk. She grabs a length and pulls it tight around his waist. She leaves two loops hanging next to his hands, the perfect stirrups. Returning to where he can see her, she removes her boots and unbuttons her jeans. Denim clings to her. With care she rolls them to her ankles and steps out of them. She feels his eyes on her skin. He wants her, though he doesn’t say the words. He doesn’t need to. They both know what they want. Slipping off her underwear, she stands before him. Her shirt barely skims the top of her blonde triangle. He licks his lips. She pushes her body against him and stretches up to kiss his mouth. His breath is hot and ragged. His eyes are hooded and glazed with lust. Placing a hand on each of his shoulders she places a foot in one of the loops. Her body swings and she knocks against him. His laughter fills the night air. She lifts her other foot and wraps her leg around his body. The second loop is found and captured by her toes. Swinging in front of him, suspended above the ground, she lets one hand guide him to her. As his skin pierces hers she feels more burning. This time her body knows what to do. She opens to him, swallows him whole. No longer empty; he fills her void and she is complete. She moves her hips, awkwardly at first then more smoothly. She feels every inch of him as she rocks her body to and fro. She buries her face is his chest and kisses his silken skin. All the time her feet push and pull against the rope, gathering momentum. His heart pounds against her cheek as his soft moans encircle them. He is in paradise and she has taken him there. Power fills her. She remembers their first time under the willow tree. She had been nothing more than a vessel for him to fill. Now she is everything. She can do anything and he is powerless to stop her even if he wants to.
Starblood Trilogy Page 33