The First

by Michael Santana

  The punishment seemed to go on for hours, but in all actuality, it was just minutes. Finally, my spirit broke. He could sense it in my body and see it in my eyes. I knew there wasn’t anything I could do. I was at his will.

  I was jerked to my feet, and just as quickly, I was knocked down again. This happened several times. Each time was more violent than the last. I thought of my hunting knife if I could just find it. If I could just get to it, then just maybe I could escape. I attempted to turn my head. The net cinched in tighter. I relaxed. I tried with only my eyes to see where the knife lay. I glanced left and right. There was no luck.

  I was lifted once again. This time two of the men stood in front of me and raised the net waist high. My hands were pulled out in front of me and lashed together. The net was then removed, and a rope was looped around my neck.

  A loud crack followed by a flash of searing fire down my back. I dropped to my knees only to hear the crack once again followed immediately by pain. Lash after lash whipped across my back tearing the flesh with each crack that rang out. I tried to rise, but every crack of the whip sent me sprawling. Nausea came in a wave that crept from my stomach, paused in my throat before spewing at the feet of one of my kidnappers. He quickly jumped to the side cursing something at me. A foot crushed into my already damaged ribs and I yelped. The whip cracked again, and a sudden jerk of the noose around my neck launched me forward.

  It took a few minutes, but I finally gained my balance and was able to keep up with the fast pace of the men who had taken me. We were moving at a sprinter’s speed and at each misstep I took, I felt the pain from the whip or the jerk of the rope. Every muscle ached as I trudged on. My torn flesh stung as the sweat dripped into it. Each of their elongated strides seemed to stretch my back muscles ripping my flesh even more. We soon came upon another group of men and about five more people who appeared to have been ambushed in the same way as I had.

  Each of the others, which consisted of four men and one girl, had their own cuts, bruises, and various whip marks. They looked in my direction, each with the same forlorn and beaten look that I surely showed. The girl was about my age. She looked frail, and you could see by the look in her eyes, that she was terrified. I could offer her no solace. I was immediately tied in with the others. My hands that had been lashed in front of me were now connected to the rope that was attached to the young girl’s waist. The rope around my neck was removed and replaced with another that also joined me to the girl. Whenever she moved, I would also be forced to move. The captured men spoke in whispers, some saying prayers, others swearing a painful death on our captors.

  With the crack of the whip, we were moving. From the way we were tied together, escape was impossible. They marched us single file for hours with no rest and no water. If someone fell out of step, he or she felt the whip.

  Right as the sun was beginning to set, we came upon an encampment. It was a filthy place. The sour smell of urine and waste permeated through the air. Men shouted at each other everywhere. There were groups of people bound together scattered throughout the camp. Men women and children of all ages bound like animals. They screamed for help, begged for mercy. Their screams were in vain. There was no mercy in this place. This place was filled with humiliation, degradation, torture, and pain, but no mercy.

  Sounds of whips pierced through the night followed by the familiar moans and wails. I have heard Christians speak of Hell. If there were a Hell, it would have been this place. I saw demons with clubs and whips barking, while the damned souls screamed in torment.

  To my left, I heard a loud scream. I turned my head to see one of these brutish men standing in front of a young woman. He was a ghoulish looking man with dirty, stringy hair. He was carrying some sort of bucket. After putting the bucket down, he grabbed her by her chin and put his face close to hers. He turned her face to the left and right inspecting every detail of her head. Next, he opened her mouth and ran his fingers inside. Evidently satisfied he started to untie her from the rest. She was yelling for him to let her go. A man who was bound to the young girl reached out grabbing the young woman by the arm in an attempt to save her.

  Without the slightest hesitation, the standing man took the kneeling man’s limb off with a slash of his blade. The thick red blood gushed from where just moments ago there had been an arm. No sound came from his open mouth. His eyes slowly widened in comprehension. He sat back onto his own feet, staring transfixed, as the blood continued to spurt.

  Finally, he found his voice. He screamed all sorts of obscenities followed by prayers to the gods to strike the man down. This went on for a few moments. The brute standing above, looking now disinterested in the sight, roughly grabbed the girl again. She rose to her feet screaming hysterically. She was struck across the face with enough force to fell an elephant. Her body went limp in his arms. Effortlessly he threw the girl over his shoulders and turned to face the still screaming man.

  He drove his sword through the man and lifted. The screams were cut short as the blood bubbled from the kneeling man’s mouth. With a sickening almost slurping sound, he pulled the sword from the man’s abdomen. The kneeling hero now lay dead minus one arm.

  He lay there for hours. He lay there long after the rodents had started gnawing on his flesh. His eyes open and his tongue protruding from his lips. Well, at least what was left of his tongue had protruded through his lips. It looked more like a bad piece of thick jerky. The rodents had paid particular attention to that little morsel. From the way we were tied, no one could move enough to shoo the rodents away. The rodents had figured this out also. They had started taking little bites out of the living. Once they realized they were in no danger, they became fearless. They continued their cautious darting in and out.

  A young boy near me tried in vain to move from them, which only drew the animal’s attention more. I could only watch in horror as the young boy’s big toe, bit by bit was slowly chewed completely off. I am sure I would have had to watch them eat every toe in the same fashion except I was chosen next. I had been bought. I was now a slave.

  Chapter 4

  I spent the next twenty-five years of my life in constant servitude as a slave. I had many different masters from all over Egypt. My masters ranged from pottery makers to priestesses. I have been sold, traded, leveraged, once even won in a foot race. It seemed that my time spent with the pygmies had made me somewhat of a commodity with my teeth filed as they were. I was unique.

  Still, a slave’s life is constant misery, sorrow, and pain. My masters’ temperaments were both perverse and cruel, and some had a taste for young boys. These attacks I fought with all I had. Unfortunately for me, these were fights I would always lose. I had felt the lash of the whip many times for resistance, and other transgressions, some real and some imagined.

  Although I had many masters, the one that matters most in this story was obviously my last one. He is the reason I am. His jealousy brought me into the world of constant darkness.

  Typhon was the name of the high priest who became my master. He was a wealthy and powerful man. Men cowered at the sight of him and kings had bowed before him. He had always had his choice from chambermaids to queens to bed. Yet, even with all his riches and power, he was unable, no matter how hard he tried, to win the love of a young slave girl. I had been a house slave of his for more than 20 years when he purchased Keeza. Ah yes, my goddess Keeza. Keeza was born of noble blood but sold into slavery when her father’s palace was raided by a rival army. The story tells that she was found hiding in one of the rain god’s temples after the destruction of her father’s kingdom.

  The priest saw her and paid handsomely to have her. I could see why he was so enamored with her. She was beautiful. None of the famous beauties in history could rival her allure.

  Her skin was light bronze and flawless. Her eyes were black as coal, and she had a stare that pierced into your very soul. Her hair had the deepest, blackest sheen and fel
l in ringlets across her shoulders. Her body moved with the grace of a phantom dancer, tight and fluid.

  It was easy for me to understand how he could fall so madly in love with her because I had done that exact thing.

  The love I felt for her is indescribable. She consumed my every thought; awake and asleep. She was my only light in this miserable dark, dank world.

  If it had been just that, my story might have ended there. But, she loved me too, rejecting all of Typhon’s advances. Typhon being as powerful as he was, hadn’t been used to rejection of any kind.

  Therefore, when Keeza rejected his advances, it infuriated him. He was so smitten with her he refused to force his will on her, lest she hates him. He had handled her with a soft glove. His frustrations with her he directed at the other slaves. The more she rejected him, the more of a monster he became. If she showed kindness to anyone, he, in turn, would show him or her cruelty.

  I remember one instance where she had passed by a child of maybe 12 and stopped to tell him how handsome he had become. Upon seeing this, Typhon had the child brought to him and branded the young innocent’s face. The brand had left a hideous bubbling scar that covered the left side of the youngster’s head.

  One slave, who dared to brush her hair accidentally with his hand, had that hand removed by a slow sawing off at the wrist.

  When Typhon had been in one of his foul moods, another slave had his eyes burned out for glancing in her direction.

  We had made sure to keep our relationship hidden in fear for my life. Many times, she had tried to end it to save me only to have me beg her to not. We had never been intimate as she was checked by a priestess regularly to prove her purity.

  Typhon had decided if he couldn’t have her, he would make sure no other man would either. It was widely known that if anyone dared take what Typhon felt was his, that person would face a slow painful death. Her purity was the only assurance we had that Typhon would never become aware of our love. I wasn’t worried about sexual relationships. I just wanted to love her and to be loved by her.

  When we did finally consummate our love, the world came tumbling down around us. If you have never felt the touch of physical love, then you would have no idea the pleasure it generates. The melding of two bodies into one, with two heartbeats pounding in sync, cannot be explained.

  I had known carnal relations with women before, and yes, they had been pleasurable. When there is love between the two though, it is an entirely different beast. The mountains will move. The sky will open, and angels will sing. I experienced that magic the one and only time I felt her flesh meld with mine.

  When the priestess checked her that next time, hell came reigning down upon our heads.

  Typhon was livid. He tore through the palace breaking everything he saw. Ancient works of art were shredded then tossed in a fire. He screamed like a wounded animal professing his anger at the betrayal.

  He had all the male slaves brought to him and lined up. The youngest was six, and the oldest was seventy-eight. I also stood in that line. Typhon was ranting and raving like a lunatic. He swore to kill us all from left to right until the guilty party came forward.

  When no one moved his anger became a rage. He snatched the youngest by the hair and lifted him off his feet. Jerking him through the air back and forth Typhon took a dagger from its scabbard on his hip. He waved the blade in the air with one hand as he swung the child by the hair with the other. He marched up and down the line of men swearing that if the pervert that had defiled his love didn’t come forward, he would slice the child’s throat.

  Without conscious thought, my feet propelled me forward. The shock at what I had done hit me, and I felt faint. Two guards grabbed me on either side and held me tightly. As the guards pushed me down to my knees and pulled my head back to expose my neck, Keeza came into the room. Typhon advanced toward me blade in hand, hatred in his eyes. Keeza ran across the room and threw herself around me shielding me from Typhon.

  Typhon erupted in a rage grabbing Keeza and tossed her aside. He raised my head up, once again exposing my throat. Again, she tried to shield me and begged him to spare my life. She swore that if he did, she would be his, body and soul. I could see his lecherous mind spinning behind vacant eyes.

  During the next few terrifying moments, my thoughts turned to Keeza and the love we shared.

  I shouted to turn his attention back to me, “Kill Me! You arrogant Bastard! She doesn’t know what she is saying.” I prayed Typhon would take his anger out on me and spare Keeza.

  With a tight smile on his face, he agreed to Keeza’s terms. I knew of course that he had no intentions of keeping his word. I was destined to die a horrible death at his hands and most likely in the view of my heart’s one true love. It turned out his plan for me was something far more sinister. As soon as Keeza was taken from the room, I was lifted to my feet by the two guards. Typhon walked over to me and pressed his face to mine.

  “You thought you could fool me? You and your little whore” he spat. “I will show you, I will show you both,” he said with a snarl.

  “Please” I begged. “Forgive me, master. Forgive us, I beg of you,” I cried.

  “Forgive you? Forgive you?” He replied, a look of shock masking his face.

  He seemed to contemplate it for a moment, before laughing. He called a steward to him to refill his goblet that had been on the table, and he drank. “No, I think not,” he said, “May the gods have mercy on your soul, I will not.”

  Typhon looked to the guards “Take him to the dungeon” he said with a smile. The thought of running never crossed my mind. There was nowhere to go. The palace was huge, and guards were everywhere.

  My heart sunk as they dragged me along between them. The path to the catacombs was dark and frigidly cold. The water stained walls flashed a bright orange from the torches on the wall. Neither guard spoke as they took me through the labyrinth of walkways. I could hear wailing the nearer we came to our destination.

  There were many ways to gain disfavor with Typhon. The men in the cells would attest to that. Most were in here for minor inconveniences. A spilled drink, a cold meal, and one elderly man was having his skin flayed for a scuffed sandal. I had made a fool of Typhon. I had wounded his pride. “Whatever hell this old bag of bones is going through will be nothing compared to what Typhon will do to me.” I thought. I was right of course.

  The ritual of zombification, now made famous by the Haitians, has had many different forms in many different cultures. It seemed Typhon had learned such a ceremony on one of his many travels. With a mixture of certain plants and venoms, a person can be made to appear as if dead. The heart rate and breathing slow to where they are undetectable. A paralysis seizes the body and inhibits all movement. The person looks by all accounts to be dead, but they are aware of everything. They can still hear everything that is said. If their eyes were open, they could even see everything in their field of vision. The real horror behind this is by the time the drug wears off, the victim is already buried or sealed in a tomb forever. This was Typhon’s plan for me.

  I had been left hanging by my wrist for hours when I finally heard footsteps coming down the hall. The guard at my door was talking with another who had just arrived.

  “Where’s Typhon?” one asked.

  “He’ll be here soon. He’s with the girl.” the other replied.

  “How is she?” the first guard asked.

  “The princess has definitely seen better days,” the second guard said with a chuckle. I strained to hear every word, but it was becoming very difficult. Hanging by my wrist for hours had me wracked with pain. It felt as if my arms had been pulled out of their sockets and now hanging by the tiniest threads of muscle. The striated skin across my chest felt as if it was about to rip open from the strain. The unbearable pain caused my mind to shut down, and I passed out.

  Interlude: Mandy

 
“Ok this is just some crazy nightmare,” Mandy thought. “None of this is really happening. I am at home in bed, and I am dreaming.”

  Mandy wondered what she could have seen to make her dream this.

  “Maybe it was one of those HBO shows, they are terrifying nowadays,” Mandy told herself this even though she didn’t remember watching any show that was anything like this.

  She rarely watched any scary shows at all. Too much blood and screaming for her taste. She would take a good “Zach Efron” movie any day. “Preferably one where he takes his shirt off,” she thought.

  “Maybe it was something Marcus had been watching. Yeah, that’s got to be it,” she thought. Marcus was her younger brother by a few years. He had been nothing but a pain since entering the sixth grade. Always tagging along telling her how stupid anything and everything she liked was.

  “That’s Gay” was his favorite line. With “You’re retarded Mandy” following a close second. That was just the way Marcus was; he was always doing something gross or disgusting. She wondered why all the boys couldn’t be cool like Zach.

  “Yeah, he is watching some scary show about a psychopath who hung girls upside down to drain their blood, maybe Criminal Minds” she mused. “I must have heard it while I was falling asleep and now I’m having a nightmare about it. That show always had some deranged killer hurting young girls. Yeah, that’s got to be it. I’m just asleep, and the talking man with the fangs can’t hurt me” “Cinnamon, I smell cinnamon.” She thought.

  Mandy had never remembered smells being in her dreams before. She assumed her mother must have been making rolls for breakfast. Mandy liked cinnamon rolls.

  It was only then that she had realized that she had fallen under his spell again.

  “Manzili is such a pretty name.” She thought to herself.” No, stop it. If you don’t start thinking of a way out of here, you’re going to die,” her own voice screamed inside her head.