Talia and Isaac

by Lorraine Margaret

  “No, Talia, no. Do not test my patience, I know I am not hurting you.”

  “Ah!”

  The pain was excruciating, knife-sharp slashes of agony rippling through her shoulder. Her head swam, unable to bear both his anger and the pain, and vomit surged violently into her mouth. The noise was disgusting, ugly, retching sounds from deep within her foodless belly as the pain in her shoulder demanded an expression. She spluttered over the cold stone floor, her face squashed against it. She could barely breathe.

  “What the…!”

  Isaac pulled her up against him as bile dribbled down her chin onto her bare breasts. She was naked. Somehow she had forgotten that; modesty was the very least of her concerns.

  Isaac folded her convulsing body into his arms. His chest was warm and hard and smelt of sandalwood and orange blossom. Smelt like home. She spluttered in shock, and yet more bile exploded from her mouth and landed on his snow white shirt. She stared at it, wailing like a banshee, certain this transgression would herald the advent of unimaginable torture. She no longer cared about the serenity expected of a Lokian visionary. She was an animal, reduced to primitive expression of suffering and pain.

  “No.”

  His voice was soft but more menacing than a raised voice could ever be. What horrors lurked beneath his inscrutable demeanour, horrors she could not begin to imagine? Loud, explosive anger was easy to understand but this man was an enigma. In her mind, he had become a jumble of monstrous myths and fables juxtaposed with his strangely tender manner. And what was that hideous noise? That high-pitched moaning and screaming, that sound of absolute devastation and despair? Whatever it was, it was followed by more retching and more bile dribbling down her chin. She shook her head frantically as Isaac cradled her against him. Her hands flailed wildly, tearing his shirt open, and she stared in terror as more bile landed on his hair-covered chest. She was in such trouble now! It was a ludicrous thought to have at such a traumatic moment for what could be worse than this? The unthinkable unknown, the horrors of the blue room… Her mouth opened in a silent scream as she stared into ridiculously beautiful sky blue eyes.

  “Stop it, Talia, stop this right now. I am not going to hurt you. You can trust me, calm down.”

  This astounding information was delivered in a matter-of-fact manner as if she were a fool to think otherwise. Her intuitive powers were compromised, but she instinctively knew the truth. Isaac was capable of empathy and compassion, even for his Lokian slave. She was stunned into silence, eerily calm as she stared, dazed, into his impossibly tender eyes. Tender, haunted eyes.

  “Why have you brought me here, Your Majesty? Why is this blue room important to you?”

  She knew the blue room was the answer to everything – if Isaac answered her question truthfully, she would understand the mystical essence of his soul. She was a revered Lokian, the most gifted of them all, and was only just beginning to understand the extent of her visionary powers. And amidst her confusion and fear, one thing shone crystal-clear. The blue room was the key to Isaac, would tell her everything she needed to know.

  “You are my slave, Talia. You do not question me. You know why you are here and you know what will happen between us. You are a Lokian visionary, you understand these things. Now you must accept them.”

  His voice was cold, commanding, but he was in awe. Of her. Her spiritual gifts threatened him. She threatened him.

  She threatened King Isaac, the most powerful man in the land.

  She had no time to make sense of her intuition for the change in Isaac made her catch her breath. The tenderness had left his eyes to be replaced with cold detachment, striking new terror into her soul. Tender one moment, cold and cruel the next? This she could not bear – it was torture of the wickedest kind. Isaac had told her she could trust him, and then he had confirmed the terrible truth. She was to be his slave, his plaything; his world was the dark, soulless place she had been fighting against all her life. She could no longer cling to the spectacular something in his eyes for her captor was playing with her emotions in the cruellest way possible. This beautiful man was truly evil.

  “No!” She was furious with the tears coursing down her face but determined to be heard. “I will not, Your Majesty! I will not accept my fate! I will not restrain my emotions in the face of depravity and horror. If I am to be abused, tortured and debased, I will be myself while it happens! If I am to be stripped of my humanity, I will respond with my truth. You will see the devastation you are wracking on another sentient being! I will be myself until the moment I die.”

  Isaac’s eyes narrowed, and the spectacular something emerged, battling for dominance within them. It was fighting with the powerful king, trying to convince him to pursue something new… a revolutionary course of action. She didn’t understand the spectacular something yet, but she knew all she needed to know. It was the unique spiritual magic in Isaac’s soul and was there because of her. It was a life-altering, profound thing, worthy of a Lokian.

  Isaac rested his hand momentarily against her cheek before wiping her tears away. Everything he did confounded her.

  “Who says you will die?”

  His words implied there would be no end to her torment. It was just too much to bear. She was teetering on the edge of an emotional precipice, traumatised and irrational, veering from hope to despair in a frantic heartbeat and powerless to stop. She wailed louder than ever and struggled pathetically against his hold. The truth was it was unsettling her. She felt safe in his arms and that was foolish and deranged.

  “How could you enjoy keeping me alive only to rape and humiliate me and prolong my suffering? You are tormenting an innocent being. Please just let me die! Please be merciful and make this quick. Do whatever you have to in order to gain your satisfaction, and then put me out of my misery. Show me the elevation of your character, Your Majesty. Prove you are worthy of being a king. Be merciful and let me die!”

  His arms were like a vice around her as she pummelled ineffectively against his chest.

  “This is impossible.”

  What was that noise? That terrible wailing and moaning, the sound of an animal slowly being tortured to death? Where was it coming from? Her body was shaking… convulsing, jerking… what was happening to her? She had no control over herself anymore; her traumatised spirit had left her physical body to fend for itself. She was watching as her body disintegrated in Isaac’s arms, watching those exquisite eyes watching her right back with something akin to terror. This all-conquering king could not be afraid of her – she was pathetic, helpless. Isaac nodded, his beautiful mouth twitching, a look of grim resolution on his face.

  “Alright, let’s do this.”

  She screamed at his muttered words, steeling herself for the beginning of her nightmare, but nothing terrible happened. She screamed again as he pulled his shirt off, too scared to move let alone attempt escape. The eerie wailing grew louder and shocked her into total stillness. Where was it coming from? What strange being shared Isaac’s palace with him? An animal? A ghoul? Transfixed by the haunting anguish of the sound, she allowed Isaac to pull his shirt over her head and move her shaking arms into the sleeves as if she was a small child unable to dress herself. The shirt was warm from his body and smelt like him, musky, a little spicy, like sandalwood and cloves. It was delicious… and she was mad. In the pit of her stomach was an odd, unsettling mixture of terror and peace. Isaac pulled the shirt down over her trembling, uncooperative body; it was enormous, hanging loose past her hips, falling almost to her knees. Isaac’s eyes darkened but still nothing terrible happened. He simply scooped her up into his arms so her head lay against his shoulder, and marched towards the door. As he strode out onto the corridor that otherworldly sound continued to echo, that wail of supernatural terror, devastation and despair…

  Isaac marched along endless, empty white stone corridors, striding through his palace of ghosts as their wailing became louder and more bone-chilling than ever. So many ghouls haunted his palace
yet Isaac continued to march, bravely ignoring them all. Spectres could not scare this man – he was invincible. His lips brushed over the top of her head as his bare chest warmed her trembling body. She was safe. She closed her eyes as he marched on and on and on until…

  A door opened. It was quiet inside. Peaceful. There were no ghouls here. They were alone at last. She clung to his neck and pressed her face into his warm, wet chest. Wet chest. Wet with her vomit and her tears. She lifted her head to stare into tender, empathetic eyes.

  “That’s better, good little visionary.”

  He narrowed his eyes, confusion clouding the sky blue. Her mouth fell open. What could he be confused about?

  “You are not what I expected, Talia.”

  She continued to gape like a fool. Her captor was talking to her, had called her by her Lokian name. This king was human.

  He sat her on the edge of a magnificent four-poster bed, handling her as if she were a delicate piece of precious art. The bed’s blood red velvet curtains were drawn open but in one swift move Isaac could pull them around her, imprison her in the decadent sensual haven of a king. Panic began to rise in her belly, fluttering like tiny frightened birds, but staring into Isaac’s empathetic eyes made it disappear. Her eyes widened.

  “Glad to see I can surprise you too.”

  There was amusement in his voice. She blinked as he took a cornflower blue blanket from the foot of the bed and advanced slowly towards her as if she were a temperamental filly he was trying to tame. She instinctively shrank away.

  “No. Don’t move.”

  He laid the blanket beside her, his darkening eyes warning her to disobey at her peril. She trembled as he took hold of the crumpled shirt and pulled it unceremoniously over her head. She was naked again. This she did not like. She moaned softly as her heartbeat stuttered, but Isaac’s eyes did not leave hers. Nothing terrible happened. She watched as he walked to the bedside table and returned with a cloth and a jug of water. He sat beside her and gently wiped her vomit-stained chin. She was mesmerised, unable to believe the strange behaviour of this capricious king. She whined as he wiped the bile from her breasts, and a tiny smile played around the corners of his mouth. Her captor was enjoying this, gaining pleasure from her torment. That did not bode well for what lay ahead. When he was satisfied she was clean, he pulled her naked body against his. She whimpered with terror, but he ignored her, tenderly swaddling her trembling body as if she were a baby. She was helpless, at his mercy, but cocooned within the soft embrace of the blue blanket; how endangered could she really be? Isaac carefully laid her back against the soft pillows, and she felt her eyes grow as wide as her silly slack mouth. He clearly wasn’t planning on violating her anytime soon. She had at least a little time in which to learn about her captor so she could appeal to his higher nature. What was she thinking? He had stolen her from her home, brought her to his palace to be his slave – this man was not capable of compassion or remorse. She must not allow herself to be seduced by a few moments of kindness… or his beauty. His beauty. She whimpered. She was lost. Isaac was impossibly beautiful, his muscled chest a work of art. She stared shamelessly as he washed her vomit off his chest before pulling the stained shirt back over his head, the shirt still warm from her body. She shivered as it caressed his skin. Isaac was a king with a palace brimming with the very finest clothes, why would he wear a soiled shirt? A shirt that had travelled from his body to hers and back again. She knew this was an act of great significance but was too confused to process her thoughts and pathetically mesmerised by him. She stared vacantly for a few more moments before reluctantly tearing her eyes away. She needed to stop gawping and focus, find out what kind of room she was in.

  And she was confronted by her worst nightmare…

  The cage.

  The cage. Seven foot of imposing metal stood in front of the long windows, confirming everything Cornicunians said was true. King Isaac was consumed by depravity, kept sexual slaves in his room.

  Her.

  She stared at the empty cage envisaging herself chained naked to the bars, helpless and at Isaac’s mercy. It was too much to bear. She swallowed as she forced her eyes away from hell, from the torment of the horror that awaited her. She was determined to learn something more about her captor, discover what this room revealed about him. Find something, however small, that might help her communicate with this man. It didn’t look like a torture chamber or sadistic den of debauchery, it was simply a luxurious bedroom fit for a king. Except for the cage. Sky blue velvet curtains at the windows, sky blue like Isaac’s eyes and her blue room. Her blue room… What did that mean? Her eyes flitted to the wall on her left, to the three paintings hanging there. The two of naked, entwined lovers reinforced the dark erotic promise of the cage. The third surprised her. An exquisite angel with serene golden eyes and breathtakingly beautiful snow white wings. Golden eyes and snow white wings… like her spirit animal, the angel hawk. Her angel hawk was with her here, circling overhead, calling her to fly to the spirit realms – but she resisted. She must stay in the mortal world and fight with her mind, battle to think clearly again. This room was scrambling her fuddled brain for it was full of contradictions, the juxtaposition of the spiritual and the sexually depraved a chilling yet intriguing sight. It fascinated her. If her mind was clear and unfettered her intuition would know what it meant. But she was confused and traumatised, and this room was confounding her. Her eyes reluctantly returned to the hideous monstrosity that exposed the truth about this beautiful king.

  The cage. The work of the devil.

  She looked into Isaac’s sky blue eyes, and they were dancing with amusement. He was smirking at her. It should have spoilt his beauty, but it didn’t. Nothing on God’s earth had the power to do that. He was a walking work of art: a dark angel with a finely muscled, powerful physique, lustrous black hair and hypnotic eyes. Oh, his eyes. The spectacular something lurking in their bottomless depths. He was perfect. And she was mad. Her stomach churned as her brain struggled to assimilate everything that had happened and began to shut down. It needed rest so badly. Her angel hawk soared overhead, sensing her pain and confusion, calling, again and again and again, inviting her to take refuge in the spirit realms…

  “Talia.”

  It was the voice of the angel in the painting. Mellifluous, deep and concerned.

  “Talia.”

  The angel was worried about her.

  “Talia, look at me.”

  She blinked and forced her eyes to focus as her angel hawk flew away. She was alone with Isaac and his mesmerising sky blue orbs.

  “Thank God.”

  Her face was wet again, but she wasn’t crying. Was she? Tears cascaded from her weary eyes, but she didn’t understand why they were there, didn’t understand anything anymore. Isaac’s hand cupped her cheek, and he sighed as if she was bewildering him. She rubbed her face against his hand and the pure healing energy of blue passed between them. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she relaxed into the peace of the moment, and Isaac sighed again, a sound of exasperation and unease. Her behaviour concerned him, but what did he expect? That she would be detached from this horror and calmly accept her terrible fate? That was not her. She would fight for her freedom until her last breath on mortal earth. It was the Lokian way. There was nothing to fear for what could be worse than the sacrifice of your soul?

  “You are magnificent, Talia.”

  He crooned in her ear as he folded her into his arms, her captor reassuring her. She should feel vulnerable, swaddled in the thick blanket, but all she felt was the swimming of her head and the shock of Isaac’s words. The sickness returned to her stomach, and her angel hawk called out again…

  “No, Talia, no. Look at me, keep those exquisite eyes on mine.”

  The compliments he paid her stunned her brain into activity, kept her mind focused on the here and now. Her angel hawk’s cries were persuasive, haunting… but Isaac had said she was magnificent and had exquisite eyes. What did that mea
n? She would stay in the mortal world and find out. She stared up at him. His face was a blur of otherworldly ethereal beauty, a dark angel seen through deluded, tear-consumed eyes.

  “Open your mouth, Talia.”

  Isaac held a flask in his hand. Katrina had given her water before she took her to the blue room but that was a lifetime ago. If she didn’t drink, her poor addled mind would become more disorientated than ever. But could she trust Isaac not to poison her? She shook her head as she opened her mouth, too confused and too thirsty to argue. Isaac’s mouth relaxed, the determined-set line softening into a sensuous curve that hinted at a sensitive disposition. Or maybe it was just a pretty mouth to match his pretty eyes, a cruel trick of nature. Only a foolish woman would be seduced by such superficial things.

  “Drink, Talia.”

  She was that foolish woman for she was mesmerised by her captor. She stared at his mouth as he pressed the flask lightly against hers, waiting for her to drink. He didn’t force her. What did that mean? Her intuition was infuriating her. It harassed her at every turn, but was erratic and befuddled, unable to make sense of the simplest of things. Isaac was her captor and master; he decided how she lived – and if she died. She had to analyse his every word and action, learn to understand him in order to survive. But she couldn’t clear her mind. The terror and tension in her body were inhibiting the smooth, easy flow of her spiritual gifts. Her muscles were tight and unyielding, and the sickness in her stomach was making her head spin. She needed to relax into a meditative state, focus on the spectacular something in Isaac’s eyes – but it was impossible. She shuddered, and Isaac pressed the flask firmly against her lips, silently ordering her to drink. She lost the will to fight and sipped obediently. Could she trust him? Was there truly kindness in his soul?

  “It’s alright, Talia.”

  The water was cold and pure with no aftertaste. She wanted more, but… Her shoulders shook and her lips trembled as she stared pleadingly into his eyes.