Fathom

Editor's Note: this submission contains explicit non-sexual violence.

*

Her vision fades in with the flicker of the torch in the corner. Blinking to clear her eyes, the first thing she notices is the metal encircling her wrists and ankles. Her limbs are chained from the ceiling and she tugs against the restraints, still trying to clear her aching head. She remembers the tree hitting her, but everything after that is a blur. All she can recall is a vague feeling of dread, which seems to be well-founded, given her current position. She licks her chapped lips, wondering at how hot and dry it seems to be. It almost feels like...

A low chuckle interrupts her thoughts and her sense of unease which has been steadily growing bursts into full blown panic when she recognizes the voice. She frantically yanks at the chains holding her up, trying to move away from the figure coming into focus at the center of the room, but the metal does not yield and her struggle does not last long, her body still aching from everything she has gone through.

"Such a shame," Tek'Ahtin says, his face twisted with mock sympathy, voice dripping with malice. "For you to wake only now, and not when I was taking you."

He is fastening his pants as he speaks, and Fathom knows that not all of the pain she is feeling has come from her failure with the tsunami. Tek'Ahtin closes the distance between them and grips her face tightly, his eyes locked onto hers. He speaks softly now, almost gently, which only makes it all the more cruel.

"It's been so long since we've been together, yet if felt like your body remembered me anyway."

Cringing, she can feel something warm running down her thighs, and she cannot tell if it is his seed or her blood. She does not honestly want to know, though she is sure it is a combination of both. He is only kind when it suits him, after all.

Her eyes burn as though she has tears to shed, but none come and his grin turns even sharper at her obvious distress. He releases her chin, shoving her head backwards as he does. The pain causes her to lose focus for a moment, but she sees two guards enter the room as he leaves it, both smiling just as gleefully, just as maliciously as Tek'Ahtin had. They close the door behind him and aim their fists at her. She can see a red glow around their hands, but she does not realize what it means until they both release a guttural shout and fire shoots from them, enveloping her.

She screams, the pain unthinkable, beyond anything she has ever felt, only for it to intensify when the fire follows the air down her throat and starts to burn her from the inside. She tries to reach for any water that might be in the air, but there is nothing, the reason behind the peculiar dryness of the room becoming terrifyingly clear. She cannot save herself.

The guards are laughing but the sound is quickly drowned out by the sound of the flames that consume her, punctuated with the choking screams that she cannot stop even though they make it so much worse. The agony grows until her body cannot take anymore and she fades from the red of the flame into the darkness and silence of death.

***

Tek'Ahtin gazes from the hallway, through the open metal door. He revels in the agonized sounds coming from the genasi, smirk never fading while he watches her burn to death. When all sound and movement from her body ceases, he steps back, knowing that he is going to see the enjoyable sight of her corpse quite often in the future. Even better, he does not have to worry about returning his brother's property in the same condition that he was lent it. Raj'Peyvin's prized slave belongs to him now and he can indulge all of his own desires while simultaneously avenging the murder of his brother.

He shrugs on his jacket while his soldiers leave the room containing the girl's smoldering corpse and the mage hurries in. Leaving the wizard to do his job, Tek'Ahtin strides down the hallway back towards the upper levels, whistling a jaunty tune as he goes. The future is looking very bright. His favorite plaything is back in his grasp and this time, not even death will seem a solace when he is done with her.

***

She comes to with a gasp, still smelling the smoke of her own flesh on fire, but there are no burns on her arm where her head is turned. In fact, she cannot feel any burns on her body at all. None of the pain from where her mast... None from where Tek'Ahtin had raped her either. The pain she can feel now is of an entirely different sort.

Cuts cover her body, ranging in size and depth, though none of them are terribly large. They are as high up as her neck and face and they are present down to her knees, though the fronts of her thighs seem oddly bare of them, and the greatest number are on her torso. She slowly becomes aware of one particularly large area on her upper arm that she almost cannot feel, it hurts so badly. Turning to look at it, she can see that a strangely shaped piece of skin is missing. And it's not just a scrape - she can see the muscles underneath. Blood is dripping from her everywhere she can see and looking at the ground, there is a puddle of blue. She's clearly been here awhile.

The door slams open and she flinches, a whimper trying to fight its way out when the movement pulls at the fresh cuts and the scabs that have started forming. She clamps her jaw shut, trying to hide her pain and fear the way she had been taught so long ago, without damaging herself further.

"The damned thing is good for slicing, but won't hold an edge for skinning." One of the masked men that enter the room is holding a scythe, her scythe, and she feels unaccountably betrayed by the piece of metal. Her first real weapon, one that she could carry and not worry that it might fail if her magic disobeyed.

It had taken her months to comfortably carry it, having lived all her life with threats of pain and death if caught with a weapon. She had seen slaves being punished for that particular transgression, knowing that they were being made an example of to any others that might have thought of freedom or defense. Weapons were not permitted, and she had carefully chosen a scythe with background thoughts of it possibly being mistaken for a simple farming tool if she were detained. Not that she had planned on anyone finding out she was an escaped slave, but a lifetime of lessons were hard to unlearn. Now it rested in the hand of one of the Stenolian soldiers, his mask marking him as one of the Brutus' favored torturers. Both the men wore them, clearly members of Tek'Ahtin's special squad.

"You wanted a piece from the thigh, right?" This time, the words register and Fathom's eyes widen as she realizes what they mean. Her breath starts to come faster as he kneels in front of her.

"Yeah, one with some of the fancywork on it." The second man stays near the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. The first soldier takes her scythe and outlines a long strip around the copper markings that run down her thigh. He makes a deep cut at the top of his outline and pulls the skin away from the muscle underneath. Fathom gives an aborted scream and jerks at the pain, causing the scythe to slip and cut right across the markings he was trying to remove.

"Damn it!" he shouts. He looks at his companion. "Take care of that, would you?"

Stepping forward, the other guard backhands her across the face. The blow stuns her and she is unable to respond as the skinner moves to her other thigh and makes quick work of removing her skin without incident this time. The pain is breathtaking, both cold and hot at the same time, and the sensation keeps her pinned in place while the man in front of her hands the piece of her thigh to his fellow soldier, then stands and stretches.

He reaches out lazily with the scythe and gives her a few more small cuts, then brings it up near her eye and traces it down her cheek, continuing onto her neck and down her chest, stopping between her breasts. This time the cut is deep enough that it almost feels like cold fire, a line that contrasts sharply with the feeling of warm blood flowing out of her body. He steps back and eyes her critically, as a butcher would a piece of meat.

"Well, I think that's the best I can do."

"Do you want to save anything else before I start?"

"No. I've got my piece and you've got yours, and I already grabbed some of its braids for Del and Jorn since their hands were busy when they were in here. The other boys will just have to hope they get a turn if they want some. Besides, if I take too much off, you won't get to have your fun." He makes a little gesture towards Fathom and the second guard comes forward, giving a mocking bow to his friend in thanks.

Without warning, he whirls and hits her across the chest with a length of wood she somehow had not noticed. It forces the air from her lungs and she is unable to make a sound, can barely even pant in a breath, and then she sees what he holds in his hands. The staff she had won from Natham. She never even got a chance to name it, and now it is being used against her. Despair rushes through her as she acknowledges that they mean to taint everything she might have claimed for her own.

The soldier watches her, as though he is waiting for her to recognize it, and when it becomes apparent that she has, he grins. Readjusting his grip, he hefts the staff and swings it again, this time hitting her across the stomach. The purpose of the small cuts becomes clear as many of them in the line of impact split her skin and meet up with the edges of other cuts, forming ugly gashes all along the area she was hit in. She thought being skinned was agonizing, but she cannot even process the pain of her skin ripping open as he proceeds to beat her.

The blows are not particularly fast, far apart enough in timing that she has a chance to feel each one but not react to it before the next one hits. The metal and gems on the tip of the staff occasionally catch on her ruined skin and tear it even more. She forgets all about not showing her pain and every time she has air enough, the sounds that come out of her mouth are horrific. Her bones begin to crack under the force of impact, and with one final snap, everything goes black.

***

The sound of the staff slamming into the wet meat of the slave's body is a grotesque parody of the sound of making love and continues long after it has stopped twitching. He finally stops when his arms grow too tired to continue and he leans heavily on the staff while his companion comes forward to confirm the state it is in. It is clear to both of them that the slave is dead, the body hanging limply, only the shackles bolted to the ceiling keeping it upright, blood dripping from its mouth where one devastating blow had caught it across the face. He too is covered in blood splatter and he wipes some of the warm liquid from his mask, thankful for the protective covering.

His friend feels for a pulse on the crushed neck, his gloved fingers pushing and prodding at the ruined mass of muscle, bone, and skin until he is satisfied there is no possibility that it might still be alive. Dropping his own gloved hand, they both clasp each other's arm with the satisfaction of an enjoyable task well performed. They make their way out of the cell, passing the bored mage waiting outside of the door. Behind them, blood continues to slowly fall from the slave's body, the steady dripping a near silent counterpoint to their laughter as the puddle on the floor sinks into the metal below.

***

The silence is broken by a gasp and Fathom bolts upright, ripping off the blankets to look at her body. A phantom impression of horrible wounds lingers for a moment but she blinks and her skin is clear and unbroken. Behind her, the bed moves slightly and a hand comes to rest gently on her back. Fathom shrieks and throws herself off the bed, scrambling to put her back in the nearest corner, hand outstretched in warning. She is panting with fear while she tries to understand what new horror Tek'Ahtin has in store, the figure coming toward her in the darkness only feeding her terror.

"Stay away," she rasps, voice hoarse with strain. "Don't come any closer."

The figure pauses, reaching backwards under the blankets and pulling out a small bundle before coming towards her again and stopping just outside her arm's reach. Fathom can hear cloth rasping against itself, and what sounds like rocks clicking together, but she can't see well enough in the dark to make out what is happening.

"It's alright love." The voice that has her pressing further into her corner is accompanied by the appearance of a strong steady glow coming from the man's hands. The light illuminates his face and Fathom stares at green skin and black eyes that look so much like her own, her heart still racing. His voice is quiet, soothing. "It's just a nightmare."

"Who...who are you?" She cringes at the quiver in her voice, afraid to show any more weakness to this stranger who seems so familiar.

"It's alright if you don't remember. You usually don't after a bad one." His smile is as gentle as his voice and his movements are slow while he leans forward slightly to place one of the light sources on the ground between them. He gives it a light push and it rolls closer to her knees. "Here, this might help."

She stares at him a moment before quickly glancing down at the glow on the floor in front of her. He doesn't move, so she risks a longer look. It appears to be some kind of stone, light coming from within, a match to the one still in his hands. Carefully reaching out, she picks it up and cradles it close to her chest and as she tightens her fingers around it, the familiar contours of the stone trigger something in her memory. She lets out a slow breath as memories start rushing in and she closes her eyes, letting them settle in her mind. Blinking her eyes back open, she turns the hand she has outstretched in warning so that it is welcoming instead and he lets out a huff of laughter before leaning forward and resting his cheek in her palm.

"Hello Oasis." Her voice is soft, hands still trembling from the earlier adrenaline rush, but the sheer terror of the nightmare has dissipated. The awful images are still in her head and will most likely leave her feeling off balance for days, but she knows they will fade. It was only a dream, after all, and dreams fade faster than memories. This is a lesson she is quite familiar with.

"Hello love. I'm glad to see you back with me." His voice is still gentle, but his smile is more open now, less coaxing and more relieved, though there is a shadow in it that she cannot name - perhaps it is sadness, though something in her feels that it is oddly akin to satisfaction. Either way, it is reassuring. Her Oasis means safety. "Would you like to come out of the corner now? You don't look very comfortable."

Fathom looks down, realizing that even fleeing from her dream she had knelt back on her heels on the floor, one of the regular positions she was allowed to rest in as a slave. For a moment, she despairs of ever being able to leave that part of her life behind, but looking back at Oasis' face reminds her that she is no longer alone. She doesn't have to face the memories and the fear by herself anymore.

She reaches out a hand and Oasis helps pull her up but he doesn't make any other moves to touch her yet. The phantom pain from her dream intrudes again and she frowns, softly patting her arm and legs where the soldier had skinned her. Thankfully, that was never something she had been forced to endure, but it was strange for that to have been included - normally her dreams were only about the experiences she had lived through.

"It felt so real," she murmurs.

"Would you like to try and go back to sleep?" Grateful that he isn't trying to make her feel better with old platitudes, she shakes her head silently. Her mind may be quieter now that she's awake, but the horrors she had dreamed of are sure to keep her from sleeping any time soon. He chuckles. "Well, at least it's almost sunrise. May as well get the day started."

She watches him leave the room, only noticing with the loss of one of the bright crystals that a faint light is starting to come in through the windows. After a moment she follows Oasis out of the bedroom into the kitchen.

The peculiar layout of their house has a stream running through the kitchen and main room, and Oasis is kneeling by a slightly deeper section of the running water, staring intently into its depths. As Fathom watches, one of his arms shoots into the water, bringing back up a silvery fish caught on his sharp nails. He crystallizes the water on his thumb into a small, sharp blade and guts the fish, letting the offal fall back into the water. Once all the blood is cleaned out he turns to hand the fish to her. She accepts with a smile, starting to eat the still warm carcass while he turns back to the water looking for a fish of his own.

Breakfast is always an informal affair between the two of them and she takes the opportunity to observe her mate while he is otherwise distracted. He is handsome, his own green skin a brighter shade than hers, the color of the algae that grows on the marshes that riddle his homeland. His hair displays the same dual tone that is so characteristic of genasi, but where hers is the blue and purple of the deep seas, his is the dark green and grey-brown of hanging moss. Another strike into the water, a flash of silver, and her stare is broken. Blushing hotly, she looks down to her own neglected meal and quickly starts eating again, pausing only to tear the fins off with her own sharp nails.

A low chuckle tells her that her scrutiny has not gone entirely unnoticed but she doesn't look up as Oasis comes and sits next to her, his knee not quite touching hers where they are cross-legged on the floor. His closeness warms her without making her feel claustrophobic and she is so thankful that he is able to tell when the ghosts of her past make the present difficult. It's been so long ago now, but they both know that over 150 years of slavery has left its scars on her soul and while she can go weeks now, sometimes months, without a reminder of everything she suffered, sometimes the memories break through. Usually through nightmares, triggered by something small, seemingly inconsequential, and sometimes she is able to shake it off with minimal effects but occasionally it will stay with her for days.

She never thought she would be comfortable around men again after having been continuously beaten and raped for years, much less ever want or have a mate, but Oasis had crept into her life and worn away her fears and anger just by being himself. A soft smile steals onto her face and she leans forward just enough to tap their knees together. The answering grin on his face is easy and bright...and then he sticks his tongue out with chewed up fish on it.

"Oasis!" Laughing, she tosses a handful of fins and bones at him and scrambles away before he can retaliate in kind. She isn't breathless when she reaches the door, but the view stops her. Some days it strikes her more than others how beautiful their home is, how lucky she is to be here. Standing in the doorway, she reaches a hand back when she hears him coming up behind her. He twines his fingers around hers and she brings his arm around her waist. Wrapping his other arm around her as well, they stand pressed together looking out over the island.

It only lasts a moment before her skin starts feeling too tight, hyperaware of everything touching her and Oasis' fingers start to feel like they are digging into her sides. She's sure it's just the lingering effects of her nightmare, but she pulls away from him just the same, not wanting to fall into another panic attack.