by Elyse Draper
Starting the story again, I let my memories pull me back to Africa, "I drew in a breath quickly from surprise, 'Zuvan…those are elephants!'”
He replied while laughing, “You are truly a master of stating the obvious, Ellie. Yes, yes, they are elephants … beautiful, aren’t they?”
"His smooth baritone voice quivered as he laughed at me. The laugh was loud, and kind, and contagious; it was the first time I laughed like that, since I left Christopher and Lune. I am still grateful to that laugh; my heart ached with holes wanting desperately to be filled; Zuvan lessened the ache to a dull throb … for a little while at least.”
Cassandra looks at me strangely, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but how long were you with Zuvan?”
“I lost track of time, but I think about three months. I stayed in the Zakouma Park most of my time there, because the surroundings gave me a break from the toxic emotions all around me. When I ventured out, I liked to visit the smaller local villages. The people there, with their bright smiles and beautiful children, always lifted my spirits. Zuvan felt he had a preordained responsibility to his relatives, and checked on them every day. He never wanted to discuss what exactly he did for his extended family. When he would return, all he wanted to do was talk about what I had seen in my travels, what I had done over the years, and most of all, what it felt like to fall in love with a human.
“After hedging around my questions for weeks, he finally admitted that he didn’t want me to think any less of him for his actions when he was visiting his relatives. I asked him if those actions contained any malice or disrespect for human life, or was it more likely that they were defensive and protective. As an answer he asked me if I felt like seeing for myself.
I didn’t think I could handle placing myself in the middle of war again. When I stalled, he picked up on my dilemma; he then asked if I felt like I could handle touching his mind again.
"Entering his thoughts and feelings was smooth and natural, as if I was always meant to touch only Ho Thanatos minds. I was blasted by emotions clearly enough to not only hear thoughts, but see glimpses of the events that brought about the strongest of his feelings. He withheld the intensity as much as possible, telling me that he didn’t think these memories would be as painful, since he was a Gabon, therefore not as fragile as he was as a human.
But he was wrong; as such a sensitive and humane creature, what he had to do, had to witness in order to protect those he cared about … hurt him deeply. He showed me a village; very much like the ones I enjoyed visiting, with families, and children … a community. Then I saw the bright fire, thick with smoke … screaming babies, mothers running … Zuvan’s hands became ridged before my face … no, before his eyes. I was seeing through his eyes.
"Watching his memories, through his perceptiveness, I could see the bright, hot halo, that usually surrounded his form, was being forced through his arms and out of his hands. In an intricate ballet using only his hands, I watched him sway his strong, lean fingers, delicately communicating with the blaze. He was manipulating the fire; pulsing and dancing, the flames obeyed his command like a candle being gently blown out. Then he turned to where he knew the fire had started, to where he knew the enemies were waiting to send in the next level of assault. Instead of blowing out this portion of the fire, he ordered it to turn on its makers. I felt the shiver run through his long frame as he listened to the screaming of his family’s would-be attackers, but he held the flames on them until all their protests stopped … no more screams, whimpers, or pleading … no more life … and then he simply blew out the killing fire.
“He looked in my eyes, waiting for my condemnation. When I smiled with understanding, his face became extremely confused. That’s when I told him, 'Zuvan, I have lived through war, and to tell the truth, if I could have protected my family from the immediate threat, with my gifts … I would have, without a thought. And if I could have protected them from future threats, future attacks, by making a preemptive strike, I would have without a thought. I cannot judge you; I can only respect and admire your strength, and stand in awe over your sympathy for your enemies.' As I patted his arm, he shook his head, shook the confusion from his face and beamed an exquisite smile.
“He responded, still beaming, 'I do not know exactly what you are, Ellie, but I’m glad to have met you. You have asked me questions on what I think we are … I still do not have an answer for you, I am sorry. But I do think that in our world there is good and evil … you are good, and that is enough for me. I know you are looking for a teacher, and as much as it hurts me to face the possibility of losing you … I am not that person for you. Thank you for giving me so much: a friend, a confidant, a sister … I hope very much that you find your Christopher. Please, find me again, mon amie, Je vais manqué toi … I will miss you very much.'
“When I answered his honest observation, my heart cracked just a little bit more, 'You’re right of course. If you don’t think you can teach me anymore … then I must begin my search again. You have taught me so much though, and you gave me a sanctuary to return to; I can never thank you enough. I promise to return. I see you as family now … if we are Gabon, then we are preordained to stand by each other forever.'
“At first, I almost felt as though he was pushing me away; but I realized as we spoke, reading his emotions, he had become very attached to me and my hope for success. He wanted with every part of his being for me to be happy; and for a creature who knows you have to fight to make good things happen, no matter how much he would miss me, he knew I had a long journey ahead to reclaim my true happiness, to fight for my future.”
“When he reached down to embrace me, I started to giggle; he had to almost bend in half to truly hold anything but my head. Zuvan, maybe you should stand on your knees.'
'Ha, maybe you could hover up here … petite fille!'
“I enjoyed the warmth of his chest, the smell of Gardenias and smoke, the rumbling sound of his infectious laughter, and the knowledge that I had a brother and a sanctuary in one of the most war-torn continents in the world. At that moment, I wanted to share this irony with Christopher so badly; I had to pull away from Zuvan and obsessively begin my search again. My search to find you, Cass … my mentor, my sister.”
She still holds a dreamy expression on her face, and when I call her my sister, she smiles brightly out towards the horizon. When she turns to me though, there is a deep sadness in her eyes. “I don’t think I deserve the honor of being your sister … very bad things happen to those I care about, to those who care about me.”
She closes up again, and I can only feel shadows of her emotions. Fearing that we are sliding backwards in our relationship, I try to change the subject. Speaking as I rise to stand next to her, “Perhaps, we could go for a late-night flight and you could show me more of your beloved Greece.”
Looking into her eyes, I notice that the clear, startling green in Cass’s gaze has become overcast, by the thick, muggy clouds that usually signal a hurricane on the horizon. When she speaks, I expect the wind to pick up and slam me to the ground. “Ellie, how much do you know about my life? This isn’t my beloved Greece; I’m only here, to be close to them.”
Chapter 12
Cassandra
I silently sit and wait for Cassandra to continue. When she turns her back on me and starts to walk away, I think perhaps she is going on one of her mysterious avoidance trips, leaving me behind to fend for myself.
Turning to look at me with an expecting glance, she finally speaks, “Well, are you coming along, or would you rather stay here?”
“I’m coming.” I know that I sound a little too eager, but I don’t want to jinx this opportunity to learn more about my teacher.
I don’t ask who they are, or where we are going, I just fly behind her tense form. We pass over the water, heading in the direction of the mainland. I haven’t spent a lot of time in Greece proper, other than touching Mortos minds with my own; and I am excited to be taking part in some sort of tour.
Even though Cass controls her emotions with surprising ease, now that she has let me in, I can taste enough of her feelings to understand her mood … well, at least try to recognize it a bit better. As we fly I can sense joy, comfort, bitterness, and even a touch of disgust … what a strange combination. I have a feeling that even the lightest contact with such an ancient and controlled psyche, is always going to be an unusual experience. When she is in lesson mode, she has the flavor of the pressed pages in well-read books sitting on the shelves of an elaborate library … enchanted and electrified by wisdom and dreams. Then, there is the wonder in her thoughts … flavored with pepper and curiosity. Anger and fear are the most difficult to taste; something primitive in her fury makes my mind recoil in dread over the coming tempest. I don’t know if I’ll ever truly comprehend the enormity of her experiences, but even in her worst of moods, there is always something to learn.
As we fly over a strip of land, I’m reminded of how much of Greece is coastline, lush and mountainous. I can fly around here for years and find a new fascination every day. As we approach yet another bay, I am starting to think we are heading out to the Mediterranean Sea … that's when Cass turns north, towards inland again.
The curiosity is finally getting the better of me. “Cass? If you don’t mind me asking … where on earth are you taking us?”
“Patience, Ellie, maybe I should explain a few things before I introduce you to them.”
“Please do…” As she slows down and we start to drift up a mountain pathway, I am relieved to sense most of the bitterness and disgust has faded, leaving only comfort and joy. The essence coming from her now is distinctly maternal.
“I fell in love once; very deeply in love … I imagine, very much the same attachment as you feel for your Christopher. My love was strong and confident, handsome and regal … he was my captor, forcibly at first, then affectionately after time.
“In my time, matters of love were very different from matters of marriage. Marriage was a business arrangement, and procreation through that marriage was an investment for the future. He was married, and I believe some part of him may have loved her … but he was away from her for a very long time. It was no secret that she had her affairs and he had his, just as long as the empire stayed strong … no one cared. You must understand morality in relationships was very different for me. Coupling was much simpler, and yet much more complex, than they are now.”
“Wait, I remember part of this … you said ‘empire’? You’re talking about Agamemnon, right? I remember reading about the rape of the princess of Troy … Cassandra.” Oh, bloody hell, why didn’t I remember that before opening my sodding mouth.
“Yes … well, I did say my captor, forcibly at first. It may be hard to understand, but during that time, I was a very powerful bartering chip. Neither Agamemnon, nor I, thought about our situation containing any emotion, other than hate … a very passionate emotion. Passion can lead to many different things; for us it led to devotion and love … and love can be an even more powerful thing.”
I nod, not knowing exactly what to say. My modesty frequently makes me uncomfortable when coping with the urges toward physical contact with Christopher; now, it makes me irrationally uptight listening to Cass describing the passion between her and her lover. In my innocence, I can’t help but to be inquisitive about how the volatile passion in hate could possibly turn into the tender passion of love. Thinking back to my time with Christopher; I can feel his long arms and the heat of his lean muscles as he wrapped himself around me. I understand almost immediately, lust can push its way through even hate. But what Cassandra is describing … is the connection that develops alongside and overwhelms the physical. In that connection something unexpected grows, a feeling so encompassing that you know you are never going to feel alone again. Yes, I know then, I understand … she was very much in love with her vanquisher king.
Trapped in her story, we stop our journey and sit along the side of the dark pathway. So strong are the emotions inside these memories, I am walking in her mind before I even realize what is happening. I am in a bed … looking up at gauze draped around the bed posts … the transparent silken material moves with the gentle motion of someone approaching. Then I see him … oh, he is magnificent. I hear Cassandra’s voice almost purring, “Come to me … my King of Kings.” Shocked and embarrassed by intruding on, and intimately feeling, these very private moments, I pull away from her mind. I can feel the blush forming in my toes, and carrying all the way up to my cheeks.
Cassandra smiles slyly at me, “I told you it was rude to walk around in someone else’s feelings … serves you right.”
“I, I ... I’m sorry, Cass, I didn’t mean to…”
“Don’t speak any more about it … the things that you feel you need to be modest about, and the things I feel one needs to be modest about, are very different. To me, all you saw was an expression of my feelings for Agamemnon … nothing more embarrassing than that.”
She continues to tell me stories about the days aboard her King’s boat, and the nights in his arms … her emotions continues to invoke images; but she is careful not to bring up too many intimate details. I appreciate that.
Their time together was magical, and it makes me ache for Christopher. I notice how much Cass glows as she speaks of her life finally changing for the better; all because she found someone to believe in … but even more importantly, someone who believed in her. The images she projects show a similar, even deeper glow; her features start to fill out, and her eyes never stop smiling. I realize where our story is taking us when I notice the bump forming on her belly. Here in her memories, the emotions are the same as if they were happening in the present. I find myself thanking her internally for allowing me to feel the bliss of carrying a baby.
I watch the little one grow at a tremendous pace, and I start to suspect there wasn’t just one baby, but two … Cass was carrying twins. I am surprised at my own elation when the babies kicked for the first time. I shouldn't be, considering walking in her mind gives me the opportunity to feel her experiences, as if they were my own.
When Cass’s King held our bloated abdomen, I can feel the shivers of intimate love pass through my body. Where his palm touched the naked flesh of our tummy, already stretched unimaginably, warmth fills my whole being. He bent and spoke quietly to the twins, a whisper full of adoration, secrets shared between a father and his unborn children.
Looking into his hazel eyes, surrounded by thick black lashes, I melt at the expression I find in his gaze. He shifted his hand from our belly and caressed our face, pulling us into a kiss that left no doubt: this was not a negotiation … he wanted our babies, and us, forever.
My heart breaks as I remember he didn’t want ‘us’ … he wanted Cass. I am just an observer, a witness to an eternal love that bards and poets have written about. I feel insignificant and extraordinary at the same time. In the shadow of this relationship, I understand my ties to Christopher even more … we have a love like this; and we deserve to have each other forever. Cassandra and Agamemnon didn’t make it; he is not here with her now … and I’m afraid the same may be true for Christopher and me.
Time flies by, from memory to memory; Cassandra and Agamemnon’s love only grew stronger. They were inseparable, which confused and angered many of the crew, who had spent a lifetime at war with Troy. Having Cassandra on board as a prisoner was one thing, but to treat her, the way the King expected … to treat her as a Queen was not acceptable. I can feel the hatred rolling off her fellow passengers as she walked by … I can feel the emotions of the others in her memory? No, I must just be feeling what Cass was thinking. She was very insightful, even then; she must have been picking up on the hatred, and I am plucking that feeling from her mind.
My musings pull me momentarily from Cass’s past; and as she continues with her tale, one statement hits me hard. “Oh, Ellie, you should have seen the way Agamemnon treated me; I was a Queen ... believed in and wanted for the fir
st time. Even his men treated me with respect. I had never experienced such consideration.”
She doesn’t know… am I really stretching my gifts through time? Am I really channeling Cass’s memories with such clarity I can feel the emotion of others in her past?
Again, I feel as if I am looking at a photo, but not able to make out the picture. When Cass starts telling me about having the babies, the pain is fresh in her mind; another confusing mixture is the absolute bliss intermingled with excruciating agony. They had carried to term: mother and babies were perfect, even though, it was a difficult delivery. As Agamemnon introduced his sons to the crew there was uproar of amazement that Cassandra had survived, and had delivered not only one heir to the throne, but two. Acceptance and admiration, now, overwhelmed any remaining harsh feelings aboard. As the story continues, I notice how many key members of the crew proudly took on the role of uncles and care providers to the children. The boys were strong much like their father, and beautiful, with emerald green eyes similar to their mother.
Teledamus and Pelops were happy babies and seeing them in Cass’s arms reminds me of my twin baby sisters. Pain shoots through my heart as I remember their passing, during the same bombing where I died.
The pain growing in my chest intensifies into a panic attack; but this terror isn’t mine. I turn inside Cass’s mind to look at the source of the horrific dread. Cass had a glazed expression, all the blood drained from her face and she was biting her lip so hard that a thin line of bright red trickled down her chin. I press a little harder into Cass’s thoughts, through the frightened face of her past, and find that I have entered into the clearest and most defined mental picture painted by her experiences thus far.
This has a different quality; even though we are still in the past, we’re no longer on the boat … but looking through her eyes I can still see we are still planted securely to the deck of Agamemnon’s ship. Through my confusion, I realize that I am seeing one of her visions, first hand!
