Greek Fire

by S Lawrence

  Stammering, Arias cried as he curled into a ball, "I did what you said. That is all." Blows rained down on his back. The beating went on and on. He clamped his trembling lips together because he knew his cries only angered Sisyphus more. Later, he crawled to the corner and watched in silence as Sisyphus ate the food. His stomach hurt from his hunger, and when the man had finally fallen asleep, he crept close to pick at the scraps. He ate as much as he could, unfortunately throwing up when his stomach rebelled.

  This was how his days went for the next year. Sisyphus sent him out in the morning and beat him in anger at night. Arias would imagine those that brought him food would help him but no one did anything other than what he asked.

  One day a beautiful woman walked by, and he asked her for food. She left and returned with meat from her home. As she bent to hand the food to him, he whispered that he wished she would take him from here. His voice filled with his emotions made her comply so easily. She took his little hand in hers and led him to her home. He was overjoyed and his happiness became her happiness. He had just finished being bathed and dressed in clean clothes when Sisyphus burst in. The woman was killed before his eyes.

  Arias doesn't know when Sisyphus finally realized he had power in his voice. The boy didn't understand his power at all. The man began watching him closely while he begged and after a short time, Arias saw a sly glint in his eyes when he took him home. Sisyphus paced and paced the shack muttering to himself, making his grand plans.

  If only little Arias had known how to work his power, his life would have been slightly better, but he didn’t. Day after day, Sisyphus beat him, trying to force him to do the things the man wanted. Bones were broken, skin split wide, and still the tiny boy fought to do what was asked of him. His power came and went, his broken body and spirit couldn't figure out why it worked sometimes and other times it didn't. Six years he was beaten and starved, abused both physically and emotionally, until one night a dream came to him.

  Orpheus, the god of sleep and dreams, visited the boy often, filling his damaged mind with beautiful images. Orpheus had donated his own essence to the creation of Arias and could find him at will. This night, he was pulled into Arias nightmares and was startled at what he saw. Leaving, he went to Perséphone and told her what was happening to the boy. She was the only one who cared for the experiments; she had even created a realm for them, although too often they were thrown to the humans without a second thought by the others who created them. They discussed how they could help the boy. Orpheus was only willing to do the minimum, lest they draw Hades’ attention. She argued they should grab the boy and bring him to safety, but Orpheus refused, worried that Hades had given him to the man. Hades was more powerful than them both combined. Finally, they decided to give Arias the knowledge he needed to use his power at will, thus bettering his life. The dream did give him the knowledge, but the boy had already been broken, so he stayed with his abuser, enduring years of ongoing abuse.

  In those years, Sisyphus used Arias to climb higher and higher. He used him to climb to the very top. He was made King of Ephrya. By then, the boy was a young man, more handsome than any man in the city. Sisyphus watched as women and men tried to get close to the boy. Fearing Arias would use his power against him, Sisyphus had him locked in a dungeon. Only the King was allowed to go near the cell and would bring just enough food to keep him alive. Arias did not see the light for another year. As he sat in his cage, he grew more and more angry. His rage ate at him, the years of torture had made his body strong, and the isolation sharpened his mind to a razor point with one single focus… Revenge.

  Sisyphus made his way down the winding stair to the boy's cage, wishing for the millionth time that he didn't have to. He longed to kill the maggot, but his greed stopped him. What if he had need of the boy's talents again? He was a few feet away when he heard the whispers drifting from the cell. He couldn't make out the words, but his feet moved forward, his mind screaming in denial for he knew what was happening - Arias had grown bold. Slowly, Sisyphus unlocks and pushes the door opened, the creaking of the hinges echoing in the silence. The man's heart began to pound as he fights the compulsion, and from the darkness, two eyes glowed out at him. He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out as an evil grin bloomed across the filthy, emaciated face that moved into the light. The insidious whispers continued as Sisyphus led the boy up the stairs.

  The next few months Arias lived in the palace with Sisyphus, regaining his strength, making his plans. He knew now that the gods had made him and then cast him out. They had sent him right into Sisyphus' hands and, after they knew the horrors of his life, left him where he was. They feared Hades, but they should fear him. His one goal became to return to the Underworld, to find those that had damned him to this life.

  22

  EMMA

  Tears threaten to fall as he finishes his story. Of course, he tells his history as if it happened to someone else. I look up, blinking them away, knowing he wouldn't like it if I cried for him. I draw a deep breath and look at his face, anger stamped across his features.

  "What happened to him?" I ask quietly.

  "Sisyphus?" he pushes out through his teeth.

  "Yes. I remember stories about him in mythology class. The story of him forever pushing a boulder."

  "Yes, that is true, well forever until he died. I did that because he was always so concerned with getting higher in society. So I made him climb the mountain every day. I had others make sure he had food and water to keep him alive. He pushed that rock up that fucking mountain until his dying breath and still it wasn't enough punishment." His anger beat at her, and he looked at her with an expectant look.

  I realize that he is waiting to see if I will concur with what he chose. "I agree. I'm so sorry for what happened to you. What is it that you want now? Who still needs to be punished?" I ask, curious of the response.

  "ALL of them! Those that made me and he who threw me away. I want you to help me reach your friend."

  I feel a pressure in my head, reminding me of a time that I went diving on vacation. As I descended, my head felt like someone was squeezing it. Narrowing my eyes, I study his face as I answer, "I don't think I can help you." Shock flares in his eyes.

  "Come here," he demands.

  I sit looking at him with one eyebrow arched, the pressure had returned as he spoke. He is trying to use his power on me, and I’m curious why it isn't working. Frustrated, he lunges to his feet, lurching to my side. His hands are shaking as he grabs my upper arms, his fingers digging in. My alabaster skin will be bruised in mere hours from his grip, but I glare at him in defiance. He shoves me toward the house and yells at a guard that had stood near during our meal, "Take her to her room!"

  I look back at him as we reach the door. Even from this distance, I can see how rigid his back is held. I have a moment of doubt; maybe I should have played along. I worry at my lip as we climb the stairs. A hand touches my back, right between my shoulder blades, before I'm shoved through my door. I hit the floor hard, the impact causing me to cry out. I glare back at my escort. He's grinning. "I'm glad you pissed him off, now maybe he'll let us play with you." His lecherous look tells me how he wishes to play, and I scramble to my feet, moving to put the bed between us. His tongue runs over his lips as he steps out and closes the door.

  The sound of the lock sliding into place causes me to release the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. I'm frozen for a moment before I grab the chair from the desk, shoving the top under the door handle. Pacing my room, I ponder the revelation that his power doesn't work on me. Chewing my lip, I recall talking to Aislin's Grandda once when I was young. Conall Flanery was as close to a grandfather as I had, as both my real ones died before I was born. This particular day he had picked me up from my house. Mom had said Aislin wanted to play with me, but I knew he had come because daddy was bad again. Ever since daddy had a bad episode when Aislin had come over one day, Conall came whenever mom needed him to. I spent so much t
ime at their house and not once did Conall ever mention daddy's problems. He only made sure I had a soft, safe place to land in the middle of the storm. On the drive down St. Charles Street, I asked him some silly question. He proceeded to talk to me about how I could have figured it out all by myself if I just took a minute and thought it through. He said 'Emma girl, you are smart. I want both of you girls to be able to think for yourselves. From now on, I'm giving you a riddle every time I pick you up. We are going to build your problem-solving skills. People who can solve their own problems achieve great things in this world.'

  Well, I can't even tell you how many riddles I solved through the years. It took many years to realize it was Conall's way of distracting me from the chaos of my life. I can tell you that Aislin and I, we solve our own issues. I don't ask for help, and the last time I got some, well that was Conall. He helped fund my school, a loan that I paid back within a year. He didn't want me to, said I was his girl as much as Aislin, but I wouldn't hear of it. He'd be so disappointed in me if he saw me floundering like I am now. Moving to the bed, I crawl up near the headboard and settle in. Criss-cross applesauce, as I tell my dance students. Closing my eyes, I begin drawing deep breaths in and letting them out, calming the disarray in my mind. Now think, Emma.

  I have no idea how long I have sat here, following one train of thought after another, before discarding them all. Pounding my fists in frustration, I jump up. Why? Why doesn't his power work on me? What makes me different?

  I stumble to a stop and smack my forehead. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. God, how fucking dumb can you be, Emma?" A smile curves my lips and I picture myself as the Grinch when he gets his evil plan. Thank you, Conall. I am ninety-nine percent sure now. I suppose I should also thank scarlet fever. I had the fever when I was little, mom and dad thinking I was going to die. I spent a week in the hospital before I finally started to feel better. I recovered completely, except for my hearing. The medical term is diplacusis. Basically, I hear fine, it's just at two different tones. Music is slightly off for me, and so are people's… Voices. I'm guessing that's why I felt the pressure in my head when he was trying to force me to agree with him. I wished this helped me, other than letting me have my free will, that is.

  23

  ARIAS

  Why didn't my power work? How can she disagree with me? I pick up her chair and toss it into the waves. I want to kill something. She heard the ugly details of my life, felt my anger, and saw my need for revenge, and still she said no. I wanted to do this the easy way, to let her help me but now, I will use her. I will destroy her to reach to them. I will take what is most precious to her. Turning, I stare up at her window as a plan forms in my mind. I will make them all pay.

  I walk slowly to the house, moving silently to my office. I have calls to make, things to be brought here, things I need to make them pay. Flinging myself into my chair, I hate that my eyes are pulled to the screen. She has changed into a loose dressing gown. I can't understand why she is immune - no one has ever been immune to my powers. They always do what I demand. She is sitting calmly on her bed, my rage flares higher. She sat there as I poured out my tragedies and all she could do was say sorry. SORRY! I had plans for her, for them, and she is sorry. I would've kept her here, made her happy, she would have forgotten her friend and her family. It would have been just us; together always. I would have made her love me. I feel like I’ve been punched when her face lights up. I tell her about being beaten my entire life, and she smiles. Chest heaving, I knock the monitor from my desk as I rush from the room. Taking the stairs two at a time, my rage climbs as I do.

  I’m seething when I reach the door to her room. Throwing it open, kicking the chair that had been meant to keep me outside, I stride in just as she is pulling her dress up, a small amount of blood drying on her skinned knees.

  "What happened to you?" My voice sounds harsh even to my own ears, and she cringes slightly before squaring her shoulders.

  "Apparently, since you're pissed, your guards think they can do whatever, and I do mean whatever, they want to me. The disgusting, leering asshole who brought me up shoved me in the fucking door!" Her voice has risen as she spoke and the last is yelled.

  I cross to her, shoving her back on the bed and drawing her leg up so I can examine the damage better.

  "While I appreciate your 'concern', can you not shove me around?" The amount of sarcasm dripping from her voice tells me just how much she appreciates my concern.

  "I won't let them touch you." My hand gentles on her calf, and she looks at me through her dark lashes. I slowly release her leg, letting her foot ease to the floor. "There should be a first aid kit in the bathroom." I move away from her.

  Her voice stops me, and I look over at her. "I understand that you're mad because I said I couldn't help you. You have to understand, I would gladly help you obtain your revenge on those that actually hurt you. My friend, and those she is with, didn't do anything to you."

  I hear the reproach in her tone, she scolds me like a small child and once again mys anger flares. "You have no idea what those your friend is with have or have not done to me."

  "So, tell me," she counters.

  A challenge, a dare. Whirling, I stomp out and slam the heavy door so hard a picture falls to the floor, glass shattering and tinkling as it bounces across the tile. I stare, gritting my teeth. I have told her enough.

  My anger is still beating at me as I move away. I smile, heading to my office. Once there, I make a call to security requesting the guard that shoved her be brought to me. Pressing a hidden button on my desk, I wait as the wall slides open to reveal a hidden room. A knock at the office door has me spinning in my chair.

  "Come." My fingers are peaked, resting against my lips, when the guard walks in. The man’s face pales when he notices the room behind me. I press another button, shutting and locking the door behind the guard, and he flinches at the sound of the lock sliding into place.

  "Why don't you go have a seat in the chair." I pour my power into my voice. The guard walks forward, sitting down, terror stamped on his face. I move in front of him and snap the stainless steel cuffs into place around his wrists and ankles. "My guest told me you shoved her. Why would you think you could touch what is mine?" I grit out.

  "I… I, um, I was just kidding with her after she angered you, Sir." I watch as his Adam's apple bobs.

  "The blood on her knees and her broken skin didn't strike me as funny." I move around behind him and lean down to his ear, "I will find breaking your skin open funny though."

  Moving to the cabinet on my left, I open the doors, squeaks fill the air. The guard begins to struggle when he sees the rats in the cages.

  "Have you ever heard of how they used rats to torture people in the past?" I whisper close to him. He whimpers while shaking his head.

  "Well, you take a cage or bucket and strap it to a person's stomach with a rat or rats inside. The key is fire though; without fire the rats won't try to escape." I light a candle and move in front of the cages, and the squeaks become frantic, calming only when I move the fire away. The guard is panting, struggling, his wrist are bleeding from the metal cutting in. Turning, I show him the small cage I’m holding, open on one end with leather straps. I smile as I coil them around the guard’s back, looping them through the buckle on the side of the little gleaming cage. Once I make the strap snug, I straighten. The guard is begging now.

  Pulling one of the rats from their cage, I stroke the fur as I move in front of him. His body is jerking, trying to move away, but he can't.

  "I could make it so your mind has no idea what is happening to your body. I could, but I'm not. NO ONE touches what's mine. I promised Ms. Connolly I would keep her safe, make sure no harm came to her. You harmed her, didn't you?" Opening the cage, I place the rat inside. Jet black with glistening eyes, its nose twitches as it catches the scent of the blood dripping from his wrists. The rat moves around the cage trying to find a way to the blood. "I keep them hungry. Did you know they
used to do this to witches? They would use more than one though."

  I light another candle and bring it close, the rat begins to fight. I listen to the man’s screams for a while until I tire of them and then I suggest that he keeps quiet. His panting and gasps fill the air as the rat digs inside his body cavity. "I think you should apologize to my guest."

  "Yes, please God, yes, I want to. Please, anything, Sir," he pleads.

  I move the fire away, and the rat slows his frenzied digging. It doesn't stop because now it has the taste of blood. Moving to my desk, I call another guard and tell him to bring Emma to me. I wait beside the door for the knock that heralds her arrival. In moments, she will understand that I will always keep her safe.

  24

  EMMA

  He slams the door so hard it bounces back slightly, leaving it open as he strides away while I am frozen in place. His anger at my treatment was palpable. I should run. I should run and then swim if that is the only way I can escape. Instead, I stare at the door cracked, frozen in place. I slowly move forward, my fingers reaching for the door and grasping the handle. I begin to pull the door open, a millimeter at a time, my heart pounding as I move my face to peak out into the hallway. Footsteps pound up the stairs, and I slam it quickly, leaning back against the frame. Tears threaten to fall as I hear the automatic lock slide into place.

  I realize now that I'm going to die here. I don't know when or how, but he will kill me. I am reminded of a friend Aislin and I had that worked in the Quarter, Sally. She was such a sweet woman. A sweet woman who often had bruises, bruises that turned to broken bones. She wanted to leave him but couldn’t. No matter where she went, he found her, dragged her home and beat her worse. Every time he told her how much he loved her, showed her with his fists, left his love tattooed in marks across her body. The day he killed her, he told her he loved her more than anything. I'm sure he still tells everyone the same thing. We met him once, and oh how he hated us because we tried to take her from him. The crazy leaked from him. I could see it when I looked in his eyes. The mask he wore for the world never covered his eyes. Arias had those eyes when he left this room.