Resort Debauch

by Roxanne Smolen

  Dried blood smeared her thighs.

  She sat quickly, wiping the crusted stain with the heel of her hand. A wrenching cry tore from her throat. Her shoulders heaved. She would never be the same, never reclaim that which had been stolen from her. How could she live?

  She cradled her stomach, rocking back and forth, wanting to bathe in a fast running stream, wanting to purify herself. How could she face Cade, knowing how she'd been used?

  The thought brought a new wave of anguish. She clawed at her chest, leaning her head back, baring her teeth in a keening wail. Where was her husband? Why had he forsaken her?

  Her mind skirted the question as if she had uttered blasphemy. Guards held him in Security, she thought—no help from his friend, the Security Master.

  It struck her, then. Little naifa—the words her attacker had whispered. Only one man had called her that.

  Harmadeur.

  The realization shocked her from her fugue. She remembered the way he'd looked at her in the banquet hall, remembered seeing him at Surah's lounge. Her mind conjured up the fervor on his face as he slit the man's throat at the spaceport. Had he worn the same expression standing over her?

  Anneliese swallowed an upsurge of nausea. Then another thought seized her: How could she hope for release, now? She groaned aloud. Harmadeur must have planned this abduction, hoping to enslave her. He was a madman, capable of anything.

  Yet, Ahzgott said Cade had squandered her account. How much had her husband lost?

  Pulling her nightgown over her knees, Anneliese glanced about her cell. Filth streaked the floor, and she imagined she sat upon layers of sweat left behind by previous occupants.

  Heavy drapes covered the bars on three sides. Shards of a bowl lay about the floor. In the corner, she saw a tray containing sticks and bits of straw. Could that be her toilet?

  Just then, a man's face peered into the cage. Goggles covered his eyes. Anneliese drew back, clutching her shredded gown to her breast. The gaoler, she remembered. Contemptible slaver.

  He motioned to her with a pitcher. Anneliese licked her lips, torn between caution and thirst. When she didn't respond, he spat out the stub of a dark cigarette and unlocked the door.

  Fear shot through Anneliese. She couldn't move. What if he wanted to touch her? she thought. What should she do?

  The small man entered the cage. His robe dragged behind him. He kicked the shattered bowl through the bars, and then grabbed hold of the dusty curtain, tugging it closed.

  Anneliese gasped in the murky darkness. She covered her head with her hands. Not again, she pleaded silently. How could she bear this?

  But the gaoler did not touch her. Moving to the opposite side of the cage, he opened the curtain wide. Cooler air burst into the cell.

  Tears rushed to Anneliese's eyes. “Thank you,” she said, her voice raw from a night of screaming.

  The man smiled, showing teeth that were crooked and stained. His breath whistled through pinched nostrils. He left the cell, leaning against the door until it clicked.

  Anneliese gazed out the open curtain. Across a narrow street, she saw another row of cages, and beyond them, the wall. A woman paced in one of the cells: five strides, turn, and then five strides back. Anneliese wondered how long the woman had been imprisoned.

  The door rattled. Anneliese watched the gaoler slide a bowl between the bars, then reach through with the spout of his pitcher, filling it. He dropped a six-inch slice of stegort onto the floor.

  Anneliese's stomach churned. Creeping cautiously, she dragged the bowl from the edge of the cell. It was filled with tea.

  You don't want to drink that stuff—Surah's words came back to her.

  Cupping her hand into the bowl, Anneliese took a mouthful of the brew. The warm liquid soothed her bruised lips. She drank again, and then ran moistened fingers across her face. Tearing a square of fabric from her hem, she gently bathed her thighs, washing away the streaks of blood.

  Her nightdress was ruined. Holding the scraps of fabric together, she tied the bodice closed; and as she did so, she felt a tug about her neck.

  The malpais pendant! She still wore the necklace Cade bought.

  Her vision blurred, and she brushed the tears away brusquely. Then, huddled in a corner facing the door, she fell into a light sleep.

  * * * *

  The air was stifling. Her head hurt. Anneliese gazed through the bars at the sunset. Where was Cade? she wondered. Why hadn't he come for her?

  Her stomach ached with hunger. She stirred the drying moss at the bottom of the bowl, the remnants of her tea, and then stared at the stegort upon the floor. Moving gingerly, she flicked the strip of meat through the bars.

  It would be dark soon. She pushed the thought from her mind. Standing, she peered about the front curtain. Another row of pens stretched before her, many of them empty—evidently, she was not along the main concourse. In the distance, she saw the braziers, an occasional sightseer.

  Where was Cade?

  Voices rose behind her. She saw a man enter the cage belonging to the pacing woman. They argued heatedly. Anneliese drew back behind a fold in the curtain, watching. Her heart pounded in a flurry of anticipation. Would he beat her? Rape her?

  But the man did neither. Spent of words, he drew the woman into his embrace, tenderly kissing the top of her head.

  Anneliese sucked in her breath. How often Cade had kissed her in just that way. Could it be that these barbarians were also man and wife? She hadn't thought the local people capable of affection, hadn't thought of them as people at all.

  The man left the cage. His wife pressed her face against the bars, lost and forlorn, waving to him. Anneliese winced with a pang of compassion. Would that be her a month from now? A year?

  No! She would not suffer to enrich the bawdy image of the Resort. When she got out of here, she would report this horrid place to her father, watch him dismantle their enterprise credit by credit.

  Suddenly, the door of the cage rattled. Harmadeur stepped inside.

  Anneliese stared, unable to move. Waves of horror broke over her. She remembered the taste of his blood, the crush of his weight.

  Harmadeur placed his hands upon his hips, watching her.

  As if he were gloating, she thought. A bolt of anger straightened her back. She lifted her chin.

  "Where is my husband?” she demanded. “What have you done with him?"

  Harmadeur grinned, splitting his beard in two. “Is that all you think of me? Ah, little naifa."

  The name stung like a slap. Anneliese's legs trembled. She stepped forward, amazed at her boldness. “You have betrayed his friendship."

  "Perhaps."

  "And, why are you here, now? To torment me? To admire the bruises you left behind? Did you expect to find me cowering?"

  Harmadeur chuckled. “Not quite yet. You have a forceful nature, Anneliese. A willful child. I will delight in breaking you."

  Dear God! Anneliese thought, but a part of her kept babbling. “Then have your pleasure and get out! You cannot take more from me than you already have. Or do you wait for the cover of night—like your accomplice, Mr. Ahzgott?"

  Harmadeur waved his hand. “Ahzgott was a traitor, a sympathizer with the Llaird. I've just come from his beheading."

  Alarm stilled Anneliese's tongue. He beheaded him?

  "As for my pleasure,” he said, stripping off his robe, “I found the affair nearly as exciting as I find you."

  Anneliese stared as if entranced, watching the huge man undress. He wore a belt across his chest, a sheath for his knife, and he took it off carefully and laid it upon the floor. Muscles played along his forearms. She saw the dark half-moon where she had bitten him.

  Nausea gripped her. She met his eyes. “You cannot keep my abduction quiet. When my father hears of this."

  Harmadeur laughed loudly. “Your father has been known to visit the cages. Perhaps someday you can tell him yourself."

  "Liar!” Anneliese screamed.

  She
leapt, catching him off-balanced and knocking him into the bars. Swinging her fist with all of her strength, she struck the large man in the face.

  Harmadeur threw her to the floor. He wiped his mouth, staring at the streak of blood darkening his fingers. Slowly, his smile spread.

  Anneliese got to her feet, backing away. Adrenaline surged through her. She glanced about the cell—nowhere to run, no way to defend herself. Harmadeur's fist caught the side of her head.

  She flew across the cage, slamming into the bars, clinging to them as if they were her salvation. Wrenching her away, Harmadeur shook her like a doll. His fist grazed her chin.

  Anneliese's vision flashed. She felt her hands hit the floor, felt something warm run into her mouth. Vaguely, she was aware of lifting into the air, of spinning about, the floor rising again.

  Have to get away, she thought dully, crawling. A boot caught her ribs, throwing her into the bars.

  Then she felt the drag of the floor against her back, and his weight was upon her.

  * * * *

  Anneliese struggled for awareness, her mind drifting as if through a sea of wet batting. Far away, she heard someone groan. Her eyes opened to slits, blurring the darkness. She fought for focus. Two golden orbs glared down at her.

  Harmadeur's eyes! Her heart leapt. She imagined his face, imagined a hand reaching....

  But, no, it was only Sikar and his sister, the twin moons. She groaned again, licking her lips.

  Sikar, the Hunter. Her husband whispered in her ear. She was in a garden, loved and protected, his arms warm about her, his face solemn as a king surveying his subjects. Then, it wasn't her husband, and she wondered where she'd seen that face....

  * * * *

  Pain laced her rib cage. Anneliese fought for breath, curling onto her side. Her face felt tight, her body aching, throbbing. Moisture rolled down her back. She was so hot. If only there was water. If only the night would end....

  * * * *

  Sound awakened her. Movement in the dark. Anneliese held perfectly still. She heard the curtain being pulled closed, heard footsteps approach. Someone touched her shoulder.

  Anneliese whimpered, trying to move. Dear God, she couldn't even fight. Then she became aware of the sound of breathing, as if through pinched nostrils.

  It was the gaoler.

  Gently, the man turned her onto her back. Water splashed nearby, then a cool cloth pressed against her forehead.

  Anneliese squeezed her eyes tight against a rush of tears. Thank you, her mind whispered. The gaoler bathed her face, and her tongue worked thickly, trying to coax the moisture into her mouth. The water was bitter, stinging her lips, and she thought of it as a tonic.

  Then the door clicked, and she realized she hadn't heard him leave.

  * * * *

  Her leg was on fire. Anneliese opened her eyes, moaning with the effort. Pain thudded dully at her temples.

  A beam of light fell from the curtain, knifing through rotting fibers, burning a hole into the top of her thigh.

  Anneliese groaned. A compress covered her forehead and its weight was unbearable. Sweat poured from her body. She imagined rivulets forming upon the stone, imagined her limbs shriveling. Her chest heaved, taking in the stagnant air.

  Sunlight scorched her thigh.

  With impossible ease, Anneliese rolled onto her side. The compress slipped from her face. Groping blindly, she pressed the cloth to her lips, sucking moisture from the crease....

  * * * *

  Anneliese choked upon the thick liquid. She drew her knees up. A strong hand held her head, lifting her neck. Again, the bowl pressed against her mouth.

  The gruel was warm and bland. Anneliese gulped it greedily, allowing it to spill over her chin. She had never been so hungry, never eaten anything so satisfying. At last, she settled back against the floor.

  A rough cloth dragged across her neck. She struggled to see. Her eyes were swollen, she realized, peering from beneath hooded lids. Her face felt like it was made of wax.

  The gaoler dipped the cloth into water, wringing it dry. He leaned close, wiping her lips. Anneliese looked up at his narrow face, his golden owl-like eyes. He was so generous, so kind. How could she repay him?

  Carefully, he untied the rent bodice of her nightdress, removing a compress along her side. His breath hissed. What did he see? she wondered. How badly had she been hurt? Her body felt numb, with an underlying sense of wrongness.

  Harmadeur had beaten her. She prodded the thought like a broken tooth, rolling it over in her mind—how could it be? She, who had grown up in her father's stronghold, tittering as she spied upon the guard's palaestra. She, who had vomited during her father's hunting trip when he'd shown her the animal's wound.

  How could she survive?

  The gaoler tied her bodice closed then reached for his stone bowls. Anneliese rolled onto her side. She felt pleasantly warm, her stomach full, drifting as if upon an ocean.

  "Thank you,” she whispered, and then wondered if the gaoler was there to hear her.

  * * * *

  Anneliese rose to consciousness as if climbing from a well. What had awakened her? She listened to the darkness.

  Distant laughter filled the night, the chirping of insects. The door clicked, latching shut.

  Someone was in the cell.

  Alarm prickled the back of her neck. It was probably the gaoler, her mind insisted. Or perhaps her husband.

  The thought tightened her throat and she swallowed convulsively. She pictured him: Cade, with his pale eyes and crooked smile, hair spilling over his forehead.

  "Forgive me,” he would say, and take her into his arms.

  But it was not Cade, she knew.

  A footstep scuffed against the floor. Sweat broke along her brow. No more. Go away. She feigned sleep, scarcely breathing, then jumped at his voice.

  "I know you are awake, little naifa. I hear the fear coursing through your heart."

  Another footstep, then a hand buried into her hair, dragging her. Anneliese screamed.

  CHAPTER 9

  Anneliese awoke to the sound of wind. Pebbles struck the drape. She sat slowly, holding her head, squinting into diffused light.

  The curtain rippled. Outside, the sky was the color of bleached stone, as if a pall of dust hung over the city. The wind howled high above.

  Anneliese rubbed her neck. Her shoulders were bare. The necklace settled between her breasts. She ran her fingers down the pendant's leather thong, and then realized she was naked.

  Moving stiffly, she picked up a remnant of her nightgown; the fabric was shredded as if a beast had mauled her. She held the gown to her cheek, remembering how lovely she'd looked, how eagerly she had anticipated her husband's arrival.

  But Cade had not returned.

  She buried her face. This was her life now, she thought—the way she would spend her days. Battered and brutalized. Alone.

  The sound of a cart cut into her thoughts. Voices rose over the wind. Clutching the gown, Anneliese peered about the rear curtain.

  The gaoler stood outside, bouncing impatiently from foot to foot. Gusts of dust swirled about. A bicyclist came into view, his cart rattling upon the pavement. The two men entered the cage belonging to the woman who had been pacing.

  Anneliese held her fingers to her lips. She strained her ears for sound. Then the curtain opened, and a gasp twisted in her throat. She pressed her face against the bars.

  The pacing woman was dead. She had made a rope from the hem of her robe and hung herself from the crossbeams. Her body swayed in the wind. Anneliese swallowed convulsively.

  The men cut the woman down, keeping her head from striking the floor. They carried the body from the cage and laid it upon the bicyclist's cart.

  The woman's arms hung over the sides. Her tongue was black. Anneliese's fingers clenched the bars, eyes locked upon the dead woman.

  "I did not know you,” Anneliese whispered, “but I know your despair."

  Her throat closed. She sh
ould speak to the woman in her own language, Anneliese thought, but the only words she knew was a proverb printed upon a fortune card: Jefe-Naik. From this point, you may go in either direction.

  The cart pulled away, the woman's head lolling. Anneliese pressed her lips tightly together. She understood what the woman had done.

  But that would not be her.

  Suddenly frenzied, Anneliese tore at her nightdress, ripping the fabric into strips, swaddling herself. Holding onto the bars, she got to her feet.

  Cade was not coming. The realization stabbed like a knife. She struck her fist against the bars as if the pain would strengthen her.

  A gust of wind flipped the edge of the curtain, tipping the bowl and spilling her tea. Quickly, Anneliese righted the bowl. Beside it, she found a piece of stegort.

  She prodded the meat, and then with shaking fingers, lifted it to her lips. The flesh was rubbery and heavily spiced. She bit off a corner, swallowing without chewing. Her stomach roiled. Closing her eyes, she shoved the rest of the stegort into her mouth, gagging upon the texture, swallowing as if it were a rock. She wiped her hands against the floor.

  Much of the tea had spilled. Anneliese squeezed the moss at the bottom of the bowl, wringing the fibers as she drank. Her lips burned and her stomach felt bloated.

  The malpais pendant swayed from her neck. She loosened the leather thong, removed the necklace, and, looking at the teioid, wrapped the laces about her hand. Tears formed and she grimaced against them.

  Cade was not coming. Very well. She would find a way out by herself.

  She moved to the door, shaking it and running her fingers along its edge. Reaching outside, she felt the key slot. It used a standard chip—no way to force the lock.

  The wind rose, whipping the heavy drape. Anneliese closed the curtain. She could overpower the gaoler, she thought, and steal the keychip from him. Then she remembered his kindness toward her, could almost taste his nameless gruel. She drew her fingers through her hair ... and found it matted with blood.

  Anneliese cringed, wrapping her arms about her chest. Her beautiful hair. Even that had been defiled.

  Just then, the cage door opened.

  "Again, you've surprised me,” Harmadeur said. “What a joy you are."