Chapter 51) Great Divine.
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The largest part of the Lee clan had circled around a huge pile of twigs, sticks and coal. The humble flicks of flames slowly started to devour the thin bone dry splinters of oak tree while the circle grew with two.
For a split second, Maria thought of running. Sure, her chances of escaping were close to zero but at least she'd die with dignity; as a proper Christian. Even though Tommy had promised her the ritual wouldn't taint her, the prospect of being part of something that went against all her beliefs felt like she was already selling her soul to the devil.
Once, she and her brother committed the ultimate crime. Well, at least that was what it felt like when they accidentally set their hymnal book on fire. They'd been practicing sealing envelopes with candle wax. The process itself wasn't hard; they'd use a few drops of candle wax and then pressed a penny into it. But getting the right amount of wax and getting a perfect print without burning your hand, took practice. As the oldest, David always needed to be better, with everything. Her brother was not happy that his kid sister had three perfect seals and therefore all evidence needed to be destroyed. A long story short, their hymnal book caught on fire, Maria started to cry and David made an attempt to stomp it out while their father rushed into their kitchen, catching them red handed. The two of them were forced to spend every Sunday at their local church, writing the same lines over and over again: 'Rex tremendae majestatis, qui salvandos salvas, gratis, salve me, Fons Pietatis.'
It was unpleasant to be stuck inside while their friends were out playing and at the end of each day, their limbs and backs were stiff from the uncomfortably hard benches. But David hated their punishment twice as hard because he had terrible handwriting, or as their priest called it 'chicken scratch.'
After four weeks, their punishment was over and while scampering back home, Maria commented that she hoped to never write in French again. Her brother had gawked at her, then laughed and then called her retarded. She hadn't been writing in French but rather Latin and when David kept teasing her, she'd pinch her brother's forearm quite viciously.
It turned out that her smug older -and therefore wiser- brother did know a bit of Latin and told her the translation of the mysterious words: 'King of tremendous majesty, who freely saves those worthy ones, save me, source of mercy'. He was even able to speak the line in Latin, without a stutter or a pause and he'd been pompous about it their entire walk home.
Although she'd resented her older brother for his superior attitude, Maria learned the Latin words by heart. It sounded magical, even in her own head. Those mysterious words, divine and holy, had always been a source of comfort. When she'd been thrown into her uncle's household, those words saved her from drowning in her own sorrows, they'd made her able to get out of bed in the morning. When she'd been trapped inside Russo's basement, that riddle of words had filled up her head enough so she'd been able to breath. In Amsterdam, when she'd been held at gunpoint that ancient prayer had kept her knees from buckling.
Those words didn't bring her great divine or power, instead it gave her the strength to deal with the situation.
'Rex tremendae majestatis', those words seemed to cast out all the foreign chanting coming from the gypsy women.
Like a meek, obedient lamb, she waited to become part of the ritual, which slowly started to form out. Although Maria could not understand the Romani tongue, she was aware of the devoutness coming from the gypsies. Worship knew many forms; a few women threw their trickling bracelets into the fire. A man took a small sip of a flask only to empty it in the flames. It sparked up more than just the heat and fire, more of the Lee folk started to sacrifice their humble belongings.
Tommy mimicked the man and emptied his flask, aggravating the flames even more. The light lit up the strong contours of his face and drew shadows underneath his eyes.
Like a child caught in the act, he noticed her watchful gaze and quickly focused on the burning branches near his feet.
You need to sacrifice something from yourself, he signed careful, not wanting to draw any attention to their non-verbal conversation.
I don't have anything on me, Maria signed back. It wasn't a lie, besides the black oversized dress, the gypsy's had taken everything off her.
The beady eyes of their bystanders started to fixate on Maria, who soon became the only member of the group who didn't sacrifice anything to their fire goddess.
Thinking fast, Maria thought of the only thing she could miss and yanked out a full lock of her hair, throwing it in to the flames.
It seemed to placate the crowd and soon, Zilpha started to speak again. The hyped up Lee's suddenly grew silent as an old lady walked into the circle. A face that survived at least eighty frosty winters and scorching hot summers lit up by the flames, accentuating every wrinkle, liver spot and freckle.
A silvery hue had taken her eyesight, yet the old woman started directly at Maria from the second she became part of the circle. It made all the tiny hairs on Maria's neck spike up, she did not need any further introduction. This must be the Lee's witch.
The old woman didn't have any of the typical witch features described in storybooks. No crooked nose, no hairy warts on her face or a black cat at her feet. Instead of a pointy hat, the majority of her thin white hair was hidden underneath a colorful cloak.
Her bent fragile looking body seemed too small to retain the immense power that radiate from every pore. It could be the uneven shapes of fire or the mantle of smoke draping over the circle, but Maria found herself frozen with fear due to the presence of the Lee witch.
In spite of her poor physique the witch's raised her voice and howled her words over the heads of her people. No-one dared to make a sound and it would not surprise Maria if the reason behind it wasn't due to respect, but fear.
Even Tommy, who'd merely blink at the sight of a loaded gun, appeared to be astonished by the witch's presence. His usual hauteur vanished and although the fire did not change, Maria saw him in a different light.
Faithful.
For a man with no religion, it was clear as day to see where his personal spirituality lay.
Here. In the center of their human circle, religiosity formed which was as old letters and words. Ancient, older than Christ, the bible. These rituals descended from the world before men used speech and were driven on instinct rather than common sense.
Maria had been so captivated by the Lee witch, that she hadn't noticed the small cast iron cauldron being passed on.
It was Tommy who nudged her and held out the heavy iron, cocking his head towards the content. A handful of dried mushrooms covered the bottom.
O-n-e, he finger spelled again before slipping one of the mushrooms into his mouth.
Copying Tommy's action Maria immediately grimaced. She'd never been a fan of mushrooms, but these tasted horrible. If she had to describe the taste it would be a combination of dirt, fungus and horse manure. The texture was tough and chewy, similar to an overcooked steak.
It took her awhile to gnash the mushroom small enough so it could be swallowed. She was not the only one having difficulty with the structure; many of those in the circle were chewing and mimicking Maria's expression.
When Maria finally swallowed, the mushroom seemed to drop into her empty stomach like a horseshoe; heavy as lead.
Zilpha deserted her places near the witch and with large insistent footsteps, walked up to Maria. The gypsy queen took her place right beside Maria and raised a knife high above her head. It was a dual blade, with a golden handle. Everything about it was precise, made to draw blood.
Zilpha spoke loudly and passionately to her kin and without hesitance she carved a large cut into the palm of her hand. While blood started to dribble down her wrist, she took the knife with her bloody hand and cut an evenly large gash in her left hand.
"Blood symbolises death and rebirth," Zilpha lectured, taking Maria's unwilling hand in hers, "tonight we bury our animosity, our disrespect, our differences and grudges. Tonight we celebrate our honor, our alliance, our future and intermingled bond."
Without warning, Zilpha pushed the edge of the blade into Maria's flesh and sliced down.
Remembering very well of how Tommy pressed her to stay quiet, Maria choked back a roar of pain and hissed through her teeth. The palm of her hand was just as sensitive as her thigh and the knife seemed to set it on fire. Thousands of nerve endings seemed to be screaming their throats raw as Zilpha pushed the handle of the knife into the fresh cut.
As the sour taste of bile rose to the back of her throat, Maria realised the worst was yet to come; cutting her own hand.
With at least two dozen pairs of eyes watching, the knife trembled in her fist as she raised her left hand and turned her palm upwards.
This was much harder than pressing the razor into her thigh. That action had been a 'heat of the moment' action while she'd been in survival mode.
The tip of the knife connected with the soft skin of her hand, but pressing down, hard, seemed like an impossible task. Aware of the soft buzz of impatient spectators, Maria swallowed thickly.
Tommy's muscular hand circled over Maria's balled fist.
Helpless, she looked up. Tommy was already staring at her, waiting for any kind of response. It was short, Maria softly nodded and their eyes blinked in unison. Prepared for the inescapable pain, Tommy pressed the knife into her skin and pierced a small cut across the palm of her hand.
Thank you, Maria mouthed, letting go of the knife as Tommy took over. Her small acknowledgement of his tedious aid softened his gaze. His eyes flickered past Maria and fixated on Zilpha while he cut open his own skin. None of his pain showed, besides flaring his nostrils. When both his palms were cut open he passed the knife to the next participant.
The action was copied by everyone in the circle and eventually the knife ended in the hands of the witch. She too inflicted two wounds on herself before impaling the blade into the soil of the earth.
The witch chanted a line of words, over and over. The foreign words were rapidly picked up by the rest of the circle and Zilpha suddenly and swiftly pressed her left hand on Maria's chest. The gypsy must have been able to feel how her heart skipped a beat and Maria received an amused snake-like grin from the woman.
"Tonight we shall be sisters, bloody Mary," Zilpha whispered before taking Maria's right hand with her left, squeezing it painfully tight. Unable to suppress the pain, Maria winced, but Zilpha's grip didn't lessen as she slowly pulled their hands high above their heads.
The crowd went wild, the others joined, clasping their hands together and raising them up.
Maria felt Tommy's fingers brush her wrist and without hesitation she unclenched her fist and reached for his hand. Their fingers intertwined, her eyes squeezed shut to shun out all the noise, all the blood and all the fire.
Although the wound stung, she found safety in his strong grip, in the roughness of his skin and his closeness.
The ritual instantaneously turned into a festivity and Maria found it safe enough to murmur her sacred chant: "Rex tremendae majestatis, qui salvandos salvas, gratis, salve me, Fons Pietatis."
Zilpha Lee was unaware of her sacrilege and tugged her hand for Maria to reopen her eyes.
The gypsy woman was close, nose only an inch away from Maria's.
Tiny icy needles pricked at the back of her neck, slowly invading the back of her scalp. The sudden pins and needles were as foreign as the sudden numbness she was experiencing in the tips of her fingers. Was it the heat of the fire, or the piercing kohl rimmed eyes of Zilpha distorting her senses?
"Embrace the Third Eye child; it'll make your night more endurable." Zilpha stated and sympathetically squeezed her hand before letting her go. The gypsy queen strolled off, mixing into her people.
The absence of Zilpha left a strange, near teeth chattering cold. Tommy's hand felt distant, far away, which did not make any sense, because he was standing right next to her. Right?
Craning her head to her right, she noticed how Tommy towered over her, which again was odd, because Tommy wasn't a particular tall man. Turning her head to her feet, she realized she'd been down on her knees. It didn't make any sense, but she was sure of one thing, there was no trying to get up. Her legs felt like two untrained dogs; deficient and deaf to the order of their master.
She tried to explain that to Tommy, but her words came out all wrong, altered and crooked.
Wrong.
She then tried to apologize for the absolute nonsense coming from the back of her throat to Tommy who kneeled down beside her. It took him an awful long time to reach down to her level, granted he came from such great height.
L-e-t-g-o, he finger spelled and slowly Maria became aware of her clutching grip that kept their hands from separating.
With pain in her heart, she let him go and all the warmth she possessed slipped with it.
"Tommy, there is something wrong with me," she managed to say after rehearsing it inside her head ten times, "Tommy I'm cold."
It made no sense, the bonfire was only a few feet away and the celebrating figures circling around her seemed to burst with heat.
"Tommy, I'm cold," she announced again, watching him gracelessly rip strips of her oversized cotton dress. Her hands, scarlet and sticky, were now bandaged and as Tommy struggled to knot the bleached fabric around his palms, Maria felt her head roll back.
There was mud, cold and sludgy mud, caked on the back of her head, sucking her into the earth. For a moment, she wondered: had France been like this? Gradually sinking deeper and deeper into the mud, did the battlefield ever change into a quicksand death bed?
Frost grew over her skin, her muscles, bones and soon her heart and spirit.
The velvet, dark night sky watched over her. The handful of stars taunted her yearning for the light, for the sun. She craved the light, for without it, what was left in this world? Without light there is no perception, no beauty, and no joy. Only pitch-black nothingness that was about to swallow her whole.
With that insight, her body started to shake and shudder. The floodgates opened and she wept with the ferocity of a woman on her deathbed. Tears streamed down her face, blending into the mud. Her voice drifted further as it made place for heavy, loud sobs that tore apart any bit of common sense.
Gravity worked in reverse and she was roughly yanked into a vertical position. She couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, it felt as if someone was choking her, smothering her. Her heart beat too fast and her lungs worked too slowly.
There was fire. Fire and flames with dancing figures and violins were playing. But it was all too much, too loud, too many people and her eyes were betraying her, because all those faces morphed into grotesque monsters.
There were sounds too, that should not be there, echoes from the past, filling up her head. The primal screams of her mother when their local law enforcement came to their door with the news of David's passing. The subtle fragrance of lilies filled her nostrils; it had been her father's favorite flowers. There had been a dozen of them during his funeral, masking the stench of flesh in a far state of decay.
Past grief threw her back into the mud, kicking and screaming. It washed up in waves and pulled her back in by her feet. It was like a monster she could not outrun. Every time she allowed herself a moment to find her breath back, it lurked around the corner, ready to eat her up.
The heartache from her mother's sobbing, transcended into the hateful accusations of Uncle Walter. The cruel words spoken with a lisp felt so lifelike and near that it made her want to curl up into a little ball.
A choky cry for help forced itself up her throat, but none of the distorted dancing figures seemed aware of her personal hell.
The screaming, the threats, they all continued, inside her head and it made her want to scratch the madness out. Her fingernails were forming half-moon cuts in her skin, which gave her little relieve.
There came an abrupt stop to her personal abuse. Her hands were taken away from her face and pinned against her chest. Reflexively, Maria clasped her hands together while her eyes traveled up north.
Two glacier eyes watched her fiercely and she remembered a time where those two eyes had been cold, excised from emotion. Dislodged from feeling warmth or love, like a child being ripped from its mother's arms.
But nothing in life is permanent.
Tommy's eyes were like the ocean, not a soul could see beneath their depths. The icy-blue hue carried out his emotional currents, which was easy to drown in.
From all the erupting chaos, Tommy's presence was a lifeline. For some unexplainable reason, he was the only sense in the nonsense she was experiencing. And before she could stop herself her hands clutched his jacket and she hid her face into the croak of his neck. He was the warmth, the safety she desperately needed right now.
Instead of her own skin, her fingernails dug deep into the thick fabric of Tommy's jacket and she squeezed her eyes shut, riding out the wave of lunacy. The sobs however, were merciless as she sobbed against his chest.
Briefly, she wondered if Tommy's war trauma had insidiously worn off on her. And if so, if this was Tommy's day-to-day trial, she was astounded that he managed to function at all, because this had to be purgatory. This was hell without fire, ash and smoke. Trapped inside your own mind, with all of one's personal misery reawakening.
The tips of her fingers went numb by the effort of keeping them hooked around Tommy's jacket. The worst thing that could happen was letting go, slipping away.
Tommy did nothing to lessen her clinginess; instead he ran his fingers cautiously through her short hair and lifted her legs over his lap. Instantly, Maria brought her knees up and curled into his chest. The madness still came in waves, altering reality, changing all forms of normality.
As her mind tried to find all the missing pieces, Tommy started humming. It was a soothing sound; dulcet tones creating a wordless melody. His gentle hum vibrated against her cheek, leaving her breathless. The sound was low and soft, but powerful enough to send chills through her body. There seemed to be an end of the crashing of waves and slowly yet steadily, her head filled up with only his sounds.
Although there weren't any syllables or words, this was Tommy's voice. And it was comforting yet bittersweet to hear it. Because it was there, right there underneath his ribcage and somehow lost once it travel passed his vocal cords. It was enchanting, listening to him. The penny dropped and she recognized the song he was humming to her. Inside her head the words bubbled up, but she could not bring herself to speak any of them, afraight to somehow break their spell.
The clutching of her fingers eased and so did the terror inside her head. A new current settled, one she was happy to be pulled along in. Upstream, adrift, it did not matter as long as he was there. Solid and steady.
Her fingertips found the sharp lines of his cheekbone and she found herself astounded by the softness of his smile. There was more beauty to be touched and examined. Like a sculptor, Maria traced all the contours of his cheeks, nose, and lips.
Her fingertips, painted in red, left a vivid line on the temple of her canvas and a small smudge on his lower lip. It was blood; it could be his or hers. Not that it mattered; they were alike, mixed blood, the same.
She must have slipped some of her thoughts. They were like a spring breeze, unpredictable yet a good omen; casting out the cold of winter.
"Winter…" she heard her voice echo her thoughts and it was bedazzling. Incomprehensible and almost hypnotic.
Her canvas smiled like the Cheshire cat she once favored above all other fictional characters. Tommy's smile brought out an unexpected warmth. His smile was one of euphoria growing, it came from deep inside of him, lightning his eyes and favouring them with a hypnotic glint.
All Maria could do was stare into his eyes, surprised by the deep pitch-black pupils.
"Tommy, we've gone mad," she stated, immediately clasping her mouth with both her hands, because that must have been a secret she shouldn't have told, "mad as a March hare."
This conclusion should be terrifying, but laughter bubbled up from inside her chest, making it a lot lighter to breath. She was still clinging onto him; her head lulling back against his chest. His heart was there and she counted every single beat.
Her fingertips brushed his lips once more and he kissed them lightly. The gentle touch sparked up an instant sensation which made her gasp and chuckle. His mouth twitched underneath her fingers and she was pretty sure he was fighting a smile.
Tilting her head upwards, Maria noticed Tommy's expression mirroring hers. She let her smile widen into a brilliant grin. The madness; overwhelmed and endless, changed from foe into an unusual friend. She might have gone mad, absolutely bonkers, delirious, but there was peace inside her heart. If this altered state of mind was her curse, then let her be cursed. If this was seeing the world through the Third Eye, then bless it, because this was liberation.
Her lips must have slipped her thoughts again, because Tommy laughed loud and joyful. It was contagious and she did not want him to stop, she didn't want his smile and laughter to float away.
So she kissed him and he kissed her back, as if it were the most natural thing to do.
It was, in all honesty; kissing him, as natural as breathing, as natural as life and death and everything in between.
Gravity was kind to her, when being hoisted back on her feet, her legs didn't give in. It wouldn't have been possible though, because Tommy was there, all there.
Curtains closed, shutting out the world of night sky, festivities and unearthly cold. The familiar scent of damp hay, myrrh and incense drifted through the air.
Candle light flickered, yellowing the small space, shaping the outlines of humble furniture, drapes and trinkets.
With half a smile, she watched the flames waver around the tips of her fingers and reached to feel the warmth.
Tommy surfaced from the dark, in the shallow light, his eyes turned from their icy blue to almost black, all pupil, with no trace of color.
She closed her eyes, because keeping them open seemed rather difficult and unnecessary.
Reaching towards him, her hands were cautious, moving gently as if she was reaching for hot tea. Once she found his face, she touched him lightly and mapped out his lips. She kissed him, again, parting her lips and he passively kissed her back. It did not take him long to minimise the space and his breathing became infrequent, deep.
He pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her while deepening their kiss. His embrace was warm, his tongue hot, and his big strong arms protective. The world outside the tent seemed miles and miles away, casted out of their little universe.
She could stay like this forever, wilting into the contours of Tommy's body. With her fingertips, she traced his scalp and his hairline until they met the scars.
Abruptly, Tommy stopped and withdrew but Maria refused to reopen her eyes. What she was doing was childish and unfair, because she exiled his only manner of communication. Even when his hands wrapped themselves around her face, urging her to look at him, she held her lids firmly shut and reached forwards.
She was deliberately invading his forced upon boundaries, reaching for the source of his withdrawal. It seemed to physically hurt him when she brushed over the side of his head, running over the lines of scar tissue; like rivers that ran unevenly, from deep to shallow.
He was close, hesitant of her uncharacteristic forwardness.
Keeping her eyes shut she pecked his lips, barely touching, she breathed: "Kiss me."
She felt him shake his head weakly, a low grunt rolling from the back of his throat.
He might leave, if she didn't stop him. It seemed inevitable, unless she made him stay. So she did what she knew he wanted.
As a last resort, she tore his hand from her face, and pressed his fingers down onto her chest, marking the same spot as Zilpha had touched her. Aware that he could feel her heartbeat flutter inside her chest she kept his hand firmly in place.
"Kiss me," she breathed against his lips, pressing her forehead against his, risking a peek.
Tommy's eyes were even darker, radiating with longing, desire, lust. She knew she was playing with fire, but she was drawn to it, like a moth to the flame. And she knew she was going to get burned and hurt, it was inevitable, yet she could not bring herself to push his hand away.
She kissed him briefly, challenging him for a response and while doing so, reducing the space between them to an absolute minimum. The last bit of his resistance crumbled. Tommy's passive demeanor changed. He was kissing her now, gentle and reassuringly.
She closed her eyes again when he kissed her neck and did not bother to stop his hands, slipping the cotton dress over her head, fully aware of the consequences; being fully naked.
A small, rational part whispered of the indecency, urging her to remember what happens to promiscuous girls. When that did not help, her rationality gave her a firm reminder of her best friends sorrow.
Her body must have given some of her internal turmoil away, because Tommy's lips paused in kissing her.
Exposed, both physically and mentally, doubt started to flutter up inside her stomach. A shiver ran over her spine.
"Shhh," Tommy whispered, "shhh," draping a blanket over her shoulders he laid them down. It was a small favour, but one she cherished. Curling underneath the thick material, she pulled the blankets apart and pressed close to Tommy who seemed to radiate heat.
Soon there was skin to skin contact, his rough hands felt like sandpaper, but the touch was so soft it made her moan.
His hands, his lips, his tongue was gentle and not frightening. Knowing what he was doing to her. Her chest rose, startling her when he traveled over her breasts.
His touch went deeper than skin to skin, it devoured every thought, every nerve, every previous thought stopped in their tracks. Until she was nothing more than just her body.
Now there was only one desire; to be touched and Tommy was eager to obey; for someone who couldn't speak he was very good with his tongue.
Her hips flinched and her back arched when she felt his lips travel between her thighs. Her fingers curled onto the roots of his hair, debating whether pull him up or give in to sin and press him down.
He made the choice for her, kissing her most intimate part. His lips, his tongue, he struck fire.
Maria made a sound quite similar to a sob; hastily she drew her arm up, embedding her front teeth into the smooth skin of her wrist, because she didn't want him to stop.
He didn't, much to her gratitude, because she could not bear to look at him in the eyes and beg for him to continue. This was lust, desire, hunger; this was the closest to sex, besides sex itself. Maybe even more sinful than the act itself.
But by God did it feel right; Tommy was slow, rhythmic, gentle, knowing what he was doing. It surprised her how right she was with it; naked on display with a man pleasing her in such a way.
He paused and she drew her hips up, despite the fact that it made her feel like a Jezebel. She briefly sunk her fingernails into his temple, squeezing her eyes shut and praying he wouldn't stop, because she was willingly to beg him to continue.
She could sense his lips curl into a grin, a rather arrogant one she could imagine and he continued.
The feelings triggered by his touch, rocked her head backwards and she clawed at the back of his scalp. A noise escaped the back of her throat, an embarrassingly deep sigh and she dug her teeth deeper into her wrist.
His hands were on her hips, pressing her firmly down. He needed too, because her limbs grew all tense and her teeth kept sinking deeper into her skin; it most definitely was going to leave a bruise in the morning.
But the morning seemed endlessly far into the future, there was only enough room for right now.
All previous thoughts stopped in their tracks, she was vaguely aware that the force she's using onto the back of his scalp must be hurting him. She's fully aware though that the sounds she made weren't like any she'd produced before. Sucking in air between her teeth, raw bliss swept her apart.
Breathing fast, heart rate faster, her body grew limp and he slid down next to her as she curled up, deprived of strength.
Tommy pulled her into a half hug. Straddled on top of his chest, Maria trembled, breathing shallowly in and out. He kissed the top of her head lazily, the sound of his voice vibrating inside his chest. He hummed an old lullaby while nonchalantly petting her hair. As if this was the most natural thing in the world.
It made her want to cry, because it's beautiful, being this intimate and close to one another. It should be wrong, what just happened should be wrong. It would be judged by others, fill the streets with gossip, would cause her mother to pray for her soul and on judgement day, she would have to confess her sin to Him.
But Tommy's warmth, hands, sounds, was so soothing and calming, wrecking all her guilt ridden thoughts to shreds.
In moments, she was fast asleep, body relaxing against his, breathing steadily while he lazily petted her hair.
.-.-.
A/N: So yeah, this was totally awkward to write down, but I'm so glad I finally drabbled it down, I've been waiting over 50 chapters to use this line:for someone who couldn't speak he was very good with his tongue.
Oh, what will morning bring…
Xoxoxo Nukyster
